Confirming a hypothesis via secondary data.

He only had one bed, and it was currently occupied, so Intel busied himself with cleaning the place, making sure that the clock was blocked from sight.

It was much more cleaner than it usually was. All the documents were sorted, the spicks and specks all in their right place. It was if he was getting ready to have guests that cared about cleanliness over.

Or if he was going to move.

He sighed as he put the last folder on the shelf, now completely at a lost on what to actually do. Sitting on the floor he glanced at the slumbering Shala, hypothesizing what her story would be when she woke up.

Shala did not sleep so soundly. While she was indeed asleep, she rustled about like she could not get comfortable. Her rustling sleep lasted for nearly 2 hours before she stumbled out of the bedroom.

Eyes nearly shut to the bright light, she scanned the rooms surroundings before settling on Intel. "Thought this place wasn't mine. I thought I had too much." She plopped down on the sofa, laying on her side. Her stomach still hurt. Perhaps it was the alcohol still complaining.

She knew there was a lot more to say, but she opted to stay silent, staring at the ceiling until something was said.

Wordlessly, Intel levitated a tray and plate with a small meal he had put together. Intel would be the first to admit that he wasn't a great cook, if the modest meals he made didn't speak for themselves, or rather the fact that any meal he made was modest. Any complex meal just ended up tasting...uncanny, as if it was almost kinda right but not really.

He would simply stare at Shala until she started eating, and when she did he get a glass, pour a little of that into it, then drink it, saying, "I remember hangovers to be much worse. At least this way you know why you're hurting. But I know, and you know why you are here, Shala, and it's not because of alcohol." He paused. "Well, not because of real alcohol."

Shala sighed with some pain. Her tender stomach complaining. Several more moments of silence followed as Shala stared at the floor before her.

The moment felt like ages to her. So many thoughts. What if it doesn't come out right? What if everyone finds out? What if it backfires?

Then all at once, she let it out. The first of many things to say. Eyes watery, it spilled forth.

"I am legally named Tickyclock Woods. I changed it to Shalaska Woods before I...got involved in the mafia. I ended up working in the middle and helped interrogations . They called me 'The Splitter' because...The axe i used...I would split hooves with them to get ponies to talk. And a few died in the aftermath." By now, tears were streaming down her face, biting her lip hard to avoid breaking out.

"I...met a pony that saved my life...and he took care of me until i was well enough to leave...Grampy i called him....I couldn't do it anymore. It was disgusting. I joined the mafia to run away from one life and now I'm here running from that life." Her sobbing broke through, hooves covering her face.

Intel stared. Poured. Drank. Stared.

"Well. I suppose it wasn't going to be a happy story of rainbows and sunshine." He plonked a chair opposite Shala and sat down on it. "To be perfectly honest, I worked out most of it already from the 'running from Manehattan', your unearthly skills with an axe, and your continuing insistence not being a good pony."

Pour. Drink. Stare. Tremble.

"And in a sense, you are correct. The splitter is not a good pony. Not at all. I can imagine...the pain her victims must have felt as they begged for mercy." Intel trembled a bit more. "But the disgust you feel? That's yours now, and those feelings of sympathy for the damned are not ones the Splitter would have conceived. That means you are not the Splitter, not any more. That means you can be a good pony, if you chose."

Intel visibly stopped himself pouring. "You said you ran twice from your life. Once from the Splitter, once from Tickyclock. So, Shala. What were Tickyclock's...sins?"

Shala trembled and clutched her head hard with her hooves as the thoughts and memories of the pain she inflicted came to mind. That pony, The Splitter, commited those, and she had no trouble doing it. That pony was fueled by the events that let her to such a job. That made her that way. Damage that let her turn herself into a weapon.

That pony wanted to seep out, to overcome the pain and reclaim her confidence. It was her shell, her mask, that let her be the uncaring blunt pony she was. Even on the first day here, she was more 'The Splitter' than herself, but each day slowly changed that. And now? Her openness and emotions were enough to tell.

The inevitable topic that she feared most came up. The thing that led her to all this. Where the drinking started, where the clocks began. This is what she was here for. The thing that shaped her life, and now she was going to tell the story. To be done with it.

"...I.." She cringed and trembled, eyes watering. "...Don't know if I can tell it yet." Eyes wide and terrified, she clutched one of the couch cushions tightly.

Intel sucked in breath through his teeth, making a sort of hissing sound. "Well, I can't really force you without breaking something," he amended, "But I can tell you that there is at least no harm in telling that would be worse than the harm in keeping it in. At least you can remember what it is, so you actually have a chance of fixing it." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Staring at his glass, he continued, dully, "I have a hypothesis. A very, very shaky hypothesis that needs far more detail and will probably fall like a house of cards, but it's the best I can do with the little data I have. I shall express it to you, and you can correct it if you feel it up to it.

Somehow, you think what Tickyclock did or witnessed or experienced was worse than the actions or experiences of your time as the Splitter, which was why you sought refuge in that life and why, even though it was difficult in itself, you found it easier to retell that tale than this mystery event. Thanks to liquid clarity-" He held up his drink. "-you mentioned a specific 'her' you failed to save. Now this could very well be one of your victims as the Splitter, but it is also possible that this 'her' Tickyclock failed to save. As you would be young at this point in time, I'm guessing your mother, or at least a mother figure, a guardian or older sister maybe. A younger sister is also not out of the question. Finally, and this is the most dubious part of the hypothesis of all, your hatred of time. Now I guessed before that this was merely an irritation, an annoyance. But it is quite possible your feelings towards your talent are stronger than I had anticipated. So, my hypothesis is this: As Tickyclock, your talent was responsible for the demise of a close mother figure. You may now disprove it."

The voice was cold, and without emotion. Intel's mind, spurred on by the elixir, diverted any mental processes responsible for compassion into churning hard logic.

Shala's eyes were a mix of tearing up more, and being filled with anger. Slowly, her head turned to Intel, unsure if she should cry into his shoulder, or smack him upside the head with all the force she could muster. Whatever it was that he was drinking, it was making him feel like someone else to her. She did not like it.

"...Alcohol. Give me some goddamn alcohol!" She said restraining herself. Intel was right and wrong about her. She didn't want to ever tell her story, but now her hoof was being forced. It had to come out. She would be damned if she didn't get her liquid medicine. Intel was drinking enough of his own medicine. Somewhere inside, she had a bit more understanding in what role these 'drinks' played in each of their lives. Were they both more similar than she thought?

In any case, Shala stared down Intel, eyes narrow and tearing. She would have her relief before anything else.

"...Shala, do you think I have any alcohol? That is, actual alcohol? I wouldn't..." A flag was raised in his mind. "Just a second."

Intel trotted over to his kitchen area and rummaged around for a bottle that hadn't been touched since the Hearth's Warming party, one of Intel's few happy memories of Ponyville. Coming back with that plus a glass, he placed it in front of her.

"I remember the time you gave this to me," he stated, "I still have the dopey hat you strapped to me when I fell asleep." He did not say it in a humourous way, but more a simple fact.

Then he fell silent, passively looking back at Shala's attempts to stare him down.

Shala latched onto the bottle of Amaretto as soon as it was given to her. It was not as strong as she would like, and rather sweet, but it would do with enough quantity. Unable to help but smirk for a moment at the hat prank they pulled, Shala went to work on the bottle.

With a near savage ferocity, she twisted the cap off with her mouth before spitting it out aimlessly. Rolling onto her back and cradling the bottle in her hooves. Half the bottle was drained in her desperation. Spilling some on her, she let the bottle ease down to the floor, keeping it from spilling further with rehearsed practice. For many moments, she laid there, catching her breath and letting the sweet liquor infect her.

"...It was a loop..." She said. "...A time loop...At the restaurant. It lasted 2 hours and 21 minutes that time....To you it was a second....It...happens when...things get bad. Everything goes into loop for me. Keeps repeating, but i can do something different each time...and I remember it usually." Shala winced and turned over onto her belly, facing away from Intel and putting a hoof on the bottle.

"....It first happen when....In the moments my mother was murdered...by my father."

Intel started trembling. He knew as a frequent drinker of liquid clarity that if he did not suppress his emotions while knurd, he would start thinking of everything and anything and probably won't stop screaming. He needed to be emotionless in this state, but by Celestia, it was difficult.

"I...don't know what to...that is...completely...why?"

(So short...don't know what else to do, though.)

Shala did not notice his trembling, nor did she really acknowledge his words. She simply kept going on after a moment of silence.

"We lived in the slums....Pop was a...." She winced. "...Clockmaker...He was not very nice to Ma..." Her tone and words seemed to sound softer and more meek, like she was once again a little filly.

"Pop and Ma would disagree...And Pop would put me into his...'waiting room'...His workshop extra's area....Full of...those things. He would tell me to make them all tick at the same time while he and Ma 'talked'...So I did each time. Adjusted each clock so that they all were perfect, even though they would be out of sync in a few days again."

She took a deep breath, resting for a moment and rubbing her aching belly. "...Ma said she would be happy the day i got my cutiemark. And I did...She came into the 'Waiting room' one day, telling me to come with her. She was...awful..." Even though Shala was facing away, her voice strained enough to tell how difficult it was getting.

"...Pop came in...He had a hammer....When it started, things started to loop...." She went quiet for a while, chillingly so. The break of the silence was not any kinder. ".....17 hours...43 minutes...37 seconds....of trying....to get....a....different...result....I don't even remember when i decided to set all the clocks, but when I did...it all stopped, and i had my cutie mark....."

Shala finally broke into a whimper before grabbing the bottle and pouring her mouth full of the stuff. Gasping for breath, she tossed the bottle aside, a hint of magic keeping it from completely bowling over lazily.

"That's why i hate..clocks...Every one of them. None of them are right. They never are. But I always know what the right time is...I always knew after fixing so many clocks in that room. Every clock I see that is wrong is in that room."

Intel closed his eyes, and took deep breaths keeping his mouth closed. There was a long silence, with no relief from anything outside. No sound got past the mute wards he had enchanted on his home. Then, he spoke.

"Well. I'm still here. I haven't run away yet, nor do I plan to. I'm horrified, of course. That shouldn't happen to any pony. No pony should have to go through that."

He opened his eyes. "I can see why I might be horrified. Disgusted, even. But I can also see how much more horrible, and disgusting I would be if I decided to abandon you now. Running away won't solve anything. It won't."

His words were kind, but his face was expressionless, calculating cold equations. He placed a letter on the table between them.

"This is an invitation for me and a guest to go to the Grand Galloping Gala. I, of course, plan on bringing you. Maybe I'll introduce you to some acquaintances in the chronomancy department so that you can transform this thing that has represented all that is horrible in your life into something that you can actually be proud of. I still stand by the first words I said when I first met you. You have something special."

Thats.....it? Shala wanted to say. She had just poured her whole life out of to him. Every thing that troubled her. That made her who she was. And while Intel's words were correct and supportive, he felt...distant to her....She wanted to hit him. To hurt him, make him suffer. Oh how she could make him hurt...

But there was more to it than that. With telling her story, came an immense relief. The feeling was something she longed for every day of her life. As if all her problems that made her the cranky pony she was was just lifted away and let her crawl out to be something she wanted to be. She wanted to hug him for it.

And now there was this invitation to the Grand Galloping Gala. She only heard a few things about it, but never imagined attending it. The only thing that stopped her from being outright disgusted was the chance to get started on a new life.

Her feelings were so very mixed.

"...Intel...." She waved her hoof, motioning for him to lean in closer to her.

Intel tilted his head forward. He felt comfortably numb, as the the knurd slowly started receding from him, and the warm rush of emotions started flooding him. Of course with the emotion came the fear, but it was slow enough for Intel to deal with, instead of having it dumped all on him at once.

"....yes?"

Shala turned her face fully to his, facing him. Her eyes were strained with tears, red and tired. She stared into his, conveying the emotional ruin she had become just to get those words out of her.

Her hoof struck him across the head quickly. "Awkward asshole." But she wasted no time in wrapping her hooves around his shoulders and pulling him in tightly for a near death grip of a hug.

Several moments of silence passed, the lack of breath possibly assisting in that endeavor. "...I hate the Grand Galloping Gala...But I would love to go since you will be there...and those chrono ponies....and free alcohol." She finally let up on her hug, but kept him close all the same.

"Ack."

Despite the strike, Intel couldn't help the smile crawl across his face.

"The GGG is only a means to an end, only a means to an end. It was always that. An excuse for ponies to travel to Canterlot and meet each other. Everything else is just icing. This is an opportunity, more than anything else."

He sighed. "However, this will mean we'll have to refrain from...possibly...going how we usually go in the tavern. I mean the other ponies in Celestia's Gifted School will be fine, but I doubt many others will share the same sentiment. And I do feel I have to warn you. Some will look down on you simply because you do not come from Canterlot. And now I have to ask you. Please, please, please, don't stoop to their level and retaliate."

His smile crawled away again to make way for a look of concern and plea.

Shala smiled and laughed. "Your asking me to not have a good and drink like our tavern visits AND not talk back to snooty rich ponies? Now you're asking a lot. I got to at least have my drinks."

As if on cue, her belly ached and she grunted at the sting of pain. Considering how far they had come now, she could only sigh with annoyance and nod. "Fine. Ill try. But no promises. I don't like letting ponies chew me out and walk away from it very often."

"Canterlot's reputation for having thin skins and inflated egos is not completely unfounded," Intel shrugged, "And if I can go along with your drunken escapades, I think you could probably keep a lid on it when it counts. I will try to steer you away from the more abraisive ones, if that helps, but I do want you to try. Not everypony will be as..." He frowned in thought. "Passive, as me. Watch, listen, and learn, is my best advice on how to act when you're at a particularly fancy event such as the triple G. No publicity is completely good publicity, despite what some may think."

He tapped his feet in thought again. "If you are coming with me, we need to go soon, somewhat before the actual event to, I don't know, prepare our clothes or something like that, the GGG is really just an excuse after all. I just want to go back home." The last sentence was said with wist. "Plus, you'll get to meet my family and my peers in the Gifted School outside the Gala situation, a much safer environ. With luck, we might not even have to show up at the actual Gala." He laughed nervously. "That's with a lot of luck."

He took another letter out of his pocket and read through it again. "If possible, I want to be in Canterlot in time to catch my sister make a speech for this 'Future leaders of Equestria' conference thing, in a fortnight's time. She won't exactly expect me there, so I'd like to surprise her. That would mean, oh, having to make sure to talk to everypony we know about us leaving Ponyville, Iccy and Night especially..."

Shala grumbled and sat up after her belly felt better. "Fine fine. Give me chocolate and I 'might' not bite....Make that a chocolate liquor maybe. Something like that. And don't worry about baggage. I pack light. Real light. I mean, i lived homeless for a few years. I think i can manage. I don't have anything fancy to wear." The thought of wearing something dressy made Shala roll her eyes and sigh.

The thought of leaving Ponyville though, had her feel regretful. It was the first place she had ever stayed that she had a legitimate life at. At least since she was a little filly. Going to Canterlot was a big change. Her nonchalant attitude changed as her thoughts dwelled.

"...Just tell me things will be alright." Shala said quickly, crossing her hooves and looking away, as if her words were an afterthought.

Intel paused, and looked at Shala cautiously. "Wasn't talking about baggage, I was talking about an excuse to get home as soon as possible, so we can actually do things before the triple G. I don't like lying, but..."

He shook his head. "Anyway, it's much more emotional baggage than physical baggage that will be the problem. Time to say goodbye for now to Ponyville." He sighed. "It was quaint, at the very least I suppose. And it was where I met you." He smirked.

Scooping up the tickets and letters, packing up the glasses and bottles, cleaning up the desk, Intel got to silent work. When everything had been put in their right place, he said, "I suppose we can go and tell Icarus the news now. He probably would be in his house at this present time, and there's no time like the present."

He started to head out the door, before pausing and looking back at Shala. "Things won't be alright. They won't be alright unless we make it alright. Let's do so, Shala."

Shala looked to the ground, thinking to herself. Her emotional baggage with friends in the past had never been heavy before. She never had much to worry about friends. It was survival back then. The baggage she carried was full of her past. But thanks to Intel, it felt significantly lighter.

The lightweight didn't last now that she had her friends, her only friends, to say goodbye to. Having carried heavy baggage all her life, she thought it would be simple enough, but already it felt like a daunting task. One she would find very painful.

"I...I'll try to pack light." Intel's words were encouraging, as corny as they may have been. Getting up on all fours, she headed to the door with him.

"You say the right words at times....What book did you read that from?" She smirked at him before brushing past him and the doorway, not minding her tail giving him a whip.

"Ow!" Glare. Sigh.

"No book. My mother, if you must know." A pained expression crossed his face. "But that doesn't matter..."

[THREAD END?]