Tuesday morning had begun with a dark sky, full of thick, foreboding clouds that crept soundlessly across the horizon. A tearing wind was at their ends. When the hour of morning had passed, though, nature appeared to have eased up a bit. The darkness gave way to a silver dawn, with the clouds loosening up and becoming docile grey beasts that lingered overhead. The wind died into a soft murmur. The day was cold, but not freezing; it was the cold of late December, familiar and biting, but warm with the anticipation of the holidays. Would it snow? Maybe, but no one would mind.

Still, the sun refused to peek out, like it was afraid, like it was afraid. Across the northern hills, the clouds were much darker, glaring over them as a panther would at its prey. They had been pushed back for now, but in time they would return. Perhaps with a vengeance.

But weather was far from Ink Quill’s mind as she entered Canterlot High’s grounds. Wrapped snugly in her winter down jacket, she let out a shaky breath, once again reminded of how cold it was at this time of year. The cold had woken her up on the way here, but looking around, she saw that wasn’t quite the case with many others. Some students were wrapped in their own snug clothes so tightly that they appeared constricted, and their eyes were blinking slowly and dumbly, as if their brains were so tired that they could not register that they were surviving in sub-normal temperatures. Tuesdays were slow days during December, she supposed, so she could not fault the students for their sluggish movements.

Such observations had slowed her, but now she began walking again, heading for the school. Her mind lingered for a moment on the day to come. The first day spent without writing, the first day of her break as suggested by Artifex. Would it be a struggle to put those kinds of thoughts, those urges, away? She supposed a better question to ask would be if what she was doing—this break—would help her. Execution was key. But she could not help but feel doubtful.

She supposed (she was supposing a lot on this short walk) that maybe that was natural. Hesitancy was the mark of willingness. She would not dare risk not doing something if she didn’t feel compelled to do it. There was a level of caution here that reassured her of her decision, and with that thought, she put the worry away, and focused on the day ahead.

At present (and as luck would have it), her focus sharply veered off, landing on a strange sight.

He was leaning against a blue pickup truck whose paint had eroded long ago to the point where it no longer gleamed but whose rumbling strength could still be inferred. The back of the truck was full of crates, stacked against one another and fastened by ropes. Beneath the sandy cropping of hair was a red face and emerald eyes that glanced up at the sky, carefree and without a worry in the world. Nothing about him suggested being bothered by the cold. All he wore was a simple sweater and jeans, both of which seemed to struggle against his bulky frame.

His lips were moving, like he was talking, and all he glanced at was the silver sky above. To say it was strange was, perhaps, an understatement, but Ink could find no other word; or rather, she could find no inoffensive alternate to use, nor did she preferably want to.

Though one starting with the letter “q” did briefly entertain itself in her mind when she saw what he did next.

His gaze lowered, and he glanced around, as if making sure no one was watching. Ink felt a sudden urge to hide behind the nearby lamp post, whatever good that would do. Either way, he did not seem to have seen her. A puff of white smoke rose out of his mouth. He reached around and pulled something out of his pocket. It was some sort of magazine, whose title was plastered in big white letters across the front; but from distance, Ink couldn’t see exactly what it read. He seemed rather excited to read the paper product, as his neutral frown became a small grin.

So enwrapped in the scene was Ink that she did not hear the other girl creep up next to her.

“ ‘Creep?’ I do not creep!”

Ink screeched—then a hand clamped around her mouth and muffled her voice. The throng of tired students failed to notice. “Geez, girl, and they say I’m loud!”

Ink struggled to break free, but it was to no avail. The girl behind her might have been small, but her grip was ironclad. Wherever did she draw that strength? Was it a freakish talent? Did all Asian girls have this? (And more importantly, why was Ink even thinking these questions in the first place?)

“Ink. Ink! Baka! Quit squirming, would ya?”

“Mmph mph mmmph Gmph!”

“What was that?”

Ink repeated herself, even though she knew the girl wouldn’t understand. She found herself hoping for Hazel; if she were here, maybe then she’d be able to get free—

A startled gasp from the girl behind her finally released Ink. Stumbling forward, she coughed violently, before whirling around and fixating a killer glare. “Gaige!” she nearly shouted, voice containing barely restrained anger. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” A toothy grin crossed Gaige’s mouth; her eyebrows waggled. “What are you doing, Ink? Boy watching?”

“I—what? No! I was just standing here when all of a sudden you showed up and—”

Gaige’s laugh cut her off. “Yeah, right! You were totally scoping out Big Mac!”

Suddenly Ink felt her jacket was too much; the very air before her seemed to sizzle in the heat of her embarrassment. She pushed herself off the ground, crossing her arms, spluttering, “W-what? N-no! Of course I wasn’t—”

“You totally were! It’s so obvious! Oh my God, if Hazel was here, she’d be having a field day!”

“Gaige!”

Gaige’s laughter grew as the air around Ink began to fizzle. She was seeing red. No, wait, that was only Gaige. What difference does it make?

Another thought crossed her mind. She looked over her shoulder, at Big Mac, wondering if he had heard them. He hadn’t. He was still preoccupied with whatever he was reading.

“See?” Gaige exclaimed, pumping her fist.

Ink blushed even harder. She wanted to protest, or even to throttle the short girl in front of her; and yet, she found she could not. Somewhere, somehow, her voice had decided to abandon her, and all she could do was blush and try not to look behind her.

But Gaige was a perceptive person despite her short stature (“Hey! I resent that, Baka!), and she could see from a mile away Ink’s notable hesitance. She glanced between her and the boy all that distance behind her, and Ink could see the gears turning over in Gaige’s mind.

An uncharacteristically sly grin crept across Gaige’s face, freezing Ink solid in its intensity. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Ink,” she said. “Ol’ Gaige has got your back on this!”

Then she pushed past her, too quick and too suddenly for Ink to properly react. When she could move again, she immediately turned and tried to follow Gaige, but it was too late. The girl was already somehow in front of Mac. He looked up, surprised to see her. Ink broke into a run, intent on dragging the girl back before she did something they both would regret.

Gaige glanced back only once, and there on her face was a different kind of grin. Ink almost let out a breath of relief. It seemed she wasn’t about to do anything stupid. Her steps slowed as she approached the two.

“HEY, MAC! INK SAYS SHE WANTS TO HANG OUT ON FRIDAY NIGHT!”

In days to come, Ink would forever question the sanctity of her friendship with Gaige, if it had ever meant anything to the girl, if it was something she only wanted around as a toy.

At the moment, though, all she could do was freeze on the spot and become painfully aware of dozens of eyes turning to her, and the most piercing of them all was a pair of emerald ones.

Gaige faced her. She gave a nonchalant shrug, still grinning. “You’re welcome,” she whispered to Ink as she brushed past.

Then she was gone, leaving Ink and Mac at the center of everyone’s attention.

“I AM GOING TO KILL HER!”

“Ink—”

“I AM GOING TO GRAB HER BY HER PIGTAILS LIKE THEY’RE THE HANDLEBARS OF A BIKE AND SHOVE HER FACE INTO THE GROUND UNTIL SHE’S CRAPPING ASPHALT!”

“Ah… wait, can ya actually do that—”

“AND THEN I’M GONNA FEED HER TO HER STUPID ROBOT AND SHOVE CELINE DION MUSIC DOWN HER THROAT!”

“She don’t like Celine?”

“I DON’T FREAKING KNOW AND I DON’T FREAKING CARE! WHY ARE YOU SMILING?!”

Big Mac attempted to hide behind a hand, but she could still the faint outline of his grin. He glanced at her, before turning away. Somehow, despite his rosy exterior, she could see the remnants of a blush across his cheeks. “Ah’m not smiling,” he insisted, only to cut himself off by a rumbling chuckle.

They’d only been questioned a few times as they hastily made their escape from Mac’s truck to the school, but that was enough to jolt Ink’s nerves. Gaige had long since vanished somewhere behind the double glass doors, and Ink was determined to find her and bring her to justice. That, or kill her, though that was basically the same thing at this point. Mac had tagged along, though for what reason she didn’t know.

“Ink, wait.”

They stopped at the statue, with Ink breathing heavily, and Mac still appearing relatively calm and collected. “Ya don’t really mean that, do ya?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She glared back at him. He didn’t flinch. “I am going to metaphorically exsanguinate her and then feed her entrails to her own corpse.”

“Least you said metaphorically,” Mac quipped. He put a hand over her shoulder, smiling. Oh, God, did that smile infuriate her; and yet she found her lips fighting to make the same gesture. “But Ah wouldn’t advise it all the same.”

“Yeah?” she grumbled. “Try and stop me.”

Then she was talking, with him in tow, and he did not say a word of protest, nor did she realize that his hand had slipped from her shoulder and was now, for better or for worse, stuck in her own palm.

The glass doors swung open, allowing them entrance. Gaige was, of course, nowhere to be found. First block had yet to start; the window for swift and terrible vengeance was still open. Ink stomped forward, intent on fulfilling that bloodthirsty oath—

Only to be stopped by the shrillest, fan-girlish shriek she had ever heard.

“OH MY GOSH YOU TWO LOOK SO CUTE!”

In more days to come, Ink would forever question why she had become friends with Hazel.

She brought a hand to her forehead, then whirled around and searched for the girl, growling, “Hazel, now is not the time—”

But she was cut off by only more squealing as the sweater-bound girl rose out (of the shadows, no less) and buried her hands in her cheeks. “Inky!” she cried, beaming. “I didn’t think you had it in you!”

“Had what in me?! Gah! Hazel—”

Her utteration faded into a desperate gasp as Hazel wrapped her arms around her and hugged her far too tightly. She squirmed and struggled while Hazel squeezed and continued to squeal. Big Mac, meanwhile, kept watch, an amused half-grin on his face.

A thought crossed her mind; could she topple that sort of massive tree? Kill it?

The thought left her just as another breath of air did.

“I am so proud of you,” Hazel was saying (truth be told, her voice sounded very far off, sort of like she was at the end of a tunnel. Ink thought she could see stars.). “It only took you a few weeks but here you are and—”

Suddenly she let go, allowing Ink to breathe. Once she had recovered, Ink looked at her friend, only to find her staring at Mac as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Hazel?” she prompted, all thoughts of anger receding into concern.

“That’s not Artifex,” Hazel murmured.

Ink slapped a hand to her forehead. She heard Mac utter a short chuckle. “No,” Ink said, “he isn’t. Maybe you should get your glasses checked.”

“But… I thought… you and he…”

“Hazel, didn’t I tell you? He’s got his eye on someone else.”

“Oh?” Mac intoned, getting her attention. “Someone’s tickled Arty’s fancy?”

She turned to answered him, but Hazel stopped her. “Ink, that’s Big Mac!”

“Yes—”

“As in, Applejack’s older brother!”

“Yes, but what does that have to do with—”

“You’re doing the horizontal hokey-pokey with Macintosh Apple!”

From somewhere far off, in another classroom, there sounded a strangled gasp, followed by one mighty cry: “Who’s doin’ wut with mah brother?”

Mac laughed. Ink screamed.