Cracked Beauty
by Slate Sadpony
“Now be VERY careful with this,” said Heavy Lifter. The Logistics Coordinator of the Ponyville Branch of the Royal Equestrian Mail Service, he had the sort of rough, no-nonsense attitude of a manager who’d ascended through the ranks rather than coming into the business through formal education. His packing-crate cutie mark, along with his well-worn postal uniform, let his underlings know that he knew their job better than they ever could. He wasn’t above reminding them of this fact either.
“You know I will be, boss,” said Derpy, her comparatively new uniform bearing all the hallmarks of their junior status. Other than the Postal Workers Union badge on her bag, her outfit was completely unadorned. She had no medals for outstanding service, no insignias of rank, not even any personalization beyond her name tag. This, in spite of the fact that she had been a mail-mare for well over three years.
“You know that I would really prefer to give this to anypony else,” said Heavy, grunting as he moved the small but surprisingly heavy package up onto the counter. “But what with the fashion catalogs and the public pension checks going out on the same day today, you’re the only one available to deliver this.”
“I promise it’ll get there safely,” said Derpy, trying not to frown. She knew well how much she was a disappointment to her boss, despite her best efforts. Clumsiness and a lack of adequate depth perception had doomed many a package placed in her satchel, and many of her coworkers had begged her to go on disability for her strabismus. But she just couldn’t. Without this job, what did she have? It defined her and gave her purpose. Without the smiling faces of ponies she made deliveries to, how would she even get up in the morning?
“Just like you promised to deliver that vase to the Palace last week?” said Heavy, huffing.
“That wasn’t my fault!” said Derpy. “That cloud came out of nowhere!”
“You mean you didn’t see it,” said Heavy. “Listen, Derpy, I’m not about to give you a pass because you’re wall-eyed. You can either do this job, or you can’t. Now, can you do this?”
“Yes,” said Derpy. Heavy's words brought tears to her eyes, but she held them back. It was bad enough to be considered incompetent. She couldn’t show herself to be a crybaby on top of that.
“Fine,” said Heavy, shoving the package into Derpy’s hooves. “Don’t make me regret this. I swear, one more complaint and you’re going to be sorting mail until you’re so old and sway-backed that you can’t even sit up straight!”
“It will be delivered on time,” said Derpy. She gently slipped the package into her saddlebag as she turned away from Heavy Lifter, hiding her anger from him. He was always so mean to her, and so short on understanding. Had she loved her job any less, she would have quit ages ago.
“And remember, ‘fragile’ means ‘don’t drop it’!” shouted Heavy.
Derpy ignored Heavy and took to the air, beating her wings as hard as she could.
***
Derpy closed one eye, then the other, repeating the process every few seconds as she flew high over the forests and fields of Equestria. With no cure for her strabismus, she had grown used to monocular vision, looking at things with one eye at a time and making her best guess as to the distance. While this worked fine when dealing with objects that were close up, it made it hard for her to tell when she was about to fly into something. More than once she had found herself heading towards the ground or a building much faster than she realized, usually resulting in the destruction of whatever mail she was carrying and a quick trip to the nearest emergency room. Nonetheless, she kept at it, keeping her speed down and doing her best to anticipate accidents.
Things were easy going at first. The various air corridors across Equestria were wide and clearly marked by strategically placed clouds, making passage relatively simple. She stuck to the outer edge, allowing faster moving pegasi to pass her on the left. Most of them hardly noticed her, and those behind her only took notice long enough to get around her. The whole process was nerve wracking at times, and her fear of a collision resurfaced every time somepony passed a bit too close, but overall it was definitely the easy part of her job. The hard part would come when she needed to actually find the house, and not run into anything while she was looking for it.
When she exited the air corridor, she immediately dropped to the lowest level she felt was safe and began scanning the ground below her. She had never been to this house before and was disheartened when she realized that the only ground access was via a small, hoof-made track, barely visible through the trees below. While ground-based ponies would have no trouble finding and using it, the one-pony-wide dirt road was barely visible from above. Weighing her options, Derpy began to slow down and descend even further, looking for a good spot to land. She would walk the rest of the way, rather than risk getting lost or smashing into a tree.
“Gangway, slowpoke!” came a voice from behind.
Before Derpy could even realize what was happening, she found herself spinning, fluttering and falling. As she tumbled, she could just barely see a white and gold gryphon with purple streaks in her head feathers, although the gryphon was moving much too fast for Derpy to get a good look. Derpy's entire world was spinning, and with her eyes unfocused, it appeared to be spinning in two directions at once. She cried out in pain and confusion, then in fear as she realized the precious package she had been carrying had flown out of her mailbag and was now tumbling to the earth.
“Stupid mail-mare!” shouted the voice.
Derpy didn’t bother with a response. Instead she swung low as hard as she could, desperately trying to catch the box as it fell. Blinking and struggling to get a good look at it with both eyes, she could only hope that she was lined up properly and that it would fall into her hooves rather than onto the ground below. Branches scratched her skin, and even as she continued to descend through the forest canopy she knew she was bleeding from her left cheek and shoulder. She ignored the pain as her powered descent slid into a low arc. To her surprise and relief she felt the box smash into her fetlocks as she came forward, the branches and dirt path a blurred mess all around her. She held it close as the weight forced her to dip lower. When her rear hooves scraped the ground she knew there was no avoiding a crash.
Rather than futily pump her wings in an effort to rise, Derpy wrapped all four of her legs around the package, letting the collision take her where it would. She was used to the bumps, thumps and scrapes of a crash, and though each bounce sent lances of pain through her, she knew none of them were bad enough to break bones or even produce significant bruises. As she switched from bouncing to tumbling and rolling, she clutched the package even tighter, letting her body take the impact rather than the box. She wasn’t marked “Fragile,” after all.
Coming to a stop at the base of a massive oak tree, Derpy uncurled herself slowly, still holding the package tightly in her forelegs. Ignoring the bruises on her back and the slow trickle of blood seeping from her face, she carefully inspected it for damage. Externally, the box seemed fine. It had not even been dented by the ordeal, its sides still sharp and crisp as they had been back at the sorting office. Slowly, she rotated it around to make sure the underside was not hiding any sort of damage.
Derpy had broken too many plates over the years to not recognize the sound of porcelain grinding against porcelain. Though she knew she was breaking every rule concerning customer privacy, she hurriedly forced the box open, tearing into it with her hooves and teeth. She had to know how bad it was. Maybe it was minor. Maybe it could be fixed. Maybe, just maybe, this would not be the package that ended her career.
When she peered inside, however, she found the contents every bit as smashed as her hopes. She had expected to see a cracked flower vase, or maybe a chipped tea set with a single broken saucer. Instead what she saw looked more like gravel than pottery, with thousands of shards piled one on top of the other, not even resembling the cups and saucers they once had been. Derpy began to paw at the pieces in desperation, hoping that somehow, underneath the pile of shattered pieces there might still be one or two plates intact. But her digging revealed only more broken parts and, eventually, the bottom of the box.
Now in shock, she sat down on her haunches, staring at the shattered pieces in front of her. They were so small, so pointless, and yet they said so much to her. That she was a clutz. That she couldn’t do her job. That no pony would ever look forward to seeing her. That the smiling faces and happy greetings offered to other mail ponies would never be hers. That she was doomed to spend the rest of her life alone in some sorting cubicle somewhere, mindlessly pushing an endless series of envelopes into little boxes. It was all just so monstrously unfair!
Derpy had always made a point of trying not to cry. She had been mocked for her crying when she was a filly, even though she always felt she had so much to cry about. Her favorite doll, crushed by a misplaced hoof she couldn’t see. The surprise door that left her nose bleeding. The constant, aching pain coming from a cast-enclosed wing. The pain and agony of the teasing. But there were some times where years of effort were helpless in holding back the tears, and here in the quiet silence of the woods, she let it out, sobbing quietly over her pile of shattered dreams.
***
Derpy banged on the door of the remote cottage with her hoof, not even bothering to look at what she was hitting. She had eyes only for the sad, disheveled package in front of her, the box half-heartedly re-sealed. Without tape or twine she could not close it properly, and anyway, the customer was sure to notice that she had peeked inside. All that was left now was to hand it off and go home and get fired. She just wanted to get it over with.
“Who’s there?” came a voice from inside.
Derpy heard the door open and found herself looking at two soft pink hooves. She pushed the package towards them and tried to back up, figuring her only option now was to run. Maybe if she ran fast enough, she wouldn’t get chased, and then she would only get chewed out by her boss, not the customer.
“My goodness dear, you’re bleeding!” Though Derpy continued to back up, one of the pink hooves moved up beneath her chin, bringing her face to face with the mare she was to deliver the package to. Derpy knew from the address that her name was “Pretty Pieces,” but other than that, she knew nothing about this mysterious mare. Though her vision was blurred by tears, Derpy could see the concern on Pretty Pieces's face.
“I’m really, really sorry,” said Derpy, struggling to not start crying again. “But I dropped your package on the way here. I swept down into the trees to catch it, but…”
“That’s not important right now,” said Pretty Pieces. “We need to get a bandage on that right away. Come in, please!”
Derpy found herself being dragged into a surprisingly large, open house with dozens of windows in the walls and ceiling, making it better lit and more airy than the forest outside. The presence of dozens of easels and portraits made it clear that Pretty Pieces was an artist, and this remote location her private studio, a place where she could work without being interrupted by visitors. This made Derpy all the more uncomfortable, since she had now gone from destroying this mare’s property to imposing on her private space.
“Do you like my pieces?” said Pretty, returning from the bathroom with a first aid kit. She began to gently dab disinfectant on Derpy's face, making the pegasus wince.
“They are very nice,” said Derpy. She was trying to be genuine, not just polite. The portraits were, although a bit blurry in her vision, filled with color and warmth. She even recognized some of the more famous ponies depicted, such as Spitfire and Princess Celestia.
“If you like those, I should take you to see the mural I’m constructing in sections,” said Pretty Pieces. “It’s to be installed in Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, so I’m really taking my time on it.”
Derpy nodded, letting her head sink down. So Pretty Pieces knew Celestia, or at least someone high enough in Celestia’s inner circle to secure an art commission. And she would, no doubt, report that some dumb mail mare had smashed her precious, expensive plates that she absolutely needed to hold the tea and crumpets while she worked. Things were just getting worse and worse!
“Have you been crying?” asked Pretty Pieces. “I didn’t think you were hurt all that bad. Maybe I should take you into town to see the doctor?”
“It’s not the cuts and bruises,” said Derpy. She knew she’d begun crying again, but she no longer had the strength to hold it back. “Just…Look at your package! It’s all smashed to pieces! I...I tried so hard, and look what I did! I’m the worst mail mare ever!”
Pretty Pieces walked over to the box, examining it. “What do you mean ‘smashed to pieces’? It looks to all be in one piece to me.”
“Look inside,” said Derpy, burying her face in her hooves.
Pretty Pieces re-opened the lid, looking inside, confused. “All I see is my latest shipment of art supplies, and they look fine. In fact, they look to be in better shape than the last three shipments I’ve received.”
Derpy looked up, confused. “What do you mean 'art supplies'?” she said, sniffing slightly and trying to wipe away the tears.
“I make mosaics,” said Pretty Pieces, setting the box down on one of the many work tables strewn throughout the house. “I have a friend who works for a restaurant back in Canterlot. As you might imagine, they’re constantly shattering cups and plates. He sends me the broken pieces every few days to use in my art. It’s a lot cheaper for me than buying cups and plates just so I can smash them, and a lot less wasteful too.”
Derpy slowly stepped over, blinking and looking first at Pretty Pieces, then at the package contents, then back at Pretty. “You mean, it’s supposed to be like this?”
“Actually, I’ve never seen it come in this good,” said Pretty Pieces. “Normally, even with the ‘fragile’ stickers on the outside, it gets pretty roughly manhandled, and the fragments rub up against one another. I haven’t found a use for the multi-colored sand that results, but that won’t be a problem with this batch.” She began to take out the pieces and sort them by color, carefully arranging them into small piles on the table.
“So, you use this in your art?” said Derpy, her sadness giving way to confusion, and then a vague understanding. She looked to the nearby portrait of Celestia, and as her eyes began to focus, she saw that it was not a single image, but instead thousands of tiny ceramic pieces carefully placed into a plaster base. Only when she looked at it from afar, or with her unfocused gaze, did it reveal itself as it truly was – a life-sized portrait of the royal personage, smiling gently beneath a sunny sky. Derpy blinked and then focused again, and she realized that the image consisted of thousands of smashed and re-assembled tea sets, all carefully arranged. Some of the designs were still visible when she looked closely.
“Ever since I was a little filly!” said Pretty Pieces, continuing to sort as she talked. “I dropped some dishes when I was washing them one night, and I assembled the broken bits into a visual apology for my mother, then bam, cutie mark. Ten years of formal training and ten more of professional efforts, and now I’m making mosaics for the Canterlot elite!”
“So I didn’t break anything?” said Derpy, hope welling up in her heart.
“Other than your face, no,” said Pretty Pieces. “Like I said, this is the best shipment I’ve had yet. I wish that all the mail mares were as dedicated as you. I’d get a lot more work done!”
Pretty’s sorting was interrupted by Derpy, who hugged the artist tightly. “You have no idea how much that means to me!” said Derpy, closing her eyes and flapping her wings in delight.
Pretty smiled a bit, surprised by the sudden intimacy. “Uhm, you’re welcome,” said Pretty Pieces, extracting herself from under Derpy and putting on the best smile she could manage. “Do you always get so touchy-feely with the ponies on your route?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Derpy. “It’s just...I thought I was going to lose my job when I looked into that box.”
“Well, I guess my friends back in Canterlot could have labeled it a bit better,” said Pretty Pieces. She had shifted from sorting the pieces to assembling them, carefully laying them out on a blank slab, figuring out where each one fit in relation to the others. “But who would fire you over a little bit of broken crockery?”
“It’s not just that,” said Derpy, looking at the floor. She couldn’t decide if she was more shy or more bashful, but it felt good to talk to Pretty Pieces, and she couldn’t just leave until she’d said her piece. “I have strabismus, so I can’t see distances very well. And that means that I end up crashing. A lot. And my boss wants to fire me because I keep losing or breaking packages.”
“Can’t see distances huh?” said Pretty Piece, letting out a short laugh. “Neither can I!” She turned around, tapping her left eye with her hoof. It made a clinking sound, like a tea cup. “This eye? Glass! Lost the real one when I was a little filly. But I never let it keep me down. If anything, it’s kind of an inspiration to me now. If I can turn a pile of broken dishes into something as beautiful as a royal portrait, then even a ‘broken’ mare like me can be beautiful too.”
“Broken is beautiful, huh?” said Derpy, pawing at the floor with her hoof.
“Darn tootin’!” said Pretty Pieces. “Now, if you don’t have to report back to your boss right away, I could use an extra hoof with the plaster. Especially if that hoof is strong enough to carry a box of broken ceramics all the way from Canterlot.”
“I’d be happy to help,” said Derpy, following Pretty Piece and smiling.
***
“I know that Heavy Lifter likes to run things like he’s in the Equestrian Royal Guard, but here in the sorting room, we like to keep things a bit more relaxed,” said Sorted Out, Derpy’s new boss. A mixture of hippy and highly trained professional, he had long but well kempt hair, and though his uniform was crisp and new, it was adorned with decidedly unprofessional buttons and patches in addition to his name tag and rank. He had the air of somepony who took his job, but not himself, very seriously. He was also decidedly friendly, something Derpy was not used to when it came to management.
“Yes sir,” said Derpy, sitting back in the bean-bag chair she’d been issued. It was surprisingly comfortable, and much softer on her rear than the rock-hard benches she was used to up front.
“You can call your dad ‘sir’, but you can call me Sorted Out or Sortie,” said Sorted Out, smiling. “And I hope you call me ‘Sortie’ because that’s what my friends call me. And you seem like a pretty radical mare, so I’d like to be your friend as well as your boss.”
“Sure thing, Sortie,” said Derpy, still not used to the familiarity but loving it in concept. “So...What do you want me to do first?”
“Mellow out, for one,” said Sorted Out. “Do you want the day off or something? I’ve got a coupon for a free massage down at the spa. Maybe you need it more than I do?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Derpy. “I’m just a little nervous.” She was understating things, of course. The last few days had been nothing but nerves, beginning with Heavy Lifting “firing” and then “reassigning” her to work in the mail room, followed by Heavy’s boss Quickest Route telling her that she was still going to be delivering mail, just only by foot, and only in Ponyville. It was an emotional roller coaster, and the fact that she had such an excellent new boss only added to it all. It seemed like things couldn’t get any better, and they’d just so recently been so astoundingly worse.
“Well, lemme start you off with something really easy to sort,” said Sorted Out, handing her a large, flat package. “It’s addressed to you! Go on, open it. I bet it’s something really cool!”
Derpy needed little encouraging, and after she removed the external paper and cardboard and dug into the soft tissue paper, she found herself staring at a tiny portrait of herself made of multi-colored sand gently pressed into blue-tinted plaster. She was depicted as smiling happily, her misaligned eyes filled with joy. There was a note as well, which she pulled out and set on her desk.
“I found a use for the sand,” said the note. “Remember, nothing is too broken to be beautiful! Signed Pretty Pieces.”
“Faarrrr ouuuut!” said Sorted Out, admiring the piece over Derpy’s shoulder. “You should totally put that on your desk. I think I’ve got a stand around here somewhere. Supposed to be holding up the Postal Creed, but I bet you know that already.”
“You really don’t mind?” said Derpy.
“Nah, it’s really cool,” said Sorted Out. “I wish more of my employees had cool stuff like that on their desks. All they have are flowers and family photos. It’s so square! Ponies need to just chill out and relax and focus on the sorting, you know? Labels are for packages, not ponies!”
Derpy nodded and smiled, turning to the bag of envelopes in front of her and beginning to sort them by city, the prelude to the later regional sorting she’d do before heading out on her ground route. As she worked, she smiled at the picture, now hung on the side of her cubicle, Pretty Pieces's words echoing in her mind.
“Nothing’s too broken to be beautiful, huh?” said Derpy to herself. “Well I guess that makes me beautiful too…”
Author's Note
After a week's break to let my carpal tunnel subside (it never goes away completely, it just hurts more sometimes) I'm back to NaPoWriMo! And only a few tens of thousands of words below my goal! Yay!
For those of you too lazy to use Wikipedia, "strabismus" is the medical term for "wall eye" and "cross eye," which is of course what Derpy has, and why she can't see distances and thus crashes into things a lot. A "fetlock" is the part of the horse leg after the hoof and before the knee, and a "mosaic" is a picture made out of small pieces of glass, ceramic or stone. Think pixel art but with physical objects.
And yes, Gilda Gryphon is the one who knocks Derpy out of the sky.
SAVE DERPY!
10/15/13 - Rejected from EQD without strike.
10/16/13 - Minor editorial and writing changes in an attempt to meet EQD posting standards.
