Waves lapped against the shore like the tongue of a dog that was resting its head on someone's lap. The beach front darkened with the moisture each time, letting the water slide off with as much dignity as it could muster.
Most of the clouds had boiled away long ago. All that was left was a bleached sky, with only the faintest traces of blue. The air shimmered. On the horizon was the misty outline of a mountain, the colour of which was only slightly deeper than the surrounding sky. All else was the vast expanse of sea, which against all the summer could throw at it remained reassuringly cool.
A wave trickled over the rock pools. As it receded from one pool, something clanged and a green bottle was lodged between the stones. It was corked. There didn't seem to be anything in it.
Two hooves crunched the sand nearby. A muzzle, rather short by equine standards, prodded the bottle. It drew back as the wave reached in, but the bottle rose out from the surface with a blue glow around it. There was the subtle sound of magic flowing from a unicorn horn to the bottle, as always happened when a levitation spell was in effect. The bottle rose until it was level with a pair of curious blue eyes, which blinked for a moment.
Sea Swirl was, in the grand scheme of things (or in the grand chaotic mess of things, as some were beginning to think it), an unremarkable pony. True: not many ponies had a pair of gambolling dolphins for a cutie mark, but then not many ponies liked to spend their time on a beach near salt water. The sand clogged up their hooves and they couldn't drink brine. Yet, for a few moments, she took herself to new heights as she pursed her lips and strained to uncork the bottle.
There should have been a label on the bottle, but it had washed off in the ocean.
After much struggling, she stopped and ambled across the beach. Everything was white and pristine, and she could barely discern her sand castle from among the dazzling whiteness. Her dolphin friends had told her that the parrotfish in the sea made the white sand, though when she'd asked for details her friends had mysteriously gained the dolphin equivalent of a cough and said nothing. Looking out, she could spot the occasional spout of water as they surfaced offshore.
Sea Swirl clicked her tongue.
There was an answering click. Three fins sliced through the water and grew in size. The next wave to come in went further than usual. Three bulges appeared beneath the fins, and three rounded snouts poked through. They stopped some way offshore, and the dolphins rose almost upright. Sea Swirl ventured a little into the shallows, trying not to let the salty stench corrode her nostrils.
To an outsider, the series of clicks that followed would have been unintelligible, but translated into Pony, it went something like this:
"Did any of you drop something last night?" Sea Swirl shouted.
The dolphins looked at each other. "Drop" was not a word that came naturally to ocean-going species.
"Like what?" one shouted back.
"I found a bottle out here!" Sea Swirl held it up for them to see.
"That's nice."
"Anything in it?" said a second dolphin. His fin was slightly crooked.
Sea Swirl glanced at the green glass. Now that she was paying attention, she thought she could see a slight shiver, as though gas was moving inside. Yet, this was nothing to the sound. She pressed a pinna - an ear flap - up against the glass. Unless last night had been more eventful than she'd thought, she could definitely detect a slight humming noise.
"No," she said. The dolphin looked disappointed. "But I think I can hear something."
"Like what?" said the first dolphin.
"Like a humming noise," she said.
Crooked-fin nodded. "Ah, that's the wind blowing over the neck. They're good for that. If you got a load of bottles and filled 'em up with water -"
"Different levels of water," said the third, who immediately looked apologetic for suggesting it.
"That's it. With different levels of water, you could blow out a nice tune with 'em."
"Like Star-Spangled Banner," said the first dolphin cheerfully.
Sea Swirl looked at the bottle again while her mind digested this.
"It's got a cork in it," she said at last.
"Perhaps if you tap it with a hoof, you could get a nice bass effect," continued the dolphin, who wasn't one to let an idea go.
"It came from the sea," said Sea Swirl. The three dolphins shook their heads sadly.
"Never seen it before. Sorry," they said. There were two splashes, and the two fins slid under the surface further out at sea. The third dolphin hung back apologetically.
"Excuse me," it said, "but you haven't seen a net anywhere, have you?"
Sea Swirl shook her head sadly and waved after him when he followed his companions. She wished he didn't keep losing her toys, but poor little Walter had trouble remembering things at the best of times. He still forgot he was wearing a blindfold, for example.
It had been one of her many games with dolphins. They claimed that they could pick out any coloured plastic shape out of a selection without using their eyes, so of course she'd taken them up on their challenge. Each had been blindfolded with kelp and she'd thrown into the lagoon a green triangle, a red circle, and a pink square. Whatever she told them to get, they'd gotten without fail. Of course, Walter had been so pleased to find anything at all, let alone the right shape, that he'd rushed off to tell his friends and forgotten to wait for her to magic the kelp off.
She walked back to the sandcastle. It was, she thought, a rather good model of the Canterlot castle. The portcullis was the right shape. It had taken ages to get the little telescopes on the astronomy towers just right, and the tiny tapestries required a little trickery with wet sand. The pennant flags had to be paper, though, because even a beach-combing unicorn can only do so much with sand.
Beside the castle lay the three toys: a green triangle, a red circle, and a pink square. She looked at them critically, but they offered her no clues or even any inspiration. She was sure something was missing, though.
The green bottle was placed next to them. Oddly, the humming seemed to become more intense. Sea Swirl lifted the bottle away from her toys. The humming ceased. She put it down again, and the humming returned in full force. Odd.
Sea Swirl looked around the beach. Beyond the higher reaches of the dunes, little scraggly plants weathered the encroaching sand. A few purple flowers rose up defiantly, despite their salt-encrusted leaves. Further away were the palm trees, and beyond those was lovely, impenetrable jungle.
"What a beautiful place," she said.
The humming broke through her façade. She turned on it, mouth open slightly as though to ask it politely why it was being so rude. She walked around the bottle, which meant walking around the model castle because it was in the way and she liked her castle so much. She'd never pick up a spade again; it was so lifelike.
She looked around. Maybe she could tell the others?
Finally, the bottle ceased its humming. The roll of silence caught her by surprise. She hurried over to it and pressed her pinna against the glass again.
She stayed there for a long time. Could she hear whispering? Voices?
"Hello?" she whispered back. "Anypony there?"
"Y-" said the bottle. If she hadn't been so close, she wouldn't even have heard that.
Sea Swirl reached forwards and tapped the glass. Something tapped back. She was sure there was nothing inside. Quickly, she dredged her memory for something she could match this with, some story she could relate to, or something to do that was fun.
"Are you OK in there?" she said. She still couldn't see anything in the bottle except for that slight disturbance of air.
"N-" said the bottle. It sounded quite peeved, even for a whisper.
"I've never met a talking bottle before," she said. "I've heard stories about them, though. Maybe you'll know one or two of them?"
No answer. She pressed on cheerfully. After all, it was probably glad to hear a sympathetic voice.
"There was one story where a fisher pony pulled up fish for to feed his pet cat, and one day he pulled up a lamp and he rubbed the lamp and a spirit pony came out and said... and said... 'Salmon, master'..." Sea Swirl frowned. Foreign languages weren't her strong suit. "Anyway, the fisher pony said, 'Will you grant me three wishes?', and the spirit pony said, 'Yes', and he did and the fisher pony became a king. Are you that kind of thing?"
The bottle remained silent. Sea Swirl sighed.
"I thought not," she said sadly. "Otherwise, I could really do with a brand new bucket."
She looked out at sea again. The swash and backwash of waves slowly ebbed and flowed over her mind while thoughts drifted in and out of focus. In some ways, Sea Swirl's mind had a lot in common with the ocean. Most of it, for a start, was empty.
"Or," she said as a new current of thought welled up, "maybe you're a message sent by somepony in trouble. Maybe pirates have captured a poor little colt and are after some treasure, but he knows what they're up to, and he needs help. So maybe... maybe he put a little message in a bottle and threw it over the side, in case some brave, heroic, chivalrous stallion discovered it!"
She looked back at the bottle. The mysterious whispering now had a tone that suggested that, when it came to slight flaws in this plan, her not being a stallion was the least of them. In any case, there were no pieces of paper inside.
Sea Swirl sighed. Back at Ponyville, problems like this were easy to solve. When in doubt, somepony else would take care of it, like Twilight the librarian or Ol' Reliable Applejack. At the very least, there was always Pinkie "Throw A Party" Pie to fall back on when things weren't straightforward.
Things were never straightforward these days. Ponyville was changing. It wasn't just a matter of doing your job and smiling all over the place, not anymore. Now, there were adventures and new ponies coming to town and new buildings going up and newspapers and the new hospital and special events like Nightmare Night, and just when you thought there was enough to keep track of, superpowerful beings came out of nowhere and tried to turn your buildings upside down. It was hard to keep ponies happy when there were so many things going on.
She rubbed her hooves across the dry sand. The beach: that was the right place. There was always the land and there was always the ocean, and between the two, there was the beach. She could rely on the beach. And the dolphins. They got on perfectly well without having to worry about socials and costumes and angry lunar unicorns all the time. They didn't even build towns, for goodness' sake! And they lived in the one habitat that covered seven-tenths of the world's surface for less construction effort. Sometimes, Sea Swirl wondered which was the brighter species.
With a snort, she looked back at the bottle. A new idea had washed up on the coast of her mind.
"Have you ever had a little model ship inside you?" she said.
"No..."
She didn't even have her pinna against the glass. The voice was much louder this time, though it still sounded like it was straining its lungs. If it had lungs, that is. A shiver fled down her spine. Certain pony instincts were poking at her legs. A prey species always trusted its legs.
"Let... me... out..."
"I've always been told not to trust a voice if I can't see where it's coming from," she said quickly.
"I'm coming from the bottle, you fool," said the voice.
"Fair enough." She nodded. She couldn't argue with that logic. "But I don't know who you are."
"Let me out... and I will tell you."
The voice sounded so painful. Sea Swirl found herself caught between pity and a desire not to be a foal. Her lips were dry.
"Tell me before I let you out," she said.
"I haven't... tasted air for so long... Let me out!"
"Will you play a game with me if I do so?" she said suddenly.
The disturbance inside the bottle lessened. "What?"
"I said, Will you play a game with me if I do so?"
High above, a seagull cackled, though it's anypony's guess what they find so funny. The waves lapped on. If deep thought could make a noise, it would sound a bit like that.
"A game?" whispered the voice.
"Yeah, like Pony Tag, or Capture the Castle." Sea Swirl beamed. When in doubt, she thought, play a game. Pinkie Pie wasn't prophet material, but ponies would queue up for a belief system like hers. Sea Swirl had picked up one or two tenets after repeated exposure.
"Capture the Castle?" said the voice. It came after a long and slow gap in the conversation, and it had a timbre which suggested the gap hadn't been wasted. "What's that?"
"Well, you plant a flag in the ground, and you split up into two teams." Sea Swirl chewed her lip. "Oh yeah, and then both teams pick a starting point far away, and they have to race to the flag, and the first pony to catch it and take it back to their starting point wins!"
Another long pause followed.
"Or was that Capture the Flag?" Sea Swirl rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"Just like that?" said the voice.
"Or maybe we could play Beach Volleyball instead?" Sea Swirl added; the voice hadn't sounded impressed.
"Yes, anything!" said the voice hoarsely. "Just please, let me out!"
It sounded so pathetic. Sea Swirl's childlike - or childish, if you wanted to be unkind - compassion got the better of her. Magic leaped from her mind into the horn on her head. The air charged up. A light enveloped the cork, which twisted slightly. Sea Swirl grimaced, opened one eye, and groaned with the effort of pulling. If she had looked, she would have seen the quiver inside the bottle intensify.
There was a pop. A rush of air passed her face. Then there was silence.
She opened both eyes. The green bottle was empty, but she had to lean close to notice. She looked around. She looked behind her, at the vast expanse of ocean. Nothing stood out to her.
"Hello?" she said cautiously.
She sat there and waited. Both ears swivelled back and forth. Eventually, a frown rose up on her face like bubbles from boiling water. So it ran away, did it?
"Your loss, you fibber," she shouted. "You just missed out on a great game of Pony Tag."
Nothing responded, except for the laughing seagull. With a pout, she dropped the bottle and its cork, levitated her toys, spun around, and trotted up the beach towards the sandy path snaking through the grass.
Once upon a time, when phrases like "Once upon a time" didn't make ponies roll their eyes and actually heralded a good story, the houses of Ponyville were simple wattle-and-daub affairs, indistinguishable from those of any other country town. In those days, ponies were cheerful ponies, adventures were cheerful adventures, and the most exciting thing that ever happened was that Caramel knocked over the apple orchard fence. Again.
Yet, only one year after Nightmare Moon's defeat (the details of which were a little hazy to those not actually present), what had formerly been an insignificant little spot on the map had seemingly blossomed. Quite apart from the zap apple jam, the town was now famous for its multi-species society, its bowling alley, its pristine new hospital, its proximity to a certain tourist location (Tartarus), its excellent social festivals (best in the country, according to an anonymous Canterlot review), its prestigious award-winning bakery, and its reliable export of dashing young heroines.
For centuries, the town had been timeless. Now, suddenly, it was rushing to catch up with the present, and in some ways it had galloped so fast that it overtook the present and collided with the future. Things appeared that the unicorns couldn't account for, like arcade machines and boomboxes and magic resonance imagers. It was generally supposed to come from Canterlot, except that most Canterlot inventors needed a lot of time and a lot of money and only invented useful things by accident.
There was a Canterlot unicorn known by the name of Sweepstake. He was generally credited with inventing over one hundred patents, or at least of getting one hundred inventions patented. Whether he invented them or not was a matter that never got resolved, but he could at least produce the designs when asked, and pay ponies off if they kept asking.
And this was all very well, since nopony in Ponyville was actually inconvenienced by all the new gadgets and gizmos coming in. Those who weren't impressed were a small minority (which is the best kind of minority, at least according to the majority), and they were usually dismissed on the grounds that they were Ploddites.
The Encyclopedia Equestria describes Ploddites as "ponies who are unimpressed by new technology", which is a terrible slur for a pony who is unimpressed by new technology. This kind of thinking underlies all name-calling.
While the rest of town marched to the tune of progress, Carousel Boutique on the edge of town waited for everyone else to catch up. Any industry based on fashions and fads is always one step ahead of the present anyway. If it's any good.
If it does revisit the past, it's generally to reinvent it.
"Magnifique!"
Sweetie Belle gave a snort and fell out of bed. The lamp fell off the bedside desk and cracked, letting the fireflies slip out and escape.
The small filly groaned and rubbed her eyes, though any sleep they'd contained had long since vanished out of shock. For a moment, she wondered if she had overslept, and checked her bedside alarm clock. Nine in the morning.
She looked around the room. The spare bed chamber of Carousel Boutique was to interior decorating what Rarity's dresses were to Canterlot fashion. Purples, pinks, and pales danced and weaved across the walls and floors, curls and borders bustled for space, and even the barest patches sparkled and gleamed. At times, Sweetie Belle had to check she wasn't wearing a tiara.
There were pajamas laid out at the foot of the four poster, just visible behind the gossamer drapes. Or at least they had been laid out there. Sweetie Belle looked down at the strewn red thing on the floor next to her. It must have been thrown off when she woke up and fell out of bed. Typical Rarity design: all silk and frills, and despite it being a gift to Sweetie, it was blatantly a miniature of Rarity's own pajamas.
"Chic, Unique, and Magnifique!" The voice shot through the floor and went up to beat the sun to the sky's zenith.
Sweetie Belle sniffed the air. There was no smoke, which was the usual reason why Rarity would scream this early in the morning. Then it occurred to her that this was usually because Sweetie Belle would be awake and cooking breakfast.
Rarity usually slept until half nine. The shop opened at a fashionably late ten thirty, and Rarity spent most of the hour preparing her hair.
Sweetie could hear excited giggling coming up the stairs. She sat up and smoothed her curly mane. Her sister, she decided, was better left to her own devices until she calmed herself. There was no point trying to talk over her. It was as if the melodrama was a protective shield around the fashionista that made even Twilight's bubble force field look like a simple "Beware the dog" sign.
She stood up just as the door burst open and Rarity the white unicorn flew in like a hyperactive doily.
"It's the epitome of Canterlot sophistication!"
To Sweetie's surprise, her sister's mane was frayed and struggling to curl properly. Red spectacles threatened to drop off the pristine nose. This was all Sweetie saw before a white comet tackled her and she gasped at the hooves spinning her round in a circle while her sister twirled and giggled.
"RRRRRRRRRRaaaaaarrrrrrrriiiiiiiitttttttyyyyyyy!" she said.
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you for lending me that book, you have no idea of the glamour, the pazzazz, the sheer regal elegance of the design you inspired in my mind!"
"TTTTTTTThhhhhhhhhaaaaaaatttttt'sssssssss nnnnnnniiiiicccccceeeeee, bbbbbbbbuuuuuuuuutttttttt..." Sweetie felt her face going green. Rarity stopped spinning, and Sweetie's eyes kept going through sheer momentum. It was a wonder she didn't get a pan of the back of her own skull.
"Sweetie Belle, you simply are a genius-in-waiting!" Rarity put her sister down gently. "Maybe you do have what it takes to become a pony of fashion after all. I mean, I had my doubts of course, what with one thing and another..."
When the little filly's head stopped trying to orbit her sister, Sweetie Belle's memory swirled and threw up visions of the Cutie Mark Crusaders' most recent exploits. Sweetie and her friends did get into a lot of exploits, so it took some time.
"Are you talking about the hairdressers we tried to set up?" she said nervously.
"Well, a rainbow afro is still quite an achievement for one so young," said Rarity, who at the moment was still in the middle of a Canterlot dream. "All the best dressmakers in Equestrian history had their awkward moments, and really without a teacher to guide you, there wasn't much point expecting a breakthrough on your first try. No, Sweetie Belle, I'm talking about genius that surpasses any mistake you may have ever made in the past."
"Even the one about the Cutie Mark Crusader Laundrette?" Sweetie's ears perked up. This was definitely a new Rarity she could like.
"Even that. Though your friend Scootaloo really shouldn't have put so much stain remover in the water. Poor Opal's jumper lost all its beautiful zigzag patterns. I am willing to overlook even that. Even..." Rarity flinched at the memory "... your other mistake."
"You're not still sore about that Cutie Mark Dressmakers idea, are you?" Sweetie said. Her mind still swirled a little with dizziness, and she could smell that Rarity's pores oozed with excitement. Scents like those had a strong effect on an equine species, and Sweetie was coming up against both her nose and Rarity's tidal wave of a speech. Her young mind was trying its best to sort both out at once.
A hoof gently tapped hers. When she looked up, Sweetie Belle found herself mere inches from royal blue eyes.
"Sweetie Belle, you silly filly, that's all behind us now. Besides, there were three of you trying to make one dress, and when that happens, it almost always ends in tears. Poor stitching, you see. The slightest move, and it tears along every seam too quickly." Rarity's horn glowed a pale blue. The door responded by opening. "But come, my good luck charm, my fellow fashionista! You must see my - or rather, our - pièce de la résistance de la mode!"
Sweetie let herself be carried downstairs. Sometimes, Rarity was so far into the zone that nothing short of a Celestia-approved expedition could bring her back.
The boutique was strewn with measuring tape and discarded fabric rolls. It looked as if one of the mannequins had won a war against the parlour, and stood triumphantly in the centre of the battlefield.
"Behold!" Rarity reared up and threw her forelegs wide in a grand gesture. "My meisterwork! The Purple Princess Pantalon Perfection, or P-P-P-Perfection Itself!"
There should have been a choir. There should have been sparkle. There should have been an ethereal light, a sense of something greater than the self, or a pair of white pegasus foals with laurels in their hair. Full length mirrors partially encircled the dress, giving Sweetie Belle many angles to admire.
This dress made frou-frou look as decorative as country dungarees, and gems congregated along its trimmings and edges with the aesthetics of constellations at night. A mare could get lost in a dress like that and wander for hours gawping at the scenery.
On the mannequin's head, a coronet had perched itself. A veil slid along its length like a waterfall made from spider's silk. The general look was of a decorated mountain carved from gold.
Sweetie Belle's eyes drank in every last detail, and still craved more.
"Wow," she breathed. "You got this out of a book?"
"I admit that I went further on the details, the sewing was a little unorthodox, and I had to try a novel kind of folding for the more frilly, er, frills... but I took my cues from the original inspiring design. And Sweetie Belle, I have you to thank for it."
Sweetie Belle shuffled around the P-P-P-Perfection Itself towards the work table. Papers and drawings and sketches were scattered over the surface. She brushed a few aside to reveal the pages of a hardback tome, and an illustration stood out on the pages. Quickly, as though trying to spot a trick, she glanced back at the dress, then at the book, then at the dress, then the book.
She gave a smug smile and closed the book. Flutter Pony Tales was printed on the cover, above an illustration of a twig-legged pegasus with fairy wings instead of the usual feathered pair. Who said Cheerilee's summer reading list had nothing worthwhile in it?
She beamed at Rarity. "Sis, this is the best thing ever!"
"And I owe it all to you, Sweetie."
"Great." There was a pause, then: "So, who are you going to sell it to?"
Rarity blinked. "Hm?"
"I said, Who are you going to sell it to?"
"Who am I going...?"
"You know. You usually make a dress for somepony, so who's it for?"
Rarity looked the dress over. "I didn't, erm, think that far ahead."
They both examined the dress. It was radiant. It was spectacular. It was the sort of dress that would lead a lesser dressmaker to retire from their profession, while weeping and wailing because they'd never create anything so beautiful again. It was past the usual standards of dressmaking beauty and into the untarnishable event horizon where not even the upper echelons of society could touch it without desecrating it.
Rarity had stayed up all night making it. She had a business to run, money to make, and a need for dresses to sell. It had also exhausted most of Rarity's stock, because like most things beyond an event horizon, it distorted the world around itself. Bits of the shop were broken up in orbit around it.
"Um..." said Sweetie Belle.
"Ah..." said Rarity.
It occurred to both ponies that this might have created a problem.
Along the sandy path, the air shimmered. A few subtle whispering sounds flowed in the breeze, encouraged by the quivering of scraggly grasses on either side. If a pony had passed that way (and had been dead silent and careful in their movements), they might have been surprised to hear a weak voice mutter under what was left of its breath, "Capture the Castle..."
There was nopony on the path. There was, however, the distant sound of a boombox. Further up the path, the shiver of air came across a hill that overlooked a scraggly grassland. At the edges of this bald patch (relatively speaking) was a thick wall of papery bark and hairy stems.
This was the jungle. Vines zigzagged across the branches. Spiked leaves and dirty black folds jostled for space. Everything below the canopy was dark. The shiver of air somehow sensed its presence, and the shivering intensified. It stuck to the path, following the sandy meander along the vast expanse of grassland and over more hills. If it had looked to the right, it would have seen the coast keeping pace alongside.
After several minutes of clambering over hills, the shiver of air came over the next peak and heard more clearly the boombox beat. Assuming it had eyes, then it could see a delightful complex of driftwood shacks. There was paving, and a distant splash. Many voices could be discerned among the incessant beat. They were all cheerful. There seemed to be a lot of coconuts, and seashells, and jingly things. Glasses clinked. Even at this distance, the colourful little umbrellas could be seen.
If the shiver of air had a mouth, it would have grinned.
As sharks glide towards a school of minnows, the shiver of air slid down the slope.
Further behind, a cluster of colourful toys floated along and Sea Swirl came skipping into view. She was singing a song about mermares.
To be continued...
