Close Bonds: Chapter 30

“Here,” Cream says, extending her forehoof out to you. “Let’s get you out from under there.”

As with everything else, you hesitate; just as well, however, you take her foreleg in the crook of yours. Her grip is surprisingly firm, and with a brief yank she has you out from under the table and onto your hooves.

You duck your head to avoid being clipped by the underside edge of the table as you emerge. She holds your hoof up at chest level for a moment before releasing. You slowly allow your hoof to touch down in the dirt, not sure what to make of the whole thing.

“Welp, I have to get going,” she suddenly announces. “If I wanna be home by afternoon, I gotta start on this job…” Her eyes land on a nearby clock. “...five minutes ago.” She turns, trotting away at a brisk pace and calling over her shoulder, “See ya later, Scoots!”

“Huh? W-Wait!” you find yourself calling out. She stops, allowing you to catch up to her.

“What is it?” she asks, her eyes wide in apparent surprise. “Do you have something important to tell me?”

“I…” It’s only now that you realize that you don’t know what you’re going to say. That, and you have the strangest feeling that you’ve been played somehow. “Th-Thanks.”

She dismisses it with a hoof. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re a petite filly, it was easy enough.”

What? You shake your head. “No, no, not that… I mean, thanks for that too, but I was talking about, you know, covering for me. From Ivan.” You let out a relieved chuckle, wiping your brow to emphasize your next statement. “I would’ve gotten in a lot of trouble had he seen me.”

“Hey, no problem, kid. Remember, you need anything, Auntie Cream’s got ya covered, alright?”

“Alright.”

You think she’s going to walk off again, but she just keeps standing there. “...Anything at all. If you need someone to talk to, or need some advice…”

You cock your head.

“...or if there’s anything wrong, or you need some advice…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“...or you need someone to talk to...”

“Are you pushing something?”

She tilts her head in confusion, one ear staying up while the other flattens against the side of her head. “What? No, no no. I’m just saying that if you ever need some advice, or—”

“I get it, alright?”

She smirks impishly. “You don’t seem like you get it.”

You groan audibly. She just laughs, and continues to trot off.

You watch her bounce along happily, almost a skip in her step. You want to leave, you want to just lose her in the crowd and never see her face again, but some part of you just finds the mare so strange, so fascinating…

Well, maybe not fascinating. You’re not fascinated with her, it’s more of a morbid curiosity. Despite having been defeated, despite having had her life derailed and shoved in a direction she can barely control, the day seems to go on as if nothing’s changed—hell, she acts like the sun shines just for her.

Wasn’t it just the other day that she was a slobbering mess on Ivan and Rainbow’s couch?

You don’t call out for her to wait this time, rather preferring to wordlessly catch up with her. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, but a smug look coincidentally crosses her face at the same moment that you’ve come to her side.

You suddenly find your fruit salad being levitated in front of you. “Don’t want you to go hungry,” she says, still looking ahead. You stare at it for a second while the two of you walk before taking it in your teeth and tucking it under your wing.

“You’re not going to eat it?” she asks you.

You shake your head. “No… I’m not really hungry now. I’ll save it for later.”

“I don’t blame ya.” She’s silent for a beat, using the moment taken to somehow change the mood. “So… What’s really going on?”

Your voice catches in your throat as you try to formulate a response. “I—What do you mean?”

You know exactly what she means. You know exactly what she means.

Really, your question lies not in asking what she means; what you really meant by that was, Where to begin?

“I didn’t want to push it, but… Ivan’s hiding something. I knew I wasn’t going to get it out of him, at least not without upsetting him.” She eyes you. “And that’s okay, because I didn’t need to ask him. I have you here.”

Her bluntness take you back. “I… Uh… What exactly do you want to know?”

Celestia, you feel so stupid right now. If she feels the same way, though, she doesn’t show it. “Well… He got pretty uncomfortable when I mentioned that bruise. I mean, I guess his excuse is pretty legit, but with the way he was acting…” She looks to you again.

“Yeah, well…” You scratch the back of your head. Do you tell her? Ivan didn’t want to tell her, maybe there was a reason for that.

It could just be the fact that he might not want Cream to worry. As long as you’ve known him, he’s never been one to really let others know when something's bothering him. Well, except for last night.

Another reason you can think of—a pretty important one, at that—is that you’re pretty sure Rainbow could get in trouble for hitting him. That’s assault or something, isn’t it?

Do you risk letting Cream know what happened? She seems pretty close to the both of them, but you still don’t know her that well; she could decide that what’s happening needs to stop, and go to the guard or something. Your family could get split up—Rainbow could go to jail, and you might get taken away again. Sent out of Ponyville.

You could just pretend you don’t know what happened.

The sound of her voice takes you off-guard. “Rainbow Dash and Ivan didn’t get into a fight or something, did they?”

“No, no,” you find yourself quickly assuring her, realizing your mistake all too late. Well, so much for pretending.

You could just lie to her. Then again, something about this mare tells you that she’d see right through you.

You sigh. “It wasn’t like that. They did fight, but… not like hoof-fighting or anything. Except Rainbow kind of...”

Cream’s eyes widen. She stops walking and holds a hoof out to stop you as well.

“She didn’t… hit him, did she?”

You gulp. This is bad. This is bad. You shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve played dumb. Should’ve played dumb.

Your reaction tells her all she needs to know. “Oh, Celestia. I mean, I know Rainbow gets kind of snappy sometimes, but… Well, I guess I’ve only known her for a month or so…”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

She snaps out of her musings at your pleading. She looks down at you, her face taking on a kind of pitying look.

“How are you handling this, Scootaloo?”

The question takes you aback. The thought had never occurred to you that somepony would actually ask how it affects you... Ivan and Rainbow were the ones fighting. Rainbow took the heat from Ivan for you last night; you should’ve gotten out, no harm done. But yet…

“It… It really sucks. It really fucking sucks.” Cream doesn’t blanch at your word choice. She simply continues to listen with her ears perked, her expression showing all concern and attentiveness. You let it all out on her; everything you’ve been feeling for the past few days just spills out of your mouth. “I mean, they’re all yelling at each other and stuff, and I have to listen to it. Every time one of them shouts I can hear it through the walls, and I have to cover my ears with my pillow because it makes me flinch every time. And I just feel so bad for both of them because it feels like whoever’s being shouted at is just so helpless, and I feel so helpless because I know that if I try to stop it they’ll just get mad at me and then I’ll be the one being yelled at… And it just makes me so mad at both of them because they’re hurting each other like that. I love them both, which just makes it harder for me to decide who’s right or wrong.. Every time they yell, I wonder why they can’t just listen to each other; why can’t they just sort it out? Why can’t they just calm down and make up or something? But no. They just keep yelling and keep hurting each other, until Ivan runs out the door and I have to listen to Rainbow crying all night…”

Fuck, you really spilled your guts out on her. Too bad you really don’t care.

You find yourself gritting your teeth. Steam gushes out through your nostrils every time you release a hot, heaving breath. Damn, you really got worked up.

You feel Cream place a reassuring hoof on your shoulder. You feel it move it move up and down with the expanding and contracting of your barrel. It relaxes you a bit. Slowly, you begin to wind down a bit.

“The worst part is,” you continue without further prompting, “is that it was probably my fault. He was mad at me, for—” You stop, realizing who you’re talking to and how what you’re about to say might incriminate you.”—a—and Rainbow stood up for me, and instead of me, he just got mad at her instead. It’s my fault they’re arguing now. I should’ve just taken it, I should’ve—”

Cream pulls you close to her, burying your face in her soft chest. “Shh,” she whispers. “It’s not your fault, alright? You can’t think that way. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You swallow a lump in your throat. “B—But the same thing happened to my last family. Th—They all started arguing, and th—things got really bad, and—”

“That wasn’t your fault, either. Ponies in love just argue sometimes. That’s all there is to it. They’ll get over it.”

“But… what if they don’t?” Celestia, you feel like such a foal right now. But you need this. You need someone to talk to. Someone you can vent to, who, no matter how unrealistic it is, will tell you that everything’s gonna be alright.

Celestia knows you haven’t had that for years.

She releases you from the hug and fixes you with a smirk. “Hey, come on, kid. Have some faith. You think one argument’s gonna make them stop loving each other? Those two are close—” She sits back on her haunches and sticks her two forehooves together. “—like this.”

You look the other way. “Dad and Lyla were close, too…”

At this, Cream’s expression softens again. She sits there for a moment, seeming to be thinking about something.

Then, she gets up to her hooves. She turns in the direction she had been heading before, and looks back at you. She smiles a small, minute smile. “Come with me,” she says. “I have something to show you.”

The two of you arrive at the Ponyville Day Care Center. The place is pretty new, as far as you can tell. It’s pretty plain on the outside; just a building composed of many rectangles all attached in numerous ways, as modern architecture seems to dictate.

You’re not exactly sure what you’re doing here, but Cream seems to know where she’s going. You follow her as she enters the building.

The two of you walk through the main lobby. A pony at the reception desk looks up, but only for a second before seeming to disregard your presence and letting you pass by. Without a word, Cream pushes through a door.

The two of you traverse the hallways of the Ponyville Day Care Center for a little while. Many of the walls are painted. You look at the simple designs; a rabbit reading a book, a frog on a lily pad. They’re interesting enough to look at for a fleeting second before your mind gets bored and shifts its attention elsewhere—typical of a place made to hold busloads of foals.

Most of the time, there’ll be a pony trotting by with a purpose, having somewhere to be and some time to be there. Sometimes a smiling “teacher” will walk by, followed by a line of rambunctious fillies and colts. It’s always a funny break in the silence whenever you hear them pass, the sounds of their arguing and playing and squealing pervading the air. Occasionally, a door to a room left open as you trot past will provide this same experience.

Soon enough, Cream stops smack in the middle of a hallway. She turns, and with a smile, faces a blank wall. A blank, white slate.

“Well, I’m not being paid to stand around. Better get started,” she says, allowing her saddlebags to drop to the floor. She removes five miniature-sized cans of paint: red, yellow, blue, white, and black, and places them on the floor.

Oh, right. She mentioned she was painting here.

She pulls out a few brushes of different size and shape, laying them side-by-side next to each other. She pulls out a small white cup, about the size of one of the paint cans, and asks, “Will you please go and fill this up with water?”

“Oh, alright,” you say, taking the cup in your mouth. You make haste to a water fountain around the corner.

When you come back, you see that Cream has already begun painting. Using the black paint, she’s started painting outlines of what appears to be a beach, with waves lapping against the sandy shore and a half-drawn palm tree swaying in the wind.

Damn, she’s fast. And good.

You suddenly feel an unpleasant rumbling in your stomach, and remember that you still have your lunch with you. You take it out from under your wing and undo the paper wrapping Cream put it in to prevent it from spilling.

Wouldn’t want fruit salad all over the inside of your wing, after all.

You eat your lunch as you watch her go. After the initial sketches are done, she begins to make progress much more slowly, taking her time to make sure she gets all the details just right.

By the time you’re done with your food, Cream seems to be done painting the outlines; it’s quite a detailed picture, all it needs is some color.

The artist takes a few steps back, admiring her work. “Hey, you know, kid,” she says, turning to you, “if you wanted to, you could help me paint this thing.”

You gulp. You? Help her paint? “But… what if I mess it up?” You’d hate to ruin her artwork. It looks so nice, and you’ve never really painted before.

“Oh, it’s fine. Paint dries, and then you just paint over it. No biggie.” She grins. “Come on, don’t be scared. I’m not getting paid much for this anyway.”

“Well, I mean…” You look at the skillfully done work, and then think back to all of your school hoof-paintings.

“Why don’t you just help me with the base colors, then? I’ll tell you what colors need to go where and mix them for you.”

You rub your foreleg anxiously. You consider her request, but it seems you don’t really have much of a choice as she takes your foreleg and pulls you to your hooves.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!” she assures you as she drags you over to the wall. She lets go of your hoof once you’re there, but plops a small tin bowl into it.

“Hold this for a sec.” She takes both the blue and yellow paint cans in her magic and begins dumping small portions of each into the bowl, eyeing the concentrations of each until she seems satisfied. She then gives you a paintbrush.

“Here ya go. Mix it until it’s a nice even green throughout, and then start painting the leaves on that tree,” she directs, pointing to the palm tree.

“‘Kay,” you say, and start mixing. The colors stick to the paint brush, the colors swirling around each other before beginning to combine into a leafy dark green. While you do this, Cream floats paint cans around, mixing her own colors.

A thought pops into your head. “Hey, Cream?”

She talks while she works. “Yeah, Scoots?”

“How come you paint with your hooves and not your magic?”

“I started painting before I knew how to magic, kid,” she explains. “I can still paint with my magic if I need to: like, say, I need to paint something high up and don’t want to use a ladder. But I prefer working with my hooves. Feels more natural.”

“Huh.” You look down into your bowl. The paint seems to be mixed enough.

“Make sure not to paint over the lines,” she instructs. “I like to start by coloring in the parts really carefully near the lines, and then filling in the middle afterwards.” She demonstrates this technique on a section of the trunk of the palm tree. “Like so.”

“Alright,” you say, trying what she says. Literally the first thing you do is paint over the line. “Aw, crap.”

“Scootaloo! There are foals here!” She looks around, checking to make sure the hallway is clear.

You roll your eyes, but don’t say anything in response.

She glares at you for a few seconds, then looks at what you’ve done so far. That’s when you cringe.

She notices the mis-paint, and just shakes her head. “Is this what you’re getting so worked up about? I really don’t get why you’re so worried about it.”

“You told me not to paint over the lines, and the first thing I did was mess up…”

“Yeah, and I also told you it was okay to mess up.” She points to the streak of green paint overlapping the outline. “We’ll just reconnect the lines when the paint dries.”

“And how long will that take?”

She shrugs. “Probably before we’re done with everything else. Don’t worry about it, kid.” A glove floats out Cream’s saddlebag and pats you on the back. You give her a deadpan look, to which she responds by chuckling. “Now, I would be mad if you painted over the entire line with green, because then I would have to draw a whole new line and I’d know you were doing it on purpose. But you’re not doing it on purpose, and this,” she gestures to the small mistake, “is fixable. Just give it a little time, and we’ll patch it up.”

You don’t say anything, choosing to stare at the little green streak for a little while.

The glove boops you on the nose. You smack it out of the air and it hits the ground, causing Cream to laugh. “Come on, we’ve wasted too much time. Just be a little more careful from here on out, and we’ll see where we are when you’ve finished coloring your tree.”

Your talk with Fluttershy gave you a lot to think about… well, aside from the problems already weighing heavily on your mind.

You hung around the house until the smell of tea and pancakes started to make you go crazy. As per your routine, you went outside and exercised for a bit. As of late, you’ve been focusing a lot more on things like pushups instead of wing-ups, running instead of flying…

You think you’re starting to get back into shape. Not flying shape, of course. You’ve been able to feel your wing atrophying for weeks. Just the bad one; your good wing still has enough strength to carry things and stuff, and the fact that one is so much stronger than the other drives you crazy.

Still, you feel pretty good about how much your running has improved. You were always decent, but you’ve never exactly been an amazing runner. That’s starting to change.

The feeling of your hooves pounding the dirt at an even pace, synchronized with your long, steady breaths, sucking in the cool passing breeze… It helps get your mind off things. Makes you feel good.

Of course, you don’t get the same feeling then as when you’re flying. It doesn’t give you the same rush that freefalling does, nor the exhilaration of having complete and utter freedom as you soar through the air, performing loop after barrel roll after after dive. After a particularly awesome trick, you might look down to check if anyone saw. Maybe Ivan would be taking pictures with his iPod, and—

Ahh, Ivan. Back to reality now.

You sit on a grassy hill in the middle of the park. Sweat drips down your cheeks, catching any passing breezes and helping to cool you down through your thin fur coat. Your heart thuds in your chest, accompanied by the sound of your choppy breathing.

You roll onto your back and begin doing crunches. A pair of shorts and a sweatshirt keep the chill off of you, because no matter how good that breeze may feel, it could very well be the reason for a future case of pneumonia. Your mane and tail are braided to keep them out of the way as well.

You catch yourself wishing Ivan was here to see you again. He always said that you looked cute in your workout clothes; you never really thought so, but once he said that, you’d started wearing them more often, making it a point to catch his eye when you passed.

Music lightly flows into your ears through the earbuds connected to his iPod. He’d started letting you use it a little while back, after you two started dating in secret. You never listened to music while you were flying; it was unsafe, and you didn’t really need the extra entertainment anyway. But it helped a lot with the repetitive drollness of muscle workouts. When a good song came on, you’d always get pumped, egged on by the upbeat encouragement or hollering accusations of angry ‘rockers,’ as Ivan called them.

I see your shadow on the street now…

A new song begins, one you recognize but aren’t all too familiar with. You don’t pay too much attention, allowing the lyrics to settle at the back of your mind as you focus on your burning abs.

Around crunch eighty, a line in particular strikes you.

How can I do this to you right now? You’re over there when I need you here…

Your pace quickens. You grit your teeth.

My happiness is slowly creeping back

Crunches are too easy. They’re too easy, if you can think right now you’re not tired enough. Do some pushups.

You flip onto your stomach and pump out five pushups, before rolling onto your back and doing the same amount in crunches.

Now you’re at home, if it ever starts sinking in

Sweat and spittle fly off of your snout as you relentlessly repeat this pattern as quickly as possible, clenching your jaw all the while.

It must be when you pack up and go~

On one of the turns, your hoof loses traction in the moist grass, causing you to slip and flop belly-down in the turf. You lie there for awhile, your chin against the ground and all four legs sprawled out against the earth.

My happiness is slowly creeping back. Now you’re at home. If it ever, starts sinking in. It must be when you, pack up and go.

My happiness! Is slowly creeping back. Now you’re at home! If it ever, starts sinking in, must be when you; pack up and go~

This refrain sticks, for some reason. Even when the song is long over and the next one has begun, this line just keeps repeating itself over and over.

And then it hits you. The last part sounds like Ivan; just seeming to pack himself up and taking off whenever something happens.

My happiness is slowly creeping back… It must be when you, pack up and go.

You shake your head. Don’t think like that, don’t think like that. You love each other. You still love each other, even after all the fights you’ve had. He’s stayed with you through worse. It will be okay. It’ll be fine.

Still, the image of him singing this to you while he plays his guitar… Just those two sentences. It bothers you. You can’t get it out of your head.

You know he doesn’t think like that. He loves you. He played that guitar for you that very first night. He’s always cared for you. He wouldn’t be happier if you—he wouldn’t—

“Hey, are you okay there?”

You open your eyes. The voice is male and somewhat familiar, yet you can’t quite place your hoof on who it is.

You realize that you’re just laying there, sprawled out on the grass, and feel your cheeks heat up. You jump to your feet, brushing yourself off.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I was just—” You stop when you see who it is.

Thunderlane.

He was one of your coworkers back when you were part of the weather team. He was a co-captain alongside you and cloudchaser; quite good at his job and a pretty good flier, you had to admit.

But this fucker also used to hit on you all the time.

And as soon as you see his face, you know you’re not in the mood to put up with his shit.

You immediately pull down the collar of your shirt, showing him your tuft you’d grown out over the past months. “Taken, buddy. Not interested.”

He takes it in for a moment. He smirks. “Wow, look at you. Looks like you’ve been growing it awhile, too. Never took you for the kind of mare to settle down, stay with one stallion, y’know?”

“Yeah, well, turns out I am. Which means get lost.”

He lets out an amused snort. “I was just making sure you were okay. Jeez.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking smugly at you. “Really, Dashie? You really think I’m here to try to pick up on you, while you’re hurt and vulnerable? What kind of stallion do you think I am?”

You’re about to shout a retort, but then you notice Rarity approaching. She dons a fancy-looking hat, accompanied by a pair of matching sunglasses and a colorful short skirt. What she’s wearing doesn’t matter to you, though; you’re just glad for somepony to get this idiot off your flank.

She walks up beside Thunderlane, all smiles as she looks between the two of you. “Good morning to you, darling! I trust all is well?”

You give her the shortened version. “Everything’s fine, Rarity. I was just in the middle of my daily workout when he showed up.” You glare at the stallion.

Rarity raises an eyebrow. “Oh, well I hope he wasn’t disturbing you. It wasn’t his fault; we saw you lying—err, exercising, and I asked him if he would be a dear and check up on you while I went to use the ladies’ room.” She flutters her eyelashes at him, to which he smiles.

Your jaw drops. “Wait a minute—you two—” You look back and forth between the pair, unable to believe that Thunderlane somehow got in with the pristine, elusive Rarity. You scowl. “When did this start?!”

Neither of them seem to pick up on your tone. They’re making doe eyes at each other. “This is only our… third date?” Thunderlane confirms this with a nod. Rarity breaks from her gaze to look at you. “He was such a gentlestallion… He had come to my boutique to order a suit for a date. We talked for a bit; it was mostly me giving him advice, but he still presented himself as a courteous and polite pony. At the time, I found it to be such a shame that such a well-mannered young colt was taken, but I wished him luck on his date nonetheless.”

Courteous? Well-mannered? You stare disbelievingly at the very same pony whose favorite phrase you remember being ’tampon-socket.’

Rarity continues on with her story. “It was by chance that I happened to run into him at the market a week later. I inquired about his date, and nearly had my heart broken when I saw the look on his face. We talked for a bit, he helped me carry my groceries back to the boutique… And when he came the next day to make his final payment on the suit, he asked if I would like to go on a date with him.” She smiles at the fond memory. “Of course, I said yes.”

You look suspiciously at the subject of Rarity’s admiration. He throws you a smug grin. “Right…” you say, sneering at him while Rarity is still caught up in her little fantasy land. “Well, I think I’m going to get back to my workout now. I still have flutter kicks and… other stuff to do.”

She snaps out of her reverie and nods. “Oh, of course, dear! We’ll leave you to it.” She throws you a quick grin. “I’m sure Ivan appreciates you keeping in shape like you do, hmm?”

You say nothing. Rarity doesn’t seem to notice your dour mood, as she chirps on. “Perhaps we should get together sometime. All four of us; a double date!” she suggests excitedly.

Thunderlane snickers. You roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure. We’ll do that sometime.”

She catches your sarcasm this time. “Oh, don’t be so unpleasant, Rainbow Dash. I understand you’re not exactly one for over-the-top outings and such, but it doesn’t have to be a dinner at a five-star restaurant.”

“It’s not that,” you mutter. This garners a concerned look from Rarity and an eyeroll from Thunderlane. Neither of them press the issue, however.

“Well, we’ll be off now. Swing by the boutique sometime, darling. We don’t see each other often enough.”

“Yeah, see ya, Dashie,” Thunderlane echoes. You give him the evil eye.

The two trot off together, happily chattering away. You watch them for a minute or so, before shaking your head and returning to your workout.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the iPod. At some point, the earbud jack came out, causing it to pause one of the songs midway through. Not wanting to accidentally run across a song like the last one again, you switch to your ‘metal’ playlist and pick a random song.

You turn the volume all the way up, drowning your thoughts in the music as you begin to run.

Author's Note

You turn the volume all the way up, drowning your thoughts in the music as you begin to run like mayweather.

I honestly love some of these comments my proofreaders throw in there.

Felt like the pacing got a little off at the end there, but eh. I'm just surprised I got this chapter out this soon. Probably would've been sooner had I not been writing about an Anon with a magic penis. lol

Edit: Jazzaman

Edit Edit: Song Here