Blinders On

I waited patiently for my companion to recover from her laughing fit. It took quite a while. She's lucky I'm the patient type.

When she finally ran down, I cocked an eyebrow at her. "Done now?" She wiped tears from her eyes gave me a nod. With a sigh, I turned and we made our way into town. Every now and again she’d glance over at me and be consumed by another fit of giggles. To distract myself, I took a bit of a look at the town. Glad I did.

Picturesque was a good word for it. I'd never seen a town look more like a postcard. The buildings were short and brightly painted, the streets swept clean. Not what I was used to at all. The air smelled of freshly cropped grass and wildflowers, not of rot and trash left lying in the streets. It wasn't a very large place by any means, but there was a life and vitality to this Ponyville that you couldn't find in Manehattan. Manehattan feels like a tired mare dosed with caffeine—jitters and twitchy moves over a core of exhaustion. Here, though. Here it was real. It was the sort of life that could only come from a place where everypony knew each other, and would stop to say hello on the street.

I immediately hated it.

I'm not a misanthrope by any means. Doesn’t mean I'm given to meaningless courtesy. I didn't know what it was that set my teeth on edge. Maybe it was how unrelentingly sweet it was. Maybe it was the feeling that such a brightly lit facade had to be a cover for something dark and buried. Like a murder maybe.

I looked at Southern Comfort. Oh, yeah. Right.

We had strolled into the town square when she pointed at a charming little continental. I squinted to read the sign. "Ponyville's Finest Stable and Breakfast", painted in a glossy black on a white background. I glanced over at Miss Comfort. “Suppose this will be where I'm staying?” I muttered.

She nodded. “You don't have to worry about the rate. I've already discussed it with the owner, so I'm considering it expenses.” She looked toward the sun, squinting, then turned back to me. “My family should be waking up around now. I'll send a runner around when we need you.”

I nodded to myself as she turned away and left. Gave a bit of consideration to getting in a parting word, but something told me she wouldn't leave me with the final say. I sighed, and turned to examining my temporary residence with a critical eye, cigarette trailing smoke in the light breeze. The building was brightly painted in red, the edges and linings picked out in a white so shining and pristine it made me squint to see. I expected cows to come prancing out any second, but none were forthcoming.

I tossed my cigarette to the ground and went inside. It was well lit and decorated with a definite female touch. The curtains and lace tipped me off. Runner up was the smell. Lilacs and lemon-scented cleaning solution. I put together an image of who owned this place. She would be short, comfortingly overweight, with a pair of thick glasses and a Hearth’s Warming Eve sweater emblazoned with snowponies, even though it was April.

The pegasus behind the counter looked nothing like that. My confidence in my investigative skills took a hit.

Orange coated with a punky, spiked yellow mane, she looked like she'd just come out of her teens but hadn't let go. She had her chin propped on one hoof, large headphones blasting music so loudly I could feel it from where I was standing. She lightly fanned herself with one wing, and didn't bother to acknowledge my presence. Her attention was focused on chewing gum and vacantly staring at the wall. Probably counting the wallpaper gardenias. Understandable. Didn't appear to be that much custom.

I walked up to the counter and rapped on it with one hoof. Her purple eyes slowly made their way over to me. “What.” It wasn't a question so much as a flat declaration of disinterest. Me, I’m a gentlecolt. I rose above it.

“Morning. Name's Shank Cartwright. I believe you have a room for me.” She continued to stare at me blankly. The pounding bass from her headphones set my teeth on edge.

“What?” Progress had been made. Her voice had inflection now.

“My name is Shank Cartwright. Take me to my room.” I made sure to speak slowly and clearly. I even accompanied it with gestures, to get my point across. You have to make allowances when you speak with the slow.

“Excuse me?” She still hadn't removed her headphones. That was when I realized the problem. Sometimes I'm slow on the uptake.

I reached over the counter, pulled off her headphones and threw them across the room. It seemed to get her attention, and she stared at me in shock. “Listening now?” I asked brightly. “I'm Shank Cartwright, it's seven in the morning and I've run out of cigarettes. Kindly show me to my room, dear pony, before I teach you the wonders of customer service. I feel one of my heads coming on.”

For some reason, my calm, happy tones made her eyes flash with anger. Some would have said I was being deliberately patronizing in tone, but that was patently impossible. I am, after all, a gentlecolt.

“You—how dare you!” Her orange coat had deepened to a cherry red. I wasn't aware they could do that. “Get out of my face, you gelding!” Rude. I don't abide by rudeness.

I was about to make a scene when a very matronly voice called out from a back room behind the counter. “Red? Red, is someone here? Deary me, let me handle this, Red.”

A brown earth pony came out of the backroom. She was short, comfortingly overweight, with a pair of thick glasses and a Hearth Warming Eve sweater emblazoned with snowponies even though it was April.

Confidence was restored.

She bustled up to the counter. “Ooh, hello sir, I'm Missus Dappled. How may I help you today?” Her voice was the same as my dear gran-gran, warm and dripping with the promise of cookies before bedtime. I was immediately charmed. She looked at the currently steaming pegasus at her side. “Ah, Red? Is something wrong?”

Red opened her mouth to speak so I interrupted her post haste. “Excuse me, ma'am, are you the proprietor of this fine stable?” The earth pony looked at me, surprised, and nodded. Gave her an easy smile. “My name's Shank Cartwright, I believe you have a room for me?”

She blinked. “Oh, yes! Let me check the registry.” She busied herself with the minutiae of her job as the pegasus looked from me to her and back again, whatever complaint she'd been planning to voice swept aside by a wave of competence and customer service.

I gave her a wink. The glare she sent back was pure venom.

“Ah yes, Mister Cartwright, right here.” Missus Dappled turned the registry to me and I signed my name. “Red, would you take Mister Cartwright to his room, please?” I felt that Red probably would have argued, but you can't stay mad when faced with a sweet old thing like Missus Dappled.

She took some calming breaths. “Fine, Miss Dappled.” She slammed open the divider and stomped up the stairs.

Missus Dappled looked over at me, confused. “I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her.” I shrugged. It was a mystery.

I followed Red up to my room. There wasn't any luggage. Didn't have much time to pack. She opened up my door and I took a moment to take in the frilliest, pinkest conglomeration of pillows and furniture I'd ever seen. I'm pretty sure it was illegal to have this much femininity in one place. There ought to be a law. Hell, there probably was.

I walked in and laid down on the bed. Let loose a contented sigh as the extremely soft mattress slowly embraced me. I heard cough at the door. Red stood there, hoof extended. She was giving me those concierge eyes. They said she'd wait there all day if necessary.

I fell asleep as she stood there, watching me like a very angry guardian angel.