Saturday, January 4, 2020


The beginning of 2017 was by no means a time of great joy.  It was, however, a time of hope.  I used to be that the problem that always had me skating on the edge of financial collapse was--

You know what, fuck it.  We don't need to get into that, because I'm already on the verge of crying just thinking about back when things were better.

I had graduated, without tuition numbers added up properly, I was going to be ok financially going forward.  Then the thing with my sister's neighbors.  Everything started to fall apart.  Yet as 2016 drew to an end, I could believe that things were going to get better.  That the future was bright.

There's a reason for that.  From the start of the new year to February 15th I posted 43 times.  Not quite a post a day, but close.  Of course, some of that was talking about bad stuff in my life.  A lot of it wasn't.

There were six self-contained snippets in my story verse with super people (yes, there are superheroes, but there are people other than heroes too.)  Five installments on what was then an ongoing story set in the same universe.  (An index for that story, too.)  Four things talking about the setting and those in it that were not themselves stories.

There were three Kim Possible fragments.

There was a silly random story, a story idea in summary, and two times I related unpleasant real life things in story form.

Stepping away from stories, there was a post about my first impressions of that year's Arisia, a post about something I'm often curious about, and two essay-like things (how this is not like the end of the Roman Republic, and when magical world building makes sense vs. when it doesn't.)

On the meta front, there were two things about Stealing Commas stuff and two posts about my then-new Patreon account.

Also, outside of the usual categories, I had a post describing the artwork I envisioned on two cards of a tarot deck in my head.

That's a lot of stuff.  22 stories or story related things (not counting the index) alone.

In that month and a half, I did as much storytelling as I have in the past nineteen months. 

There's a reason for that.  My hormones had been figured out, my depression was managed as well as it ever had been, and --even with the terrible things happening to my sister-- things were generally looking up and looking positive.'

Then I broke my ankle in three places.

And, you know what?  I didn't think it was going to be that much of a problem.  I was taking notes for the posts I was gonna write about it and shit like that.

Then I had to go off my hormones because of blood clot risk.  And everything fell apart.

In less than a month and a half, it'll be three years since I broke my ankle.  My mental health still hasn't recovered.  I don't know if it ever will.

If I remember correctly, right before I broke my ankle I ordered jars so that I could buy ingredients in bulk, but then not have to deal with the huge fucking containers constantly.  By the time they arrived (again: if I remember correctly) my ankle was broken.  Unboxing happened today.  34ish months later.

I don't want to be here anymore.  I want the world to go away.  I want to go to sleep and never wake up.  Not die in my sleep, just call in Maleficent and have me sleep forever.

None of this is new, other than the jar thing, you've probably read all of the stuff after "Then I broke my ankle..." several times before.

I don't know what to do.

Nothing I've tried to do has worked, but that's not so much because things have failed, it's more that I haven't been able to fucking start anything.  So, in a sense, nothing I've tried to do has actually been tried.

I want to disappear.  I want to not be.

Existing is nothing but sadness, false hope, crushing disappointment, and bills I can't pay.

So, that's the past 34.5 months.  Likely forecast is for more of the same to continue indefinitely.

Saturday, December 21, 2019

My sister is back in her home, I'm back in mine, and there are puppies

All told, my sister was in the hospital for several hours less than two weeks.  I spent almost all of that time away from my home.  Most of it was at her house, but for several days at the end I was staying across the street from the hospital.  (There's an apartment building set aside for the loved ones of patients who don't live in the area.)

At no point in that time away from home did I sleep well.  It's over a week and a half since I got back home, and I'm still not sleeping right, which leads to not eating or drinking right, and also getting my medication schedule all screwed up.  Which is part of why it's been over a week and a half since she got out of the hospital and I'm only just now publishing a post saying she got out the hospital.

So, all of that said, she seems to be doing pretty well, though she's actually back in the hospital today for minor surgery.

The day she got out of the hospital she gave an interview to a woman named Donna Perry.  You can read the resulting article here.  You can also read it in several other places, which come up well before that on Google, but that's the newspaper Ms. Perry actually writes for.  There's some stuff in there that I didn't know about until I read the article myself.

People have a tendency to want to help someone after something goes wrong, and if you can afford to and you want to, there are three ways you can do that.

The thing that would (probably) get her help the fastest at the moment is this Amazon wishlist, since if you pay for something on there it'll be shipped straight to her house right now.  She had me set up Paypal and Ko-fi accounts too, but I don't have the information needed to connect those to her bank account, so any money donated is going to have to wait until she gets around to that.  (If you happen to be reading this in January, though, presumably that's been done.)

On the subject of Amazon wishlists, anyone reading might have noticed that everything I've been writing has had an MLP bent for over two years now.  If you'd like to help me in that arena, I set up a list that has reference books along with a few RPG things that I'd use as reference books.*

Lastly, puppies.  Thirteen were born the day before my sister's birthday.  These were taken when they were three days old:



* I mean, I could try to use them as intended by actually running a game, but:
a) I've never done anything like that before
b) I'd have to wait for my sister's younger two to be old enough. (Once upon a time I was told eldest loved all things unicorn, but if it was accurate, it appears to have stopped being true since then.)

Monday, December 2, 2019

My sister was run over (by her own truck)

[Getting run over isn't a pretty thing, I'm going to be talking about the aftermath.  This is your warning, read at your own risk.]

It happened on Tuesday, much of the information I've been given was third hand (I didn't go up to my sister in the emergency room and order her to regale me with the story of how she got there; I didn't do that in the ICU either), so it's possible some details are off (or missing) but I'll tell you what I know.

The daycare my sister's middle and youngest child attend is one of those smaller more personal affairs where it's run out of the provider's home.  That home is on a hill.  Maine, especially non-coastal Maine (after losing the farm, my sister's family moved inland), is cold in late November.  To keep the kids from freezing, my sister left the truck on (and thus the heat on) while she got them in.  The middle child, a three year old, knows how to unbuckle himself.

In what is, so far as I know, his first time shifting gears in his life, the three year old put the truck in neutral.  My sister's luck being what it is, she was down hill from it.

Thursday, November 21, 2019


Quick but important question:

Is anyone reading this?  Does anyone care?

I guess that's two questions.

The short version is that I feel like if I shut down Stealing Commas it wouldn't really inconvenience anyone.  No one would care, and I'm not even sure that anyone would notice.

Given my lack of output writing-wise, I feel like that might be the reasonable thing to do.

But those are feelings.  Facts might be more useful here.  So, if you're reading this, please leave a comment saying so.  If you care, please mention that as well.

The long version is after the break

Wednesday, November 6, 2019

Quick computer question that hopefully isn't important, but could be -- (deleted files and Chromebooks)

Chromebooks don't have a recycle bin.  Deleted things are deleted.  I deleted what looked like some empty folders.  Then I realized it wasn't showing me hidden files.  So I could have deleted some important stuff.*

Now, they say anything deleted on a Chromebook is gone for good, but I haven't zeroed out anything, which means that that's probably not entirely accurate.  Especially since the hard drive I deleted things from was external, which means I can and have removed it, which means they're not going to get overwritten (unless they already were, which would have needed to happen almost immediately.)

The thing is, though, you can't just install shit on a Chromebook.  It needs to be Chromebook compatible which most things aren't.

Right now, everything but the Chromebook is out of commission, which means that if I want to recover those folders, and the files they may or may not contain, I need to do it using the Chromebook.

So, we come to the question: How do I recover erased files on a Chromebook?

Please remember that I am well aware that there's no native function for doing that.  I'm not asking "Where is the Recycle Bin so that I can take the files out?"  I'm asking, "The files are well and truly deleted but have (almost certainly) not been overwritten, given that, how do I get them back?"

Basically what I need here is either "This is an app on Google Play that is simultaneously: capable of doing the job and Chromebook compatible" or "Even though you know nothing of Linux, you need Linux.  Here is a step by step --leaves out no details no matter how obvious they may seem-- process to recover erased files with the version of Linux you can install on a Chromebook."

The Linux thing is in the beta stage right now, which means it might not work completely properly, but this is the key thing: it used to be that you had to swap your Chromebook into developer mode to use any Linux thing whatsoever, and that process can (apparently) erase every fucking thing you have.  The beta stage "install Linux with the push of a button" function doesn't require any such tinkering, and is relatively risk free.

It also doesn't give you much in the way of control.  There are literally no options.  You push the button, it installs Linux, and you have no input on what that actually means.

(Even if you can't help) if you're reading this, thanks.


* Important stuff not actually from the Chromebook, I was supposed to be copying something, but instead I moved it, when I noticed the mistake I canceled the move, and I was undoing it, but the Chromebook didn't merge the relevant folders so I took a look inside to manually movie the files in the folders into the places they were meant to be, and didn't find any files to move.

I deleted the seeming superfluous folders, and only then did it occur to me, "There might have been hidden files."  I checked, and (sure enough) hidden files were hidden, so I have no idea if I deleted any or not.

Tuesday, November 5, 2019

I'm terrified, and somewhat sick, and without a real computer, and my depression is pretty bad

Ok, let me pause for a moment to say: FUCK!

I was a fair bit into this post when everything just crashed.  Usually that's ok.  Local storage means that it's saved.  Nothing was saved.  Well, the title was.  So now I'm already crying as though I were a fair bit into writing this, and . . . it wasn't brilliant or anything, but I thought that what I'd written did a good job of capturing what was . . . again, fuck.

I thought that I'd managed to figure out what to say and how to say it.  I thought that I was communicating well.  It's gone.  I don't know if I can do it again.

So . . . anxiety.

Usually my anxiety takes a back seat to my depression.  With depression making me either a hollow shell with no emotions or a despondent wreck, there's not a lot of space for fear.  Sometimes I literally forget I have an anxiety problem.

That's probably not surprising.  It wasn't diagnosed until we made real progress in dealing with my depression because it wasn't until then that it got a real chance to shine.  That progress is fucking gone.

It's two years and nine months (less ten days) now since I fell down those fucking stairs and, basically, reset everything.  If you're reading this, and I'm not convinced anyone is, then you've heard me talk about all that.  I'm not getting into it again.

And on that topic of the possibly fictional people who read what I write, if you do exist and you are reading this, then I haven't exactly been giving you much to read lately, have I?

Mostly it's been sporadic updates like this one, saying the same thing as all the others: I'm not writing much, or at all (depending on the month) when it comes to fiction, my depression is really bad, my financial situation is increasingly terrible (which means that if I don't get help I'm doomed, but there's no fixed timetable so it's a sort of limbo of doom thing), I've been having a series of problems regarding access to medication since July or August (I've lost track) which may or may not be related to my pharmacy closing circa the same time.

All of that crap?  Still true.  Still have terrible depression, still not writing fiction, still need money, still suffering the fallout from the medication stuff.  (Though at least I have all my meds now, unfortunately that hasn't made things go back to the way they were before the problems.)

Today, though, there's something new.  Obviously anxiety.  I'm not sure why today.  Everything that's bad today was just as bad yesterday.  And the day before that.  And the week before that, and (with the exception of my ever worsening finances) the months before that.

It's not like anxiety needs a reason.

Anyway, pretty sure I'm the worst I've been short of a nervous breakdown.  The feeling in my chest is as visceral as an injury or a headache, but instead of pain it's fear.  That's the dread.  The terror doesn't really have a location.

Actually, the terror has receded.  Apparently my "take as needed" anxiety med does actually accomplish something.

Regardless, things are very much not good.

I want to give up.  There's just one problem: I'm not actually doing anything.  There's nothing to give up.

I'm failing to do a great many things, so you might think I could give up trying, but that's a fundamental misunderstanding of the way in which I'm failing.  I'm not managing to try.  I get out of bed.  I attempt to make sure I get enough to eat and drink over the course of the day, and then I try to get to sleep on time.

Anything more than that and I just . . . can't.  Not right now.

I have the lingering remnants of a cold.  Ordinarily it wouldn't be too much of a problem, but with the level my depression's at right now, it's enough to stop me from doing pretty much anything.  I can read certain fanfiction.  I can play certain, fairly mindless, games.*  I can't do much of anything else.

It's not that I try and fail.  It's that I can muster the . . . something to try in the first place.  Energy?  Willpower?  Emotion?  I'm not sure.

So, I want to give up.  I can't give up because there's nothing left to give up on.

I want to curl up in a ball and fall asleep.  Darkness take me.  Then not wake up.  Not as in "die in my sleep" as in "Call in Maleficent so that I can be in an enchanted sleep forever."

I didn't know that "passively suicidal" was a thing until this year.  Now that I do . . . well, I think I said it when I published it.  Indifference contains way more of myself and my life than I ever intended.  It just sort of came out.

Everything either of the characters says about their condition applies to me with the one exception being that it wasn't the edge of a roof for me.  It was the edge of cliffs.  I haven't been in a position to be dangerously close to the edge of a cliff in a long damned time, but back when I was . . . well, the views are amazing, but looking back there's something else that's clear.

I used to think that people who were concerned about my proximity to cliff edges were being needlessly concerned, overly protective, or just worried over nothing.  After all, I wasn't worried.  I wasn't afraid.  I was the one who knew exactly how close I was, I was the one who could feel what my footing was or wasn't like.  Surely I would know best whether or not there was something to fear.

I never got introspective enough, on that particular topic, to realize what was going on.  Falling and getting hurt scared me.  So much so that I always erred on the side of being afraid when I was perfectly safe, not on the side of feeling safe when I was at risk.  Falling and dying, though . . . that wasn't scary.

And that was the disconnect.

I did have more information.  I wasn't necessarily good at judging risk, but I was the right combination of "good enough" and "cautious" that "I'm not at all worried about falling" almost always meant I was well and truly safe vis-à-vis falling.  If this were a case of "If you fall, you're probably get scraped up" then my approach of relying on whether or not I felt like I had something to worry about in the falling department would have been a safe one (to the point of being detrimental, actually.)

But it wasn't a case of whether or not I'd get scraped up and "whether or not there's something to fear" doesn't just depend upon the facts of the matter, it also depends on what one is afraid of.  I wasn't afraid of dying.  The prospect of me dying was frightening to other people.

I think the only thing left is the computer issue.  I got a Chromebook as an emergency back up option.  Primary computer and secondary computer are both non-functional.

I'm really regretting not spending more money to get basically anything else as an emergency back up option.  The last thing I need right now is more debt, but fuck is frustrating . . . I don't have words.

Secondary computer has been having problems with the power jack for ages, that's why I got an emergency back up option, and it finally broke completely.  All of the computery bits are still working, but with no way to charge the battery, it's a paperweight.  Well . . . several paperweights.

Secondary computer's hard drive is now, effectively, a USB stick.  That's good.  What was on it wasn't lost.  Yay.

I would, perhaps, be more enthused about that if primary computer weren't also busted.  (And I'm massively pissed off at myself because it's my fucking fault.)

The primary computer's charger broke.  It was the cord, and if it had been on the outlet side that would have been great, because that's not actually a part of the charger, it's just a power cord.  I don't think I've ever had one of the power cords that connect outlet and charge break.  I do, now that I think of it, believe that I might have once had a dog bite one into three pieces.  (It wasn't live at the time, the dog was fine)

So the cord that's built into the charger broke, which means that the charger broke.  I bought a replacement charger.  Same specifications, same manufacturer, but not the exact same model.  In my defense, it didn't say it needed the exact same model.  It said the specifications it needed and that a charger from the same manufacturer was preferred.

The new charger would power the computer, but it wouldn't charge it.  So I looked that up.  I found out that with the type of computer I have, sometimes after a charger goes wonky things need to be reset before it will work properly with the next charger.

It's a really fucking simple reset too, just disconnect the battery and the BIOS battery.  Somehow I managed to fuck something up when I did that.  I don't know how.  I don't know what.

I just know that now the computer won't start.  I can get into BIOS fine.  I can run diagnostics too, and they assure me that everything is peachy, but the moment the computer tries to start anything else (Windows be it normal or in safe mode, Windows' special "Hey, we noticed that Windows isn't starting" repair thingy, a recovery drive, whatever) it freezes.

It freezes before it even leaves the "We were afraid you'd forget what kind of computer you're using, so we put the logo here" pre-operating system loading screen.  The dots that go around in a circle to let you know that things are happening and the computer hasn't frozen stop moving.  Nothing happens.  Waiting, as expected, accomplishes nothing.  The only thing I can do at that point is power the damned thing down.

The best part of all of this, though, is that the problem I was trying to fix wasn't even the problem.  In spite of not saying so anywhere, the computer just needs the exact same type of charger it was shipped with.  Once you ignore what you're told it needs (and should be compatible) and resign yourself to paying for a factory new charger of the latest design, which is nowhere stated to be functionally different from the previous model, the thing charges fine.

It's just that before I did that I opened up the computer in an attempt to fix a problem it didn't have and, in the process, somehow did something that ruined everything.  What did I do?  No fucking clue.  The diagnostics all say everything is fine.

If I'd just spent the money on a factory new charger to begin with, I'd never have had the problem that led to me opening it up.  If, when the charger that was supposed to be compatible didn't charge it, I'd gone with my suspicion that there was something, not stated in the specs, that made it need the latest iteration of the charger in question, I still wouldn't have messed things up.

Whatever's wrong with the computer isn't just totally and completely my fault, it was also utterly avoidable.  All I had to do was not attempt to troubleshoot it.

And I really do have no fucking clue what happened.  Did I bend something?  Did I accidentally complete a circuit and zap some vital thing not checked by the diagnostics?  Is there some BIOS setting that got flipped on reset and fixing things is as simple as flipping it back?  No idea.

I just want to back up the hard drives before I try to have primary fixed, and that is one of many reasons why I'm finding the Chromebook frustrating.  It's built for being online and storing things on Google Drive.  When it comes to dealing with files on physically present drives, the interface is rudimentary at best.

More than that, though, the way I want to back up the drives is by creating disk images on an external hard drive.  If I had a functioning Windows computer, that would be easy.  I don't.  I have a Chromebook.  As near as I can tell, this thing doesn't know what a disk image is.

Originally I was just going to re-post what I said at Ana's two days ago.  The anxiety, though, seemed worth talking about, and it only happened today.  So I started writing about that, and then I lost everything, and then I wrote more, and now we have all of this.  I haven't really covered what I said over there, though, so I'm still going to re-post that.

From the main open thread post:
Sorry this is so very late.  Depression has been really bad.  I have food and water, but it's hard to think, hard to move, hard to get the food or the water, and hard to remember that I'm supposed to be eating or drinking it instead of staring off into space.

Normally I'd reserve such "Woe is me" stuff for the comments or my own blog, but this is really late and I figured you all deserved an explanation.
And the actual comment:
If there's a polar opposite of keeping on top of things, that's what I've been doing lately.

I've been having problems with medications since August or July, I've lost track. As of last Friday I'm back on all my meds (until the next problem crops up.)

For the longest time it was my most important medication. There's a story there, not particularly interesting (just stupid), but that's not the point. I've been back on that one. It was just that once I got back on that one something went wrong with another one.

So, the one that was most recently a problem . . . it's my ADHD med. It has a nothing half-life. It doesn't need time to build up. I should have been back to normal circa last Saturday. The past week has been just like the months leading up to it. No improvement whatsoever.

So, anyway, getting back to the first sentence in this comment. Someone came by a day or two ago to tell me that if I didn't pay up (within a half hour of being notified) my water would be turned off. I've never been that far behind with a bill before.

Water isn't the problem, though. It's not a major expense and the late fees are negligible.

The thing is, back before all of this (so before August or July) there was something else. I think it was alternating between being sick and exhausting myself helping my sister, but everything's hazy right now.

I don't even know where things stand, but I know I'm thousands of dollars behind on . . . everything.

If you have money to spare, you should probably give it to Ana, but here's my thing anyway:

⁂  ⁂

* Did I mention I have a tablet?  Ana gave me a tablet.  Ana is awesome.

For the first time I have a "mobile device" (though I'm still not sure why laptops aren't considered mobile devices.)  I can play Subway Surfers without needing to borrow someone's iPad.

Ana installed Seedship before she sent it to me (I presume; I don't think it comes standard), and for a while I was saving humanity by shepherding them to a new home, but I'm seriously at a point where "Is this planet good enough, or should I hold out for a better one?" and "Would I rather damage be done to the cultural or scientific database?" is beyond me.

I'm also playing the Gameloft MLP game.  It's not the first time I've given it a shot, but the Windows version hasn't been updated since the dark ages, and I was never able to do well with Android emulators, so attempting to play it on PC never worked out.

I discovered the hard way that I'm not the kind of person who can just play a game like that.  It's one of the the things where you're supposed to play for a little while, set up some tasks that last hours in the process, leave, come back, and repeat.  That's . . . not how I operate.

Without setting some ground rules for myself first (which I didn't do originally because I didn't know I needed to) I will grind the fuck out of such a game.  I'll do the "play for a little while" tasks non-stop.  That fills the space (during which I'm supposed to be interacting with the rest of the world instead of playing the game) between when the long tasks start and stop, and I level up absurdly quickly at the expense of, you know, losing my every waking moment to the game.

Now that I have set some ground rules for myself, though, that's not a problem.

It has a story, so to speak, and thus a substance of a sort that Subway Surfers lacks, but it doesn't have the same kind of choice and consequence and evaluation that Seedship has.

Expanding on the difference from Seedship: you want to do [whatever] it'll tell you how to do it.  For example "Send Pinkie Pie to do such and such; now that that's done, gather this many [thingys]" rather than have you make high stakes decisions, which could result in complete disaster, which will shape the future (or lack thereof) of the human race.

Friday, October 25, 2019

They know Latin! Run Away; They Know Latin!

[Originally posted at my Patreon over a year ago.]
[Things worth knowing:
-- Sunset (unicorn in human form) has seen her entire high school turn on her.
-- Sunny is a character from her homeland who is her one supporter.
-- Magic can be accessed via music.]
- ~ ´  * ⁂ * `  ~ -
If the fluently obscene and incisively profane Latin echoing through the hallways were any indication, something had gone very badly with Sunny and it hadn't finished yet.  Just before Sunset turned what she was reasonably confident was the last corner, the Latin abruptly stopped.
Sunset was worried that something had happened to Sunny, but when she did round the corner she saw several students, all uninjured, being restrained by teachers and other staff.  Sunny Skies herself was being held against a wall of lockers, glaring at the other restrained students with a disturbingly cold stare.
Sunset briefly wondered if Sunny were capable, emotionally, of killing someone, but shook the thought from her head.  Right now Sunny, her only friend, was in need of a friend herself. Sunset's pace had slowed because she was now surrounded by teachers in an area that was under the highest level of supervision the school staff ever managed.
Sunny's right arm caught Sunset's attention.  Sunny was, for lack of a better word, slapping her hand against the lockers behind her.  It wasn't particularly hard or loud, but it was unusual and definitely not a tic Sunny had displayed before.
It was almost as if Sunny were trying to tap out in some combat sport, but didn't realize you had to do it in a way that the other person would actually notice, for example tapping them instead of the wall behind you.
There was something strange about it though.  Some sort of pattern or--
It was music.
The teachers were forgotten as Sunset sprinted to reach Sunny.  Sunset had no idea what kind of magic an angry Pegasus in human form might use, but she was pretty sure Sunny wasn't trying to pony up, something she'd previously shown only abstract academic interest in, just to take a flight around the campus.
If she succeeded in summoning magic things could get very bad very fast.
When Sunset reached Sunny she said, "Stand down," because she wasn't in the right frame of mind to think of anything more interesting or clever than that.
Sunny responded with an angry, "Istae verpae et te calumniantur, et--"
"Maledicant," Sunset said with the kind of calm that one could only show if they were faking it and well practiced in doing so.  The word itself should have been able to go unspoken.  Of course let them say what they would, after all, it wasn't like anything good came from trying to stop the hateful, hurtful, and infuriating words others spewed about her.  Regardless, Sunset attempted to continue on, "Simpliciter--"
Sunny was unconvinced. Sunset didn't have words to describe the degree to which Sunny was unconvinced.  Her right hand sped its rhythm, taping faster and louder on the locker, and she snarled, "Istam merdam paedica!"
That . . . was physically impossible.  And not just because the merda was figurative.  Still, in situations like these connotations were often more important than denotations and Sunset let it pass without comment.
Instead she stepped closer to Sunny, gently took Sunny's right arm in her left hand (to stop her from trying to pony up) and looked Sunny in the eyes before speaking again.
The teacher restraining Sunny, for his part, seemed entirely content to ignore all of this and relegate his attention and effort only to making sure Sunny didn't bolt.  Since Sunset was now blocking the most viable escape route, he barely seemed to notice what was going on.  He had a hand on Sunny's left shoulder, lightly pinning her to the locker, but that was the extend of his involvement.
Sunset was clearly on her own here.
"Defervesce," Calm down, "quia tu libebit," because it will be pleasing to me.
Sunny tried to shout, "Sed-!-"
"Non!" Sunset said unintentionally loudly.  It was just short of a shout and not the sort of thing Ideally suited for communicating with someone when one was practically nose to nose with. She took a moment, calmed herself, and lowered her volume.  "Noli dicire 'sed'," Don't say 'But'.  "Nolo ex tu succensere," I don't want your rage.
Sunny wasn't ready to give up, but she also wasn't struggling or trying to tap some other part of her body in time to a beat that might let her sprout wings.
Sunset caressed Sunny's cheek, there'd be Hell to pay with the rumor mill, but the important thing was that Sunny wouldn't misinterpret the gesture as amorous, so using physical displays of affection to calm Sunny was definitely on the table.
"Noli incipere operare qua vindice meo me nolente," Sunset said, Don't be my champion/savior/defender without my consent, white knighting helped no one, after all. "Nolo illud,"  I don't want this, Sunset said, using the hand she'd touched Sunny's cheek with to gesture to the teachers finally getting students calmed down and breaking up the gawkers. "Ego nolo illud," she said, I don't want this.
She caressed Sunny's cheek again.  All else aside, it was nice to have an Equestrian around just for the physical contact.  Humans seemed to think it needed to be reserved for romance and sex.  "Ne volo illud," she said one last time. I do not want this.
"Esse mihi amicam, carissimam, volo," Sunset said: I want my dearest friend with me.
Sunny let out a long breath, then visibly calmed.  "Mea culpa," she said: My bad.  "Hanc rem me paenitet, " I regret this matter.  "Mihine ignosces?," Will you forgive me?
"Ita vero," Sunset said, yes/of course, "sed rei similī aliquem iterum nefacies," but you will never do anything like this again.  True, she had no idea what had happened before she turned the corner, and she didn't have a way to gauge the potential damage that might be caused by unleashing Equestrian magic under these circumstances, but the situation was, both in broad strokes and in specific details, unacceptable.
"Iustum est," That's fair, Sunny said.
"Coercitora adveniēns, . ." Sunny said, it wasn't even close to a complete sentence.  Still, a gesture indicated that Sunset should turn, and when she did she saw Vice Principal Luna.  Thus the words make sense.
"Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?" Luna asked Sunny.
Sunny said, "Εν νω εχω--"
And Sunset decided to end that little trip to another language right then and there.  "Nescis. Non informationem habes."
Sunny was from another world that ran on the literal magics of Harmony and Friendship, with occasional assists from other happy cheery abstract concepts like Love and the like.
Nothing there could possibly have prepared Sunny for high school punishments.
"Before I descend into the dark recesses of my psyche to determine whether I want to maintain my record of professionalism or simply give up and scream profanity at my students, I do have a question for both of you," Luna said.
Sunset said, "Sagitta," at the same time Sunny said, "Τοξευου."
"You two are aware that we have a Classics Club, right?" Luna asked.  "You know: a place where your mastery of the three great languages --Greek, Latin, and profanity-- would be met with praise and adulation."
Sunset shrugged, Sunny, for her part, seemed mildly interested.
"Miss Skies, please go to my office," Luna said to Sunny.  Sunny started walking, and --when she'd made it a fair distance away-- Luna said, "Thank you for what you did today," to Sunset.
Sunset shrugged again. "I just talked."
"You took a fellow student from a state of poly-lingual bloodlust to a safe and normal place," Luna said.  "That's not nothing."
Sunset decided not to note that Sunny only became poly-lingual again after the bloodlust had passed. Instead she shared something else that was on her mind:
"It's not much, either," she said.
"Given that the school seems to be coming apart," Luna said.  "I'll take what I can get."
After a pause Luna said, "I'll need to go talk to Miss Skies now, I'd like you to be there to . . . take her off my hands when the meeting is finished."
"Produc, magistra," Sunset said; "produc."
Lead on, teacher; lead on.
- ~ ´  * ⁂ * `  ~ -
As it often the case, this is part of a larger story.  As is often the case, it's the only part of that story that's actually written.
The Equestria Girls Holiday Special makes a point of completely isolating Sunset when it comes to in-person friends and allies.  (Magical pen pals are exempt.)  That means that one of the major questions raised by it is "What if just one person had been there (physically been there) for Sunset?"  The answer depends a great deal on who that person is.
Moving on to other notes . . .
Sunny is asexual aromantic, Sunset knows, and Sunny knows that Sunset knows, so there's no risk of "I'm trying to comfort you, my friend, using physical contact" being misinterpreted as, "I'm coming onto you."
They're from the species that invented nuzzling so physical contact is a big deal socially.
Sunny's spent her entire life biting back on her anger because of propriety, decorum, and political concerns.
It suddenly hit her that, since she was in another world where no one knows her ("Sunny Skies" is a pseudonym; only a handful of people know that she's only human temporarily and a once and future pony by birth and choice) she could, for once in her life, let loose with what she really thought and tell people who hurt those she cares about exactly what she thinks of them.
It didn't take long before she surrendered all control to letting the pent up anger, rage, and frustration flow outward.  There wasn't actually a physical altercation between students (teachers did have to hold students back to keep it that way), but if the teachers had been about 30 seconds slower to show up there would have been violence because the posturing stage had ended.
I didn't do a sufficient job of showing that, while Sunny calmed over the course of the Latin, she was still ready to restart the fray right until Sunset's last, "I don't want this," and accompanying "I want" statement.
Sunny has a lot of bottled up negative emotions and they've just tasted freedom for the first time in forever.  She's volatile at the moment.
- ~ ´  * ⁂ * `  ~ -
"Istae verpae et te calumniantur, et--"
Those dicks are both slandering you and--
"Maledicant, simpliciter--"
Let them speak ill, just--
Let them evil-speak, just--
"Istam merdam paedica!"
Fuck that shit! (in the butt)
Why "butt-fuck"?
The Latin for "fuck, in general" was profane but not particularly derogatory.  Instead the Romans had a thing about penetration.  (So too did the ancient Greeks we have records of) and so the options for getting "Fuck that shit! to have the right connotations are:
a) (butt-)fuck that shit! Or
b) Give head to that shit!
b) Get head from that shit!
I feel that the second loses something in translation.
The original thing was way off.  The Romans and the ancient Greeks whose attitudes we know about had a thing about the ways cis dudes could be sexually penetrated.  Short version: "penetrating = good, being penetrated = bad."  As such "Give head to that shit" would only ever be used to render the English "Get fucked by that shit" which is absolutely nothing like the intended meaning of "Fuck that shit."
Calm down/ Simmer down / Stop boiling over
"quia tu libebit,"
because it will please me.
Sunset is in to/for mode and mentally changed the aspect to make that work better, hence her rendering it as "because it will be pleasing to me."
"Sed -!-"
But -!-
Add the "exclamation cut off" hyphen to the punctuation marks we need alongside the the exclamation comma, the question versions of both, the trailing off question ( . ? . ) and the reverse comma (which would end the ambiguities that are allegedly the cause of the Oxford Comma Wars.)
Noli dicire 'sed',
No "but",
Literally: Do not wish to say 'But'.
Nolo ex tu succensere
I don't want [flames on the side of your face anger] from you
"Noli incipere operare qua vindice meo me nolente,"
Don't start to work as my defender when I don't want that.
Don't go bein' my white knight when I want it not.
Don't be become a champion of mine without my consent.
"Nolo illud,"
I don't want this
"Ego nolo illud,"
I don't want this.
Directly stating the "I" is emphatic because it is implied by the verb conjugation and thus usually left out.
"Ne volo illud,"
I do not want this.
Nolo is what happened to "ne volo" when it was allowed to grow and change for centuries.  To separate them out again is to go full on archaic (possibly breaking the rules and bylaws of grammar) for the purpose of emphasis.
"Esse mihi amicam, carissimam, volo,"
I want my dearest friend with me.
Literally: I want my friend, most dear, to be for me.
Someone once said that you don't translate Latin into English, you translate Latin into English-Latin.  (Or maybe Latin-English.  The point is, not English-English.)  I bring that up because "to be for me" is most definitely not English-English.
It's a weird statement anyway, mind you.  "I want you to verb for me," isn't that strange, but when the verb in question is "to be" the weirdness kicks in, pretty much regardless of how you end up phrasing it.
The idea is that what she wants Sunny to do for her is nothing more (or less) than exist.  Angry shouting matches are not something she wants Sunny to do for her.  Where the "with" from the English translation comes from is that if Sunny is existing for Sunset, she'll naturally (Sunset thinks) be doing it around Sunset (be it physically or some other measure of proximity) and thus with Sunset.
"Mea culpa,"
My bad.
"Huius rei me paenitet,"
I regret this matter.
Literally: It causes me to repent of this thing.
(No, the "it" doesn't stand for anything.  impersonal verbs are like that.)
"Mihine ignosces?"
Will you forgive me?
Literally: To me --this is a "yes" or "no" question by the way-- will you give forgiveness?
"Ita vero,"
of course/yes verily/yuparoonie
Literally: So true.
Originally I planned to have "yuparoonie" as a translation in the story proper.
Some people might be interested to know that Latin doesn't have a word for "yes".  Instead they used "ita vero" which, as I noted, literally translates to "so true".  So, from now on, whenever people talk about how this or that language doesn't have word for "no", you can contribute the knowledge "Latin didn't have a word for 'yes'."  (Please exercise discretion when determining whether or not you should make that contribution.)
"sed rei similī aliquem iterum nefacies."
but you will never do anything like this again.
"Iustum est,"
That's fair,
Literally: Fairness is.
"Coercitora adveniēns, . ."
Enforcer arriving, . . 
This is known as an ablative absolute.  In English we use nominative for our absolutes.  Absolutes are free from entanglement and exist in themselves, they're grammatically disconnected from the rest of the sentence forcing you to figure out (usually from context) how they fit.
English absolutes include things like the "Arms akimbo" in "Arms akimbo, they came stalking down the stairs."  You can figure out what that means ("With [their] arms akimbo, they came stalking down the stairs")  but from a grammatical and structural standpoint it's disconnected.
Before we get to other things, I just looked up the definition of akimbo and had to change how they came down the stairs.  Why does it mean "flung about haphazardly" with anything other than the arms, but "in a specific reserved, haughty, and judgmental stance" when discussing the arms?  This is sub-optimal.
I was playing fast and loose with punctuation when I wrote that.  That phrase should end with a comma, but since the rest of the sentence wasn't there I made up a modified ellipsis starting with a comma instead of the first period. 
"Εν νω εχω--"
I have in mind.
This is idiom significant to me because it's one of the few non-English things I will spontaneously think.  As such it's basically the one part of learning Latin and ancient Greek that was an unambiguous success.
There were, however, a lot of things surrounding the learning that I would not trade for anything.  Almost a decade of my life would have been lost in a black hole of depression without the support I got from the embattled (and eventually defeated) USM Classics Program.
I don't think it's likely to happen, but if Jeannine showed up at my door saying, "I need your help, we'll probably die, we have to go now," I think that I probably would get involved in that thriller and/or action movie.  I'd have questions, of course, but they could be asked on the way.
(Not that I have anything against Peter, I just feel like if someone comes knocking at my door needing help in some kind of life or death battle between good and evil, Jeannine is the more likely candidate.)
"Nescis. Non informationem habes."
You don't know.  You have no idea.
Shoot (with an arrow), in Latin
Shoot (with an arrow), in Greek
"Produc, magistra; produc."
Lead forth, teacher; lead forth.
"Produc" is one of those weird words.  It's supposed to be "produce" (pro-du-kay), and we all know it's supposed to be "produce", and the Romans knew it too, but "produc" is an option too for some reason.  Likewise true if you chop the "pro" off.
- ~ ´  * ⁂ * `  ~ -
Normally when I think of angry Latin conversations I think of Jacob and Shin from Life After and the arguments they have in my head of which, I'm pretty sure, none have been written.