Life is an Unwritten Book

The lights were all on in Sugarcube Corner and the sounds of music could be heard within the nearby area.  The lights shone out into the early evening and lit up even the figure of the cupcake at the top of the building.  From the outside one could hear strands of laughter and cheering, the sounds of glasses clinking and hooves stomping.  It was quite obvious the sounds of merriment had filled that building.

Outside, a small table was set up.  A yellow unicorn was currently sitting and selling copies of the magazine Colt Fiction that boasted the name and photo of a greyish unicorn with a purple mane and bright green eyes smiling from the cover.  A few ponies were lined up outside, carrying small bags of bits as they bought one, sometimes two copies from the unicorn, who politely exchanged bits for magazines like normal though had a mildly greedy glint in his eye.

Inside the building, there was a table lined with refreshments, including small sandwiches, cookies, brownies, chips with dip and a large bowl of punch.  The ponies mingled and talked among themselves, though all eventually stood with and talked with the unicorn from the cover, currently standing in a corner of the room and drinking a cup of punch himself.  The ponies ate, talked with the unicorn, ate, talked a little more with the ponies, returned with their magazines and watched as the unicorn signed them before politely leaving so others could enter.

It wasn’t a large affair, but Written Script was enjoying every minute of it.  Amalthea stood at a nearby table talking with Twilight Sparkle, and the currently seven ponies in the building all seemed to be enjoying themselves.  Written Script signed another copy of Colt Fiction on the cover and the pony deposited another bit into the glass box beside him before trotting happily off.

There became a small break in the proceedings.  Written Script headed over to Twilight and Amalthea.  “How are you two doing?” he called over pleasantly.  “Everything going well?  You’re not bored at all?”

“I’ve enjoyed talking with Twilight,” Amalthea said, her radiant white fur glowing under the lights.  “She’s more knowledgeable than any pony I’ve ever known.  I could listen all day.”

Twilight laughed.  “She’s done her fair share of talking, though,” the unicorn replied.  “We had an interesting conversation on some of the theories of Starswirl the Bearded and the supposed revisions by his pupil Star Catcher the Dreamer.”

Written Script shrugged.  “I’ll be honest I haven’t the faintest idea what those are,” he said.  “But I know my craft and my talent and that’s fine with me.”

“Certainly is good with a lot of the other ponies around here, too,” Amalthea said, looking at the small gathering and the line outside the door.  “I’m surprised you don’t have the ponies flocking towards the door.”

“It takes time,” Written Script said.  “Metal Quill’s had his time in the sun, but soon I’ll come back up again.  Hopefully one day we’ll share the spotlight.”

“Keep working at it,” Twilight said.  “I’m sure you will someday.”

“Good to hear.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to continue to mingle for a while longer.  Final Draft’s still letting ponies in.”

Written Script left, noting a somewhat familiar flash of grey standing in the line just visible outside the window.  His thoughts were pushed aside as he soon met with a young earth pony mare and a unicorn filly.  The little unicorn filly seemed to just be able to bring up her copy of the magazine with her blue magic.  Written Script gently picked it up in his own green aura and smiled at the filly.

“What’s your name?” he asked the filly.

The filly started bouncing happily.  “My name’s Pencil Scratcher!” she said, showing off a small cutie mark of a wooden pencil with a curved line coming off it.  “I got it because I write a lot.  I want to be a writer like you!”

Written Script laughed.  “A big fan of my works, huh?” he said, pulling over a pencil.  “What do you think?” Written turned his head to the mare with the filly.

The mare smiled.  “I’ve never seen her read so much before,” she said as Written signed the magazine’s cover.  “And your stories are all safe for even her to read, so I’m happy for that, too.  It’s nice she’s gaining a positive influence.”

“I’m glad to be a positive influence.”  Written Script handed the magazine back down to the filly.

The filly inspected it.  “‘To Pencil Scratcher.  Write long, write often, and write for fun.  It’s easier than you think.’”  The filly looked up with bright eyes.  “Thank you, Mister Script!” she exclaimed, and hugged him around the leg.

Written hugged her back with one leg.  “Always glad to see a budding young writer.”

The filly let go, took her magazine, and went over to the refreshment table.

Written looked over to the mare, who was pulling out a bag of bits.  “How much is it for the autograph?” she was asking as she looked at her stash.

“Oh, it doesn’t cost you anything,” Written said.

The mare looked astounded.  “Really?  But everyone else has paid a bit.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen that much appreciation from a little filly before.  You keep it as a gift for her.  Buy her another set of pencils and some paper.”

The mare smiled.  “She’ll appreciate that a lot, I’m sure.  Again, it’s nice to have someone who’s a decent influence on the young ones.  I wouldn’t have come if that was the case.”

Written Script nodded happily.  “Glad you could come here.”

The mare nodded and went to help the filly grab a cookie from the back of the tray.  Written Script smiled at the pair.  It was good to know the writing had actually inspired someone.  It almost meant more to him than the money coming in at Final Draft’s stand outside and the box for autographs slowly piling up a stack of bits of its own, and that was only because he needed the money to pay for his living expenses.

“I always thought writers were misanthropic or always complaining about their plight,” said a light voice behind Written Script.  “It’s nice to know there’s some out there who are different.”

Written turned around.  A mare was standing behind him.  Not just any mare, though; she had the familiar grey coat with the dark mane and tail and the cutie mark of a pink treble clef, as well as calm grey eyes.

“You’re the cellist from the concert,” Written Script said, half astounded.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss… uh…”

The mare raised out a hoof.  “Octavia.  Octavia Philharmonica.”  Written pulled up a hoof of his own and they shook.  Octavia gently set her hoof down on the ground.  “I saw you at the concert in the hills; thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

“So you did,” Written replied.  “Were you… looking over at me?”

“Yes.  Were you alright?  I saw you drinking champagne and wondered if you were getting a little sick.”

Written’s head bounced around a little.  “Just a little.  It wasn’t bad.  Once I stopped drinking, it cleared up.”

“Good to hear.  Anyways, I found out where I recognized you from.  I’ve read one or two of your stories in Colt Fiction magazine from some of the bookstores in Canterlot and rather enjoyed them.  Didn’t think you’d be here in Ponyville, though; you have some traits of the Manehattan schools.”

“You read Colt Fiction?  I always heard it was a lower level magazine.  Just enough power to get into the bookstores but never the same as Canterlot Quarterly or Ink Blot.”

“It’s a guilty pleasure of mine,” Octavia said as she dropped a bit into the box for an autograph.  She pulled out a copy of the magazine.  “Certainly better than most of the drivel I’ve read recently.”

Written Script took the copy of the magazine from her.  “Like what?”

“Well, there’s this novel going around by a new author named Metal Quill.”

Written, who had been about to put his pen to the page to sign, stopped immediately.  “Did you say ‘Metal Quill’?” he asked.

Octavia turned away from Written Script, staring out the window in thought.  “Yes.  Had some long mystery novel that had at least three characters go missing and unaccounted for by the end, plus it just confused me so much I couldn’t stand to read but a single chapter a day otherwise my brain would fry.  I ended up just handing it off to a friend of mine.”  She turned back to Written.  “You know him?”

“Know him?”  Written scoffed.  “He’s the one who almost booted me out of having this little party thing because his book was a runaway success.  Thanks to Twilight, though, it’s happening anyway.”

Octavia smiled and nodded.  “I’m going to be around town again in about a week.  I’d like to stop by a see you again, as well as what projects you’re working on.”

“Um… it might be better if I met you somewhere.  I have a new roommate.”

Octavia shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter.  It’d still give us the opportunity.”

Written Script simply signed his name on the paper.  “I’m sorry for the brevity of the signature,” he said as he handed it back.  “I can’t think of much.  I mean, I can’t believe an acclaimed Canterlot cellist would be interested in my work.”

Octavia laughed, though it was a light, restrained, refined laugh.  “I am still a mare, you know.  I have my vices as well as my virtues.  There is more to life than just music to me.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this a ‘vice’.”

“You get what I mean, though.  Your writings are not exactly what would be called ‘classy’ in Canterlot, so it’s still something of a guilty pleasure.”

Written nodded.  “Fair enough.  I’m glad to hear my writings have reached somewhere up there, even if not in the highest circles.”

Octavia smiled at him.  “You underestimate yourself a little, you know that?  Then again, so do they.”  She sighed and put the magazine her saddlebags.  “I should go.  You have others to meet with and I have to leave early tomorrow.”

Written nodded.  “I’m sorry if I kept you.”

“No, no, it’s no problem at all.  So, one week from now, say, at Gustave’s for lunch?”

Written smiled, probably larger than he should have.  “Absolutely.  We could discuss what you think of the short story in there.”  He motioned to the magazine in the saddlebags.

Octavia gave a quick nod.  “I think I would enjoy that.”  Then she turned around and left the building.

A few minutes later, Written had gained a few more bits from signatures and a few more magazines were sold.  The crowds started thinning and the music was turned down.  One of the Cakes started cleaning up the back kitchen now that the reception was nearly over and no more food was being served.  As the crowds thinned and Written finished up another guest’s signature, he saw Twilight Sparkle get up from the table she was sitting at with Amalthea and come over to him.

“I guess it’s my turn to ask what you think of this,” Twilight said with a laugh.

Written Script chuckled.  “I’ve liked it a lot.  Thank you so much for putting this together, Twilight.  Certainly took a lot off Final Draft’s mind; he wanted this to succeed with Metal Quill’s work getting popular.”

“I dare say it’s doing quite well,” Twilight said, looking at the line of ponies still at the table outside purchasing magazines from the yellow unicorn.  “I had other things to ask, though.”

“Like what?”

Twilight walked over to a far corner away from the table where Amalthea was still sitting.  Written followed her.

“How has Amalthea been lately?” Twilight asked.  “Is she settling well into Ponyville?”

“Oh, yeah,” Written said proudly.  “She’s been helping out around the house, seems to do well with the ponies in the marketplace, and was looking into applying for a job here at Sugarcube Corner, as a matter of fact.  Why do you ask?”

Twilight nodded.  “Do you know where she comes from?”

Written Script shook his head.  “No, not really.  She’s never been into detail; says she’s wandered around Equestria for the last few years.  Why do you want to know so much?”

Twilight nodded thoughtfully.  “It’s a way my mind works.  I ask questions and seek out the answers.  My question right now is why a citizen of Equestria would check out four books about Equestrian history, culture, and government.”

Written Script shrugged.  “Perhaps that is an area they like to study.”

“When the cutie mark says otherwise, and four of them are checked out at once, I have my doubts.”

“What is the matter with Amalthea?  Has she been mean?  Has she insulted you?  I mean, what could possibly interest you?”

“When did she come around?”

Written Script fumbled for a minute.  “I… uh… she… u-uh… she came…”

“When did she arrive in Ponyville?” Twilight asked, her voice low but forceful.

“She came in the night after you gave me the journal.”

“Did you write in the journal?”

“Yes.  I wrote that I was angry with Metal Quill about his book and him being suddenly so popular when I had worked for it for the last three years.”

“And Amalthea came around the next morning.”

“Yes.”

Twilight sighed and put a hoof to her head.  “I was afraid of that…”

“Afraid of what, Twilight?  What is wrong with Amalthea?”  Written Script sat there for a while before his eyes widened and his breath stopped short in his throat.  It took a few seconds and a large breath before he could speak again.  “What is wrong with the journal you gave me?”

“I did a little research into the gold patterns on the book.  They’re not just ornamental.  They’re actually supposed to be hieroglyphics about whatever is written in that to come to life.”

“Why didn’t you know that before you gave it to me?”

“I’d never seen one before!”  Twilight’s voice was still hushed, but there was obvious panic.  “I thought it was innocent!  I just saw it as a sentimental thing!  It reminded me of my brother, and I thought since you were a writer it would be a nice gift for your twenty-second short story!”

“Well, what do you suppose we do now?  Amalthea already knows about it.”

“First of all, we have to stay calm.  Have you written anything else in that journal?”

“No.  I’ve been afraid to ever since Amalthea popped out.”

“Good.  Now, you can keep it, but hide it away somewhere.  Put it under lock and key, then hide the key somewhere.”

“Can’t we destroy it?”

“Heavens no!” Twilight gasped as soon as Written had finished.  “It’s too rare.  Not only that, if the town likes Amalthea already, they’ll question where she left for just as she gained citizenship.”

“You mean they might begin to suspect me?  Well, that’s not good, but what else can we do?”

“Live with her,” Twilight said.  “No one can know she was created from magic, and no one can know of the journal she was created from.  If that happened, ponies from around Equestria could use it to shape their every whim!  Think of the chaos that could create!”

Written Script nodded.  “You’re right.  Come on.  We can’t let that get us down.”

Twilight looked around Written Script.  “I’m afraid there’s something else that’s already going to take its place.”

Written turned around and followed Twilight’s eyes.  Final Draft’s table was empty except for the yellow unicorn, the line outside Sugarcube Corner was gone, and the inside was cleared except for Written Script, Twilight, and Amalthea staring out the door.  The three all walked over to the door and looked outside to see a reddish unicorn with a brown and yellow mane standing outside among a crowd of ponies looking awestruck to see him.

“Metal Quill…” Written Script said under his breath, his voice steadily growing louder.  “What the hell are you doing here!?”