I felt a lot better after what Pearl said to me. I didn’t have any kind of regret toward Stitches, and I didn’t feel afraid to work toward my dream.

There was something I wanted to do though, even though I hadn’t known I wanted to. After the end of my shift, I stopped Stitches in his path. He had a tub of dishes under one wing, I took it from him and put it down. Then I hugged him. I just felt so satisfied, justified almost. I told him thank you, and he hugged me back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why, just held me. I had the thought that I might never feel his body like this again. Then I reminded myself I could have it whenever I wanted. He liked hugs, and I liked hugs. Just because we weren’t together didn’t mean we couldn’t have hugs. I loved the idea of hugging him endlessly, and possibly without context. He might be confused, but he was my comfort until I got something better, and he’d have to deal with it. That might sound selfish, and I guess it is, but he always wanted to be looked to, instead of at. He said that, didn’t he? That he wanted to be the one looking after somepony else? Instead of always being looked after? Did I write that down? Maybe my wording just now didn’t illustrate it that well, but he did say something like that before.

Anyhow, I’m in such a good mood right now. Writing this down, I’m almost out of ink. I’d better go soon so I can pick some up before I get to the stage. Today’s going to be mostly music, so I should get a chance to talk to the stage director. I refuse to leave without speaking my mind and getting some answers! I’ll go over what I want to ask him on my way over.

I approached the stage director feeling confident. It was a false confidence, but it was still better than feeling ready to faint. I don’t know why I’m getting myself so excited. Pearl told me to at least try to get my hopes up for once: expect the best outcome and relish it when it comes.

I had to wait for a while, though. Despite my outright confidence, I still thought it best to wait until he had a free moment. He still seemed pretty busy, even during the break. He didn’t seem all that focused on anypony, and only ever on his stage notes. We’d only gone over scene one, in which the heiress is introduced being dressed up fancy for an arranged marriage. The lights rise with the curtain as the instruments crescendo and cue her starting note. The maids don’t sing, or really do anything but put her dress on while she sings her aria. In the end she ditches the wedding to sit in a lighthouse and watch boats leave the pier: the same lighthouse she jumps out of at the end of the play.

So I seize the moment of him taking a sip from his coffee to approach and offer my inquiry. Hmm… “Inquiry” might be a bit strong of a word there. Well, I ask him the question.

“Mister Call?” I begin. Without looking up from his binder, he grunts in response. “I just had a question about… well, about my future.” He looks up at me then. “I wanted to know what kind of position I might be eligible for if you ever considered me for advancement.”

He puts his binder down and speaks straight-forward. “I’m afraid it isn’t up to me to advance you. If you’re interested in finding another job with the same theater you’d have to apply with the producers. I’d be happy to refer you, seeing as you’re a very reliable worker.” I drop my head for a moment to think about it. I believe he sees this as a sign of defeat, and asks, “What was it you wanted to ‘advance’ to?”

I look back at him and answer, falteringly, “Uhh, writing. I wanted to write my own plays.”

He strokes his bristly facial hair—a clear sign of the untidy stress brought about by being a stage director. (How do ponies even grow facial hair?) “Have you written a script before?”

“Well, no,” I admit. “But, I have written a number of short stories, and I’ve read lots of scripts.” I feel childish, trying to convince this authority figure to give me a chance based on pretty much nothing. How could he possibly be taking me seriously right now? He’s not likely overworked yet, since we’ve recently ended one production and have only just started the next one, but he can’t possibly be so at ease that he’s willing to give up his time to support me.

(You know you’re doing it again.)

“Tell you what,” Curtain Call says.

I’m half listening, half talking to Aura in my head—Doing what?

(Expecting the worst.)

“Why don’t you bring me a draft of something?”

“I…” What are you talking about? No I’m not.

(You totally are. You were questioning why he was being so intrinsically nice. You wanted him to shut you down.) I notice the director raise an eyebrow at my hesitation.

“I understand you don’t have anything written right now. Take your time, I’ll read it when it’s finished.”

Well, I’m sorry. I guess it’s some kind of habit, I can’t control it. “I, uhh… Thank you.”

He smiles at me and nods, then goes back to reviewing his notes. (I suppose I don’t mind as much. I actually think it’s kind of nice to end up being wrong about negative expectations. But what would Pearl think if she knew?)

She doesn’t know. And stop harassing me, will you? I just got good news and don’t want you ruining it by stressing me out about pearl. The day’s almost over and I want to get started on that script.

(Just don’t forget to sleep.)