Crimson and Clover

by Marcibel

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Romance
Length: 10461

A young couple flees the Manehattan Mafia and a disapproving family when they move from Manehattan to Ponyville to start life anew.

A young couple flees the Manehattan Mafia and a disapproving family when they move from Manehattan to Ponyville to start life anew. In this new life, they must deal with the strangeness and…stuff their new home brings, such as town fires, Pinkie Pie, shipping your friends, romance, foaling, separation, rock stars, mobsters, cheesy potato fries, and much, much more.

Oh, I’m starting with Season 3 canon, but eventually move into Season 4 as the chapters and time in the story passes.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-04 18:42:41 UTC

Prologue: Nothin’ Stands Between Love and Her

Prologue: Nothin’ Stands Between Love and Her

And the Girl Can’t Help It

* * *

Celestia’s sun reached its peak over Manehattan, its warmth only slightly countering the frigid autumn wind. They started as zephyrs in the morning but since have strengthened into hurricane-like gusts. They shook the branches of trees, threw the already dismantled leaves into the air as though a young filly had tossed them herself, and rattled the windows of houses. In the sky, the Weather Patrols of the city were doing quick calculations in anticipation for the scheduled rainfall later in the evening. It would be one of the last ones before winter came in the following months.

Manehattan was quite the metropolis, a city that never sleeps. Because of the glistening blue to the east, all expansion of the city was to the north, south, and every direction in between. The island of Manehattan, Downtown, was home not only to Broodway, the University of Manehattan, and Mustang Square Gardens, but also to the notorious Manehattan Mafia. The southern part of the island was home to a collection of Saddle Arabian immigrants, causing the district to be named Little Saddle Arabia. The edge of the Arctic North limited northern expansion along the coast north of the island, but a small suburb called Aurora managed to fit in somewhere. To the west was Oldenburg, the largest suburb of Manehattan. It was located right before the bridge to Downtown, along the eastern coast of the mainland; and it was well known as a very fashionable and practical place to live and raise foals. It was far enough from the death and immortality of Downtown while still being a short train ride from a dress shop or theatre.

But don’t believe for a second that The Family doesn’t have a hoof in there somewhere. They always do.

The powerful wind violently rattled the second floor window of a small house in the suburb of Oldenburg. It startled awake a young mare. She was an Earth pony, a quite attractive one with a silky coat as green as summer’s grass. Her mane, the color of an evergreen forest, was disheveled from the tossing and turning in her sleep.

Clover grabbed her blanket, moaning in disgust with her unexpected and unintentional awakening, and pulled it over her head. But the small blanket uncovered her flank, bearing a cutie mark of a trio of alsike clover flowers paired with leaflets, and her hind legs. Her tail drooped down to the varnished wooden floor from the remarkably small, twin-sized bed.

After letting out another groan, she tossed the blanket off her in frustration, muttering, “I need bigger blankets.” Sleep was not coming back, and so Clover got up and sat in bed. She glanced at her clock on the nightstand. 12:23 in the afternoon. Clover sighed. That seemed about right to her after a night of staying up until three in the morning.

Another noise, a rumble, became apparent, this time resonating from Clover. She placed a hoof on her belly. That also seemed about right.

Her stomach growled again, this time with a seemingly commanding tone.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going,” Clover huffed. She took a moment to groom her mane into the untangled, wide-jagged bangs she was oh-so accustomed to. Clover opened the door, took one look around her incredibly cramped and small room (which only consisted of a desk, a bed, a nightstand, and a couple bookshelves), and left.

Instantly, as Clover closed the door, the strong and unforgettable smell of grease filled her nostrils. There would only be one thing that her mother would be deep-frying, and the thought almost drove her mad enough to hop the second floor railing onto a five-meter drop down to the first floor. But like a civilized pony, she opted to take the stairs to her left. Her hooves made a hard clopping sound that echoed in the empty foyer. After descending the stairs, she detoured through the back of the foyer and into the small anteroom with the blue Saddle Arabian rug, (the smell of which she never cared for). Having bypassed the furniture in the living room, Clover turned left and headed into the dining room. Already she could hear sizzling and an occasional pop coming from the kitchen.

Using a hoof to push the kitchen door open forcefully, she yelled, “I SMELL POTATO FRIES!” Clover entered the kitchen, which was somewhat covered in smoke from the grease. All other sights blurred as Clover’s eyes snapped to a pink mare much older than herself. The mare’s jade-green mane hung down lazily. It wasn’t ungroomed, only unstyled, as most housewives with a garden, an infant son, and a full-grown daughter living at home have their hair. There’s no reason to become all dolled-up if the farthest you’ll travel that day is the porch to fetch the Sunday Edition.

The mare, Flora, quickly turned around, revealing an already sizable pile of potato fries and smiled. “Well, good morning to you, too, honey. I thought if anything would wake you up, it would be—“

A pair of forelegs wrapping themselves around her neck in a thankful, tight—maybe even a little too tight—hug cut off the mare.

“Thanks, Mom. You so get me.”

“Honey,” Clover’s mother coughed out, “You’re choking me.”

Clover quickly released her mother’s neck, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

A single, stray, grassy green hoof slowly rose up toward the plate of fresh fries, only to be quickly smacked away by Flora’s hoof.

“No, bad Clover!” she scolded. “They’re not done yet.”

“Why not?” Clover’s eyes couldn’t pry themselves from the plate of fries as she whimpered. “So delicious….”

“Because the cheese isn’t melted yet.”

Clover’s head snapped back to her mother, giving her a small bit of whiplash that she ignored.

“Cheese? For…cheesy potato fries?”

Flora nodded.

As memories of past encounters of the dish came rushing back to her, Clover felt herself go weak in her knees as she let out a pleasured, yet creepy sigh. Flora flashed her daughter an uneasy smile.

“I think you have a problem,” Flora stated before grabbing the spoon to dish out more fries from the pan.

“Yeah, I do; and it’s me not getting any cheesy potato fries,” Clover replied with a smile.

“FUG! FUG YOU!” a loud, yet adorably small voice called out. Clover looked to the kitchen table to see her much younger brother in a highchair and burst into laughter, as did her mother.

The little tyke was just beginning to learn to speak, and he had mostly picked up mispronounced versions of a few obscenities his father would shout at something or somepony. And as always, the colt’s accidental cursing made anypony within earshot of him to grin, chuckle, or fall to the ground in gut-wrenching laughter; the third was perhaps the most common of them all.

Clover trotted over to the little colt in the high chair. Maize had a stern expression, pouting over not being noticed in the room by his older sister; but a small peck on his forehead from Clover brought the foal back to a world of good spirits. He was then lifted into a world of surprise when ‘Sissy’ picked him up out of his highchair while falling to her haunches. He was at a loss as to what to do, and he blinked away in confusion.

“What?” Clover asked the colt rhetorically, “Do you think I would really forget about my only brother?” And she answered her own question by giving him a firm hug. Maize giggled as he nuzzled into Clover’s trunk.

After a second soft squeeze, Clover replaced the goldenrod-coated colt back in his seat. She gently ruffled his yellowish-brown mane before turning her head to see her mother smelting a gold ore of cheese and wax paper by unwrapping the large brick and placing it into a small saucepan on the stove. After several minutes of intense heat, constant stirring, and smacking away hooves attempting thievery of fries, the cheesy ore was cooked into liquid gold ingots that would be used in the crafting of cheesy potato fries.

Flora put together a plate of fries and set it in front of Clover at the small kitchen table before fixing her own (Maize, on the other hoof, was enjoying a bowl of applesauce). By the time she sat down with her own plate, Clover was just sitting there with an empty plate and a cheesy grin.

Flora shook her head. “You really do have a problem,” she deadpanned.

“More please!” Clover shouted, ignoring her mother’s comment.

Maize banged his hooves against the highchair’s table, the empty bowl jumping slightly, and likewise shouted, “WHORWE PWEASE!”

Uncontrollable laughter filled the air again, followed by Clover’s point that Maize at least said ‘please.’

As the giggling died down, Flora glanced at the leftover fries on the counter. There were enough of both the fries and the cheese to make another plateful. With a sigh, Flora pushed her untouched plate to Clover and got up to make another plate. Without even looking, Flora said, “Not yet. At least wait until I sit down with my plate before you dig in.” Clover froze with her mouth hovering open over the mountain of cheese and deep-fried slivers of potatoes. Her mother soon returned with another plate of fries, and she waved a hoof signaling to Clover that she could now continue.

“So, what are you going to do today?” Flora asked, breaking a long silence filled with her calculated eating and Clover’s animalistic devouring of her fries.

“Crimson and I are going to the park after he gets off work before the rain this evening. We want to go once more before the late autumn cold starts coming in,” Clover answered before wiping away the cheesy goatee from her mouth. She lowered her head down to her plate, grabbed it with her mouth, and took it to the sink.

“Having to use you mouth or hooves for every little thing, one—and perhaps the biggest—of the downfalls of being an Earth pony,” Clover commented while washing her hooves.

“Well, we all can’t be Unicorns, dear.”

“Unlike some ponies,” Clover mumbled.

As if the heavens were giving their response, the house’s front door opened and closed without the expected knock.

“Mom?” a voice called from the foyer. Clover recognized the voice and cringed.

“In here, sweetie!” Flora replied. As the clopping rhythm of trotting hooves sounded in the foyer, living room, and dining room, Flora flashed Clover one of her trademarked ‘play nice’ scowls before the swinging kitchen door flew open. In a dramatic (overly so, Clover thought) and posh entrance, a malachite-green Unicorn mare with a very pale green mane the hung down her right side danced into the room with her head pompously held high. Clover rolled her eyes at the show and thought a small glass of her father’s cider was in order.

“Oh, Mother, I truly am in love today,” the mare declared and sat her rump on the cushion across from Flora, what had been Clover’s seat.

Clover snickered as she dug through some cabinets under the counter. “That’s not love, Mystic Leaf. Those Johns are only paying you for services provided.”

Mystic Leaf turned around and narrowed her eyes at Clover. Their mother, however, chose a more vocal display of disapproval.

“Clover! Be nice to your sister!” Flora then noticed Clover putting Grass Knot’s bottle of expensive cider on the kitchen counter. “Oh no, missy. You are NOT drinking any of your father’s hard cider; you are not old enough to drink.”

“Would you rather have me go downtown and buy a bag of Zebra Grass?” Clover asked, trying to keep a straight face. However, the little hint of a grin made itself apparent when she added, “They’re cheap, and they have the best names!”

Flora, knowing her daughter would if it came to it, sighed in defeat. “Just wash your glass when you’re done.”

Clover beamed at her little victory. She didn’t like fighting with her mother like that—or at all, really—but it was sometimes inevitable in the process of getting a little leniency around the house. Of course, such a tactic didn’t work with her father. Grass Knot was overbearing and overprotective when it came to such a matter as Clover Sweet, middle foal of three. Clover always thought it was resentment for following her mother’s hoofsteps rather than his own. It made sense; Mystic Leaf was studying for a doctorate in botany, as their father had done; and she was Daddy’s little girl because of it. Clover, however, didn’t go to college. She stayed home, helped her mother with chores and the garden (whenever she actually got up in the morning), and was another loving, familiar face for that precious golden colt that unknowingly cursed like a sailor. She wasn’t sure what exactly to do with her life; so until she did, Clover thought she could at least relieve some of her mother’s stress. Grass Knot did not agree with her in that case and only saw her as indolent.

Flora had already turned back to Mystic Leaf, who was telling of her latest quest in romance. Clover’s thoughts drifted far from conversation before her. She caught a few things here and there, but such information mattered nothing to her. It was always the same with Mystic Leaf. She would waltz in and claim that she had found her soul mate, only for the two to break-up a month or two later. Clover grinned to herself at that thought. In her whole life, she only ever had one coltfriend, a stallion she had met only five months before, in April. And with that one stallion, she had managed to create a relationship that surpassed every one of her sister’s in length. They were close, too, Crimson and Clover. She knew what he did for a living and what kind of…company he kept around; and she didn’t like it. But she still accepted it. As he explained, he didn’t really choose that life; it was thrust upon him when he was a colt. But he was thankful that the life led him to her. She had laughed and told him how cheesy that was to say, but he claimed it to be true and had added how she was the most innocent thing in his life.

Although, some of the things the two did together weren’t so innocent.

Absentmindedly, Clover tried to sip some cider from her glass; but she found she was only holding an empty glass between her hooves. She sighed and looked up. Her mother and sister were still talking, paying her no mind. Clover then glanced at an old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall across from the stove. 1:17. As quietly as she could, Clover washed her glass, placed it in the dish drainer, and left the kitchen. And a single thought popped into her head:

‘I wonder what Crimson is doing right now….’

* * *

The deep-red Earth stallion trotted down the paved sidewalk, the jingling of bits in his saddlebags accompanying the sounds of bustling Downtown. Along with the smells of smoke and pollution, the salty sea air made its presence known. The tall buildings of the city prevented the gales, which allowed his oily black mane to dangle over his eyes. Occasionally, he would grunt in frustration before stopping and using a hoof to push it back.

Payments had gone well today. Everypony had their money and paid it graciously. Crimson wished every payment went as well so he wouldn’t need to strong-hoof anypony. He hung his head at the memories of all those times he had to do it. He hated it, and he made sure no foals were around when he did. After all, he wasn’t a monster. He always left a left something for the little ones of the family, no matter whether they paid or not. Everypony has a weakness, and colts and fillies would always be his fault.

After crossing Blueberry Road, the stallion headed north on a street called Mean Street. It wasn’t as crowded as the rest of the city; therefore, Crimson needed not to push his way through a crowd. It would be crowded later that night, however. The street had one of the best restaurants and bars in the city, the Carrot Cabana. It was a perfect little place with class, great food, and a theme of swing music. The operators and owners would take pride in their business if they weren’t always too busy trying to wash sticky or bloody hooves.

Crimson trotted into the Carrot Cabana. Being mid-afternoon, the place was fairly dead, excluding the familiar faces that had ‘business’ with the proprietor of the joint. A particular Earth stallion, a gangly pony of jet-black adorned by a lapis-blue mane, greeted him at the door.

“Hey, C.C., how’s it goin’?”

“Good, Blackjack. Is Royal here? I have today’s payments, an’ I wanna talk to him about somethin’.”

“Yeah, he’s doin’ the usual—stuffin’ that giganto muzzle of his,” Blackjack answered by the door as Crimson continued to walk to the back of the restaurant.

“What about Tumble an’ Ace? They here?”

“Nah, ain’t seen ‘em all day. I think they’re doin’ the Crème job uptown.”

Crimson shook his head. “Damn shame,” he said under his breath. He looked up to Blackjack. “Alright, thanks Blackjack. Say hi to Scarlet for me.”

Blackjack offered a nod before leaving. Crimson trotted off to the back of the restaurant. He couldn’t stop thinking of the Crème job. Poor Chantilly. She was just the nicest filly ever, and she would’ve stolen his heart if Clover hadn’t beaten her to it. It was a shame what was going to happen to her father.

As he weaved through the numerous tables and chairs, Crimson made out Royal Flush in the booth farthest to the back by the door to the kitchen. Royal was a purple-colored Earth stallion, pudgy, used to sitting, and used to getting his way. His silver eyes always seemed to be filled with anger, but they were capable of joy when the occasion called for it. His mane was a dull purple, and his tail kept to the side. On the table in front of him was a half a chocolate cake with chocolate icing. Only crumbs remained of the other half.

Seeing Crimson, Royal waved him over. The lack of light had made Crimson miss the chocolate frosting on his boss’ mouth from the distance, but he did notice it when he dropped his saddlebags and took a seat across from the stallion.

“The war on cake never ends, does it, Flush?” Crimson commented with a grin.

The fat stallion chuckled. “Not as long as I'm winnin’.” Royal turned back to his cake. “So, how did payments go today?”

Crimson reached down and shook the bag with a hoof, and it jingled louder than sleigh bells on Hearth’s Warming Eve.

Royal laughed harder. “Good, good. How many paid?”

With the best emotionless face he could make, Crimson answered, “All of ‘em.”

Royal Flush slowly looked up from his cake, the rare feeling of disbelief welling up inside of him. “All of ‘em?”

Crimson nodded.

A loud, deep, bellowing laughter that shook the walls filled the restaurant. “That’s my stallion! I’m glad I made ya the collector for all of my debts. Look, ya want somethin’ to eat? The cooks made this thin’ with shit-loads of fruit in it. They call it a ‘fruit pizza’ or somethin’. It’s really good.”

Crimson shook his head. “No, thanks, Flush. I’m goin’ to meet Clover at the park after I’m through here.”

“How is yer little filly-friend? Ya should really go buy her somethin’ nice, ya’know? Somethin’ that—“

Crimson held up a hoof to stop Royal from rambling further (and the stallion would go on for hours, too). He reached down into one of his saddlebags with his hooves, pulled out a wide, black velvet box, and placed it on the table in front of Royal Flush and the cake.

Royal stopped, his mouth open over the cake. He knew that box and its kind. He himself, being the traditional kind, had given two or three mares that same box. The Unicorn and Alicorn had the horn ring, the Pegasus had the wing band, and the Earth pony had….

“A weddin’ necklace?!” Royal exclaimed upon opening the box to confirm his suspicion. He couldn’t contain his grin or his excitement. “You’re goin’ the old-fashioned way, huh? Oh this is gonna be great! Ya can have the weddin’ reception here, of course. Also, I’ll wanna meet her folks before then—“

Crimson’s raised hoof stopped him once more. “That’s actually another thing I wanna talk about. If, if, she says yes, I don’t wanna have the weddin’ or the reception here in the city at all. I…I wanna leave The Family, Flush.”

“What do ya mean you wanna leave The Family?” the enthusiasm in Royal Flush’s voice was swiftly traded in for irritation, “Nopony’s left The Family in nothin’ but a casket for over forty years! Where you gonna go, what’re ya gonna do?”

“I’ve filled out the paperwork to rent a small house in a small town south of Canterlot. I’m movin’ there no matter if she says yes or no.”

Royal Flush gave a chuckle with a slight hint of nervousness. “How you gonna get money? Your so-called ‘special talent’ is makin’ statues outta wood, an’ you can’t get paid for whittlin’ wood!”

“An’ you don’t get paid for rottin’ in a jail cell either, Flush. At least I’ll have my freedom to get paid for doing somethin’ legit.”

The stallions stared at each other in silence, looking for a weakness in the other. Neither stallion moved, blinked, nor really breathed; but it was Royal who broke first.

“Why you doin’ this to me? I raised ya like my own blood from that snivellin’ little orphan colt on the streets, an’ this is how ya repay me?”

“It’s not punishment to you, Flush.” Crimson broke eye contact with Royal Flush to look at the polished wooden tabletop. “I just can’t do any of this no more. I think it’s time I leave this family to start another one away from all of this. Ya can consider me quittin’ today, ‘cause I’m not comin’ in tomorrow.” Crimson then resumed his eye contact with Royal and even went as far as to narrow them at the stallion. “An’ I’ll be damned if I’ll let you stop me.”

Crimson got up and emptied his saddlebags of the many bags of bits onto the table. Royal Flush was stunned, but recovered by the time Crimson started for the door.

“What?! Ya think ya can walk out on me?!” Flush shouted at the stallion. “Fine! Go! Have yer happy life, but don’t ya come back, ya bastard!”

It took every muscle in his body for Crimson to just bite his tongue and walk out instead of killing the stallion on the spot for that very last word.

* * *

Neither the wind not her brother was making the setting of the picnic blanket easy for Clover. Flora had insisted that Clover take her brother to the park one last time before winter came and the cold settled in, but the yearling wasn’t helping the situation. He would see something that interested him and then would gallop off to inspect it, forcing Clover to drop everything and give chase to drag the colt back. She remembered once seeing a harness and leash made for yearlings and younger. Oh, Celestia, how much she wanted one of those at that moment.

The wind was relentless and had gotten far less merciful as the day had passed. In the city, the tall buildings sheltered the streets from the wind; but the little oasis of nature in this vast desert of concrete had no such protection. And the wind was the only thing the weather ponies couldn’t really control.

The combination of the antics of her brother and the wind was quickly giving Clover a headache. After chasing Maize over to the large stone fountain in the park, she grabbed him by his mane with her mouth and carried him back to the picnic area. The foal had upset Sissy since he couldn’t stay in place. So, Clover placed him in the foal-carrier she had carried him to the park in and slid the carrier onto her back. Initially, Maize squirmed; but he was soon in a joyous mood and quit after having a fun ride bouncing along with Clover’s trot. The colt was a year old, and he still acted like a newborn foal.

After dealing with her brother, Clover trotted over to a rock garden by the stone fountain. It was small, only about a meter wide on all sides, and was filled with smooth, light grey and beige stones. She reached down and grabbed a couple of stones with her mouth, an act that was considered unsanitary and would be cause for her mother’s hoof to smack the back of her head. She carried them over to the blanket and sat them down. After three or four more trips, Clover had collected a total of ten stones; and she grabbed and placed a single stone on one of the corners of the blanket that was being held down with her hoof. Every part of the blanket that wasn’t held down by the stone unfurled and flapped in the wind like a white and blue flag. Using the other stones, she anchored the other parts of the blanket until only the small wrinkles in the center of the blanket reacted to the force of the gale. Clover beamed; that was her second victory for the day!

Three chimes echoed from across town. Clover looked off in the distance to see the large clock tower strike three. ‘Crimson should be here in a few minutes,’ she thought as she began unpacking the contents of the basket. Her brother was still in the foal-carrier, sucking on a baby carrot. His teeth weren’t quite strong enough to chew tough or hard vegetables, but he was often given a small carrot or a slice of apple to suck on. Leaf vegetables were soft enough for him to chew and eat on his own, his favorite being spinach.

As she was unpacking, Clover didn’t notice the deep-red stallion approaching from behind; but the cuddly colt at her side warned her of him by giggling and shouting the only part of the stallion’s name he knew and could say.

“Crim! Crim!”

Alerted by Maize using one of the hoof-full of non-curse words he knew, Clover turned around to see Crimson coming up behind her. He was wearing a set of black saddlebags and an all-too familiar grin.

“I didn’t know you was a teenage mother,” he stated jokingly and pointed to the colt on Clover’s side.

Clover smirked. “Oh, eat me.”

“I would, but we’re in a public place an’ there’s a little one around,” Crimson retorted, gesturing to the ‘little one’ with his hoof. Clover scoffed and threw an apple at him. It was a short throw, and the apple landed a quarter of a meter away from Crimson and rolled the rest of way and into Crimson’s hoof. Crimson reached down and took an enormous bite of it. “Thanks,” he said with his mouth still full, “I ain’t had a bite all day.”

Clover feigned a disgusted scowl. “You’re a disgusting pig.”

Crimson swallowed the bite. “I’m sorry, did you want me to use a fork and knife an’ wipe my mouth with a doily?”

“Who are you, my sister?”

“If I was, then all those thin’s we’ve done would be a little less romantic, don’cha think?” Crimson asked while finishing the apple.

“Some of those already weren’t. They were just you being a pig.”

“Hey! You was hoggin’ the whipped cream!” Crimson narrowed his eyes at Clover before adding, “And ya said ya liked it!”

Clover returned the empty-hearted glare. They stared at each other for a small amount of seconds before bursting into laughter. Crimson walked over, deposited his bags by the blanket, and searched through them. The black velvet box was in the left bag, he noted. But it wasn’t what he was hunting for. What he was looking for was at the bottom of the right bag. It was a small red lollipop wrapped in plastic. Crimson grabbed the stick with his mouth and turned around to meet Clover’s muzzle a mere inch away. She had an annoyed look, glanced at the sucker, and said only a single word.

“No.”

“Bwut, bwut—“

“No, you know what sugar does to him!”

“Bwut, it’s suga’less!”

Clover scanned the wrapper on the lollipop, and it indeed repetitively read ‘Sugar Free’ in a white ink. She sighed. “Fine, but if he doesn’t go to sleep tonight, I will be stopping by your place and making sure you won’t get any sleep like the rest of us.”

Crimson grinned even though he knew she was serious. He ripped apart the wrapper from the lollipop and held it in front of Maize. The colt cooed adorably at the sight of the lollipop and reached for it, and given it he was. The sucker was immediately popped into his mouth, replacing the carrot; and the tyke beamed and held onto the stick with his hooves.

“Ya’know, he’s really too young to have lollipops,” Clover stated as she watched her brother savor every second of the sugar-free, artificial strawberry flavoring.

“He didn’t have any problems with the last one. He just sucked on it until it was gone an’ let go of the stick. I think some ponies don’t give foals enough credit.”

“Well, while he’s distracted, I think we should eat.”

And eat they did. Clove had prepared a hearty meal of salad, apples, daisy and dandelion sandwiches (mayonnaise on Clover’s and pepper jack cheese on Crimson’s), and baby carrots with a side of sour cream and onion dip. Clover slipped off the foal-carrier and took Maize out of it. He was still working on the lollipop Crimson had given him; but once he was done with it, he was adamant in joining in on the dining. Clover unpacked and gave him his meal: a small bowl of applesauce and an equally tiny salad. Having no energy or will to do so, he didn’t flee in the interest of something else. He just lapped at the applesauce and munched on his salad, alternating between the two in a foolish attempt to decide which was more delicious, as it ended in a draw and a stuffed, tired colt that quickly fell asleep on the blanket.

Crimson and Clover just watched him. Both were sitting; Clover had her head leaning against Crimson. Neither could take their eyes off the little bundle of goldenrod-colored cuteness that rested before them. The sun dangling over the west and the clock tower both agreed that it was late in the afternoon.

Crimson shook his head at the sight in front of him. “So freakin’ adorable,” he whispered. “Kinda makes you want one, don’t it?”

Clover pulled her head from against his shoulder and showed a sly smile. “Is that a proposal?”

Crimson’s heart sank at the word ‘proposal.’ He scolded himself mentally for forgetting. There was still time, he thought, and look, a beautiful sunset. He was looking for the perfect moment to present itself, and there it was.

Wordlessly, he reached into his saddlebags and pulled out the little black box. He hid it in his forelegs as he looked back to Clover. She had been watching him, for sure. She had a serious face (which was rare for either of them) and was certainly intrigued.

“I had a speech written up an’ everythin’,” Crimson stated as he looked down at the black box. “A full declaration of how I felt, how much ya mean to me—a cheesy one at that. But I guess all I’ve got to do is just say it.” He looked her straight in the eyes, her shimmering lime-green eyes, and smiled. “I love you, Clover Sweet; an’ ya mean the world to me. So…” Crimson produced the box from his forelegs and opened it to show Clover, who squealed at the sight of the necklace before her front hooves shoved themselves into her mouth to shut her up. “…will ya marry me?”

Clover couldn’t look away from the necklace. It was so gorgeous and fancy. It had a long chain of gold rings that gleamed in the orange rays of the setting sun. But the centerpiece of the necklace was what stunned her the most. Connected to the length of chains by two gold rings of its own was a lavender gemstone cut into the shape of a clover flower (as it was customary for Earth pony betrothal necklaces to have the bride-to-be’s cutie mark) and inlaid into sterling silver. It was extravagant, appalling, and totally something her sister would have. But it was for her.

And then as if it was a sack of concrete bricks and soap bars, Crimson’s question hit her.

A cluster of thoughts and emotions emerged at the mental recitation of the question, and Clover’s body and mind almost waged a civil war over the decision she should make. The rational part of her brain told her to say that she would think it over; but her mouth covered its imaginary ears and shouted, “La, la, la, la…!” in an attempt to drown everypony out. Her heart threatened to go on strike if she said anything but yes; but again, her mouth didn’t listen. However, the muscles in her neck, romantics as they were, had formed an alliance with her heart; and Clover nodded feverishly.

Several parts of her body threw up unreal hooves in frustration while others cheered in celebration. But they all accepted what was going to happen (some more grudgingly than others): Clover was getting married.

And it all happened within seconds.

Clover threw her hooves around Crimson and squeezed him as tight as she could. “Yes! Oh, Celestia, yes!” she sobbed. She didn’t even know she was crying until she spoke and felt the tears descending her cheek. It surprised her a bit. She had never cried out of pure joy before, and the last time she cried had been over a decade ago. But it just felt right now.

Crimson returned the embrace with a single foreleg, the other still being occupied by the box holding the betrothal necklace. The two stayed like that for a couple of minutes before Crimson cleared his throat.

“There is one more thin’ ya should know.”

Clover pulled away from him, the fur on her cheeks tear-drenched. She sniffed loudly. “What?”

“Well, ya once said that if ya could live anywhere, you wanted to live in a small, rural town. So I filled out the paperwork to rent a small house in a town like that south of Canterlot, an’ I was hopin’ ya’d be willin’ to move there with me. We can move in at anytime.”

Clover wiped her watery eyes. “Of course.”

Crimson nodded as he stood up, placing the box in his mouth, and walked around Clover. Through Clover’s sobbing and hugging, Crimson hadn’t put the necklace on Clover; and his hoof was starting to tire of holding the damn thing. He wrapped it around her neck with jewel on the back of her neck, connected the magnetic ends designed for the hooves an Earth pony, and readjusted the necklace to its proper position, with the lavender amethyst dangling from the base of Clover’s neck. Clover softly tapped the gem with her hoof and exhaled a small laugh as it loosely swung to and fro. Tears would still make their way down her cheeks, but she had calmed down for the most part.

“It’s a perfect fit,” she stated as she looked back up at Crimson, who had already returned to view the necklace on Clover from the front. He smiled at how gorgeous she was in the light of the early sunset. She smiled back and took a step closer to him. “I know how we both feel about public displays of affection in, well, public; but I think an occasion like this necessitates something, so….” And with no other warning, Clover moved quickly to press her lips against Crimson’s.

The stallion recoiled, looked around to make sure nopony was watching, and quickly resumed the face sucking when he saw that nopony was. Neither cared for public displays of affection other than hugging (especially between themselves) and even had a rule against it; but if Clover was going to break it, Crimson thought he might as well, too.

The newly engaged couple only stayed like that for a few seconds before the adorable voice of Maize, who had only recently awakened, shouted, “Sissy!” Crimson and Clover broke apart and looked down at the foal. He was reaching up to his sister with his hooves, indicating that he wanted to be lifted up; and Clover obeyed after flashing a smirk to Crimson. As she held the colt in her forelegs, Clover looked at the large clock tower; it was a little after five.

“I think he wants to go home,” Clover said as she lightly bounced the colt. “And I think we should go, too. Dad will be on my flank if I’m out too late with you.”

Crimson nodded in understanding, helped Clover put back the contents of the picnic basket, and sat the now well-rested and energetic colt back into the carrier. The two worked in silence for most of the time.

“I have a few questions,” Clover said tentatively just when they had everything packed. Crimson wasn’t much for questions, especially when they were directed toward him; and Clover often found it best to first state that she has questions rather than just blurt them out, just in case Crimson wasn’t in the mood for giving out answers.

But Crimson gave the nod that meant she could continue.

“If you and I are moving to another town, then what are you going to do about your, uh, ‘work’?”

Crimson glanced to the side. “I’m leavin’ The Family, actually.”

Clover’s eyebrows shot themselves up her forehead. “Really?! How did the boys take it?”

“I don’t know about Ace an’ Tumble; they weren’t at the Cabana. But Royal was, and he was really pissed when I told him. Lucky I left when I did. He probably would’ve made a few threats if I had stayed any longer.”

“Okay, now I must ask, when or where are we going to, you know, tie the knot; or at least when are we going to talk about it?”

Crimson sighed. “I don’t know. I know I want a small weddin’.”

Clover thought about it, considering what her family was like and how Crimson really only ever had The Family. “Agreed.”

“As for when or where, how about we talk about that later?”

Clover nodded before giving Crimson another hug. Crimson returned the affection, and Clover nuzzled into him as she remembered he earlier had said a phrase that neither had said to the other. And those same three little words began working their way up her throat.

“Crimson?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Clover could barely contain her excitement as she trotted up the streets in Oldenburg toward home, humming one of her favorite Van Haylen songs, “Fillies in Love….” Even though the song really didn’t reflect her current situation (since it was about groupies), just the title seemed appropriate. She was just one more crazy filly in the world, and she was in love. She had the necklace hidden on her, using her mane to help cover it up, so her family wouldn’t see it when she arrived home, allowing her to announce it for herself when the time was right.

For what felt like the first time in her life, Clover was truly happy; and she made such glee known when she arrived home. As soon as she closed the front door, she yelled, “I have great news!” to really nopony in particular. The living room and dining room were empty, meaning everypony was in the kitchen, probably. Clover took her usual detour through the anteroom to get the kitchen. She gently pushed on the kitchen door to peek inside; and of course, her sister and her mother were there, still sitting in their original spots across from each other. However, the new addition of a stallion sat beside Mystic Leaf with a fresh cup of hot black tea in front of him on the table.

Despite his age, the stallion was traditional and professional looking, even in the casual setting of home. Upon Clover’s entrance into the kitchen, he turned to her; and his eyes locked onto her over the circular lenses of his reading glasses. Like his older daughter, the bangs of his forest-green mane hung down the side of his head. His chosen mane style was something like a comb-over where the ends curled up to a single point. He was a stout, lime green stallion; and what Clover didn’t like was the scowl that made up his mouth.

“Where were you?” he asked before he narrowed his eyes at her. “You were with him, weren’t you?”

Clover rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dad. That’s what couples do, you know; they hang-out with each other.”

Grass Knot’s glare intensified. “Yes, well, you know how I feel about the two of you being together.”

“Yes,” Clover replied flatly and quickly, “and I also know that I’m eighteen, legally an adult, and completely capable of making my own decisions. Speaking of which,” Clover used her hoof to pull down the hidden gem of the necklace. There was a sharp gasp from both her mother and her sister and a glower from her father. Clover smiled smugly at the latter. “I’m getting married.”

What Clover expected next were the shrill cries of her overjoyed sister as she and their mother jumped up from their seats and came to congratulate her, all while her father boiled in a stew of his own anger.

But none of that came. All that happened was her father stating his position.

“No.”

Clover gave her father a confused glance. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Grass Knot said without the slightest rise in his voice, “I said, ‘no.’ You’re not marrying him.”

“Pardon me for backtracking to what I just said; but I am eighteen, old enough to marry who I damn well choose to!”

“Clover!” Flora yelled in a scolding tone, “Watch your language!”

“And you!” Clover pointed to her mother, “Shouldn’t you be on my side? You’re always telling that I’m old enough to do and see anypony I want!”

Flora pondered her daughter’s words for a second, wondering if she knew what she said. But rather than confront her about it, Flora decided to deal with what was already dished upon her plate.

“Clover, dear, while I do believe you are old enough to make important decisions on your own, I also believe that you are rushing into things. You should’ve told Crimson that you’d think about it. You’ve only known him for five months.”

“And what, do like what you and Dad did and wait until I get knocked up before we tie the knot?!”

Flora opened her mouth to correct her daughter, but her husband did it for her.

“Now you listen here!” Grass Knot stood up on all fours, rising with his voice, “First, you will not talk to your mother in that way; and second, as long as you’re my daughter and living in my house, you will do as I say! And I say that you’re not marrying that goon you call a coltfriend!”

Clover, realizing that she was not going to win this battle, gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes at her father as she growled out, “Fine.” She stomped out of the kitchen and upstairs to her tiny room where she proceeded to slam her door shut (like a teenage filly) and slid the door’s bolt into place.

* * *

Two stallions in saddlebags passed a couple of ponies working with the lamp crew. The crewponies took a single look at the two stallions and were unnerved by them. The Pegasus lighting the lamp hustled in an attempt to get off Mean Street that much quicker. Shady ponies with nothing to do but cause trouble were a common sight on Mean Street. And he hated every moment he spent working on the street.

The stallion in front, a tall black Unicorn, pushed open the door to the Carrot Cabana with his hoof. His companion, a short, teal-colored Earth pony, quickly followed behind him. They needed no invitation to make their way back to the rear of the restaurant. It had gotten a little more packed than earlier in the day as several couples had begun date night and regulars had begun their alcoholic plunge into the oblivion.

As he passed a waitress, the Unicorn used his magic to levitate some bits out of his bags and put them in the waitress’ pocket as he said with a naturally stern voice, “Scotch, neat, Petal.” He then placed a few more bits in her pocket before adding, “An’ here’s somethin’ for yer troubles.” The waitress nodded and walked off as the two continued their venture to the back. In his usual spot, they saw the purple-colored stallion they were looking for. His head was lying on his forelegs, and a half-full bottle of whiskey accompanied him at the table. Instead of having somepony else bother him so he could wave them over, the two decided to do it themselves.

The Unicorn grabbed the bottle with his magic and lifted it up from the table. The stallion didn’t seem to notice that his drink had left, so the Unicorn tipped the bottle over and poured a good few ounces onto the stallion’s head. The stallion woke up frantically, thrashing his hooves about and clobbering a waitress that was going into the kitchen for orders. The stallion immediately knew whom to look for, and he spotted them while they were approaching. The Unicorn stopped to help up the poor mare that had gotten in the way of the wild hooves, placing a few bits in her pockets before sending her on her way, and climbed onto the booth after his companion across from the stallion that was now glowering at them.

“Ace, you’re a real ass, y’know,” the purple stallion commented.

Ace smiled. “Did I get a promotion from bein’ a real bastard?”

“Yeah, an’ the benefits include my right fore hoof smackin’ that smart mouth of yers.” Ace and the stallion next to him chuckled at the barren threat. The purple stallion rubbed his still-sleepy eyes. “So, did ya two nimrods get the Crème job done?”

“Yeah, Royal,” the small stallion answered. His voice was nasally, and it carried with it a tiny squeak since it wasn’t shouting vulgar comments about anypony’s mother. “An’ don’t worry. It was clean. Nopony can connect us to it.”

“I always worry when ya two dip-shits do somethin’,” Royal stated. “Besides, that’s not what I’m really worryin’ about.”

The stallions exchanged concerned glances as the waitress brought Ace’s drink. “So what’s the matter?” Ace asked.

Royal laid his head on his hooves. “Have you seen C.C. today?”

“Nope,” they answered together.

“He’s gettin’ married to that filly he’s datin’.”

“Oh, yeah?” the short stallion said, “Ya know, she’s got a real nice body on her. Every time C.C. brings her around, I just can’t stop starin’ at her—“

“Tumble?” Royal said.

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Tumbling Dice sighed and complied.

“He’s also leavin’ The Family an’ movin’ to some town south of Canterlot,” Royal Flush continued.

Tumbling Dice stared blankly at Royal Flush while the drink in Ace’s magical grasp stopped at his lips. He slowly lowered the glass back down to the table.

“He’s doin’ what now?” Ace asked, wanting to make sure his hearing hadn’t gone bad.

“The bastard’s leavin’ The Family,” Royal repeated.

Tumbling Dice stood up on the booth and table. “You want us to go over there an’ club him?”

“Do you really think you can take ‘Crazy Crimson’ in a fight?” Royal asked with an increasingly annoyed tone, and a matching expression to boot.

“Oh, yeah, ya got a point there,” Tumble agreed and sat back down.

“Do ya think he’ll snitch?” Ace asked.

Royal Flush shook his head. “Nah. I think he just wants to get away from us.”

“So what are ya gonna do?”

“I had an idea. We wait a while, a long while, like a year. Let him see what the world is like, an’ then we go an’ bring him back.”

Ace cocked an eyebrow. “You really think that’ll work?”

“What else am I supposed to do?! We can’t club him,” Royal stressed this by looking Tumbling Dice in the eyes, “and we can’t bribe him with anythin’. Our hooves are tied. All I know is I want him back, an’ we can do is wait.”

* * *

Clover didn’t even come out for dinner that night; she stayed boarded up in her room. Flora, Grass Knot—even Mystic Leaf had tried to coax Clover out; but all was vain. She just sat in silence by herself. During the evening, her father’s words echoed in her head: ‘…as long as you’re my daughter and living in my house, you will do as I say….’ It continued playing in her head until it revealed a loophole in his statement.

‘While I can’t really do anything about the former,’ she thought, ‘I can do something about the latter.’ And then the pieces of how she would get her way on the matter quickly worked themselves into place.

Clover poked her head out of her room at about midnight to check if her parents were in bed. Upon the confirmation that the rest of the house was settled in for the night, Clover pulled out a set of psychedelic, floral-print saddlebags and packed an assortment of things, like a photo of her and her brother together, a photo of her and Crimson together that was taken at the Summer Sun Celebration fair outside of the suburb, her copy of the ‘Van Haylen’ LP, and a small bag of bits. The last thing she grabbed was a small plush doll of an aqua-green Pegasus. As angry as she was at everypony, she didn’t even bother leaving a note before heading out of her room.

She crept over to the door next to her own and opened it. Light from the foyer poured into the room, highlighting a small crib. Clover tip-hoofed over, making sure not to make the old floorboards creak, and peered down onto the only pony in the house that she wasn’t mad at: Maize. He was sound asleep, and just the sight of him brought some remorse to her resolve. She sighed and placed the Pegasus doll that had once been hers next to him. A small peck on the forehead was her good-bye; and she left, closing the door behind her.

Clover took the same precaution with the stairs as she did with Maize’s nursery, going as slowly and quietly as she could down them. She unlocked the deadbolt on the doorknob of the front door, opened it, and relocked it before heading out into the cool September night and closing it behind her.

The air was damp and cold enough for her to see her breath before trotting up the sidewalk. The train would really be the only way to get into the city at this time of night. But it was going to be a long trot to the station since it was nearly twenty blocks away.

And the eerie setting the lights gave didn’t help much. Oldenburg still used old-fashioned flame streetlamps that didn’t give off as much light as it did heat. The flickering flames made shadows dance and seemingly jump toward the mare. The last time Clover had been alone at night in either the city or the suburb, she was nearly mugged; but she swallowed what she could of her fear and pressed on, humming three albums’ worth of songs to herself to help keep herself calm.

It was about one o’clock when Clover finally reached the train station. She would have to wait about half an hour before the small steam-powered tram that only traveled among the suburbs and various parts of the city arrived at the station. All of the much larger expresses would be making midnight runs to the various points across the country.

Clover and the clerk were the only ones at the station. Clover took a seat against the back wall after buying her ticket. It and the other seats against the wall allowed anypony to see who comes and goes and prevented ponies from sneaking up on you, a trick she had learned from dating an often-paranoid stallion that grew up in the heart of the city.

Not much happened in the station or on the train. Clover was alone the whole way across the bridge and into the city. She tried not to think about her actions in the case that doing so would change her mind. Instead, she kept her mind on less important things, like what would that small town south of Canterlot be like or how come she couldn’t remember what the name of it was. Pretty much everypony has heard of that little town, ever since Nightmare Moon returned when the Summer Sun celebration was held there a couple of years ago. At least that sort of thing wasn’t a frequent or even a regular occurrence. There was that whole deal with the return of Discord about a year ago; but that wasn’t an isolated event since it affected a large portion of the country, Manehattan not excluded. But nopony was talking about that now; instead, they were talking about the return of the Crystal Empire. Clover could recall all those times her obnoxious sister would go on and on about how gorgeous the Crystal ponies’ manes were or how shiny their coats looked, which usually ended in a snide comment from Clover.

Clover disembarked from the tram at the little station on a street named Cathedral Avenue. From there, it was a just a short trot to the west before Clover reached Crimson’s apartment complex. Crimson’s place was on the second floor of the excellent-looking complex, and Clover climbed up the steps to the second floor. Apparently, the rent was extreme for a place there; but mobsters get paid so well it didn’t matter, Clover guessed.

Clover knocked on the second door to her left (since to her right was a railing). Light was still shining through the window and the knocks were answered after a couple seconds by the residential deep-red stallion. Immediately after realizing who it was, Crimson threw back his head in frustration.

“Oh, come on! That sucker was suga’less!” he said, half-pleading and half-arguing.

“That’s not why I’m here, Crimson,” Clover reassured. She shuffled her hooves nervously against the concrete. “You, uh, you said that we could move into that house whenever we wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Crimson answered slowly, trying to see whether or not that was what Clover was looking for. “Are ya okay? Ya seem paranoid, like I usually am.”

“Oh, I’m great, just great, especially for somepony that just kind of ran away from home.”

“Ya did what now?”

“Well, I guess it really won’t be so much as running away as it would just a grown mare unexpectedly moving out her parents’ house in the middle of the night so she could—”

“Whoa, whoa, now,” Crimson interrupted, using a hoof to push the imaginary brake in this conversation. “I’m confused, especially as to why you’re doin’ this—or what exactly ‘this’ is. Listen, why don’t ya come in so we can get this settled.”

Clover looked at the ground and nodded, and Crimson stepped aside from the doorway to let Clover in, and closed it behind her.

“You want some coffee?” Crimson offered, “I just put a fresh pot on a few minutes ago.”

Clover nodded as she tried to stifle a yawn, and Crimson was gone in a flash and returned with two cups of coffee, a small container of sugar, and a lone spoon on a tray.

“I know how much ya love to have a ton of sugar in yer coffee,” Crimson stated as he put the tray on a coffee stand.

“And I know how much you love black things,” Clover jokingly countered.

“You’re still goin’ on about that mare in the park today? She wanted her flyin’ disk back! What was I supposed to do?”

“Relax, Crimson. I was only joking.” Clover rolled her eyes, “Geez, you sure do get touchy.”

Crimson glared a little at her and motioned to the bags on her back. “An’ you still need to explain to me what you’re doin’.”

Clover glanced back at the saddlebags on her back and sighed. “Dad wouldn't let me marry you. He said as long I was his daughter and lived in his house, I couldn’t marry you.”

“An’ you’re solution to that was to run away?”

“Well, I couldn’t really stop being his daughter, now could I?” Clover reasoned, “So, I just thought that the latter would be the one to fix.”

“An’ you want to move into the house in Ponyville?”

Clover stomped a hoof in frustration. “That’s what the name of the town was! I couldn’t think of its name on the train ride into the city…erm…” Clover trailed off when she noticed that Crimson was giving her one of those looks that told her that he was perplexed and she should just stop talking.

Crimson scratched the top of his head, right between his ears. “Well, when exactly do ya want to move?”

A hopeful, nervous grin grew on Clover’s face. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

“Tomorrow?!” the stallion shouted, “That’s barely enough time to pack some of my stuff! That’s…” Crimson’s argument died down as Clover gave that irresistible puppy-dog look that every mare has. He sighed, “Fine! I’ll pack what I can tonight so we can start movin’ tomorrow.” He glared at her before adding, “Just be thankful that you’re cute.”

Clover smugly smiled to herself in satisfaction as she trotted toward the bedroom. All this fighting and trotting in the middle of the night were taking their toll and a nice bed sounded amazing.

“Where do ya think you’re goin’?” she heard Crimson say from the kitchen doorway.

It was a long shot, but…

”Bed?”

“Oh no, Clover,” Crimson said as he shook his head, “If I’m stayin’ up to pack, you’re gonna stay up and help me.”

Clover took a second to wipe the sleepiness away from her eyes. “Fine, just give me a second to put down my bags.” She then looked at him with her partially blood-shot eyes and a frown. “But you better have coffee when I need it.”

* * *

Clover quickly unpacked what she could of the bags from the trunk of the carriage while Crimson paid the driver. The whistle of the soon-departing train filled the air around the train station, making the couple of romantic renegades hurry more. With a pair of saddlebags and a suitcase for each, they galloped to the station counter to buy their tickets.

After having finished packing Crimson’s saddlebags and two suitcases and separating everything into piles to be boxed up later, Crimson and Clover collapsed onto Crimson’s bed and drifted off to sleep at about 4:15 in the morning without either of them thinking of setting an alarm. Crimson woke up just in time to wake Clover so they could catch the 8a.m. to Ponyville.

And they barely made it; for as they boarded the train, it started its departure.

Crimson and Clover immediately took a seat on the right side of the aisle and fell down into its cushioned righteousness, nodding off during their ride to Ponyville.

It was about one in the afternoon when they both arrived in Ponyville and awoke from their nap. They stretched out their hooves and legs before grabbing their luggage and leaving. Crimson led Clover through the crowd of ponies on the platform and out onto the street; having already been to the small house and certain parts of the small town, Crimson pretty much knew his way. He had always lived in the city and had good practice in remembering places because of it.

But after walking a little bit in the street, Crimson and Clover passed by a gingerbread-house-looking bakery, where they were stopped by an incredibly pink and incredibly energetic Earth mare with an affinity for moving and talking that was coming out of the business. She took just one look at them, and her pupils widened. She inhaled so much air that Clover swore the pony was inflating herself like a balloon and zipped over to them.

“I remember you!” she shouted excitedly and so quickly that Clover barely had time to comprehend that the mare was talking to Crimson before the couple was bombarded with more words from the mare’s mouth. “You’re the pony that wanted to rent the house next to Lyra and Bon Bon’s shop! I never forget a face! Well, I see things have worked out for you…” She finally noticed Clover, and that seemed to make her even more thrilled. “Oh, and you brought a friend! Oh, geez, I didn’t bring my welcome wagon. Oh, could you wait there for one second?” And without even waiting for a response, she dashed back to the bakery.

Clover stared blankly in the direction of the pony that just left. “Who…or what…the buck was that?”

With the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a slight grin, “That…was Pinkie Pie.” He then looked at Clover, and his grinned grew when Clover looked back at him with confusion and concern growing on her face like moss on a stone. “Welcome to Ponyville, Clover Sweet.”

───────────

[A/N]:

For those who had read the original, don’t you think this version is so much better?