Wilted. Dull. Tasteless.
The spread of roasted vegetables, salads, and bread before him adhered to all of these negative qualities, and much like the current marriage he was trapped in, each bite held no pleasure, no satisfaction. No passion.
He fell back upon his instincts as he chewed, his slumped posture and overly exaggerated bleariness acting as a shield against his wife’s incessant complaints and constant whining. For the past four days, this had proved most effective; she pretended to cook, and he pretended to be a caring, hard-working husband.
He had little idea why he even bothered to stay beyond the obvious reasons. Desperation? Loneliness? Resignation? It hardly mattered in the end—anything was better than fending for himself out in the cold, and any meal was preferable to starvation.
Even so, he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twisting itself into a knotted noose with each painstaking second, like a ravenous wolf gnawing at a bone stripped of its meat.
Gleaming green eyes stared at him from across the table. It was the same look she always gave him before robbing him blind of his earnings on useless designer clothes and purses; the same look she gave him whenever she needed to “relieve stress.”
The mere idea of the latter made him gut-wrenchingly ill.
“You need to talk to your son,” Marginal Sucess said, completely flipping the script.
“It’s just a phase,” he mumbled off-handedly. Without hesitation, he scarfed a spoonful of wilted bell peppers into his gullet and began chewing. Truthfully, he had no idea what Marginal was referring to—anything outside the small and cramped confines of her worldview was the work of Grogar himself.
“If only that were the case.” Marginal’s gaze narrows dangerously, forcing a cold shiver up his spine. He knew how much the insufferable silver bitch could get worked up over the pettiest of reasons and how even the slightest problem could push all her buttons.
He slouched back, his empty stomach gnawing at his insides. “Hmm… so what is it this time? Bad grades? Drugs and alcohol? Pre-marital sex?”
“Dear Celestia, no.” Marginal Sucess’s face and eyes scrunched up like they did when she was within three city blocks of the disenfranchised. “If only it were so simple as that.”
He sighed inwardly, wondering how her son had ‘violated’ Marginal’s sensibilities this time.
“I fear that Noteworthy has an attraction to griffons.”
Burning. A flash. His anger simmered like a tightly sealed pressure cooker, ready to explode at the slightest provocation before the knob suddenly turned and the steam leaked into the air, leaving him to deflate into his chair.
“...what.”
“I never thought our little colt would ever be capable of such vile, unnatural behavior, but it’s true! Those… beasts he associates with are straying him down a dark path! And I fear-”
White noise filtered through his ears, drowning out Marginal’s… passionate sermon, followed by an acute sense of numbness that spread through his spine. It was true that his occupation and the wealth that accompanied it had soothed his many misgivings with his current relationship, but he couldn’t help but think.
Perhaps most ponies saw griffons as brutish, selfish creatures that wouldn’t piss on you if you were dying in the desert, but most ponies were ignorant, selfish creatures that always wanted to grandstand on the moral high ground.
And between the two? He’d trust the word of a griffon every time, no questions asked—he had plenty of experience.
Bite. Chew. Swallow. Years of instinct and discipline prevented him from reaching across the table and throttling the insufferable mare, but he allowed himself to fantasize about the idea, among other racing thoughts and hazy memories. Old friends, past experiences… family. Not just the siblings he grew up with or his harsh mistress of a mother, but real family. A sibling that wouldn’t backstab him with a smile.
And for a moment, he was back on the outskirts of Equestria with his feathered friend by his side and the dancing flames flickering off a stick roasting marshmallows.
…
A scent of citrus, musk, and wood wafts gently into his nostrils—reminiscent of a forest after rain. He smells Noteworthy before he feels his eyes upon him, upon her, glaring from between the staircase beams behind him.
“-must talk some sense into him! Before he falls even further prey to those vile fiends’ machinations!” The tears in Marginal’s eyes didn’t leave a trace on her flawless gray-furred cheeks, but a metallic and sharp taste filled his mouth as he stared at her. And for a moment, he almost held a shred of empathy for the mare and whatever past experiences haunted her.
Almost.
Marginal’s voice hitched over a silent whimper as she stared down at the tiled floor. “I just… we won’t have grandfoals to spoil.”
His stomach tied itself into knots, even as he swallowed down another helping of quinoa salad. He knew it was only delaying the inevitable, but wasting Marginal’s time was one of the few things that still brought some emotion to his clinking glass heart, even if it was fleeting.
Her gaze didn’t move from the ground as he dabbed his chin with a napkin. “I’ll talk to him.”
He quickly but gracefully fled the kitchen in pursuit.
“Noteworthy?” he asked, his voice filtering through the thin crack below the bedroom door. One. Two. Five. Twitch. Twitch. His ears swiveled, and the unmistakable sound of choked-back sobs crawled back to him from the gaps in the doorframe.
He breathed in, swallowing an aftertaste akin to black coffee grounds. “...I’m coming in.”
The door creaked softly, and he slipped inside with barely a sound, seamlessly blending into the shadows of the darkened room as it closed behind him. It took less than a second for his sight to adjust to the darkness, and the curled lump of bedsheets sobbing at the edge of the solitary bed quickly grabbed his attention.
“Noteworthy?” He stalked forward, steadily approaching the curled-up cocoon.
“Go away.”
He kept his gaze focused on the tuft of gold fur poking out from the cocoon of blankets and shook his head. Perhaps he would have turned and walked if it had been merely a few days ago, but he shook his head.
He wasn’t that guy, not anymore.
“Just get it over with,” he sniffled. “Beat me. Throw me out onto the streets. I don’t care anymore; you just going to side with her anyway. You always do.”
“Not this time,” he spoke plainly, answering Noteworthy’s question and his own with one fell swoop. Gently, he sat down on the bed next to him, his stomach throbbing with dull, persistent cramps as his forehoof reached outward to stoke his mane.
“How can I possibly trust you?” Noteworthy flinched away from his touch, kicking up his blankets as he retreated to the opposite edge of the bed. Green eyes, just like his mother’s, glittered intensely at him. “Especially after everything you’ve done?”
“I haven’t done anything-”
“Exactly!” Noteworthy snapped. “You’ve never done anything at all! You’ve never been there for me! Every birthday, every holiday, you’ve always ignored me. Whenever I was scared or needed your help, you were always nowhere to be found!” Noteworthy scowled.
His ears flattened against his head as he flinched, but he remained firmly affixed in place.
“-And if you’re not gone on some business trip for months, you’re always sleeping on the couch or acting as Mom’s whipping boy.” Noteworthy’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? She sent you up here to ‘talk some sense into me,’ and you’re just blindly obeying her like the good little colt you are.”
“That’s not-” He cut himself off with a sigh. The incessant ache in his stomach intensified—hollow pangs that echoed through his abdomen as his shoulders slumped. “I didn’t come here to argue and judge you, Note.” He paused for a moment, biting his lip as his chest tightened. “...I know things haven’t been right between us-”
“That’s an understatement.”
“...And I know that words alone aren’t worth a damn if they’re not backed by anything.” He turned his head briefly, his brow furrowing in contemplation before he stared back into his eyes. “But I want to be here for you now. Hay, I- I’ve been on your side of the fence too, kiddo. I know exactly what you’re feeling right now.” He said, knowing full well he was speaking the truth.
Noteworthy’s eyes softened slightly, but his frazzled appearance was more befitting of a cornered animal than a pony.
Seizing the opportunity, he continued. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say she’ll come around and understand you. And I’m not gonna promise you won’t run into more creatures like her, but I just want you to know that there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This isn’t some act of teenage rebellion or a phase; you aren’t committing some unforgivable sin. This is about figuring out who you truly are, and that’s something beautiful.”
“I don’t-” Noteworthy stared, his mind racing as he clenched his jaw. “No. No, you- I don’t believe you. She put you up to this! This is all just another one of her sick games-”
“That’s not true-”
“Horseapples! You’ve ignored me for most of my life, then expect me to start tripping over myself in gratitude because you felt like pretending to be a dad for once?” Noteworthy jabbed a forehoof in the air toward him. “Well, guess what? News flash, but saying a few encouraging words doesn’t make up for everything else you’ve done!”
He stared at the carpet with downcast eyes, the acrid taste of shame slathered onto his tongue and lips. Tried as he might, he could not look at Noteworthy in their tear-stained eyes.
“You’re right. None of this makes up for what I did,” he swallowed, and his throat burned. “But if I don’t start now, when will I ever make things right?”
Noteworthy continued to stare at him. Minutes, hours? Time seemed to have lost all meaning as he remained glued to his spot, with only a few stray rays of calm, blue light piercing through the closed window shades.
“We both know I’m not the father you want or the one you deserve, but let me at least try to be.” Relentless. Gnawing. The aches in his chest stabbed into his stomach again and again, almost as if it was being hollowed out like a pumpkin on Nightmare Night. “Please.”
Sour, like a plate of dandelion greens. He grimaced, biting his tongue as Noteworthy threw his head back with an incredulous laugh, which did little to smother the sobs that echoed through the room.
“-hy? Why can’t she-” Noteworthy collapsed into his pillow, muffling his strained voice. “-didn’t choose this. I didn’t-”
One step. Two. Steadily, he approached, not wanting to earn Noteworthy’s ire again as he reached the edge of the bed.
“-know this is right. She makes me happy, and I make her happy. Why can’t Mom understand that?”
Again, the bed sagged under his weight as he sat down, and again, he reached out until he gently caressed and tousled Noteworthy’s tangled golden mane. “So, how’d you two meet?”
Noteworthy curled into himself, wrapping his forehooves around his pillow as if it was his only lifeline. “...Artisinal Elixirs Café. S-she works there.”
“The stocky silver griffon? With the blue eyes and tom-coltish attitude?” he said. And for a moment, a nostalgic dream filtered in behind his eyes. She looked just like him; she even had the same blue eyes… the same ‘buck everything’ attitude he did.
“How did you-”
“I spotted her through the window as I passed by there earlier.” He continued his delicate rhythm, his hoof tracing along the contours of Noteworthy’s scalp between the ears. Of course, he was no fan of caffeine or the holes their overpriced cappuccinos put in the average coin purse, but it wasn’t his business to tell anyone how to spend their money. Not like he was any good at saving money either. “Call it… fatherly intuition.”
There was a moment of silence, and Noteworthy’s ears folded to the sides of his head as he gritted his teeth.
He stared and subconsciously licked at his dried lips.
“Please,” Noteworthy muttered. “...She’s always been hovering over my shoulder. My entire life, judging me. Nopony could ever get close to me without her approval, and nopony ever met her impossible standards. I’ve never truly had friends to call my own…”
“Shh…” he gently whispered. “Love is love, Note. We give it meaning by choice, and it isn’t my place, or anypony’s else’s, to judge.” A soft sigh escaped Noteworthy as he continued to run his hoof through his mane. “But enough of that for now. It’s time to rest, and when you wake up, everything will be ok. I promise.”
Noteworthy lethargically craned his neck, his puffy green eyes half-lidded as he stared back at him. There was a pause, with Noteworthy trying to think of something to say, a question or a remark teetering on the tip of his tongue. But his question died upon his lips as he was lulled into a deep sleep.
“Good night, Note.”
…
…
His tongue flicked out a bit further than it should’ve.
Warm. Rich. It melts slowly on his tongue like a decadent, velvety chocolate truffle, leaving a lingering sweetness that only increases his ravenous appetite. The urge was there, the hunger that never satiated itself no matter how many times he fed—but something stopped him from gulping it all down like an alcoholic.
The terrible stabbing pains in his stomach only punctuated the severity of his condition. There was little place for sentimentality, not when there was always uncertainty about when he’d get his next meal.
“But that’s all going to change soon, isn’t it?”
He turned, glaring out the window at the night sky. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let his imagination run wild...
A deluge of buzzing black filling the streets of Canterlot, his hunger pains all but forgotten as distant screams filled the smoky air.
He knew it was inevitable, like the changing of the seasons, but what would it cost? Who would it cost?
The soft, rhythmic snoring of his… son drew his focus away from the window and his mounting and impending dread. The way Note slept, completely with a relaxed countenance on his face, was a punch to the gut, but this guilt did not stop the hunger pains. It did not suppress his insatiable appetite or wash away the sugary warm sweetness that danced upon his tastebuds.
Biting his lips, he sighed.
“...I’m getting too soft,” he mused.
He ignored the hunger pains, ignored his “wife’s” incessant naggings and questions, and quickly began to scribble a note as he headed out the door. He was many things and wore many faces, but he was not a thief. He wasn’t like them.
He repeated this mantra in his head again and again as he skulked toward the closest guard outpost, warning in hoof, with hunger as his only companion.
A cool breeze sauntered into the windowsill of Celestia’s chambers.
Scritch. Scratch. Her quill daintily danced across the scroll in her golden grasp, and she breathed a contented sigh as she placed it neatly on top of a stack of paperwork. Many envied the supposed lifestyle of a princess, but few truly understood how monotonous and tiring such could be.
There was little glamor in signing tax documents and pouring over legislation and petitions, but such was her duty. Gently, she brought a cup of now-lukewarm tea to her lips and guzzled its contents in a very unprincess-like manner, before sighing in relief and sinking into her chair.
But before she could appreciate the brief moment of respite, a rigid knock on her door broke the silence.
“Come in,” Celestia called out, muttering a curse under her breath as she adjusted her crown and straightened her mane.
“Good afternoon, Princess Celestia,” the guard pony gave a stiff and formal salute.
“At ease.” Celestia smiled gently. “What brings you to my chambers?”
“Priority notice from S.M.I.L.E., your eyes only,” the guard replied simply.
Celestia gave a quiet hum through her terse lips and unfurled the scroll. Silence befell the room as she skimmed through the contents a first time. And then a second. Third. Her eyes, which had widened in disbelief, narrowed as her nostrils flared.
“Summon Captain Shining armor to my study at once,” Celestia sternly ordered, and a film of sweat settled above the guard’s brow. “We will have need of his talent.”
