Before Monica left she hugged me one last time and told me she was excited to see my sister tomorrow. With her heading home and my focus shifted from cartoon ponies back to reality I decided to head downstairs and go see Comet a bit before I had to scrub myself clean for my community service. I appreciated the love put into the marker on my arms and I was considering taking pictures of them before I scrubbed them off, but I still wasn't looking forward to the work to get them off of me. At least they didn’t mark up my face.

Downstairs I followed the smell of the coffee to its maker but didn’t find a Comet anywhere nearby. Instead, Markus was in the darkened kitchen with a cup and assessing the damage done by the party. As I was walking in, his attention was on the mysterious puddle by the kitchen table. His dull eyes with black circles and his wrecked, curly short hair told me he had barely survived last night as well. When he saw me approach he frowned.

“I’m kind of surprised you’re alive,” he half-mumbled, half-growled at me.

“Yeah... I think I broke my record,” I showed him the impossible number of tally marks on my arm. “Everyone get home alright?”

“I think so. Your boyfriend stayed over though,” he gestured to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. He must have meant Comet.

“Did I... do something last night I’d regret?” I asked him as I poured some coffee for myself into a cleanish-looking plastic cup. “I don’t remember much of last night,” I admitted.

“No, not like that,” Markus quelled my fears. “But I am kind of mad at you still. You said there’d be like 10 people. There was like 20,” he explained to me. “This house is a fucking wreck. You need to get this shit cleaned up, like, today. I’m not putting up with the house stuck like this like last time.”

“I mean, I will,” I promised, my words being spoken into my coffee. I took a sip. “But I got work soon.”

“You mean spoon-feeding those old people, right?,” Markus said then sighed. “You’re a fun guy but you gotta get some income coming in or Ian is going to kick you out.” Markus checked his phone and started walking out of the kitchen. “Just start cleaning up some today, alright?” He called back to me.

I needed a cigarette. I headed for the sliding glass door and headed outside with my coffee. Sure enough Comet was out here, smoking and squatting like a slav against the wall with his coffee in his other hand. He looked disturbed, like he just saw a ghost.

"Hey. Somebody die?," I sipped my coffee cup and leaned against the wall next to him. At his worried glance I started to fear I got it right. He didn't offer me my smokes back yet but I gave him time; something was on his mind.

"I got tattoos," he started what sounded like a new topic. I went along with it.

"No shit?" I asked, surprised. Comet didn't seem like the type. He never talked about wanting one before. “What are they? When did you get them?"

"Last night I guess. They're like, blue stars falling with blue trails behind them," he made a swooshing movement in the air with his hand, presumably tracing the trail. "Falling stars." He tossed his cigarette butt and lit up another cigarette. With my pack out he realized he was holding out on me and gave my bic and cigarettes back.

"Because... you're an astronomy teacher?" I asked him as I lit a cigarette for myself. It dawned on me: maybe that was why I had been calling him 'Comet'? Was that something I started doing because he showed me the tattoos and then I just forgot about them?

I tried to imagine his new tattoos. "Eh. They sound kind of gay, no offense. Is it still sore? Can you show me?"

"No, you ain’t getting me," he looked away from the neighborhood vista and looked up at me from his squat. His normally calm surface was becoming choppy. "I didn't get’em; I found’em when I woke up this morning. They're on my sides, right on my hips; Like a branding," he stood up and pulled the side of his pants and underwear down to show me.

I flinched back a bit not knowing how much of Comet I was going to see today. I relaxed a bit when I saw just his upper thigh. Sure enough, in perfect, solid colors was a large blue star falling with a swooping trail behind it. It kind of looked like generic clip art.

"You said you had stars though. That's only one." I said to get him to show me the other one. I had to see it. He turned to show me his other side. Same clip art but it was mirrored. The skin around this one looked red and dry like he had tried to scrub it off.

"If you woke up with those they're just temporary. Real ones look bruised and angry for a while. They should just come off with soap?”

"I already tried gettin’em off in the bathroom. They ain’t coming off," he pulled his pants back up to hide his new shame.

"They're just some weird new type then. It'll come off somehow," I took out my phone to start looking for something that matched this type of tattoo.

"Even if they are, what kinda weird joke is this? Putting semi-permanent tattoos on unconscious strangers? Underneath their underwear? That's bucked."

I had no retort. He was right: you don't do this. Comet was passed out on the couch for who knows how long. Whoever did it either did it right in front of a room full of people who just watched or had him alone for a while, with his underwear pulled down. What else did they do? Was he sexually violated?

I had no answers for him, but I gave him as many names and numbers as I could of people who were at the party. Maybe someone saw who did it. We found something about temporary waterproof tattoos online. They were a bit expensive for a prank but that must have been in it. Something as big as those would have left bruising if done with a needle. And the spots seemed picked precisely so it could be found later but hidden easily. That would make the prank as harmless as possible.

When we went back inside and finished off the pot of coffee it quietly dawned on me I hadn't checked myself yet. I was asleep in the same room as Comet. If a person had enough time to do two on one person...

"You... didn't go to the bathroom yet?" Comet asked as he read the realization on my face.

Without a response I headed for the downstairs bathroom. He showed me his, but I felt like I needed to discover mine alone. Before I pulled my pants down in front of the mirror I already had my suspicions.

I had them too. Same spot. One on each side. I stared at mine for a bit, trying to figure out why I had weird-shaped red stars with weird bubbly purple trails until my brain started processing what was actually there: a strawberry and a bunch of grapes. Mirrored on each side. They were individualized? Were they themed to us? Comet's being stars was too much of a coincidence. They must have known he majored in astronomy and taught some classes. And mine was... because of my punch? I could see a connection being made but they weren't exact fits. They must have been from a set and the closest was picked. Which would explain why they look like generic clip art with their thick outlines and bright simple colors.

I came out of the bathroom to a waiting friend. Instead of saying anything I pulled down my side like he did and showed him. When he saw mine he seemed way more surprised than I thought he would.

"Oh shit," he said as it dawned on him, "they're cutie marks." I felt myself blush. Since when did I blush? Comet never called anything about me cute before. My embarrassment quickly got backed up by anger.

“They aren’t that cute! Buck you!” I swore at him. Comet looked confused then a calm, amused smile spread on his face.

“No, cutie marks; the butt marks on My Little Pony,” he explained and dug his phone out to show me. He started going through pictures of ponies and stopped on one with a familiar butt mark.

It was mine.

Well not mine. The one on me.

I also saw what time it was. Now there really wasn’t time to deal with this booty mark problem. If I was going to scrub the drawings off my arms before I go do my community service, and I had to, I was going to have to go shower immediately.

“Horse apples,” I grumbled.” Listen, we’re going to have to switch to text; I have to go get ready for work.”

And with that, we parted but agreed to keep looking into this thing. Comet headed off to work. I went to scrub my arms raw in the shower. I skipped everything else in that shower; I needed time to call Brianna. There was just enough time. I needed to talk to her.

I was going to spill my guts about everything. I was even going to tell her about the weird 'cutie marks' that didn't scrub off in the shower the way the marker did, but once we got talking none of it seemed important. While I treasured every phone call with my sister, the contents only gave me more to think about. I thought about it the entire walk to the bus stop, while waiting around for it, and while on the bus:

---

"It's about time you call," she teased me when she picked up.

"Sorry, I slept in," I physically shrugged to the person on the other end. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks. Did you have a fun party last night?" she said with a tone that told me she was working on something.

"I did. Everyone and everyone’s friends showed up. What are you up to?"

"Oh, just... working on a sketch," she said, clearly staring at it.

"Oh yeah? Is it for business or pleasure?" I asked.

"It's just for fun," she seemed surprisingly shy to tell me what it was. "I was in a pony-kick lately for whatever reason. So I'm drawing some."

"Oh? Is it your favorite pony? Butterfly?" as I said it I couldn't keep the grin from leaking into my voice.

"No, not Shutterfly," she said back amused then paused for a moment before continuing. "It's just a few background fillies. I'm ready to paint them and I think I know what colors I want them to be but I want them perfect so I'm going to see if I can find a list of them online to get the shades right."

"That's awesome. I can't wait to see it," I hinted. With what seemed like the best segue I could get I started a new topic. "Speaking of ponies and stuff; Monica came over today."

"Monica?? Really?" she practically squealed. I suddenly had her undivided attention. "Was she at the party?! I didn't know you two were still hanging out together."

"We don't really. I guess I sent her a few weird drunk texts last night and she came over today to make sure I didn't die from alcohol poisoning."

"Aww. That was nice of her. So how were you? Did you die from alcohol poisoning?"

If only she knew.

"Nope. Still breathing. Monica was doing good too. In fact, she said she wanted to see you again too. I think she's going to give me a ride tomorrow to come see you. I still have my present to give you. You're going to love it."

"Monica is coming over??" she sounded incredibly surprised and I heard papers shuffling and things getting put up on the other end of the phone. "You remembered it was her birthday, right?"

"I did. I wished her a happy birthday," I told her.

"If she's coming over tomorrow I'm going to have to make her a present then. Does she still like Twilight Sparkle??"

"Oh yeah. When she-," I stopped myself from mentioning when I showed Monica the plush I got Brianna. Spoilers! Wait. "-she was wearing pony tights today." Smooth.

"Works for me! I'm going to make her an oil pastel drawing!" she announced.

"Well alright, it sounds like you're getting busy so I'll leave you alone. I need to get ready for my 'date' at the retirement home," I started. I knew she would stay up late until she finished her present for Monica and I didn't want to keep her awake any longer than she already was going to be.

"Okay, you have fun. Oh! And tell Comet I said 'Happy Birthday' too" she said. She already sounded distracted with sketching.

"I will," I promised. I looked over at the Fluttershy plushie on my desk and returned the plushie’s soft smile. "And I'll see you tomorrow. Love you, Ruby" I said my goodbye.

"Okay. Looking forward to it. Love you too, Mom," she said, already sounding distracted as she hung up.

---

"Mom..." I repeated the word aloud on the bus. A large lady standing in front of me gave me a concerned glare for a moment before she went back to looking at her phone.

Brianna seemed distracted so it was probably just a force of habit. But I had called her Ruby, the person I, well 'Barry', was looking for last night. I don't think she even noticed though. My subconscious must have had a one-track mind.

Then there were the tattoos on me now. Comet Tail said he didn't recognize his own but he knew my tattoos were the branding on Berry Punch. He admitted he watched a few seasons back in high school until something called "Twilicorn" happened. When we looked it up we found references to a theory that Berry Punch was a mom to "Ruby Pinch".

And I was “Barry" last night. Looking for “Ruby”.

Our current theory was someone was offering 'temporary' tattoos last night at the party and when drunk-me got that one, he told me about Berry and Ruby and encouraged me to go on a drunken search for her at the party. Leading to everyone calling me Barry. Maybe I was badly drunk flirting, looking for ‘my Ruby’? The theory kind of fit. Sort of. Assuming drunk-me wasn’t paying attention to the mother-daughter part.

Comet's "cutie mark" was much harder to match it seems. There were apparently a lot of star and astronomy-related marks. I was passing the time on the bus trying to search the Internet with my phone for results when I received a text from Monica.

Monica: “I crashed my car :c I'm ok but they think I have a concussion.”

My heart sank. I immediately replied,

Me: “Are you sure you're ok? You should still go to the ER to get everything checked out.”

Monica: “I am. Someone is giving me a ride. I'm so sorry Berry the car isn't going to be drivable by tomorrow.”

Beyond my fear for my friend I almost didn't notice the name she used until I read the message a third time. "Berry"? Was it her concussion? Auto-correct?

Even if she was referencing me being “Barry” at a time like this she spelled it like the character. Did she make the connection too somehow? I couldn't ask her about this now though.

Me: “Don't worry about that! I'm just glad you're not seriously hurt. Let me know when you get a clean bill of health.”

Monica: “Ok. I will when I know more. I have to get off the phone now the screen is hurting my eyes.”

When I was finally off the bus and at the retirement center I couldn't focus on anything. I would have rushed to check on her if I didn’t know missing community service could land me behind bars. Beyond just Monica getting in a car accident and the My Little Pony tattoos on my mind I felt like garbage: my forehead was pounding and I was having the sweats and shakes. I knew what was happening. I drank some of the port wine before leaving for work but maybe because I didn't wake up with any in my system or maybe because of all I had last night I needed more.

I did my best to make it through my shift. By supper prep time I was really feeling it.

Others in the kitchen preparing dinner were staring at me. I think they could tell I felt like shit. Maybe they could smell it coming through my pores. Some new employee said she liked my hair. She was cute and I thanked her, knowing some chicks dug the black curly locks, but I couldn't flirt while feeling the way I did. Instead I just concentrated on chopping the vegetables and running them through the food processor. The overwhelming varieties of cooking smells in the kitchen was making me nauseated. When I was finally done running everything through I left the food processor unclean and on the counter. I had to get out of there and go see the one guy nearby who would help me out.

Mr. Brown was a 95 year old World War 2 veteran. He attributed his long life and health to bourbon and cigars. When we met we immediately hit it off. He said I reminded him of his son when he was younger. When he showed me his old Playboy collection I knew he would get a kick out of having my dad's old ones. After giving him those he started to share his other stash with me. It was just Wild Turkey and I wasn't ever taking much but he became my favorite resident to hide with during my shift.

When I walked into his room he was sitting in his chair with his feet up on the other chair, watching TV at his normal loud volume. It was what he always did before dinner. He muted the TV when he saw me but his expression changed to surprise.

"Bobby! I like what you did with your hair!" Mr. Brown said as he gestured towards the top of his own head. He frequently slipped up and called me his son's name. "You look like shit though."

"It's Berry actually. I gave you my dad's Playboy's," I told him to jog his memory. Wondering what he meant by my hair, I undid the hair tie. Maybe he just thought it was shorter because it was up?

"I know who you are. I just have trouble with names," he insisted. "Is it time for dinner already?" He held his old calculator wristwatch out in front of him to check for himself.

"No, but it's soon,” I answered. “But… hey, I’m kind of in a weird funk today: my friend was in a car accident. She's fine but I think I'm still a little shaken up from it. I was wondering if maybe I could steal a before-dinner pick-me-up," I told him some of the truth since it sounded good enough.

"Of course! You know where it is. Help yourself," He motioned towards his closet from his seat.

Before I went towards the closet I shut his room door and wiped the sweat from my forehead onto my shirt. I realized now I was still wearing my apron from the kitchen. There was a splash of purple in my face but when I looked up it was gone.

"Shit. I'm losing it," I said as I threw the apron off and headed for his closet.

"You should see a doctor about that! At your age you really shouldn't be losing your shits yet," Mr. Brown gave me a wide, white smile with his full set of false teeth.

"You're absolutely right," I agreed with him while I carefully took the Wild Turkey 101 out of the red sweater in his suitcase. It was dark in his closet without the light on but I knew exactly where we hid it. When I pulled it out into the light I admired the color of the liquid inside the bottle for a second with awe. I wasn't sure how a brown could be that warm.

Before I unscrewed it I remembered my manners and offered some to him. I ended up pouring him a finger into the nightstand glass he used for his dentures and I poured a few into his coffee mug for myself. He put his feet down and I sat down in his chair opposite of him. We enjoyed the first sips in meditative silence: Mr. Brown left the TV on mute because he couldn’t hear anyone talking otherwise.

There was always something about the afterburn of alcohol that cleared my mind: it slowed everything down and made me feel like I could think. I think it did the same to Mr. Brown; he always seemed sharper with bourbon in hand. It was his bourbon so I let him break the silence.

"You said your friend was in a car accident?" He remembered what brought about the drinking. I confirmed. "He wasn't drunk driving too, was he?"

"She," I corrected him. "She's not like me. I'm sure she was sober. I'm not sure what happened yet but she's still at the ER I think. She said she just had a concussion," I filled him in. I finished my mug a little too quickly.

"Oh," he nodded and sipped his cup a little more. "Yeah, ladies usually don't have drinking problems. What's your friend's name? Is she something more?”

"Minuette,” I said. “We used to date in high school. About..." I stopped talking so I could do math. "Eight years ago? She's just a good friend now though."

"She must be a great friend if you two are still friends after breaking up,” he paused for just a moment. “What did you say her name was?," he said as he gestured his empty cup towards me.

"Monica," I repeated. "She really is. I've never met someone as compassionate as her." I poured a little more bourbon back into his cup and more into mine.

He studied me carefully for a moment, I thought maybe I misread him and he didn't want more. He eventually stopped staring and sipped the bourbon anyway.

A new silence began and it was eventually broken again. This time by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" he called towards the door then downed his cup in one shot. I did mine as well and pushed my mug and the bottle under his bed.

Nurse Reed came in with his dinner. She was a heavy set woman with dyed-red hair and glasses. When she saw me her face went from pleasant to surprised.

“That’s... an interesting look. Purple streaks?,” she said while looking right at me.

I looked over at Mr. Brown then back at the nurse. I couldn’t understand where they were looking. It was at me but... purple? I looked down at my chest remembering the purple shirt from this morning. But I changed out of that? As I did black and purple curls fell down in front of my face.

No, not quite purple. It was a purplish red. More red than purple. Maybe dark fuchsia? Rose? I stared at the color in front of my face trying to recall a particular word I heard Ruby use for this color before.

Mulberry. My hair was mulberry. I remembered the image results of ‘Berry Punch’. It was that exact shade as her hair. Except it wasn’t her hair it was my hair.

“What... in... HELL?,” I stammered out. I couldn’t understand this. Mr. Brown and Nurse Reed silently watched me rush to Mr. Brown’s bathroom. I stopped dead in the doorway when I saw what my hair looked like in the mirror. The image scared me.

Not only were half of the curls mulberry now but my hair had gotten longer since I saw it this morning. The back of it had been brushing the top of my shoulders but now it was down to my shoulder blades. I hadn’t noticed it growing longer with it up all afternoon.

How did my hair turn mulberry? How could someone dye parts of my hair without me noticing? How did it get so long?

I finally dared myself to step closer for a better look. As I walked closer to the mirror I blinked just once. And when I did I suddenly noticed something else that froze me to my place.

The person in the mirror had red eyes. Not bloodshot eyes; but red irises.

I suddenly felt a disassociation with the person in the mirror. It was not me. Not that it didn’t look like me, but it wasn’t me. Someone else was standing in front of me in the mirror looking out. He was pretending to be me. All the childhood stories of demons and poltergeists summoned in the mirrors came to mind. I felt like a child helpless before a monster adults couldn’t see.

As if the thoughts manifested, I felt something burst itself out of the top of my skull. I saw one mangled blue horn grow out of one side from the distorted, frozen image of me before me. I wanted to touch the top of my head. I needed to know if this was really happening to me or just the demon in the mirror but my arms and legs didn’t respond to my signals.

His eyes grew wide and I felt my eyes grow wide. He grinned and it made me grin. I understood now: I was the reflection now. He was in control. I was the one in the mirror looking out at him. He was real, not me.

I saw the whites of his eyes yellow with jaundice. Another sharp pain burst from the opposite side of the top of my head. A full, adult deer antler twisted out of the headache in my brain, through my skull, spiraling and tearing through my flesh as it did so. My eyes crossed in pain and everything grew white hot then black. I heard a loud thud and hysterical laughter.

And then silence extinguished everything.

Next Chapter: 4. Too Sober For This Estimated time remaining: 15 Hours, 56 Minutes