Catch Your Own Train

Chapters

New Town, Old Friend
Mundane Blues
Home Is Where The Heart Is
The Germane

New Town, Old Friend

Chapter One – New Town, Old Friend

On a cold, overcast morning in the country-town of Ponyville, all was silent, all but the low wisp of gentle wind, and the howling of the breeze. It was winter—mid to late winter—and the season was still going quite strong, more or less. Hearth’s-Warming had passed, as had the New Year, and just about all the ponies were indoors, due to the three inch thick layer of snow that covered the town. It was peaceful, almost tranquil and sleepy in its appearance, for Ponyville was resting. Work had slowed, and the majority of ponies were under the thatched rooves of their homes, either in bed or up by the fire, enjoying the break that had been naturally bestowed upon them, resting beneath the blanket of snow that gave them the excuse to break. Not to say that they all were lazing in their homes, some enjoyed the outside.

But the noiselessness was broken—not by a voice, a boom or distraction—by a screech, the sound of metal on metal, the braking of a train. The carriages of the train and its engine had pulled up to Ponyville station and come to a halt, lurching as it stopped. Three doors on the train opened out of the seven-or-eight carriages, and merely a handful of ponies stepped out—two couples and a lone stallion.

The lone stallion was taller-than-average in height, his coat colour a light brown. He shot a gaze down the platform, sharply staring to see the two couples of ponies. Almost immediately, he sighed. One of his hooves reached up to fix the hat upon his head. On his flank was his cutie-mark: Two crossing saws, quite simple, but quite bold. With him, he carried a small case, presumably of his belongings—perhaps of all that he had left in the entire world. Standing on the platform, he opened his case and drew a small card with a location quickly jotted down on it. ‘The Coffee Hoof,’ it read, ‘6, Colt’s Lane, Ponyville.’ The stallion set his case down, and folded the card in half, putting it up into his hat. With one last gaze down the platform of Ponyville station, he picked up his case and began moving toward his destination.

The breeze still silently blew as the stallion moved along the snow-cleared street on his way to the location. He pushed his hat down further onto his head to ensure it wouldn’t blow away. The stallion, knowing his recent luck, just as well thought it might. The streets of Ponyville were fairly different to what he was used to—much less high-rise and simply more casual, something which would never be acceptable in the big city where he was from. The town was quiet, quiet enough for the stallion’s ears to ring, not accustomed to the lack of constant loud city noise.

He rounded a corner, heading down Colt’s Lane to the given address. Even before he reached the door of the sixth building, he was able to discern that there was a sign that read: The Coffee Hoof. For the first time in a while, a smile spread across the lone stallion’s face, and he picked up his trotting pace toward it, tracking heavier across the cobblestones.

The Coffee Hoof was a small café of sorts, albeit it had a funny name. It was near the centre of town, and since everypony in Ponyville loved their bakery goods and their pastries, a café was always a good business endeavour. The more choice a pony has, the merrier. It had glass windows with adorable trimming that looked out into the streets. With tile floors, eggshell-white interior paint, framed paintings hanging from the walls, it was the perfect vibe of a relaxed coffee-drinking and pastry-eating scene.

Excited, the lone stallion opened up the glass door, the bell that alerted the staff of an entering customer tinkling lightly as he entered. He set his case and hat on a nearby table, slowly strolling toward the counter, where behind it, a cream-coated, blue-maned mare looked up, donning a smile of her own. “Handsome Mike,” she said, shaking her head with the very same grin on her face. “I always wondered where the heck you got a name like that.”

“Like I tell everybody else, you don’t say the Handsome part. Just Mike’ll do,” responded the stallion, rolling his eyes as he trotted over. He wrapped his hooves around her, taking her in a tight hug. “Vanilla Essence! It’s been a long time,” he drew back from the hug and looked at her, trying to remember the last they spoke. “What’s it been? Three, maybe four years?”

“Beats me, Mike,” giggled the mare as she made her way back around the counter. “I don’t know why you even stayed in Manehattan. It looks like things didn’t work out anyway.” It was a bit of a low-blow in forms of a joke, but she knew what she was doing. “I’m glad you came here, though, I could definitely use a friend.”

The stallion named Mike sat down in a seat, the metal-legged chair awkwardly scraping against the tile floor. “Yeah, I think I could, too,” he mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for Vanilla Essence to hear. It seemed she was a bit too busy to notice, because she was on the other side of the counter, cleaning mugs and glasses. Handsome Mike looked back over his shoulder and noted how empty the place was. “Whoa, why the vacancy?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.

“The place is closed. Does ‘Open 6 AM – 2 PM’ mean anything to you? Not to mention there’s a sign that says we’re closed,” she was sounding more like a barkeep than a café owner. One by one, she stacked the clean cups by the side of the sink. “So, apart from the urgency to high-tail it out of Manehattan, how have you been?”

The stallion raised both his eyebrows and exhaled, his green eyes wide with cluelessness. His shrug only added to the impression he didn’t know. “I haven’t been. . . Very great to say the least. I had to pack up all my stuff, leave on such short notice, and, well, now all I have is my bank-account with maybe a year’s worth of wages saved.”

Vanilla Essence winced and shook her head. “Yeah buddy, you don’t sound like you’re in too good of a shape, either.” There was a short silence between them where neither of them said anything. Mike: Too broken up about his situation and the circumstances. And Vanilla: Too uncomfortable to want to proceed. The mare stopped cleaning the glasses, cups and mugs, looking toward the stallion at the table. “Mike, I can’t do much to help. I-I can let you stay with me in my house ‘til you get yourself back on your hooves, but there’s not much I can do beyond that.”

The stallion sighed and looked up at her from the table. “You’d really do that?” he asked, quietly and carefully. Vanilla nodded, putting the kitchenware she’d cleaned aside and moving over to a big machine would presumably manufactured coffee. She cranked some levers and pushed some buttons, the machine steaming out its pipes.

“I’ll fix you up something. It’ll help relax you—you look like you need something warm and steaming to get the chills out of you. You must’ve been freezing on your way here!” she exclaimed, working with the big espresso machine, placing a cup under one of the little taps on the mechanical device.

The machine made some funny noises—mostly whirring and other loud and sudden noises—as it pumped out a steaming cup of coffee, laden with cream. Vanilla smiled as best she could as she served the coffee cup on a white saucer, placing two sticks of sugar with it. “Order up,” she joked as she reached over and hit the bell on the counter.

Mike managed to muster a smile, and he stood up, moving to the counter and taking his cup before lazily dawdling back to his seat, setting the cup and saucer down on the table as he did. He placed his hooves on either side and lifted it to his mouth to take a sip, not bothering to add any amount of sugar. The stallion slurped a good portion down before lowering it from his mouth and leaving it on the saucer. “Mmm,” he hummed, nodding. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

The mare behind the counter smiled warmly, taking the rag she was using before to clean the kitchenware and beginning to pick up the pace once more. “Don’t mention it,” she chuckled at the implied thanks. “So how old are you now, thirty-four?” inquired Vanilla, having forgotten, unsure as to why she was asking.

“Thirty-five—just one year off. That makes you,” he trailed off in thought, holding the cup in both hooves still, ready to take another sip, “Twenty-nine.” Mike smiled with success as Vanilla gave a nod to confirm. The stallion took another sip of his hot beverage. “So you said you could take me in for a while?”

She tossed the rag down on the counter and walked out from behind it, finding herself a seat close by and sitting in it. “I did! Feel free to come home with me in a little while, I’m just about done here for today. It’s five o’clock after all,” Vanilla said as she glanced up at a clock mounted on a nearby wall.

Mike’s gaze wandered with hers up to the ticking clock on the wall. “Sure is,” he commented, turning back to his coffee and quickly finishing it off. It was good coffee, and he appreciated the fact that Vanilla wanted to take care of him, but it felt undignifying accepting help, especially when anypony else would be expected to stand on all four hooves and accept the fact. He uneasily ran his hoof over his large mane—multi-coloured with different shades of brown; light, medium and dark—breathing another sigh.

The mare in Mike’s company rolled her eyes and looked at him, whatever he was trying was fairly apparent to her. “You want to go now, don’t you?” Mike simply nodded in response. Vanilla stood and patted the stallion on the head before making her way to the back of the café to switch off the lights in the place. Handsome Mike stood as well, taking the hint that they were leaving. His hat and bag had been left on the table closest to the door, and he spared no time in moving to the front of the café so the two of them could leave, hat on head and case in hoof.

Vanilla soon joined him, ushering her friend through the door before exiting herself right afterward. Mike stood in the open air as the mare worked to lock the place, and after a short few moments, he noticed that it was snowing, not to mention that the cold of the outside was almost freezing his extremities off his body. The stallion shivered, “How far away is your house?” he asked, cursing himself for not bringing some form of protection from the cold.

“About a block from here,” Vanilla responded casually, pointing down the street. “Come on, let’s go before you decide to freeze to the sidewalk.” The cream-coated mare trotted down the sidewalk, and the long-maned stallion soon followed, keeping his hat pulled tight over his head to keep his ears out of the harm of the cold. It wasn’t difficult to tell who was more comfortable with the cold.

The two ponies trudged their way through the streets of Ponyville, one stiff with his walking, and the other was as calm and as rested as she could be—a stroll for her, but a walk through a pit of metaphorical coals for him. The stallion was just glad that he’d have a place to stay; having to take refuge in another place would be a nightmare. Vanilla Essence was a blessing, and one day he would have to make it up to her, whether he’d like to or not.

While they walked, the wind picked up more and more, Ponyville’s earlier tranquillity having been disturbed, and now overtaken by howling winds. Vanilla Essence and Handsome Mike wouldn’t have to endure the weather, and neither would any other pony with common sense. They had shelter, and at the moment, that’s all Mike cared about.

Vanilla stepped forward and opened the front door to the house, quickly getting inside and out of the cold. Handsome Mike was soon to follow, eager to escape the wind. The house was small. Charming, but small. The stallion walked further inside, letting his eyes wander over every last object in the house.

“What do you think? Better than an apartment, huh?” she chuckled, proud of her home. “Well, make yourself at home—there’s no bed, so you might have to make do with a couch, if you don’t mind.” The mare was confident sleeping on the couch wouldn’t be a deal breaker for a pony like Mike.

“No, I don’t mind,” he responded, still looking around at her home, more or less with thought and wonder than actual interest in what he was seeing. Mike turned and looked at her, smiling. “Thanks, this means a lot. I-I uhm,” Mike paused, unsure of what to say. “I appreciate it, this is the biggest favour anypony has done for me in my entire life.”

The mare simply smiled, walking over to him and taking the hat from atop his head, and the case from his holding. “I’ll take these and put them somewhere a bit more secure.” She turned and moved off to an adjacent door—her bedroom door.

Handsome Mike moved over to the couch now that his gear had been taken care of. Exhausted from the train ride, he slumped back into the couch, exhaling a huge breath, maybe sputtering a little. He’d made a long, long trip from Manehattan, leaving nearly everything he knew behind. He needed to think about it, perhaps maybe sleep on it. No more than seventy-two hours ago, he was in his city of birth, doing his job. The stallion was lucky he was able to contact somepony close and find himself a place to go—a place to lie low for a little while. On the upside of his exile from Manehattan, he got to reunite with an old acquaintance, which can only be good. He found it hard to imagine why they ever went their separate ways in the first place.

It didn’t matter, what happened before was gone—forgotten by all, with no reason to dwell upon it. Some ponies would be happy to start with a clean slate, but Mike certainly was not. From birth he was raised in Manehattan, he was a fourth generation Manehattanite, and to have it all thrown away because he got in the way of a few bad eggs, and was too stupid to take a hint seemed unfair to him. It had a scarring effect on him—that in such a short span of time, so much could go away so quickly that there was never any time to comprehend it happening—and the idea it could happen would be with him for a long time to come.

Vanilla clapped her hooves in front of Mike’s blankly staring face, “Helloooo,” she called to him. Mike shook himself to attention and looked up at her, expecting. “What do you want for dinner?” asked Vanilla, positively oblivious to what was going on inside Mike’s mind—the uncertainty and questioning. At least now Mike could rest easy, there wasn’t much that could be taken from him.

“Oh, erm, just something warm. Maybe some mashed potatoes and some roast vegetables if it’s not too much of a hassle.” Mike felt bad asking for more than he could do for himself, but the girl worked in the food business, she was capable more or less.

“Hmm, sure,” she said, turning around and making for the kitchen. “I’ll let you know when,” the mare called from the kitchen, a low echo resonating from the tile-work in the room. The meal would keep her occupied for the next thirty to sixty minutes, and a nap beforehand would be well-deserved. Mike laid himself parallel to the couch, resting his head on one of the pillows on the arms.

Before any thoughts of home could pop into Mike’s mind, he drifted off to sleep—not a second of dreams, not a second of lucidity, not even a second of thought. He was out cold, and snoring happily, although a little loudly. Vanilla was rolling her eyes in the kitchen, but there was no use calling out, he was sleeping like a log, and the chances were that he was just about as responsive as one.

Vanilla prepared the dinner for the two of them, but it would’ve gone faster if Mike wasn’t being so lazy. It caused Vanilla to grunt angrily a few times, but she made it. The roasted vegetables were cooking in the oven, while the potatoes were boiling in a big pot. Now all she could do was wait, and to her luck, on the counter was a magazine she’d only gotten halfway through. The mare flicked through the pages, browsing the articles, hoping something interesting would pop up. There was nothing but articles detailing celebrities’ lifestyles and decisions, big events everypony already knew about and comments about the recent weather.

The mare groaned audibly, closing the magazine and angrily tossing it into the corner. She was expecting her old friend to be a bit more talkative, and a bit more eager, but instead she got boring Mike, not exciting Mike, and most certainly not outgoing Mike. Vanilla Essence dawdled over to the kettle on the counter and set it to boil. Drinking chamomile and thinking about what she could do with Mike was the next thing on her list of ideas.

Minutes of contemplating activities with an old friend and sipping boiled herbs went by, and the timer for the roast and the potatoes went off. Vanilla turned a knob on the oven to shut it off, and a dial on the stove to turn off the burner. While Vanilla Essence was preparing their meal, the stallion on the couch was still out cold.

His snoring was only getting louder, and the only thing that could quell it was a poke with a really big stick. The stallion’s limbs were splayed out every which-way—some hanging off the couch, others over the back of the couch, some beneath his body—which didn’t necessarily make for the most comfortable sleeping experience.

Eventually, a steaming plate of vegetables was brought to the sleeping beauty, and once more, he was given a wakeup call. Vanilla whistled as loud as she could, and Mike scrambled awake. “Gah!” he screamed, sitting upright and looking at her, noticing she had the dinner offered out to him. “Oh, er, sorry,” he said apologetically as he accepted the dinner.

“Eat up,” said Vanilla with a smirk on her face. “You need your sleep, get to bed right after you’re done. I’m going to get in my bed and read, so. Seeya’,” she said, moving to her own bedroom with her plate of food, Mike’s eyes following her every step of the way.

After seeing she’d gone to bed, he set his dish down on the table in the centre of the lounge-room. Taking the fork given, he began to eat his meal, which he had to say tasted good and better than what he’d been eating for the past few days. The larger-than-average stallion made short work of the meal, though, and he leaned back on the couch, a hoof on his belly, satisfied with his meal. Mike shut his eyes once more, feeling a whole lot more comfortable than before now that he had a full stomach. He drifted slowly off to sleep, although this time, a little bit more peaceful, with considerably less snoring. For now, Mike was alright—a roof over his head, food in his belly—and he felt that at that very moment he didn’t need anything more to be happy.

Mundane Blues

Chapter Two – Mundane Blues

The day that succeeded the arrival of the stallion from Manehattan was considerably better than the last, because the sky was bright and blue, without a single cloud to hinder its beautiful pigment. While it was a beautiful day, it was still very early morning, and most ponies were still asleep—which probably had something to do with the fact of holidays. Even so, there were still some ponies that needed to provide for other ponies, Vanilla Essence being one of them. She woke up at the crack of dawn, which is exactly why she went to bed so early every night. There was no need for her to work past the closing hours of The Coffee Hoof.

Today, since the weather was much greater and in better condition for doing things outside of the home, the cream-coated mare was sure business would be stronger than it was the day before. She even thought that perhaps it would give her old friend a chance to meet some of her customers that regularly attended the café, or possibly even meet some casual newcomers. Mike was in need of a friend or two, having left everything behind in his old city.

It was very, very early in the morning indeed, evident in how soundly the stallion was sleeping on the couch in the mare’s living-room. Vanilla couldn’t just leave him at her house, though. There was no way that she’d let him be alone in her walls and under her roof, especially in his state. The poor guy needed company. The mare started to make herself a quick coffee before she went to work—a caffeine hit always helped her get through the work day. Intending to wake Mike up as well so they could be on their way, she made him one too. Vanilla Essence remembered he hadn’t had any sugar the day before, so she made sure not to add any of the sweet stuff.

With two steaming cups of java, she made her way to the coffee table—the centrepiece in her living room—and set the cups down. Her gaze shifted to Mike, and she paused to think about how she would possibly be able to wake him in a way that wouldn’t annoy him, but quickly, she dismissed that thought and clapped her hooves in front of his face like she’d done when he was staring into space the night before.

At the sound of the clapping hooves, Mike instantly opened his eyes and looked around in shock, then finally to his waker. “Oh, uhm, good morning,” he said, alert, a wide-eyed look on his face. Vanilla moved her hooves away and allowed Mike to sit up. Wordlessly, she slid the coffee across to him, the mug rested on a coaster—Vanilla cared about her furniture, and there was no way she was going to let a drop of coffee ruin the wonderful oak table.

After a short stare, and seeing she wasn’t speaking, the stallion reached forth and grabbed the coffee awkwardly, pulling it to him to take a sip. “Sooo,” he droned quietly after his sip. “Why’d you wake me up before the sun?” Mike inquired, quite unsure why, but soon he was able to answer his own question, although it wasn’t as if Vanilla was going to. “You open at 6 AM, that’s right,” he groaned, setting the mug down on the table before falling backward, the soft cushion of the couch catching him. A long pause lingered, and the stallion finally raised the question. “Any reason you’re being a bit grumpy?”

“No, not really, it’s just how I can be some mornings,” she admitted, a bit annoyed she had to. “No hard feelings, Mike, don’t worry.” Vanilla wanted to reassure Mike that nothing was wrong, because she could tell he was damaged, especially from how different he seemed since when they were friends back in Manehattan. “I er, should’ve been a bit more conscious. I can’t even imagine how terrible what you’re going through is. Sorry.” A silence came after her apology, a frown across her face, and she dared to take an uncomfortable sip of her beverage to help quell the awkwardness. Almost immediately, she felt bad about her usual morning attitude.

Mike said nothing for a good minute or two, a dead air between them. All he wanted to do was sit back in the couch and idly stare at the ceiling. It was clear to the both of them that it was a topic that would be best left alone—truly quite a touchy subject to try and speak about, something which they should have both learned the day before. The stallion leaned forward and took a big drink from his mug, then wiped his maw after he’d set it back down on the coaster. “Alright, let’s get going,” he sighed, ready to go. “I don’t want to be a burden to your work-life.” The stallion stood upright and shuffled out from between the couch and the table.

The mare turned her head to the clock in the room and urgently jumped up, seeing they were cutting it close with the opening time of the café. “Let’s get going indeed! Good thing we didn’t get tied up with all that business,” Vanilla said quietly, on the most part to herself. She stood, trotted to the door, and overtook Mike. Her hoof moved to the knob and turned it, pulling the door inwards to open it up, wide open for Mike to go through. The stallion stepped forward and outside into the breezy, wintery, early-morning.

Vanilla Essence stepped out right after him, closing the door behind her, locking it with her keys that jingled at the slightest movement. Almost instantly, Mike became busy gazing at all the low-lit scenery that surrounded them—snow covered shrubbery and bushes, trees, grass, adorably little houses caked with white, powdery snow. Ponyville was a winter wonderland, and an extreme contrast to the urban city of Manehattan.

Mike glanced over his shoulder at Vanilla. “So are you going to keep me at the café all day or something?” he asked, his gaze following her as she moved to overtake him, beginning to trot down the street. The stallion soon followed behind at the same pace as her.

“Oh, yeah, well, that’s one thing you could do,” the mare replied, looking back over her shoulder at him. “Unless you had something else in mind that you think’d be more interesting—I can’t go with you of course, I have a shop to run. I just thought if you sat down at the café you’d get a chance to meet new ponies, maybe read the newspaper and see what’s what in Ponyville. Look for a job you could do or an apartment or something.”

The stallion smiled at his friend. “Why, do you already want me out of the house? Did I really snore that loud last night you want me to look for my own apartment?” Mike joked, but partially questioned—he knew the answer would be no, but it could as well be yes, and with all the business that had been happening recently, the latter would quite simply crush his spirits.

Luckily for Mike, Vanilla shook her head in response. “No, no,” she reassured him and his possible doubts. “I said you could stay as long as you liked. The real issue rests with me; I honestly don’t think you can stand me. With my spontaneous grumpiness and early morning wake-up calls, I doubt you’d survive very long living with me. As for the job, well, everypony’s got to earn their keep, and whatever funds are left in your account aren’t going to keep you afloat for long.” That was the truth, and they both knew it. She could understand why he might not want to work for the time being, but she knew Handsome Mike could understand that it was at least wise to see what there was to offer in terms of work. Vanilla was sure he wouldn’t want to work as her café assistant for the next few months.

The stallion took it to heart, and thought about it on the way to the café. The streets were as barren as they were yesterday—which was an apt comparison, because it was quite clear ponies weren’t eager to be up before the sun, or out and about in the lull of a cold winter’s day. Vanilla advanced to her storefront and pulled out her ring of keys, sticking one of them directly into the lock and turning it without any hesitation. As usual when a pony entered through the front door, the little bell jingled its merry notes.

Vanilla flicked on the lights and walked inside, Mike following right behind her until he reached the spot where he had sat the day before, a place only a few feet from the counter of the café, where his friend had gone and started to set up. Plenty of questions about his friend’s work came through the stallion’s mind, rushing through his psyche. It was strange he couldn’t think about anything else. “So how many customers do you get a day?” he suddenly blurted in question. “Like, twenty, fifty, a hundred?”

“It’s not like I count, Mike,” the mare replied as she tied her apron around her waist, getting ready for the day ahead. “But I’d say a good seventy-five or so on a good day—keeps me on my hooves with a constant flow of ponies. It’s only a small town, though. I’ve been around long enough to know that.” Her answer was pretty bland, probably because she assumed Mike was asking about the customers to see how many he might have a chance to meet. That, or he was just gauging her success as a café owner and operator.

For a while, nothing happened, and Mike found it hard to sit still. Vanilla did her work; cleaning dishes, washing plates, scrubbing kitchenware in the steaming hot sink behind the counter. It was a very small café, but it made it all the easier for the one mare to operate it. The operation was just her, a coffee machine, her smile and her generally friendly attitude all under one roof. She was proud she’d made a business out of what she loved. There was little to no conversation between them, and although Mike was there, he didn’t feel like he needed to be. He felt like he was being foal-sitted, like he couldn’t take care of his own being. Now he thought he sounded like an angsty teenager thinking his parents weren’t letting him do anything for himself. Emotions were hard.

“So, do you want me to get the newspaper and start looking for what you were saying before?” Mike asked, gesturing his hoof back toward the door, looking at Vanilla, then to the exit behind him, and switching between them a few times, waiting for his permission to be dismissed.

“Oh, go right ahead. News stand is just around the corner from here. ‘Paper should cost a bit or two,” she said, seeing that Mike was already preparing to head out, because he’d started getting out of his chair. “Grab me a newspaper too; I need something to do in the downtime—like the crossword or something along those lines.”

The stallion nodded to Vanilla and he turned and walked out the door, into the breezy streets of a wintery Ponyville. The cobble streets of Ponyville had been cleared of snow, which made them all the easier to navigate. In no time, after he’d rounded the corner, Mike spotted the news stand, a blue-maned, blue-coated pegasus stallion behind it. The two of them exchanged nods and goods, the tall, earth pony stallion grabbing himself two twined-up newspapers. Mike couldn’t imagine how that stallion at the stand could do his job, it was freezing outside. He wished he’d had more time to pack when he’d high-tailed it out of Manehattan. All that was in his case he’d taken to Ponyville was a nice shirt or two, his toothbrush, and a packet of sherbet lemons. He was in a rush to say the least, most certainly not thinking about the cold, cold weather.

Mike made it back to the café in a matter of minutes, and as he reached for the door, he noticed the sign on the outside had been changed to Open. It must’ve passed 6 AM while he went to get the paper. The stallion slipped in, and almost immediately eyed a pair of ponies that had come inside while he was gone. They looked like travellers, not locals. Vanilla didn’t seem that interested in them, and was still fairly distracted with her work.

The two ponies turned their heads, noticed Mike, and then returned to the conversation they were having earlier. The tall earth pony stallion didn’t feel ready to make new friends yet. He found himself a seat close to the counter, and Vanilla looked up at him. He flashed the newspapers to her, and she shot a smile right back at him. “Set one on my counter, I’ll take a look at it when I have time,” she said, nodding to him as she scrubbed away at the dishes—the dishes she had been working on cleaning the day before, and even earlier in the morning.

The newspaper-bearing Mike pitched forward and an outstretched hoof and placed the paper on the counter. He slinked back to how he was sitting before and huffed, taking his own newspaper and looking for something that may intrigue him. The front page was nothing spiffy, just some stuff that Mike no longer cared about, being freed of all that had burdened him before. Moving from Manehattan had its upsides, but its downsides usually outweighed them by a whole lot. At least the poor stallion hadn’t carried any debt with him; otherwise he would be in a real heap of trouble. He would be hated, exiled, homeless, and broke.

Every minute that went by, the café seemed to get busier, more and more ponies pouring in through the little front door of the shop. Conversation, laughter, and general good mood picked up, and the coffee shop became a vibrant and cheerful place. Every so-often, the brown-coated, brown-maned stallion and his old friend from years ago exchanged looks and smiles. Vanilla hadn’t been wrong about the number of customers that visited her store every day.

The newspaper began to decrease in its interesting qualities. It hadn’t taken the stallion long to breeze through all the interesting articles—he’d even spied one that involved Manehattan, outlining the outrageous increase in prices of contract labour. He had a slight hunch that had something to do with him; he had always never charged much for his services as a contractor. What happened must’ve sent ripples through the infrastructure of the city. It was probably just a coincidence, perhaps even a sign—a story like that would only be in Manehattan’s local paper. Mike thought the fact the story had made it to Ponyville was fairly strange.

Pages and pages of useless stories, useless information and useless ‘funnies’ comic strips followed, but Mike read every single one of them, because there was nothing else for him to do. He felt anxiety whenever he thought about approaching somepony in the café. There were cute mares that sat alone, stallions that looked important with possible jobs for him to do, but whenever he looked at anybody who was not his friend Vanilla, he simply felt nervous. The idea of losing everything again danced around in the innermost depths of his questioning mind. Simply contemplating the idea felt painful to him. He needed a hot beverage.

Mike raised his hoof from where he sat in an attempt to get some attention. “Yo Vanilla,” he said. “Can I get a flat white over here?” he proceeded to ask, Vanilla now turned and facing him.

“Uhm, sure, I’ll have it ready in a few minutes,” said the mare, grabbing a cup from a stack and placing it under her machine, pressing buttons, twisting knobs, the machine gurgling to life as it prepared to churn out another brilliant coffee. Mike returned to his paper, eager to get another taste of the deliciously amazing coffees that Vanilla made. His eyes scanned over the pages in search of something interesting. Eventually, after a hard search of the material, he found himself a page full of places for rent. He didn’t have the money to buy a house yet, so rental was the next best option.

Vanilla came out from behind her counter, carrying a coffee cup and saucer. She placed it in front of Mike on his table, sneaking in a glance at what he was reading. “Ooh, apartments. I appreciate the initiative, Mike,” she giggled, moving back to her counter to continue working. The stallion looked up to her just as she tossed him a pen, which he very nearly didn’t catch. “Circle the ones you like,” she said as he fumbled not to drop it, which was hilarious to her.

He gained traction of the writing implement, and then calmly turned to look at the lists of apartments, houses and buildings for rent. Buildings were out of the equation, houses were expensive, and since he grew up in an apartment, it seemed natural for him to choose one. Narrowing the choices down was easier than it seemed, but even so, there were at least ten or fifteen apartments to choose from, each one of them promising more than the last. He would have to visit just about every place to decide.

Calmly, he sipped his coffee and reviewed the list once more. Five or six ones struck his eye, and he circled each one of them in the red pen. He’d visit them as soon as he could, in the next few days, hopefully. They had nice views, good walking distance from the centre of town, and overall looked pretty beautiful—to Mike at least. They didn’t run a high price, either.

It was about midday, and for the last six hours, the stallion had managed to rifle through the entirety of a newspaper, in depth and to its fullness. At least he felt informed. Ponies had started to clear out of the cafe, and only a few remained, continuing the conversations they’d started about half an hour earlier.

Content with his findings, the stallion sat back in his chair and heaved a loud yawn which echoed through the mostly-empty restaurant as he stretched out both his hooves in their own different outward directions. From behind the counter, Vanilla looked up and beamed a smile at Mike. She’d taken a break and started going through her own copy of the paper, now working at the crossword puzzle she said she was going to do. As Mike settled and slumped back over the table, she called out to him. “Is that early-morning wake-up getting to you, Mike?”

He looked up at her and smiled right back, sitting up properly now. “Well, yeah, it is, and I really can’t wait to get home and relax, I feel like sitting in something different than this chair,” he chuckled, grabbing the back of the seat and shaking it gently. “I probably won’t be around tomorrow, anyway”

“Is that so?” she responded, unsure of what he meant. She leaned in across her counter and looked at Mike more closely, interested in what he had to say next. The stallion was bored of looking through the paper all day, that was for sure, and the fact he sat in one spot the entire day might’ve also been a contributing factor to him wanting to do something else.

“Yeah, those apartments I found, I want to go take a look at some of them—maybe check out the real-estate office here and see if they have any more I might want to look at, too,” explained Mike, folding up his paper and preparing to leave.

“—Hey, hold up,” she said in response to his movement. “Where are you going, it’s only twelve!” she was a bit upset he wanted to leave so soon.

“Oh, I’m gonna go see if there’s any places I can get something pretty big to eat. I know you got your tarts and quiches here, but I’m looking for something like a sandwich with some hay fries.” Mike stood up and left his paper and coffee cup there. He moved to the door, his hooves clacking across the café’s tile floor as he went.

“Alright then, er. I’ll see you at home, be back before dark, Mike!” she called out to him as he left through the front door of the café. Perhaps Mike was done being bored—sitting alone in a café reading a newspaper can definitely get on somepony’s nerves.

Mike left the store and proceeded down the street. He had half a day ahead of him, the question was if he was going to utilise it to its full potential, or otherwise simply waste it. A new town to explore on quite a bright, cloudless day. In his eyes, it was a gift.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Chapter Three – Home Is Where The Heart Is

The sunny streets of a mid-winter Ponyville were beautiful, and the shining light of the sun shimmered off the swept-aside snow that lay at the skirts of the buildings and at the sides of the streets. Ponies walked all about beneath the midday sun, basking in the warm glow of the lone and bright shining beacon in the sky. Today was brilliant as a matter of fact, so brilliant it urged even the laziest of ponies to get outside and enjoy the lull in Winter, broken by the blue sky and the beautiful sun.

Mike trotted down the streets at a brisk pace, happy to be able to enjoy the wonderful sun, and happy to be out of the café. He was glad to have been granted his freedom, granted his happiness, because the day was simply waiting to be taken to its fullest. But Mike stopped mid-step and remembered why he was outside—to get food.

Looking left and right, he tried his best to spot a place that looked interesting to eat at. Sandwiches, burgers, cafés, pizza joints, it all seemed a bit disinteresting. Perhaps he could find an inn or another such place where he could get something nice and substantial—not to mention that there might be some pretty interesting folk in one of those places. On his new quest, Mike sought to find an inn, turning around corner after corner. But the more he moved about the town, the more confused and lost he felt.

Through the streets he went, until he finally stumbled upon a large, thatch-roofed building. It was definitely an inn, no question about it. Mike’s search had taken him close to half an hour, and already the sun was casting lower in the sky, the afternoon settling in. Quickly, he trotted up the short but wide cobblestone path and through the open door. A wave of warmth washed over the tall stallion as he walked inside.

There were plenty of ponies inside the inn, and there was a fairly loud amount of chatter going on between all the patrons, but beneath it all, there was a low hum of a bass guitar being plucked ever-so-quietly. There must have been some performers there to play for the night. He strolled inside, looking left and right. Ponies were sat at their tables, eating meals, drinking cider, mostly keeping to themselves and their groups.

Mike’s eyes scanned around, left and right to locate the source of the bass instrument. He strolled past the tables, making sure not to bump into anyone as he passed, carefully weaving in and out of the groups of customers that sat around as he searched for the sound. It didn’t take him long to spy a green pegasus stallion plucking the thick strings of the bass guitar and fiddling with the tuning pegs as he sat in a chair, right in the corner of the inn. The guy looked like he belonged doing what he did—untamed mane, strong build, and the overall vibe Mike got from him gave him the impression that he was going to like him.

The tall stallion trotted up to the pegasus and carefully took a seat close by, casually looking over to him. He was was sat tuning and strumming his bass. “So uh, you playing here tonight?” Mike asked with quite a relaxed tone, but as friendly as he could possibly convey at that very point.

The pegasus looked up from his guitar and up to Mike, nodding once. “Yeah, and we will be for a good few more. Why do you ask, though?” the green pegasus returned a question, looking right at Mike. The chatter in the inn was still fairly loud, and the both of them were inclined to speak a little louder than normal. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to do, and it certainly wasn’t going to make the pegasus stallion’s job of tuning very simple.

“Yeah, I was just asking because I don’t see any other part of your band,” he said, looking around a bit. “Are they just blending in or are they out or something?” Mike asked, looking back to the green pegasus after giving the room another look.

Realising that he may be in for quite possibly a longer conversation, the pegasus hefted his bass and pulled the strap off his shoulder, setting it down against the table before slowly looking over to the bigger stallion that had come over to speak to him. “Out,” he responded simply. “But if you want to see us play or whatever, we’re on at about eight, and uh,” he looked around for a place to tell the time—like a clock or something—but he couldn’t come to much conclusion. “But that ain’t for a while—hey uh, you don’t sound like you’re from here,” the pegasus said, loosely raising his hoof and pointing it at Mike.

“Oh, yeah, I’m not from Ponyville, and neither are you,” Mike observed. “But me, I’m from Manehattan, came here to visit a friend for a week or so.” The poor stallion only wished it were that simple. But there was no reason to delve into that subject, that would be stupid. Meeting somepony new, then essentially guilt-tripping them into giving him sympathy is not how he wanted to make friends.

“Right, accent set me off,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?” The green pegasus leaned back in his chair and reached over and grabbed a mug of drink on the table, something he’d been drinking beforehand. Cider, no doubt. He took a sip and waited for Mike’s answer.

“Oh, I’m Mike,” he said, shifting in his chair a bit to get more comfortable. “Handsome Mike,” added Mike with a chuckle. “Ignore the handsome part if you want, everybody calls me Mike anyway.” Funnily enough, he would usually be asked by all the ponies he introduced himself to about the origin of the name.

“Handsome Mike, eh?” he chuckled, taking another sip of his drink, then setting it back down on the table he was sitting at. “Name like that’s gotta have come from somewhere.” Mike immediately rolled his eyes as he was told.

To explain, Mike leaned in, then raised both his hooves lazily, shaking his left one. “My dad—Mikor,” and then shaking his right one. “My mom—Pretty Sally.” The stallion put both his hooves together, then said, “Handsome Mike. Make sense?” He looked up at the green pegasus, then laughed, falling back in his chair. “It’s a frequently asked question.”

The pegasus nodded his head and relaxed back in his chair. “Name’s Twister Forte,” he said plainly. Mike glanced down to his flank, and there was a cutie-mark that depicted a cassette tape, quite plain and simple. As Mike could assume, he had something to do with music. “Though most call me Twist or Twister—I wouldn’t really care what you called me.” He smiled at Mike with a friendly grin.

The chatter in the bar stayed the same, but was more prevalent in the coming short silence between Mike and Twister Forte. Mike simply couldn’t figure out what to say. After a few seconds of thinking, he looked up to Twister and tried to make conversation once more. “So uh, how about this weather we’re having—blizzards one day, then a sunshine paradise the next,” he said, obviously trying to resort to some form of small talk to get the ball rolling again.

“Uuuh,” Twister Forte hesitated, looking around for a window, finding one, then gazing out of it for a good few seconds. “Yeah, I guess. Me and the band got here about three days ago, and I can definitely see a change in the weather already. This inn’s pretty warm though, nice and cosy—good rooms, good beds, good cider,” he chuckled, lifting up his mug from the table and taking a deep sip.

“Yeah, uh, I came to Ponyville yesterday, arrived on a train ‘bout this time,” he said, glancing out the window with Twister. “Just it was a heck of a lot more snow and wind and such yesterday, nowhere near as bright and lovely as it is now,” Mike chuckled. It really was quite a pretty day, and he couldn’t get over the fact how different it was from where he grew up. Where he grew up it was bland and bleak and boring. The change of scenery was nice, and it felt right.

“Well, everybody’s got where they came from—place to call home,” he said to Mike warmly, smiling. Mike would have to disagree, he was more or less between homes at the moment, and it was honestly paining him.

“Yeah,” Mike responded, mustering a bit of a fake smile in return. “Yeah, home is where the heart is.” Mike put a hoof to his chest and pounded the left side gently. The stallion then let his shoulders and head sink a little bit, but nothing too noticeable. What had happened made him feel so broken, and he knew he couldn’t be put back together again—at least not soon. But he knew pain was only temporary, and eventually it would pass. Eventually.

But Twister noticed Mike's expression change dramatically—he didn’t mention it, but he noticed it—and it caused him to ponder as to why the stallion might be feeling that way. Regardless, he thought he seemed like a good guy. “Sure is,” he responded flatly, glancing over to his guitar that was propped against the wooden table. “Not to say you ain’t got a heart if you ain’t got a home.”

Mike nodded his head before looking back up to the green pegasus. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re right.” Still, Mike didn’t have much else to say, the conversation they were having halted again, and he had simply fallen silent. Mike couldn't believe he felt that broken up about it, he had always had a way of pushing through the most difficult obstacles and coming out relatively okay. Perhaps it was just the fact that building friendships when he had nothing wasn’t an easy thing for him to do. He had other problems that needed solving—his money situation, his job, the fact he needed to stop leeching off of Vanilla and find his own place to live. He did not want to burden the friends he had left, because he was simply afraid of losing them. Attaching himself to another pony bared the risk of losing them. And he was too damaged to be able to face something like that again anytime soon.

Handsome Mike heaved a sigh and looked up at Twister. “Look Twister, I gotta go,” he said, slowly trying to stand up out of his chair. “Nice to meet you, man, I might swing by later for when you get playing, but uh, see you.”

The green pegasus stuck out his hoof and stopped him. “Hey, hey, wait!” he said. Twister stood up and put a hoof on his shoulder. “Come by later, we’ll talk more, we’ll talk better.” With that, he gave Mike a pat on the back.

The earth pony stallion said nothing more, and simply gave Twister a nod before turning and navigating his way back through the tables and chairs and other ponies to get to the front doors and leave the warmth of the tavern, venturing out into the cold yet sunny streets of Ponyville. So he dawdled outside, trying to get himself oriented so he could make his way either back to the café or back home to Vanilla’s house.

The Germane

Chapter Four – The Germane

Back through the streets the stallion went, taking his sweet, sweet time. He needn’t rush on his way to the café or back home to Vanilla’s—he simply enjoyed his time outside and admired the beauty of the town. It was charming in his eyes, and it just felt like home for him; it felt like it was where he was meant to be.

So far, he thought he was off to a good start after leaving such a full life behind in Manehattan. That fellow at the inn—Twister Forte—Mike really liked him for one reason or another, he didn’t particularly know why. All Mike knew was that he’d made a friend, and that he would certainly show up to see him perform later that night. Perhaps he would be able to make a better impression then.

The tall-standing stallion strolled along the path, bustling with technicolour ponies of all shapes and sizes. The streets he patrolled were lined with little houses with adorable gardens. It seemed he was straying quite far from where the inn was—he was either close to the café, or he was going completely the wrong way. Mike moved to the side of the path and with a sigh, he stopped to try and get his bearings. This was not how he imagined his first day of free-roaming in Ponyville—free as a bird one minute, lost the very next.

The ponies walking about didn’t seem to be going in any particular direction; they were just on about their way, getting their lunches, having their fun—plenty of smiling faces and cheery sounds of laughter roaring from the groups and couples.

Handsome Mike turned his head to glance back down the street, and then he looked the other way. He bit his lip and tried to decide what to do—go back or keep going and venture on, hoping to find something interesting. The latter sounded much more enticing to him, not to mention he had a few hours to kill.

Not far from where he was, the road led to what looked like the centre of town—a big, grand fountain in the middle of the bustling little Ponyville. There was an array of shops surrounding the water feature in the centre. Plenty of ponies were around, having their conversations, enjoying their day out, but one particular pony stood out to Mike. The stallion narrowed his eyes and honed in on the lone individual. The pony was stood alone, looking confused, staring at the fountain.

Mike approached the pony. She was a grey-green-coated, dark grey-maned mare, and as the tall, almost lumbering stallion drew closer, she turned to look over her shoulder. She still looked fairly concerned.

Handsome Mike smiled a rather weak attempt at a reassuring smile, giving her a gentle wave. “Hey,” he called out so she could hear above the conversation of the townsfolk and other ponies around. “You look lost.” The stallion was putting some sympathy out on offer.

She scoffed, embarrassed, and gave a short, rather hearty laugh. “Ja, ja I am,” she sighed, stepping toward him a bit. The accent she had had really caught Mike off guard. “I guess zat a girl in a new town doesn’t know her vay around too vell.”

Trying to be polite and return the light-heartedness, Mike put a hoof to his chest and laughed with her, bowing his head slightly. “Hey, I know how you feel—I just moved here from Manehattan.” The idea that he had moved was a bit of a lie, but there was no reason to offload the news on somepony he just met. “This place can take some getting used to,” Mike commented as he looked around at the small buildings in their surroundings and the open, blue, and almost cloudless sky.

“Zat is true,” the Germane-accented mare replied with a breathy sigh, following Mike’s gaze around in the blue sky. “It vould just be easier if ve could stay vhere ve vanted,” she added dreamily. Her gaze followed the directions of the stallion in front of her.

That last addition intrigued Mike, and his interest turned back to her from his surroundings. Perhaps she was moving to escape trouble just like he was. “What do you mean?” Mike asked to clarify what she was saying—he could definitely sympathise with that.

“I mean I came here for vork,” she responded. For a moment, she paused, as if trying to select the right words. It wasn’t hard to tell that Equestrian wasn’t her first language. “Do you vant to valk a little? I do not feel like standing here like idiots.” She made a rather annoyed chuckle, as she started to walk away. Obviously, she didn’t want to stay in the same place for two long—or at least if she was lost, she could be lost with somepony else. It looked like Mike really didn’t have a choice on the matter.

The stallion rolled his eyes and jogged to catch up to her. It came as a shock to him how casual the encounter seemed to be. A lot of the time, Mike’s tall, looming presence was intimidating to a lot of shyer mares. Luckily for him, however, the braver ones tended to be nicer to him. “Work?” he questioned, trotting at her side as they moved off together in a seemingly random direction. He glanced curiously down at her flank to spy her cutie-mark—it was a golden shield. “What do you do?”

She simply laughed in response. “You might say zat I am a ‘vell paid security-guard’.” Her occupation seemed like it would be rather confidential, but she wasn’t lying. Her cutie-mark had something to do with defence, at least. “Or zat’s vhat mein employers tell me to say,” the mare added with a sly smile.

The two of them trotted along the narrow, dirt paths out of the town, moving towards the extremities of the little city—out into vast the open fields where the paths passed through the and along the tree lines. There were several ponies out and about in the fields, flying kites, playing ball—it must have been the park. The Germane mare and the tall Manehattanite stallion moved at a leisurely speed along the paths of the open grounds in the winter afternoon sun, enjoying their little conversation of back and forth small talk. Nevertheless, Mike wasn’t going to be telling about his heartbreak with home, and the mare was certainly keeping quiet about her job, or at least teasing at the confidential parts.

Mike laughed cheerfully but quietly as the two of them moved along, gazing at the brilliant surroundings. “But you have to admit, even though we’re both far from home, this place just feels fantastic. It’s so beautiful,” he said with wonder, managing a small, warm smile across his face.

The mare looked at him like he was mad, and she scoffed. “Ja, right. Zis place may be pretty, but ve had country-sides back vhere I came from,” the Germane mare retorted. “Ah, but I guess I could understand vhy you feel zis vay. I have been to Manehattan, and I must say zat it is very boring.”

Handsome Mike couldn’t necessarily deny that. It was industrious, stark and modern, and it certainly was boring and plain. Day to day life, in and out—wake up, work, go to bed. “Yeah,” he sighed in response, looking out across the horizon.

A gentle silence fell upon the two of them. For a while, Mike remained staring out across the rolling hills of the surrounding fields, while the mare looked about a foot or two at the ground in front of her and kept walking. There wasn’t really much to talk about. He really hated these sudden breaks in conversation, but he had a feeling that they were always his doing, bringing up the touchy subjects.

The path the two of them were following soon came to a close, turning back into cobblestones as they’d made a full round of the park together, and they were heading back into town, on their way back from the outskirts. From the street through town, a gust of cold wind blew suddenly in their direction. Mike shut his eyes and covered his face with his hoof.

Feeling a bit annoyed with the wind, he looked to her, still shielded by his limb. From what it looked like, she really didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. “So, I’ve been looking for places to stay here,” Mike tried to speak over the wind. He would have bet those kite-fliers in the park were having a blast. “What about you? You holed up at the inn or you got yourself a place to stay for a while?”

She rolled her eyes at Mike’s weakness to wind with a low chuckle before responding to his question. “I have myself an apartment—as a matter of fact, mein landlord said zat zere was a room for rent available. You should probably take a look, it’s right next to mine,” she said with a smile, looking up to him. “I could alvays do vith a friend who can speak better Equestrian than I can.”

“Is that so?” Mike lowered his hoof from his face as he replied, laughing a tad at her comment regarding language—the wind had died as quickly as it started. He thought she was doing well—well enough so that he could understand her at least. He actually thought it was a fairly cute little accent she had. “Well, I’ll look into it. As long as the rent’s not too high, I’m sure it’ll be where I end up going, anyway.”

Where they were walking now was more or less familiar territory to Mike. On their way back, they hadn’t passed the fountain, but Mike had spotted the inn. The mare breathed a gentle sigh. “Vell, I hope to see you zere.” It looked like she was going to leave and get home, but as she turned around, Mike put a hoof to her shoulder to stop her. A bit confused, the mare looked up at him expectantly.

“Hey, uh,” he said, glancing back toward the inn that was in sight, less than a hundred feet away. He moved his hoof from her shoulder and stood taller. “There’re some guys I met playing at the inn tonight, and I’d like to know if you want to see them with me. They don’t play for ‘til 8 or something, but we could grab a bite to eat.” He cocked his head and still looked at her. “Yeah? Nah? We both need a friend—it’s not like this is a date or anything.”

She chuckled and broke eye contact, staring off to the ground, gently kicking the dust beneath her as she considered; a small, perhaps embarrassed smile on her face. “As long as it is not a date,” the grey-green-coated mare said, agreeing to his proposal as she looked back up to him.

Mike blinked, realising something he had forgotten. “I never told you my name, did I?” he asked. “It’s Mike. Handsome Mike.” He prayed that she wouldn’t take his name the wrong way, it had happened in the past with other mares—though this mare was different for Mike. She seemed pretty jolly and fun-loving.

“Recruit,” she responded simply, putting a hoof humbly and proudly to her chest. The green-grey-coated mare began to walk. She barely even acknowledged the nature of his name. “I saw a good shop not far from here,” said Recruit, wanting Mike to follow. “I zink zat zey sell some very nice sandviches,” she chuckled.

The stallion followed her, once again off on a trek to find some place to go and eat. In his long quest for food, however, he’d made a friend of Recruit—his interaction with Twister as a bit bumpy, so calling him a friend might have been a stretch—and he’d killed about an hour and a half of time. Now, he’d finally get to eat, because he had somepony to help him decide. Recruit and Mike moved off into town, disappearing into the crowds, once more resuming their conversation and making their way toward a delicious sandwich lunch together. The stallion had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time they went out together.