Chapters The morning dew hung in the air. Pure white swirling clouds started to surface over the horizon. They obstructed the bright rays of golden sunshine. It cast a warm glow over the landscape. Very few beams of the heavens happened to find their way through to the city. Those that did managed to depict a picturesque scene, as if they were painted onto a canvas. Such simplistic beauty hardly ever showed its face in Manehattan.
The rays reflected off of shiny glass. Glass that made up most of the large skyscrapers in the city. There were thousands of ponies up and about, trying to work their uneventful home life away. It seemed as though it was everypony in Equestria. Everypony except for one. One who dwindled their savings away on a dream. The dream that had seemed so close from the start.
Art Pastel had been alone under a small stone bridge for as long as he could remember. His coat was so ridden with filth that it was nearly impossible to decipher which color it had once been. His mane was tangled into a state of disrepair. Art's growling stomach had awakened him. It was relaxing to hear the cool running stream of water by his side very morning. It was his true home. All he had to boast was a few assorted paintbrushes, pencils, little paint, and and a couple blank canvases. If one of the resources had been diminished, he would go out and spend his hard earned bits.
As soon as the morning had been accepted by his eyes, he began to work on his latest piece. A levitating brush surrounded by a dark blue hue started it's journey along the remaining blank splotches. It was a view of the city from his spot under the bridge. His art was to die for, although nopony would accept it from him. That being with the exception of very few. It was his only hobby. passerby's would only display a rude scoff in his direction. It was very degrading. Painting was the only thing he could do to keep himself from ending it. More than once had he thought about throwing himself off of the bridge.
His current artwork was absolutely beautiful. It was so much a spectacle, that it could lift anypony from deep depression. It was entrancing. It deserved more attention, but never achieved that height. If it were a good day, he could sell it to an oncoming pony. The most he had sold anything for was twenty bits. It was enough to get by for a week, only eating one course every midday. Life had thrown him into a pit, yet he believed that this dedication could be his shovel out.
Each stroke of a brush would fill the canvas with life. Every so often, he would scrutinize the surrounding areas to look for potential customers. Not once had he seen one. Only the cobblestone walkway, accompanied by a few great trees, cared to meet his eye. Sighing, Art would resume. The vibrant colors that comprised the canvas were so remarkable, that they deserved more credit. It would only be stashed away with the others in a final conclusion though. Nothing was more disappointing than having to end one piece's appealing display.
There was not much left to do, but final details would take roughly another few hours. They should only take about thirty minutes, but it occupied his time. The time gave enough room for new thoughts. As for now, he was planning on trying a profile of the clearest skyscraper in view. He had already picked it out. It was one of the most structurally challenged buildings in Manehattan, making it a prime target for him.
As Art entered the last hour or so of work on it, he glanced back once more. Nothing stuck him as unusual, so with another shrug of his shoulders he started to levitate the thinnest bristled brush back to the nearly complete artwork. He stopped, then dropped the paint covered tool.
He turned around to stare at a single spectator that had sat herself down on a bench facing him. A loose smile was draped across her face. Something Art hadn't seen in months.
"That painting is simply astounding," a unicorn with a clean white coat commented. Three diamonds were her symbolic cutie mark. "Would you, perhaps, be inclined to sell it when it's done? I would love to have such an adornment hanging on my wall. My name is Rarity, by the way." Art didn't know how to react. This was the first time somepony had seemingly wanted one of his works for something other than sympathy.
"I...I uh...how much will you be willing to pay?" He said, trying not to sound greedy. His voice came out a bit raspy, in result of being used so little.
"One hundred bits at least! Something as magnificent as this does not deserve to be cheated off of the artist responsible," she exclaimed with refined dignity.
"Wha-f-f-for this!?" There had never been an offer so high before. That sum of money was enough to eat heartily for a month.
"Of course. I would never try to swindle somepony out of such craftsmanship."
"I-I don't think I can sell you this for that much."
"So you want two hundred?"
"No!...I mean you can take it for ten bits. I'd feel that I would have cheated you if I were selling it for that much. Ten bits is my normal selling price. Just take it for that."
"Are you sure? It's not that much."
"Yes. It's fine." He handed the canvas over to her, then backed away. His conscience would only be ridden with guilt if he had decided to hand it over, and demand one hundred bits in return. She searched around for her bit bag. It must have been nicked.
"Look, I don't have any bits on me right now. Excuse me." Rarity set the painting back down, propped up against one of the trees. Without any time for explaining, she took off.
Another trade gone wrong. It was getting too hard to make any sort of living in the area. The only talent he had was putting colors onto a blank canvas, albeit he was one of the best at it. Today was different though. More disappointing than the rest. Today, he had failed to make profit. Be could have sworn that there was a visible bag of coins when she had been watching him paint.
Well, now that the one of the great city from such a low perspective was done, he could sketch out the skyscraper. It was normally nonstop, doing this all day. It was only to pass time. If the paints weren't there, he would be begging. That was the last thing we wanted. He had seen one or two homeless near his area. He was better than them though. They begged and lied around. Art painted for survival.
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'.
Recap: Rarity came back with the bits and takes the painting, leaving them in a bag. Art goes for a walk to let the first layer of his new piece dry. Later, he comes back to find that he is hungry. He takes the bits to count them, and finds a train ticket to Ponyville.
Why? This was all so sudden. All his time spent here, he had been longing to go to other places. Places where ponies were not always so disrespectful to him. The only thing about this was that he wanted to earn it himself. Not to receive it out of sympathy. That's what this was, wasn't it. Charity was normally something he would not take, but this decision could turn his life around for the better.
If he went, ponies would want his artwork for how they looked, not who painted them. He could get a proper form of shelter, and never have to worry about food again. On the other hoof, if he left the city, he would be forever in debt of Rarity. He would also never appreciate his life as much as he had been. Painting may have been Art's passion, but they all reflected the artist's mood. Most of his works were incomparable, but if he moved, they would be tainted by guilt and sorrow. Sorrow for leaving the city behind, and guilt for accepting the gift.
He needed this though. There was no getting around that fact. He needed the bits to get by. The ones given to him were obviously intended for a new life in Ponyville. If he declined though, how would he feel? Now would he feel if he spent the bits on something in Manehattan? The guilt would still get to him. There was no escaping it. Either way, he would still go through the same things, but if he moved to Ponyville, he wouldn't feel like he had just outright betrayed her.
It was decided. He needed to get to Ponyville, in order to establish a proper lifestyle, and repay the one responsible. The anguish would no longer bother him, and the questions of 'what of I stayed' would no longer taunt him. There was no question now. He needed to get packed and ready. The ticket was only intended to produce a small time for decisions, as the train it was scheduled for left in two hours.
Quick business was made of his setup. All of the items he had strewn about the landing below the bridge could be carried around without much difficulty. Since the canvas he had recently finished the first layer of was now dry, he could stack it on top of the others. All of his personal belongings were levitated in from of him. allowing no extra energy to add the finished works so they were settled atop his back in a wobbly fashion.
It was time to leave. He struggled slightly to carry everything he needed to the station. He had been here a few times before, but it was to study a map of Manehattan. Once it was burned to the back of his eyelids, he visited less frequently. Then, it was only to watch the birds. They had inspired him to paint a dove, even though it turned out to look like modern art. That was effect of no practice. He had just been starting out then, and could paint it much better now.
The benches were nicer than any in the city. He could easily find sleep on them, only to be resurrected to the unforgiving world by his train arrival. About fifty ponies loaded out, but only seven others, that he could count, boarded it. He hoped Rarity was right, even though he knew the town from train maps and ponies' stories. It was said to be a small town with many exciting events. From descriptions, he could almost guarantee that there would be more than one pony who would want his artwork.
Everypony turned in their tickets and entered the train to take a seat. All of them sported a fine official looking suitcase, making Art feel out of place. No eyes fell in his direction though. All of them had brought aboard a book or something to occupy themselves. He would have tried to paint, but every now and then the train would hit a small bump.
The scenery that flew by could entertain him for a while, but quickly grew boring after the wide expanse of trees took full view. It seemed that it would be a long ride. Leaning back in his chair to finally relax, he drifted off again. It may have been his short sleep last night that made him want to enter a deep REM phase.
During the ride, he dreamt of a paintbrush. It could lay down every shade without touching another color on a palette. It swirled around on a large blank canvas, only to split into three smaller brushes. They started to make spirals in identical thirds. Before one of them could finish up the train lurched to a halt, sending the brushes downward into the depths of unexplainable darkness. That caused him to wake.
Groggy and anxious, Art waited patiently in line to allow all of the other passengers to slowly board the locomotive he had just gotten out of. It was so noisy here but nowhere near as crowded as the station from his prior town. After exiting, the sunny skies and bright green grass nearly blinded him. In Manehattan it was all grey, with the exception of the few things Art had found to paint.
For the first twenty or thirty minutes after his arrival, he just wandered around. There were so many beautiful things to look at. So many vibrant colors to admire. So many kind and wonderful inhabitants. And there were so many opportunities.
From what Rarity had left him, he could build a sort of makeshift home until something more permanent could come along. He wanted to inspect an area that was a fair ways away from town. Most of it was level, and the scenery surrounding it was breathtaking.
The purest, whitest clouds hung over snow capped mountains. At the bottom of the mountains was a pond, but it was obscured by a jutting hill. This would surely inspire some sort of artwork. Hopefully it would sell. If things were like Manehattan, he would run out of the money, he decided on saving, in a matter of months.
After concealing his things in a thicket of undergrowth, he headed off to the nearest supply store he could think of. The train maps were more useful than he could have thought. On the way over, he drifted into autopilot as if it were a habit. On the jutting rock was something small but very distinct. It only stood out because of its neon orange color. His imagination would produce ideas at an alarming rate to make peace with the out of place object. The handy supplies store was now in front of him. The name had escaped him earlier, but now that it was in front of him, he scolded himself for not remembering the obvious title. 'Common Crafts'
A short browsing session seemed to clear his mind on what he was going to build. It now seemed to be a sort of fort-shack in his head. Whitewash and decor would make it homely enough though. Surely an improvement from his last home. He was quick about purchasing some four inch (11.6cm) by forty-eight inches (121.92cm) boards in order to craft his planned shelter.
The cashier offered a bag, but carrying things had become a habit. That's all he had ever done. Walk long distances while carrying art supplies. He could have done without the hauling, but walking calmed him down. Isolation was great, but too much of it will drive a pony insane. Art was still far from that mark.
Reaching the Site of building, he set down his material and began planning. Building a house couldn't be too hard right? He glanced over at the hill to see if the object was still there. It was gone. Assuming it was nothing more than his mind, Art set to work.
Recap: Art accepted the ticket with a promise that he would repay the buyer. It was a long ride, but eventually he found himself in the Ponyville train station. Almost too quickly, he saw the need for a shelter. Spending a few of the bits she gave him, he bought a few building supplies and set to work.
It wasn't much, but it worked. It was close to what he had envisioned end in his mind, even with the added luxury of fresh white paint. A single open window concluded the look. The space inside was about enough room to sleep in comfortably, while still keeping his art supplies safe from the cold outside.
Dark was setting in now, and needless to say, he was exhausted. The day had been far from uneventful. With nothing to lie on, (not like it wasn't worse than before) Art simply situated himself in a position in which he could lay comfortably and conveniently. Quick glances out the window made up the first half hour of the night. He wasn't used to sleeping anywhere but the landing under his bridge. It would have to do for tonight though. Common needs such as these would never cross his mind when tasked with something that such little pondering was involved. It left little time to wonder how to make a house a home.
Sleep suddenly took over his mind, enveloping his vision in blackness. Through all the night, not a single picture crossed his mind. Time was elapsed nearly thirty-fold within his own world. Sporadic times during the night left him awake and unable to collapse into a dream state. That is why in the morning he was in such bad condition to start the day.
No breakfast. No time. He needed to start looking for household grade items meant for comfort. This included food, blankets, pillows, means of warmth, and of course paint related objects. As soon as these errands had been completed, he calmly made his way back to his shack. Bread, sleeping items, paint, brushes, and five more canvases were all he needed to last him weeks.
Upon his return, he found all of his belongings just as he had left them. Not a single speck of dust was out of place. As soon as possible, he set aside the painting he would have finished, if it weren't for his untimely move, and he began another wonderful setting of his current view.
The mountains seemed to paint themselves and the large cliff seemed to from in front of his very eyes. He didn't need to think about what he was doing. It was just natural. He could have down it with his eyes closed, although this would only be partially true because he needed his sight to send positive thoughts to his horn. It's what kept up his expertise.
Before the hour had even been concluded, a new painting was ready to be added to his collection. Why was it that the work had come so fast? The most surprising fact about it all was that he had only made a single mistake. In his mind, the two clouds in the sky were not as spaced out as they should be. Though to the common eye, they would have been perfectly formed and flawlessly placed.
Now that this was done, he wanted a scene with much more activity to tame his city side, that allowed nothing of natural color to seep into its color palette. Soon enough, he found that another painting was finished. This featured the Ponyville shops that would line streets. They looked so simple that they seemed complex. It was a hard look to describe, but here was a replica picture on canvas that looked much more real than the actual buildings themselves. It was not enough. He wanted something more to paint.
This time, he found a vantage point, some few miles away from town, that had a perfect view of Cloudsdale. Just the thought of capturing this delightful image on canvas made Art happy, but sad at the same time. Others would get to see this wonderful scene, but never experience the absolute beauty of it themselves. He brought out his pencil and began to scribble away.
Time flies when you are having fun. It also flies when you paint. By the time the second layer had finished drying, it was nearly dark. Only six more to go, according to Art's method. It seemed to bring out the brighter browns and such. It was the final mile, and then some, that made his projects so lively. It was almost as if looking at it brought you there. A simple realistic painting was far from it though.
Once he had finished up there, he set upon the "house". A good night's rest would certainly reinvigorate his creativity. The recently finished canvas would dry quickly, as it hadn't done so already. Surely it would be done by tomorrow. With all of the amassing pictures, he would either need to dispose of them or sell them. The prior would hopefully
Succeed. With how delightful and uplifting they were, it shouldn't be too hard to find somepony willing to spend a few bits.
With no memorable image occurrences during his slumber, the daybreak came rushing forth. No noises were apparent at this early hour. Judging from the position of the sun, it was about six in the morning. In such a relaxed town, there would be few ponies up this early. Art was used to the big city where nopony ever slept. Manehattan was always awake, and out of habit he would wake up at around six without fail.
With nothing much else to do, he left for town with his newest additions to try his luck. If he had any, he would likely get about ten bits or so. The trip was more of an errand with priority of food, but it wouldn't hurt to try to sell one or two adornments.
Upon arrival, he scanned the vicinity to find not a single living soul. This came with the exception of a few idly wandering ponies that would turn down his offer without a second thought. The ponies with too high standards; likely transported from another high class city.
With a huff of disappointment, he altered course. This time for a general direction towards the nearest bakery to the limited extent of his knowledge. Sugarcube Corner. From what he could tell, this would not be the most enjoyable trip, seeing as the cashier was really rambunctious. And pink. Once the distance had been covered, he stashed his supplies in a nearby bush, then hesitated briefly before entering the warm atmospheric shop.
Luckily, the pony wasn't there this time. In her place was a sullen looking pony who obviously felt that it was too early in the morning to be up. No matter. As long as she could function right, her actions didn't bother him. It must have been the big city that had killed off his empathy for others. He would likely never feel the same way about another's emotions as somepony else here.
"Hello, I would like to buy two loafs of bread." The request was a bit more upfront than he expected, but the cashier didn't seem to notice. Without a word, she walked into a different room, obscuring her from sight. Shortly after, she returned with the two loaves he had wanted. "Thank you mam." The polite gesture was appreciated, but not enough for her to show. The clinking sound of four bits could be heard rattling on the counter as he left.
Going back to the shack to kill a few hours proved to be quite uneventful. The only notable things that occurred was the subtle chirping of the birds and the calming breeze. He took the time to doze off, as the last night had been unsatisfying. It surely did regenerate a bit of the color in his face. Speaking of color though, it was about time for him to wash off all the grime he had accumulated during his stay in Manehattan.
In his light nap, he saw many different lights. The image became clearer and the unmistakable form of multiple skyscrapers began to break out. The simulation zoomed out and it became apparent that it was his prior dwelling's surroundings. The building that he had neglected to paint still looked inviting and grey. Then, zooming in back to the bridge he lived under, he saw the unfinished painting of it knocked over and ripped. It was true that he hadn't taken it with him, but he was nearly certain that nopony knew or cared enough to come and ruin his belongings. A shadowy figure approached the painting lifted it up, then threw it to the ground. Instead of colliding with the concrete, it slipped right through the cracks of the worn sidewalk.
As the canvas denied the reality of physics, he woke up. It wasn't sudden, it was more of the fluttering of eyes opening, then the body's habit of refusing to rise to its feet. This followed by silent yawning concluded his trip back to the real world.