Identity Pt 1 - Future Soldier of Gold
The cobblestone streets echoed with pelting rain and swift hoof falls. The alleys that lined these streets were filled with ponies and critters alike, making their way to and from the assortment of buildings that stood throughout the hold. A certain hunter-green eyed colt with an earthly-brown coat trotted his way through one of these alleys, headed home amongst the small droves of ponies running from cover to cover to keep dry from the rain.
‘This is nice’, the colt commented to himself as he relished the steady drops of silvery liquid on his coat. Even with his elongating dirt-blonde mane clumping to his forehead and the back of his neck, he still thoroughly enjoyed the nights that it rained within the city. The earth pony continued down the alleyway he had planned his trek through, turning his head every once in awhile to look at some of the lit shop-windows. Even at this hour, which was accented by the dark clouds hovering above the city, some of the shops were still open for everypony to browse and shop. The colt turned his head at the sight of a particular store sign on his right.
“Manehatten Victory Surplus,” the colt read aloud as he slowed his pace to a halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked upon a white-coated earth pony typing away on an odd-looking typewriter. The white pony’s golden eyes were focused on some metallic plate as a stamper of some sort pounded down upon it with lightning speed. ‘Hmm. Wonder what he’s doing’, the colt pondered to himself as he leaned toward the building. He wanted to go inside and have a look, but the darkened skies above told him that he’s probably going to be out later then the set curfew his folks set for him. ‘I don’t think five minutes will hurt.’
The colt smiled to himself and turned to the store’s door, which was propped open by a wooden military crate with the Equestrian Guards markings. He took a few steps to get under the door’s awning before shaking his coat and mane free of the accumulated rainwater. Without wasting any more time, he entered the store.
The instant his whole body was within the shop, the warmer air wrapped it’s tendrils around the colt’s cooler coat. ‘That feels good...’ He slowly trotted toward the counter, trying to relish the warmth encompassing his body. In front of him, another stallion stood in wait, watching as the white pony continued typing away at the machine. Now, compared to the noisy raindrops pelting everything in open view of the city, he could hear the clinking of the machine. Every time the other stallion pushed down on a key, an arm was sent crashing down at the metallic plate he saw earlier in the window view. Within the second it came down, the arm would shoot back up and ready itself while another arm would come down to hit the metallic plate again. While the colt looked on in amazement at the piece of machinery, the stallion standing at the counter had turned his head to look at the younger pony.
“What are you doing here so late little one?” The older pony questioned the colt’s presence with a slight smirk on his lips. The brown-coated pony shook his head slightly as he barely heard the stallion’s words.
“Who, me?” He pointed his hoof at himself with a questioning gaze, “I ain’t that little.” For a pony his age, he was on the taller side of colts, nearly towering over the largest student in his class by an astounding six inches. The stallion make a joking huff in response, making him smile proudly.
“I can tell. You got some heart that fits the size.” The stallion turned fully away from the counter to address the colt. “You looking into joining the Guard when you get older?”
“Uh...” the young pony trailed off as his mind wandered about, looking for an answer to the stallion’s question. ‘What was I going to do when I get older?’ he questioned himself, his hoof retracting to the wooden floor of the shop and pawing against it lightly. ‘Geez, I really haven’t thought about it at all.’
“You alright kid?” the stallion asked, bringing the colt back from his soul-searching. He raised an eyebrow, silently questioning the smaller pony.
“To be honest, I really haven’t thought much about it.” He answered the older pony. “I have many other things to worry about like school and things I do at home.” This brought a smile to the stallion’s face.
“It’s good to see a young colt like you worrying about your education and home life,” he applauded the pony, “Those are the most important things to living a good life. Never forget that.” The conversation the colt was holding with the older pony ended when the stallion at the typing machine started to approach the counter.
“Here you are Sir,” the stallion said as he produced a chain with a metallic plate on it. Now, after coming in to get a closer look, he could see that the machine had imprinted letters into it. The receiver of the chain turned to take the newly produced item and reached into his saddle bag with his muzzle to retrieve three bits.
“Thank you.” The stallion that had conversed with the colt flicked his neck to launch the bits onto the counter. The store clerk nodded and reached out his hoof over the counter to give the other pony his purchased necklace.
“What’s that?” The colt craned his neck in confusion, catching the attention of both the stallion and the clerk. He’d seen the thing before, but he never got to know what it really was.
“This is an identification tag,” the customer said with a hint of pride. “The Guards usually wear them when they go out to fight so that they can find one another with ease.” The colt scratched his head, still a little confused. The stallion could see his puzzling face and proceeded to dig his muzzle into his bag to dig for something. Within a few seconds, he produced another three bits and tossed them onto the counter. “Here kid, why don’t you get one? My treat.”
The colt pondered for a moment, wondering whether or not he should accept the gift from the stranger. On one hoof, it’d be quite amazing to walk into class the following Monday with a tag that identified who he was, but on the other, it wasn’t something that he bought himself. ‘I hate it when I can’t pay for my own things.’ “Are... Are you sure? I mean, it’s your bits and not mine...”
“Nonsense!” the stallion exclaimed in a happy vigor, “It’s a gift that somepony like you can use.” The older pony nodded in the direction of the counter, where the clerk had produced a piece of paper and a pencil for him to write out what he wanted on his tag. “Go on. I promise you won’t have to pay me back.”
The colt took a few steps toward the counter with caution, his mind thinking that it might be a trap. When he reached it and put his front hooves on the countertop, he was greeted with a tiresome smile from the clerk. “You can put whatever you want kiddo. Just write it down on this.” A white foreleg pushed the paper and pen forth to allow him to put down what he wanted.
The colt rolled the pen down from the countertop into his fetlock and turned it to put the tip down on the parchment before beginning to write out his name. He began with his first name, Dusty, and stroked out the letters clearly for the clerk to read without a hitch. He had adept hooves for a colt his age, and he put them to good use when he wrote down things for both recreation and school. ‘Spearhead.’ He wrote out his last name underneath the first word, finishing it within a few moments and setting the pen down beside the paper. “That’s all you want? Just your name?” the clerk asked the colt.
“Yes Sir!” Dusty said proudly as he threw his foreleg up into a salute. The other stallion who had purchased his tag chuckled a bit before garnering the colt’s attention.
“Interesting choice, little one,” he said as he turned toward the doorway. The weather outside was still a downpour from the heavens. “I shall take my leave. Remember my words.”
“I will!” Dusty hopped a bit as he replied with joy. The stallion smiled and began to trot out into the rainy weather, disappearing in the direction opposite of the store’s window. The sound of clanking caught the colt’s attention as he looked to see the clerk stooping down behind the counter.
“For Celestia’s sake,” he swore under his breath as he tried to pick up the tag that he was about to put into the typing machine. Dusty peeped over the countertop to see him continue to struggle. “Hey kid, think you can use your fancy hooves to help me out?” the stallion said with a sigh.
“Sure thing!” Dusty said with a smile as he walked around behind the counter to help the poor clerk. He moved to where the dropped tag was and plotted out how he was going to get one flat object off another flat surface. ‘Maybe if I push back and up against while it’s pinned against my other hoof...’ The colt moved into action as he maneuvered himself to perform the action he had planned just seconds before. ‘Here we go.’ Dusty pinned his left hoof on one side of the tag and then used his other to begin pushing up against the other side of it. Within a couple of attempts, he plopped the tag in between both his hooves and sat on his haunches to show the stallion. “Good work! Now, do you want to help me by putting it in the machine?” The thought of helping create his own tag was a spark for Dusty, and he immediately shook his head. “Alrighty then.”
Dusty clamped his teeth onto the tag to allow him to move on his hooves instead of scooting on his haunches everywhere. The stallion guided the pony towards the window, where the pressing machine was located. From where he was, the colt could see that he would have to put the tag into the machine externally. ‘But how does he know what letters are going onto it?’ Dusty decided that he would ask the clerk for clarity. “So how does this whole thing work?”
“I’ll show you. Let’s get the tag on that tray first.” The stallion pointed at the flat piece of metal protruding from the machine on the left side, prompting Dusty to place the tag on top of it. He did so, and moved out of the way as the clerk moved his foreleg over to push the tray into the machine. On top of it, there was a round object with a glass that looked inside of the machine. “Now, I’m going to move a few of these levers to center the tag.”
Dusty watched as he peered down into the glass and began to reach at one lever on the right side of the machine. When he pushed up on it, there was no noise whatsoever. This surprised the anticipating colt. ‘Did he even move it?’ His thought didn’t last for long as the stallion moved another lever at the top of the machine, producing another audible silence. ‘How does he do it?’ Dusty looked up to see the clerk pointing at the lever in front of him. “Want to try? I just need you to move it an itzy-bit down on the tray.”
The stallion moved away from the machine to allow Dusty to step in front of it. What he saw in the glass was something to behold. Everywhere inside the machine, many cogs and toothed wheels covered the innards of the machine. He looked around, seeing the same arms that came crashing down earlier resting in their appropriate places. “Awesome...”
“Go on. Give it a try.” Dusty nodded and gripped the lever on the left side with his fetlock. He swallowed hard, hoping to not ruin a nearly-perfect alignment. His foreleg slowly brought the lever toward him, bringing the tag ever so slightly down on the insert without a hint of sound.
“How’d I do?” Dusty turned his head to see the stallion’s critiquing eyes. His golden pools surveyed the colt’s hoofwork before they hid themselves behind white eyelids.
“You did just fine,” the clerk said in content, “Now I’ll go ahead and stamp out your name. Feel free to look around while you wait, shouldn’t be too long anyways.” Dusty stepped back from the machine, allowing the stallion to take control of it once more. As he stepped away, he could hear the clinking of the keys as the other pony went to work. ‘How awesome! I got to help make my own tag!’
Dusty rounded about the counter of the surplus shop and looked out the doorway into the dreary downpour. ‘Hopefully it doesn’t flood again.’ The colt clopped about the small showroom, gawking at some of the items on display. Everything from old Guard saddle bags to capes graced the shelves of the shop.
“Whoa.”
Dusty stopped mid-step to look at a long polearm, with a shiny object attached to the tip of it, set precariously in a darker corner of the store. He looked up and down at the item, it’s name and use foreign to his young mind. “Excuse me Sir, but what’s this?”
The stallion manning the pressing machine looked up from behind the counter to see what Dusty questioned. The clinking arms came stop, making the colt turn his view from the object to the counter near the window. “That’s a surplus spear from the Canterlot Regulars Guards.”
“Regulars Guards?” Dusty asked with a puzzled look on his face. “I thought there were only the Royal Guards?” The stallion chuckled and turned away from the machine.
“Let me ask you a question kid.” Two white hooves planted themselves on the counter, raising the stallion above it to create a commanding pose that Dusty respected. “Who do you think really protects the Ponies?”
“The Royal Guards?” The colt looked up with some confusion gracing his questioning smirk. The clerk pony shook his head and dropped back down onto his hooves, moving back to the front of the machine.
“You’re funny. I’ll tell you right now that the Royals are all show and tell.” The sound of clicking buttons and clashing metal began to air through the store again as the stallion went back to work on Dusty’s tag. “You see, the Royal Guard is comprised of ponies who finished school and got to become high-ranking officers.”
“Officers? Like... Generals and Lieutenants?” The school had been teaching pony history of the Cyprus Conflict, which involved Equestria and a small, griffon-controlled island nation which was the namesake of the war. Dusty had learned what ranks some of war heroes held, a certain Captain Silverwing being the one that he remembered the most.
“Exactly,” the stallion said with a huff as he pressed a series of keys lining up in rows on the machine. “They do nothing compared to what the Regulars do.”
“So what do the Regulars Guards do?” Dusty cocked his head to one side, expecting the clerk to once again leave the machine and further enlighten him on the hidden military knowledge. To his dismay, however, the stallion still manned the typewriter as he continued clicking off his identification tag.
“You have no idea, do you?” The clerk slowed his typing, “They fight the fight, kid.”
“But-”
“But nothing! Take it from a Regular,” the stallion turned up from his machine to look Dusty dead in the eyes, “We’re the one’s who do the real work.”
The way that his look pierced Dusty’s soul was like a golden dagger through unprotected flesh. This quelled anymore of his advances, stomping out his desire to learn more.
With the silence falling through the store, the sound of monotonous clicking returned to being the main ambience. ‘Wow.’ The startled colt looked on at the stallion before turning his attention elsewhere. The still-pouring rain caught his eye as he glanced at the front of the store, the droplets glistening in the cones of light lining the alleyway. A rumble of thunder accented the downpour, making his mind slide away from the sound of the machine. “Can’t wait to walk home in that weather,” Dusty whispered to himself.
“Hey kid,” the clerk garnered his attention with a stomp of his hoof on the counter, “Your tag’s done.” In the white pony’s other fetlock, rectangular metal plate dangled on a ball-link chain. Dusty finally gathered the courage to smile again and trotted up to the counter, planting his front hooves up on the wood to meet the clerk eye-to-eye. Silently, the two ponies made the one-way exchange. Dusty could feel his muscles tense as the stallion watched him.
“Thank you.” Dusty nodded his head and slipped down onto the floor to sit down and begin putting in his new chain. The clerk retreated from the colt’s view as he went off to rummage around the shelves lining the back of the countered-off area. As he opened the space between the chains to have enough room for his head, he dropped it down and let it slide into it’s natural place, rubbing his nose lightly after the plate hit the tip of his muzzle on the way down. It came to it’s final resting place on the center of his chest, slightly dangling underneath him as he got up from his haunches.
“Hey,” the stallion called out from behind the counter, “Sorry for bursting out at you like that. Didn’t mean to go on a tangent, you know what I mean?”
“It’s alright Sir,” Dusty said sympathetically as he got up onto the counter once more. His hunter-green pools searched for the clerk, but found him nowhere in sight. He wanted to make sure that he didn’t leave without making proper amends. “Are you still here?”
“Yeah,” a call came from machine near the window, “You should probably run along now. It’s getting quite late for a pony your age.”
“I know,” Dusty said as he looked out at the raining dreamscape beyond the glass pane. “But really, thank you.”
“For what?” The clerk’s tone of voice changed to a slightly annoyed variant. Dusty stood strong, his assumption about the stallion being put to the test with his next sentence.
“For your service.” For the colt, he had known that it was always most respectful to thank someone who fought for his safety, especially if they have to come back to a society that doesn’t even speak of the assumed-lowly “Regulars Guard.” A moment of silence fell over the shop as neither of the ponies made a move. ‘Did I do something wrong?”
“Wow,” the clerk broke the veil of quietness, “That’s the first time anypony has thanked me for something other than running this store or making them an ID tag.” Another moment of silence secured his thoughts. “Thanks, kid.”
“Your welcome,” Dusty said with a reluctant smile, “But as you said before, I should be getting home now.”
“Yeah, and it looks like the rain is getting heavier. You don’t want to take a surplus cloak to stay dry?” The stallion pointed to the back of the shop, revealing a rack of gray and olive-drab cloaks meant to be worn underneath any type of honor.
“It’s a nice offer Sir,” Dusty turned toward the door, “But I’ll have to pass. It’s best to give it to somepony who’ll truly need it.”
“Alright kid,” the stallion smiled to himself, “Have a good night.”
“The same to you.” The colt nodded to himself and began to walk out of the shop, returning to the scape that he liked most. ‘Rain never ceases to amaze me.’ Once more, Dusty was back in the crowded alleyway that the ponies huddled under to keep from the rain. And once more, Dusty happily trotted in and out of the free-falling rain drops.
In the distance, the colt could hear the sound of a train whistle, most likely belonging to the steam engines that ran the routes along Equestria’s rail-lines carrying both ponies and freight. For him, he knew that the train station wasn’t all that far away from where he was currently, even if the city was big in itself. In his mind, he didn’t question what or who was getting on or off the train, but instead focused on his route home and what his uncle and aunt were going to say about his late arrival amidst the thundering sky. ‘Hopefully Aunty Strings isn’t too mad at me...’
Dusty discounted his uncle as being the mad pony at home, since he supported him in more positive ways then her aunt, Strict Strings. He never did like the way she ran the house, especially if he or his uncle brought over a guest who didn’t act “prim and proper” in her eyes. He could feel his annoyance levels rising the more he thought about his aunt denouncing him and his uncle for not being “sociable and tamed.” ‘Sometimes, there’s ponies out there that don’t have the means to be fancy...’ Dusty counted himself and his uncle as ponies of that group of Manehattenites, the ones who went about their normal day without dressing in a top hat and fancy clothing. His infatuation with the group of ponies at school was something to be reckoned with however.
Dusty was one of the few ponies who stood up for other ponies when bullies would pick on them because they talked differently or acted more laid back. He knew the way of the Manehattenites that cherished property and materialism, but he didn’t enforce it upon himself or other ponies. In his eyes, ponies had the choice to either act fancy, or just be themselves. For himself, he just chose to be one of the normal colts that went about his day doing what he needed to do to be his best. ‘Some fillies and colts just seem to not get that idea...’
Dusty’s mind came back to his current situation when a clap of thunder rang across the open street that he had just entered from the alleyway. He came to a halt and checked around his surroundings, hoping that he hadn’t strayed too far from his route. An old two-story apartment building and a small saloon denoted his location, in his mind, that he was about ten minutes away from his relative’s house. ‘Good.’ The colt started to think more about his uncle, who was a pastor at the local Tudor District Chapel, and what he was going to say about his unexpected mini-adventure at the surplus shop.
Midway in planning out his conversation, he was nearly knocked down by a sudden flock of ponies dressed in both grimy work-wear and fancy dresses and shirts. As he dodged to get clear of the group of hooves that nearly trampled him, he thought to himself how nopony could notice a dirt-golden maned pony amidst the grayscale of the city. ‘Geez, and I thought I was narrow-sighted...’ Dusty brushed off his forelegs of some muddy splotches made by the stampeding hooves running along the uncleaned sidewalk. ‘Guess that’s what I get for going out during the working hours.’
As the colt finished grooming himself free of the mud, he looked around to regain his bearings. Everything seemed in place, including the ponies that began to flood the streets, bent on getting home to their awaiting families. ‘Best I do the same’, he thought to himself as he began to walk once more down the sidewalk. In front of him, he could see quite a few ponies maneuvering around some type of obstruction underneath one of the many street lamps lining the streets.
As a curious colt at heart, Dusty changed his course and made way towards the congregation of shuffling mares and stallions. On his way to getting into the middle of the hole that had opened up in the crowd of homebound ponies, he nearly got knocked down by a low-hanging saddle bag. ‘Jimminy...’
Finally, after waddling his way through more hooves and forelegs, he found himself under the light of the specific street lamp he sought before. He looked on the ground beneath it, and found the last thing he’d expect to see at this time of night. ‘Well this’ll be a great story to tell Uncle Martyr about.’