Chapters The Journal of Candy Mane
25 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
It’s those Crusaders. They’re getting to me again with their cutie mark story collecting. Dashing around town, they managed to talk to Colton and Could Kicker, Ramona T. and Carrot Top. (Thank Celestia they didn’t ask Berry Punch.) It hurt though, that they couldn’t ask me. Just because it can’t be seen on my flank doesn’t mean I don’t have a special talent. Oh, who am I kidding. That’s why I style my mane the way I do. I want ponies to think I’m pretty. I want them to see a lovely peach-colored mare with bright pink eyes and a classily curled mane. What I don’t want them to stare at is my infuriatingly blank flank. I spend all this time trying to be presentable, but they look at me like I’m a not even a pony. Part of me wants to gallop off to Canterlot where it’s normal to wear clothes all the time, and where it’s a thing of decency that a mare covers her mark. Alas, the only earth ponies in Canterlot are servants or musicians.
Maybe I could go to Manehattan. But then I’d have to spend time with father’s friends. Gah. Just because I’m a Mane doesn’t mean that I’m a true socialite at heart. My siblings live there. I’d have places to stay, even though they’ve ignored me all these years. Once I was reached an age that Equus World Records contacted me, asking if I was ok with being listed as “World’s Oldest Blank Flank,” they’ve ignored me. I mean, send me to the moon, the prior record-holder wrote me a letter of pity.
Maybe my special talent is just being talentless. I hate to think though, of how broken that makes me. Even the “talentless” have hourglasses. They’re supposed to mean something like all things in time, but then why don’t I have that? Is it because I know I wouldn’t be happy as a 9-to-5-er? I just feel so filthy and wretched and useless.
I need to sleep. Maybe I’ll write to Cotton Mane tomorrow and see if she’s got room for me in her Manehattan apartment. Well, I guess it’s Cotton Puff now. I’ll be sure to make it a priority.
23 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Well, the letter was sent yesterday. I only hope that poor mailmare of ours can have it there by the 20th. I’m including the copy I had made.
Dear Cotton,
It’s been far too long since we’ve spoken, dear sister. I hate to be the one to reopen a friendship with a need, but I wish to ask of you a small favor. I’m considering moving back to Manehattan, and if you have room, I would love to spend time with you as I search for an abode of my own. Goodness (and father) knows that you can never really trust an advertisement, and must certainly personally consider a home before purchase. I’ve been busy peering through listings, and there are a few places that have caught my fancy, so I would be very little burden during the day. If, of course, the notice is too short, I would gladly take a room at a hotel of the city.
Now that business is out of the way, how is your lovely family? I hear little Cream Puff has taken after your dashing husband, and isn’t so little anymore! I’ve seen him in the papers. A clever business stallion and a true gentlecolt. And your darling filly Whimsy is just a shining star at Celestia’s school. I’m so glad that your girl takes after mother. She would be proud that her unicorn heritage didn’t fade when she wed father.
As you are quite likely aware (I know how much you love her style! You’re rarely photo’d in anything else!), Rarity’s newest line is coming out in just under a month’s time. What you may not know is that she’s opening her line early in Ponyville by a margin of three weeks! If you would so like, I could capture a few of the designs for you, and bring you decidedly ahead of the fashion curve.
Post goes out in just twenty minutes, so I’m afraid I’ll have to stop here. I can’t wait to hear from you again, dear Cotton!
With love, Candy.
17 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Finally got a reply from Cotton. At least it gave me time to actually look through listings. I had already talked out my decision to move with Rose Luck, and she was very understanding. It’s good to know she had time to find new help around the shop. Beyond the typical mundane experience of moving, it has been simultaneously very easy and difficult to leave Ponyville.
On the one hoof, it’s a quiet town, and admittedly, I’ve been missing the hustle and bustle of Manehattan, and the society of Canterlot, whether I’ll admit that to father or not. On the second hoof, Pinkie does her best to make it as un-quiet as possible, and I’m not sure if I love or despise that about her. (I’m leaning towards “greatly enjoy.”) However, on the third hoof, because Twilight Sparkle is our librarian, we have one of the best public collections in Equestria, and one of the only libraries I’ve found that has anything even remotely covering delayed cutie marks. (Largely present due to those dratted CMC.) On the final hoof, I had though a smaller community would be more accepting, and on the surface, they are; however once one has been here a few years, it’s revealed that a small town is just as prone to hurtful gossip as the city. Surprisingly, Rarity is the only mare in this town who hasn’t made some comment about my lack of a mark. Oh, I will miss that mare.
And speaking of, I’d best dash over to the boutique before she closes up. I’ve got to snag those dresses Cotton wanted.
The Journal of Candy Mane
12 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Cotton has welcomed me with open arms, which was a surprise and a pleasure. Her letter had been brief, and seemed rather blunt, but in person she’s just as lovely as always. She confided that she had been in a rush to respond to my letter because she wanted it to go out the same day she received mine; little Whimsy will be coming home for Spring Break, and she wanted me settled in before then. I’m absolutely elated that Cotton wants me to get to know her family.
It’s been difficult to hide by the wayside all these years. Father and Mother used to be so proud of their Dandy, Cotton and Candy. Dandy was a few years older, and Father had already begun to teach him all about being a high society stallion, and what it meant to be a Mane of Manehattan. Mother, disappointed that all her foals were earth ponies, but a proud mother nonetheless, often took Cotton and I to Canterlot, and we were proud to be her lovely twins. Mother taught us all about social maneuvering, and we were masters of the craft long before Cotton earned her cutie mark. In fact, she earned her mark (a sprig of cotton) during one such maneuver. Something about fabrics and a production deal with a young designer. It was a gamble that paid off, and Cotton was ecstatic. A year later, and I made my last public appearance as a Mane heir. Two years after Cotton’s cuteceañera I was contacted by Equus, and since then my family and I slowly but surely drifted apart. It’s good to see that distance melt away.
Tomorrow we’ll be going out on the town, and we’ll spend our time window-shopping. Cotton can’t wait to go out in as-yet-unreleased Rarity originals. What she doesn’t yet know is that I had a special dress commissioned. A unique, one-of-a-kind Rarity gown, perfect for the Gala, or any other high-society event. I hope she’s pleased with it.
10 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Cream Puff came home just this evening. Cotton told me that he doesn’t often get to see Whimsy, with her off in Canterlot for school. He greeted me politely enough, though he looked like the travel had been hard on him, and frankly, he may not know who I am. The train ride from Stalliongrad is a long one. He had been there on business, and from what I’ve been reading in the papers and hearing from Cotton, it’s been quite the profitable venture. I’ll be sure to hear more about it in the morning and over the next few days.
I still haven’t presented Cotton with my commission from Rarity. I’m hoping to give it to her on the first day of spring, for Manehattan always holds one of the largest balls in Equestria for the holiday; the Dawn of Spring Masquerade is dwarfed only by Canterlot’s Springtime Ball. Oh, how I have missed the Masquerade! Dramatic masks and darling gowns, dashing gents on display in well-fitted suits and tuxedos, maneuvering and manipulating at its finest, all abound! Even dyed manes and coats come into fashion, if only for a night. While I still lived in Manehattan, after the Equus scandal had hushed a bit, the ball was my safe haven. Gowns that covered cutie marks and identities acceptably unknown. The Masquerade was impossible to enter if one was anything less than a true member of high society. I had personally rubbed hooves with Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis, though at separate balls, and long before they met each other. He always was quite ambitious for a stallion. Much like Cotton’s late husband, Luna rest his soul.
Cloud Puff had truly been an admirable stallion. A progressive ahead of his time, he was both an excellent social opponent and an outspoken leader of the masculist movement. As the earth pony son of a pegasus socialite, he had his work cut out for him. I do miss Cloud. He and Cotton stayed in touch with me the longest.
I really should be off to sleep. I’ve a long day tomorrow if I hope to get to know Cream. I haven’t seen him since he was but a colt, no more than a year old.
The Journal of Candy Mane
8 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Whimsy will be here tomorrow morning! She’s old enough to take the train alone this year, so Cotton, Cream, and I will be meeting her at the station. Spring break for CSGU (and most other schools) consists of the weeks before and after Winter Wrap Up, so that fillies and colts can help with the national event while taking some relaxing time away from their studies. After wrapping up winter in Ponyville for so many years, it will be nice to see the use of magic to clear the snow. In Manehattan, Wrap Up lasts no more than three hours in the morning, and after that the day is dedicated to the Masquerade that commences that night. And speaking of the Masquerade, while enjoying a glass of after-dinner wine with Cotton and Cream, I finally did present Cotton with the gown. She was absolutely delighted! The gown echoes her icy blue mane to a T, and the darker blue edging both matched her eyes and complimented her cream-colored coat. She has insisted on finding a mask to match, and immediately decided she would find a gown and gift it to me for the Masquerade. I am exceedingly flattered.
It was right after that offer that Cream spoke up. He said that some of his contacts from Stalliongrad were planning on attending the Masquerade, and that, if he were not being too bold, one of the more eligible stallions was still in need of a mare to escort. Graciously, I accepted, and the conversation turned to business. Cream’s recent trip to that city of industry was very profitable for all parties involved. He negotiated with diamond dogs and the dragon representative over the current prices of gems, and came out with not only a fabulous deal for all of Equestria, but also an especially nice cut for himself and his gem-dependent enterprises.
He really is a remarkable young stallion. Furthering his father’s work in the masculist movement, he’s helped bring about greater awareness of the glass ceiling, and has personally been one of the few stallions to rise beyond it. He and Fancy Pants are truly the only stallions of their station (ignoring that fool Blueblood, whose only claim is royal heritage). I’ve heard he will be escorting some fine mare from Trottingham, and that she is both quite the beauty and a true mare of high society. He hasn’t disclosed this fine mare’s name, but he speaks of her often enough, not to mention the far away look in his eye when he talks of her successful endeavors. From what I can gather, she is an artist of some sort, and has been featured nationally! He says that soon she will be attempting to expand beyond Equestria’s borders with her work.
Well, the train tomorrow is an early one, and my evening has ended later than expected. I’m so excited to meet Whimsy!
7 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
My goodness, that young Whimsy is sharp as a whip! She speaks as if she’s already an adult and her composure is exquisite. And she is a lovely young beauty; much like Mother, her coat is a near-white shade of grey. She also has her father’s grey-blue color, though in her mane rather than her coat. It’s odd. Where Cotton and I are clearly related, one would be surprised to learn that Whimsy and Cream are siblings. With his tall, muscled build, dark brown coat, and cream-colored mane, Cream looks nothing like his sister. They make up for it, though, with wonderful sibling affection. Cream simply adores his little sister. I had thought he was a stoic stallion, with little emotional expression, but when Whimsy stepped onto the platform, he burst into a grin rivaled only by Pinkie Pie. He cantered over and swept the young unicorn into hug, and she was giggling all the while. Ignoring her insistence that she could carry the bags just fine on her own, he tossed them onto his back and we were off.
We sat down for tea that afternoon, after Whimsy had nearly worn herself out from talking all about CSGU, from her magic and Griffic Literature courses to the talk of the halls to the friends she had met and maintained. I had remained rather quiet, but Cotton and Cream almost never let up on their questions. Teatime, however, was different. With all the elegance of a lady, she levitated her cup down to the table and politely inquired as to my plans for Winter Wrap Up. We carried on fabulous conversation that, to the untrained ear, would have sounded incredibly dull (and frankly, on the surface it was a rather mundane talk). But her skill and verbal freshness! She could read me a law book and I would be enthralled! After tea, I quite frankly lost track of time, and we talked all through dinner. I hardly noticed that we were dining at all, and it wasn’t until an hour ago that we finally went off to bed. Truly that darling is wonderful.
Tomorrow I’ll be spending the day alone, however. Cotton is taking Cream and Whimsy out on the town. I do believe her intent on leaving me behind is to find a dress, through. Cream is going with to find a properly matching suit for my escort, and Whimsy is apparently a downright charm when it comes to finding lovely gowns.
The Journal of Candy Mane
A Day to Herself, Gone Wrong
6 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule
Today was the second worst day I have ever spent in Manehattan. It started out well enough. Breakfast was shared at the counter of Cotton’s (relatively) modest kitchen. Whimsy and Cream chatted happily away, and Cotton discussed the day’s plans with her children. Cream had to leave earlier than Whimsy and Cotton, saying he’d meet them later, so I shared a cup of morning tea with the girls, and wished them good luck on the gown hunt. They headed out and I took care of the dishes, tidying up a bit. I read for a little while, but found myself quickly and utterly bored. Finally, I decided I would go out on the town and revisit the city of my foalhood. Shuffling through the saddles and other clothing I had brought along, I chose a simple cloak of high quality. It was appropriate for the winter weather, but of fine enough grade that none would take me for a simple traveller. I tossed a good number of bits into the inside pockets, fixed the collar closed with a rose quartz broach, and left a note on the counter in case Cotton returned before I did.
The sun was bright and shining, courtesy of a diligent weather team keeping the sky a consistent partially cloudy. With only six days of winter left, we were getting a light sprinkling of snow, enough to keep the snow looking clean and pretty, rather than the dirty, slushy look it gets by the side of the road. I smiled and kept my hood down, the occasional snowflake catching in my mane or settling on the cloak. A bell jingled, and I stepped into a jeweler’s. The gems shone under glass cases, some in settings, others lying against velvet or satin cloths. The bits in my pockets tinkled quietly, but the sharp ears of the Manehattan jeweler knew I was a mare with money to spend. “May I help you with anything, ma’am?” he asked. A bowtie and monocle adorned his vest, the latter not currently in use.
“Oh, just looking for something to wear to the Masquerade.” I smiled the sort of smile that Mother had taught us. It was beguiling without seeming so, and often sent a stallion’s heart all a-twitter. This stallion, however, had seen that smile before, and knew what it really meant. He knew he was dealing with a Mane. He nodded, and allowed me to carry on with looking. There were jeweled masks and flowing necklaces, ear cuffs and foreleg bands (of the sort modeled after Rarity’s “Heart a’flutter” line which had been first worn by Fluttershy at that disastrous Gala), gem encrusted horn rings and lacy chains of thin platinum and gold, meant to be worn among the feathers of a pegasus. Everything in the shop was of finest quality, and the jeweler was near at hoof, ready to unlock any display case at my whim. An ear cuff made of silver with rose quartz set among intricate but delicate carvings caught my eye. With a flick of the hoof I indicated my interest, and the stallion unlocked the case, pulling out the item in question.
“Fine choice, madam,” he said, and added, “A perfect match to the broach, if I may say so.” I inspected the pieces for a bit, and had to agree that they must have been of the same set.
“I’d like to try the fit,” I stated. It wasn’t a request, but not harsh enough to be called a command. I have to admit, it was thrilling to behave as it suits my station. I may not have indulged in the public eye while I stayed in Ponyville on self-imposed exile, but I still know how to act like an heiress. The jeweler had affixed the cuffs while I was lost in thought, and produced a mirror. A cough from him pulled me out of my musings, and I looked at the cuffs that were on my ears. The shade of pink was wonderful, and truly the set of cuffs and broach were a wonderful complement to the simple cloak. “I’ll take them.”
I gave him a portion of my bits and a note for the rest of the cost. Just the way business is done with those sorts. With a lighter cloak, heavier ears, and the soft jingle of the door chime, I continued my rediscovery of the city of my youth. The rest of my morning went uneventfully past, and come noon, I enjoyed a nice lunch from a darling little café. The place made me homesick, though, for Ponyville. I remember dining at the Flower Sisters’ Café, and honestly, the homegrown daisy sandwiches were much better than what a city could ever offer. I decided I would leave the high-society portion of the city behind for a while, and make my way through the rest of Manehattan, which I thought might be more like Ponyville had been, with easy smiles and ponies trotting about.
Was I ever wrong. As soon as I left the well-to-do streets behind, I was faced with dirty streets and ponies that wouldn’t make eye contact. After a short time, I became nervous for my safety, and tucked my new ear cuffs into a pocket in the cloak along with the broach, opting instead to use the tie-strings at the neck. My jingling coins had become loud in the dullness of the side streets, and seemed to rattle against the ears instead of fading into background noise. The sound must’ve rattled against my assailant’s ears as well.
A wingtip knife pressed against the side of my neck as a stormy gray pegasus landed to my left. My breath caught in my throat and my heart hit a faster tempo as he kept the knife against my skin. Slowly, he walked around in front of me. The knife point, concealed among his pinions, was sharp, and traced a faint cut in my skin. It was too shallow to truly hurt, but it seeped just the slightest of blood. Every muscle was taut as my body screamed “Run away! Now!” but I knew I’d be sliced if I did anything too quickly. He locked icy blue eyes on me, but his face and cutie mark were concealed. In a gruff voice that couldn’t possibly be natural, he said, “Bits in the bag and you won’t get hurt.” Without moving the knife, he reached into a saddlebag to pull out a pouch. I took my chance while his head was turned, and spun right (away from the knife). I planted my front hooves and kicked out with all the strength of the earth, catching him in the jaw. Pegasi aren’t built for taking hits, while earth ponies are designed for dealing them out.
The pegasus was knocked out cold, and at the first hint of trouble, the street had gone from one or two other ponies to deserted. Concerned about my would-be mugger, I trotted over and tugged off his facemask. At first I was shocked at how young this stallion was. He was hardly past school age. Now that I had a chance to see him without the extra adrenaline in my system, I realized that he really wasn’t that big of a stallion either. Tall, yes, but the lanky sort of height that promises of more growth before his frame would start to fill out. His shock of green-blue mane fell limply across his face as I tossed aside the mask. I carefully removed, broke, and discarded his wing-knives, and tossed off the rump cover he had on over his mark. Shuffling him onto my shoulders, I made my way to the nearest hospital, since I had knocked him rather hard.
It was a bit of a trot to the hospital, but I was lucky that there was no one else there. The nurse took one look at us and asked straight away if it was a mugging. I said I didn’t know, and that I had just found the boy in the street, looking like he’d been walloped something fierce. He was taken away, and I thought I was free to go, but then she started asking questions. Most of the things she asked me, I claimed not to know, and the few details I did give were just for the pegasus’s sake. Finally, she was asking me who I was, since they had no other contact on hoof related to the colt.
“...and your name, ma’am?”
“Ah, well,” I stammered. “C-Candy. Candy Mane.”
The mare behind the counter looked over her spectacles suspiciously. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate falsehood. Miss Candy Mane left the city years ago, with obvious intent to never return. Please give me your full name and an address at which you can be reached, along with a sketch of your cutie mark for identification purposes.”
With a great glare, I stood up straight, my curled mane bouncing with the sudden motion. “My name is Candy J. Mane, and I can be found at the Puff residence.” With a glare of my own, I added, “I trust you know where the Puff residence is?”
Greatly admonished, the nurse’s eyes widened as she registered the truth of my words. “My apologies Miss Mane. There’s just now the matter of your mark?”
It was at this point that I let loose a string of profanities the likes of which I had thought myself beyond. Ashamed of my marklessness, I upbraided the poor girl instead of confronting the issue myself. I told her that she could identify me just fine without my mark, and stormed out of the hospital.
It became a steeplechase to Cotton’s townhouse. To make poor matters worse, the cloak I had tossed on to cover my markless flank snagged on park brambles and at one point, tore up the side from a too-long nail in a fencepost I brushed too closely by. My beeline dash to the relative sanctuary of the Puff household had left me scratched, and my cloak in ruins. Thankfully, none of the inner pockets had torn. After emerging from the Grande Centre Park, I had only to dart through the market place before my clean shot to the home. Sprinting, I ducked between late-afternoon customers, my head filled with thoughts of disappointment in myself and worry about the poor lad I had kicked. A few shutters clicked, and some camera flashes blinked, but I thought little of it. The tattered cloak fluttered behind me as I finished my canter.
Bursting through the door, I barely registered Cream as I blew through the family room. Slowing, I trotted down the hallway and took the sharp turn into my room. Like a foal, I locked the door, dropped the destroyed garment on the floor, and curled up small in the plush bed. Buried under overstuffed pillows and deep within the comforter, I hardly heard Cream knocking on the door. I pulled a few more pillows over myself, just to be sure he couldn’t hear me weep.
