The Rest Just Call Me...by overlord-flinxChapters...What do they call me?...Soy Sauce....Sandy....Sugarcube...What do they call me?Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day. It was also in this early day hour that a cart would roll into the streets of Ponyville, pushed by a lone pony. Before the streets filled, before the parents went off to work, before even the baker started working the first piece of dough. This pony tapped their cart along, head nudging against the backside of the labored cart, moving it further through the abandoned town streets. When the pony stopped, hooves went to the sides of the cart to try and steady it so it wouldn't drift too far away. They crinkled a bit as they shifted their head one way to examine their cart a little. The crinkling sound came from the paper bag adorned on the ponies head, leaving only the imagination to see what the face of this pony looked like. When they stopped looking at the cart, hooves planted back against the street with a light tap. No sound came as the pony softly cantered away from the cart and towards the porch of a nearby house. Two black holes served as the only expression on the flat of the paper bag face; those two holes now looking directly at the wooden door put before them. The pony lifted a single front hoof up and tapped it with some effort to the wooden frame. Knock-knock-knock. The pony stood in wait for someone to answer their knocking. To some surprise, the door did not take long to respond and be opened. The one to answer was a young filly with a fine pink-tone mane and a soft white coat. The filly looked at the guest with a bemused but polite set of eyes. "...You have a bag on your head," spoke Sweetie Belle. The pony with a bag on their head seemed to look down at Sweetie Belle, still standing on the porch of this fillies house and not making any move to try and go inside. Instead, the pony laughed a rather muffled sound from behind their paper covering and nodded at the filly. "Mhm." A soft answer, but it felt so kind to Sweetie Belle for some reason, "If you don't mind, can I ask you something? Something else I mean. Because, you know, I just asked you if I could ask you something. But that question was to clear up if I--" they stopped and put a hoof against their chest, breathing in, "On second thought. I'm going to ask you a question." The response the pony got was not exactly what they expected. Sweetie Belle had started to laugh; a small, child's laugh. In her laugh, she nodded at the bag wearing pony and tried to hold her laugh back just a little. "O-Okay. Ask away. But you'd better hurry, my big sister might get angry if I keep the door open too long." "Oh, mhm... Sisters are the worst..." the pony sighed, "So here's my question: Do you know what my name is?" Sweetie Belle's laughing stopped on a dime when she heard that question; even though she found the question itself funny for a different reason. It certainly wasn't a question you hear everyday; and you definitely didn't hear it from strangers. Much less strangers wearing a paper bag on their head. That's why, when Sweetie Belle answered, she said, "I... Don't know... I've never seen you in town before, sorry..." Sweetie Belle watched as the pony slumped their head down to the ground, surprised that the bag hadn't fallen off, "But... If I had to guess..." mentally Sweetie Belle took little pictures of the pony in front of her, ignoring the obvious feature of the bag, "...You look like a... Soy Sauce!" Soy Sauce... The pony lifted their head up, considering the name. Finally, they nodded and gave Sweetie Belle a pat on the top of her puffy hair. "Soy Sauce. Works for me. Sorry to give you any trouble..." hurriedly the pony darted back to the cart and picked up something from the inner contents to bring back to Sweetie Belle. "Here. A little token for your trouble. Maybe your mean-ol' sis will like it too!" Sweetie Belle took the item with some quizzical caution. However, the moment she looked at it closer, her face lit up like a Hearth's Warming fire. It was so, so beautiful! This gem must have been worth a small fortune of bits. It sparkled flawlessly with a prismatic shimmer being given off from the slowly rising sun's light shining through it. Sweetie Belle was lost on words, too lost that she hadn't noticed Soy Sauce go back to the cart and start pushing it. When she finally snapped out of it, she waved frantically to Soy Sauce, the gem tightly cradled to her chest. "Bye, Mr. Soy Sauce! Thank you sooo much!" she yelled after him. Mister? Am I a mister? 'Soy Sauce' pondered. Hmmm... Mr. Soy Sauce... I guess that'll do for now. Better then being called Bag-Head... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Soy Sauce kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag. ...Soy Sauce.Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... Perhaps this sounds familiar... Perhaps too much so. As if the pages of time repeat themselves. Some would find it surprising that, at times, the pages do. Chapters return, stories are retold, and characters return. But on this day, the day resembling the last, the story has moved on, the chapter has changed, but the character is the same. The pony named Soy Sauce, pushing his cart along through the empty avenues of Ponyville. The time he enjoyed the most, perhaps. Perhaps that's why he pushed his cart out so early each day. The sounds of the sweet chirping birds off to the distance. All but one bird it seemed... While the rest chirped far outside the town, one roamed freely nearby, singing its own tune. Soy Sauce searched around, trying to find this rogue bird when chance had fallen on him. Or, perhaps more precisely, his bag. A small crinkle of shifted weight went against the roof of his bag followed by the soft ruffle of feathers. It did not take long for him to deduce that this lone bird had taken a chance to sit on top of his bagged head. He didn't swat at it, instead he shifted his bagged head this way and that with a light chuckle. Whenever he tilted, the bird would chirp again and shuffle to the other side of the bag, trying to stay level. Soy Sauce was really enjoying himself as he played with this little bird; so much so, that he did not notice as a pegasus mare wondered up to him with her eyes fixed upon the bird. She looked on as the bird and Soy Sauce seemed to be having so much fun. Finally, when she saw Soy Sauce tilt his head straight, she took a chance to speak. "Excuse me...?" Fluttershy spoke up. Soy Sauce took Fluttershy's presence into account now and set his black eye sockets from his bag onto her. "I'm too-so sorry... I was just having so much fun with my new little friend here," he gestured a hoof up, pointing at the little bird tip-tapping around on the top of his bag. "Oh-my, it's no trouble," Fluttershy assured him, "In fact -why- I was just looking for the little darling. He flew off a few minutes ago when I was setting bird-feed out for him and the others. I was worried sick," the little bird hopped off from the top of Soy Sauce's bag and fluttered a short fly to land on Fluttershy's back, "Thank you so much for taking care of her... Ms...?" Ms...? So I'm a girl...? That would make sense... "Soy Sauce. My name is Soy Sauce," the pony answered. "Soy Sauce...? That doesn't seem right..." Fluttershy shook her head, eyeing the mare herself a little bit, "I really don't intend to be rude; but you don't look like a Soy Sauce..." I don't...? Hm. I guess I really don't, do I? "You look more like a... a Sandy." Sandy? Yeah. Yeah! That does sound right! "Heh. Really? Wow. Sandy? Well, sure, call me that if you want," Sandy laughed a little, patting a little bit against her bag. "Alright... I will," Fluttershy let a soft giggle out and looked to her bird on her back, "I should probably get this little guy home. Have a wonderful day, Sandy." When Fluttershy turned to leave, Sandy quickly plopped a huff against her flank and tapped her. "Wait! I have something I want to give you. You know, since I troubled you and took your bird," stopping Fluttershy from speaking against it, Sandy went to her cart and fished out an ivory bell that she quickly put to Fluttershy's back. Looking at it, Fluttershy was awestruck. She had only heard stories about these, but to now see one was astounding. "Oh my! I-Is this an authentic Timberwolf warding bell? They only make these in Trottania...!" Fluttershy couldn't believe this wonderful gift. A true marvel of enchanting magic, the bell was able to stop Timberwolves in their tracks at a simple ring of the bell. Farms in Trottania put the bells on strings for miles around their crops to keep the beasts away. When finally Fluttershy took herself away from looking at the bell, Sandy had already gone back to pushing her cart away. Fluttershy felt that this mare had other things to do at this hour, so she waved a meek farewell and went on her own way back home. She didn't know who this Sandy was, but she was glad to have met her and hoped they would cross again... Maybe then she would ask about that bag on her head. It honestly felt rude to think about... But a bag over your head did seem unusual. Well, there was always next time. Ms? Am I a Ms? 'Sandy' pondered. Hmmm... Ms. Sandy... I guess that'll do for now. Sounds a little more natural compared to Soy Sauce... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Sandy kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag. ...Sandy.Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... Rereading the books once read... Like a record skipping back and replaying the song once more. Only, when the record plays again, it sounds a bit different; doesn't it? No one can put their finger on it, nor really brings it up. But, the sound is different even in the lyrics are the same. The one singing is always the same no matter the changing tune. The young mare by the name of Sandy was listening to such a record as she pushed her cart down the roads of Ponyville. For whatever time, she couldn't recall since when, but she had walked the roads of Ponyville many times and had heard that song again and again. The record would click on upon the hour of morning's greater break and slip out from the window of a nearby home along the road. It provided for Sandy a reprieve from the sound of morning birds chirping their own songs for the stead of modern music. Sandy felt the music lift her spirits and lighten her hooves against the road. Before she knew it, she was tip-tapping her hooves at each step she took, rhythmically following the music she heard. Tip-tapping as she was, she accidently nudged her wagon a bit too far ahead and heard it bump against something just ahead of them. The sound of wood bracing against wood was soon followed by dull little thumps as something on the other side of the wagon fell to the ground. Sandy cringed when she heard those little thumps and peaked her head around the side of the wagon to check over the damage. It wasn't a surprise to her when she saw apples littering the ground in front of her wagon, as well as an orange mare trying throw each apple back into a display case. Sandy recognized the mare and felt herself dip a little more into a cringe. "Applejack, right?" Sandy gestured a hoof over to Applejack, only getting a flash of a greeting wave from her before she returned to fixing up the apples. This was entirely Sandy's fault for losing her focus and she had to make amends. Silently and swiftly she went into the top of her wagon and sorted through her odds and ends. To her recollection, she did in fact have something for just such an occasion as this. But where was it...? Time and again, Sandy would poke her head out from her wagon's clutter and turn her bagged head to see how Applejack was doing. For better or worse, Applejack was retaining a bit of trouble with getting her apples all back together and back to display. On one hand, Sandy was happy that she could yet help Applejack; but, on the other, she felt bad she did this. That alone fueled the bag wearing mare to rifle through her cart all the faster. It took some time, but when she felt her front leg nudge against the sensation of cold steel, she knew she had found it! Her hooves braced around the piece in her collection of junk and started to pull it out. Each little tug budged what she was looking for out from the clutter. When it finally slipped loose, she eyed the device just to make sure it was the right one. A sleek, silver coating and a strange "C"-looking device at the tip? This was surely it. Sandy put it to her back and walked over to Applejack as she continued to try and gather the apples. "Excuse me?" Applejack looked up at Sandy, starting to get annoyed that she didn't offer to help. However, that annoyed look was changed to curiosity when Sandy offered the device to her. "Here. You can bite down into the handle on the end of this thing and pick things up with the clamp on the top. This way, you don't have to bite into the apples." Applejack was skeptical at the idea. But, at this point, she was willing to try anything. She took the handle of the device into her mouth and bit down onto it. The "C" on the other end twitched at the same force her teeth were giving and clamped shut. When Applejack took her jaw back, the clamp opened as well. Applejack quickly put the device down and looked at Sandy with thankful eyes. "Now that there's a useful doohickey. Got a name?" "It's called an 'arm'. Or, 'Arm Grabber'. In Saddle Arabia it helps the ponies there grab the water lilies on top of cacti without getting pricked," Sandy answered. Applejack shook her head and put her hoof against the top of the mare's bagged head. "Wasn't askin' for the name of yer' toy. I was askin' yer name, Sugarcube." Sugarcube...? Yeah. Yeah! That does sound right! "Oh, just call me Sugarcube. Saves us both a lot of chit-chat. Am I right?" Applejack bent her hat down once with a raised hoof and smiled. "'Yer choice there, Sugar. Normally, I'd love ta' chit-chat. But..." Applejack gestured to the fallen apples that she still had to put back and clean. "Oh, yeah... Sorry about that." Sugarcube apologized. "Don't fret it. Ya' gave me this handy little device. So... I'd say we're even," Sugarcube snickered when Applejack winked at her before returning to picking up the fallen fruits with the aid of Sugarcube's offered gadget. This deed was done and Sugarcube bowed out, returning to her own wagon to push it right along. When Sugarcube started to push the wagon along, Applejack had a thought flash into her head. She never asked if the 'arm' was a gift, or if she was only borrowing it. By the time she went to ask, Sugarcube was well down the road and on her way. Maybe next time they meet Applejack would return it. At the same time, maybe she'd ask about that bag too... Seems a bit strange. But, Applejack was pretty used to strange, she hardly even noticed. So I guess I am a Ms? 'Sugarcube' pondered. Hmmm... Ms. Sugarcube... I guess that'll do for now. Sounds sort a bit more rustic compared to Sandy... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Sugarcube kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag. ...SugarcubePonyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... The pebbles along the street would at times look just like miniature replicas of the cobblestone roads that they outlined. That comes as no surprise though. A pebble is -after all- the chippings of a larger rock; like a cobblestone. As objects scrape against a larger rock's surface, pebbles are chipped out. That's really all pebbles and small rocks are, aren't they? Parts of a greater element that were broken off for one reason or another. Would that make the character in this story a chip off of another story? Or is this mare, Sugarcube by name, actually the greater element as she shambles down the streets of midday Ponyville? She had become more aware of what was around her after her last run in. Part of her was beet red under the shadowing mystery of her bag; or at least she thought she was red. What color did her cheeks tint when she was embarrassed? Did they tint such a way when she made that most clumsy mistake not a spell before? It clinked at her one tick at a time, much the same as the pebbles did against her hooves; which had now started to show those ticks and clinks with the way they had started to chip. Now the embarrassment compounded; if she wasn't already red from her mishap, she certainly was turning when she looked upon her weathered hooves. Who in their most sensible mind would buy from a pony with hooves not worth their salt? Unless that wasn't her trade. Was that why she pushed a cart around after all? A salespony would definitely push around a wagon of wares and things to wear. But would they have scuffed hooves? Applejack before had some such hooves as well, and they must have been peddling those scrumptious apples. As such, maybe some scuffing to the hooves is charming---rustic even. Abruptly such thoughts were put on hold as Sugarcube heard a commanding summons in the form of a throat clear just to her side. Sugarcube for her part shot to attention and cocked her bag adorned head to meet who it was that called for her, briefly abandoning her precious cargo of wares to sell with a crinkle-crinkle as her bag adjusted. While Sugarcube herself had a face that in most cases would be lost in a crowd, perhaps, she recalled the audacious in garb mare before her in an instant, even as Trixie herself welcomed Sugarcube with less than recognition. "Goodest of mornings to you, Trixie," Sugarcube waved one hoof in a grandiose arch, attempting to speak the language of 'the stage', or so much as she knew it. Trixie to her part was not in the least surprised somepony she had never seemingly met knew her name. After all, she was Trixie; and who does not know the Great and Powerful Trixie? Trixie fluffed her mane out just beneath her tall 'wizard's cap' to momentarily bask in the none existent praise she heard. "Oh, please, don't shower the Great and Powerful Trixie with your adoration. Simply seeing that my name has reached the masses is reward enough for me," Trixie boasted with a glimmering smile. "I've definitely heard of you!" Sugarcube nodded, parroting the sentiment, "You're a mage of the highest caliber, loved by everypony, have a great mane of hair," Looking at her, it seemed those rumors were true, just by the way the morning glow hit the silvered strands, "Very polite, too," Sugarcube went on, fluffing Trixie's ego like none before, "Oh! You were also a student of Celestia," her attention was momentarily drawn away from Trixie as she heard a stray pin dislodge itself from the clutter lingering in her cart. The moment the bagged visage drifted away, Trixie's own expression dropped and her lip curled as her amusement drained from her. "It... Seems you're mistaking me for someone else. My guess," the showpony sighed as her words fell to a crestfallen grumble, "You're thinking of Twilight Sparkle..." There's was that pesky pin! How did it get loose? Sugarcube packed her wares so tight, so she wouldn't lose anything on her way to market. "Twilight Sparkle! That's the one! Yes, thank you," pricking the misguided pin pack into its place, Sugarcube tipped the scruff her of bag in Trixie's direction, "Thank you for reminding me. It's a terrible thing to mix people up, right?" Trixie did not seem to offer much in the way of agreement, nor any response as she had sunk into herself in much the same way as a puppy denied their bone. "Oh dear... I'm very sorry! I didn't mean to..." Sugarcube's attention lingered back to the still wriggling pin threatening to dislodge itself when her slotted eyes spotted something. The bag faced mare offered up a polite 'one moment' hoof that Trixie barely paid heed to in her dejected state. The briefest of moments were treated with soft rumbles and rattles as Sugarcube languished through her assorted packs and trappings to get loose the bane of her pin's existence. The obstruction flittered free into the chipped hooves of Sugarcube in the form of an otherwise luxurious card if not for the bend creased through its center. A cursery turn over revealed something that brightened the bagged visage of Sugarcube… Maybe. What would her face brightened truly look like? There wasn't time for that, of course. "Trixie! Behold!" Another grandiose arch was made as Sugarcube offered the small black card to the defeated magician. It perhaps took all of Trixie's reserves to even lift her muzzle up to look at the card. At once, her eyes shimmered in surprise---even wonder---before she snatched it from Sugarcube's hooves. The card was clutched close to her chest as if it were the finest of gold before she returned a bewildered stare upon her bag faced hero. "Sir! Wherever did you find this?!" Sir? Oh, I guess I could be a guy. Sugarcube considered the idea. Yes... Yes... Yes! Of course! That makes perfect sense, obviously. As he congratulated himself, Sugarcube looked at the matchbook card he had moments ago given to Trixie; the magician's own name embroidered on its surface in a gilded font. While the truth of the matter was far less palatial... The moment called for flare. "Show barkers in Rio de Griphaneiro sing the praises of the-the-the magnanimous Trixie!" Does magnanimous mean what he thinks it means? "At their own expense, they give those out as a-uhhhhhh-promise! Promise that your talents are so good... They'd do free advertisement." Perhaps to most any mare or stallion, such a flagrant disregard for the fact of the matter would be caught dead on entry for what it was; but Trixie's beaming smile and shimmering eyes speak another truth: that the lie was exactly what she needed. "Sir Wagon Runner, I must thank you. You have brought the Great and Powerful Trixie most amazing news! To think, I have fans far flung across this world. Though, Trixie was already pretty sure that was the case, hearing it and much more seeing it is most wonderful!" Trixie seized Sugarcube's hoof and shook it to its core, nearly knocking the poor stallion of his hinds. Wagon Runner... I do have a wagon. I don't think I even have a cube of sugar... That sounds about right. He pondered on the revelation as he watched Trixie bound down the cobblestone way as happy as one could be. I guess I'm Wagon Runner. That sounds far more natural than Sugarcube… Unless that is my real name... Hm. The very notion rattled around in Wagon Runner's head as pebbles rattled and raked at his tired hooves. The road ahead was vast and full of questions. But perhaps most pressing: does Trixie stop everypony to see if they knew her? Now that was a mystery even Wagon Runner could nary ponder enough.
...What do they call me?Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day. It was also in this early day hour that a cart would roll into the streets of Ponyville, pushed by a lone pony. Before the streets filled, before the parents went off to work, before even the baker started working the first piece of dough. This pony tapped their cart along, head nudging against the backside of the labored cart, moving it further through the abandoned town streets. When the pony stopped, hooves went to the sides of the cart to try and steady it so it wouldn't drift too far away. They crinkled a bit as they shifted their head one way to examine their cart a little. The crinkling sound came from the paper bag adorned on the ponies head, leaving only the imagination to see what the face of this pony looked like. When they stopped looking at the cart, hooves planted back against the street with a light tap. No sound came as the pony softly cantered away from the cart and towards the porch of a nearby house. Two black holes served as the only expression on the flat of the paper bag face; those two holes now looking directly at the wooden door put before them. The pony lifted a single front hoof up and tapped it with some effort to the wooden frame. Knock-knock-knock. The pony stood in wait for someone to answer their knocking. To some surprise, the door did not take long to respond and be opened. The one to answer was a young filly with a fine pink-tone mane and a soft white coat. The filly looked at the guest with a bemused but polite set of eyes. "...You have a bag on your head," spoke Sweetie Belle. The pony with a bag on their head seemed to look down at Sweetie Belle, still standing on the porch of this fillies house and not making any move to try and go inside. Instead, the pony laughed a rather muffled sound from behind their paper covering and nodded at the filly. "Mhm." A soft answer, but it felt so kind to Sweetie Belle for some reason, "If you don't mind, can I ask you something? Something else I mean. Because, you know, I just asked you if I could ask you something. But that question was to clear up if I--" they stopped and put a hoof against their chest, breathing in, "On second thought. I'm going to ask you a question." The response the pony got was not exactly what they expected. Sweetie Belle had started to laugh; a small, child's laugh. In her laugh, she nodded at the bag wearing pony and tried to hold her laugh back just a little. "O-Okay. Ask away. But you'd better hurry, my big sister might get angry if I keep the door open too long." "Oh, mhm... Sisters are the worst..." the pony sighed, "So here's my question: Do you know what my name is?" Sweetie Belle's laughing stopped on a dime when she heard that question; even though she found the question itself funny for a different reason. It certainly wasn't a question you hear everyday; and you definitely didn't hear it from strangers. Much less strangers wearing a paper bag on their head. That's why, when Sweetie Belle answered, she said, "I... Don't know... I've never seen you in town before, sorry..." Sweetie Belle watched as the pony slumped their head down to the ground, surprised that the bag hadn't fallen off, "But... If I had to guess..." mentally Sweetie Belle took little pictures of the pony in front of her, ignoring the obvious feature of the bag, "...You look like a... Soy Sauce!" Soy Sauce... The pony lifted their head up, considering the name. Finally, they nodded and gave Sweetie Belle a pat on the top of her puffy hair. "Soy Sauce. Works for me. Sorry to give you any trouble..." hurriedly the pony darted back to the cart and picked up something from the inner contents to bring back to Sweetie Belle. "Here. A little token for your trouble. Maybe your mean-ol' sis will like it too!" Sweetie Belle took the item with some quizzical caution. However, the moment she looked at it closer, her face lit up like a Hearth's Warming fire. It was so, so beautiful! This gem must have been worth a small fortune of bits. It sparkled flawlessly with a prismatic shimmer being given off from the slowly rising sun's light shining through it. Sweetie Belle was lost on words, too lost that she hadn't noticed Soy Sauce go back to the cart and start pushing it. When she finally snapped out of it, she waved frantically to Soy Sauce, the gem tightly cradled to her chest. "Bye, Mr. Soy Sauce! Thank you sooo much!" she yelled after him. Mister? Am I a mister? 'Soy Sauce' pondered. Hmmm... Mr. Soy Sauce... I guess that'll do for now. Better then being called Bag-Head... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Soy Sauce kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag.
...Soy Sauce.Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... Perhaps this sounds familiar... Perhaps too much so. As if the pages of time repeat themselves. Some would find it surprising that, at times, the pages do. Chapters return, stories are retold, and characters return. But on this day, the day resembling the last, the story has moved on, the chapter has changed, but the character is the same. The pony named Soy Sauce, pushing his cart along through the empty avenues of Ponyville. The time he enjoyed the most, perhaps. Perhaps that's why he pushed his cart out so early each day. The sounds of the sweet chirping birds off to the distance. All but one bird it seemed... While the rest chirped far outside the town, one roamed freely nearby, singing its own tune. Soy Sauce searched around, trying to find this rogue bird when chance had fallen on him. Or, perhaps more precisely, his bag. A small crinkle of shifted weight went against the roof of his bag followed by the soft ruffle of feathers. It did not take long for him to deduce that this lone bird had taken a chance to sit on top of his bagged head. He didn't swat at it, instead he shifted his bagged head this way and that with a light chuckle. Whenever he tilted, the bird would chirp again and shuffle to the other side of the bag, trying to stay level. Soy Sauce was really enjoying himself as he played with this little bird; so much so, that he did not notice as a pegasus mare wondered up to him with her eyes fixed upon the bird. She looked on as the bird and Soy Sauce seemed to be having so much fun. Finally, when she saw Soy Sauce tilt his head straight, she took a chance to speak. "Excuse me...?" Fluttershy spoke up. Soy Sauce took Fluttershy's presence into account now and set his black eye sockets from his bag onto her. "I'm too-so sorry... I was just having so much fun with my new little friend here," he gestured a hoof up, pointing at the little bird tip-tapping around on the top of his bag. "Oh-my, it's no trouble," Fluttershy assured him, "In fact -why- I was just looking for the little darling. He flew off a few minutes ago when I was setting bird-feed out for him and the others. I was worried sick," the little bird hopped off from the top of Soy Sauce's bag and fluttered a short fly to land on Fluttershy's back, "Thank you so much for taking care of her... Ms...?" Ms...? So I'm a girl...? That would make sense... "Soy Sauce. My name is Soy Sauce," the pony answered. "Soy Sauce...? That doesn't seem right..." Fluttershy shook her head, eyeing the mare herself a little bit, "I really don't intend to be rude; but you don't look like a Soy Sauce..." I don't...? Hm. I guess I really don't, do I? "You look more like a... a Sandy." Sandy? Yeah. Yeah! That does sound right! "Heh. Really? Wow. Sandy? Well, sure, call me that if you want," Sandy laughed a little, patting a little bit against her bag. "Alright... I will," Fluttershy let a soft giggle out and looked to her bird on her back, "I should probably get this little guy home. Have a wonderful day, Sandy." When Fluttershy turned to leave, Sandy quickly plopped a huff against her flank and tapped her. "Wait! I have something I want to give you. You know, since I troubled you and took your bird," stopping Fluttershy from speaking against it, Sandy went to her cart and fished out an ivory bell that she quickly put to Fluttershy's back. Looking at it, Fluttershy was awestruck. She had only heard stories about these, but to now see one was astounding. "Oh my! I-Is this an authentic Timberwolf warding bell? They only make these in Trottania...!" Fluttershy couldn't believe this wonderful gift. A true marvel of enchanting magic, the bell was able to stop Timberwolves in their tracks at a simple ring of the bell. Farms in Trottania put the bells on strings for miles around their crops to keep the beasts away. When finally Fluttershy took herself away from looking at the bell, Sandy had already gone back to pushing her cart away. Fluttershy felt that this mare had other things to do at this hour, so she waved a meek farewell and went on her own way back home. She didn't know who this Sandy was, but she was glad to have met her and hoped they would cross again... Maybe then she would ask about that bag on her head. It honestly felt rude to think about... But a bag over your head did seem unusual. Well, there was always next time. Ms? Am I a Ms? 'Sandy' pondered. Hmmm... Ms. Sandy... I guess that'll do for now. Sounds a little more natural compared to Soy Sauce... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Sandy kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag.
...Sandy.Ponyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... Rereading the books once read... Like a record skipping back and replaying the song once more. Only, when the record plays again, it sounds a bit different; doesn't it? No one can put their finger on it, nor really brings it up. But, the sound is different even in the lyrics are the same. The one singing is always the same no matter the changing tune. The young mare by the name of Sandy was listening to such a record as she pushed her cart down the roads of Ponyville. For whatever time, she couldn't recall since when, but she had walked the roads of Ponyville many times and had heard that song again and again. The record would click on upon the hour of morning's greater break and slip out from the window of a nearby home along the road. It provided for Sandy a reprieve from the sound of morning birds chirping their own songs for the stead of modern music. Sandy felt the music lift her spirits and lighten her hooves against the road. Before she knew it, she was tip-tapping her hooves at each step she took, rhythmically following the music she heard. Tip-tapping as she was, she accidently nudged her wagon a bit too far ahead and heard it bump against something just ahead of them. The sound of wood bracing against wood was soon followed by dull little thumps as something on the other side of the wagon fell to the ground. Sandy cringed when she heard those little thumps and peaked her head around the side of the wagon to check over the damage. It wasn't a surprise to her when she saw apples littering the ground in front of her wagon, as well as an orange mare trying throw each apple back into a display case. Sandy recognized the mare and felt herself dip a little more into a cringe. "Applejack, right?" Sandy gestured a hoof over to Applejack, only getting a flash of a greeting wave from her before she returned to fixing up the apples. This was entirely Sandy's fault for losing her focus and she had to make amends. Silently and swiftly she went into the top of her wagon and sorted through her odds and ends. To her recollection, she did in fact have something for just such an occasion as this. But where was it...? Time and again, Sandy would poke her head out from her wagon's clutter and turn her bagged head to see how Applejack was doing. For better or worse, Applejack was retaining a bit of trouble with getting her apples all back together and back to display. On one hand, Sandy was happy that she could yet help Applejack; but, on the other, she felt bad she did this. That alone fueled the bag wearing mare to rifle through her cart all the faster. It took some time, but when she felt her front leg nudge against the sensation of cold steel, she knew she had found it! Her hooves braced around the piece in her collection of junk and started to pull it out. Each little tug budged what she was looking for out from the clutter. When it finally slipped loose, she eyed the device just to make sure it was the right one. A sleek, silver coating and a strange "C"-looking device at the tip? This was surely it. Sandy put it to her back and walked over to Applejack as she continued to try and gather the apples. "Excuse me?" Applejack looked up at Sandy, starting to get annoyed that she didn't offer to help. However, that annoyed look was changed to curiosity when Sandy offered the device to her. "Here. You can bite down into the handle on the end of this thing and pick things up with the clamp on the top. This way, you don't have to bite into the apples." Applejack was skeptical at the idea. But, at this point, she was willing to try anything. She took the handle of the device into her mouth and bit down onto it. The "C" on the other end twitched at the same force her teeth were giving and clamped shut. When Applejack took her jaw back, the clamp opened as well. Applejack quickly put the device down and looked at Sandy with thankful eyes. "Now that there's a useful doohickey. Got a name?" "It's called an 'arm'. Or, 'Arm Grabber'. In Saddle Arabia it helps the ponies there grab the water lilies on top of cacti without getting pricked," Sandy answered. Applejack shook her head and put her hoof against the top of the mare's bagged head. "Wasn't askin' for the name of yer' toy. I was askin' yer name, Sugarcube." Sugarcube...? Yeah. Yeah! That does sound right! "Oh, just call me Sugarcube. Saves us both a lot of chit-chat. Am I right?" Applejack bent her hat down once with a raised hoof and smiled. "'Yer choice there, Sugar. Normally, I'd love ta' chit-chat. But..." Applejack gestured to the fallen apples that she still had to put back and clean. "Oh, yeah... Sorry about that." Sugarcube apologized. "Don't fret it. Ya' gave me this handy little device. So... I'd say we're even," Sugarcube snickered when Applejack winked at her before returning to picking up the fallen fruits with the aid of Sugarcube's offered gadget. This deed was done and Sugarcube bowed out, returning to her own wagon to push it right along. When Sugarcube started to push the wagon along, Applejack had a thought flash into her head. She never asked if the 'arm' was a gift, or if she was only borrowing it. By the time she went to ask, Sugarcube was well down the road and on her way. Maybe next time they meet Applejack would return it. At the same time, maybe she'd ask about that bag too... Seems a bit strange. But, Applejack was pretty used to strange, she hardly even noticed. So I guess I am a Ms? 'Sugarcube' pondered. Hmmm... Ms. Sugarcube... I guess that'll do for now. Sounds sort a bit more rustic compared to Sandy... Unless that IS my name. Huh... Back to pushing the cart, Sugarcube kept pondering what to do next, and why he or she was pushing this cart. Maybe he or she would never know; but was it really that bad a life in the end? Every day was a new birthday. Every day was a new name and a new story. And, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be the time I find who's under the bag.
...SugarcubePonyville in the wee hours before the crack of dawn. A peaceful time where the amber glow of day's first yawn opens across this most majestic land. An hour of apple pickers sneaking in those precious few before-work hours, little ponies fighting to stay in bed, and birds preening their wings and chirping for a new day... The pebbles along the street would at times look just like miniature replicas of the cobblestone roads that they outlined. That comes as no surprise though. A pebble is -after all- the chippings of a larger rock; like a cobblestone. As objects scrape against a larger rock's surface, pebbles are chipped out. That's really all pebbles and small rocks are, aren't they? Parts of a greater element that were broken off for one reason or another. Would that make the character in this story a chip off of another story? Or is this mare, Sugarcube by name, actually the greater element as she shambles down the streets of midday Ponyville? She had become more aware of what was around her after her last run in. Part of her was beet red under the shadowing mystery of her bag; or at least she thought she was red. What color did her cheeks tint when she was embarrassed? Did they tint such a way when she made that most clumsy mistake not a spell before? It clinked at her one tick at a time, much the same as the pebbles did against her hooves; which had now started to show those ticks and clinks with the way they had started to chip. Now the embarrassment compounded; if she wasn't already red from her mishap, she certainly was turning when she looked upon her weathered hooves. Who in their most sensible mind would buy from a pony with hooves not worth their salt? Unless that wasn't her trade. Was that why she pushed a cart around after all? A salespony would definitely push around a wagon of wares and things to wear. But would they have scuffed hooves? Applejack before had some such hooves as well, and they must have been peddling those scrumptious apples. As such, maybe some scuffing to the hooves is charming---rustic even. Abruptly such thoughts were put on hold as Sugarcube heard a commanding summons in the form of a throat clear just to her side. Sugarcube for her part shot to attention and cocked her bag adorned head to meet who it was that called for her, briefly abandoning her precious cargo of wares to sell with a crinkle-crinkle as her bag adjusted. While Sugarcube herself had a face that in most cases would be lost in a crowd, perhaps, she recalled the audacious in garb mare before her in an instant, even as Trixie herself welcomed Sugarcube with less than recognition. "Goodest of mornings to you, Trixie," Sugarcube waved one hoof in a grandiose arch, attempting to speak the language of 'the stage', or so much as she knew it. Trixie to her part was not in the least surprised somepony she had never seemingly met knew her name. After all, she was Trixie; and who does not know the Great and Powerful Trixie? Trixie fluffed her mane out just beneath her tall 'wizard's cap' to momentarily bask in the none existent praise she heard. "Oh, please, don't shower the Great and Powerful Trixie with your adoration. Simply seeing that my name has reached the masses is reward enough for me," Trixie boasted with a glimmering smile. "I've definitely heard of you!" Sugarcube nodded, parroting the sentiment, "You're a mage of the highest caliber, loved by everypony, have a great mane of hair," Looking at her, it seemed those rumors were true, just by the way the morning glow hit the silvered strands, "Very polite, too," Sugarcube went on, fluffing Trixie's ego like none before, "Oh! You were also a student of Celestia," her attention was momentarily drawn away from Trixie as she heard a stray pin dislodge itself from the clutter lingering in her cart. The moment the bagged visage drifted away, Trixie's own expression dropped and her lip curled as her amusement drained from her. "It... Seems you're mistaking me for someone else. My guess," the showpony sighed as her words fell to a crestfallen grumble, "You're thinking of Twilight Sparkle..." There's was that pesky pin! How did it get loose? Sugarcube packed her wares so tight, so she wouldn't lose anything on her way to market. "Twilight Sparkle! That's the one! Yes, thank you," pricking the misguided pin pack into its place, Sugarcube tipped the scruff her of bag in Trixie's direction, "Thank you for reminding me. It's a terrible thing to mix people up, right?" Trixie did not seem to offer much in the way of agreement, nor any response as she had sunk into herself in much the same way as a puppy denied their bone. "Oh dear... I'm very sorry! I didn't mean to..." Sugarcube's attention lingered back to the still wriggling pin threatening to dislodge itself when her slotted eyes spotted something. The bag faced mare offered up a polite 'one moment' hoof that Trixie barely paid heed to in her dejected state. The briefest of moments were treated with soft rumbles and rattles as Sugarcube languished through her assorted packs and trappings to get loose the bane of her pin's existence. The obstruction flittered free into the chipped hooves of Sugarcube in the form of an otherwise luxurious card if not for the bend creased through its center. A cursery turn over revealed something that brightened the bagged visage of Sugarcube… Maybe. What would her face brightened truly look like? There wasn't time for that, of course. "Trixie! Behold!" Another grandiose arch was made as Sugarcube offered the small black card to the defeated magician. It perhaps took all of Trixie's reserves to even lift her muzzle up to look at the card. At once, her eyes shimmered in surprise---even wonder---before she snatched it from Sugarcube's hooves. The card was clutched close to her chest as if it were the finest of gold before she returned a bewildered stare upon her bag faced hero. "Sir! Wherever did you find this?!" Sir? Oh, I guess I could be a guy. Sugarcube considered the idea. Yes... Yes... Yes! Of course! That makes perfect sense, obviously. As he congratulated himself, Sugarcube looked at the matchbook card he had moments ago given to Trixie; the magician's own name embroidered on its surface in a gilded font. While the truth of the matter was far less palatial... The moment called for flare. "Show barkers in Rio de Griphaneiro sing the praises of the-the-the magnanimous Trixie!" Does magnanimous mean what he thinks it means? "At their own expense, they give those out as a-uhhhhhh-promise! Promise that your talents are so good... They'd do free advertisement." Perhaps to most any mare or stallion, such a flagrant disregard for the fact of the matter would be caught dead on entry for what it was; but Trixie's beaming smile and shimmering eyes speak another truth: that the lie was exactly what she needed. "Sir Wagon Runner, I must thank you. You have brought the Great and Powerful Trixie most amazing news! To think, I have fans far flung across this world. Though, Trixie was already pretty sure that was the case, hearing it and much more seeing it is most wonderful!" Trixie seized Sugarcube's hoof and shook it to its core, nearly knocking the poor stallion of his hinds. Wagon Runner... I do have a wagon. I don't think I even have a cube of sugar... That sounds about right. He pondered on the revelation as he watched Trixie bound down the cobblestone way as happy as one could be. I guess I'm Wagon Runner. That sounds far more natural than Sugarcube… Unless that is my real name... Hm. The very notion rattled around in Wagon Runner's head as pebbles rattled and raked at his tired hooves. The road ahead was vast and full of questions. But perhaps most pressing: does Trixie stop everypony to see if they knew her? Now that was a mystery even Wagon Runner could nary ponder enough.
