Fragility

Chapter 2

Back to Business

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[Grimdark][Tragedy]

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Day 8 —

The first thing I’d like to address is my worry from the previous entry. For that, I have good news and bad news to mention.

The good news is that Honey Comb made it through the day in one piece.

The bad news is that we both missed about half of our classes in the process.

I should probably get more specific. We have the same schedules of classes, by design. Our first class went by fine. It was a simple lecture, something about chemistry. Honestly I was too focused on watching Honey Comb to care. I don’t think she was paying attention either, but at least she made an effort to look like she was.

I understand the purpose of asking questions in a lecture, but to ask them for the purpose of “humiliation” rather than expanding the discussion is simply a waste of everypony’s time. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fake an answer, it just means I get annoyed by having to do so.

In any case, it was our second class that I finally started to notice particularly bad signs from Honey. I know her. The sight of other ponies is comforting to her. So when she abandons this, shutting her eyes and hiding her head under the desk, I can safely assume that something’s troubling her.

I offered to take her out of class, but she refused. She probably shouldn’t have. I won’t claim I’m great at predictions, but I did see her breakdown coming. It didn’t particularly help that we were talking about physics.

This was the quote that finally did it: “It is natural for us to look for imperfections and fix them, regardless of unforeseen consequences.”

Poorer taste I have never heard.

Honey Comb burst into a loud sobbing from this. I escorted her outside the classroom without another word. It took a few minutes for the professor to start her lecture up again, or so I could hear from the hall.

We spent more time talking than crying. To be clear, I wasn’t crying in the slightest, and Honey was trying to hold back out of courtesy. Her “heart” tends to be in the right place, even if it would be unhealthy. I know I disapprove of the validity of psychology, but I will at the least concede there are such valid points as “healthy” and “unhealthy” emotional states.

In any event, our discussion revolved around the events following her father’s death. Most importantly, how she had found out. That little piece of information somehow managed to elude me for weeks. Fortunately, it wasn’t anything else dramatic or unsettling like the death itself. She simply was brought out of class and informed of the accident by her father’s supervisor. Or ex-supervisor, as I guess it technically was by that time.

She told me that she was told that leaving was up to her that day. She also told me that she couldn’t give them an answer right away because her mouth was suddenly so dry.

Then she asked me what I would’ve done. And the honest truth is that I believe that to be an unfair question. I mean, certainly I would be devastated by the loss of one of my parents, but the fact of the matter is that I’m a very different kind of pony. Even with a more distanced relation to the deceased in the real case, I only dug myself deeper into my research. A “defense mechanism” as psychologists might call it.

Blah. Blegh. Bleh. [Expression of disgust]. Pardon my poor handling of onomatopoeia. I’m a scientist, not a poet.

The point of that being that I’m falling too far into a trap through this journal. What happened today was significant enough to stay in my head since it occurred, but that doesn’t mean it needs to dominate my note-taking. My sincerest apologies to any future readers. I’ll start cutting back tomorrow so as not to bore you to death.

To finish, however, and I’ll be brief, just know that the conversation was followed by a good deal of silence. I tracked time by the passing of students, and I believe we were there for two more classes before we finally moved. We received a few looks from passerby, but I’ve mastered the art of wordless glare that manages to still say “Fuck off.” Heart Stream, you should know exactly what I’m talking about.

She thanked me for what I did today. And I wish the emotion associated with this would no longer be called “that warm and fuzzy ‘feeling’”. The emotion is happiness, mixed with relief. I’ll point out the associated regions of the brain if you insist on the point any further, Heart.

I’ll add today’s notes on the prisms to tomorrow’s entry.

—Crystal Shard

Day 9 —

First, yesterday’s research. Not much of a breakthrough, but the data are actually relevant for a change.

“Previous arrangements of the triangular prisms were operating under the assumption that I would have to angle them against each other in unnatural manners to produce unnatural results. Today I said “screw it” and tried a simple arrangement: three prisms lined up horizontally, with faces touching, to form an overall trapezoid of the triangular faces.

Upon testing, I managed to get a small improvement on the conductivity of magic. Further tests will be required to prove that this is significant to the arrangement and not, say, the atmosphere. In all honesty, some days I wonder if the extra energy I fuel my telekinetic magic with out of frustration doesn’t radiate through the room and skew the results.”

That was yesterday. Today I repeated the tests and managed similar, yet less intense results. Just below the threshold of statistical significance. This leaves me at a standstill. I don’t know whether to proceed along this same train of thought, or not. So, as any good scientist, that leaves me with the inevitable third option: another iteration.

And now for the emotional content. Those of you disinterested, you might as well skip to the following entry now.

Today’s classes were much more of a successful venture for me and Honey. Most of the topics were reviews anyway. There’s a small part of me that wants to think that this was done on purpose. Maybe it was from how the professors looked at Honey Comb. Maybe I’m just delusional. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell without an outside perspective on the matter, and my therapist refuses to use the word “crazy” or any synonym of it.

Besides, Honey didn’t cry today. I believe this to mark the first day since her father’s passing that one could honestly say this. She’s moving on. I’m a little impressed. She never struck me as being that emotionally “strong”. I mean no offense to her, but that’s just how it seemed to work. She’s sensitive, but caring. I’m just an emotional rock wall. We balance each other out that way. Not to mention our varying approaches to our studies, of course.

Actually, the height of her recovery seemed to come in our third class. A fly landed on one of my books— actually it might have been this one. The point is, I hate flies. I hate insects, arachnids, and most animals. Sometimes I even have trouble dealing with earth ponies, but that’s beside the point.

This is perhaps the one rule that Honey has ever enforced upon me without any hint of a reluctant action. I am not allowed to kill any living thing in her presence. So no matter how much I want to, I can’t even step on a helpless beetle. I must walk around.

She halted my hoof with her magic when I tried to smash the fly in class. I looked at her, and she smiled back at me. I stopped caring about the fly. Today I can say that Honey Comb has finally started to look like herself again.

I’m glad, and yet I do wonder what this means about the journal. It’s barely been a week, yet it’s become a habitual part of my life. I think I’ll just have to talk with Heart Stream about ending these therapy sessions just to revoke his terms permanently. Not that I’ll abandon writing of my day, but it’d be a mite nicer not to have to.

—Crystal Shard

Day 11 —

I skipped yesterday out of how sheerly uneventful it was. Today wasn’t much better, but I’d like to think ahead and save that last skipping day.

Yesterday I got little research done. I ran a few scheduled tests, but got mixed, unexciting results. Today was better, even though it marked the fourth consecutive day of uncertainty on this side-matching theory with the prisms. I tried extending the line of prisms to see if I could get a more pronounced effect, but this proved to be a simple failure. This could limit the potential causes of the phenomenon, but unfortunately it brings me no closer to an actual answer.

Barring the science of the day, I figure I may as well bring up another of my daily irritations to fill up some space on the page.

Her name is Limelight. Her area of study is something along the lines of nighttime wear for the aristocracy. I honestly couldn’t care less about the specifics anymore.

From the moment we first met she was the greatest pain in my side. And then head, from the moment she first spoke. She is shallow, short-sighted, and disrespectful. And nopony does anything about it. But of course not.

I would’ve hoped that I could avoid individuals like her at the University. I was wrong. I was so very wrong.

To be fair, she doesn’t flaunt her attitudes in my face. At least not anymore. She respects our mutual disdain. That much I can be pleased with. And this is how she has become but a minor annoyance through my days. Still, the way she and the select few she surrounds herself with wear the results of her “research”— during the day I might add, to emphasize the point— is enough to make me want to scream. If it’s not that, it’s the stallions that approach her, whimpering and shaking like a puppy with its hamstrings cut.

Yes, Heart Stream, I know that image is a little disturbing. I’m sure I could’ve come up with something better, but I hate animals almost as much as I hate her, so the fact that I relate the two is surely a coincidence.

My point? Besides a fraud and a defacement to the field of science, there is but one thing I’ll willingly call her.

Whore.

To be fair, variations count as one and the same here. But watch our passings in the halls carefully. I’m sure you might learn a few new words to insult a mare.

And to think she has the gall to call my field of study irrelevant and pointless. If there was one thing that’d make me willing to slash her hamstrings—

Please don’t take this literally. I’ve never acted out on violent thought patterns before. Admittedly, I imagine I’ll read some of this later and be disturbed with myself, but for the moment I experience the emotion of anger, and these are simply my honest thoughts put to paper. And Limelight is just so infuriating.

I should stop now before I land myself in prison, shouldn’t I?

—Crystal Shard

Day 12 —

My apologies for my overreaction at the end of yesterday’s entry. I discussed the issue with Honey Comb today, and she agrees. Although I didn’t quite mention the “imagery” I used. Again, Honey is sensitive. I’ll spare her the violent picture.

In other news, on a scientific front, I’m actually working through what I believe to be an equation for deriving the differences in used magical energy between a straight lamp and my prism series. Well, what little difference there is at least. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that it’s beginning to appear that the number of prisms it would take to light the city would be both economically and spaciously unfeasible.

Frustrating as this may be, it has opened my mind to other possibilities again. Later tonight I plan on attempting to stack prisms into a larger triangular prism. My hope is that the repeating shapes will be able to amplify the effect. In the worst case, this will produce a rather “pretty” rainbow on the wall once I shine light into it.

The last thing I want is a dead end to my research. Not just out of personal pride, but that it would prove Limelight right.

I’ll at least take comfort in the fact that it’d be a first for her.

Unfortunately that thought isn’t helping much.

—Crystal Shard

Day 13 —

I’ve heard the phrase “save the best for last” throughout my life. I’ve also been rather impatient, so I’ve never had a chance to try it until now.

First, the not-so-interesting events of the day.

Honey Comb was fully functional in our classes today. No crying, no head-hanging, and about as much talking as usual. That is to say, minimal to none, but she’s never been a talker to begin with.

Classes were, for once, not a bore either. We were actually taught new, useful information! A small moment of philosophy actually led me to today’s breakthrough once I arrived at home, but I’ll cover that later.

Our lunch break was peaceful and uninterrupted. The weather was overcast, with a few soft rain showers. Exactly how I prefer it. Honey Comb and I shared a loaf of sweetbread. It was superb. Or at least that’s how I’ll choose to remember it. I’ll be marking this day as one of celebration, after all.

Enough about my day, however. Today I managed to break out of the dry spell of test results, and all thanks to whichever professor brought up the subject of creativity today.

This is what he said, to the best of my memory:

“The path of least resistance is always the most tempting. It’’s simple pony nature. It’s simple nature in general. Look at water flow, or molecules, or even air. A pegasus moving a cloud against the wind is more likely to end up with fluff in her face than a change in weather. Her hooves simply cannot match the surface area of the wind, and thus pose the path of least resistance. Even if it is the wrong way.

A common mistake is to take the direct opposite to the path of least resistance in an effort to circumvent this problem. Sometimes the answer really is quite so simple as to take a chance with your first instinct. But as we already know, sometimes it’s not.

Truly elevated thinkers know that the best option is never predefined. Options with merit will rarely be alone. Weighing the strengths and weaknesses of each against each other is the only real way to succeed.”

Consider the following analogy. If I started by assuming I needed to avoid the “path of least resistance” due to its inherent failures for my first tests, then I worked backwards toward the “path” by stacking the prisms on matching sides.

I believe what the professor was implying was that there are solutions often overlooked. So today, I tried a combination of both strategies.

That’s not what has me excited.

Today, on my way home, I came across a jewelry salespony. He seemed to know absolutely nothing of the value of his products, as expected. He was apparently going for the “mystical artifacts” route. Nopony was biting.

The one thing he did have was something of a geometric marvel. From what I could estimate, it was a nearly perfect hexagonal crystal, probably quartz. Out of boredom, I asked what tale he thought went along with the crystal. He started on some rambling tale about a prince and a princess, a desert and a cavern.

He shut his mouth promptly on seeing my cutie mark.

Terrified that I was some sort of appraisal specialist, he offered to pay me to keep quiet. I struck a deal, then took the crystal as payment. The poor old sod deserved it I suppose. The moment I left, I saw him trying to swindle a couple of poor young colts.

The point is, this crystal was the breakthrough. I set it down next to the prisms when I arrived home. The sunlight, low in the sky by then, shone through the row. The concentrated light beam managed to actual heat up my side enough to make me jump. Not quite as hot as sunlight through a magnifying lens, but reminiscent of it nonetheless.

Tomorrow I’ll have the crystal officially appraised to determine the material it is composed of, then place an order for prisms of the same material. Whatever it is, its crystals form a naturally perfect polygon. I figure that will be much more reliable than glass.

—Crystal Shard