Tenebrosity

by Desideratium

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Opalescence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Rarity
Length: 2724

It's not the destination, but the journey, as they say.

The destination isn't necessarily the point of interest. It is more the experience, the journey that you go through to attain your goal.

Reading by The Living Library.

Published 2013-01-21 22:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-21 22:30:01 UTC

The Climb

Well, I suppose you could say that it began on a dark and stormy night.

Now, I hate this horrible cliché as much as the next pony, but I am simply setting the stage for this story. The night in which this . . . series of events . . . took place was indeed dark and stormy, and I lack a more acceptable set of descriptors to fit the occasion. So I’m afraid “dark and stormy” will have to suffice for now.

As I was saying, it took place on a . . . oh, forget it. I dearly hope that you understand what I am trying to convey by now, because I really don’t want to repeat it again.

I will, however, expound on the magnitude of the darkness and the storminess. I owe you that much, and it really adds to the ambiance of me story—the storm was like nothing I’d seen in Ponyville before. Nothing extremely major by our standards— no uprooting trees and tossing carts around—but it was enough to ruin my expertly-erected mane in a matter of moments. Now, normally, this would warrant death to the advocator . . . but I had other things on my mind.

You see, I was horrendously late on an order for several well-esteemed ponies from Canterlot, and I had been—if you’ll pardon the expression—working my plot off for the past twenty-eight hours, trying in vain to complete this next-to-impossible assignment. And, to make these insurmountable matters even worse, the unthinkable had happened just as I was nearing the completion of my eighth dress.

I had run out of fabric.

To be more specific, it was the gold-threaded weave that was so popular with the Canterlot upper class. I had been using the stuff for the lining on the hems of the dresses—a seemingly miniscule job, I had told myself. But alas, I was left with barely enough material to make a smallish handkerchief.

And so, I braved the storm to go and seek more. I could only hope that my contact was still awake at this dreadful hour.

I slogged through the mud, cringing at the vile, brown substance that seemed to be actively attacking my hooves. Fruitlessly, I kicked a bit off, sending a ribbon of murky fluid flying into the air. Some of it landed against my raincoat, where it effortlessly slid off, but the tiniest, miniscule amount found its way onto the tip of my nose. I resisted the urge to bat at it with my hooves; that would only accentuate my mess further. Instead, I took a deep, reassuring breath and battled on.

The rain poured down in torrents, falling in sheets off of my protective armor, my precisely lavender-tinted raincoat. The sheer force of the falling water weighed me down, doubling or even tripling the effort it normally took to walk. The clouds overhead released their loads unrelentingly—and it seemed that I was the sole target. The onslaught also impacted my eyesight as well; I could barely see the hoof that I waved in front of my face to check if I had indeed gone blind. Not complete blindness, not yet.

A wavering, barely-perceptible light in the distance motivated me to continue placing one hoof after the other. That light would herald warmth, and quite possibly the supplies that I needed. Granted, if Silver Lining was still at his shop—and I honestly wouldn’t blame him in the slightest if he decided to pack up and turn in early. No customer would want to slog through this awful weather.

I suppose I was the exception.

Finally, after what seemed like a decade and a half of trudging, Silver Lining’s front door became fully visible. The emblem of a roll of fabric with a needle piercing the side—which was also his cutie mark, incidentally—emblazoned on the door was suddenly clear. Emboldened by my victory, I raised a hoof and knocked thrice. Daintily, politely, despite my rush.

A clatter sounded from deep within the shop. It sounded like something heavy, multitudinous, and expensive. So Silver Lining was indeed awake, or had just recently become so, thanks to my interruption. A second rattle sounded—the shopkeeper was undoubtedly righting the mess that he had just made. I heard a muffled shout, something that sounded like “Just a moment!”

Take your sweet time, Mr. Lining. It’s not as though I can get any wetter, standing out here.

After another eternity, the sound of heavy hooffalls reached my ears. They grew louder and louder as their owner advanced on the door. I arranged my posture to suggest that I wasn’t the bedraggled mess that I appeared to be. I forced whatever felicitousness I still clung to into my body language—I could only hope that I looked up to snuff with my normal manifestation, and not this thoroughly-saturated eyesore.

With an ear-grinding creak the pierced the night, Silver Lining’s front door opened to reveal the light blue, silver-maned pony who owned the store. A pair of dark rings was displayed under his eyes, adding ground to my theory that I had rudely awoken him. Still, despite the lateness, a warm smile adorned his face—customary for the consistently cheerful salespony.

“Lady Rarity! What a . . .” Silver Lining floundered for a moment, taken aback by my appearance; soaking and unkempt as it was. “Surprise!” he finished, flashing his gleaming white teeth, a uniform set of alabaster pearls.

“Hello, Silver Lining,” I replied. I was wholeheartedly surprised that I kept the barely-manageable tremor out of my voice. “I hope it isn't too late . . .”

The stallion waved my worries down physically with his hoof, as though batting them out of the air. “Of course not, of course not. Never for a friend such as yourself. Why don’t you come inside, out of this dreadful weather?”

“Thank you. I much appreciate it.” Silver Lining stepped aside to permit me. I complied, smiling as best I could as I passed.

“Now, what brings you about my humble abode at this hour?”

“Well . . .”

I won’t force you to cringe through all the technical details of my purchase, or the embarrassingly long wait time that I endured whilst Silver Lining rummaged around in the back, trying locate the correct product. Bear in mind, all the while, I was still soaking wet and uncharacteristically unhappy—this night was not turning out to be the simple jaunt down to the shop that I had anticipated.

The aforementioned storm still raged on, increasing in magnitude, if anything. By the time I was out the door with my newly-claimed fabric tucked deep in my protective saddlebags, it had practically escalated into a smallish hurricane; trees’ roots were beginning to creak warningly and all the park benches were either on their sides or completely upside-down.

Unfortunately, even after claiming my purchase, my journey was only half-done.

I continued to trudge along through the gale-force winds, cursing the rain. Cursing the weather ponies for bringing it upon me. Cursing Celestia herself for even introducing the idea of weather to Equestria—sunny skies all the day would be just fine in my book. The lateness of the hour was also taking a toll on my willpower; my eyelids started to grow heavier and heavier, until it felt like I was carrying a pair of anvils on my face.

A shortcut might be nice at this point.

Before, on my initial journey, I had played it quite safe. I had taken the roads—the well-defined pathways that gave me a clear shot from Carousel Boutique to Silver Lining’s “humble abode”. Unfortunately, using the roads now could possibly double my walking time, and time was of the essence.

I had to get home before sleep deprivation took hold of me completely—I still had a dress and a half to create before tomorrow morning. The odds were not by any means in my favor tonight.

I glanced to the right. An alleyway had formed between the two adjacent buildings, a dark, musty space cluttered with trash and other assorted refuse. It was slightly drier than the outside world, given the shelter that Bon Bon’s house provided, but I was still hesitant to take the new route, despite the fact that it would likely cut the time of my return trip in half.

My reluctance could be traced back to an old factor that I had never felt at liberty to share with my other friends. Some, like Applejack and Rainbow Dash, would have considered the admission as weakness, as cowardice. Perhaps they would have been open about their mockery, perhaps not, but I knew that they would be thinking it. Their contempt for my well-kept secret.

I have an irrational fear of darkness.

Yes, it seems trivial and foalish, but that fillyhood fear had persisted, even throughout my adult life, and it caused me to hesitate. I hovered at the threshold of the darkness, waiting for it to take me. My teeth were firmly clamped together, mostly to stop them from clattering—I was to remain as quiet as possible, lest whatever lurked in the murky blackness were to hear me.

I wanted sorely to stay on the road. Periodic street lamps dotted the sides, providing enough illumination to keep my worries at rest. The road was a safe haven—wherever the light touched, I would be protected. This alleyway had no such guarantee, but it would considerably lighten my load, logically speaking.

I was torn—my logical side told me to take the alley and get back home safe in half the time, but the more prominent, superstitious portion of my mind reassured me that the journey wasn't that long. The rain was only a minor setback, right?

I ended up taking the alleyway.

In an attempt to reassure myself, I sent a mental pulse of willpower in the direction of my horn. Upon receiving my request, it lit brightly, throwing my immediate surroundings into sharp relief. I could see at least three steps in front of me, and I could make out every last detail on the old candy wrappers and broken bottles that littered the ground.

And yet the rest of my endeavor was still clouded in murky blackness that caused my heart to race so fast that it seemed to be bursting out of my bosom. My pulse rose to my throat, causing my windpipe to constrict. I began to choke, and my eyes watered reflexively. Tears streaming, I stopped to clutch at my neck, willing my breath to return. My muddy hoof drew a chocolate-colored stripe across my white fur, but I had more pressing matters to attend to, namely being able to intake oxygen.

After several deep, shuddering breaths, I could inhale normally again.

I hadn't realized it, but during my . . . fit, I had sunk to the ground in an unbecoming crouch. Mud had caked all four of my knees, and when I stood, it dripped down my legs, painting a set of brown strips down the limbs. I cringed.

Looking ahead, I could see only impenetrable tenebrosity. No light at the end of the tunnel in this situation, my dears.

I continued my trek, pausing periodically to check behind me for followers. All the while, my heart rate never dipped under two thousand beats per minute, or maybe that was just how it felt, given my energized mannerisms. My pace was quickened significantly—it came dangerously close to a trot. Every now and again, my hooves would nudge a bit of garbage and I would recoil reflexively, bringing my progress to a halt.

The silence was tangible. So thick, you could cut it with a knife. Again, here I go with the clichés. Stop me if it gets to be too much.

As I just mentioned, it was quiet. Too quiet. And as you could imagine, the slightest noise would cause me to jump out of my skin. So, as logical progression states, the previous must happen in the near future, and happen it did.

A sharp, high-pitched tone sounded out of the darkness. It was innocent, desperate even, but it still caused me to shriek in fright. Yes, I shrieked. Loudly. It probably woke Bon Bon and Berry Punch, but my fright was too potent to allow for any external event to interrupt it. My hair was on end, bristling like an agitated kitten.

The sound happened again. I still jumped, but this time, I managed to keep my vocal chords in check. And when I heard it for the third time, I barely even reacted. My fear was starting to dissipate, and at the same time, curiosity began to take its place.

A fourth time. This time, I tried to appraise the source. It was coming from ahead of me, residing somewhere in the darkness. And it sounded like it was coming from an animal of some sort, and not the extremely dangerous kind.

I advanced in the direction of my object of interest. My horn’s illumination slowly crept along the ground, moving in sync with my hooves. Bits and bobs passed on either side, but nothing resembling the source of the intonation.

All the while, the caterwauling continued, louder and more frequently than before, as if spurred by my presence. The volume increased as I walked, until it reached a crescendo.

My hoof nudged a large, brown object that appeared to have come out of nowhere: a cardboard box, tipped over on its side. It shuddered at the impact of my body part, and the desperate catcalling halted abruptly. Permeable silence fell, as both parties acknowledged the other’s presence. We couldn’t see each other yet, but it suddenly became very real that we were alike, in the sense that we were both prisoners in this alley.

Steeling myself, preparing for the reveal, my knees bent, splashing in the mud once again. I lowered my neck to peer inside the box’s opening, eyes narrowed.

Inside, a dirty kitten crouched in the corner. Wide, reflective eyes stared back at me, overwhelming fear apparent behind the orbs. Its mud-caked fur appeared to once be pearly white, but had lost most of its shine. The cat was thin as bones, with thick, matted fur barely clinging to the skeleton.

I stared at the kitten, and she stared back. We had reached an impasse; we both had no idea what to do next.

I burst into tears.

I don’t fully know why. Maybe it was the fact that this kitten probably hasn’t seen better days than this. Maybe it was the fact that I was so cold and helpless, that seeing that I wasn’t alone in my journey pushed me over the edge.

Maybe it was her eyes.

I took Opalescence home with me, tucked under my rain coat and wrapped in a bundle of fabric to keep her as warm as I possibly could, and in turn, her own meager body heat helped to warm my spirits.

The darkness was no longer a hindering factor. I had a new sense of purpose—I had to get home for an entirely different reason now. The dress order had now taken a backburner. Opal was the priority now.

The rest of the return trip seemed like only seconds, and Carousel Boutique suddenly loomed overhead, exuding warm, welcoming light. My tears, not yet faded, reemerged in full upon seeing the finish line, as it were. “We’re home, Opal,” I sobbed, opening my jacket enough for the bedraggled kitten to peer out. She seemed to understand, even though her perception on the world probably wasn’t the clearest.

To reassure her and myself alike, I repeated the words once more.

“We’re home.”

Author's Note

I apologize if the beginning seemed to drag a bit. This story was a bit of an exercise for myself, a practice on using situational descriptors, so I didn't put as much focus on pacing as I usually do.
And sorry for another sadfic. I didn't mean for this to become one, but there you go.

Fun fact: this story was originally supposed to feature Octavia and Crescendo from Melodious Desideratum, but I ended up tailoring it to Rarity and Opal instead. I might finish the other version at some time, and share it with you lovely people.
Cheers!