Worth a Thousand Words

Recap: Art is a painter who has been thrown out to find somewhere to live (the landing of a bridge). He was painting when Rarity came to buy his artwork. She argued that it was worth more value than he would accept. She claimed to have forgotten to bring bits with her and leaves. He decides to start a portrait on a new canvas.

    After the final sketch had been made on his second-to-last canvas, he began to add the first layer of basic color. The proportions were perfect. It looked great even for the first draft. You could already see the object taking shape. Even so, it was filled with mistakes in the eyes of the painter. He was already four hours in.

    "Hello?" A sweet voice called out from behind. Surprised, Art accidentally swung around, skimming the brush over the canvas, making a streak of dark green across the canvas. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

    "That's fine. It can be painted over." Truthfully, he wasn't mad at all. He was delighted that she would care to show her face to him again.

    "Ok. Good to know. I came back to take the painting. I would love to show my friends what I could find through my little trip."

    "Just leave the bits there, and it's yours," Art motioned with his brush to a spot about three feet away from him. Without another word, she tossed the little sack to the ground, and picked up the painting.

    "Have you named this piece?"

    "No. I've never thought to name them."

    "Oh, I was just wondering. Someone who spends all of their time on artwork should at least give them some form of addressing."

    "Good idea. I'll try it some time."

    "Well, goodbye. Maybe we'll meet again sometime." Nothing else was said to delay her departure. Art didn't really want her to go, because she had been his first company in years. Maybe sometime...

    He picked up the bag and put it in the corner. He might use it's contents later when he needed some more blue paint. That was the majority of color used. He may need food as well. Money was used sparingly in his possession.

    After the first layer of paint was down, he needed to let it dry a bit. Taking a walk would always give him inspiration. He decided to do just that. The sidewalk snaked around the many shops and stands. None of them seemed very appealing to him though. They might have if he had the money to spare.

    "Oof!" The sudden noise stopped him in his tracks.

    "Sorry sir," he apologized, shortly before hoofing it away. His face burned red. Thoughts had clouded his mind, and placed him in autopilot mode. This was normally the phase in which he had come up with many of his stunning ideas. It was so relaxing just to look at the city and admire its beauty.

    He walked further into the heart of the city. It was never empty. There was always somepony wandering around there, in pursuit of something worthwhile. It was a sort of marketplace, as the big city had been built around an area that had been much less advanced. The original area was comprised of very few homes, and a local farmer's market. Only once had he tried sketching it out. As soon as one of the workers saw him, they shooed him from the premises. Apparently, the painting of the private marketplace wasn't allowed. It was embarrassing as much as it was wasteful. He had never left a canvas unfinished until that day.

    Today, it was stuffed to the brim with consumers. Each and every one of them had not a clue what a good deal looked like, so high prices were fairly abundant. It was hard to get around without knocking somepony off of their balance. If he had brought the bits, (in which he still had an unclean conscience for the feeling of cheating Rarity) he could have purchased a few goods that seemed to stand out from the rest.

    Remembering why he had even left in the first place, he started to gravitate back towards the bridge. The paint would most definitely be dry by now. With any luck, he could find a few bits on the ground during the walk back. The gods had never granted him with such luck before though.

    It wasn't long before he returned to his familiar terrain. Everything seemed to be in order. When the painting finally came into view, he could safely assume that nothing had been stolen. His stomach ordered attention through a dissatisfied growl. Acknowledging his hunger, he decided to spend a little of the bits he had obtained in a loaf of bread.

    When he walked over to find his sack of bits untouched, he kneeled down to open it for the first time. Since Rarity hadn't actually specified how much she had paid for the painting, Art wanted to count his total. From before, he had a sum of fourteen bits saved up. Praying for something higher than five but lower than thirty, he slowly opened it. He turned the bag over so that the contents came spilling out onto the ground. She had paid him mostly in tens. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, one hundred, one hundred ten, one hundred twenty, one hundred thirty, one hundred forty, one hundred fifty. Oh no. He was feeling worse than before. Why did she feel the need to give so much? All she took in return was a single painting. He would have gladly sold them all to her for less than this sum.

    Sighing, he reached to put them back in the bag. One hundred forty-four bits at his disposal. When he could see the insides of the small pull string-bag, he froze. The generous individual had gifted him...a train ticket labeled 'PONYVILLE'.