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Artist Anon

By NewFagAlphaCentauri
Created: 2021-07-16 21:31:33
Updated: 2021-05-09 19:27:02
Expiry: Never
/rgre/

  1. >You swipe across the canvas, mixing that luscious green with hint of ocean blue.
  2. >Careful to leave the blank spot at a proper size, you swap to the smaller brush.
  3. >Precise movement fills the edge just right. Not too realistic, not too messy. The eyes are quite lively now.
  4. >The detail is exactly enough to provoke that sense of... oh, what's the word? Immersion?
  5. >The painting is no longer a piece of art; it's a portal to another place. Another time.
  6. >Well, later on.
  7. >Tomorrow, it will show yesterday. In ten years, ten years ago.
  8. >Here it shows the morning dew, the very same everyone here sees frequently.
  9. >In Canterlot, it shows the natural beauty of the world, unseen in the halls of stone.
  10. >Not to say unnatural beauty is any less beautiful, of course.
  11. >But, in this instant, this is the exact moment you can most appreciate.
  12. >It's the most intimate time and place, and like each one you find, you wouldn't trade it for anything.
  13. >And after some time, you've finally captured this one.
  14.  
  15. "I'm done."
  16. >Lyra silently comes up to you, looking over the simple work.
  17. >"I love it!"
  18. >She goes to touch it, but you catch her.
  19. “Still drying, Lyra.”
  20. >”Oops. My bad.”
  21. >She looks it over, taking it in for some time.
  22. >”How much do I owe you?”
  23. >You shake your head, laughing.
  24. “You don't.”
  25. >”What? Come on, yes I do. You barely have a day job; I'm not taking it for free.”
  26. >She roots in her bag for some bits.
  27. “Really. I don't make art for profit. I do it for me.”
  28. >She shakes her head.
  29. >”No dice. I want to help you out. Where do you stay? I can get some bits after I get home.”
  30. >You shrug. Might as well take her up if she's pushing it.
  31. “Next to the bank. It's the only building with an awning.”
  32. >”But there aren't any- wait, awning? Anon, are you homeless?”
  33. “It's nothing to worry-”
  34. >”What?! Yes it is! I'm not letting a guy stay homeless! Least of all a guy like you!”
  35. >She charges off.
  36. >”Lets go pack your things!”
  37. “Lyra, I don't even have- Lyra! LYRA!!...aaaand she's gone.”
  38. >She's a determined little unicorn.
  39.  
  40. - - -
  41.  
  42. >”Sorry Bonbon doesn't want you to stay. She said it was irresponsible of me to invite you without telling her.”
  43. “It's fine, Lyra, I promise.” You rustle her hair. “Thanks for dinner and breakfast. It was great.”
  44. >She nods.
  45. >”Well, I told some ponies about it, so hopefully somepony will come around and help out.”
  46. >She reaches into her bag and pulls out an empty saddlebag and pouch with some bits.
  47. >”I know it's not a whole lot, but it should help you with your things at least!”
  48. “Thanks. It's more than I could ask for.”
  49. >”No it's not.” She looks at the time. “But, uh, I gotta get to work. You take care, okay? See you later!”
  50. “Later!”
  51.  
  52. >You sit down for some time, looking at the picturesque town.
  53. >You still can't get over your awe. Every time you open your eyes you're greeted with the colorful foliage, bright smiles and soulful sights.
  54. >Nothing on earth compares. There was never a single moment before that outshines the most mundane things here.
  55. >Everything lives and breaths at the height of perfection for the length of its life here. The wonder you've found in the smallest nooks could put to shame many artists back home.
  56. >So much wonder, you burn hours out of the day sitting and wondering about the grass between your fingers.
  57. >You just wish you could take it all and keep it forever. To pause time and never continue would be heaven.
  58. >But time marches on, and by the end of the day a stallion comes to look for you.
  59. >”You must be Anonymous.”
  60. >You stare a bit at his ashen coat, already wondering how to recreate that texture.
  61. “Anon is fine, but yes.”
  62. >”Lyra told me you were in need.”
  63. “Need is a bit strong. I'm fine, really.”
  64. >”Well, come over for dinner anyways. She'll never let us hear the end of it, even if you want to stay outside.”
  65. >You chuckle. It really isn't bad out. It's late spring.
  66. “Alright. Just for tonight I suppose.”
  67. >You grab your things and follow.
  68. “Thank you.”
  69. >”It's nothing.”
  70.  
  71. - - -
  72.  
  73. >You wake, as you always do, early in the morning.
  74. >Since you were young, you’d always be up early enough to watch the sunrise if you could.
  75. >It was always the best thing to watch. But now, anything is enough to keep your attention.
  76. >But pleasure is for later.
  77. >You mean to thank your host and leave, but they’re asleep.
  78. >It’d be rude to leave. Rude to wake them.
  79. >So, you decide to go do the dishes.
  80. >It passes the time, and helps pay back the favor for room and board.
  81. >You really do appreciate the concern, but you don’t want to be a bother.
  82. >No one likes a loafer.
  83. >Still, though. You check on your hosts and they’re both still asleep. Even his little brother isn’t up yet.
  84. >The door was left open, so you peer into the room for a moment.
  85. >The handsome stallion and his charming mare lay together; her wing over his body and his head laying on hers.
  86. >A moment of sincere intimacy, unhindered by consciousness.
  87. >You want to capture it. It’s too real. Too vivid.
  88. >A tear draws out as you smile.
  89. >You go and get your things.
  90. >The easel stands eager, your last canvas is ready.
  91. >You mix the paint and get to work.
  92. >Each stroke passes as quick as the last.
  93. >Your practiced touch leaves no drop of color unsatisfactory.
  94. >The detail builds from the edge to the center, breathing life into the focal point.
  95. >The lovers entwined, frozen in a second of togetherness, forever.
  96. >You keep saying it to yourself every day, but you can hardly think of anything more beautiful; more aesthetic.
  97. >You put your things away, washing off the tools.
  98. >As you do, Thunderlane comes up to your side, rubbing his eyes.
  99. “Good morning.”
  100. >”Morning.” He looks at your brushes. “What’s this?”
  101. “A thank you gift.”
  102. >You point to the painting he missed. He goes to look while you finish.
  103. >”It’s amazing!”
  104. “Thank you. For dinner and everything.”
  105. >You put your things up, grabbing your bag.
  106. >”Wait, hold on.”
  107. >He runs into his bedroom and comes back quickly.
  108. >”Here. Take this.”
  109. “You don’t have to-”
  110. >”I want to.”
  111. >You hesitantly take the pile of bits from his wing.
  112. >”You can stay for breakfast, too.”
  113. “You’re more than generous, Thunderlane. But I do need to get to work.”
  114. >He nods, waving as you leave.
  115. >”Alright, you take care then!”
  116. “Have a good one!”
  117.  
  118. >You pat your pouch as you leave.
  119. >There are more coins than you’re used to having.
  120. >Hmm. You should drop by and get some more art supplies.
  121. >There’s plenty more room in your bag, after all.
  122.  
  123. - - -
  124.  
  125. “Thanks for having me tonight.”
  126. >Rose walks around, setting up the table. The other two are just a few feet away, in the kitchen.
  127. >”It’s nothing! Pinkie told us about you not having a place to sleep. We just thought we could pitch in for a day.”
  128. “Funny thing. Someone’s given me a place to sleep each night for the past week.”
  129. >”I guess that means her plan is working, then.”
  130. >Lily cuts in.
  131. >”Yep! Her secret plan to clean the streets from the homeless.”
  132. >Daisy hits her.
  133. >”Rude...”
  134. “Is it really homelessness if the street is my home?”
  135. >Lily shrugs.
  136. >”Maybe not, but it is sad.”
  137. >Daisy hits her again.
  138. >”Ouch! Stop that!”
  139. >”You stop talking to him like that!”
  140. “It’s fine. I like candidness.”
  141. >Lily sticks out her tongue, and they both go back to preparing.
  142. >Rose shakes her head.
  143. >”Ignore them. They’re always like that. Would you like a drink? We’ve got some carrot juice, grape juice, lemonade...”
  144. “Water is just fine, thank you.”
  145. >She pulls out a seat for you and you oblige. After fetching some drinks and giving you yours, she sits across the table.
  146. >”So. I hear you’re an artist.”
  147. “I am. Would you like me to make something?”
  148. >”Oh, no. Maybe another time. I don’t want you to feel like you have to work to stay the night or something.”
  149. >You nod.
  150. “Well I wouldn’t be an artist if I didn’t enjoy it. Let me know if you change your mind.”
  151. >”Sure.”
  152. “So. I hear you grow flowers.”
  153. >”The very best!” Lily says.
  154. >Rose nods. “Flowers by the thousands. Some spices, too. Those tend to keep year ‘round.”
  155. “Must be a nice job, getting to look at and care for such pretty things all the time.”
  156. >”Well, it’s a lot of work, but yeah. It is really nice.”
  157. >”Dinner’s ready!”
  158. >Lily and Daisy come out bearing plates. They set them down then seat themselves, and the table is complete.
  159. >You pull out a few pieces of hay and dig in to the salad.
  160. >After seeing them eat their own head of an unidentified flower, you humor it and try it yourself.
  161. >Rose seems to notice your reaction.
  162. “Sorry. Humans don’t really have a taste for most flowers. We tend to like the seeds.”
  163. >They nod and Daisy steals your flower, to Lily’s chagrin.
  164. >You smile, Rose frowns, and the others bicker.
  165. >And as such, the night continues on.
  166.  
  167.  
  168. >You wake early again. The morning light is barely reaching through the curtains.
  169. >Two couches are in the living room, and you’re on one. The three girls are passed out on the other.
  170. >They huddle together, gently hugging and holding each other.
  171. >One head on another’s breast or barrel, hooves wrapped around other parts, gentle breathing pushing hair around.
  172. >In spite of their irritations, they seem as close as any family could be. Their sleeping forms betray their platonic affection.
  173. >With an idea in mind, you get out your things and begin again.
  174. >You take their bodies and paint them into smiling poses. Each sister holds the flowers of the other sisters’ in each fore hoof, pressed against the breast.
  175. >Their eyes look to you. They’re aware, but relaxed. The imaginary light glistens just right to show that contentedness of a perfect moment. Their bodies are pressed together comfortably, tenderly.
  176.  
  177. >You finish up the subject and fill in the rest with a simple background.
  178. >The work is complete. You place it on the kitchen counter, just where it is easiest to see.
  179. >With that done, you take your things and take your leave.
  180. >So... what will today bring you?
  181.  
  182. - - -
  183.  
  184.  
  185. “Thank you for having me, but I still feel it’s unnecessary.”
  186. >”Oh, it’s not a problem. The town is just a bit concerned. Nopony wants to watch you sleep in the street.”
  187. “The town can be sure it’s not out of need. Home is where the heart is, after all.”
  188. >”Thunderlane told us. I’d rather think home is where the hearth is. If you change your mind, our door is always open.”
  189.  
  190. >Later that night, the rest of the house has fallen asleep on the couch.
  191. >You take a seat on the other end, looking over the family.
  192. >Another picturesque moment, but far too fragile. You drink it in while it lasts.
  193. >The rustling of the pint-sized stallion disturbs the picture. He pushes out of his father’s grip and drops to the floor.
  194. >He looks around for a bit before spotting you. He bolts up to you and stands on your lap.
  195. >Whistling a gentle tune, you take the baby colt into your arms.
  196. >He looks at you fondly, babbling away in the strange, universal language all infants seem to speak.
  197. >Both the parents are asleep next to you, laying on each other, exhausted.
  198. >The child was napping only moments ago but woke far earlier than them. You’d rather be a good guest and let them sleep.
  199. >You set the colt in your lap and face him toward you.
  200. >You continue whistling that tune, caressing the colt’s ears with your soft slices in the wind.
  201. >A brief pause, and he tries to do the same. He blows raspberries into the air, then giggles, slapping his little hooves together.
  202. >You can’t help but smile and giggle yourself.
  203. >You run two fingers through his virgin fur. It’s softer than any fur you’d ever felt. It’s like a natural velvet; thin and soft and smooth.
  204. >He giggles and wiggles as you trace your fingers up his leg and all over his barrel and then his cheek.
  205. >The two eyes don’t study you as much as they just absorb you. The pupils look around and over and away and back. The little colt is taking in and enjoying all the things it finds in whatever way it can.
  206. >You press a finger on his muzzle and force a scrunch. He leans back and you catch him, then tenderly scratch all over him to hear his little cackles.
  207. >You turn him around and he settles, looking at your peculiar fingers as much as he did your face.
  208. >He lets you play with his body as you will, so you lean him back and show him his back hoof. You move it around a bit, then press a finger on the frog.
  209. >He taps your hand over and over, looking up at you affectionately.
  210. >You present your open palm to him and he throws his hooves, forcefully pressing and sliding all over it, as if trying to mimic you.
  211. >You let him try for a while before you tussle his hair and kiss him on the forehead.
  212. >You set him down and he hops on his hooves and runs around. He goes around randomly until he runs up to his mother.
  213. >He plants a ‘kiss’ by pressing his lips on her and then popping with his mouth. Kiss, kiss, kiss. He laughs between each one, even harder when his mother shuffles.
  214. >She cracks an eye and kisses back, sending the little colt running into the other room.
  215.  
  216. >You’ll have to remember this one in particular.
  217.  
  218. >After a night’s rest, you wake to find the little colt staring up at you with a smile.
  219. >It’s still quite early. For a kid, he’s awfully chipper at sunrise.
  220. >Even as you stretch and sit on your couch, he doesn’t move.
  221. >Well, if sits like a subject, If it stays still like a subject...
  222. >You reach into your bag for your things and set up a painting.
  223. >With quick strokes, you copy the body as best you can and then put careful focus on those young, sparkling eyes.
  224. >You make sure to capture that lively innocence, so candidly displayed.
  225. >As much effort is put into the background. Long grass reaches up to caress the colt. Blue sky and birds complete the painting without drawing the eyes too much.
  226. >With it done, you turn to hold the painting where the little colt can see. He hops around excitedly, then waves.
  227. >He seems disappointed the colt in the painting didn’t wave back.
  228. >You carry it over and place it on the counter.
  229. >Hopefully it’s enough of a thanks.
  230. >One colt sits to stare at the other. You grab your things, then you leave.
  231.  
  232. - - -
  233.  
  234.  
  235. >”You really should be selling these, you know.”
  236. >You shake your head.
  237. “I’d rather not. I want to show the world how I see it. I feel like profiting might hinder that.”
  238. >Pinkie laughs. Her fluffy hair bounces this way and that, constantly drawing your eyes.
  239. >The rest of her moves just as much, matching how she laughs and smiles with her whole self, not just her lips.
  240. >The only way you can pin down her lively body is in this drawing of yours.
  241. >”I think that's a bit silly, Anon. I love throwing as many parties as I can, but if I tried to do them for free, I couldn't eat!”
  242. >You smile.
  243. “Well, I'm not going hungry any time soon. I have a job, and ponies have been very inviting recently.”
  244. >”I heard!”
  245. >She peaks over your shoulder, excitedly giggling. You hide the drawing as she does.
  246. “Not yet.”
  247. >You push her back a bit.
  248. >She continues as you color in the eyes, brightening them.
  249. >You aren't quite satisfied. With colored pencils, nothing can really evoke that shining happiness you see etched into the real Pinkie.
  250. >It's a poor imitation, but it's the best you can do, so you place the finishing details and show it.
  251. >”Ohmygoshit'sPERFECT!!”
  252. >She tackles you in a hug, squeezing the air out of your lungs.
  253. “Glad you like it.” You choke out.
  254. >She lets up and helps you back to your seat, giddily taking the drawing.
  255. >You recover while she stuffs it into a frame, immediately hanging it on the wall.
  256.  
  257. >Another satisfied pony.
  258.  
  259. - - -
  260.  
  261. >”So what's your favorite medium?”
  262. >You carve into the wet clay, smearing everything together into a vaguely pony-shaped mesh.
  263. “Acrylic, actually. It's the one I started with and am best with.”
  264. >”Oh, good taste! A good set of paints can get nearly anything done.”
  265. “Nearly.”
  266. >You smooth everything out and leave an idyllic model of an alicorn, placing it next to a shattered chess-piece.
  267. “It'll need to be smoothed and coated after it dries, but here you go.”
  268. >”Oh thank you! I'm sure my daughter won't mind painting up just one more.”
  269.  
  270. >Speak of the devil.
  271. >Just as she finishes that sentence, her little girl bolts through the game shop, trailed by a trio of friends.
  272. >They burst into a room and set up some game.
  273. >”I keep telling her if she-” She pauses, looking at you. “Sorry. Um, would you like to join us in a game of O'n'O?”
  274. “You sure? I've never played before, so you'll have to teach me.”
  275. >She nods,
  276. >”Not a problem. I feel like you'll get a hang of it very quickly. Especially with skills like yours.”
  277. “Sculpting?”
  278. >”Art! A good game of O'n'O has a good story, built together by a team of all the players.”
  279. “Oh, I'm not sure. I've never been good at telling stories.”
  280. >”But you are good, silly. You just use a different medium. Every stroke is a sentence!”
  281. >You give a sincere thought to the idea.
  282. “Huh. Never thought of it like that.”
  283. >You follow her into the next room, where the children eagerly throw pieces around and set up a few crude drawings of layouts and plans.
  284. >“Girls! I think Anon here is going to join us for a session today. Do you mind helping him make a character?”
  285. >“I do!”
  286. >“I don’t!”
  287. >“Maybe.”
  288. >“Can you be cleric?”
  289. >“No, we need another tank!”
  290. >“Let him choose!”
  291. >“Metagamer!”
  292. >“You don’t even know how to play, stat-packer!”
  293. “I don’t suppose I could just play a dashing rogue, could I?” You cut in.
  294. >“Rogues are always dashing! How else are they gonna dodge?”
  295. >“Dashing means pretty, you dumb-dumb.”
  296. >“Guys can’t be pretty!”
  297. >“But they can be dashing!”
  298. >“Then it doesn’t mean pretty!”
  299. >“Quiet! He can be a rogue! What race do you want?”
  300. >“Unicorn gets bonus to dex.” One whispers next to you.
  301. >“No metagaming!”
  302. “I don’t know what races I can use. Is human an option?” You ask.
  303. >“Homebrew time!”
  304. >“No!”
  305. >“Yes!”
  306. >“That’s gonna take forever.”
  307. >“No it won’t. Use earth pony and swap dex for strength. There. Done.”
  308. >“Well that’s boring.”
  309. >”So is spending half an hour on a race only one guy will ever use.”
  310. >”Well maybe we can submit it and get it added to the official roster.”
  311. >”Like when they replaced doppelgangers with changelings?”
  312. >Two blow raspberries at each other.
  313. >”Here’s your sheet, Mr. A-non. We’ll tell you when to change it later. So... do you have a backstory in mind?”
  314.  
  315. >It was a fun night, to be sure.
  316.  
  317. - - -
  318.  
  319. >You lay quite still, staring at the ceiling.
  320. >How you got into this position, you aren’t certain.
  321. >On your left is a stallion, frail and kind, and on the other side, his presumed wife, with a much larger and studier frame.
  322. >Both laying next to you, under covers, sound asleep.
  323.  
  324. >The husband had asked you to come over for dinner earlier that day. You accepted -at this point feeling less than capable of saying ‘no’ to the townsfolk for this ritual- and came by.
  325. >Their kid had broken an urn.
  326. >Not just any urn.
  327. >No, it didn’t have ashes of ancestors.
  328. >It was carved with the cutiemarks of the family tree, denoting their lineage, with extra space to add children.
  329. >The father was in hysterics when you got here. He managed to collect himself and left to get some last-minute ingredients.
  330. >You did the reasonable thing, grabbed some glue, and between the three of you, you managed to get it mostly back together.
  331. >A few chips and cracks, but it had all the important stuff.
  332. >The stallion came back ecstatic. He was very, very thankful for the help.
  333. >So thankful, in fact, he all but forced you to stay for dinner, dessert, drinks, games, and finally, a sleepover.
  334. >Yes, a sleepover. He used that word verbatim.
  335. >And, having no other beds or couches, that meant you’d share one.
  336. >All the ponies involved were fine with this.
  337. >Somehow.
  338.  
  339. >Leading you to... here. Laying with strangers, wondering how many other seemingly odd behaviors would be perfectly normal here.
  340. >Well, it isn’t unpleasant. Fur is cozy, and it’s not hot, even with the added warmth.
  341. >It’s just... odd, you suppose. You aren’t certain what to do, really.
  342. >So you lay here, idly wondering when sleep would come.
  343.  
  344. >The front door opens, and the muffled sound carries over to you.
  345. >Quickly, the bedroom door opens as well.
  346. >An alicorn, with stars for hair and a dark blue coat, walks in, looking around the whole room before stopping at the bed and looking at you.
  347. >”That’s odd.”
  348. >You nod.
  349. “I’m glad I’m not the only one that thinks so. Is this normal for ponies?”
  350. >”Not at all. Usually, there’s no significant activity for a while, then the mind starts up all sorts of things to do while in this state. I’ve very rarely seen it go straight to... this.”
  351. >She gestures to the scene around her.
  352. “Well, I mean, there wasn’t any activity like that. I just laid in bed and... here we are.”
  353. >”Odd. Is it a symptom of new stressors, or loss of old ones? Maybe a life change has introduced a change in chemistry?”
  354. >You shrug.
  355. “I mean... I was offered a warm bed to sleep in by nice people. Didn’t want to seem rude.”
  356. >”Hmm.” She ponders. “I’m not sure it’d do it.”
  357. >You think for a moment, then offer a confused look.
  358. “Do what?”
  359. >She looks down at you in the bed, now with a more subtle look of confusion than you.
  360. >”You went straight from consciousness to a lucid dream. Without the usual transitions. Is that not what we were talking about?”
  361. >You look to the very cuddly, very naked ponies next to you. In a minor test, you will them away from you, leaving you alone in the bed.
  362. >Eyes back to her, you give what must have been a very unconvincing smile.
  363. “It was. Just a lapse in thought. I’m fine now.”
  364. >You roll your hand, looking at her expectantly.
  365. “As you were saying, uh...”
  366. >”Do you happen to know what might have caused you to... lurch, from a woken state to a lucid dream?”
  367. >You look around for a minute, digging for an answer.
  368. “I can’t really say. Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s...” A hand aims her way. “Maybe it’s you.”
  369. >She snorts, looking around with her horn lit up.
  370.  
  371. “I hope I didn’t offend.”
  372. >”Hmm? No. No offense. I’m looking for a substantial answer is all. This is one of the things that has eluded my knowledge of dreaming. Going straight into dreams from the start, especially lucid ones, without magic.”
  373. >Oh, well. At least you didn’t upset her.
  374. “Sorry. I’ve never done it before. Before today, I suppose.” You shrug. “And it’s been a long time since I’ve had a lucid dream. Since I was a kid, really.”
  375. >She continues looking around for some time, before dropping the magic and looking over to you.
  376. >”Well, I won’t have an answer tonight I suppose.”
  377. >A nice pause, as each looks over the other.
  378. >”You’re Anonymous.”
  379. >You nod.
  380. “I am. I guess Twilight has mentioned me?”
  381. >”She has. All good things, I believe.”
  382. “I hope so.”
  383. >You look around the dreamscape. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a dream this vivid.
  384. “So, would you like to stay a moment? I’ve never had a guest before in... here. Maybe you could tell me about dreams.”
  385. >She smirks, walking around as she changes the dreamscape herself.
  386. >”I’m not sure how much I could tell you that you don’t already know. Most of it is common knowledge, supposedly.”
  387. >You shrug again. Below her, the carpeted area turns to sprouting grass and flowers, blooming in seconds.
  388. >You’re so captured by the simple thing that you hardly notice the rest of the world slip into a different scene entirely.
  389. >A flat spot nearly on the top of a mountain, the rest of the world too far below to see anything but clouds.
  390. >Above, the moon, at least thrice as large as her actual moon is, and far larger than earth’s. Bright and lively stars litter the sky, blinking in and out in subtle dances.
  391. >You rethink your position. You’re in a lucid dream with the PRINCESS of dreams standing right by you!
  392. >This isn’t the time to listen. This is the time to see.
  393. “Actually-”
  394. >You rush up and place a hand on her withers. You slowly peel it away when you remember who you’re talking to.
  395. “-I’m not sure when I’ll have another chance. Could you-” You talk with your hands, perhaps a bit too excitedly. “Could you show me something amazing?”
  396.  
  397. >She looks at you with her slight curiosity, as before.
  398. >”Something amazing?”
  399. >You nod.
  400. “I’m pretty new to this world. You all have lots of things we don’t back home. If you have the time for it, could you show me some of them?”
  401. >She stares at you for a short while, looking into your soul, or... something deeper.
  402. >Those massive eyes of hers must be portals to the secrets of everything. They examine you with motionless judgment.
  403. >”Very well.” She says. “But you must show me something amazing as well.”
  404. >In a dramatic movement, she extends a wing and wipes across your face, tickling your senses but doing nothing unpleasant, even if it seemed to grace your eyes.
  405. >The world turns in an instant. Water pools beside you and flows out a fresh crevice, falling over the edge without much noise.
  406. >The mountain disappears. Floating islands, with tops of grass and trees and bottoms of dirt and rock and half-buried crystal, spring up from below the clouds.
  407. >You peer over the edge. The clouds contract and reveal the ocean far below. A line of foam runs from one horizon to the other, separating a calm sea from a turbulent one.
  408. >”Welcome to Hawk’s Ire. A very real cluster of floating islands, currently suspended somewhere above Liar’s Fault, east of the Equestrian territory.”
  409.  
  410. >You walk along the edge of the island, kicking off a few rocks and watching them shrink into nothing long before they even approach the sea.
  411. >You look up to a plank bridge, then instantly run across and up to another island.
  412. >Luna is already sitting there, next to a campfire. Further down is a rather short log cabin, with loose cut stone connecting a path to the fire pit.
  413. >You sit next to Luna.
  414. “Someone lived here?”
  415. >”A few dozen pegasai, at its height of popularity. It passed over Equestria at the time, nearly twelve hundred years ago. The crystals you see embedded in the earth? Sponge quartz. The absorbed magic makes them very sensitive to magical currents and deposits. These islands have been riding a pocket of magic for quite some time now.”
  416. “I can’t believe there weren’t more wanting to live here. This would be wonderful to wake up to every day.”
  417. >She giggles at your amazement.
  418. “And what’s so funny? It’s wonderful! Marvelous!”
  419. >”I’m wondering which part has you so excited, is all. Forgive me.”
  420. >You nod.
  421. “Forgiven.”
  422. >Arms outstretched, you look around as you talk.
  423. “As for which part; all of it. It’s all got me excited. I’ve never seen an island suspended on thin air, let alone stood on one myself.”
  424. >”Oh dear.” She suppresses a smile. “If this impresses you so much, I’m afraid I have far too many things to show, to show you everything.”
  425. “Well, good thing I only asked for one. And this is a very amazing one. I hope what I have isn’t mundane to you.”
  426. >She hums.
  427. >”We’ll see. Feel free to take over the dream when you’ve had your fill.”
  428.  
  429. >You look around for some time, but trying to waste too much of hers, you come back and sit next to her again.
  430. “I suppose it’s my turn to impress, then.”
  431. >”I suppose it is.”
  432. >You have a few ideas in mind, but you aren’t certain what she’d actually care to see.
  433. >Best to ask, you think.
  434. “Do you have a preference, Princess?”
  435. >”Preference?”
  436. “Yes. I’m an artist, myself. I can think up all sorts of amazing things I’ve never seen outside my mind’s eye, but I’m not sure you don’t want something more... literal.”
  437. >”Hmm hmm hmm.” She hums away, tapping her hoof. “Sure. Give me something ‘literal’. Something real.”
  438. >You nod.
  439. >What’s something a princess of the moon and stars might want to see? Nebulae? Galaxies? Would she be interested in your own stars, or would she find it boring?
  440. “Have you ever seen an eclipse?”
  441. >She looks over to you. “In the nightmares of many, yes.”
  442. “Hmm. Well, a nightmare to one is often the comforting dream to another.” You lean in. “Back home, it is a perfectly natural, and frequent, event. Many humans wait eagerly to see a lunar or solar eclipse with their own eyes one day. I got lucky as a kid.”
  443.  
  444. >She doesn’t say anything immediately. Oh well. She can talk as little as she wants.
  445. >The world turns again as you mold the dream into concrete and glass structure, reaching down into ground from where you stand. Much shorter buildings cover the land around.
  446. >The sun shift down, setting much closer to the horizon than before. The moon- your moon, not hers- comes into view and touches the sun, slowly moving between it and you over the next several minutes.
  447. “Welcome to New York City, Luna. Right here is one of the tallest human structures created, overlooking one of the largest human cities ever developed. But that-” You point to the moon, halfway covering the sun.”-is what I want you to see.”
  448. >She glances down with a smirk, before setting eyes back on the eclipse.
  449. >”Cheater.”
  450. “Guilty.”
  451.  
  452. >A few minutes later, the sun breaches from the other side, and the world quickly begins to return to normal as you perceive it.
  453. “I forget how long it’s actually supposed to last.”
  454. >You turn to her.
  455. “But it always felt like it should have been longer.”
  456. >”How often does this happen?”
  457. “Several times a year. But it doesn’t engulf the whole world in darkness. Just small areas, for a few minutes, then gone; for years, lifetimes, or longer.”
  458. >She hums away next to you, playing with the orbital bodies.
  459. >”Well, it’s very interesting.”
  460. “But not amazing.”
  461. >She hesitates for just long enough for you to have your answer.
  462. “It’s fine. How about-”
  463. >”I like it.” She cuts you off. “I’m sorry. It’s just not something I was expecting.”
  464. >You nod, though you aren’t sure what to say. What was she expecting?
  465. >The world shift to darkness as both the sun and moon disappear. Stars bloom across the sky.
  466. >”You said you are a painter. I fancy myself one as well. Why don’t we paint something together?”
  467.  
  468. >And for one night only, she shares her brushes with you, for use on a canvas you cannot touch.
  469.  
  470. - - -
  471.  
  472. >You trek down a sullen path. The pitter-patter of rain drowns out most of the animals on this edge of the forest.
  473. >At the foot of the mountain, you can clearly make out the billow of smoke pouring into the air.
  474. >As you follow up the paths, you reexamine the surrounding forest time and again.
  475. >You yearn to capture it all, and maybe you will, but it would have to be at another time.
  476. >While the rumor is that this dragon may not even leave this place within your lifetime, you’d rather give him your urgency.
  477. >So by the time you reach the top, your legs ache for rest. Your hands, however, ache for use.
  478. >You peek inside the grotto, lighting a torch as you enter.
  479. >A mere few paces until gold glitters on the ground. You follow inward, eager to meet the owner.
  480. >Deeper inside, when the light of the torch can no longer reach any wall in the cave, and nothing but piles of riches can be seen, a rough, booming voice echoes from the darkness.
  481. >”I see a soldier with no sword. A thief without a taste for wealth. What comes to me in my rest?”
  482. “An artist.” You call out.
  483. >A few seconds of silence, the one loud crash after another. Out in the darkness, mountains of metal are tossed and moved aside.
  484. >A long, toothy snout snakes into view, stretching from one edge of the light into the other before an eye settles squarely on you.
  485. >”Artist?” The voice, once sounding like a rumbling god, is now more like a curious mouse.
  486. >”What could an artist ask of a dragon?”
  487. >You exaggerate, enjoying the… theatrics.
  488. “Something far more valuable. Your time.”
  489. >He scoffs. “Time! Valuable! Ha! I’ve spent oceans of time. Are you asking for a glass? One I’d otherwise pour in silence?”
  490. >You nod.
  491. “I heard of a dragon of legendary stature. I want to see you with my own eyes and make a painting of you.”
  492. >The eye holds tight, never even blinking as it judges you. The air quakes again a moment later.
  493. >”Very well.”
  494. >The head lifts into the abyss. A slight breeze brushes you as he consumes the air.
  495. >Loud and fierce, fiery, blazing breath flows around. The raging fire washes over the walls all around, then up to the hole chasing upward. As the newly hot air around rises out, a gentle wind picks up from where you walked in.
  496. >You put out the torch. Enough of the fire stays lit that you can see the cavern in all its glory.
  497. >A kingdom’s worth of gold, pushed and piled into the far side. Separate piles of diamonds and jewels larger than your head.
  498. >...a corpse or two, long since decayed, set in the corner…
  499. >The dragon himself, sitting atop his gold, must be no less than a hundred meters high with his head stretched up and standing on his heels.
  500. >Nothing ornate, or complex, but nothing short of amazing and beautiful.
  501.  
  502. >You drop your bag down and set your stand and canvas. He comes to lay in front of you, right where the whole of his body could be best seen.
  503. >You begin with the subject himself. Slow and steady, you go over every detail with precision you don’t normally commit to.
  504. >Then the wealth. Less care goes into the hundred million individual coins and pearls and gems, but enough is put in to best reflect the volume.
  505. >Finally, the cavern. As lively as rock and fire can be made, it is so. The subtle reflections contrast against the fierce beast in the center.
  506. >A few more swipes and… done.
  507. >You look it over, adding just a couple more details, but otherwise see no need to keep going.
  508. >You put up your paints and clean the brushes, packing up all but the canvas and the stand.
  509. >You carefully grab the painting, turning it to the dragon, and holding it where the light best shows.
  510. >He narrows his eye. You can’t tell if he can actually see from the distance, but you don’t dare ask.
  511. >”Impressive. The oils give depth to the fire. The walls look naturally carved. Is that a… pony? In front of my gold?”
  512. >Wow. His attention to detail, so far away at that, is immense.
  513. “Of course. It’s to give perspective on your size.”
  514. >”It does do that quite well.” A small pause. “Who’s your master?”
  515. “I’m self taught.”
  516. >”I see.”
  517. >You rest your arms a bit.
  518. “Would you like to keep it?”
  519. >A long silence follows.
  520. >”Keep it?”
  521. “Of course. The painting is secondary. I was more concerned with even meeting a dragon such as you.”
  522. >”Were you?”
  523. >His tail whirls around and reaches at you from above.
  524. >You flinch as the point grabs you by the shoulder of your clothing, floating you around until it sets you down at the wall far to the side.
  525. >You see a small table, a few amenities, a pile of supplies one might take on a picnic or a hike.
  526. >”It has been a long time since I had been given a gift. Many know dragons for their greed, but I tell you: an ounce of what was given, is worth a mountain of what was taken. There, next to the others.”
  527. >Lining along the wall, in pristine condition, there stands a few paintings of various size, but the subject is one and the same. From a hatchling, balancing a few bits on the nose, standing in front of a smiling stallion and mare, to the monstrous dragon today, with several stages of size and wealth in between.
  528. >Your own, and the most recent before it, are more significant in difference than the others’ and their next or last.
  529. >You put it in its place.
  530. >As you turn around, the articulate tail hooks you again and sets you at the table.
  531. >”You have spent your time and given me a gift. Allow me to do the same.”
  532. >His claw reaches into some pile to the side and finds a bottle, then another and finds a canvas. Both are placed before you as gently as a butterfly landing on a flower.
  533. >”Wine aged for three thousand years. A painting aged for longer. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.”
  534. “I will. Thank you.”
  535. >He lays down, resting his head as close as you are both comfortable. His eyes no longer judge. They are softer now, warmer.
  536. >”Time.” He says. “You have much too little for the breadth of my story. Both enjoying it, and partaking in it. It’ll be just a glass, but we’ll drink it well. I have many things to tell, so… what would you like to hear?”
  537. >You nod.
  538. “About you.”
  539. >”Very well. I was once an abandoned egg, like many dragons. By chance, a newlywed pony couple, eager to consummate their marriage far and away from others, happened upon me. They took me away, cradled and cared for, until I was born. Like all children, I was fearless and curious, carelessly falling into one danger after another. On the night of my first birthday, my father named me...”
  540.  
  541. - - -
  542.  
  543. >The short stallion next to you, all dressed in that odd garb everyone seems to think all the hotshot artists wear, tilts his head as he looks at your work.
  544. >You know the kind. The turtleneck, the beret, the snooty attitude.
  545. >Well, he was snooty when he was walking around with friends. He passed you by a second time and began watching you as one watches birds; carefully and quietly, hoping to get closer.
  546.  
  547. >Now, though, he’s perfectly content to sit right next to you, watching as you twist pink swirls of hair into the canvas.
  548. >A pale mare, relaxed and alone at a simple table, leaning back and sipping her tea or coffee or something.
  549. >Hair unfurling in a slow wind, long and reaching out to the invisible ground at the side.
  550. >A perfect look of a contented moment, having neither pain nor ecstasy, just... a simple, calm happiness in a cup.
  551. >It’s a little different than the unknown subject herself. She has a stronger coat color, her hair isn’t that long really, and of course she’s much more animated. But you’d found that little moment and wanted it nailed down, so... here you are.
  552.  
  553. >”I can introduce her, if you want.”
  554. >You finish your stroke, then look at him.
  555. “Hmm?”
  556. >”Well, you’re painting her a picture, right? Secret admirer? I could introduce you.” He smiles. “Though, usually it’s the ladies that admire the gentlecolts.”
  557. “Really?” You pause. “Well, no need to introduce me, anyways. I just wanted to capture the moment.”
  558. >He nods along as you continue.
  559. >”You’re certainly good with paint. I think those little... things of yours must make you rather nimble.”
  560. “They sure do. I don’t think I could do without them.” You wriggle your fingers.
  561. >He watches for another moment.
  562. >”Have you ever thought about doing realism? It’s all the rage these days.”
  563. “Hmm. I can do realism, but it’s really not my preference. It just takes up too much of my time for what I want to make.”
  564. >”Oh. That’s tragic.”
  565. >You raise an eyebrow at him, slowly putting up your paints. Confusion weaves your voice.
  566. “I’m sorry?”
  567. >He moves his hooves around as he talks.
  568. >”Well, practicing realism is an accolade in itself! It’s such a difficult feat, most ponies that use it are unicorns with years of magic honing under their belt!”
  569. >Hmmm. Now that you think about it, it must be very difficult to hold a brush with a hoof.
  570. >How do they do that, anyways?
  571.  
  572. “I suppose I can see why it’s valuable. Still, I don’t think I’ll be doing any pieces any time soon.”
  573. >He scoots a bit closer.
  574. >”Could you help me understand why, then?”
  575. “Why? Well, it’s just not my preference, is all.”
  576. >He shakes his head.
  577. >”Surely you have some greater reason for it. Is it because of some principle you have learned to stick to?”
  578. >You shrug.
  579. “I suppose so. I hadn’t really needed to think about it before.”
  580. >”Could you humor me, if you would, friend? Take as long as you need to think on the answer. Why don’t you like realism?”
  581. >You humor him, and take a long moment to come to a... satisfactory response.
  582. “Well.” You start slowly. “When I paint, I do it to capture a moment in the purest form I can. Art, to me, is when we distill something. We refine a time or a place into the most important pieces.”
  583. “I often find the extra details are nice to look at, but usually distract from the overall experience. Perfect realism is for the verbose and unimaginative. Incredible detail is worthless, if it doesn’t make the art more powerful than with simple strokes.”
  584. >He sits and thinks on it for a moment.
  585. >”I think I like that answer.”
  586. >You nod.
  587. “Well, I’m happy you do. What about you? Do you like realism?”
  588. >He takes a second, then nods happily.
  589. >”I certainly do.”
  590. “Very well. And why do you like it?”
  591. >He ponders it for a moment as you finish putting away your things.
  592. >”I’ve always had an eye for details. The whole world is made up of tiny details forged together, and I think art should reflect that. The more detail a painting or drawing has, the more it’s brought to life, where we can best examine it, and through it, examine ourselves.”
  593.  
  594. >Hmm. You’re not sure you can agree, but it sounds... nice.
  595. “You know, I think I like your answer.”
  596. >He clops his hooves together.
  597. >”Well, I’m happy you do!” He pauses. “Say, why don’t I invite you over tonight? I want to pick your brain over dinner.”
  598. “Sure, I’ll come. Where do-”
  599. >His eyes quickly dart someone else and back to you.
  600. >”End of Cobblestone Road, across from the salt store. See you sometime after six?”
  601. “Sounds good-”
  602. >”Alright, see you then! Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
  603. >He scurries off to the group you saw earlier, coming up behind them.
  604. “See you.” You mutter.
  605.  
  606. >Ponies are silly.
  607.  
  608. - - -
  609.  
  610. >You wipe away the sweat, again.
  611. >It isn’t the heat getting to you, since it’s actually a comfortable temperature out.
  612. >Neither is it the humidity.
  613. >”I’ve got notes in the tens of thousands for that painting!”
  614. >”Whatever he’s offering, I can double it!”
  615. >”No price is too steep for me! Just name it!”
  616. >It was the people. Well, ponies.
  617.  
  618. >You had carried off the painting from the dragon without taking it out of the frame. It was all nailed in and... well, it would have seemed lesser for being altered, anyways.
  619. >You hadn’t expected one of the ponies in Canterlot to recognize the work and press for more about it.
  620. >Nor did you expect him to start offering prices, nor to blabber about it and get others to start a bidding war. On a painting you aren’t putting in auction, no less.
  621. >So, here you are, trawling towards the castle with a dozen denizens and increasing in tow.
  622. >And it’s annoying you quite a bit.
  623.  
  624. “It’s not for sale!”
  625. >”Everything has a price! Just name it!”
  626. >Vultures. Poachers of history.
  627. >You want to be more angry. They don’t see the value, only the price.
  628. >You aren’t going to let a great piece sit idly in someone’s attic, collecting dust when it suddenly doesn’t match the upholstery.
  629.  
  630. >You trudge up the stairs, hoisting the painting a little higher while you do.
  631. >At the top, the guards eye you and the group, but dismissed it all as you pass.
  632. >Straight through the main hall, their voices bounce and echo, somehow carrying the full distance to the wall and back.
  633. >They’re getting antsy. You have to push one or two off with your leg, but none dare touch the painting; they might damage it’s price, of course.
  634. >You approach the throne room, passing by more guards, but stop when you find the thrones empty.
  635. >You turn back, standing next to one guard. He looks you over as you lean down to speak more clearly.
  636. “Do you know when the princess is returning?”
  637. >He shrugged. “She’s been gone an hour. She’ll likely be back-”
  638. >”What’s going on here?”
  639. >”-soon.”
  640. >You both straighten up to look at her, and the small crowd falls silent for the first time.
  641. “Your highness! I was hoping we could negotiate you taking this piece here. An original Moosekev. Well preserved with original frame intact.”
  642.  
  643. >The crowd bites their tongues. Whatever they could offer, their princess could provide ten-fold if she so wishes.
  644. >”You must be Anonymous. Pleased to meet you.” She pauses. ”I do happen to run a free public museum, and that could certainly fit right in, but I’m afraid the trust’s funds aren’t particularly plentiful at the moment. I’d only be able to offer a paltry sum for the real value you have there. Twelve thousand is roughly the limit of my means for now.”
  645. >The nobleponies around glance back and forth between the two of you, holding their breath.
  646. >Until one nitwit shouted.
  647. >”I can offer double!”
  648. >”Triple! I can do triple!”
  649. >”Fifty thousand bits! Right here!”
  650. >”Sixty!”
  651. >”Sixty-five!”
  652. >The numbers keep climbing, but you don’t even blink at them. You and she don’t break eye contact.
  653. “No money, then.”
  654. >The crowd is flabbergasted again. Long enough for you to continue.
  655. “I’ll give it to you for a day of your time.”
  656. >She smiles warmly.
  657. >”That’s quite agreeable. Do you mind if we check it for authenticity first?”
  658. “Of course. As long as you need.”
  659. >To the bemoaning of the crowd, she takes the whole thing into the air with her magic, scratches out a quick letter, and whisks both away into the aether.
  660.  
  661. ———————————————————————————————————
  662. >Most of the ponies disperse, already losing interest. A couple stick around, but they hardly make a presence.
  663. >”We should have our answer by evening.”
  664. >You can’t really help but look her over. She moves toward you, with grace surpassing what could be expected.
  665. >”So, a day, then?”
  666. “A day. To talk, walk the gardens... nothing obscene.”
  667. >”Sounds lovely.” She brushes by slowly, stopping next to you. “And I’m surprised. Most would take the highest bidder.”
  668. “They weren’t offering anything I cared for. There are things better than money.”
  669. >”I’m glad we agree.” She nods. “Is next Friday good for you? Dawn to dawn?”
  670. “It’s perfect.”
  671. >”Would you like to stay at the castle tonight? We have guest rooms.”
  672. “Thank you, but... no. The city is enough for me.”
  673. >”...I see. Very well. I’ll have a servant fetch you for breakfast. Any preferences?”
  674. “No hay or flowers, please.”
  675. >”Done. I’ll see you that morning, then.”
  676. “See you then, princess.”
  677.  
  678. >You walk away, happier to have secured a piece of history where all can enjoy it.
  679.  
  680. - - -
  681.  
  682. >”You can’t sleep either, can you mister?”
  683. >A dark mare looks down at you. You’re laying on a park bench, looking up at the stars, both in the sky and, now, in her eyes.
  684. “Not really. Big day tomorrow. I get to talk to Celestia.”
  685. >”What about?”
  686. >You shrug.
  687. “Haven’t decided much. I’m going to update her on a friend of hers, and try to make a painting. Anything else will come as it will.”
  688. >”Cool! ...I wish I could do art.”
  689. >She hops off the bench and stands in front of her telescope, messing with the knobs and dials.
  690. >You turn over, looking over her with your head propped up.
  691.  
  692. “So what do you want to make art of?”
  693. >”Hmm?” She looks back at you. “What of?”
  694. “I never hear someone say they wish they could make art unless they have something specific in mind. So... what would you make?”
  695. >She looks at you for only a few seconds, before turning her head up to the sky.
  696. >”The stars.” She sighs. “They’re so pretty to look at, but some things just don’t happen often. I see these wonderful streaks of light burn across the sky, but they’re gone in a blink. They’re all so beautiful and unique.”
  697. >You nod along.
  698. “Hmm. I can’t blame you. Stars have always been an interesting subject to paint.”
  699. >”It’s probably the only thing I’d paint. There’s just so many things that happen so quick in the sky. I want to share it, but... not very many ponies want to sit outside for hours on end, waiting for a flash of something. They love Luna’s big shows, but don’t have the patience to stay for the little things. I just wish I could capture every moment.”
  700. “A shame.”
  701. >She nods and goes back to her telescope.
  702. >You get that feeling again. You sit up and go through your things.
  703. >Stand, canvas, paints. You set it all up again. [spoiler]You get the picture.[/spoiler]
  704. >The mare has her back turned to you. Maybe she’s ignoring you, maybe she’s lost in the sky.
  705. >Either way, you manage not to draw her attention for a while.
  706. —————————————————————————————
  707. >You start with a crude crescent, then shape it into a half-face.
  708. >The rest is filled with a slightly different color mixture, filling in with the aura of the last minutes of the sunset.
  709. >Stars to dot the expanse, some uniform and clean, some sporadic and unbalanced. Large, small, faint, and eye-catching.
  710. >A few streaks of light to almost make that illusory face seem to smile.
  711. >Then, against the darkness, the moon sits in the center as an eye.
  712.  
  713. >You aren’t sure exactly how much time passed, but it doesn’t feel like much. She’s still standing at her telescope, peering for her sights.
  714. >You turn the stand a little and scoot over, leaning towards the mare.
  715. “Psst!”
  716. >She turns around, spotting the canvas. She comes over as you signal for her to do so, and sits next to you.
  717. “Like it?”
  718. >”It’s pretty!” She looks over it. “The craters on the moon look really different, though.”
  719. “Thanks, and yeah. I used the moon from my own world, as best as I could remember it. It’s probably not the most accurate.”
  720. >”Cool! So, those are all but craters? Or are the rocks made of different materials than our moon?”
  721. >She leans forward, vaguely pointing at the moon.
  722. “No clue. I’m an artist, not an astrogeologist or whatever.”
  723. >”Pfft. Okay. I should have expected that.”
  724. >She leans a little more.
  725. >”Do you know if that one is a single impact? Oh! And what’s with the dark part on this side- woah! Aah!”
  726.  
  727. >She leans too far, and before you can grab her she falls over and hits the stand.
  728. >The painting tilts and falls. You’d rather not get your fingers wet, so the most you manage is to pop it to the side so it doesn’t land on her. Instead, it hits the grass, face down.
  729. >The mare looks up and seems to panic.
  730. >”No! Please- Darn it. Don’t be-”
  731. >She fiddles with the painting, trying to grab it without touching the face, but it just rubs against the grass before she can get a grip.
  732. >She leans it up against the stand, stepping back as she examines it.
  733. >The paint is smeared in thin slices, with most of the details messed up but the overall image still fairly recognizable.
  734.  
  735. >She dips her head, looking between it, you, and the ground.
  736. >Her eyes start to water, and she blinks hard to get them out.
  737. >”I... I didn’t mean to... it was really nice and...I’m sorry.”
  738. >You reach down and pull the poor girl into a hug.
  739. “Hey. It’s fine. It’s just a painting.”
  740. >”I know, but... you worked hard on it. You put time into it. Now the moment you made is lost.”
  741. >You shrug your shoulders.
  742. “Some day, every moment gets lost.” You both pull out of the hug. “Let’s just be careful and not lose them sooner than we have to.”
  743. >She nods.
  744. >”Okay mister... sorry.”
  745. “It’s fine. Now.”
  746. >You grab another canvas, this one much smaller since the other was your last of the larger size.
  747. “What should I make? Anything specific in mind?”
  748. >She giggles.
  749. >”You REALLY can’t sleep, can you mister?”
  750. “Not at all.”
  751. ————————————————————————————
  752. - - -
  753.  
  754. >You aren’t sure how, but a breeze pushes by you as you walk through court again.
  755. >You can’t see any open windows, yet within a short time, all the stale air of the indoors is quickly replaced with fresh, cool air.
  756. >You decide it’s all the more interesting that this breeze comes from nowhere, than if it’s some cracks you just can’t see yet.
  757. >The maid walks you behind the throne room, where stairs lead down from either side to a massive set of doors.
  758. >Through there, another whole section of castle is revealed.
  759. >Far more lively, maids and guards and cooks and all sorts of workers move and shift about. Some tired, some wide awake, all of them coming and going and never standing still.
  760. >The bodies part ways as you press through the center. Some curious glances for you, but not much more. They had their own parts to play in whatever is going on.
  761. >The smell of food fills the air as you go through.
  762. >On the other side, you go into a hall, then another, then up a spiral staircase into the heavens.
  763. >Your knees ache a little by the top.
  764.  
  765. >Again, back down a long hall towards the city again, and you arrive at a subtly decorated room.
  766. >The marble and royal reds, purples, and golds go together well without seeming overly ornate.
  767. >The maid sits you down at a small table, simple and painted white.
  768. >You make due with the rather short chair. Best not to complain the royal treatment isn’t good enough. At least it’s padded.
  769. >”The princess specified some restrictions, but we aren’t certain what the sir would most enjoy. Would the sir like to request anything?”
  770. “Surprise me. I’m rather easy to please.”
  771. >She nods. “Very well. Tea will be ready in just a moment. If the sir needs anything, there is a bell right by the door. Tootles!”
  772. >She leaves you alone.
  773.  
  774. >A few moments pass, and the sun lifts over the skyline.
  775. >The mare herself walks through the open doorway to the balcony.
  776. >”Anonymous. You certainly came quickly.”
  777. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to make you wait.”
  778. >”Why, thank you. Not that I often mind it, but not everyone gives that consideration.”
  779. >She sits across from you. The very second she does, a maid swiftly comes through the room, setting tea and sugar down, before immediately departing.
  780. “Wow. They have that well timed.”
  781. >”Yes. I am a creature of habit in the A.M. There’s an importance to consistency when ensuring the day comes when it should.”
  782. “Yeah, I hear that. Honestly, it’s still a lot to take in.”
  783. >”Yes, Twilight has told me a fair bit about you. Quite the stranger in a strange land. How is Ponyville treating you?”
  784. “Wonderful. Ponies kept me fed and housed every night while I was there. I actually insisted they didn’t, but they’re difficult to say ‘no’ to.”
  785. >”That’s good to hear. Ponyville has always been a quaint little place.”
  786. “Quite.”
  787. >You adjust your seat, looking towards her with a small grin.
  788.  
  789. “Before I let it slip away from me, I would like to talk about the painting.”
  790. >She sips her tea.
  791. “Do you happen to know where I got that painting?”
  792. >She looks you over for a moment before shrugging.
  793. “Does the name ‘Raggart the Red’ ring a bell?”
  794. >She cracks a smile, setting down her cup.
  795. >”Little Raggie? Oh, it’s been centuries since I’ve heard a single word about him! Did you meet him?”
  796. “I sure did. I don’t think ‘little’ is a good descriptor, though.”
  797. >”Hardly. But I’ll never get out of my head his hatchling form. So much like Spike.”
  798. “Yes, he had a picture of him. It was very cute. He actually asked me to invite you out to talk. He misses you too.”
  799. >She nods. “Then I absolutely will! It’s been too long. When he could still fit within our doorway, he visited much more often... I hope he didn’t think I’d forgotten about him.”
  800. >She pauses.
  801. >”How did you get a painting from him, though? He doesn’t often hoof away his gifts...”
  802. “I didn’t ask for anything but his time. I made a painting of him, and gave it to him. He gave me things in return.”
  803. >She closes her eyes in thought for a small moment.
  804. >”It does seem like him.” She sighs. “You know, he used to be seen in a much better light. Ponies from all around would come to see him. He was a monument, of a sort, of the eras past.”
  805. “He still is.”
  806. >”Yes… you’re right. He still is.” She nods. “I’ll have to set aside some time for him.”
  807.  
  808. >A rattling cage catches both your attention, followed by bright, beautiful whistling and chirping.
  809. >”And some time for you! Philomena, how long have you been awake?”
  810. >Celestia walks to the gilded cage, unlatching the door.
  811. >The bird bursts out from the bars, zipping around the room in a showy display of energy. Trails of fire follow it around, marking the room with a streak of light.
  812. >As Celestia sits in her seat again, Philomena perches on her wing, puffing its chest out and posing its head.
  813. >”You’re certainly chipper.” She says.
  814. “She’s beautiful.”
  815. >Philomena whistles, seemingly in agreement.
  816. >”She certainly is! Have you even seen a Pheonix before?”
  817. “I haven’t. What’s she like?”
  818. >You hold out a hand… finger… something, not quite sure what to do.
  819. >She dips her head into your grip and shakes up and down, like she’s trying to shake your hand.
  820. >”Pheonixes are very long lived birds. They live more than once, actually! Naturally, they expire into a flame, then rise again from the ashes.”
  821. >You run your fingers along Philomena’s feathers, watching the ethereal fire twist around you without singeing.
  822. >Philomena chirps and lets you do as you will.
  823. >”She seems to like you.
  824. “Well, I like you, too.” You scratch along her back, eliciting happy chirps. “You know. We have stories about these things back home. Of a lot of things, really.”
  825. >She hums. “I’ve heard a few about you, too.”
  826. “Oh dear. I hope none too harsh.”
  827. >”Amusing is the word I would use. I was told your first conversation started with ‘Holy shit, a talking unicorn’!”
  828. >You can only shake your head and snicker.
  829. “I can’t get away from that one, can I?”
  830. >”I’m afraid not! Luna had quite the laugh when she read Twilight’s and Pinkie’s letters.”
  831. “Ah, oh well. Yes, I was in for a great surprise when I found myself in someone’s backyard. Looked up and saw a unicorn staring back. I haven’t been able to stop painting and drawing since.”
  832.  
  833. >”Hmm.” She nods. “A true artist. That was the other part I’d heard about you. You refuse to sell your art to anyone?”
  834. >You hum as you think.
  835. “Sorta. I mostly make things because I want to capture the moment. I don’t really make them to sell.”
  836. >She smiles, but seems to tilt her head slightly. Almost like she’s studying you as much as you are her.
  837. >”I’m not sure I understand why. Do you mind elaborating for me?”
  838. >You shrug your shoulders, idly petting Philomena as you continue.
  839. “Well, I paint because I like to. I have a drive in me to make works for their own sake. For my own sake. I don’t really want to be tied up in some contract to paint something I’d hate.”
  840. >”Well, I can see the appeal there.” She pauses. “But, what about making the things you want, then selling afterward?”
  841. >You furrow your eyebrows.
  842. “I’m not sure about that either.”
  843. >She looks at you curiously.
  844. “I suppose I’ve seen too many good artists just… get sucked in. They swear it’s not about money at first, and they wake up one day to find that it is, and has been for a long while.”
  845. >”You think money ruins art.”
  846.  
  847. “It can. Sometimes, it doesn’t. I suppose it depends on the artist. The circumstances.”
  848. >You shrug your shoulders.
  849. “I suppose I’m scared I won’t see it coming. That I’d get myself into the same trap and never find my way out.”
  850.  
  851. >She looks at you with that graceful smile again, lost in thought.
  852. >No, not lost. That’s not the right word. She’s trekking very carefully through her mind.
  853. >But for a few seconds, you can see something you don’t think you’re supposed to see.
  854. >She’s lost focus on you and everything, turning inward.
  855. >It was only a brief time, and suddenly she turns to you again.
  856. >”Well. I think I can say with certainty that it wouldn’t be a trap to you.”
  857. “What do you mean?”
  858. >”I mean you shouldn’t fear it. Losing yourself. Something tells me you’ll never really be ‘lost’. Not the way you think.”
  859.  
  860. >You aren’t certain how to respond to that, so you sit and think on it for a minute, leaning back in the seat.
  861. >Shouldn’t that be worrying? Or at least a concern? You’ve seen plenty of artists burn out; start hating their art.
  862. >It’s not a fate you want to share.
  863.  
  864. >”I’m sorry. I suppose I’m lecturing you now, aren’t I?”
  865. “It’s fine. I like listening.”
  866. >”No, it hardly is. Today is for you, so what would you like to talk about?”
  867. >You tilt your head, thinking. There’s no better time than now, right?
  868. “Actually, do you mind if I paint you?”
  869. >She chuckles, nodding.
  870. >”Of course not. Do you want me in any particular pose?”
  871. “Right as you are. No need to sit still, really, but I may ask to look around you in a minute.”
  872. >You run your thumb along Philomena’s back one more time before digging though your backpack.
  873. “And don’t you go anywhere. I want you in it too.”
  874.  
  875. >Once again, you set the stand and grab a small canvas, the paints ...all the usual things.
  876. >You ready them, wetting the brush, pushing against the canvas and...
  877. >You stop, eyes going over the two of them again.
  878. >The hair, much like her sister’s, is filled with twinkling specs. Celestia’s is all the more difficult, however, for that transition from one color to another, where her hair seems to change like, well, magic.
  879. >It’s beautiful, just like her sister’s, but hardly easy to capture.
  880. >A shame. Maybe you can experiment and reproduce it some other time. It would be a nice challenge.
  881. >You choose something a little more conscious of your time.
  882. >You only have today, after all.
  883.  
  884. >You swipe this way and that, filling out the clean white form first.
  885. >Then a raised wing, a few feathers proudly displayed.
  886. >The hair, bright and giving off a subtle glow almost.
  887. >The face, lidded- no, closed eye and strong smile.
  888. >A look of pure, innocent enjoyment.
  889. >Talons, gently perched upon the wing. A warm body to go with, strung together with sunset hues.
  890. >Eye full of life, on a head butting Celestia’s muzzle. A beak mustering what smile was possible.
  891. >Some shading on the pony’s backside, as if Philomena is her sun.
  892.  
  893. “...and done.”
  894. >You turn the painting around, showing it to the princess and the bird.
  895. >”That was quick.”
  896. >She teases Philomena with floating bits of crackers while she looks it over.
  897. “How do you like it?”
  898. >”I love it. How about you?”
  899. >Philomena puffs her chest, strutting about.
  900. >”I think she does as well.”
  901. “I hope so. It’s all yours.”
  902. >You set the stand to the side, a bit farther than, say, a spilled teacup could reach.
  903. >”Oh, I don’t know. Having paintings of myself around the castle would be so... egotistical.”
  904. “Well, it’s not just you; it’s you and Philomena here. There’s nothing wrong if you’re sharing the canvas.”
  905. >”Hmm. You are convincing.”
  906. >She stretches her wing around to let the phoenix off, putting her right on a metal bar, a few inches from the table.
  907. >”Very well. Thank you.”
  908.  
  909. >The two of you continue at a leisurely pace, comparing worlds and histories, telling stories of that which was and that which may have been.
  910. >You walk through the gardens and visit some spires, enjoying your time around the beautiful castle.
  911. >You even discover some phenomenal animals that nest on the grounds.
  912. >But as the day goes on, you couldn’t help but think she had something she wants to say. Something on the tip of the tongue.
  913. >It wasn’t until the day is done that you figure it out.
  914.  
  915. “Well, I suppose that’s all the time I can take from you.”
  916. >Celestia lifts her head. As the sunlight fades, her magic fades with it, leaving you both in the rising moonlight.
  917. >”If we don’t want to argue about the semantics of the length of a full day, sure.” She pauses. “Though, I’m glad you’ve had your fill. It’s certainly been nice for me.”
  918. >You nod. “Likewise. Thank you, Princess.”
  919. >She hums, closing her eyes for a second. Her horn flashes, and her wing holds out to you a burlap sack, clinking around as she places it into your curious hand.
  920. >”Before you go, however, I’d like you to take this.”
  921. >You open it up, confirming your suspicion. It’s a bag full of gold, silver, and an odd few gemstone coins.
  922. >You close it up quick, and before you even think about it, your hands almost threaten to give the bag back.
  923. “Princess-”
  924. >”Just Celestia.”
  925. “Celestia.” You correct. “You already gave me your time. You don’t need to give me this.”
  926. >”Of course I don’t. I want to. That’s what makes it a gift.”
  927. >You stare at her, then the bag, for perhaps a bit too long.
  928. >”If I may ask; why is it, again, that you don’t sell your art?”
  929.  
  930. “I don’t want to wake up one day to realize that I tricked myself into doing it for the money.”
  931. >”I can see that much. But why refuse anything for it? Even if it’s clearly a gift?”
  932. “It’s not just money. It’s all the same if I make it with the expectation that I should get anything in return. My focus would be on the thing I want, not on what I have.”
  933. >”And what makes you think you’ll be like that?”
  934. >You hesitate.
  935. “I just... I guess I don’t know for sure, but I’m not immune to the problems other people face. I don’t want to end up hating what I do.”
  936. >”Do you love what you do, Anonymous?”
  937. “Of course I do!”
  938. >”Do you love what you give others?”
  939. “Yes. Of course.”
  940. >”Do you expect others will love what you give them?”
  941. “Yes. I do.”
  942. >”Then what right do you have to deny them the opportunity to give back to you?”
  943.  
  944. >You open your mouth, but say nothing.
  945. >You can’t think of what to say to that.
  946.  
  947. “I... suppose I don’t.”
  948. >”Then will you take it?”
  949. >You stare for just a bit longer, weighing the risk of offending her further.
  950. “May I ask why this seems to matter so much?”
  951. >She sits on her haunches, looking at you straight on. The moonlight makes half her face glow.
  952. >”Because I find your fears unfounded, Anonymous.” She pauses. “I’ve seen ponies do as you’ve described. Do you know what they all had in common?”
  953. >You shake your head.
  954. >”They had to convince themselves they liked whatever it was they were doing. They had to manufacture their love for it, because it wouldn’t come naturally.”
  955. >”You, though; You clearly love every moment of what you do. It’s as real as it gets. You feel it in you, and I see it in you.”
  956. >”What I also see, is that you’re letting your fear obscure your possibilities in life. Your jealousy of your position risks alienating everything else.”
  957.  
  958. >You shake your head, twirling your hands around.
  959. “I- I don’t... I don’t get it.” A sigh. “I’d spent a long time convincing myself not to waste time on wealth. On material things. Ideas matter. People matter. Was I wrong?” Your pace quickens a bit. “Am I wrong? Is that what I’m hearing?”
  960. >She extends a wing and caresses your shoulder.
  961. —————————————————————————————————————
  962. >”No. You are not. I will always appreciate someone who puts spiritual matters above physical ones.” She breathes. “And that’s what we have here; a spiritual matter. You have a gift, Anonymous. Like all my little ponies do, you also have something special.”
  963. “Their cutiemark.” You say.
  964. >She smiles warmly.
  965. >”Almost. The cutiemark is really just a mark. It’s about what’s beneath the pelt.”
  966.  
  967. >Quietly, she encompasses you in her magic, then lifts into the air. A second later, you’re next to her on a nearby perch, overlooking some of the garden with the moon in your eyes.
  968.  
  969. >”Ponies have special talents, here. It’s not just a skill, it’s their calling. Their true purpose in life. But not all purposes are the same.”
  970. >”Some ponies have their needs contend, Anonymous. A soldier may yearn for more time with his family. A Farmer, with her friends. A skilled maid may be in need of another income. In the greater scheme, many have needs they can’t meet without help. ”
  971. >”We consider it a grand blessing, that one should have one’s needs met, being only in one’s rightful place in the world. Even here, many wish they were so fortunate.”
  972. >”So please forgive my confusion, when you refuse to take such a blessing that others would toil a lifetime to secure.”
  973.  
  974. >You stare on at the moon, trying to soak it all in.
  975. >Maybe you weren’t thinking about it right.
  976. >Maybe you never were.
  977. >You couldn’t be dazzled by the money right now, that’s for certain.
  978. >You live nearly like a vagrant, after all.
  979. >But when would it change?
  980. >Or COULD it change?
  981. >Would a thousand gold coins change you?
  982. >Ten thousand?
  983. >Ten million?
  984. >You sure didn’t care when you painted ten million gold pieces under a behemoth’s scaly visage.
  985. >And the pile in your hand had not yet given you one thought of selling out. Only the fear of thinking to sell out.
  986.  
  987. >Perhaps this is a test. That you are meant to deny it completely and totally, and keep yourself from worldly worries.
  988. >But a part of you feels she is on to something.
  989. >You have a gift, you can’t deny that. It is yours to do with as you please, and it pleases you to give to others.
  990. >And... sometimes, others may want to give back. Sometimes, what they have to give may not be as personal.
  991. >Is it wrong of you to deny them the opportunity?
  992.  
  993. >... is it greedy, to be gracious, and deny a gift?
  994. >You don’t know.
  995.  
  996. >But, so far, you’re certain that you love what you do.
  997. >And you now realize that your fears need more substance; more proof.
  998. >You need to give her a chance.
  999.  
  1000. >You wrap your arms around her neck, bringing her into a surprise embrace.
  1001. >As you part again, you speak lowly.
  1002. “Alright. I’ll give it a chance.” You pause. “Thank you.”
  1003.  
  1004. >She smiles again, brushing you with the tip of her wing.
  1005. >”Thank you. I promise, it will go much better than you think.”
  1006. >You nod, then turn away.
  1007. ————————————————————————
  1008.  
  1009. - - -
  1010.  
  1011. >Months pass.
  1012.  
  1013. >The Canterlot undercity isn’t exactly what comes to mind when you hear the name.
  1014. >It’s not a terrible place of evil and suffering as a dark reflection of the seemingly perfect city atop.
  1015. >It’s really what it says on the tin; a city that’s under. It carves into the large space below the lid of the whole Canterlot structure.
  1016. >A band around the edge of the city lets in natural light, but towards the core, perpetual streetlights light the way.
  1017. >And the denizens are hardly different, or even separate, from the ones up top.
  1018. >Insomniacs and nocturnals alike fill the place, keeping the city alive well through the night with all sorts business.
  1019. >By far, bat-ponies are the most common sight. And you love watching them as much as the rest.
  1020. >Only one in particular has your attention today, though.
  1021.  
  1022. >As the sun threatens to push the horizon, you break from a main pathway and go down a smaller walkway.
  1023. >Permanent houses, integrated into the city architecture, line either side.
  1024. >The cool white stone makes them look similar, but not uniform, and you easily find the home you’re looking for.
  1025. >You go to knock on the door; once, twice-
  1026. >Before the third knock, the door creaks open. A frail stallion greets you, putting on some half-framed glasses.
  1027. >”Good morning, honey. Are you well today?”
  1028. “Absolutely. Is Artemis home?”
  1029. >He nods happily.
  1030. >”He certainly is.” He turns back. “Artemis! Anonymous is he-”
  1031. >THUNK
  1032. >”-re.”
  1033. >A young colt bolts from the darker recesses of the house, excitedly trotting in place as he smiles up at you.
  1034. >The iris and pupil of each eye are larger than you’ve seen on any other pony. From what you understand, they aren’t capable of closing at all, either.
  1035. >His wings are thin and veiny. Still serviceable, but keep him from more dangerous flying conditions.
  1036. >And his tail, the thing that most interested you, is long and slender, covered in only short fur down the length, where a small tuft sits on the tip.
  1037.  
  1038. >”Hi Anon!”
  1039. >You kneel down, reaching into your pocket.
  1040. “Hey, Arty. Ready for painting lessons?”
  1041. >You smile. It’s not like you have a whole lot to teach him, but he loves having a buddy.
  1042. >”Uh huh!” He nods fervently.
  1043. “Good, good. I have a little something special today.”
  1044. >You pull out a huge pair of glasses, unfolding them and setting them on his eyes.
  1045. >”Woah. It’s dark!” He tips down to look at you.
  1046. “Yep. Had them made just for you. And you’ll need them, cause we’re gonna paint something special today.”
  1047. >”Really?”
  1048. “Yep. Come on. We’re almost late.”
  1049.  
  1050. >He rushes ahead to another room, and you follow carefully behind.
  1051. >His father follows you into a dimly lit room, where a couple of stands sit empty.
  1052. >Artemis takes his seat, while you pass it.
  1053. “Alright. Close your eyes, and open them very, very slowly. Those glasses should keep your eyes from hurting. Ready?”
  1054. >”Ready!”
  1055. >His father shields his own eyes while you peel back the curtain.
  1056. >You put on your own glasses, coming back to kneel at the other stand.
  1057. >As he opens his eyes, the colt gasps.
  1058. >”Wooooow!”
  1059. >You nod, smiling at him.
  1060. “Like it?”
  1061. >”It’s amazing!”
  1062. “Sure is. So...”
  1063. >You grab some canvases from your bag, putting them on the stands.
  1064. “...why don’t we make some pictures for your father here. So he can see it too.”
  1065. >”Okay!”
  1066.  
  1067. >As you set out the paints, Artemis skips the brushes and uses his tail, dipping and mixing without wasting time.
  1068. >You smile at his excitement, but quickly choose a style yourself and get to work.
  1069. >A dark swirl to set the base. Careful cracks with brighter colors to give it some life. Tendrils of light whipping out in arcs.
  1070. >It only takes a moment to finish up.
  1071. >When you do, you look over to see the lanky colt finished ahead of you.
  1072. >He’s staring up at the sun, an open smile planted on his face.
  1073. >You put your things down, leaning over.
  1074. >”Does it always look like that?”
  1075. “Sure does. Well, if you’ve got the glasses.”
  1076. >”It’s pretty. I wish everypony could see this.”
  1077. “I know. I’ve felt the same way ever since I got here.”
  1078. >”Really?”
  1079. “Sure have!” You lower your voice. “You want to know a secret?”
  1080. >”What’s that?” He loudly whispers.
  1081. “There are beautiful things just like that, all over the world.”
  1082. >He gasps. ”Am... am I gonna need glasses for those too?”
  1083. >You bounce your head a little.
  1084. “Not really glasses.” You tap your temple. “More like your thinking cap. Lots of people see something wonderful and they pass it over like it’s nothing, because they just aren’t thinking about it.”
  1085.  
  1086. >He stares at you for a long moment. You see his muzzle contort as he thinks on it, but his eyes are blocked from you.
  1087. >Swiftly, Arty snaps up and stands tall.
  1088. >”Well, I guess I’m just going to have to show them myself, then!”
  1089. >He bolts around and grabs his own painting, running back through the house.
  1090. >”Dad! Dad! Look what I-” Clank! “...take those off...”
  1091. >”Yes, Artemis?”
  1092. >”Look! That’s the sun!”
  1093. >”Really? It looks a little odd.”
  1094. >”That’s what it looks like when it’s not so bright!”
  1095. >”Well that’s interesting. Where do you want to put it?”
  1096. >All mumbles.
  1097. >”How about here in the kitchen... after it dries, of course.”
  1098. >”Okay.”
  1099.  
  1100. >You start to put up your things. For the two night ponies, it is getting a bit late, and you’d rather they have their morning to themselves.
  1101. >While you do, Arty scurries back in, eyes closed, dragging his dad with the glasses on right behind him.
  1102. >Arty points towards the sunrise.
  1103. >”Well that IS interesting. Anonymous, has the sun always looked like this?”
  1104. >You shrug, grabbing your bag.
  1105. “As far as I know. You might get a better answer from Celestia, sorry.”
  1106. >”Hmm.”
  1107. >He looks over.
  1108. >”Leaving us so soon?”
  1109. “I didn’t want to keep you up to late. You can keep the glasses.”
  1110. >Arty cocked his head back, still scrunching his eyelids together.
  1111. >”Bye! Thank you, Anon!”
  1112. >”Thanks for coming!”
  1113. “Have fun, you two.”
  1114. —————————————————————————
  1115.  
  1116. >Humming some tune, you sneak out the front, locking yourself out.
  1117. >As you move with a bounce to your step, you can’t help but think something special of today.
  1118.  
  1119. >It feels... different. Like you’ve just started a lifelong adventure.
  1120. >Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Anon Sparkle 01

by NewFagAlphaCentauri

Wine Father

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Grandpa Anon the Old Stallion

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Little Fru-Fru has a batpony booty

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Artist Anon

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