Lucky Me

by Secondbestscribe

Rating: everyone
Tags:
Length: 3030

Caramel is a clumsy, forgetful blacksmith, who is moving from Hoofington to Ponyville with nothing with him but his things and his wits. Working on the farm of Sweet Apple Acres, he makes the first friends in his life, and might learn something too.

First Person Fanfic

Caramel comes from the small town of Hoofington, and is known at home as the pony who was last to get their cutie mark. He is known as the forgetful one, the clumsy one, the one who doesn't always gets his schoolwork done, the one who doesn't understand most of the things the teachers give him.

He's moving, now. Moving away, to a town living in the shadow of the capital city, a town called Ponyville. Hiding in his nest of blankets, Caramel will meet ponies that he never knew existed, never knew would want to be his friend.

A dark-grey pegasus with a mohawk mane, who tames and taunts the storms…

A big reddish farmer, who works the fields and lets not a word pass his lips…

A sassy flashy mare, faster than the wind and known to most as an anonymous electric-blue blur…

And, of course, the grey earth pony with the three four-leaf clover cutie mark, neighbour of the town fashion designer and the stallion who never seems to mess up.

A new life is awaiting Caramel. He just has to find it.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-17 07:52:31 UTC

I Make My First Friend

The entire trip to Ponyville was smooth enough, at the start of course. Nothing much happened while I trundled along, sitting at the back of the moving carriage while two buff-looking stallions pulled it silently, all gruff faces and pumping legs.

I sighed, and buried my head underneath the pile of fabric that was my covers. Ponyville was ages away, and tons of dark clouds were all bunched up in the sky ahead of us. I really wasn’t up to dealing with rain, and I wasn’t sure how the stallions would take it.

Still, even as the first tentative droplets of rain began to fall, the stallions ignored it. I sighed once more, and wrapped myself in my blankets. Boredom was setting in like a disease, and these silent stallions weren’t exactly adding to the general cheer of the situation.

Looking up, I suddenly spotted a tiny winged figure up amongst the clouds. His coat colour was such a dark grey, he almost perfectly melded into the thunderclouds themselves. As he dashed to and fro, wings beating, I saw that what had first identified him as a pony to me - and not a tiny thundercloud - was his mane.

Blue-silver, like the wilder kinds of lightning that I had sometimes seen in books. I watched, wide-eyed, as his wings blurred and he slammed his hind hooves into a straying thundercloud, which was immediately propelled back into the group with a thump.

He was far too far away for me to see his cutie mark, but I assumed that it was related to weather-keeping. Glancing at the stallions, who were now galloping almost desperately as they tried to pass the storm by, I saw that their manes were already dripping a bit.

Then the storm hit. Gales were suddenly blowing, thunder and lightning were cracking in tandem, and rain hammered down like gunfire. I yelped as the carriage buckled and thunder rumbled, and I dove for shelter, shivering under my blankets.

Quite suddenly, the carriage stopped.

Nervously, I poked my head out of the pile of my blankets, and saw that the two stallions had found their path blocked by the stallion in the sky.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, hovering in mid-air with his forelegs crossed and an irritated look on his face. I leaned my head out of habit, and saw that his cutie mark was that of a thundercloud, with a lightning-bolt descending from it.

“Whaddaya want?” snarled one of the stallions.

“Sorry about the hold-up, but this weather isn’t safe for carriage-pullers,” replied the pegasus firmly. “Or carriage-riders,” he added sternly, looking over at me.

The stallions snorted. “Well, how exactly are we gonna get to Ponyville now?” demanded the first carriage-puller.

“There’s a tavern just down the road,” replied the pegasus, pointing. “I’m finished with this month’s big storm, and I’ll be down there having a bit of a drink.”

He tipped the two stallions a wink as he said this, but at the time I had no idea what he was implying. Still, the carriage-pullers suddenly seemed all for a drink, and they began following the pegasus as he led them down the road.

Only a few minutes had passed before we reached the tavern. It was an out-of-the-way place, but sturdy-looking, and made out of wood. I hopped down as the two carriage-pullers brought the carriage to the back, where there were some outdoor shelters for carriages, chariots and the like.

Slightly lost, I nervously followed the pegasus into the tavern, which had a creaky sign above the door that read The Blind Cockatrice. There was a painting of a blindfolded cockatrice beneath it, which I ducked my head under as I entered the tavern.

Inside the Cockatrice, it was crowded and hot. Equestrians of all species were crowded around tables, while deftly-moving pegasi navigated the crowd from the air. The pegasus forced his way through the crowd, while I tentatively followed right behind him.

We eventually got to the bar, where we took a seat each. The unicorn bartender gave us a look, and the pegasus said, “Premium, top-notch Apple Family Cider, if you will.”

“And you?” asked the bartender, giving me a look.

“Um...” I stammered, not knowing how to reply. “Um... er... s-some water... if you would...”

Snorting, the bartender ambled off to get our drinks. The pegasus drummed his hoof casually on the bench top, then casually looked over at me.

“So,” he said, “what’s your name?”

I immediately began stuttering again. “Ah... uh... um... C-Cara... Caramel...”

The pegasus chuckled, and offered a hoof-bump. “Thunderlane.”

I returned the bump weakly, but Thunderlane seemed satisfied. The bartender came with our drinks, and I watched as Thunderlane took a large swig out of the cider bottle, halving its contents as he tossed some bits down on the bar. The bartender’s hoof dashed out, like a snake, and the bits vanished.

“So what brought you out on the road to Ponyville?” asked Thunderlane, as I sipped timidly.

“I, uh, I’m moving,” I replied. “F-from Hoofington.”

Thunderlane nodded. “I’ve been down there, once or twice. Worked on those big storms you had last year.”

I recalled those. “Yeah, I remember. It helped our crops, but I kept getting wet on my way to the forge.”

Thunderlane inclined his bottle to my flanks, which I instinctively covered up with my tail. “Explains your cutie mark.”

“What about yours?” I replied hastily, trying to mimic his movement with my own glass and nearly spilling the contents.

“Storm-making and all the stuff that comes with it,” grinned back Thunderlane. “Killer of a job. Sometimes literally.”

I winced at his sudden honesty. Death was not exactly the hottest of topics in Hoofington.

“So where are you staying in Ponyville?” asked Thunderlane, tossing back his head as he downed the last few gulps in the bottle.

I began to fumble for my papers, then remembered that I had left them in the carriage. “Um... in... in a hotel, I think.”

Thunderlane’s brow wrinkled, then he hazarded, “It wouldn’t be the Horns and Hooves Hotel, would it?”

“That’s the place!” I declared, finishing my glass of water.

“Good place,” said Thunderlane, nodding. “Good rates, good ponies, good rooms. Not anything Canterlotty, but not anything you’d find in the Everfree.”

“Everfree?”

“The Everfree Forest,” explained Thunderlane, and suddenly his expression grew all dark, as if the thunderclouds he controlled had managed to drift across his face. “It’s this giant wood on the edge of Ponyville. They say that the clouds move, the plants grow, and the animals live... all on their own!”

I shuddered. It sounded like an old mares’ tale, but Thunderlane’s expression was so serious that I found myself as scared as I had been when the Tale of the Headless Horse had been told to me.

We talked of happier topics after that, while outside the storm hit and rain battered down, alongside the howling gales. Thunder rumbled ominously, lightning struck, and he two carriage-pullers came in. Thunderlane bought them a great big mug of cider - each. After about three of these they were as drunk as anything, galloping around and bellowing at the top of their voices.

Thunderlane sighed, and shook his head. “Ponyville Rule Number Three: Never drink more than a mug of Apple Family Cider this close to Ponyville.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“The stuff gets stronger the closer to Ponyville,” replied Thunderlane, taking another swig from his new bottle. “Sometimes, the Apples are too bucking honest, all proud of their work that they can’t even see when ponies get the worst hangovers this side of Canterlot.”

Thunderlane tipped me a wink and downed his bottle’s contents. “Still, I ain’t complaining.”

I winced as he swore so casually, but my curiosity was now piqued. Who were the Apples? They sounded pretty influential. I asked Thunderlane a few questions, and got the following replies.

“Of course the Apples’re influential! Well, at least in Ponyville. It was the Apples who founded Ponyville in the first place, and they’re our main source of trade and income. Apart from the Cloudsdale Weather Factory,” added Thunderlane proudly, puffing up his chest.

Eventually, it grew late, and the two carriage-pullers collapsed in a drunken wreck in the middle of the floor. I stood around nervously, as per usual, while Thunderlane grabbed the two stallions’ tails in his mouth and dragged them out of the Cockatrice with many a nod and grimace.

Behind the Cockatrice, at the stables, Thunderlane tossed the two stallions into the stable that we were using. They slumped against the carriage and immediately began to snore. Thunderlane scoffed and muttered something inaudible under his breath.

“Weaklings...” I heard him remark quietly as I clambered awkwardly into the carriage.

“Um,” I said, “thank you for the... drinks.”

Thunderlane waved a hoof airily. “No problem, Caramel. Call on me anytime you’re at the Factory - well, you know what I mean. If you see me.”

The storm-coloured stallion chuckled, and I chuckled back. He was turning to go when I was struck by sudden inspiration. Or maybe it was stupidity. I don’t know.

“Thunderlane!” I called out, into the stormy night. “Do you want to stay here for the night?”

The pegasus stopped, and turned around. His mane was already soaked from the rain, but he was grinning broadly as he trotted up to meet me.

“Do I ever!” he grinned as he fluttered to splay himself atop the carriage. “I don’t fancy flying through this storm all the way to Ponyville!”

I grinned back as I settled down in the nest of blankets I had made. I had made a new friend today.

My first friend.

I Tell My Story

Hello. My name is Caramel.

Okay, so I’m a bit forgetful. And I’m not exactly the most popular of ponies. And I’m kind of quiet. But, you know, that’s okay. I know ponies that are forgetful and a teensy bit ignored and kind of quiet. Just... not as much as me.

Fluttershy, though, she’s a quiet girl. In fact, she was one of the first ponies I met when I moved to Ponyville.

So let me slow down. I was born in Hoofington, which is a primarily earth pony place, like Ponyville. There, I lived with my parents, until I decided to move out of Hoofington entirely.

Don’t get me wrong, Hoofington is a wonderful place. It’s just... well, I felt kind of out of place there, as I wasn’t as strong or as enduring as the other earth ponies, and I had a bit of a sweet tooth, and I didn’t seem to be able to hold down a job, and...

Anyway. My parents were really supportive throughout the whole thing, and I owe a lot to them. But I guess that I’ve got to start at the beginning, otherwise this isn’t going to make sense at all.

So...

I guess it all started when I was born. I’m a spring foal, so I’m not that good at winter wrap-ups. I was first assigned to the ploughs, but I was too weak, so I was assigned to planting, but I was too forgetful, so they handed me over to the skaters, but I was too clumsy, so... yeah.

It was the same at school. I was the colt in class that never seemed to get it. Numbers seemed to twist on themselves, words always stumbled over each other, and science... well, don’t even get me started on science.

But I was good at art. Clay-making, sketching, ceramics and everything in between. I was so good at it, it was my art grade alone that got me into secondary school.

Another bad thing about me - as if there weren’t enough things already - was that I didn’t get my cutie mark at the normal age. It wasn’t that much of a bad thing at primary; I guess that my classmates expected me to get it over the holidays.

It wasn’t like they’d know, or care. I never had friends over.

I don’t think I ever actually had friends.

That aside, it got really bad for me at secondary. There I was, in front of my class, talking about who I was and what I liked and so on, and then I turned and walked back to my desk and suddenly everyone was laughing... at my flanks.

My blank flanks.

It only took a week for the teasing to start. They’d yell out “blank flank!” in the hallways as I went to lessons, put flank-sized stickers in my locker, and generally acted like jerks. They even started calling me “mule”, because only ponies get cutie marks, and refrained from using terms like “everypony” when I was around.

It got worse in the classroom. I was as bad at work as ever, and I couldn’t even keep up in art anymore. I failed every exam, got every extra tutor, and yet just couldn’t be... good.

I was completely unlike my twin brother, Monny Tore, who had been born two minutes before me. He wore glasses, but was really smart and popular and likeable and funny and organised and the complete opposite of me. He tried to make me feel better by hanging out with me in the cafeteria, but... it was staged.

We both knew it.

Another thing was that he already had his cutie mark: a heart monitor. He was a doctor, and somepony destined to be a great doctor, by all accounts. By year eight he was going to medical school, and sometimes he even helped out with the school nurse.

And I still didn’t have my cutie mark.

Eventually, my parents came down hard, and they sent me to a cutie mark specialist. She said that there was nothing wrong, and I... what did I do again? Oh yes. I went back to school, and the teasing continued.

It was around year nine that things finally started looking up for me. Ponies can drop out of school at year ten, and so there were tons of special-talent clubs starting up. There were some athletes, some mathematicians, some writers, and... some artists. Of course, I joined up.

And I got kicked out.

Well, it’s lucky that I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have ever discovered the metalworking class. It was something that was going to be ditched by the end of the month, as nopony was joining.

So I did, and it was amazing.

I made things; amazing, beautiful, wondrous things. Horseshoes that actually worked, tiny delicate and accurate butterflies of metal, wind chimes and whistles and any other kind of thing that could possibly be metal.

The teachers were intrigued, and I was signed up for an apprenticeship with the local blacksmith.

I came to his house on a Sunday, and pretty soon I had gotten a firm hold on the theory for the first time in my life, and I was actually doing it right. That day, I made horseshoes that were almost as good as my master’s, and my technique improved as I went to the smith for lessons each Sunday afternoon.

It was the first time that my master was away that I actually took the forge for myself. I managed to hold my own through the entire day, and the next week my master was greeted to the sight of me with my cutie mark of three horseshoes.

After that, things looked up considerably. Monny threw me a surprise cute-celebration, and the teasing stopped almost immediately. Some of my main agonisers tried to pick on how generic my cutie mark was, but they quit it after a week. Too trivial, I guessed.

Anyway, I just barely finished school, but I was much better and more confident - not by much, but every little bit counted - in my schoolwork. In the end, I got a job at the blacksmith when my master - not my master anymore, actually - badly broke his back and was in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

I know that I should have felt bad for leaving him, but I was just so glad when I finally got enough money to move. I had made up my mind ages ago to move out of Hoofington, quaint little town it was. I just hated it when ponies pretended to be nice to me, and I was determined to start clean, cutie mark, diploma and all.

So I moved. My parents got the moving carriage up, and there were many tears shed. I promised that I would write, they said that they’d love that, and they waved me off.

I don’t know exactly why moving was my number one priority once I had finished school. It might have been because of my brother, who had moved almost immediately after finishing school so that he would be able to get a better pay for his doctor services.

Anyway, it turned out that Monny was going to become a travelling doctor, which I found slightly odd because he was a unicorn. Oh, yes, another thing to add to the list of things that he was better at than me. Magic.

I know, us earth ponies have a kind of innate magic of our own, but it’s not as impressive as saying that you can carry heavy things and don’t get as out of breath than lighting up your horn and moving something without touching it. Besides, I really was weak for an earth pony, and Monny beat me in hoof-wrestles most of the time.

That aside, I figured that I would have preferred a tiny, earth-pony town, something out of the way and all that. So I settled, after an age of indecision, on Ponyville, when I heard that Monny was currently at Canterlot and I learned that Ponyville was near to Canterlot anyway.

I knew that Monny would most likely have moved on to Appleloosa or something once I had gotten there, but the lure of knowing somepony was so strong, so...

Yeah. I moved.

And I guess that’s when everything went pear-shaped.