Ask Lovely Laughter

Nopony cares. That’s all I could think. I threw my blanket over my head and kicked it under my hooves, wrapping myself up tightly like a burrito. I shut my eyes. No. Pony. Cares. I shoved a wad of blanket in my mouth and screamed. Stupid blog! Stupid ponies! Stupid, stupid Lovely! I scrunched up my face. Stupid stupid stupid stupid…

Why had I done this to myself? Why had I bothered to open my past to a bunch of “online” strangers! Even more… Why had I expected them to care? I’m just some random pony in a flood of more interesting ponies, and here I was expecting them to pay attention to me after a couple posts. I’m acting like such a pretentious bitch, I thought, trying to force them into asking questions like that. And now look at me! I’m throwing a stupid fucking hissy fit because they care about something else.

The air trapped around my face quickly grew too warm. I huffed and kicked the blanket off my body in a whirl of tangled glory. Then I shoved myself to my hooves and squeezed out of the cloud cave’s maw.

I flapped my wings and hovered in the air for a second. The cloud was shaped like a saucer, mostly flat with a bulge in the middle. Honestly, it wasn’t designed to be a home. I’d fashioned it myself out of stray clouds and set it juuuust outside of Ponyville’s jurisdiction so they couldn’t move it unchecked (and so I wouldn’t have to pay taxes.) I could get away with it for a few months, just enough time to save up for an actual, Cloudsdale-certified cloud home with solar powered insulation and properly solidified floors. But if it wasn’t reclaimed or registered by the weather team, it would drop all my belongings and fall victim to the self-moving magic of the Everfree Forest. Of course, I could keep moving it around myself and delay the inevitable, or keep fashioning new ones, but it was also inevitable that I would eventually be discovered squatting by Ponyville’s government. There was a lot of freedom in Equestria, but you couldn’t just steal clouds unchecked and live wherever you pleased. It was irresponsible and dangerous. Imagine hundreds of cloud homes accidentally sucked up into a rainstorm, or suddenly becoming self-moving and dropping occupants and their things unannounced into the woods. Not to mention, they weren’t exactly aesthetically pleasing. I might be an artist, but sculpting clouds was some pretty advanced weather magic. I fluttered to the edge of the cloud facing Ponyville, folded my wings, and sat with my hind hooves dangling in the air.

As mentioned before, the night was really cold. But after five minutes of suffocating in that blanket, it was briefly refreshing. I sighed and gazed over Ponyville, watching the few lamps that were still lit. A pony or two quietly wandered the streets, their silhouettes barely distinguishable. They looked like black ants wandering across a navy blue sheet. (In the dark. Because… you know… night.) Even from here, I could pick up on their calmness, though I couldn’t tell how that calmness was affecting them. I guessed they might be feeling similar to how I was; dusted in silence.

“Why do you want to talk about me?”

His voice echoed in my head. I could still hear the way it fluctuated, the way his vocal chords gripped every word. I could practically feel his hoof wrapping around my shoulder again. I imagined, for whatever reason, that he might be sitting next to me. I spoke aloud.

“Because I love you, obviously,” I said.

I imagined him frowning. “Why in Equestria do you still love me? I told you to move on, didn’t I? I told you to find somepony else and get on with your life, didn’t I?”

I blushed and looked at my hooves. “I want to wait for you, though. M-maybe when you come back, you’ll realize how much you missed me and-”

“And what?” he interrupted. “I’ll probably have a new girlfriend by then.”

The words hurt, but they reflected my own painful thoughts, and I knew that. What if he found somepony else and realized exactly how shitty I’d been? What if he fell in love with her, and I never got a chance to reclaim what’s mine? I furrowed my eyebrows. “I… I really hope you don’t?” I reached for the space where he sat, and my hooves met empty cloud.

“Scarlet,” he said. His voice echoed. I looked up. Sparky towered over Ponyville like a giant. His hooves narrowly missed crushing multiple hay roofs. I could see every detail of his fur, how it curved over his cheeks and flowed down his slender neck. I remembered every blemish, every spot from his forelocks to his fetlocks. All the details that would soon fade into the past, I held them close to me. His sky blue eyes shone like moons beneath his milk chocolate hair. “I’m not going to wait for you,” he said. “Maybe when I come back, we’ll still be friends, but things are never going to be the way they were.”

“They can be, though! If I just try harder-” I protested.

He frowned at me. My heart panged with his expression of disapproval. “You ran out of chances.”

He was right. For a moment I remembered his breath on my ear, his hissing questions. I remembered the way his tail swung as he walked away. Oh, the things I wish I’d said…

“Sparky, wait!” I called into the night. The giant stallion of my imagination watched me carefully. Things I wish I’d said were things I’d already said a hundred times. As if it could make any difference. “I’m sorry… I’ll fix it, I promise.” He reacted the same way he always had: He shook his head. For a while, a long while, it’d been followed with something like, “I know you will.” But in the last few days of our relationship, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just shaken his head.

He faded. I stared at the space where I’d imagined his hooves, tucked between buildings. Somepony blew out a candle somewhere in their bedroom, and another window went black. I’ll fix it, I thought. Give me just one more chance.

I remembered talking to Sharpie a few weeks after the breakup. He’d been sitting in his favorite spot in his favorite bar in Canterlot. I’d approached him not-so-subtly and sat down next to him, ordering a water from the barpony. Ponyville disappeared below me as I relived the conversation.

“Hey Sharpie,” I greeted cheerfully. He glared back at me, a bit buzzed but not quite drunk yet. I’d caught him early. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“Juuust wondering how Sparky’s doing. If you’ve heard from him or anything.”

With a scoff, he downed his drink and slammed the glass on the counter, then shoved a lime slice into his mouth. The barpony, unfazed, shook up another mix of whatever it was and poured it over the still fresh ice. He then slid a plate of fresh lime slices towards him, not bothering to add any fancy garnishes. After a gruesomely long moment, Sharpie spat out the pulpy rind and glared at me.

“Listen here, Scarlet,” he snapped, “I don’t know what the hell went on between you two, but you need to stop. He broke up with you, he moved away. That asshole doesn’t even talk to me anymore, and I’m perfectly happy with that. You know why?” He poked my chest with a sharp hoof. “Because I don’t want to think about him. And if all you care about is obsessing over him, then I don’t want to talk to you, either.” He turned back to his drink and downed the rest of it. A shudder ran through his back, and he quickly bit another slice of lime.

After that, I’d left, my water glass still full.

Maybe my readers felt the same, I pondered. Maybe obsessing over him really was a turn-off. But obsession wrapped around my brain like plunder plants, digging thorns in and spreading until there was no surface left uncovered. Would it be possible to write a blog about myself without talking about him?

I sighed and flew back into the cloud. The cold was starting to get uncomfortable again. I wrapped myself in the blanket and opened my laptop.

A third question had appeared.

~Lovely Laughter

@askscarletrose said: Hey Lovely, saw your message about having trouble shopping for clothes for yourself. If you ever need help let me know. We share a similar coat color and I bet I can find for you lovely outfits. Take care and be fabulous!

Holy crap, you look like a hotter version of me! So now that's two ponies offering to help me out with dresses. I'll let you know when a special occasion rolls around. I'm not much for fashion or make-up other than a bit of mascara and a shirt, but I don't mind dressing up once in a while.

@reversalmushroom said: What happened when Tirek came for your magic?

This is going to be a pretty disappointing answer: Nothing. He stomped on into Canterlot, sucked up everypony's magic, and stomped off. It was terrifying at first - you know, giant monster grabbing you and sucking out all your magic only happens once a year - but it got pretty boring after a while. I mean, since we could barely move, there was no point in trying to worry too much. We just laid there on our bellies, waiting for Twilight and her friends to solve the problem. I think I found an old fortune cookie and a half eaten granola bar in my saddle bag, so that kept me from starving to death. Took a nap to pass the time. Woke up to find my magic returned and somepony poking me to see if I was dead.

@asknightariel said: So Lovely Laughter, what do you do in your spare time?

Besides worrying too much about what cashiers think of me?

Usually I'll visit my pet guinea pig, Patty. She's at a guinea pig farm just outside of Canterlot, and while Mrs. Greenfield pretty much cares for her completely, she's technically mine. I sponsor all her vet bills and costs for boarding. Someday I'll find a better home in Ponyville - on the ground, preferably - and I’ll officially adopt her and another still-to-be-determined guinea pig. (Guinea pigs are social creatures. They need at least one guinea pig friend for their mental health.) I've been thinking of getting a second part-time job during the evenings to pay for it. Instant cloud showers are great and all, but nothing beats a water heater.

@reversalmushroom also said: What does your cutie mark represent, and what is your passion?

My cutie mark is a heart with a sort of rainbow coming out. It represents empathy. I don't know if you noticed when I was talking about the Barnyard Bargains cashier, but I can feel emotions. “Oh wow big deal Lovely you’re not a psychopath.” No, dumbass. I can feel other ponies’ emotions, not just my own. I can almost see them, like an aura, except I don’t actually SEE an aura. More like I imagine an aura. Except it’s not my imagination, it’s real. At least, I sure fucking hope it’s real considering I got my cutie mark in the thing.

It’s hard to explain, but let’s try. Look at that shelf next to you. Now look at me. Now back to the shelf. You see the shelf? Good. Now imagine the shelf is glowing uh… red! Imagine it really hard. Stare at that shelf until you see red (pun intended). You don't actually see the color, but you almost see it. And that color is tied to an emotion. Red, for example, could mean anger, passion, stress, or pain, all depending on what shade of red it is. Here, I've made this color guide that might help.

“Why do you think of them in colors?” you might be typing into the ask box this very moment. Let me save you the trouble on this one. Basically, I’m actually feeling something palpable. No, not palatable, get a dictionary. I can actually physically feel them. Problem is, they’re emotions, so they’re invisible. And my brain goes, “What the heck was that? Is something there? IS THAT AN ANGRY GHOST COMING TO HAUNT ME?!” It can’t explain what’s happening. So when I feel them, they're tied to something I can explain, which is a colorful aura. The visualization calms my brain down and lets me focus. So the colors on my cutie mark represent a sort of colorful aura coming from a heart (the core of feelings) in a similar way to how I see actual feelings flowing from a pony.

At least, that's how I've interpreted it. Some ponies just assume I’m super gay.

As for my passion, it's stand up comedy! I know, I know, I'm fucking hilarious. Reading these entries probably has you dying with laughter. (Sarcasm) I do open mic nights at the Ponyville Comedy Club, and I work there as a waitress on the evenings. Being an empath, I love making ponies happy, and it's easier for me to read the crowd. I'm... still not good at the jokes, though. I hope to someday become a full-time comedian, but for now, I'm just making badly timed jokes for three minutes a week and practicing under my breath for the rest of the week.

Alright come on, guys. I know you all want to know, but don't want to ask: Who is the mysterious "him" that I mentioned like three posts ago? I know, I know, you think I don't want to talk about it. Which is true! I don't! But I'm, uh, sensing that you want to ask anyways!

… Okay, I do want to talk about him. I want it so, so bad! That’s kind of why I started the blog, because I need your help to figure out what happened. And because maybe you can help me get him back.

In more ways than one.

~ Lovely Laughter

Anxiety buzzed around my neck like ruffled fur. I tried to smooth it down to… some avail. Then I began slowly, meticulously, perusing the wares: boxes of bandages, jars of jelly, blankets... blankets, where were the blankets? I contemplated every color of bow, impulsively picking up a black one to match my work shirt. I scanned the tops and bottoms of every shelf, taking time to explore every row. There were spatulas and syrups, boots and barley seeds, colorful aprons and campy baseball hats. Everything was cheap, but of decent quality. Most items, I knew, were bulk from other local businesses, like zap apple jam from the Apple Farm, and candy sticks from Sugarcube Corner. Others were imports that Filthy Rich had brought from his many vacations. No blankets.

I dashed over to the other side of the store, still avoiding eye contact with the cashier. I searched again, up and down, just as meticulously as the first time. Still no sign of a single blanket. The closest thing I found was a decorative throw pillow. I sighed and looked at the ceiling. I could either suck it up and face the terrifying monster of social interaction, or I could try my luck at another store and probably spend more money. And what if the other store doesn’t have them in stock, either? Could I go another night without the blanket? I shivered despite my sweater. Just thinking about it made me want to curl up into a ball.  No, I couldn’t just abandon the mission. I had a black hair bow, and I wanted to purchase it. Might as well ask the cashier for assistance while I was at the counter. The path of least interaction, unfortunately for me, wasn’t putting it off. I lowered my head and stared at the bow in my hoof for a good thirty seconds. I calculated the distance to the door. Could I...? After all, it’s just a common bow... No, I couldn’t. I had to be an adult. Besides, I’d still be leaving without buying anything. Alright, fine. Deep breaths.

I slowly stepped out from the aisle. He was sitting behind the counter, just as before. He rubbed his hooves together absently. I took another step, but he didn’t look up. “Um... excuse me?” His head popped up. His gaze shot through his glasses and just missed locking mine. I ducked my head instinctively. “Sorry, I was just wondering... I can’t find.... do you have any blankets?”

He smiled, and it was a wide, genuine smile. Almost like he was actually happy to see me. Good customer service, I thought. Really good. I was mildly jealous. He said, “You’re in luck!” And as he said it, he pointed to me and then moved his hoof in a sort of V-shape across his body, like a checkmark in the air. “We don’t have them on the floor yet, but they’re in the back. I don’t think Mr. Rich would mind me selling one early.” He stepped out from behind the counter.

He was massive, standing a full head taller than me (and I’m not short.) His shoulders were twice as broad as mine. If they’d had any muscle, he would’ve been as wide as Big Macintosh. As it was, he had a significant amount of fat. His belly nearly reached his knees. Every corner of his body had a soft roll pulled across it. When he turned, the back of his navy colored shirt was covered in fresh sweat. I frowned.

“What would you do if I was fat?”

“I would leave you.”

He squeezed down the aisle, and I followed him. I was sure he’d barely be able to turn around without bumping into something. But he carried himself swiftly and with confidence. Each step was firmly rooted in the ground.  He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and dipped through a door.

The moment he vanished, I realized with a wave of guilt that I’d been holding my breath. I let it out and took a tentative whiff of the air. It smelled like... nothing! No overwhelming body odor, no lingering cat piss, no insane amounts of body spray, all of which I had been expecting from somepony of his size. I don’t know why, but it made me pause. Thinking about it, I’m not sure why I even wrote about his appearance. Why does it matter? Am I being a bitch?

He re-emerged, holding a folded blanket wrapped in a ribbon. He smiled that genuine smile again and made his way back to the register. I followed him, forcing myself to focus on his face rather than his body. A tough ask, when you’re avoiding eye contact. He got up behind the counter and set the blanket on top. It was teal, and the ribbon was blue. I leaned over and brushed it with my nose. It smelled new, just out of the box. The wool was incredibly soft and thick. “Thank you,” I said.

“No problem,” he replied, gesticulating again. His gestures, like his steps, were firm but quick. No lumbering around. He had energy and strength underneath his skin. He was enthusiastic. It was unusual. I kind of liked it.

I pulled out my bag of bits and set them on the counter. “How much?”

“Fifteen bits,” he said. Thank Celestia, it would’ve been at least twenty-five bits at Sofas and Quills. Maybe 30, for a nice one. I counted out the bits and pushed them over. Naturally, I overshot and they fell all over his register.

“Oh shit,” I blurted. I ducked around the counter and started hastily picking them off the floor. He lifted a front hoof and froze, unsure of what to do with the strange scarlet pegasus scrambling beneath him. I grabbed bit by bit as fast as I could. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” I repeated over and over, accidentally brushing his hooves.

“It’s okay! It’s cool, don’t worry,” he insisted. “I’ll get it.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ve got most of them.”

“Please, don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, it was my fault. I-ow!” I bumped my head on the counter, scattering the coins again. “FUCK! Fucking fuck fuck fuckety fucking-”

He laughed and stepped back. “I’ll help you.” He started pushing coins to me while I rubbed my newly lumpy head.

“Thanks,” I groaned. “Maybe you’re right, I need help.” I scooped up all the coins and, at his offer, I piled them into his open hoof.

“That’s okay,” he said, setting them on the counter. Then he held his hoof out for me. “May I?” His forelock sported a tattoo of a blue awareness ribbon. I set my hoof in his. With a grunt of effort, he lifted me off the ground. “I’ve got you.”

“Is it fifteen bits?” I fretted, counting out the coins on the counter. He watched me patiently while I re-counted, grouping them in three clumps of five. “Are you sure? Is that right?”

“It’s okay!” he repeated. Was that irritation I heard? Did I do something wrong? My face grew hot. I fluttered back to the other side of the counter, rubbing my head absently.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“It’s fine,” he insisted again.

“I just don’t want your drawer to be short-”

He held up a hoof, that smile never wavering. “Don’t worry about it. I saw you count out the change in the first place, anyways. Sixteen bits.”

“SIXTEEN?”

He busted out laughing. It was booming, but oddly high pitched. Light but strong. Contagious. “I’m messing with you! Fifteen bits.”

I put my hoof over my heart. “Oh Celestia, you scared me.”

“Sorry!” he chuckled, “couldn’t help it.” I couldn’t help but laugh along.

In that moment, he glowed. His yellow fur was the same color of his aura. Not that I actually saw an aura, but I felt it, and it felt like the color yellow. Joy. Pure, light laughter and honest to goodness joy. I saw it on his cheeks. I felt it lifting his shoulders. It was the same kind of magic that captures a comedy club audience, but unaltered, unpolluted, coming from one single pony. It filled my back and lifted my shoulders too. I laughed my giggly, snorty laugh. My head hurt, but laughter made it better.

Then he straightened out, and I met the bluest eyes. They were deep and bright, like a flower or a technicolor ocean. And within them... black. Death and darkness, sadness and depression, and a loss. Covered for a moment by the joy, but not forgotten. Guilt, too. Perhaps the guilt of feeling joy. A feeling like it’s been a long time since he laughed.

I stopped laughing and averted my gaze.

That’s why I don’t make eye contact.

~Lovely Laughter