In Which Pipe Down Must File an Insurance Claim
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Pipe Down and the Well Meaning Arsonists
In Which Pipe Down Must File an Insurance Claim
Pipe Down lurched out of bed, and cracked his sore back. The mattress did not treat him as well as it used to. He voiced no complaint though, there was little sense in complaining of age. It would be like complaining about the taxes that came with the lottery. Even if it was a legitimate complaint, it would just show that he didn't appreciate what he had.
He thought to himself as he poured his morning cup of coffee. He had a lot to be appreciative of; a lot of fond memories, a lot of good years, a plentiful harvest, a lot of good land, and peace. He chuckled to himself as he mixed a sugar cube into his coffee. He liked a lot of things, but he loved the peace and quiet that came from owning so many acres of land.
His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled rabble outside his door. He wiped the hot coffee from his lips, set the mug down, and opened his front door.
Outside there were around three dozen ponies, all screaming at him. Every single one glared at him fiercely, and some shook poorly written cardboard signs at him. Pipe Down shut the door, muffling their noise.
They screamed louder, but Pipe Down simply went back to the counter, and picked up his coffee. He stirred in another sugar cube. The doctor had warned him against it before, but Pipe Down rarely listened to him anyway. He stirred in another for good measure, perhaps for the sole purpose of defying sound medical advice. Pipe Down didn't care, he would probably live long enough to see the doctor die anyway.
Pipe Down realized that something was missing from his morning routine, and stepped outside. The mob greeted him with more yelling, and more sign shaking.
"Shut it!" Pipe Down ordered, and waited for their voices to become a dull roar. "Which one of you assholes took my newspaper?"
A mare took a newspaper off of her sign post, and handed it to him. Pipe Down ran a hoof across the surface, and examined the bright green misspelled words written on it. 'No mor tobacoo'
Pipe Down entered his house, and shut the door behind him. The roar of the mob increased in volume, but he simply flipped to the obituaries. It was perhaps a grim habit, but he viewed it as something of a score tracker.
"Huh." Pipe Down smiled to himself, and sipped his sweet coffee. "Guess the doctor was talking out of his ass."
When he finished his coffee he briefly considered what he would have for breakfast. He checked his icebox, and found nothing decent to eat. No bread, no flowers, and no hay. He had never been good at keeping the icebox full. He leaned his head out the front door, and addressed the still present mob.
"So, you guys gonna be here for a while?" Pipe Down looked down at them.
"Well, uh," Hippocrates lowered his sign for a second. "Yeah." He raised the sign back up. "We won't leave until you listen to reason."
"I take it that means you brought food?" Pipe Down surmised.
"Well, yes," Hippocrates gestured to a snack table that was just behind the crowd.
Pipe Down nodded, stepped off his porch, and went over to the table. He grabbed a plate off the table, piled it high with daisy sandwiches, and walked back into his house. He placed all but one of the sandwiches in his icebox, and sat down with his paper again. The mob's noise seemed quite far away to him.
"Good weather tomorrow." Pipe Down ran a hoof across the forecast. "Heavy showers this weekend. Should be good for the crop."
He finished his sandwich in relative peace, folded his newspaper, and stepped outside with his pipe and tobacco tin. He ignored the roars of the mob, packed his pipe, and lit it. The mob roared louder at this insult. He leaned back in his rocking chair, and puffed away.
"Do you have a permit for this?" Pipe Down asked them.
They looked to each other. One pony shuffled behind the crowd, and was hidden from view for a few seconds. He returned to the porch and handed a slip of paper to Pipe Down.
"Huh," Pipe Down turned it over, "I knew the economy was bad." He let the paper fall to the ground. "But I didn't think it was this bad." He laughed. "How long has city hall been writing permits on Sugarcube Corner coupons?"
"Mr. Down." Hippocrates chose to ignore the question, and placed a letter in front of him. "This is a list of our demands."
Pipe Down placed a corner of the envelope just inside the bowl of his pipe. He puffed away, watched the paper catch fire, and tossed the burning envelope back at Hippocrates.
"Y'see Mr. Down." Hippocrates smothered the flames with a quick stomp. "Some teenagers were caught in your tobacco shed. We really can't approve of this sort of behavior anymore."
"Good to know." Pipe Down blew a large smoke ring in Hippocrates' face. "Stealing from an old stallion is just wrong."
Hippocrates and the rest of the members of the mob looked to each other.
"Y'know what else is wrong," Pipe Down asked them, "Coming to a fellow's property without being invited." He gestured at all of them with the stem of his pipe. "Insulting a fellow's way of life." He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. "And blaming a fellow for the ill actions of a bunch of hooligans." He blew another smoke ring. "That's just wrong."
"Mr. Down," Hippocrates spoke through the dull roar of the crowd, "This needs to stop."
"I agree." Pipe Down nodded. "This does need to stop." He raised his voice. "The best way for it to stop," He took a long drag on his pipe, and yelled at them as smoke emitted from his nostrils. "Is for all of y'all to get the hell off my property."
The members of the mob looked to Hippocrates. He nodded solemnly to them, and they began to light their torches. They ran for his curing shed. Pipe Down watched as his shed was lit afire, still silently smoking throughout the whole ordeal. The shed soon began smoking. The scent of partially cured burning tobacco pervaded the air. Pipe Down shook his head.
"Not again," He muttered, and turned to address Hippocrates. "I suppose I'll be seeing you in court then."
"Celestia will not judge us harshly for this," Hippocrates insisted, "We were merely thinking of the children."
"Would have been better if you thought of them before they stole my crop," Pipe Down remarked, and went back inside.
He had letters to write; one to a lawyer that he held on retainer, one to his insurance company, and one to the mayor. He loved letters, a few scribbles on a piece of paper could make such a difference.
Princess Celestia looked down from her bench, regarding the lawbreakers in front of her. She was furious, and had every intention of judging them as harshly as possible. The court proceedings had been long. Not because of any complexity in the issue itself, but because of the sheer number of perpetrators involved. Thirty-five ponies overall.
"It is the ruling of this court." She spread her wings as she spoke. Not because of her irritation, but because ponies seemed to respect her more when she showed off her wingspan. "That the defendants shall pay for the loss of Mr. Down's tobacco, and the loss of his curing shed. The approximate value of which is-"
"Imposter!" Hippocrates called out, "Our princess would never support the devil's crop." He pulled a torch out, and lit it. "Burn the changeling!"
The rest of the guilty party pulled out torches as well, seemingly from nowhere. They ran for her bench, and placed the torches against it.
Pipe Down and Princess Celestia both sighed, thinking the exact same thought, "Not again."