The studio was enormous. Not quite the most enormous studio she'd even been in, but a comfortable seat to thousands of silently interested fans. Her silently interested fans.

The camera was rolling in two, one -

"Thank you, Mark. Okay, this is a phenomenal thing." She saw her camera's active light flicker on, finally placing her in the shot. She imagined the bar below her face on the screen - "Goddess, Musical Artist." "Goddess, Music Sensation," perhaps?

She focused as the newscaster - the pop culture guy with the catchy name, Fact Fiction, hair perfectly combed, stage makeup not quite complimenting his high cheekbones - attempted his first question. "Goddess, the... how exactly... wh - uh," he stammered, and covered his face, to light laughter from the audience. "I'm at a loss for words, Miss," he said, with a bright smile.

The camera was back on her. She returned the smile, but smaller. "That's fine," she replied, hoping she looked natural. This was rather new to her.

Off. "Okay, let's see whether I can begin this properly," he joked, with a chuckle, and turned to his camera. "For those of you who have been living under a rock - well, more than one, considering how far this name has reached by now - Goddess is the beautiful, anonymous, musical genius sitting across from me."

"I'm blushing," she replied with another smile.

"She's a respected composer, lyricist, singer, performer, et cetera et cetera," Fact continued, shuffling through his papers. "She's become a standout name in - okay, wow, we may have to take this piece by piece. Let's just start the interview here, and the two people who haven't heard of you will pick up on everything as we go."

He turned to her, and the third camera flickered on. Full shot. "I'd like to say I am just happy as a lark to be allowed to interview you. For the audience, this is how this will work, by Goddess' commands: we can ask any question we'd like, and she can choose whether to answer. Seems fair, right? Alright."

She crossed her legs. She'd never needed a public relations agent, but she might after this. Oddly enough, although she was on stage quite often, she'd never had to talk onstage. There was a brief prompt, of course, but... it didn't seem like enough. She wasn't even sure whether this interview, after so many years, was right.

"I want to start with a basic inquiry, alright? Okay. What is your name?"

For some strange reason, the audience began an applaud. Unprompted. It was the most basic question, and the most sought-after.

"Well..."

She could feel the tensity in the room jump as everyone was suddenly dead quiet. Her voice momentarily felt awkward and strange.

"... I would have thought that... that people would have figured me out by this point because of the hair, or the voice, or something. I'm sure the people I grew up with know, and -" She paused, trying to pick out the words "- it's weird that they haven't come out with my name yet."

"I'd say so," Fact replied, nodding. "Is that all we get, or...?"

"I..." she trailed off. "I don't think it's a good idea to release that. Yet."

The reaction from the audience was one she'd never heard before, not even in the higher-class venues. It was sort of a simultaneous breath. Was that good? Bad? Did it matter? It felt more uncomfortable than anything else.

"And..." Fact paused. "I gotta say, I'm not disappointed. That's a smart business move if I've ever heard one."

"How so?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"You're Goddess forever now, aren't you? It's like - like branding. I suppose in that way, I shouldn't have expected an answer -"

He put a hand nonchalantly to his earpiece. "Professionalism," she imagined some silhouetted boss character saying, in a deep, terrifying voice. "So, can you tell us anything about your childhood? Maybe lead us through your musical journey?"

"I can't talk too much about my childhood," she began slowly. That she'd decided already, when she saw the question in the script. "But I can give you a history, sure. I started out in a punk band, five years ago, which some of you may -"

She was cut off by the applause. They were thinking of Circus Freaks, the group she did vocals for currently. "No, no, no, everyone, this band doesn't exist anymore. It stopped when I left."

"So you held it together?" Fact asked.

"I wouldn't - well, that would be kind of rude to say," she replied, shaking her head. "I just think it was sort of a stepping stone for me and everyone else in the band."

"So they're musicians, too?"

She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. "No comment."

"Alright, fair enough. Go on."

She uncrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable. "Well, that was when I moved to - to an undisclosed location. I was still in school, but almost out. I didn't go to college, by the way."

"So you developed your knowledge of music alone? Single-handedly?"

"I was about to get to that," she replied with a friendly laugh. "I got out of school in a year from then, I think." She paused, recollecting. It was that period. The dark years, basically. "Then was when I started getting really into music. I'd just recently got my cutie mark, in fact, which is the 'o' in my logo, actually."

"Really? That's actually been speculated before, but now it's official. Stop the presses," he joked.

"For about two years after that, I studied music, and then released my first album. The, um, it was the mixed-genre one. My namesake album."

The studio had again fallen into silence. She looked around, and back at Fact. His mouth was open slightly. "... How many instruments could you play before that point?"

"Two. Um, clarinet and guitar."

"But -" he paused, and shuffled through his papers. "You can play eighteen now."

She looked back at the audience. "... Yes, I can. Minus the voice."

"So - y - you mean that your voice wasn't good before that two years - the two-year period?"

"Not as good, I mean, well-developed - as polished as it is now," she tripped over her words.

Fact out a hand to his head again. "So in the course of two years, you learned sixteen instruments?"

"Bullsh-" she heard from the audience before silence returned. She wondered how they could bleep that live.

"I'm - it wasn't that difficult, because I already knew two basic instruments. I just had to adjust for things like the mandolin and the flute. It wasn't -" She paused, grasping for words.

"If that's not a joke, that's a gift," Fact began.

"No, no, it's not that I didn't work at them," she interrupted, shifting forwards in the puffy red studio chair. "I... I didn't speak to anyone much. Or interact with anyone, at all. A lot of the time I didn't even eat. Up until then, I wasn't the best at anything, understand, and when I found something I was the best at, I just totally went at it."

"So it was total reclusiveness?"

"If you want to call it that, I suppose it was. During that time, I also studied musical theory. You could call it hungrily. I just wanted to know everything about it."

"So you essentially mastered sixteen separate instruments and learned what you know about music now? Some have speculated that you must have about eight years' experience in that kind of thing."

"I wouldn't call them all separate instruments. A lot of them are really similar to the guitar and the clarinet."

"But they're played entirely differently, most of them. You also know the violin, the upright bass, and you were awarded Outstanding Musician last year for the alto saxophone."

"It's all really about breath and hand placement. To me. I mean, again, this was a 24/7 learning experience for me. I was fanatical. Some say I still am."

It'd been like this her whole life - she was never one to admit to her talents. And this whole show was about her estimated three hundred million worldwide fans staring on in anticipation to hear her blab about her talents.

You wanted this, Sweetie. You wanted to tell everyone finally about yourself. Here you go.

The heat from the lights were making her feel sick. She took a small drink from her water as they cut to their first commercial break with some silly tag line from Fact as the cameras flickered off.

She stood and stretched a bit, as well as she could, considering she thought it would be a great idea to wear her structured white suit to this. The black pool that was the audience went deep and hundreds of voices began calling her name and random questions for her.

She decided to take a short walk over to the banisters, and, of course, a throng of fans rushed over, screaming for signatures. One of her quirks was just for the signature crowd - one per showing. Only one. And everyone was scrambling to be the lucky one.

At the back of the crowd, in the quasi-darkness, she saw a young man looking at his feet, one of her t-shirts hanging loosely on his wiry shoulders. She waved back to him, as she definitely couldn't call over the noise. He didn't respond.

So she signed someone's pad silently, gave a small stage-smile, and adjusted her suit, returning to the set.

"Hey, we're back, with Goddess' once-in-a-lifetime revelation and a fresh set of questions," Fact began, and rambled for a little more as she checked her watch. Three, two, one. Five o'clock. She pulled the pack from her inner pocket and the lighter from the other.

"... and it couldn't be - um, Goddess? You - there's no smoking in here," Fact said, a bit nervously, as though expecting reprimand.

"Shouldn't have had the interview at four-thirty to five-thirty," she replied softly, tasting the bitter smoke as it swam into her lungs. It was as disgusting as ever.

"Well, your tradition rather goes against the fire code for the building."

"I don't mind."

Yes, it was bullish. But everyone knew. Five o'clock. It wasn't her fault that that was when they'd scheduled it. And it's not like they could do anything about it live. They had more traffic by that point than they ever had before or would ever after.

"... Here's a question for you. What's the reason behind the five o'clock cigarette?"

She blew out and up, taking her time to answer. "In memory," she replied after a moment.

"Of whom?"

In a five-minute break, she'd somehow switched into stage mode. Quiet, unassuming, mysterious. Perhaps it was the cigarette. "No one," she responded lowly.

She could hear the bloggers blogging about the meaning already.

"... I respect your privacy. I would like to ask, why don't you seem concerned about the effect that could have on your voice? Or your audience?"

"One a day can't hurt me too badly. It's in my blood. I have a hardy family. But I don't condone smoking. I never will. It's a terrible, disgusting habit and I wouldn't be caught dead doing it," she added, taking in another lungful.

There was a bit of light laughter from the audience and a bit of a confused grin from her interviewer. "Alright," he began. "Let's get back to the history, I suppose. Any further comment about your introduction into the mainstream?"

"I wasn't expecting the first album to be a breakthrough. Or platinum. It was an experiment for me. I believe it went something like classical, hip-hop, pop, prog rock, jazz?"

"And a few more genres, yes. But a couple of those songs have received multiple genre awards and best-in-class awards. A lot of people, me included, would say you nailed the heart of every style you went for on that album." He put the papers down for a moment. "The chord progression and vamping on Subtle Elegy gets me every time, by the way."

"Thank you," she replied, smiling again. Maybe she was smiling too much. It was starting to hurt.

"And in the last two years, you've released four albums?"

"I have."

"That's insane."

"It's my job," she replied, looking at the cigarette and tapping the ashes off onto the glass table nearby.

"And all but one have received awards," Fact added. "That's even more insane. How could you possibly come up with incredible ideas so quickly?"

"Let me ask you a question," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Which album of mine is your favorite?"

"Uh... I can't say I could choose."

"That's how I do it. I refuse to fall behind. I have to make something as good or better."

"Your appeal is enormous, as I'm sure you know," Fact began, taking a small note. "How do you encapsulate music so well?"

"It's all just experience. I've listened to music likely more than anyone I've ever met. I just know what makes something good. It's all part of it." The discomfort was returning. The caul of mystery and power she had covering her was slipping off.

"One more question, and we'll open questioning up to the audience for the remaining time until the break. Your fans have out together when you go on your annual vacation, or whatever it may be. Your disappearance for a month."

"Yes."

"And we know you'll be leaving in two days."

"... Correct."

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to answer these questions, but can you tell us where -"

She was already shaking her head. The audience laughed, and she did as well momentarily. "Sorry, but if everyone knew that, I wouldn't get a break."

"Very true. Some people have speculated you're in fact registered as a magic-user, and teleport somewhere, or turn yourself invisible. Any clues you can... no?"

"No comment," she replied again, with a laugh.

"Alright, to the audience. We choose one member at random and they can speak into the microphone attached to their chair if their light lights up. We got that, everyone? Alright, first question."

A small glowing dot appeared in the back of the audience and there was a quiet squeal. Over the loudspeakers, a broken and nervous voice began: "Um, why - why do you only sign, um, do one signature every show?"

"Well, if I give out too many signatures, they aren't special anymore." She smiled, and flicked off more ash. It was almost gone. "There are only twenty-two out there, so each one is rare. A keepsake."

Another small light, on the opposite side of the massive room. And a short, goofy laugh. "Are you single?"

The room erupted again into what would never stop feeling like canned laughter. She remained still for a moment, and finished off the cigarette, 'thinking'. The audience was on edge. She loved it.

With a quick motion, she pressed the end against the glass table, in the ashes already there. "Perhaps."

In a dark room, where at one point there was laughter and popping popcorn and giggles at their best friend's charades, there was silence and the muffled speech from the television.

"She probably has her reasons."

"... Yeah."

The train station was hectic, as it usually was that time of day. It was helpful. She couldn't focus on any one thing, or on any one person; the overall movement was the only standout thing. The spot between the two drinking fountains was likely the only place no one would be walking, so there she was. The Transparent Goddess.

She was never very good at magic, but necessity was the mother of invention. When her fame hit, unexpected and instantaneous, she knew she had to learn to evade cameras and fans. And what better way to do that than to become completely unseeable? Thanks to that little trick, most of her fans still thought she slept in her studio - they never saw her enter or leave.

She breathed slowly. It was essential to some of the magic she needed, especially the complex, heady spells like the next one. She felt the magic on her fingers, weightless and staticky, and touched her chest, feeling it coat her. And she stepped into the crowd. Rather, through the crowd.

Ten, nine, eight. She climbed the train and slung off her backpack. Seven, six, five, four. With a smooth movement, the blanket fell over her and its sides attached to the roof of the cab. Three, two, one. As the quiet alarm on her wrist sounded, she felt the trickle of the spell wearing off. She was completely sealed, and ready for the three-hours ride.

Oh, the last thing. She reached carefully into her backpack, so as not to upset the blanket, and pulled out the small white device. Three hours of music - no problem. She pressed the headphones over her ears and hit play.

Cloudy though the sky is
It's clearer here below
And send us all through hell and high water
Like you did all those years ago

"I guess that's it for today."

The garage was quiet, a contrast to the huge noise that had just recently shaken its small, dusty windows. The clack of the drumsticks on one another sounded briefly and died. It wasn't an average practice. They were better. A lot better. They were angry. At least, she was.

She heard the footsteps behind her. "We heard what's happenin'."

She opened the garage door with the press of a button. "It doesn't matter."

"Ah think it does. Why haven't you said anythin' about it yet?"

"It's not important. It's not like I'll never be back."

Silence again, for a moment. The other voice spoke up, albeit quieter. "You might not be."

"Okay, in a year and a half I'll be out of school and I can move back. It's not that hard. It's only a year and a half," she repeated, turning back towards them and trying to conceal her frustrations.

"You'll be on the other side of Equestria," Applebloom said, fiddling with a thick iron vice on the garage's workbench nearby, purposefully looking away. "Ah don't think it'll be as easy to get back as you think."

"No, it will," Sweetie responded, monotone. "I know it."

"Where are you gonna get the money for a house?" Scootaloo said, spinning a drumstick. "You're gonna wanna work where you are for a while, anyways."

"Whatever. Can't I just crash with one of you guys?"

"Probably not with me," Applebloom said. "Unless you've got some way of producing children with me. House rules."

Sweetie groaned, not quite in the laughing mood at the moment.

"I dunno whether you can stay at my place. I think my landlord's kind of not for roommates."

"Whatever. I'll figure something out."

"... If you're sure."

"I am."

It wasn't quite a miracle that they'd stayed a group of friends for so long. People came and went in Ponyville, some friendly, some not, but they'd never split, never gone their separate ways. And Sweetie could tell that they were afraid that that was finally happening. Even though she didn't have a plan yet, she'd get one.

"Do you think we can still keep the band together once I'm away?" Sweetie asked, really just as a facade over her thoughts. "Like, you send me audio files and I'll find a way to put them together...?"

"Ah dunno. We're not the best to begin with. Seems like a lot of effort for... not much."

"We were really good today."

"It was just you," Scootaloo said. "It always is."

She couldn't find the words to respond.

"... Ah'm gonna go put away my bass," Applebloom said finally, breaking the silence.

The back door shut with a squeak behind her. Scootaloo stood and stretched. "Maybe we should get our own band t-shirts if we're gonna keep the band going. I need new shirts."

"I like how there's a hole right over your bellybutton."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to get that fixed. You wanna try?"

"I guess..." she trailed off, trying to summon her magic. It wasn't her forte. "Okay, it might get hot." A wisp of pale green hovered over the small tear, casting a bright glow onto the deeply-tanned skin behind it.

It brought up a kind of odd memory. A couple years ago, she realized something - different about herself. It was uncomfortable, but it stuck. So who did she go to first to talk about it? Her two best friends, of course.

Scootaloo almost always wore a tank top in summer, or anytime it wasn't standout cold. But that afternoon, she remembered it more than she would any other afternoon. 'I don't want you guys to think I'd ever come on to you,' she was saying, a hand covering part of her face, trying desperately not to look over at Scootaloo.

She clenched her teeth, forcing her concentration back to the magic fizzling through her arms.

After, she'd come up to her, as they were walking home, and, her hands behind her back, she said something similar. They agreed not to talk about it again. They agreed they weren't interested in one another, and left it.

They made jokes sometimes, or talked about it when no one else was around, but it just wasn't a common topic of theirs. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe not.

"Don't, like, burn my guts or something."

It snapped her out of her thoughts. "I'll try not to," she muttered, and moved a hand slowly. The wisp shuddered and flew up, searing the polycotton behind it and sealing the rip.

"Okay, yes, hot, a lot," Scootaloo gasped, pinching the shirt and holding it away from her.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Thanks."

She patted on it, and, satisfied with the temperature, let it fall back down. "The only problem is the big black section covering the middle part of the logo."

Sweetie giggled. "Yeah, well."

Scootaloo walked up next to her, staring out at the orchards with her hands in her pockets. "How long do you think you'll be away?" she asked, so quiet it could be a whisper.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Unlike the long, somber pauses from a few minutes previous, this pause was less a silence and more a hush.

"... You remember that song you wrote in June? Dark something?"

"Dark Drive," Sweetie finished, her breath shallow just for a moment for some reason or another. She glanced over at her, to see her glancing back, her dark violet eyes hidden under her brow, gleaming with a paralyzing understanding.

how do you know

"Thanks," Scootaloo said lowly, her hands moving deeper into her pockets.

Sweetie said nothing.

"... I guess you know what I'm gonna say next, right?"

Sweetie said nothing. Her mouth had gone dry. She reached up and pressed the button once more, the whirr as the door descended sudden and loud.

It stopped after a few moments, and she glanced back at Scootaloo, who was staring at her sneakers, her cheeks bright red. "I... don't want you to go anywhere."

She couldn't take her eyes away, though she certainly tried. "I thought... we..."

"I don't care." She sounded tired under the anxiety. "I didn't know you were ever going to leave."

Sweetie said nothing.

It happened quicker than she pictured it happening. Before anything else, she felt a firm, confident touch on her neck, touching the bottom of her jaw, and then the not-quite-warmth of someone close, and then the gentle, unnervingly tender pressure on her lips. She'd kissed someone once before, a long time ago, but this was different. Scary different.

They pulled away for a moment, their eyes still closed. She realized her hands were up, on her friend's cheek, on her chest. Something new, something uncomfortable, but something provoking - almost necessary. She hadn't thought about her in a while, not since Dark Drive. And now, information lost in a wave of emotion flooded into her mind.

need

Another sudden impulse. She pushed her back to the workbench counter, the first real sound in a few minutes dully echoing in the small, near-empty room. It was like she was given a fresh surge of staticky need. She fell into it, her heart pounding mercilessly against her ribcage. New, uncomfortable, necessary.

By that point, she was doing what she thought was natural. Maybe. She leaned forwards, the burnt spot on Scootaloo's shirt mildly irritating her (not that she was paying any real attention). Everything was a rhythm. One, two, three, she pulled her as close as she could go, slamming a hand onto the counter for support as Scootaloo floated upwards a couple centimeters. She wasn't even concentrating on keeping her mouth closed anymore.

Finally, she pulled away, grasping almost violently at Scootaloo's head, her temples pounding. She looked down for a moment, her thoughts hazy, and looked back up. The knitted eyebrows, the cold sweat, the deep, violet eyes. A new emotion hit her like a brick, knocking the air out of her.

She felt the tears before she felt the kiss, and felt the kiss before she heard the door squeak again.

"Oh - uh - f - uh - Ah'm -"

She leaned back the second she heard the squeak, and wiped furiously at her eyes. "G - give - give us a second," she managed over Applebloom's babble.

"Uh - oh - okay," she stammered, and ducked out of sight past the door again.

She looked back at Scootaloo, flushed an even brighter red. She was still almost on top of her, and stepped back half a step. "... I didn't know," she tried to say, her throat numb and her voice nearly nonexistent.

"I know. It's okay."

"How... how long? -"

She sighed, and looked away. "Not long. I just... I realized how close we were getting, and I figured out that you - that you thought the same thing. Or else I never would have..."

"Do you - want to do it again?" she offered softly.

"Um, Applebloom's waiting right there outside the door, and she could -"

"I'm leaving in two days, Scootaloo. This could be it," she added slowly, feeling the tears again. She should have just said something. Early on, years ago.

"I know." She put a hand to her forehead, and sighed again, more bitterly. "Maybe we can make two days count."

Sweetie said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. She reached over and hit the garage door button one last time, and leaned forwards for a final kiss. Two. She savored this one.

"... I have to go."

And still I have this drive
It's this desire to impress
This foundation, it's a consolation
For the beating, it's a rest

She sounded so young in that. And her lyricism was awful. The scene would always play in her mind, like a music video, permanently attached to the song. A couple years ago, it conjured nothing but negativity, more general angst that rather fueled her desire to learn. Now, with the air blowing past her at ninety miles an hour while she laid precariously on the cold metal roof of a passenger train, it caused nothing if not electric excitement.

Maybe she would re-release it. That could be a nice gift, or thing, or whatever, to her. Or, well, it could also be a bit dangerous. She never officially released Dark Drive, and she was afraid with the amount of people who followed her that someone would pick out the tiny clues.

She rolled over underneath the blanket. Only a few more minutes left. The sky was starting to darken, and she'd listened to two good-sized albums. After a momentary sigh, more in simple wonder of the lengths she had to go through to get home nowadays than anything else, she stuffed her music back in her bag and waited for the train to stop.

It was basically night already as she took her first large, invisible leap from the top of the train, taking care not to make too much noise. She beelined through the thin woods in-between the station and the orchards on the other side of town, stopping only once to hide. As she passed some more open parts of the town, she noticed a couple more people out at night than there usually were. Fans really were scouring the globe after the interview. Not good.

Eventually, after another careful skirt around some evening 'joggers' and a quick scaling of a dull white fence, she reached the back of the farmhouse. Three knocks quick, two slow.

The door opened quickly, and she slipped in, leaning back against the adjacent staircase to catch her breath.

"Hey, y'all alright? There's a bunch of prowlers out there that ain't been around before."

Sweetie looked up. Applebloom hadn't changed much in a year; her face was still bright and perky as ever, she was still wearing her favorite overalls, and her cherry-red (apple-red, if she was being cute about it) hair still hanging in a thick ponytail. She smiled, and leaned in for a hug. "How's it goin', Sweetie."

"Ah, it's fine," Sweetie replied, "just like always. Is Sie walking yet?"

"Not yet. She's kinda tryin', but she just ain't gettin' the hang of it."

Sweetie chuckled, imagining the poor baby trying to stand and falling all over herself. "Can't wait until she has to spell her name. I can't even. Sha-ver-zee?"

"S-I-E-V-E-R-S-I," Applebloom spelled out, walking back into the house. "... I. Two I's, ah think. It's all her dad's fault."

"Speaking of, where is Sir Nerd?"

"Yell for him. Baby's not down yet."

"Neeerd!" she shouted to the stairs, leaving her backpack near the base and starting to walk up. It smelled like home the most at the Apples'. Like a smooth mixture between the woodiness of an old, old manor and a lingering fresh-out-of-the-oven scent. Welcome, it said.

"He's in his office," Applejack said with a grin, popping out of a nearby room with a huge basket of laundry.

"AJ! How's it been?" Sweetie asked, going in for a short hug.

She dropped the basket at her feet and hugged back, strong. "It's good to see you back," she replied cheerfully. "Ah dunno what's gettin' all the buzzards out of the woodworks, but ah don't think they're suspectin' us yet. Stay for as long as you like." She nodded amicably and picked up the basket again. "I got this load, and everyone'll be downstairs for a drink."

"I'd love to stay, really, but Scoots and I are long overdue for a trip. We'll be back quick at the end of the month, but we're probably leaving tonight."

"That's a shame," she replied, cricking her neck as she started down the stairs. "Well, have fun."

"You said he's in the office?"

"Yup."

She'd only drop by for a moment. It was always a bit odd to think Applejack would ever go for someone like Blaine - Blaine was his full name, oddly enough. Well, he was the only Blaine she knew, so it wasn't exactly a problem. He was a massive history buff, and a biology genius, and through and through a nerdy dad character, complete with thin black glasses and an even thinner jaw. He certainly was an offset from the rest of the family.

"Nerd? You in there?" she called out, knocking on the open door.

"What? Oh, Sweetie Belle. Hello. Tidying up, over in the corner here." He was the only person she'd ever known to wear a turtleneck sweater on the daily, too.

"You sure it'll do you any good?" she half-joked, looking around at the mess of stacked books and partially-finished work and huge scribbled drawings.

"The rest of it's all finished. This part is all I have left to tidy up." He stood and stretched to his full, almost-Big-Mac height, cracking his fingers.

"Oh. Right. Wow," she added, walking over to him and tapping at his arm. "Have you been working out, guy? That's crazy. Last time I saw you, you were a coat hanger."

"Oh, Applejack suggested it. She wanted me to beat her at arm-wrestling. Bet me fifty bits I couldn't do it. I said, what the hell." He smiled, an off-center but genuine smile. "It's not as hard as I thought it would be."

"I can see that. Well done," she said, smiling in return, and taking a look at the rest of the room for a moment.

"You can touch stuff, but don't - don't move anything anywhere, I'll forget where I put it."

She picked up a stapled stack of papers, scribbled text and sketches of long-extinct animals covering them. In one quick movement, she flipped the pages quickly, watching the blue ink fly by. "... Do you publish these?"

"Hm? What?"

"Just -"

"Oh, everything? I'll put something out in Canterlot every once in a while, but there isn't a huge group that thinks that kind of thing is interesting, and it costs a bit to get a publisher. It's more of a hobby."

"But look at all this," Sweetie said, setting down the packet and motioning up and around. "There's more paper here than I've ever seen at once. You could be making so much if you marketed right," she added, putting her hands in her pocket. It didn't seem like an improper thing to say at first, but then she remembered who she was, and who he was. Goddess, and the nerd at the end of the hallway. She caught her shame and hoped he didn't.

He just shrugged. "It's my hobby, not my job. My job is here, on the farm. 'Least until Applejack says we can get going."

She pushed the shame away, glad he wasn't offended. He knew who she was, obviously, but he didn't seem to care. He just liked his books and papers and sketches. "... Get going where?"

"She says once Sie hits six or seven, we can move around for a couple years and come back when she's twelve or thirteen. Give her a background, maybe. I was a traveling kid, and I've always wanted my kids to experience what I did."

"That sounds like a pretty good plan."

He nodded, smiled warmly again, and bent over over the papers one more time.

"We're gonna go downstairs for a drink. You gonna be there?"

"Probably, in a few minutes," he murmured.

She smiled, and turned back to the pad of paper. He was a quaint man, and she liked him. That simple.

Out of nowhere, she heard a quiet 'Good evening, madam', and felt two hands run lightly up her sides. She smiled even wider and put her hands on those hands, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Hey, do you mind if I steal her for a moment?"

Blaine looked up and around until he found the source of the question, and nodded briefly. "Yeah, ok," he muttered, and went back to the pile.

She shut the door behind her and kissed her quickly.

"Wow - you're not wasting any time," Sweetie whispered, responding with a kiss of her own, a bit deeper, a bit more passionate. She didn't want to go anywhere in the bathroom of her best friend's house, but some intimacy couldn't really be resisted, could it?

"I missed you," Scootaloo replied, backing her up against the door and wrapping her arms around her, going for one more quick kiss. Sweetie returned the embrace, burying her face into her familiar, dark-tanned neck. The songs she could write.

Scootaloo's hold tightened for a moment, and Sweetie thought nothing of it until she tensed up in the same motion. There was a silence as that settled, and she heard Scootaloo open her mouth as though she was going to speak. "... Can you... explain, really fast, your situation right now?"

"What do you m-" Sweetie began, trying to push away, but she was restricted by Scootaloo. She shook her head. "Scoots, let go."

"It's okay, I'm not upset or anything, I'm just concerned, and I need you to tell me what's going on," Scootaloo said lowly, taking her time.

"What are you talking..." she trailed off. The interview. Of course. "I didn't mean to - to trivialize -"

"Sweetie Belle. I'm not upset. I just need you to explain what's going on, in your life, right now."

She thought for a moment, and nuzzled her neck again. "I... wanted to be a little more out there. I like people, and my fans are people, so I thought they could get to know me a bit. I prepared so I didn't reveal anything important, but..." She sighed. "You saw the state of the town. Everyone's everywhere in Equestria, looking for me."

"I know. Are you safe?"

She pulled away again, and Scootaloo let her. Sweetie looked into those violets again, biting her lip. "I want to tell you something."

She didn't respond, but moved her hands down to hold Sweetie's.

"Not everyone likes me, obviously. And..." she inhaled. "I've had a few close encounters with some of the more aggressive ones. But -" she began, when she saw Scootaloo's eyes grow "- it's okay, I've since taken extra precautions. I don't know the reasons they would want to hurt me, but I know the exact reason they would want to hurt you," she finished, looking away, trying not to think about it. "And I have to make sure that isn't possible."

Scootaloo gripped her hands a bit tighter for a second. "I understand."

"... I didn't mean for it to happen."

"It's not your fault, it's the fans' -"

"No, I mean... the fame. I didn't mean it."

Scootaloo sighed, and held up both their hands, pressing them against her chest, apparently subconsciously, like she was deep in thought. "I kind of figured. But don't you like it?"

Sweetie's mouth opened for a moment, quite ready for a 'no', then she stopped herself. As if she'd just put on Kevlar, there was a heavy weight suddenly sitting on her chest. "... How about we go downstairs with everyone else."

Scootaloo rubbed her shoulder gently something she'd only ever done to Sweetie - the best word for it was probably 'caress'. It brought back a lot of the comfort and stability that seemed to have just disappeared. She looked up at her, a little smile breaking across her face as the thought of the upcoming month hit her.

Scootaloo smiled back, her classic, lopsided grin. "Let's go."

"And you started smoking right after the commercial break," Applebloom was saying, over the laughter.

"It was five o'clock," Sweetie managed, already caught up in the laughter with the rest of them. "It's my thing."

"Well, y'all know the saying," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. She glanced around, her eyes wide in expectation. "Y'all never get my references. 'It's always five o'clock somewhere'."

"Oh. Oh," Sweetie said, laughing, and everyone else picked up again. In a few moments, it died down, and she leaned back against the soft chair she was in. The 'den' was made after Blaine moved in, to accommodate for this kind of thing. Blaine moved in before Sweetie moved out, so when she finally came around to have one of... these social-type things in it, it was already lived-in and just felt welcome.

"But, yeah, we all watched it. Ah was over at Scoots', so we were just laughin' at everything, whether it was funny or not," she continued. "Ah love the mysterious you. It's so the opposite of you, it's perfect."

She laughed again. "I guess that's the point. It's a hard business, and there are just things you gotta get right. Image is one of them."

"Or, mirror-image," Applebloom replied.

"Hey, whatever works," Sweetie replied, and took a drink from her own. It was just like it always was, with a bit of a burn chasing it - after all, this was the secret stash. The 'good stuff'.

"What're all the things you can play again?"

"Why do you always ask that?" Sweetie asked, lightly. Big Mac didn't say much, ever, but he'd asked that question for two years straight now.

"He's a fan," Applejack replied for him, nudging him roughly with her elbow.

"Oh, yeah. Huge fan. He just likes hearin' ya talk about it," Applebloom added, and Big Mac chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "He's got T-shirts. You do, don't shake your head at me."

She smiled and began counting exaggeratedly on her fingers. "Guitar and clarinet, obviously, then oboe, violin, upright bass, bass guitar, seven-string, electric, flute and piccolo, three saxes, uh..." She counted back. "Oh, duh, piano, and I don't count the electric piano, then the weird ones like the shamisen, mandolin, and harpsichord, and, uh..." She trailed off. "There's another one."

"Ocarina," Mac murmured, just audibly, and grinned to himself. "Keep playin', Sweetie."

Sweetie chuckled, and did a little false-toast in his direction. "To my biggest fan?" she said carefully, to laughter.

"Hey, where're you two goin' this time?" Applejack asked Scootaloo, who was the only one who opted to sit on a box rather than on one of the available chairs.

"Oh," she snapped her fingers, trying to remember. "I don't know, what is it? It's down south."

"It's a bunch of islands below the Bay. They have a long name, I forgot it," Sweetie replied. "My offer still stands that any of you can come along if you want to. We don't mind."

"Nah. Got Sie and the farm. We'll have time for that later, anyways," Applejack said, looking over at Sie, who was sleeping silently in her little rocking-seat, next to Granny Smith, who was sleeping silently in her rocking-chair despite all the noise.

"... Heavy sleepin' runs in the family," Applebloom said, to another round of laughter. If anyone was ever going to get dual cutie marks in the Apple family, it was going to be Applebloom - the hammer she's got and the smile she probably would. She just knew how to make everyone laugh.

"I'd tell you she's got your eyes, but don't babies' eyes change colors sometimes?" Sweetie asked.

"Not these. Bright green, like, scary green," Scootaloo said, chuckling. "Been like that since she was born."

"And they better not change. Ah like my eyes," Applejack said, smiling over at her daughter for a few seconds. "Hey, is your sister ever movin' back here?"

Sweetie sighed. "I don't know. She seems to be getting more reclusive, ever since... me," she replied. "I think Mom's probably going to go live with her eventually. Permanently, this time. Anyway, is Sir Nerd ever leaving his room?" Sweetie asked, glad she could find a good way to change the subject.

"He might not. Sometimes that happens," Applejack said.

"He told me you made him exercise."

"He's been a beanpole as long as ah've known him, and forgive a girl for wanting a bit of a change," she replied, putting her legs up on the coffee table. She finally took her hat off, laying it on her chest and closing her eyes. "Can't believe it worked."

"He's not coming down, is he?" Scootaloo said, looking up at the ceiling like she was expecting him to materialize through it.

"He loses track of time every once in a while," Applejack commented with a yawn. "For now, we'll just have to be happy with Big Mac."

"Yeah, what's the opposite of a sausagefest?" Applebloom joked.

"Applebloom! Baby."

"One, she's asleep. Two, she wouldn't know what it means. Three, she wouldn't understand the language anyways," Applebloom said, rolling her eyes, and looking over to Sweetie. "That happens a lot. 'Applebloom! Baby'."

"Aunt of the Year award," Sweetie said, sitting back as everyone laughed. That was the night, and Sweetie would have it no other way.

"We'll be seein' y'all in a couple weeks, then?" Applejack asked, handing Sweetie her backpack.

"Something like that," Sweetie replied, a bit of her disappointment clear in her voice. The Apple family was her family. It felt natural, and it was odd leaving them. "Scoots, start and I'll be at the apartment in maybe ten minutes, kay?"

Scootaloo nodded, with a "See you," and threw her hood over her head, closing the door behind her and taking off into the chilly night.

"Look," Sweetie began instantly after the slam, unzipping her backpack. "I refuse in every way, shape, and form any attempt to deny this. In every way. I don't allow you to," she said, pausing her search in her backpack and looking up for confirmation.

Applebloom looked over at her sister, and looked back. "What d'you mean?"

"Look," she repeated, taking out a small stack of paper. "Here's six thousand bits. Give it to Blaine, make sure he publishes something. I don't care whether you tell him where it came from."

Applebloom folded her arms, scowling. "Sweetie, you know we can't -"

"I knew you were going to say that, and I absolutely refuse. This is yours, don't even try to give it back," she insisted, and tossed the stack at her, which she fumbled and caught.

"And here's another twelve for the baby," she added, shoving it at Applejack. "I know you don't need it and I know you don't want my charity, but pretend it's a gift and take it. Send her to college on me. I gotta run," she tacked on awkwardly, and threw the door open before they could say anything.

She quickly threw an invisibility spell over herself, and felt the warm, liquidy magic coat her as she speedwalked away, her mind still whirring furiously thinking through what just happened.

They weren't going to use it, they were too proud. Maybe she just made a fool of herself. Maybe she was rude. It was rude to flaunt your money. But something was formulating in her head, something she couldn't back out of, so it really was then or never. The year previous she'd made 108 million bits. She couldn't stand for not spreading that around anymore. It was a small start, but that was all she could carry.

She clenched her teeth as she crossed the road, staring solidly at where her invisible feet would be. Whatever. They'd be gone soon anyways. To those islands. The Apples could have come along, but 'nah'. Whatever. Of course, with her watching the road, she wasn't watching where she was going.

thud

She leapt backwards, her blood freezing. There, in front of her, was a girl, a couple years younger than her, with creamy white hair that hung in braids on her back, looking in her general direction, stepping back a bit.

She looked down hurriedly. She was still invisible, so the girl had no genuine leads. "Is that you?" she was whispering loudly. "Goddess? Is that you? Or is it just some other invisible person?"

She mentally covered her ears and trotted to the other side of the road, about to cross into the grass again, but something made her turn around. Under the dull streetlights, the girl, spinning rapidly, shaking, a mixture of confusion and terror on her face, holding a pad of paper and a pen in her hands, hit something in her. "Are you still there? If - if you're her, will you sign m-my book?"

when you were fifteen, wouldn't you want to be heard?

you're the famous one now. make her life awesome. just once

She clenched her teeth again, tighter, her more logical faculties screaming at her for what she was about to do, but it was no use once she was in motion. With that bit of hesitation, she grabbed the girl's forearm and ran her over to the light forest nearby, behind a tree.

The girl was gasping like she was about to scream, but didn't. Oh, she doesn't know it's me yet. She countered the spell and slapped a hand over the girl's mouth, thinking fully through what she was going to say and finding a sentence quickly enough.

"If you tell anyone, they won't believe you. Do exactly what I say, okay?"

She nodded, her golden eyes shining and huge, her lips moving in all kinds of weird ways beneath Sweetie's hand.

"Open your book."

She did, and Sweetie took the pen, writing something down quickly. "There you go," she said. "Never sell it."

"Mmrf," the girl said.

"Oh, sorry. Heh," she whispered, and took her hand away.

The girl took a moment to inhale and regain her composure. "G-Godde -"

"Don't gush, just talk."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she sputtered. "I - I - I don't understand. Why me?"

"I bumped into you."

She sputtered a bit more (maybe it was a problem of hers), and held the book to her chest. "M - my name is Lily-White," she said quietly. "Y - you're my - my idol."

"Don't gush, just talk," she repeated, glancing around. "And I have to get through this area soon, so hurry, if you don't mind."

"I j-just want to play my g-guitar as well as you," she said, her voice breaking. "I can't sing, but I can play."

Sweetie sighed, turning back to the girl. Part of her image was a disconnect from her fans - her personality was her music, her identity was the stage. But she realized something suddenly, like a sentence overlapping itself. You are her idol. She idolizes you.

She pursed her lips. This was a bad idea. "... Open the book."

"P-please don't get rid of the signature -"

"I'm not, Lily, it's okay. Just open the book."

She did again, looking away, and Sweetie wrote in one more small thing. "That's an email address. No one can trace that handwriting back to me and if you brag about the address, I will deny it."

"I - I wouldn't," she stammered quietly.

She looked back at her. "... I kind of figured you wouldn't," she said, bending down a bit to her eye level. There was something about her. Something familiar. She was like someone Sweetie knew, but off the top of her head, she had no idea who that person could be. It was a strong thought, so she said it out loud. "You remind me of someone."

There was a lull, and Lily's face didn't change at all. Still pure shock. Maybe her eyes were a bit fuller, maybe they glimmered a bit more, but she couldn't really tell.

"Why the address?" Lily managed.

"So we can talk," Sweetie said slowly, more as confirmation to herself. when you were fifteen, wasn't this a fantasy of yours? what should we do "... I'm going to teach you how to play the guitar."

Lily seized up against the tree, even more, her book tight against her chest - it looked painful.

"Don't faint. Don't tell anyone I was in this area." She paused, and put a hand on her shoulder, standing up to full height. "Seriously. My entire life would fall apart if you told anyone. Please."

She nodded, and Sweetie hurriedly cast herself transparent again. "Talk to you later, Lily."

Lily half-waved, maybe still in shock, as Sweetie took off. As she turned around, she thought she caught the beginnings of a smile on her face.

Probably not the brightest idea Sweetie had ever had, but there was something warm in her now to combat the chill of the night. She wouldn't forget that face.

She tripped over the doorframe as she tried to slip into the apartment. Scootaloo caught her, though, and pulled her away from the corner she was about to violently collide with.

Grasping at the arm across her chest, she breathed out in relief. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied, letting her back onto her feet and walking off into the kitchen. "You were gone almost twenty minutes, what held you up?"

She readjusted her backpack, giving herself a moment to plan her approach. After what seemed like a little too long a pause, she decided on honesty-is-the-best-policy. "I - well, I bumped into someone," she called after her, and sat down in the small living room.

"Oh, who was it?" she replied.

"No, literally bumped into someone."

There was the pause she expected, and then quick footsteps as Scootaloo dashed back into the living room. "Did they know it was you? Do they expect anything? Did they see you?"

She inhaled. Honesty is probably not the best policy. "Well, she was a young teenager, and wanted my signature, so..."

Scootaloo sat down next to her. "You didn't."

"... Yeah."

Scootaloo sighed, and put her hands on her face.

"Okay, it sounds bad, but I trust her not to tell anyone. And I have ways of denying it."

"But I thought you signed her paper! What if she's never been to a concert of yours before? She would, like, legally not have your signature! But she has it!" Scootaloo cried, standing again to pace.

"... I hadn't considered that."

"I figured."

"Well... we'll see what happens. Sit down."

Scootaloo looked out the window, and put a hand on her hip. "Right. Okay. Sorry, I'm not good with drinking."

Sweetie giggled. "So you're tipsy? That's adorable."

"We have to stay on topic, though," Scootaloo replied, returning to the couch, but still standing, restlessly rocking on her feet. "Gotta plan for the future."

"Wow, really brass-tacks here." Sweetie breathed deeply for a moment, and stood up to meet her. "I wanted to save this talk until later, but..." She paused, the barrage of ideas returning to her. "But this is bad timing."

Scootaloo stared at her, confused.

"I mean, my idea was telling you in a couple hours, when we're lying in bed, and it would be romantic and you wouldn't overreact," she continued, motioning to the bedroom down the short hall. "But..."

"Tell you what," she replied quietly. "I'm making tea because something about alcohol and dehydration. How about we just wait until that's done and you -" She paused. "You can tell me whenever."

"Can I go with my original plan?" Sweetie asked, reaching a hand around Scootaloo's back.

Scootaloo nodded, and grinned. "You wanna just, like, make out on the couch until the tea is ready?"

"Scoots. Forget the tea," Sweetie replied, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She forgot the tea. She forgot everything, right then, because she was suddenly and instantly enthralled. "Let's just -" she cut herself off, leaning in quickly for a kiss, deep and thoughtless.

"Mm - wh - gotta turn - stove off -" Scootaloo got out in-between kisses, and hesitantly pulled away.

Sweetie pulled back. "Oh. Sorry. I'll meet you back there."

Scootaloo glanced away for a moment, and took of in a jog for the kitchen. She was back in ten seconds. "Nope. We're in this together," she said, with a laugh, and kissed her, clumsily.

"You are so tipsy," Sweetie murmured, unzipping Scootaloo's dark blue hoodie, slowly, taking her time.

"Mm - do you want music?"

"Oh, yes. Wow, yes. Use the speaker I got you -" She gasped as Scootaloo raked at the buttons on her shirt dress, unsuccessfully trying to undo them. "Need help?"

Scootaloo pulled away and shook her head. "Let's just get to bed and figure everything out. Does this slip off, or do I have to use the buttons?"

When the CD skipped back, she made Scootaloo get up and shut it off.

It was starting to hit that point of autumn when night became winter, and they were wrapped tightly together face-to-face under a thick Wonderbolts quilt. They hadn't said anything in something like ten minutes, still cooling down, almost falling asleep.

Finally, Sweetie Belle reached up and ran a hand through Scootaloo's hair, pulling her head to her chest. "... I'm going to say three separate things, and you have to consider them separately. Okay?"

Scootaloo nodded against her, with a yawn.

"Pay attention, 'cause it's important," she felt herself say, half-consciously. Her pulse had slowed as the memory of what she was going to say returned. The sentences in her head were enough to rather scare her. Maybe she could put it off.

just do it why do you keep questioning yourself

"One. What would you say if I asked you to change your name and modify your appearance, to come back to my studio? Permanently?"

Scootaloo looked up, her eyes darting back and forth between Sweetie's. "I... this is sudden. I don't know. You don't expect me to make up my mind right -"

"No. No, no," Sweetie replied, with a short kiss. "No, this is just hypothetical," she added quietly, bringing her head back down to her chest. "... Second. What would you say if I said I wanted to retire?"

She tried to look up again, even quicker, but Sweetie wrapped her arms around her head as quickly, and laughed. "This is hypothetical, calm down," she said. "Stay where you are."

Scootaloo paused, and kissed her chest gently, to a sigh from Sweetie. "I think... you make your own decisions." It was clear she was choosing her words carefully. "I don't mind whatever you choose. But," she began, looking up (and Sweetie allowed her), "why?"

Sweetie looked away, and licked her lips, thinking. "You remember how much I made last year?"

"No, you didn't tell me."

So she did, and nodded sadly at the reaction.

"Where do you even keep it?" Scootaloo sputtered, half a smile on her face. "That's incredible - think of everything we can do with that -"

"I have three hundred eighty four million across twelve bank accounts. It's enough to retire, and then some," she replied quietly.

Scootaloo put her hands over her mouth. "I can't believe - really?"

"Yeah."

"Then, yes, you could retire. You could totally retire, and live in an actual good house."

"I already have a good house."

Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. "You don't live in your studio?"

She giggled. "Stop watching the news. Of course I don't. It's not a big house, and everyone thinks it's abandoned, but I have it. I pay the neighbors ten thousand a year each to not tell anyone. Plus, they like me."

"That's insane. Why am I only hearing about this now?" she asked, a huge smile still plastered on her face.

Sweetie frowned, and looked up at her, then away again. you know why. everything that always happens. you chose this life. it's your decision, live with it.

She looked back at her, and felt a massive surge of emotion unlike anything she'd felt before. In a moment, she was sobbing like a child into her girlfriend's shoulder, and hugging her tighter than she ever had.

"Oh my - w - Sweetie, what's wrong?" Scootaloo asked, hugging back. "Everything's going to be okay, I promise. Did something happen to Rarity?"

She couldn't form words. It was no use, what with the sudden, strange tears. "I - I - c - I can't - it - m -" she stuttered, burying her face into Scootaloo's neck.

"Sweetie Belle," Scootaloo said, lowly. She rarely, rarely used her full name, and had twice today already. When she pulled away, her eyes were stern, and tender, in some absolutely unexplainable way. "Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

She bit her lip, hard, bringing the sobbing to a stop momentarily. "I - I d-don't know what I'm doing, S-Scoots." She attacked the words one at a time, forcing them out. "I d-don't want this. I don't know if I - if I w-want this," she managed, and put a hand on her chest, calming her breathing as well as she could, but failing drastically and falling back to silent, heavy sobs.

"Want what? Money?" She sounded scared, confused. Just like Sweetie.

"Ev-everything," she said, her facial muscles contracting painfully even though she didn't want them to. "I don't kn-know. I - I want to make m-m-music, but it - I just can't handle it," she said, drawing her back into an embrace. "Help m-me. I love you so much."

As she stroked her back and ran a comforting hand down her leg, she felt some kind of weight leave her, like she'd been carrying a mountain and it was suddenly gone. Everything seemed brighter. Better. Her breathing calmed, and her choked sobs fell to small hiccups. The tears were still coming, but not as much. "I love you, too," she heard. "So much."

Her body stopped contracting in a minute or two, and they laid in silence. "... I'm sorry," she began finally, pulling away to face her. "I don't know where that came from."

"It's fine," she said, softly. "I can see how it could mess with your head."

"What I was trying to say, I think, is that I don't know whether I want the fame. It's not fun. I just want to make music, and I want people to like it. But..." She reached for more words. "I like the crowds. And it feels good not being middle-class. I never thought the word 'millionaire' would describe me. I - I have so much money, I have no idea what to do with it," she said, shaking her head. "But I'm so scared, all the time, that people will find out about me. I don't want to be a celebrity."

Scootaloo waited patiently until she was finished. "... I say don't retire," she said. When Sweetie couldn't find a good response, she continued. "If you like some parts of it, we can deal with the rest of it together. I have no musical talent. At all. But if you'd like, I'll help you out."

"But - people might want to -"

"Look, if Ponyville hasn't sold you out yet, they won't sell me out, either. If I surface as your new manager, we can run that facade and I can travel with you."

Sweetie sighed, kissing her gently, and shortly. "I feel bad for Applebloom."

"... Let's bring her along."

Sweetie pursed her lips. "Really?"

"Sure. Intercontinental adventures with the Cutie Mark Crusaders," she returned with that lopsided grin. "How bad could it possibly be?"

Sweetie giggled. "It could be really bad."

Scootaloo nodded in agreement, chuckled, and turned over onto her back. "Hey, what was that third thing?"

Sweetie recalled it immediately, and something in her mind made her immediately adverse to saying it out loud. "... Nothing. Not important."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, and laid a hand across Scootaloo's chest. "Go to sleep. We have to be up early tomorrow."

The note pages drifted lazily in front of her, back down to her desk. She couldn't get it right. It was a progression she'd never tried before, and she couldn't get it right. It wasn't quite supposed to be bluntly minor or major. She wanted something confusing. Magical. Different.

Suddenly, from what felt like a long way away, she heard a quiet "Hey."

There wasn't enough energy left in her to turn to the doorway. "Hey," she murmured, and picked up her violin again, drawing the bow across the strings and listening with close scrutiny to the notes as they entered and exited existence.

"I need to run to the grocery store. If Mom calls, you know what to do."

She held her fingers tightly on the neck. "... How's Mom doing?"

"She's okay." There was a sudden 'ding' that cut through the hushed conversation. "Oh, that's the new bag. Would you?"

With a soft sigh, she finally looked over at her sister. She wasn't too much older, but she looked it, quite a bit. Her hair wasn't greying, and she far from had wrinkles yet, but she seemed exhausted, and matured. Her sense of fashion was still incredible, for the money they had, and she was holding a small piece of fabric, stitches unfinished. She'd gotten used to wearing her Element nowadays, though she was only called twice since they'd moved.

She stood, stretched, and brushed past her and out to the door.

They tried not to show too much of their cluttered little house to the mailman, except when he was delivering - then Sweetie always invited him in. She swung the door open and smiled brightly, half-forcing it, half-feeling it. "Good morning, Mr. Sails."

"Good afternoon," Mr. Sails corrected, quaintly tipping his little box-hat. He levitated the small cardboard box out to her and took out his clipboard. "That'll be 28 bits," he said, and she signed, then held up her violin. Finally, he smiled. "Let me hear it."

They always sat at the dining room table, and Sweetie always had to explain what she would be playing before she started, and it always took a good five minutes. But Mr. Sails would always wait. This time, she'd grabbed the unfinished piece by mistake, rather than the sonata she'd finished a week ago, so that had to be well-explained.

"Sorry, it's just that I can't get past the sixty-sixth measure. So it'll be really short until I figure out a way to fix that. Would you rather me go upstairs and get the other...?"

He shook his head. "Play whatever you have, dear," like he called her sometimes.

She pursed her lips. "... Alright," she replied, and began.

This piece, she'd started slow. Something got inside her brain to challenge the shape and size and speed of a sonata, but keep it technically a 'sonata'. She'd started slow, but she was going to build until she was basically fiddling.

Her fingers danced over the strings. She liked watching them. The movements themselves seemed disconnected from her brain - they were just a second nature, like language. Anyone can talk without using their brain, and she could play like that. The wood vibrated against her cheek as the gradual changes began, and she closed her eyes.

For the next couple minutes, the small house was filled with the fluctuations and intricacies of Sweetie Belle's creation.

It really was only a couple minutes' piece, if that, and it ended sadly. Ugly, really. Accidentals, supposed to be leading to a huge finish, and stopping on that chord she couldn't place. She finished awkwardly, taking the violin off her chin and setting the bow on her lap, tagged with a final, hesitant "That's it."

Mr. Sails smiled, tipping his hat quaintly again, his eye twinkling. "Paid in full," he said in his high-pitched, aged voice, and, with a small wave, took his leave.

Sweetie was left alone in the kitchen for a moment, and laid her violin on the table. Did he say afternoon? With a bit of a start, she looked at the clock. 4:58. Lucky her.

The pack was almost empty. Probably only one or two left, now, she thought, as she checked the drawer she'd 'stashed' them in. One. Two, one was hiding under the lid flap. She tapped the end to push one out. It was a ten-pack, and one was gone to start. It had been nine days.

Time of death, five o'clock P.M.

She touched the lighter gently, running her thumb over the little shield stamp in the semi-ionized steel.

Cause of death: heart failure due to physical stress.

With a small bell, the clock chimed five, and she stepped out onto the back porch, taking off her jacket and tossing to the side. She snapped the starter and watched the flame touch the end, taking a shallow breath.

She'd gotten used to it. It was hers now, her memory, her rest-in-peace. The bitter taste of death.

It wasn't all she remembered about him - she'd always thought she couldn't have a better father. No one knew him like she did - she could've guessed he worked himself to death. Cause: physical stress. And they said smoking would kill him.

She sat in the wrought-iron deck chair and rested her elbows on her legs, waiting for the cigarette to go out. She heard Rarity walk by the door, and figured she saw. But Sweetie knew she understood.

That was the last time she would cry in three years.

The sun hadn't risen yet, but its light was shining against the upper stratosphere, and everything slowly became bluer as she watched. She looked back at Scootaloo, who'd forgone with covers as the morning approached. For some reason, naked wasn't sexy deep into sleep. It was just... sort of a state of being.

It was about time. She walked away from the window, and her memories, and put a hand on Scootaloo's shoulder, shaking her awake. "Hey. We gotta go. You're all packed?"

"Huh? That was - mf," she began, sitting up and stretching. "It is morning," she said dully, patting her stomach and chest. "Skin. Clothes. Packed? Yes."

"I hope you're not hungover. Go drink water."

"Okay," she agreed, rubbing at her eyes and sliding out of bed, stumbling to the kitchen.

She looked back out the window again, watching the blue begin to touch the dark trees in front of the apartment and tinge them with turquoise. That day, she remembered Rarity had come out to sit with her.

'He never wanted you doing that,' she had said, not looking at her.

'He's dead now,' she'd replied callously, tears still on her cheeks as she inhaled, deeply.

Rarity had looked at her, the mask she usually wore as the stronger older sister completely disintegrating in front of her. Pain, condolement. Worry, anxiety. Fond remembrances, maybe. She reached out a hand, a clear memory of Sweetie's.

As she reflected now, she may have been asking for the box, what was left. But what was left was just the one cigarette, and Sweetie handed that to her, and the lighter second. She remembered Rarity staring at them, her face blank. Then she lifted it to her lips and lit it.

They sat, smoke slowly drifting away, floating upwards and onwards. They sat for probably ten minutes, silent. Then Rarity touched her shoulder, delicately, and went back inside. She wouldn't forget that day.

"I forgot, my clothes are in here," Scootaloo said, her words cutting through Sweetie's thoughts like a flashlight into the dark.

"Well, get dressed. We have to go in a few minutes."

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" she asked, exasperated, and Sweetie heard her trip over something.

"You looked cute asleep, curled up over the covers." She chuckled. "Don't you have a sense of romance?"

"No, apparently not," she snapped, the thumping sound recurring. "Why is this box here, even?!"

Sweetie laughed. "Come on, we might catch our private plane if we hurry."

After a few seconds of 'romantically-charged' debate, Sweetie agreed to leave the room as she got dressed, and waited half-asleep on the couch until Scootaloo was done a couple minutes later.

"I packed a bunch of granola bars," she said, tossing Sweetie her backpack and rolling her luggage. Her eyes were unusually wide, even though it was pre-morning. She'd probably already eaten two or three granola bars. Scootaloo was always a bit odd about granola bars. "It's in the West Fields?"

"Yup. You okay there, Scoots?"

"What? Oh, yeah." She smiled brightly and shuffled her feet. "Just excited."

Sweetie smiled. "I know how you feel." She stood and kissed her. Once, twice. Oh, three. "I gotta go. I'll be waiting in front of the plane."

The West Fields were also known as the Windy Fields for good reason. She didn't have to worry too much about her dress , though - one, because of her jeans, and two, because she was still recharging her invisibility whenever it began to wear off. Just in case.

Her pilot, Open Skies, was a cloudwalker like Scootaloo, but specialized in taking 'grounded' folks wherever they needed to go. The first time she'd gone vacationing with Scootaloo, two years ago, the first year of her star-ness, she'd had plenty of questions. Who was he, how could he be trusted. Well, outside of the substantial settlement she gave him, she trusted him. He was just a normal, quiet kinda guy, didn't want fame. And didn't particularly like music.

She'd told him she was there with a couple taps to the shoulder, and now they were just waiting on Scootaloo. When she finally appeared over the hill, her rolling suitcase hanging lazily in the air behind her, and touched down in front of the plane, they were about ready to take off. Quick suitcase stashing and headphones and they climbed in and started up, no problems.

The engine sputtered to life and the three-seater taxied for a couple hundred yards before taking off, ascending quickly. Once they were far enough from the ground, and in some good cloud cover in case of nosy fliers, she countered her invisibility.

"Hey, Scoots," she said through the comm set.

Scootaloo tried to speak, but Sweetie heard nothing, and tried to sign that over. It worked, to a degree, and she fiddled with the buttons on the side.

"This is your captain speaking," Skies said in his normal, jovial voice. "Over the master channel, that is, channel one. If you'd like to talk on channel three, I won't be listening in. If you want to talk to me, not to each other, five. Seven and up are radio channels." He chuckled, the headphone frequency making it tinny and distorted. "Be prepared for four hours, ladies."

Scootaloo fiddled a bit more, and after only two more tries, got "Hear me now?" through.

Sweetie nodded, and smiled. "I do indeed." The smile disappeared in a second, though. "You okay? You look kind of pale. Is it the plane?"

Scootaloo looked down at her hands, squeezing her fingers together in discomfort. "I don't - I dunno," she replied, with a little noise squeezed in at the end.

"Well, if you're sick, there are bags, I think," Sweetie said. "Right?" she asked Skies, who nodded. "Kinda odd, considering you literally flew here."

"Oh, uh, I don't - I don't fly sitting down. It was like this last time, too, don't you remember?"

"Not particularly," Sweetie replied, raising an eyebrow and chalking it up to nerve.

Scootaloo stared over at her, her eyes still wide. It was kind of beginning to scare Sweetie, so she looked away, out the window, for a moment, and turned back to check. Scootaloo had begun her attack on the buttons again. When she'd finished, she closed her eyes and appeared to mutter something. Nothing Sweetie could hear, though.

"Woah, uh, wrong line there, honey, you're looking for one button hit below," she heard Skies say over the master channel, and she laughed.

Scootaloo scowled, and jammed a finger at the controls. "I found the ring," she blurted, loud and clear in Sweetie's headset.

She stopped laughing.

"That was the third thing, wasn't it."

She was hit with an unplaced frustration. "This isn't the time to talk about this," she said, lowly, her voice scraping the high end of a growl. "We're, like, 8000 feet in the air, and we're talking over a comm set."

"I think we should talk about it."

"Do you have no sense of romance?" Sweetie snapped, turning towards her. "We're going to an island chain known for its multicolored sunsets and beautiful white beaches, and you absolutely ruin all the imagery I had in my head by bringing it up now?" She scoffed. "You weren't even supposed to know! How did you find the ring?"

Scootaloo was still pale, and still messing with her fingers. "I was trying to fit a granola bar into your backpack," she said quietly, "and I opened the wrong pocket."

Sweetie looked over at her, immobile for a second. She still wasn't looking at her, just down at her hands. Granola bars. She burst out laughing, clipping the headset's microphone badly. "Granola bars -" she managed, before laughing more. After a couple moments, it slowed and died, and she wiped at her eyes. "Wow," she said finally, with another laugh. "You know what, fine. I'll do it when we hit cruising." She switched to master. "Skies, when do -"

"I don't know, though," Scootaloo's voice, small, thin, interrupted her.

The remnants of her smile fell away, all at once. Crashed. Her heart fell into her stomach. She sat back more in her seat, staring at the back of the captain's head for a few seconds. Her mind was running with all kinds of thoughts. Why was at the forefront. In fact, it was recurring enough that she managed to ask it, albeit in an accidental whimper. "... Why?"

Scootaloo remained silent, but the pilot cut it. "You may want to change your channel back, Goddess," he said, unnaturally calm for the situation. She did, and waited.

"I don't want to be married," Scootaloo replied, softly, only just audible over the noises from outside of the headphones.

She clasped her hands together. "... Why?" she repeated, perhaps even quieter.

"I think - I think it might change things."

She finally looked over. "No, it won't. I promise it won't. It'll be just like always, but we'll know - we'll know we'll always be there for each other."

"Don't we already?" she asked meekly.

Sweetie ground her teeth together, thinking. "How about we can legally share my bank accounts? That's good."

"Sweetie," Scootaloo said, looking over at her, fear clear in her eyes. "I can't do this. I'm - I..." she trailed off, looking away. "I'm terrified."

Sweetie felt the burn behind her eyes. Yes, it was childish. Of course Scootaloo's reaction was logical. But her selfish mind wasn't thinking that kind of thing through too well at the moment. "But... I love you."

"No - no, no, I - I love you too, but -"

"But what? That's all we need, isn't it?" She felt some kind of panic rise in her voice. It should have been there, but it certainly was. "I don't know how this kind of thing works!"

"But what? But I don't know, okay?" Scootaloo replied, leaving her mouth open, thinking through her sentence. "Does it mean..." She left her mouth open. "Is it starting a family."

It hit Sweetie all at once. Her breath became less shallow, her internal organs returned to their original places. She almost smiled at her own stubborn idiocy. Instead, she switched to pilot channel. "When are we going to hit cruising?"

"About ten minutes," came the reply.

She switched back. "Give it ten minutes, alright?" she asked gently, and reached out to take her hand, and squeezed it hard. "For now, let's talk."

"... About what?"

She inhaled. "I know about your childhood. And I'm sorry I didn't see it when we were kids," she added, looking over at her. She wasn't looking back. "What if I swear to you that that never happens to us?"

"How can you?" Scootaloo asked quietly.

"I could never do that to you," she replied, her voice breaking.

"That's what my parents said." Her voice had become little more than a subhuman hush. "They loved each other, too. And then stuff happened and the state took me. You know the tragic backstory."

Sweetie bit her lip. It calmed her down. "You - you just have to trust me, okay? Do you trust me?" she asked, leaning over to her.

Scootaloo swallowed, audibly, and nodded short little nods. "I do. You know that."

"Then why would you say no?"

Silence.

"Scootaloo?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Do you... want to have kids?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know. Too soon, okay?"

"Okay. That's okay," she said, and clasped her hand in her own.

A moment of silence again, only padded by the warmth of one another's hands. "Do you think you would say yes?"

Scootaloo didn't reply. She just made a noise.

"I'm going to do it anyways, okay?"

"... Okay."

It didn't feel like ten minutes passed when Skies called out cruising altitude. Technically, on a small plane, they weren't meant to stand at all, but whatever. This was important.

She reached into her bag, behind her, found the small box, and helped Scootaloo to her feet, before kneeling.

Scootaloo had lost her paleness, and was now flushed red. "Do we have to do the knee thing?"

"That's how it works," Sweetie replied, looking up at her, smiling lightly. With a final, focusing inhale, she began. "Scootaloo."

She put a hand up. "When do I say the thing?"

"I have to ask the question first. Lemme start over." She cleared her throat. "Scootaloo -"

Suddenly, the plane hit turbulence, and everything was tossed at a 45 degree angle left. She was able to catch the box, but slammed forwards into Scootaloo, who then slammed backwards into the side of the plane.

"Oh, no. You alright, Scoots?" she asked, worriedly, helping her to her feet again, and hugging her tightly i the smallish space they had.

"I'm good. Do you - do you wanna try again?"

Sweetie looked at the captain, who was completely silent. He didn't even appear to have noticed. No backwards mirrors. "Okay," she said, taking a knee again. "One more time."

She cleared her throat and began. "Scootaloo. I've known you for almost a full decade now." She closed her eyes, to remember. The things she memorized always escaped her at the crucial moments. "In that almost-a-decade, we've had some amazing times together. It was two years too late that we realized we were supposed to be together."

Scootaloo stood, rather solemn, with her hands behind her back, staring down at her. She caught a hint of a smile escape, and solidify.

She looked up, a thoughtless smile on her own face. "I don't know how to explain it, but I've loved you more than I've loved anyone my entire life. There's no one who deserves this more than you." That was sappy. When did she write this?

She opened the small box, revealing the ring inside. Specific measurements, rose-gold with a large morganite and four diamonds. Designed special by internationally renowned artist Silver Socket. Simple, but striking. It still shone like new. "W-" She caught herself on the word. "Will you marry me?"

After a bit of a tense second, Scootaloo knelt down, as well, and Sweetie groaned. "You're not supposed to do that."

"I know," Scootaloo replied with her grin, and leaned forwards, kissing her. Given the circumstances, it should not have been the best kiss she'd ever had in her entire life, and yet that it was. She'd never felt so much love in something, ever. Anything. Scootaloo laid a hand on her cheek, and pulled away. "And I will."

"You -"

Scootaloo nodded, the grin becoming an actual, full smile in a fraction of a second. Sweetie smiled in return, and, with shaking fingers, took the ring from the little box and slid it carefully over her ring finger. It stopped at her second joint. She sighed, and slipped the ring onto Scootaloo's pinkie instead. "Whatever..." she trailed off, and laughed. And laughed again. And kissed her fiancée.

Scootaloo laughed with her, and leaned in for a not-so-calm embrace. Sweetie felt the familiar warmth all the way across her, and some new gate of happiness had been opened for her instantaneously. She cried as she laughed, and held Scootaloo tightly. There were no guidelines, no plans on how to react. She just couldn't believe she'd gone through with it.

Scootaloo pulled away eventually, and wiped at her own eyes. "I..." she trailed off, falling from the knee and sitting back against her seat. "I don't know what we're going to do now. But -" She paused. "I'm engaged," she said, and laughed. "I don't believe it. I'm getting married. I never thought..." She trailed off, into tears, which she wiped off as quickly as she could. "I don't know."

Sweetie sat next to her, reaching her arms around her, trying not to upset the headphones. "I don't know either. We just have to take the world one step at a time, huh?"

"I got engaged to my best friend today," she said, running a hand through Sweetie's hair, and letting it rest on her neck. Her eyes, shiny violet, were just the cherries on top of everything. She kissed her again. What else was there to do?

It got a bit heated, and died down, like everything does eventually. They had to return to their seats before landing, but kept their hands together. And Sweetie, despite herself, couldn't keep from staring into Scootaloo's eyes.

The island was beautiful, in the afternoon. The resort and such had to be taken care of quickly, and subtly. Sweetie was able to magically dye her hair dark blue and pink, for a week, and straighten it. She'd need to fix it after that week, but hey, a disguise is a disguise. And for the eyes - contacts. Not hard.

In the afternoon, the fall was settling in on a summer town - a northeasterly had come in and, rather than a violent wind, was simply a cool breeze that seemed to shut down the sun. After the hecticness with the resort, they'd simply taken a walk down the beach, along a white cobblestone path down a long, thin strip.

Scootaloo couldn't stop talking, it seemed like. Marriage this and marriage that. Sweetie had the whole thing planned for next Saturday, of course, but they could discuss that that evening, before bed. Or during bed. What mattered was that she was excited, just like Sweetie was.

Eventually, they came upon a bright white cove, sheltered on either side by the shadows of the lowering sun on the trees behind them. Black, white, green, red, blue. Tranquility. There was a bench nearby, and they sat on it, close, their hands in a tangled mess with one another's.

"So... now that this is actually happening," Scootaloo said, her voice dropping as she took off her sunglasses and stuffed them into her hoodie pocket, "are you really thinking about retiring?"

She stared out at the hypnotically moving waves. "... I don't know," she replied after a beat, aware of the huge lack of closure. It didn't sit right. The month wouldn't last forever, and where would she go from there?

"I get wh-"

A series of short beeps interrupted her, and she tapped the button on the side of her watch. "Sorry. Do you mind?"

Scootaloo shook her head, and Sweetie started one up, blowing the grey smoke over their elegant pastoral.

She sighed, her legs crossed, her head supported by Scootaloo's arm. She felt like she should be wearing a summer dress, or a gown, or something fiancée and island at the same time - at least she did earlier. Now, the tank top and the beat-up jeans (she'd since forcefully removed the skirt) seemed proper.

"You know why I do it," Sweetie commented, breathing in again.

"I do." Scootaloo paused. "I met him, a few times. Never saw him smoking. He was young."

"He was."

Scootaloo dropped her arm down around Sweetie's midsection. "Do you think he would've wanted to see you like this?"

Sweetie tapped the ashes off. "He's dead now."

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"... Gimme one."

Sweetie looked over. "I can't do that. What if you get addicted, or something? It'd be my fault."

Scootaloo grinned. "Whatever happens, happens. Gimme one or I'm divorcing you."

Sweetie giggled, and looked down into the box. One left. She stared at it for a moment, and handed it over with the lighter.

Scootaloo looked over the lighter. "Nice design." And then the cigarette. "So, I just inhale?"

"Yeah, bring it into your lungs. Don't swallow it."

"Okay. Lemme see," she muttered, and lit the end. The right one, thankfully. Half the first breath and she was coughing.

Sweetie laughed. "I knew it. No one can take a cigarette right their first time."

Scootaloo covered her mouth and leaned forwards, coughing. "I can - see - why," she said in-between coughs. "It's awful."

She looked over at Sweetie, whose cigarette was still hanging loosely from her mouth, and took another try. It went down better.

For a few minutes, they sat together, staring at the waves. Scootaloo refused to put her arm anywhere else.

Just when she was about done, a younger man with silly shorts came by jogging in the shade. They assumed he was going to pass, but he slowed. "Oh, hey, are you two Goddess fans, too?" he asked, motioning to the cigarettes.

Scootaloo looked at Sweetie, who had to try hard to suppress a grin. "Maybe," she said. "Of a sort. What's your favorite Goddess album?"

"Sunburst. Obviously. Packs the most punch. Also, her rap voice is just amazing. I had no idea the voice she used for the Goddess album would work so well like that, right?" He beamed, jogging in place a little. "I'm listening to Black Adder right now. It's mental."

"Where are you staying tonight?" Sweetie asked.

He chuckled nervously. No, we're not suggesting what you're thinking, guy, don't even go there. "Um, not here, sadly. I'm flying out at nine."

Sweetie giggled, and turned to Scootaloo. "I'm not ready to retire just yet," she said with a little grin.

Scootaloo looked up at the guy, who looked mildly confused, and back at Sweetie. She shook her head. "Don't do it."

No one could stop her once she was already in motion. She stood, walked over to him, and in a smooth motion, countered the hair dyes and straightener and levitated out her contacts. And kissed him on the lips. She stood back, and smiled. "No one will ever believe you," she said, just loud enough for him to hear. And, in a second, disappeared.

His eyes opened wide, a bit of a delay, and he stepped back. "Wh -" was all he could articulate.

He whipped his head to Scootaloo, who looked back and forth, and shrugged. "She's weird like that," she said, before disappearing, too.

They receded to the bushes and giggled until they thought they were going to fall apart.