Season 2 continued
Fast asleep, Light Fantastic dreamed of a wonderful performance. A wondrous dance that would make a true princess of Anugypt jealous. Yet, there were none around her. The music kept playing as the air grew dry and warm. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but sand.
Light Fantastic was then awoken by the alarm. There was a lingering feeling of dread like she had been experiencing the past several days.
"It must have gotten lost in the mail. They delivered it to my address and considering the sogginess, they probably misplaced it before that." Looking at the writing, Amber could easily tell who it was from. Inside the envelope the letter read:
Spoiler
Static Signal headed for the museum exit only to find it locked. Then he hears, "Good morning. I assume that slumber and sleep has eluded you?"
Snowy Skies bolted awake, the covers almost frozen to his coat by sweat. He threw the covers off and opened the curtains. It was a little after dawn, and he had slept for a while, but he was certainly not falling asleep again tonight. All the better. Now that he was thinking properly, he could tell that he needed to think, and make certain he hadn't missed anything from the nights events. He walked to his closet and opened it, looking at the sparse two items inside. One was a perfectly laundered and pressed tuxedo, which he supposed he would be wearing to the dance performance tonight, and the other was a cello made of dark, sleek, wood, taller than him, leaning upright against a stand.
As the others awoke, Night Cap continued in the land of dreams. "I'm not scared. Well...maybe a little." The filly then climbed onto onto his back again.
Spoiler
Static turned to see Tangerine Sands. "Not completely. I figure I got at good hour...total."Static sighed. "I was headed towards a cafeteria for breakfast. I...would invite you along, but you were far kinder to me last night than I deserved and I'd hate to repay that kindness by subjecting you to the places I go for food.
Snowy Skies pulls the cello gently out of the closet, inhaling the comforting scent of wood lacquer that accompanied the ‘gentle repose’ spell favored by woodworkers for keeping their creations fresh, and grabbed the bow with his magic. He put the bow to the strings, let his heart set the beat, and began to play Ponybel's Canon.
Ponybel's Canon is normally the bane of cello players. The swelling, gorgeous orchestra piece spends the entire song making the cellos lay the baseline, the backbone on which every beautiful curlicue of music is lain, by playing the same two notes over and over and over again. It’s just A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...But for Snowy Skies, it was the perfect song. The part of his brain that was always looking, searching, hooking onto details like the grain of a wood or the whorl of someone’s mane, went quiet when he played music. And in that blissful calm, he could slowly, rationally, piece together the night’s events, from a radically different perspective.
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...The obvious starting place was the icicle that had nailed him after his illusion of life. It was probably unrelated to his dream, considering he’d had the dream before. If he keeps up this emotional state of mind, they'll find him. That was perhaps the one certainty of the night. But which emotional state were they talking about? He’d spent many years giving small regard to the ponies around him, and even less to those who attacked him. Nothing about that had changed last night. His story had, perhaps, been excessively cruel, he admitted. He had personally come to terms with that by living the story himself, alongside his target, but perhaps that was not enough for whatever cosmic power his pursuers answered to. In any case, casting the illusion of life, in any form, was clearly too dangerous, except in extreme emergencies. Nightmare was in the same boat, certainly, and Maze was probably too risky. How frustrating. He had spent years honing his sole talent, illusions, into a proper weapon, more than the stuff of party tricks and bluffs. He had thought that he was finally able to protect himself from anyone who could threaten him. And now some grand Divine Iceberg from on high was coming down to tell him nope, you’re back where you started. You can make it look like you’re wearing armor made of knives, but that won’t stop some fool from bashing you with something blunt and heavy. You can make it look like you’re made of fire, but it won’t mean a thing against the freezing cold. He was, once more, a unicorn without magic.
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...Perhaps even more worrisome than the new ruling from his grand Divine Iceberg was what had happened under the thau...tamacer…the dinosaur’s skeleton. When he collapsed, he'd lost sight of the difference between reality and illusion. He closed his eyes, and he saw the line in his head, inscrutable, thrumming along in time with his heart (and, by extension, the two chords of the Canon he was playing). This was his line between the real and the imaginary. To lose it was to lose everything meaningful about life. And he had lost, for an immeasurable amount of time. Given that the chase was still going when he resurfaced from the rubble, he had probably not been gone long, but the fact was that he did not know how long he had ceased to exist in the real world. This alone was probably enough to outlaw the use of Nightmare and the Illusion of Life, really. Even the Illusion of Safety suddenly seemed sinister. He would have to be very, very, careful about what he casted and when he casted it.
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...Brisk Iron had threatened to throw him back in jail last night. She’d certainly do it, though he wished he understood what she was receiving complaints about. Were ponies really that horrified by the bacon golem? Literally all he had done that night that should have been noticeable to Steel Flint was lie to COIN, over and over again. Everything else took place well beyond her or anyone else’s sensory realm. Perhaps those unseeable things were a touch unsavory, but he had already discussed that, both with Brisk Iron and himself. Still, the threat was real. He thought about his life here, the collection of instruments he had, the poutine supplies, the central heating…the harp in the store window he had been saving for, with the blue inlay and the swan’s head. He liked his life here, as dangerous as it could be to admit that. He didn't want to go back to jail. So he supposed he would have to play strictly by the rules…whatever those rules were right now. Maybe he should ask Brisk Iron. He was going to have to ask Brisk Iron. Perhaps he could open with an apology, Brisk Iron seemed like the sort of pony who liked it when things went the way she expected them ...
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...At least part of playing by the rules meant participating in more events like those of last night. Given that every proper weapon he had concocted in the last few years was gone, he needed something new. He opened his eyes and looked at the cello in front of him, still mechanically playing the same two notes. He really only had two skills. It went against most of what he still believed in to use a musical instrument as a weapon, but if his other talent was denied to him, then perhaps he had no choice. He experimentally inserted a quarter note into the rhythm, a screeching, high C sharp, before resuming his baseline. It put his teeth on edge, certainly, but what else could he do with it? He would have to investigate.
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...his laugh, at the end of the night, was quite interesting. It was fascinating because it wasn't a chuckle, or a giggle, or any of the numerous fake laughs he knew how to bring out. It was his real laugh, and he hadn't heard it in years. Static Signal had brought a real laugh out of him, at his most exhausted and miserable. He was a good pony, with a good heart in his chest. This was not particularly out of line with his apparent rage issues. After all, you needed to really care about something to get dangerously angry. Something about him, perhaps his persistent optimism, or his commitment to pleasing Brisk Iron and doing the right thing, was refreshing. He was…hard to malign, which was very rare. He wasn't just interesting, he was nice to be around. And from the sound of it, he needed a confidante, so there wasn't a better time to get to know him. Perhaps Static would be a good influence on him.
A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D, A, D...Light Fantastic was quite beautiful.
Snowy Skies abruptly opened his eyes. That was enough introspection for one morning. He checked the clock. He had, in fact, overstayed his welcome. He should have left a few minutes ago. He shoved the cello back into the closet, threw the tuxedo into a small box, strapped the box and his smallest viola case to his back, grabbed a banana from the counter, and dashed off to work, feeling very light. But maybe that was the lack of sleep.
