More than This

More than This

By Damocles23

Chapter 1: What I Lost

Dear Diary,

Today Daddy made me dress like a stupid bunny for that kooky old lady. He said that we owed those bumpkins our family wealth. I know, I know, it’s awful, but I didn’t want to argue with daddy. He always shoots me down if he thinks I’m in the wrong. At least my dearest friendmy best friend my only friend, Spoony, was with me so that’s okay! She even put on one of those silly bunny costumes to make me feel less ridiculous.

I guess she owed me that much. After all, she was the first to start applauding that ridiculous story Granny Smith told us (which I still think it was fake, but nopony listens to me!) but I guess it was nice of her. She’s always at my side even when I’m not an easy pony to deal with. Plus she never complains! Even Daddy came to my room tonight and said that he still loved me, even if sometimes I’m stubborn.
If I have my daddy and Silver Spoon then I don’t need anything else.

Dear Diary

I guess even a rotten apple falls from the tree, sooner or later.

The Three Blank Flanks aren’t Blank Flanks anymore!

Of course the three of them had to have this big, pretentious party at that dusty old farm to celebrate. It’s probably because they couldn’t afford a bigger place and, of course, they had to invite me to rub it in my face.

I think they expected me and Spoony to try to upstage them, just like what happened at my Cutecenera all those years ago. Of course me and Spoon were the better mares, we didn’t give in. We laughed at how we have to be judged for something that happened in our fillyhood. Like time never passed and we never grew up, and I’m still some kind of spoiled, smug, unpleasant little filly.

Like they would know. I’m growing up so fast; daddy can’t believe it! He says that it seemed like only yesterday I finished the sixth grade. He always says at breakfast, ‘Who's this beautiful young mare? My daughter is still a filly.’

I’ve heard that joke so many times, but it never fails to make me laugh. He always says he’s proud of me and couldn’t find better hooves to place the family business in once I’m ready.

When will that happen, it will be the day of reckoning for those former blank flanks…Muahahahaha!
Oh Celestia, I really wrote that? I mean even the evil laugh? Whatever, it’s not like anypony else is going to read this . . .

Dear Diary,

I feel so lonely today, more lonely than I’ve ever been.

Mommy is gone. She left us this morning.

I heard her and Daddy fight more and more over the past few days, but neither of them would tell me anything. I could hear them through the walls. She screamed the other night she said she was ‘tired’ of him and wanted a new life. Away from a little village in the middle of nowhere.

Away from us.

She said he’s distant, even though he’s done everything he could to please her and make her feel loved. She said that he still spoils me, even though it’s just his way of showing that he loves me and wants to see me happy. That’s more than she ever did. She said she could have so much more if she wanted to. I know she couldn’t have more in life if she tried.

How could you be ‘tired’ of him? After all that he gave you? You had everything. He would’ve given you anything you wanted, even if he wasn’t this wealthy . . .

When he saw her leaving (with his carriage, by the way.), I looked into his eyes. He was staring at the carriage, slowly turning into a dot in the distance. Those eyes looked so . . . empty. Like a part of him, the part that held all his love and dedication just . . .left him, leaving only an empty void.

I didn’t dare say anything. I didn’t know the words. He did so much for me and I couldn’t even be at his side in this moment because . . .

What if it’s really my fault like she said?

Silver Spoon passed by once she found out. She tried to console me, but she couldn’t find those damn words either. She only said I shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened. Dear, old, Silver Spoon. If i can’t rely on her when I need it the most, then what do I have?

At least she still cares for me. She always has, ever since i can remember. She never asks for anything in return and always means it.

No matter what happens tomorrow, I hope I never lose my friend.

Dear Diary,

Daddy is weaker by the day. Sadness has somehow consumed him or whatever illness is plaguing him. Nopony wants to tell me about it. Not even him; maybe he thinks that if I don’t know I’ll be less worried about him, but it’s worse like that. So much worse. That proud, fierce stallion has been reduced to a shadow of his former self.

Even if his mane was more silver than brown before that . . . mare . . . left, it was still better than no mane at all. He can’t even talk much these days, except when I sit at his bedside. I keep him company or just read him a story, like he always did to me. Last night he struggled like never before, just to say these words to me: ‘You can have anything you want.’

I want him to feel better. I want it now.

Dear Diary,

Daddy Died.

Rain.

Of all the possible days, they chose this one to make it rain. This is how everything has to end: in the mud.

The rain cuts her to pieces, attacking her rain coat and umbrella. This, combined with the uncaring cold, prevents her from fully hearing the Mayor’s speech, coming only in disjointed fragments. Like an unsubtitled foreign movie, she catches the general meaning but the subtle nuances and allusions are lost.

I can live with that, she reasons. After all, she’s just hearing the same trite, banal things she expected to hear.

A true pillar to our community, she manages to catch between a thunder and another, an example of integrity and character . . . A true model for everypony . . . he will be dearly missed.

Mayor Mare’s voice is so weak, trembling and drowned out by the sharp whistling of the wind, sounding even more insincere and distant to Tiara. She wonders on the little things that have changed around her, seeing the old mayor still in the same old place. He would have had her same age . . .

Nopony is more skilled in stating the obvious than a politician.

Her smirk lasts only for a fleeting moment before it reverts to the same annoyed frown from before. She lifts her head to watch the thick bank of clouds. Tiara takes a step away from under the umbrella she’s sharing with the young mare at her side. A frigid drop stabs her cheek, smearing down the side of her mouth. Is this a terrible nightmare? There’s a a faint glimmer of hope in each cold impact. Maybe the water and frigid sensations will dissolve this deranged fantasy.

Back to a reality where she’ll tell Daddy about this awful dream. He’ll console her and stroke her mane until she falls back asleep, maybe in his lap like he always did to chase away the nightmares.

The rain continues to fall.

That bleak coffin in front of her is very much real. She takes one last look at the sky in spite.

Just for one measly day. Is it too much to ask? Was there is some kind of drought I wasn’t informed of and for this reason we must forsake respect?!

Maybe the rain is a tribute. The skies weep for the loss of such a wonderful stallion, shaping the weather to reflect the loss and mournful aura appropriate for the occasion. Knowing the ponies she has to deal with, these surely aren’t tears, but surely something more appropriate and disgusting . . .

The Mayor’s speech concludes with just a few words she doesn’t quite catch and then comes the moment for another pony to speak. An orange mare takes a step forward and leaves behind the rest of her family, another young mare of her same age and a much taller stallion. The moment she takes that step, a sudden gust of wind flings the rain sideways on everypony’s faces.

Given who’s talking, it’s utterly proper…

The mare clears her throat and starts her string of crap. “Ah didn’t know him very well, but . . .”

Why are you here, then? Next!

“ . . . But ah jus’ wanted to say that without him and mah Granny, nothing would have been the same. There wouldn’t be a Ponyville. Ah think we should be grateful for what he did all these years.”

She remembers the story. With some grudge and respect, she admits that this is the most sensible thing she heard all day. Coming from a country bumpkin, that’s impressive.

“Even if it started with jus’ a business partnership, in his later years our families certainly grew closer . . .”

She steals a glance in front of her to look at the young mare sitting behind the podium. Her eyes are hidden by a crude Stetson, while a red braid at the side of her neck dances in the wind.

She thinks she sees a tear rolling down her cheek, one which the mare wipes off with a sharp movement of her hoof. The cream colored pony notices her and they exchange a brief nod.

Tiara mostly did that out of courtesy. The young mare and her family are the last ponies she wants to see right now.

She doesn’t hear the last part of Applejack’s speech but scoffs anyway. The orange mare steps off the podium, and all eyes turn towards Tiara.

It’s her turn to speak.

She takes a step forward, planting herself right in front of everypony. The young mare that stands at her side gives her the umbrella, leaving herself vulnerable to the rain. They exchange the briefest and most tender of smiles after this.

Turning her face to the rest of the crowd, she sees fewer faces than she expected to see. Faces which aren’t familiar except for a few of his business partners and some of their family members. And, of course, the rotten apples.

That’s it? Are this all the ponies that are gonna miss him?

She lacks the words, she has always lacked the words that be of any comfort to him and now it’s too late. Tiara tries to move her lips but no sound comes from them. In an unexpected stroke of luck, a perfectly timed thunder mutes her words, or the empty sounds coming from her mouth. It also proves to be a good diversion since immediately after a couple of the others, they decide to just haste the whole process, cut off her speech and end this terrible day.

Not that she was paying any attention to it, anyway.

The casket is lowered slowly into the ground and the rain stops the same instant. The crowd disperses without a single word of condolence, mostly because she looks too absorbed in her pain to hear or notice. Which is good, because nopony could possibly console her at this point.

Nopony.

She stands there, caressed by the gentle leftover wind of the now-quelled storm. A tender, yet melancholic, smile appears on her face.

“Goodbye, Daddy. “

She bites her lip, wondering how those raindrops from before are still running down her face, instead of having dried off. “I wish…I wish I could’ve done more for you.” The last drop falls from her cheek and scatters in the wind. “How could you leave me alone?”

“You’re not alone, Tiara…” a quick whisper from her back announces. Tiara yelps, scared.

She whirls to find a presence she couldn’t hear until that moment, but was always at her side this whole, gloomy day: Silver Spoon. Drenched in water, having lent Tiara her umbrella for just a few minutes, she lets out an inelegant sneeze. She’s keeps her head down in a desperate effort to avoid her friend’s eyes, but her few inches of advantage over Tiara makes her look like she’s looking down on her. Spoon starts to play with her long braid, shifting her look between her hair and Tiara.

“You scared me, Spoon…” she turns her back to the grey mare and faces the monument once again with the same scowl. She clears her face off the last salty globs.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Are you okay…?” she leaves her long strand of mane alone, and reaches for the other mare’s shoulder.

“What do you think?” She shifts her weight to the left to avoid the touch, still with her back to Spoon. She doesn’t want to show her red, swollen eyes.

With a look of profound sadness, Spoon tries to babble something. Her voice arrives to the other mare as clear as a whisper. “I know that it’s difficult but…”

“Then, shut up!” Tiara spins around, revealing a sorrowful grimace. Uncontrollable tears are running from her bloodshot eyes. Her shrieking voice is as pleasant as marble sliding against iron. “If you don’t know what to say don’t say anything! You never say anything useful!”

Spoon’s grieving appearance turns into subtle outrage. Her frown mirrors the one in front of her. “Well, sorry if I’m trying to be comprehensive! I just asked if you were okay!” She stomps her hoof on the ground making a splash against the mud.

An exasperated sigh escapes Tiara’s lips. “Geez, Spoon! I thought you were the smart one! What do I need you for if you can’t help me with anything? ” She lunges at her friend, gripping her in a crushing hug. Before Spoon can even begin to look shocked, Tiara breaks down in her chest and covers it in salty tears.

Her howls are muffled by the grey mare’s body, who in turn strokes her mane while keeping her locked in the comforting embrace. Tiara notes with some surprise that her tapered, gentler physique contrasts Spoon’s . . . well, calling it ‘bulky’ would be rude and incorrect, but Spoon is certainly taller than her. It’s strange for her to reflect on something like that now, but at least it’s distracting. The strength and kindness reflected in that embrace remind her of the same qualities she had buried into the earth a few moments ago. She wishes the hug could go on forever.

Her broken sobs are timed with each stroke of her mane and the gentle beating of Spoon’s heart. Her pain fuels her desperate need to be held by somepony, anypony. She sobs even harder, if only to prolong this moment. It comes to the point that she can’t even hear her own wailing, lost in the coat of the only one . . . She’s not sure what but doesn’t care.

She’s there and that’s what matters the most.

She’s quickly brought back to reality by a quick glance over Spoon’s shoulder, where she sees the same yellow mare from before approaching. Her Stetson still covers her eyes. Tiara tears herself from her friend’s clutches and dashes towards the unwelcome presence.

The other young mare doesn’t move a muscle.

“What the hay are you doing here?”, Tiara demands, trying to remain collected. Even though her face is a mess and her approach didn’t look peaceful in the least, she has to appear as the better mare. Even if the one in front of her doesn’t deserve it.

“Ah’ just wanted to pay my respects . . .” the mare answers, pulling more of her hat over her face.

Tiara spins on her heels. "What did you say?!" she demands, grinding her teeth into powder. Her eyes flash with irritation as she stomps over to her foe.

Spoons recoils. Her eyes darts left and right, searching for a refuge. The storm was going to make landfall any minute.

“Ya heard me...”

“Well, you can’t! I’m still here and he’s my father. Mine. Who do you think you are?”

“Ah’ know that.” She raises her Stetson of just a bit, but not enough to meet Tiara’s eyes. “It’s just that . . . Ah’ wanted to see if you were okay.”

“What’s up with everypony tod-” Tiara halts mid-sentence. She realizes with some grudge that the mares question is legitimate. Yet the profound disgust she has for her enemy takes the better of her.

She couldn’t give less of a buck.

“Is everypony dense? How do you think I feel? And why should you care?”

“Because we’re f…”

“Don’t say that word. Don’t you dare. Or at least look me in the eyes if you have to say this load of crap!” She knocks her hat off her head with a weak slap.

The other mare has that same stern look she expected; it’s a look that has come to know and despise so well. This time there’s just a teaspoon of pity: the same she saw in her friend’s eyes. Those eyes keep judging and dissecting her, even now.

Not from you. I will not be pitied by you, too.

“After all we’ve been through, you still think that?”

“Let me think about that. Yes. Yes I do.”

“It always seems we’re still fillies when ah’m talking with you. You’re always stuck in the past.”

“This makes two of us, then.”

“Look, Ah’m sorry about your dad. Ah really am. Ah guess ah’m the last pony that can say that. Mah parents have been gone for so long an’ . . .”

“Then don’t say anything. You’ll look better.” Tiara wears a devious smirk, turning her back again on Bloom. She turns to Spoon with the same grin. She hopes the look will spur her into the same, mocking behavior of days long past.

Spoon only answers with an embarrassed look.

“. . . I almost can’t remember them . . .” Applebloom continues, unfazed. “Ah guess I know how you feel.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Tiara suddenly turns back to Bloom and glares into her eyes. Her face is so close that the yellow mare takes a step back, away from the flaring breath firing from her nostrils.

“Ah know more about that ya than ya want to admit.” Not only does she not look bothered in the least, but compassion dwells in her eyes again. The same compassion Tiara would rather spit back in her face.

“And ah think your dad would agree with me.”

Before she can even think of being outraged, a spit flies from her mouth and lands with force on the yellow mare’s cheek.

A powerful, tense silence follows, punctuated by Tiara’s frantic breath.

Applebloom stares at her, showing no more expression than a block of granite. She wipes her face clean, turning her back to Tiara and leaving in silence. She never turns once on her slow trot back towards her brother and sister.

Tiara snorts. Utterly ignored even after that.

A look of profound . . . disappointment is etched in Tiara’s eyes as she turns back to Spoon. She collapses once again onto her chest with a loud thud.

Acting on reflex, Spoon starts to caress her mane: “Whatever you need, I’ll be there for you. All right?”

Tiara nods, her chest buried in the thick mud. The swaying vegetation tickles her nose as the wind ripples through the grass all around her.

Laying down on her bed and rolling among the purple sheets many days later, those crude and offensive words still ring in her ears.

Not the words of that conceited smartass of a country hick, no, those words have been tucked away in that corner of her brain labeled “Cowardly Nonsense I Hear Nowadays Vol. II.”
With a sigh she acknowledges that she was, in fact, expecting those words from her.

It still hurt, though, but she’ll never gave her that satisfaction. She has already suffered enough.

No, the words that are bothering her are those underlined on her opened diary: too young. Everything that reminds her of Daddy, everything that could have meant some kind of continuation of everything he believed and excelled at . . . is being stripped from her. Those jackals say she’s still too young and inexperienced to handle the family business on her own.

One of his “friends” had come over. The grin on that old, fat slob as he had explained all the ways he was screwing her over makes her quiver with rage.

She doesn’t feel young. She doesn’t even remember what the word means.

She stopped being young the moment she was left alone by the only two ponies that ever said those three little words: “I love You.”

For once, she has to say the bumpkin was right about something: nothing changed. They still can’t stand each other after all these years and she’s back to square one. Progress canceled, growth halted and just a little filly remains. A lonely little filly that, on top of feeling miserable, has become a shut-in.

She has been pitied enough that day to last a lifetime. She had guessed afterwards that disappearing for a few weeks was the most intelligent thing to do. Wallowing in the so-called “grieving period.”

The only thing keeping her company is her father’s portrait hanging above her bed.

There’s nopony to talk with obviously. If she’s really has stopped acting so young, then she must be an adult now. Sometimes adults have to remain silent.

She stares in those blue eyes made of paint and wonders what he would think of her, seeing his daughter in this pitiful state.

...

She’s quite sure he wouldn’t like to see her like this.

Alone and moping.

She stirs amongst the bedsheets. It would have saddened him, to see his daughter reduced to a corpse. Sad . . . just like his last days. It hurt to know he would have moved earth and sky to comfort his daughter. The least she can do is respect that memory.

After all, his daughter can’t disappoint him like that. Not again.

She unravels herself from the sheets and rises from the bed, looking for a mirror. She flails her arms about, blindly seeking it. The windows are shut and the thin strands of sunlight go anywhere but where she needs it.

She stumbles across the room, almost slipping on the platter on the floor and nearly breaking a leg.

Why didn’t she eat that again? Oh, right, its grass. The taste of everything that grows from earth is like swallowing mouthfuls of ash.

She opens the windows with a sharp movement, letting the warm sunlight reveal a bare, sterile room. Not a speck of dust lies on the floor, nor do clothes hang around in piles like they used to.

No reason to live in a garbage bin. If the maids lacked the courage to enter her room and at least sweep the floor, then she’d have to get her hooves dirty. Never mind how much the thought bothers her.

She has come to despise the dirt these last few weeks. She would scrub the very word if it were possible. Dirt reminds her of a certain day, and the feeling of wet sludge under her hooves. It reminds her of rain, and days long past. Most importantly, it reminds her of her. Being sullied by dirt is for the likes of her.

She has to remain pure, in body and soul.

Speaking of purity, she eyes her bathroom. She slips inside and takes a long, cold shower. She yelps at the cold touch of water but steels herself, loosening her nerves and letting her muscles awaken. She must cleanse herself from all that is old and tedious.

She takes her tiara, her glistening namesake, from the headstand and opens the door, returning to the world.

There is nopony there to greet her. Her hoof steps resound in the empty estate.

Of course . . . Still too early. For those slouches, anyway.

The Sun had risen just a couple of hours ago, after all. It’s earlier than usual for her. The sun hangs low in the sky; it’s the first time in days she’s seen a sunrise.

She heads outside, walking down the long steps in front of her mansion and glances for the carriage parked in front.The stallion that is supposed to pull it is still strapped to the harness, slumbering deeply on all fours.

She approaches him, bothered by his heavy, noticeable snorting. She leans into his ear.

“WAKE UP, YOU BOOB!”

Tiara’s shout is capable of raising the dead. The poor stallion is startled so much that he awakens, screaming and whinnying, and stands on his hind legs as he flays his helpless forelegs in the air. “Who the hay was . . .” he goes silent once he sees the smirking face of Tiara.

“M-Mistress Tiara! G-Good morning! I-I’m sorry...”

“You should be, you’re crude and unpleasant.” She takes a look around, sneering at her surroundings “Just you? Where are the others?”

“Well, nopony showed up yet since yesterday evening, when you . . .” She glares at him with homicidal intent. Her eyes stare mortality and death. There is no mercy in those black marbles.

He gulps. ”I mean when you . . .”

“Continue . . .” she says between her teeth. “When I did what?”

A quivering breath is drawn from the driver. “When you had that disagreement with the servitude...”

The young mare rolls her eyes in response. “And what are you still doing here?”

“I j-just . . . I . . .”

“Just take me into town.” She gets into the carriage, her every movement followed by the stallion’s eyes.

“Next time you want to sleep, just come inside.” She slams the door, busting out in a laughter.

The only good boutique in that dusty old village, and the only mare who knew anything about fashion, were long gone.

Lucky for her, at least.

The fashionista had started a remarkable business over in Canterlot, and one of her department stores had replaced the grand boutique. A chain store where talentless noponys work, but at least she could settle for some pret-à-porter while she’s in town, just to wear something different than black.

She already has an order placed for clothes tailored by the great Rarity, but she’ll have to settle for these in the meantime.

I’m sick of wearing black.

The grieving period finished the precise moment she stepped out the front door, and if anypony has something contradictory to say about it he’s going to be devoured whole. She’s alive and in need of brilliant colors, both garish and lively. Life goes on and is made of all the colors in the world, and the mare in the mirror, clad in her stupefying green gown, certainly agrees. The mirror reflects dignity, class and beauty: everything she has to be.

“So...have you decided then, Miss?” asks the clerk beaming at her from behind the pile of clothes discarded nearby.

“Yes, I have. I’ll take everything!” She turns and takes a look at the dress from her side.

“Wonderful, then! I’ll prepare the bill, or I should I put everything on your account?”

“Sign everything to my account. Also, I’m wearing this...” She points to the dress.

“You look amazing, Miss!”

“I know.”

The bell at the door rings, announcing a new customer. A bluish grey mare enters the shop with a wearied look hidden behind turquoise glasses, and is immediately greeted in silence by the shopkeeper. Tiara eye’s wander over the mare, unaccustomed to recognizing faces after such a long time. She gives her a tentative call.

“Spoony?” Her voice gains a hopeful mien the moment the other mare turns toward her. It is indeed who she hoped it would to be, and her complacent smirk becomes a wide grin of pure joy.

“SPOONY!” Tiara jumps in front of her in her frilly outfit, and grips the mare in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh my gosh, Spoony! I’m so happy to see you! Like, a lot!”

“Tiara?” she squeaks. “ I haven’t seen you since you know...Where have you...?”

“Secluded and depressed. Not much, really.”

And there it is: her friend throws her the same mortified look she has come to know and despise. She only accepts it because it comes from her only friend. “Enough with the gloomy faces, come on! By the way what were you doing here? Were you following me, by chance?”

“Huh...I...” She stops right there, shifting her eyes left and right while biting her lip. Tiara just cocks her eyebrow.

“I’m just joking, Spoon! Sheesh . . . Did you have an order here or something?”

“Yes! Yes, I did!”

“Good. Then it’s on me!” She turns to the clerk. “Be a dear and sign me that, too alright?” The clerk nods and Tiara redirects her attention towards Spoon. “Let’s go outside, shall we?”

Spoon runs ahead of her and holds the door open for Tiara, giving her a gracious bow, which is returned by a lighthearted giggle from Tiara. She’s deeply amused by this gesture, but more so from the fact that it came out of nowhere.

Exiting the boutique, Tiara wraps her foreleg around Spoon’s shoulders, and gives her a quick nip on the cheek. “Good ol’ Spoony. Well not that old! You look good, like a lot! Is it that diet you told me about?”

“You too, Tiara. You look . . .” she risks a glance and eyes Tiara with thirsty eyes, “. . . gorgeous.”

“Aaawww! Thanks, Spoony! You don’t look bad, either.”

“You weren’t busy, were you?”

“Nah, I was just finishing up in there. But you know, I was thinking of going to Canterlot this afternoon to see some real shops.” She gestures to her clothes. “This look is halfway decent.”

“Speaking of Canterlot . . . How about, you know, catching up? Like I said I haven’t seen you in a while and I . . . I missed you.”

“Sounds great, actually. Finally, somepony I’ve been wanting to see after all this time. You have somewhere in mind?”

“Well, there is that club, the one where the Canterlot socia-elite frequent . . .”

“‘Fancy Pants’ club? That one? Whoa, Spoony. You have some expensive tastes,” she snickers.

“Well, yeah. Reservations are, like, a pain. If only we had planned it sooner” she adds with a sigh.

“Spoony . . .” Tiara puts her forehooves around Spoon’s shoulders, struggling a bit to meet her height. “Who am I?”

“Uh . . .” Spoon is at a loss, like a shipwrecked mare on a uninhabited island. “You are, um, Diamond Tiara?”

“That’s right. So leave it in my hooves and just relax because-”

She is interrupted as a round, brown shell smashes into her in the head, and plummets to the ground.

“What the hay?” She massages her injured temple and takes a look around. A squirrel ascends a nearby tree, pausing on a branch and munching on something she can’t recognize. She takes a look around at the ground and sees a nut lying nearby. A quite large one, in fact, lying across from the direction she saw the animal.

“Excuse me for a second...” she says to Spoon. She, very calmly picks up the fruit and aims at the tree, closing an eye and sticking her tongue out in concentration. With a sharp flick of her hoof, she throws the makeshift bullet at one branch in particular.

A blunt noise is heard and a tiny figure plummets to the ground without a sound.

“So...” she returns her attention back to the astonished young mare, “is Nine O’Clock good for you?”

Spoon just chuckles nervously.

Author's Notes: Many thanks to SerenityViewer for helping me proofread this. He rocks!