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JazzTeeth

Cross-Hatching (derpy)

Aug 19th, 2013
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  1. >She was the kind of girl who always seemed to be in the background of photographs. She never held your focus or attention before, instead your brain was perfectly comfortable keeping her as familiar background noise.
  2. >It's no wonder she always fell to the wayside. Her fur was gray, and her hair was blonde. Perfectly normal. Perfectly unnoticeable when compared to the sherbert storm that you moved amongst daily. Reds, hot-pinks, emerald and lilac coats all drowned her out. It really wasn't fair but none of that is your fault.
  3. >But a picture can't be all bright colors, right? You need some muted shades to balance it all out. That's called composition -the science of using color and shapes to draw your eye around a picture. It's funny how the simple things can draw you in.
  4. >You never noticed her before, and you probably never would've batted an eye if she didn't grab your attention first.
  5. >It started off as a nice day in town, as most days are. You walked briskly, not that you were in a rush. You just had a special pep this morning that most people would find annoying. Luckily you lived right in the middle of Pep Village in the heart of Glorious Pepistan on planet Chipper.
  6. >You were excited. You scrounged up the will to make eggs and the bacon that you covertly buy from that griffon girl who comes into town every month or so. You got an early start on your errands and made it all the way to eleven o'clock without anything weird happening in town.
  7. >Your whole afternoon was looking clear and you knew exactly what to do with it. There was a satchel slung over your shoulder. You pat it assuredly. Inside were reams of paper, bottles of inks and assorted quills, fountain pens, graphite, and charcoals. You were gonna draw stuff, you just had to decide on the what and where. Maybe head out to the lake, or over to the forest's edge and see if any of the spookier things stick their heads out.
  8. >Or you could just go chat up one of your friends over lunch and draw them while they're eating. They get all squirmy and weird about it, but that's always good for a solid laugh for all parties. Besides, they love the attention.
  9. >Maybe. Oh decisions, decisions. How about taking a hike over to-
  10. >And that's when she hit you. It was a full force tackle across your shoulder and into your head with a solid THWUCK, sending you on an express trip into the ground, no scheduled stops except for the last one. This part of the street wasn't cobbled, thank God, or you'd chip a tooth or two. The medical services around here were much better than you had any right to expect, but you didn't want to test out their dental procedures yet.
  11. >You were dazed and had a mouthful of dirt. You wondered if anyone would come up and ask how many fingers they were holding up before you remembered that nobody around here had proper fingers. You cradled the back of your head. It was like you were shot with a rock stuffed in a pillow case.
  12. >"Uuuugghhh....." you said.
  13. "Nhhh-hh-hh." Was the reply.
  14. >You opened your eyes and the world and the pain in your skull came into focus. You rolled off your back and wiped your face to make sure you weren't bleeding. You weren't, but something else was.
  15. >Your bag laid several feet away from you. The top came loose. Pencils were scattered all around you. Cracked sticks of charcoal smeared themselves across the dirt like a dying man dragging himself along ground. A pool of black ink was seeping out around the bag like a gunshot wound.
  16. >You've seen some messed up things in your day, but the sight before you made you want to throw up. You reached towards it with a feeble hand as if saying "we'll be together in the next life."
  17. >Your attacker shuffled beside you. A gray mound of fur twitched and found a pair of legs to prop itself up, and eventually hold a hoof to its forhead covered in long blonde hair.
  18. "Eennh..." she groaned as her wings flopped along the ground like torn curtains.
  19. >You knew this mare. Or, you were aware of her, in that familiar innocent bystander kind of way that I mentioned earlier, except now she wasn't innocent at all. She was guilty. Guilty of assault and murder of the highest degree.
  20. >"Hey. Hey! What gives?" You sit up. Her head turns towards you, looking miserable and agitated. One eye opens halfway, still squinted in pain. "What's up with the low-altitude trajectory, huh?" Sharp pains prick your brain again. "Ach, frick. It was a good day, too." You mutter to yourself. "Watch where you're going, por favor. Fly with both eyes open, jeeze people!" You stand up slowly, stumbling once. All systems checked out. The gray aerial bullet wobbled her way to her legs. She looked like she got the worst of the impact. A small bit of guilt trickled into your conscience.
  21. >"Are you okay?" She scrunched her face and looked at you with some apprehension and nodded rapidly. Perhaps too rapidly, as she swayed to her side and tipped over. You made a dash to try and catch her, but the two of you just ended up tumbling dirtside again.
  22. >"I don't think we're okay." She shook her head slowly. A moment was given to sort yourselves out and restore some kind of dignity. Then you saw your bag and broken supplies and dignity went out the window. You ran over to it and knelt beside the splattered inks and cracked pencils. You touched the still-wet black ink and rubbed it between your fingers. Yeah, the six year old inside of you wanted to cry at the scene.
  23. >The mare saw your bag and gasped. She trotted to the other side of the accident and looked around in mild panic. Her yellow eyes swapped between the bag, the pencils, the fluttered papers, and you. her stare was guilt-ridden, wide-eyed, and heavily crossed.
  24. >No wonder she hit you.
  25. >No wonder you felt like an ass for that 'fly with both eyes open' comment.
  26. >She hopped around, gathering up what pencils she could in the crook of her hoof, between her neck and shoulder, and mouth when she ran out of room. Her nose quivered and little panting noises escaped her mouth. She dropped them in a neatish pile and started picking up the scattered papers. Her wings flapped nervously, blowing some of them further away. You stood.
  27. >"No, don't worry about it, it's, uh." You weren't about to say it was alright, because it wasn't. But it wasn't worth having a heart attack over. Not quite. "I got it." She handed you a sheaf of papers, some generously covered in ink. "Ah, thanks." She collected more. You clearly weren't going to stop her. Instead you inspected your bag, removing the broken jars wiping away wads of ink and wet charcoal, drying it out with paper. The stuff dries fast at least... "Aw, seriously..."
  28. >You had a sketchbook in there. You pulled it out. Thankfully the cover was pretty thick, and it was tucked into a seperate pocket. It came out nearly unscathed. Just some black blots along the edges. You wanted to hug it, but a shred of pride helped you resist the urge.
  29. >You felt a nudge on your arm. You looked over to see the mare place a stack of papers by your legs. Her ears were laid flat against her head as if in apology. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that, but thanks." You set your sketchbook aside and worked to put the papers and other supplies back into their proper place.
  30. >She stared intently at the black cover of your sketchbook, her face glowing with recognition. She prodded it with her hoof and looked at you quizzically. Her ears popped back up. "You wanna take a look inside?"
  31. >Oh god, why would anyone want to look at it your stuff it's horrible and itss all experimental stuff and not suitable for public viewing and youdon'tevenreallytryformostofthepagesandpeoplearegoingtothinkyourcrazyfordrawingyourownhandssomuchand
  32. >"If you want to..." She yips excitedly and flips open the cover. She looks intently across each page. Her lips were shut tight, and her eyes grew intense, nearly both of them managed to look at the book. She poured over every scrtich mark and cross-hatching line. There were a lot of pictures of ponies. They were everywhere, of course you'd draw them. Sitting, standing, running. But there were other things in there. Tree studies. Anatomy studies. Perspective exercises. Portraits, self and otherwise. All interest her equally and greatly. Her hoof hovered over to the corners of the page, only touching it when she was ready to turn.
  33. >Wait a second. You know that look. It wasn't just the passing glance of someone who didn't know a single thing about what they were looking at. It was the kinda stare that could set something on fire if you focused it through a magnifying glass. She was doing an appraisal, judging what she saw from an apparent knowledge base. Her pupils darted up and down pages.
  34. >She was being very thorough.
  35. >You started to feel very nervous.
  36. >You had seen this mare around town. It wasn't that big of a village, so the faces that didn't belong to friends became part of a very familiar blur. She always did seem a bit of a clutz, from what little you've noticed, or heard others say about her. Whatever her name is.
  37. >But studious look of the mare was the last thing you would expect from her.
  38. >Who IS she?
  39. >"I was kind of running err-" She snapped the book shut and looked straight at you, or at least one eye did, but it was enough to make you freeze up. Her shoulders relaxed a little after seeing you flinch back from the swing of her concentration. She slid the sketchbook across the ground. You put it in the bag, wanting to break away from her stare. It turned sharp again for a split-second. Appraising you instead of a book. Words fell from your mouth like gumballs from a vending machine.
  40. >"It's just a hobby-thing I do in my spare time." She made a quick, sloped nod.
  41. "Hm."
  42. >She jumped in the air and took off down the path, swaying heavily like a moth around a candlelight. Fast, but ungainly. You watched until she disappeared from view, and upon not hearing any sounds of more crashes, continued with your walk.
  43. >You wondered if that counted as being weird.
  44. >In a half-daze you made it to the lake. The sparkling water and gentle lap of its lazy waves onto the shore did little to stir your mind, or even calm it. You weren't worth an honest lick of charcoal now.
  45. >You looked down on your paper. Hardly any preliminary scritches on the page. No scenic gesture drawings or even a dreamy doodle.
  46. >Dammit, you're all out of sorts now. Razzled. Finangled. You tried to blame it on crumpled supplies, but they weren't that badly damaged. You couldn't say the view didn't inspire you. Someone would have to throw you in the water if you tried to lie to yourself like that.
  47. >Nope. That furred, flying artillery kept bugging you. Was bugging the right word? Perplexing you. INTRIGUING.
  48. >So many interesting things in this place. You can hardly keep track of them all. They distracted you. Kept you from making cool pictures.
  49. >"Aw, bug on this." You crumple the paper with both hands and toss it high in the air behind you. The whole afternoon was scrapped now. Lame. You're going to Dash's place or something to reset your brain.
  50. >You stomp away from the lake, but not before picking up the crumpled wad, because you took a firm stance against littering.
  51. ---
  52. >Hours later, at home. Dash was elsewhere. AJ was busy doing things highly laborious and unappealingly manual. Twilight out of town. Fluttershy nowhere to be found and Rarity was busier than normal and just couldn't possibly make time for you this afternoon but do-come by-tomorrow-dear-I'm-getting-my-hair-restyled-I'd-like-to-know-what-you-think-of-it.
  53. >Lie in bed. Stare at ceiling. Sleep. Sleep. Come ooooon sleep.
  54. >There was a niggling little itch at the back of your head, stuck between the layers of your skin and the case of your skull. It wouldn't go away no matter how much you turned the pillow around or scratched at it.
  55. >Your brain fought to name that itch, but it wasn't until it had seeped through the boundaries of sleep that the word floated to your dimming consciousness.
  56. >It was the feeling of meeting someone new for a very, very brief moment, and being totally astounded right up to the second they leave. They show up and spark the air with perplexity. The air glimmers with a completely unknown personality no matter how little they actually show it. You don't know if they're cool or confusing. You just want to know them.
  57. >Curiosity, put simply.
  58. >You sleep.
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