CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT - THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
“If you crush a cockroach, you're a hero. If you crush a beautiful butterfly, you're a villain. Morals have aesthetic criteria.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

The tunnel that I had initially mischaracterized as a “crawlspace” turned out to be long. Really really long. But eventually, the light of the orb stopped at the end of it. And waited for the four of us to catch up.

The path widened as we came to a concrete archway speckled with decaying flakes of paint. There was enough room for all four of us to finally stand side-by-side. The remains of a corroded warning sign somehow still clung to the frame:

CA T ON: HOT

“Not to worry,” said Misty, stepping forward. “Ees not hot anymore. Even with Pinkie balloons and fire. Fillydelphia has long way to go before its entire grid is - how you say? - up and running?”

Misty stood under the arch, light blasting him from behind. His silhouette paused to look each of us over, nodding in approval. Like we’d somehow met his tunnel-whispering-standards-or-whatever.

Then, muttering to himself, he spun on his hooves, and disappeared down the ‘HOT’ corridor.

The rest of us were left alone together.

“Hhhhhh!” I huffed out a breath, and smirked as my own mouth-air turned to steam. “Yeah, I know it's not hot,” I said, super sarcastic-like…to a Misty who wasn't even there anymore.

But when I snorted out a laugh and turned to Cliff Diver, he averted his eyes. Backed away.

“What?” I said.

Foster shoved him from behind. He staggered. And shot doom-eyeballs at her - what the hell is wrong with you eyeballs - eyeballs consumed with fear that his super-solemn news was gonna somehow break my heart and shatter my mind into a million billion trillion pieces and make me weep till my eyes shriveled into eye raisins.

“Would you pleeeease stop treating me like I'm made out of eye raisins?” I snapped.

Cliff blink-bloinked. As if awoken from a spell. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry. I'll um…”

“It's fine,” I hurried to reassure him.

“In that case,” he said. “Well…how do I put this?...Do you believe in true love?”

“True love?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Like…you know…the idea that everypony has a special somepony? The One? Foster doesn't seem worried about it,” Cliff held up a forehoof and whispered conspiratorially (even though Foster was literally standing right behind him). “And I keep telling her that that's just how pony love works. But I guess I'm…you know…worried about you. That's all.”

“Oh.”

“And I didn't wanna bring it up. In case you hadn't thought of it already, but, like…what if…”

“I don't think Scribbles is The One,” I said.

Cliff sighed in relief.

“I don't believe there is such a thing as ‘The One.’” I plopped my flank down and made quotation marks with my forehooves.

“What?” he squeaked. “You too?”

-too - too -tooo, the walls echoed back Cliff Diver’s voice. I flinched at the sound.

“Hay, you three,” hollered Misty. “Shut up for meenute. I need to make listen.”

Cliff sat down and raised his hooves to his mouth, all apologetical-like. And all of us fell totally silent. Not so much as a hoof shuffle. While Misty did his…Misty stuff.

If I peered carefully down the ‘HOT’ corridor, I could just barely make him out in the distance. The unicorn in the ridiculous wizard hat pressed his head against an indentation in the far wall. Probably a hatch or door or something. I couldn't quite tell.

As the reverberations of his faint tapping washed over the tunnel, I broke out of my statue-pose to toss eyeballs at Cliff and Foster. In case they had some clues or insights on whatever-the-hell-Misty-was-doing.

But Cliff Diver just ogled me like I was some kind of wacko eel from The Isle of the No Feel Eels.

That's the place where Daisy the Cabin Girl once had to rescue Slop the Mess Cook from. He’d lost a game of cards against an Eel Witch who’d stolen his heart away as payment - and she’d swept Slop’s feelings along with it - and locked them away in the Eel Fortress of Impenetrab’eel. Robbing him of everything that made him…pony in the process.

I jumped a little in surprise. ‘Cause Cliff’s eyeballs were super-mega-intense. Enough to make me second guess myself.

Was there something wrong with me? Was I some kind of numb and heartless eel?

What if Scribbles really was my one and only True Love after all? And I'd gotten to enjoy it for what? Half an hour?!

Cliff must have read the troubles on my face. ‘Cause he threw his forehooves up in the air, and mouthed, ‘I'm so sorry.’

But my panic passed as quickly as it had come. ‘Fate fucks with me in sooooo many ways,’ I growled at all of my Rose Voices at once - before any of them could get a word in. ‘It does not get to tell me how many times I’m gonna get kissed. Or who gets to do the kissing.’

I nodded firmly. Puffed out my chest. A victory pose. To assert social dominance over my own stupid brain, (which couldn't even see how badass and defiant I must have looked, but I did it anyway ‘cause I knew it woulda made my brain mad if my brain could have seen it).

“Great news!” Misty strode up the ‘HOT’ hallway bellowing.

“Ahh!” I startled.

“I have listened to dee hatch of steam tunnel - very carefully - for signs of rats. And I have determined - without doubt - that eet ees safe to proceed.”

“No rats then?” I said. Already on edge. 'Cause I hated rats. With every rosefiber of my rosebeing. My sister and I were always chasing them out of our garden. Fortifying our plants against them. Digging out their nasty old nests - before they could ruin absolutely everything. But no matter what you do, you can never win with rats! ‘Cause rats always manage to destroy something. Last summer, it was one of Mom’s favorite rose bushes!!!!!!!

“No, no,” Misty chuckled. “There's thousands of rats.”

“Thousands?!” Cliff, Foster, and I all screeched at once.

Misty clopped his forehooves against the floor. Applauding. And laughing in reply. Then he shook his head. “Where there is mammal, there is oxygen,” he said. “Everypony always imagines that sewers are full of Phantoms of Opera, or alligator, like in silly adventure stories.”

“What books are you reading?” said Cliff.

Misty flitted his Hooves in dismissal. As if to say: eet doesn't matter.

“The most dangerous thing about tunnels,” Misty continued. “Apart from getting lost - is the air.”

“So we have to crawl…” Foster trembled. “…through thousands of rats. And… breathe their air?”

“Don't be stupid,” said Misty. “We cannot do that. They would eat you, and you would die. Especially in Wasteland. Now shh!”

The light orb flickered and sparked and disappeared into darkness. In its place was Misty’s horn, glowing pink, casting a brand new spell as he charged down the ‘HOT’ corridor.

He was only halfway down the hall when a thin mist brewed all around. It shrouded Misty, drifted past him, and puffed out a horrible stench of moldy old garbage. The whole tunnel reeked just like the stinkbomb gust that erupts from the ground when your shovel first breaches the walls of an underground rat nest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped.

“Don't worry,” Misty called out from behind the fog. “Eet will lure them out. Going to be quick! You'll see! Twenty times faster than –;”

Crunch. I don't know what the hatch at the end of the corridor was made out of, but it gave way. And in gushed a tidal wave of screeching and clawing. Misty's pink mist took the form of a giant net, and swelled up big and tight, fluttering like a water balloon at the end of a garden hose.

Foster threw her hood over her head, and leapt behind Cliff. Her hooves danced uneasily - looking for ways not to touch the ground. (A busted crate and an ancient hard hat were all that she had to perch upon).

“Misty!” I shouted.

But the rat net kept growing. Like a sock full of angry firecrackers - squealing scratching firecrackers. Soon, it breached the concrete arch and blocked off the ‘HOT’ hallway altogether. I had no idea if Misty was even okay under all of that, or if he'd gotten knocked over and smothered to death in the chaos.

Either way, he didn't respond.

“Misty!!!” I shouted again, but to no avail.

The pink wall of claws and noses only got madder and madder and madder and madder and madder. Purple sparks started flying off the surface. Misty’s magic was struggling to hold them back.

“Fucking rats,” I spat.

I couldn't stand the frantic sound of them. Or the smell.

It made me feel like I was four years old again. Crying because a bunch of stupid rats had ruined the first tomato I’d ever planted.

Foster was taking it even worse than me. She’d climbed up on top of Cliff’s back. And he’d knelt down to let her.

She tightened her hood like a surgeon's mask. It was one thing to be able to breathe the open air outside of your hospital bubble. It was quite another to bury your immune system in 15,000 rats.

“For Celestia’s sake, Misty, stop!” Cliff shrieked.

“Misty!” I called out for the hundredth time.

But still no sign of him. Just more sparks flying from the magic net. The whole pack was gonna spill out any second. They were gonna eat us, and filth us, and rat us to death.

Foster threw her hooves up and cowered. Cliff winced as Foster’s manic motions brushed against his injured wing. While I leapt back and clung to the wall.

“Ahhh!” we cried out in unison. “Ahhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhh! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

‘Till…PWOF! The bubble burst and everything was gone. A gust rushed us from behind instead, hurrying to fill the void. Pushing away the last traces of rodent stink, and puffing out lightning smell instead - straight off of the ‘HOT’ hallway’s steaming bricks.

The world's most obnoxious unicorn emerged from the mists, pausing only to straighten out his hat.

“You idiot,” barked Cliff. “Foster has an immune disease.”

“What?” said Misty, suddenly pale. “How is nocreature telling me this? We are in sewer? How are you not dead?”

Foster didn't answer. She just panted and heaved and clutched at her chest as though her heart was gonna leap right out of it.

“Rats are dangerous mostly if they make chomp of you. If you can survive that muck back there,” Misty gestured his head vaguely toward the other end of the tunnel - the sewer from whence we came. “You should be safe.”

“Think about where those filthy things have been,” I said.

“The same place you have,” Misty pointed once again at the dark hall that we’d journeyed down.

Foster let her hood loosen, and stared off into space. Contemplating what all of this meant.

Instinctively, she sniffed her ribs. (For what? I don't know.) Then she patted down her chest. Confirming that she was, in fact, still in one piece. And that that singular piece wasn't bursting into massive allergic hives.

A flash of green later, and Foster was suddenly her bugself. Opening her winter jacket and studying her exoskeleton for signs of a flare up. Then she lifted her orbish eyes to stare down the ‘HOT’ tunnel. “You're sure you got them all?” she said to Misty with renewed urgency.

He opened his mouth to boast, but...

“EeeeEeEEe!” A horrific squeal echoed down the ‘HOT’ hall. Accompanied by the sound of furious scurrying and wailing.

Misty pointed a hoof at Cliff and Foster. “Stay here,” he commanded, and then spun to me. “Quickly,” was all he said to me before dashing up the ‘HOT’ hall.

Just ‘quickly.’

I followed. Without question or delay. ‘Cause Misty’s urgency was contagious, and left no room for messing around. I ran right behind him. Knowing that whatever-the-fuck awaited us at the end of that corridor would involve rats. Lots and lots of stupid, evil, rosebush-eating rats.

I galloped furiously towards the shrill sound ahead. Ready to leap into action - whatever that might entail. But when I came to Misty, he wasn't battling rats. He was down on the floor, hunched delicately over a dome of magic that he'd cast. “Stop!” he threw a hoof up, and called out to me. “You'll scare her.”

I shuffled to a halt. “Her?”

“No one making hurt of you,” he cooed and whispered at the ground.

“Is that a fucking rat?” I said.

I leaned in closer. Till I could finally see ‘her’ - a rat-shaped monster the size of a fucking terrier. Its red eyes bulged as it hissed. Scabs and sores speckled its bald flesh - wet and shiny. Oozing with Luna-knows-what. It heaved and contracted its chest rapidly as it breathed - like the world's vilest accordion, squealing out a polka.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I said.

The rat-strosity panicked inside the small shield that Misty had cast around it.

“Go eento my saddle bag,” he instructed me. “There is small white box. Second compartment on the inside.”

That urgency again. I nodded at Misty and plunged my face into his bag. “Uh…second compartment from the left, or…wait, I think I got it…no, that's not it. More of a yellow than white, and…oh, yeah, duh. This isit…I think.”

“Hurry,” said Misty. “She's hurt.”

“Misty, we have bigger–;”

“Ees my fault.” He shot me a look that could have slain a dragon.

I laid the box at his hooves. And didn't say a word.

Misty went back to hunching over ‘her,’ and ignoring my efforts. He squinted. Leaned in close. Crumpled his face like a sock puppet, focusing really really hard.

Then the polka stopped. The rat-strosity’s accordion breaths had slowed. For a long solemn moment, nothing seemed to be happening.

And in that silence, I felt totally fucking stupid. Useless. Like I was being kept on my tippy hooves for no reason at all. Or worse: for the sake of a nasty old rodent.

But I couldn't ask Misty, ‘Hay, what gives?’ He was entranced. I couldn't go back to Cliff and Foster either. ‘Cause getting up and walking away would distract Misty.

So I just sorta…watched the rat undulate. Till its bulbous eyes caught mine and its entire face tightened with hatred.

“Shhhhh,” said Misty. The dome contracted to stroke the rat. Soothe it.

It looked to me. Then to Misty. Then to me. Then to Misty.

“Maybe I should go,” I whispered.

“You're here for a reason,” said Misty, voice calm and steady. “I may need an extra set of hooves. Please, just wait.”

I sat my flank down. And stared down the little white box. Readied myself to leap forward and…help…open it, and deal with…whatever was in it…at a moment’s notice. Super helpful and important-like.

The rat, meanwhile, just eyed me suspiciously.

“Ees okay,” Misty reassured her. “Rose Petal is friend. She ees as scared of you as you are of her.”

If the rat had had any eyebrows at all, she would have raised one of them at me to express the very depths of her distrust. But the magic dome petted her till she nestled into a little crouch, and poutingly folded her forelegs.

“Yes, I know,” said Misty. “We are intrudingk on your home, and we are both very sorry, aren't we, Rose?”

I nodded grimly.

“We'll be gone soon,” Misty continued.

My eyeballs drifted to the concrete ceiling. And I imagined what it must be like for that ceiling to suddenly crumble away - out of nowhere - all at once - and leave your home in utter ruins.

Like I had done to the rats beneath my garden back home.

The rodent before us looked to Misty with a sort of trust. And fear. And pain.

Misty’s magic held her like a blanket, and rolled her over on her trusting back, till…YOINK! He plucked a shard of debris from her underside.

Eeeee! The rat screeched and wailed in blind panic for a minute, and then, just sorta…stopped. She looked down at herself. Experimented. Stretching out, bending around, licking her own belly till it was good and clean, (or at least, covered it rat saliva).

Once satisfied that her wound was okay, the rat leapt up and bounded around in circles like a puppy eager to fetch.

The dome of magic dissolved, and replaced itself with the old familiar light orb. The rat paused to sniff the air. With a fluttering nose, she crept up to Misty, and nuzzled against his cheek.

She looked to me next. Having no idea what to do, I just sorta waved back.

Finally, without any more fuss, the rat scampered up a ramp and back into the open hatch that she and her herd had come from.

I watched the empty hole for a moment. Not entirely sure what to make of what had just happened. But Misty wasted no time in opening up the box that I had brought him. From it, he produced a smaller box - one of many - labeled RAD-AWAY, which he stabbed with a straw.

SlurRrRrRrRrrp.

He proffered the final sip to me. It tasted like grape juice if some kinda dark and evil unicorn wizard had gotten it in her head to conjure some grape juice out of the ether, but had never actually seen, smelt, nor tasted an actual grape in all of her dark and evil days. I blink-bloinked in surprise at the sheer weirdness of it.

Meanwhile, Misty was already on his hooves again. "I'll scout ahead,” he said. “You get the others. Tell them that it's safe. Even for Foster.”

Already halfway up a shallow ramp, and already headed for the hatch that all those thousands of rats had burst out of in the first place.

“What happened to–;” I started to ask, but Misty charged ahead. Up a shallow ramp and into the hatch that all those rats had burst out of in the first place.

The light orb followed him juuuuust beyond the hole, and hovered there, so that it could cast a beam of light straight down the ‘HOT’ corridor, while also lighting his own way as he investigated whatever lay ahead.

* * *

I trotted back. Found Foster, still in bugform, seated on an old discarded hard hat, deep in thought. Cliff gently rubbed her back as she mused.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, of course we're alright,” snapped Cliff Diver. “What about you?”

“Oh, uh that?” I gestured behind me at the ‘HOT’ hallway. “It was just some, uhh, rat…business. Nothing to worry about.”

“Business must be booming,” said Foster, staring off at nothing in particular.

“It's all under control now,” I said. “Honest.”

Foster nodded, and spoke monotone. “I know. I felt it. When you, me, and Cliff were screaming over the….” Foster shuddered at the thought of that tidal wave of rats. “I could hear a little whisper in the back of my mind.”

“A whisper?” I said.

Foster nodded. “It was Misty. I sensed him. Like he was…Hive.”

“Whoa,” I said.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Cliff, looking to me with sympathetic eyeballs, as his hooves patted Foster, super comforting-like.

“I'm fine,” Foster blinked her green orbs, shook her head, and looked up into my eyes. “I'm just kinda stunned. With you two, it took such a long time. And there was a lot more…friendship first. But I felt Misty when I called out in distress. It’s not a bad thing. It's just so…unexpected. To hive with somepony you barely know.”

“I get what you mean,” I said. Even though there was no way for me to have a fraction of a clue how she might feel.

“Well, I know him now,” she said, slapping her thighs with a chuckle of resignation. “We should probably get going, shouldn't we?” Foster, rose to her hooves, and made to follow me down the ‘HOT’ corridor.

But I didn't lead. I just stood there, gazing at her. With fresh eyeballs. The faint light at the end of the tunnel cast a sheen on her exoskeleton. Her eyes, though totally lacking in white bits or even irises, had a sort of ethereal luster to them that I'd never noticed before.

“What?” said Foster. She glanced down at herself. “Oh! Sorry!”

Green flame enveloped her body and, in a flash, she was equine again. Laughing nervously. Like she'd somehow committed a great offense.

“There's nocreature down here but us,” I said. “You don't have to hide if you don't want to.”

“That’s sweet, but we don't mind it,” said Foster. “Really. Changelings are built for deep cover. It's fine.”

“But you're not undercover right now,” said Cliff Diver “The three of us are your hive.”

“Hmm,” said Foster.

Turning away from us, she marched ahead down the ‘HOT’ corridor, taking the lead. Deep in thought once again.

Cliff and I exchanged eyeballs and hurried to follow.

“I should maybe–;” Foster turned her head to look at me. Stopped and spun on her hooves when she realized how far behind I'd fallen. “No, that won't work,” she said. “You two freak out whenever I change.”

“That's not true,” said Cliff just as the two of us caught up.

Foster's wryly raised an eyebrow, and turned back into a bug.

Cliff flinched at the light of her magic flame. So did I. And when we both finished blink-bloinking our bloinkitty eyelids, Foster gave us a smug little smile.

“Mammals are hardwired to value that which they find adorable and cuddly, and to recoil from that which fails to meet those standards,” she said. “Not to worry. I don't take it personally. It's just survival instinct: why you protect your young; how you separate the us from the them.”

Cliff retorted, “No, you absolute dope. It's that fire…thing you do that startles me. Not your appearance. You really think I care about what you look like?” He squeaked indignantly.

“What?” said Foster. “No, of course not! You just always…you know, look at me differently. Even after the fire fades. Both of you.” Foster waved a hoof back and forth at me and Cliff. “You can't help it. Of course I don't think that you care about my appearance. At least not morally. But my appearance is still disarming. You can't help reacting to that.”

“‘Cause we've never seen you like that for more than thirty seconds at a time,” said Cliff Diver.

I nodded in agreement.

“It's never been safe for more than thirty seconds,” Foster retorted. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

“Because it's safe now,” Cliff snapped.

Foster stopped dead in her tracks. It didn't slow us down; we were coming up to the ramp that led to Misty's steam tunnel anyway. But she planted her hooves on the ground so abruptly that Cliff and I had to spin to face her.

“Oh,” she said, eyes fixed intently on nothing in particular.

Just…’oh.’

And while I had a whoooole lot on my mind about Foster’s appearance. About respecting whatever the hell she wanted to do - however the hell she chose to appear. While I had all of the same passion and fire for supporting her that Cliff Diver did, I just stared at Foster’s giant green eye orbs, and what little of her exoskeleton poked out from under her winter jacket. “You’readorable,” I said.

“Huh?”

“You're so shiny,” I studied her carefully as the magic light (from just outside the hatch) danced and sparkled all over Bananas Foster’s carapace.

She touched a forehoof to her chest. Unbuttoned her winter jacket, and studied her own body, as if it were wholly unfamiliar territory. “Really?”

Her face scrunched up super tight as she conducted her examination. Like there was a whole lot of trigonometry running around the inside of her head. But a smile pierced its way through. And her lashless eyelids fluttered just a little. “So…” Foster turned to Cliff, scratching her chin and contemplating. “The aesthetics of adorableness are externally conditioned then?”

“It's not conditioned, you dork,” said Cliff.

“I'm just surprised,” said Foster, suddenly back to being the equiologist that we all knew. “We’re usually considered hideous. ‘We’ meaning parasites, of course. The economy of love consumption is directly opposed to equine modes of…well, let's just say host species aren't supposed to find us adorable.”

Foster wagged a hoof at us sternly. “How do you ponies survive if you see the adorableness in…everything?” Her cheeks softened. It should not have been possible for exoskeleton cheeks to do that. But soften, indeed, they did. Had they been filly-cheeks, they'd have turned cherry red with blush.

“We don't survive,” said Cliff grimly. “That's the problem. Our world is going to fail. Because we don't see beauty in everycreature.”

The tunnel fell silent. We all exchanged somber glances, and Foster cast her gaze upon the floor. “Us and them,” she whispered. As a soft breeze wafted through the broken hatch.

“Ees safe!” Misty popped out of that hatch, all-of-a-suddenishly.

“Ahh!” I stumbled backwards.

While Foster shrunk back, and bunched her shoulders in. An almost Cliff-like motion.

“That means we go,” Misty admonished me. But then he spotted Foster, hiding behind the hoof of her own coat. “There are no rats,” he said gently. “I promise.” Misty straightened out his hat triumphantly for dramatic effect. “I…am rat whisperer.”

“You whisper at a lot of things,” I said.

Misty shrugged. “I try.”

Foster was still recoiling. Uncertainty emanated from her giant green eye globes. Like she expected Misty to flinch or be nasty to her about her…lack of adorableness…or whatever.

But he just cocked his head, and studied her unusual posture. “What? What did I miss?”

Author's Note

PATREON

If this story, or my Heart Full of Pony essays have touched you, please consider supporting me on Patreon.

For those of you who already are pledging, seriously, and for real, thank you. Your support means a great deal to me. /]*[\

SPECIAL THANKS: As always, I would like to thank Seraphem for his tireless assistance providing feedback during the editing process, and Kkat for writing the original Fallout: Equestria story that inspired me to write Hooves of Fate in the first place.

THOUGHTS:
Every time I think I know and understand Foster - every time I think I've got her pinned down (no entomology pun intended) - she reveals a whole other side to herself that takes me entirely by surprise.

DEDICATION;
Happy Lammas to Princess Celestia! And of course, thanks as always to Princess Luna, without whom dreams would not be possible.