"Scrap Paper" and "Pinkamena"
The hastily-scrawled sign read, "Sudden emergency. Back at 1:00." Rarity frowned, turned away from the library door, and scrutinized the clock tower in the distance. It read 1:04.
Really, Twilight, she thought, it's not like you to be anything but punctual. But to be fair, perhaps this emergency was worse than her friend had expected, and she would appear at any minute, asking forgiveness. Spike must not have returned from his latest business trip to Canterlot, or Twilight would have sent him to say she would be late.
Rarity knew Twilight kept an emergency key under a loose piece of rockery, but her first thought was to wait outside regardless, for politeness's sake. No sooner had she thought this than a shadow fell upon her, and she looked up to see a few dozen pegasi pushing dark clouds into a broad, thick mass above town.
She frowned again. Yes—Rainbow had mentioned something about a thunderstorm scheduled for today. And here came the wind a first sprinkle of rain. In the streets around, passers-by began to trot for cover.
Well, I'm certain she will understand. Rarity glanced around to be sure nopony was looking, then retrieved the hidden key, turned it in the lock, and ducked inside as the rain began in earnest.
Though Spike had only been away a few days, the library's organization had already begun to fly off in all directions. The main floor's central table, and all but one of the chairs, were stacked high with books, scrolls, and crabbed notes. Rarity's first thought was to pass the time by tidying up, but it occurred to her this was probably Twilight's own particular type of creative chaos. Rarity pulled the last unoccupied seat away from the table and sat down to wait.
The first lightning flash cast the darkening room into eerie contrast. In that quarter-second, Rarity's eye happened to fall upon an odd sliver of shadow on the floor, midway between the table and the window. As the thunder rumbled, she looked again, peering through the deepening darkness, and vaguely wondered what it was.
If Rarity had ignored that shadow, the rest of her day would have passed quietly. But something compelled her to light the kerosene lamp from the table and carry it to where she had seen that shadow. The thickening clouds were bringing on a sort of midday dusk, and the bright lamplight recreated that strange thin shadow as Rarity approached its source. One end of a rather short piece of floorboard, likely put there to replace a rotten section of one of its neighbors, stuck upward ever so slightly.
Most would have ignored this, but Rarity's perfectionism compelled her to push down on the offending end. Though it yielded, it rose back up when she raised her hoof from it.
Something was under there.
Her curiosity piqued, Rarity put the lantern down and magically pulled the board loose. There was a gap beneath, filled with dog-eared, coffee-stained papers.
Once, Rarity would have snooped. But having recently been on the receiving end of such shenanigans, she had been trying to get better about it. Resolving to ask Twilight about the papers later, she moved to replace the board. But almost by accident, she glanced at the topmost page and saw the letters "R-a-r-i-t-y." She froze, blinked, and looked again. Yes, there was the capital "R" signifying a proper noun. It was her name, all right.
"Well," she said, thinking aloud, "if you're going to write about somepony, you had better expect her to be interested!" With that, she drew the sheaf from its hiding place and began to read in the lamplight.
I wrapped my forelegs around her, and drew her close enough to feel her quickening breath.
Rarity's body stiffened, but she did not resist. I began to nuzzle one side of her neck...
Rarity's eyes widened. She lowered the page for a few seconds, then re-read the opening paragraph. Her attention now held fast, she perused the rest, word by word. Three quarters of the way down the page, the scene ended with the narrator laying Rarity flat on her back. The vignette was clearly unfinished.
Her mind still not fully comprehending the ramifications, Rarity placed the page aside and began to read the next.
Rarity nickered in animalistic pleasure as Twilight stroked her sensitive belly.
Little by little, her hooves moved lower...
"By Celestia..."
She began skimming the pages rapidly. Some of the stories were told in the first person, while others detailed Twilight's actions in the third. All of them involved Rarity. Most did not involve much preamble, nor a lot of denouement. The longest was eight single-spaced pages. Others were not stories at all—just descriptions coupled with action, and then abandoned.
In the back of Rarity's mind, there percolated the thought that Twilight might walk in at any second. But curiosity—perhaps of more than one kind—kept her going. As she made her way through the stack, the actions and descriptions grew more intense, and she caught herself breathing a bit faster. Halfway through the collection, she paused to fan herself with a page.
"Well!" she said to herself. "Who would have guessed Twilight felt this way? I suppose it's all very flattering. And I must admit, one could certainly do worse than her. But does she have to be quite so... lascivious?"
She skimmed the next few pages, then stopped again.
"Oh my gracious..." she murmured.
The stories had begun to change.
Twilight flicked the riding crop, first against one diamond pattern, then the other.
Crying out at each strike, Rarity pulled uselessly against the chains...
There was another, brighter flash from outside, and thunder followed almost immediately. The hairs on Rarity's back began to stand up as she went through page after page, each one's contents more twisted than the last. Whips and chains were only the beginning. Farther on, Twilight began using Rarity's own sewing tools as torture devices. Four fifths of the way through the stack, there was no longer any reciprocity, or even consent. Rarity's counterpart screamed in agony, and Twilight's laughed and cooed with sadistic glee. Reading it, she could almost feel the needles rending her flesh, and smell the smoke when Twilight scorched "T&R" into her hide with magic.
Rarity willed her turgid eyes to look away, but morbid curiosity overpowered her fear, and she turned the pages faster yet. Finally reaching the bottom of the last page, she recoiled at the vivid description of a razor passing across her throat, and her coat staining crimson with lifeblood. The last sentence had Twilight playfully licking at the wound.
At last, Rarity put the last page on top of the stack and leaned heavily on her fore-hooves, trying to steady herself. How long had Twilight been writing these? Was this some secret shame of hers, or was it the real Twilight? Had Rarity been friends with a facade these past two years? And now that her "friend" had indulged herself in writing of this sort, would it escalate farther?
Might Twilight's fantasies move beyond the written word?
From just outside the door, there came a clip-clop of hoof-falls.
Catalyzed by a bolt of fear, Rarity stuffed the papers back into the gap in the floor, slammed the board down upon them, seized the lamp, and lunged back toward the empty seat. Just as she regained it, the door swung open, and Twilight Sparkle, mane sopping wet and hooves muddied, stumbled through.
"Rarity! I'm so sorry for being late, but..." Twilight took a few steps toward her friend before realizing she was dripping on the floor. "There was a big argument at Town Hall..." She turned around and wiped her hooves on the mat, then shook herself, dog-like. "I had to mediate between the Mayor on one side and half the farmers on the other..." She trotted to the nearest chair, lifted a stack of books from it, and plopped down. "I've learned you just can't plan for these things. Sorry again."
"Oh, it's quite alright. I wasn't bored." Rarity had spent the last few seconds trying to calm her breathing and assume a nonchalant composure. Now, she could not help sneaking a glance back at the hidden alcove. There had not been time to replace the loose board properly, and one end still stuck upward—more so than it had before.
What if Twilight noticed?
Further, had Twilight seen Rarity retaking her seat in a rush?
"I'm so glad," Twilight said. "I must be getting better about worrying, 'cause a few months ago, I would've beaten myself up for being so late. But I know you understand. Right?" She looked just a little concerned.
"Oh. Yes. Quite." Rarity unsuccessfully tried to meet Twilight's gaze.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
Rarity twitched a little. "W-wrong? Surely not. That is, er, yes. But, you know, it's the storm. A foalhood fear. Quite foolish, really. You understand, of course."
"Uh... alright."
It was a weak explanation. At the least, Twilight would wonder why Rarity's fear of thunderstorms had grown more acute since their first slumber party a year and a half ago.
Rarity noticed a rhythmic tapping from somewhere nearby. It took a moment to realize it was one of her own hooves against the floor. She willed the limb to stillness. How long had she been doing that without noticing?
Twilight, who had been staring at the unruly leg, raised an eyebrow. "Rarity, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes!" But even as Rarity said it, she realized her tone was a bit too vehement.
Twilight made as if to respond, but paused for a moment, apparently to consider her next words. Then she brightened.
"Hey," she said, "I don't know when Spike will get back, but I heard this storm isn't scheduled to end until tomorrow morning. Why don't you stay the night?"
Rarity's mind went blank.
"I mean, if you want," Twilight said. "It could be fun with just two of us."
The mares' eyes met for an instant. Rarity saw, or thought she saw, a little smile at the corners of Twilight's mouth. Again, her hackles began to rise.
"O-oh, I wouldn't want to impose..."
"Don't worry, Rarity. My house is yours." Twilight spoke casually—a little too casually, Rarity thought.
"Well, it's just that I, well, well..." Rarity tried to think of a reason to leave, but found herself babbling.
"Okay, seriously." Twilight said, now businesslike. "I know anxiety. And you can trust me with anything. So what's on your mind?"
Rarity rolled her tongue around in her mouth to loosen it, and considered her options. At last, she decided the only thing she could do was ask for the truth.
"T-Twilight, I am not sure how to ask this, but... Are you sure I know everything that you think of me?"
There was another long pause. Twilight looked away, brow furrowed, and bit her lower lip. Then she brightened, as if struck by an epiphany.
"Rarity, do you mean..." Her smile broadened, and she leaned forward. "If that's how you feel, you don't have anything to worry about!"
Rarity's heart leaped into her mouth.
"This is great!" Twilight continued. "And I thought you would never be into it." She hopped up and began closing the meager distance between them. "Now you should definitely stay the night!"
Exploding into action, Rarity sprang from her chair and galloped headlong out the door and into the storm.
"W-what the...?" Twilight stared, dumbfounded, at her friend's retreating form, then leaped forward and gave chase. "Rarity, wait!"
The two mares vanished into the raging storm.
There came a particularly heavy gust, and the door slammed shut.
* * *
Ten minutes later the door opened again, this time permitting entry to a small, stocky figure that walked on two legs. Tired by the journey from Canterlot, Spike dropped his umbrella, halfheartedly wiped his feet, and plopped down in one of the two unoccupied chairs.
He frowned when he saw no one else was home. He supposed Twilight must have gone out and forgotten to lock the door. And of course, the main floor was a mess. Worse, one of the lamps was burning unattended, which was not only wasteful, but also dangerous with so many loose papers about.
I'm gone three days, and the place starts falling apart, he thought, shaking his head.
He decided to do a little light reading before resuming his usual duties. Not wanting to disturb Twilight's research—at least, that was probably what this mess was—he picked up the lamp, approached the shelf closest to the window, and withdrew a book of short stories. As he turned back to the table, he noticed a wedge-shaped shadow on the floor.
He paused, approached the alcove, and clawed at the lid until it came loose. Then he picked up the papers within and scrutinized them.
"Better be more careful," he said to himself. "Somepony might have found this."
"Scrap Paper" and "Pinkamena"
Oct. 15.
Dear Diary,
I learned a lot of neat stuff today. Remember the weird lump that appeared on my chest a couple weeks ago? The clinic got my x-rays back, and they said I had something called a "vestigial twin." I was supposed to have a conjoined twin, (they said) but I absorbed the other one, and now there's a bunch of leftovers inside me. That lump is a piece of 'em starting to stick out for some reason.
Doc said it didn't look dangerous, but they could try and cut it out anyway, if I wanted. Of course, I told him no way, 'cause now I'll never be alone.
He looked at me kind of funny and said maybe he wasn't the kind of doctor I needed. What a kidder.
I think I'll call her "Pinkamena". I know that's my name, but she was right there when my folks gave me it, so it's kinda hers too. And I'm not using it anyway, except on paperwork 'n' stuff.
Doc gave me a copy of the specialist's report, which had a lot more cool info in it. I think I'll paste it in my scrap book.
Anyhoo, I have tomorrow morning off work, but I gotta be up bright and early to go help Fluttershy with her bunnies, so I'll say goodnight now.
G'night, Diary! Oh, and g'night, Pinkamena!
Love,
Pinkie
* * *
Oct. 16.
Dear Diary,
Today, I saw something really sad. I was helping out on Fluttershy's homestead, and one of her bunnies started giving birth. All the babies came out fine, except this little one with a screwy face. He was breathing pretty hard, so Fluttershy put him in this little case with oxygen tanks and hoses and stuff attached. But in a couple minutes, he just stopped breathing all of a sudden.
I helped Fluttershy dig a little grave under a maple. After we covered him up, she said he's gone somewhere better. That made me think of something. I asked her, if you can see when a soul leaves a body, just when does it get in there in the first place? She said she didn't know.
This afternoon, when I was on my mid-shift break, Mr. Cake took me aside and said I should wear an apron to cover the part where Pinkamena sticks through my chest, 'cause he noticed some customers staring at it. I guess it has gotten a little bigger since it showed up. I think it's funny—some ponies are just so squeamish! Pinkamena's not really gross, though. It's not like there's pus or blood or a face sticking out or something. But you know how some ponies are: if I try and tell 'em that, they'll think she's even grosser. Oh well.
See you tomorrow.
Love,
Pinkie
* * *
Oct. 18.
Boy, am I in a bad mood today.
I was hanging out with Rainbow, and she asked to see the part where Pinkamena sticks out. I said sure. Rainbow poked and prodded at it a bit, and kinda stirred the hair, trying to get a good look. But it was kinda hard, 'cause she was tickling me. (That's my hide, not Pinkamena's!)
Rainbow asked what the little stickey-outey-jaggey parts were. I think the Doc said they were bones or teeth or something. Rainbow said that's gross. I told her to apologize, 'cause that's my sister she's talking about. I mean, duh. And would you believe it? Rainbow wrinkled her snout and reared up and said it didn't matter, 'cause Pinkamena was dead.
Well, I got pretty mad and told her just what the specialist's report said: Pinkamena's not very big, and she doesn't even have all the right parts, but we share the ones she doesn't have, and the ones she does have kinda-sorta work. We share the same blood too. Rainbow apologized, but it was to me, and that's just not as good. I made her apologize to Pinkamena before I let her leave. It didn't sound like a for-reals apology, though. And she flew off in a big hurry right after.
So I went and talked to Twilight, 'cause I remembered she was right about Zecora and Luna and ponies like that. (You'd think certain ponies would learn from those times.) And you know what the worst part is? Twilight didn't understand either! She looked at me funny and asked if I knew Pinkamena doesn't have a brain. (How could she know a thing like that?) So I ran and got my scrap book, so she could see what else the report said: there's some brain-y stuff and spine-y stuff that's kind of snug up against my backbone.
Well, Twilight stared at those pages, and then she sat back on her haunches, and her face turned some pretty weird colors. I can understand the red from embarrassment at being so wrong, but what was with the white? It's not like there was anything to be scared of. I mean, she wasn't scared of Pinkamena when she didn't know she was there. Anyway, she got real quiet after that.
So I've been mad since then, but now I'm just kinda disappointed. I never thought Pinkamena wouldn't fit in. I know she's different, but I fit in, and she's in the same place, so why...?
Well, maybe things will look brighter in the morning.
Pinkie
* * *
Oct. 21.
Dear Diary,
This is a red-letter weekend! The Cakes and the foals are away, so we're gonna find out if I can run the Corner for a full two days. Day one has been okay, but I'm gonna have to get up extra-early tomorrow for the chores I couldn't get to on my own. (Gotta remember the trash, the floor, the windows, and the rest of today's dishes.)
It was pretty quiet this morning, but I wasn't bored. When nopony was in the shop, I just talked to Pinkamena. The thing about a friend who doesn't have a mouth is, she's a good listener. There's different kinds of friends: good for talking to, good for listening to, and good for back-and-forth. Too bad Pinkamena can only do one of those things.
Boy, I sure have been writing about my new (or, sorta-new-but-not really) sister a lot lately. But I guess that makes sense, since we have so much to catch up on.
~~A funny thing happened this afternoon. Roseluck came in and~~
Never mind. Eyes don't wanna stay open. See you tomorrow!
* * *
Oct. 22.
Dear Diary,
Well, this sure has been a weird day. My alarm didn't go off, and I woke up just in time to open the shop. I thought I was gonna be really behind today, but I looked around, and all those chores I mentioned last night were done. And then I noticed this dirt on my hooves—same color as the dirt on the path to the dumpster. There was some in my bed, too.
We're talking hard-left-turn-into-weirdsville here. I haven't sleepwalked since I was a filly, and I sure never did chores in my sleep. Should I talk to somepony about this? Maybe I'll just wait and see what happens. Nothing bad's happened so far, and hey, maybe I'll do all the boring chores in my sleep from now on.
(Aw, rats—I meant to write down the funny thing that happened with Roseluck yesterday, and now I forget it!)
Anyhow, the rest of today went fine, and tomorrow will be easier 'cause I'm just working in the kitchen. G'night!
Love,
Pinkie
* * *
Oct. 23.
I don't worry often, but I am really, really, really worried right now.
I woke up in the early afternoon today, and I was standing in the kitchen in my apron, and there was flour everywhere, and I had a whisk in my teeth, and Mr. Cake was yelling at me. Mr. Cake never yells. But now, he was so mad, his face had gone right past normal red and turned full-on crimson, and he was almost foaming at the mouth, which would have been funny if... actually, there's no way this would ever be funny. And that means a lot, coming from me.
When I apologized and asked him what was wrong, his jaw dropped and he just stared for a couple seconds, like he couldn't believe his ears. And I guess he really couldn't, because he asked where my head had been for the last ten minutes. I didn't remember anything, and told him so.
Now it was my turn to not believe my ears. He told me he had come into the shop late, and found me in the kitchen, moving around spastically, making a huge mess of things, like I was trying to bake but had no idea how. When he told me to stop, (he said) I told him to do something nasty, and kind of physically impossible. That's when he started tearing strips off me.
So I asked him (innocently!) if he had ever known me to say things like that. Big mistake. He actually snorted and kicked at the floor, and for a second there, I thought he was going to slug me. But he just told me to get out of his sight.
I've been locked in my room a few hours, and I'm kind of numb now. (That's another thing I haven't felt in a long time.) I always laugh at irrational fears, but ~~I don't know what~~ something really freaky is going on here. I think I'll turn in early. Crying really tires you out.
First thing tomorrow, I'm gonna go to the Doctor again.
* * *
im scared
chest hurts. belly feels all wrong. legs doing things on their own. can only sometimes move them
i dont know whats happening
trying to call for help. throat wont work
pinkie
pinkie
i KNOW yOu an read thiS
who
thiS is pinkamena
no
it IS pinkamena
how
we need to TALK
* * *
Nov. 13.
Dear Diary,
What a funny few weeks it's been!
Pinkamena and me had a long heart-to-heart (which is funny, 'cause we share the same one). Turns out I was right all along: she's not bad or scary when you get to know her—just sad and misunderstood. And who wouldn't be? She's been trapped for who-knows-how-long, able to watch and listen, but never do anything. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it!
But things are better now. We agreed to take turns being in charge. Pinkamena doesn't mind doing chores—says she finds 'em relaxing, and likes that she doesn't have to think too hard. She's been working on practicing fine movements and stuff, and when she's good enough at writing, I'll get her her own diary, as a congratulations present.
Speaking of which, I thought of throwing her a Congratulations-on-Contacting-the-Outside-World-After-Being-Trapped-in-Somepony-Else's-Body-Your-Whole-Life party, but she said she wanted to get to know everypony slowly. I guess even vestigial twins can't have everything in common.
It's pretty weird when Pinkamena takes over. I can see and hear and feel things, but can't do anything, except send her a little nudge when I want to take the body over again. I could try and force it, but that kind of hurts. Pinkamena promised not to break our body while she was using it (her sense of humor is kind of dry).
I convinced her to apologize to Mr. Cake, and to try not be so touchy from now on. She grumbled a bit, but she'll just have to learn these things if she's ever going to get along with ponies. Mr. Cake took some convincing, but when he finally came around, he didn't have much to say. He's kind of been walking on eggshells around us since then. Nopony's ever been scared of me before. I hope it doesn't last much longer, though Pinkamena thinks it's funny.
You can bet she was a pretty tough sell to my friends. When I went to introduce her, Rarity swooned and Rainbow reared up and Twilight turned funny colors again and Fluttershy hid in a tree and Spike ran off and AJ just kinda froze. But the first thing Pinkamena did was forgive Twi and Rainbow for what they said about her a while back, since they hadn't known any better.
Well, you can bet that visit lasted a long time! Once we'd coaxed Fluttershy down and found Spike, Pinkamena explained everything. Then we had to remind them about all the stuff we're supposed to be learning about friendship. (I can't have been the only one paying attention all this time... can I?)
It wasn't easy, but we've hung out a couple of times since then, and in the end, they warmed up to her. So in the end, our little circle of friends has grown. Now it's six mares, a dragon, and Pinkamena.
Life is good.
Love,
XXOOXO
Pinkie
