Claude sat within his modest home in Ponyville. He lived within the normal residential area in the town. A decently-famous puppeteer, Claude took most any job that offered a decent crowd and a livable check. Luckily a puppet show is easily set up entertainment for foals and fillies during parties and other times their parents don't want to deal with them. Corny jokes in funny voices have always entertained kids, a decent formula to base a living off of.
The Ponyville Foal and Filly Fair recently passed; another event, another check to keep the lights on and the water running. The event stayed lodged in his mind, constantly bothering him. Performance wise, he stood at the top of his game. The little ones were rolling about the ground in laughter. He obsessed over the performance of another. Before the fair he commissioned a young and upcoming designer. She initially delivered a stupendously designed ornate theater, but the stage and mobility were lacking. He told her this, and not only did she deliver mere hours after, the finished product was perfect.
The thought stuck in his mind, 'How could she design and construct the perfect traveling theater in a matter of a few hours?' He commissioned the failed theater nearly a month beforehand, as that's when he picked up the contract into the fair. Pulling himself from his chair, the floorboards squeaked under his hooves. "Perhaps that puppet theater was too nice. Too quick for such quality. There's something behind Miss Rarity. Designer's secrets my left hoof." Claude paced around his room, scoffing at her excuse. Her failure occurred not hours before her epic success. "She's making fun of me. That's what it is. She prances abount, creating masterpieces for everypony to wear and dazzles all of Equestria. She even works for Sapphire Shores," He approached his prop table, and rested his front hooves upon it, "And what do I have, hmm?" His horn ignited, and the two puppets that previously lay still now floated animate. Age showed as they moved about, threads fraying in their joints. They exchanged looks with one another as Claude continued, "I've only you two. Two ratty old puppets. You won't impress anypony. Just a bunch of fillies looking for a quick laugh." They both glared at him. "Well it's true."
"You've owned us for years," it chided in a higher version of Claude's voice, "you've never had a problem before."
"That may be true, Malcolm. I do enjoy my job, I guess. Seeing those young ones laugh at the antics I put you two in-"
"But do they appreciate you, or us?" The other one piped up, owning a graveled version of Claude's vocal cords. Its arm dangled loosely as it 'spoke', clear that Claude neglected to restitch any of the weathered joints.
Claude thought a moment, pondering the point just brought up. "They never really look at me, since I'm behind the theater, controlling you two."
"They don't care about you, Claude. All those fillies and foals you made laugh with the crazy situations, they don't even know who you are. They just know Mormo and Malcolm, puppet comedians at large. Claude is the afterthought."
"You mean Malcolm and Mormo," Malcolm chimed in and nudged his companion, "we both know who the kids love."
"Yea, I suppose we do," Mormo replied.
"Me!" They said in unison. Silence prevailed as they glared each other down.
"Can we get back to the real problem?" Claude impatiently asked, eyebrow raised. The puppets turned their attention to him, he responded by pacing once more. "I need to find out what Miss Rarity's little trick is." Mormo looked thoughtfully into the distance, and Malcolm sat upon the table, rubbing his chin. Claude watched his two puppets for a few moments, disdain growing on his face. His horn faded, and he groaned loudly as the two puppets fell lifeless once more. The chair squealed as he flopped his weight down on it, burying his face in his forelegs on the table. Celestia's sun started to give way to her sister's moon, and the house grew dark as Claude still sat motionless. Completely ignorant of time or his surroundings, his brain racked the details. 'Failure, absence, success. Failure, running off, absence, success.' An elusive detail caught his attention. His head rose, horn aglow. Malcolm and Mormo sat on the table, intently watching Claude. "When she showed me each theater, she had company. A small creature."
"Like a cat?" Malcolm asked.
"No. It was a dragon, remember?" Mormo answered, head slowly swaying back and forth.
"Yes, that small dragon. He must know." Claude grinned to his puppets who gave him the same empty stare they always have. "Perhaps we should pay Miss Rarity a visit."
"You might want to go alone," Mormo suggested, "she's more apt to consider your request without us floating around your head." Claude rubbed his chin a moment, and nodded slightly. The duo floated over to their table, and Claude's horn deactivated; the puppets fell down onto the worn oak. His approached the front of his home, and peered out the window. Luna's moon continued to rise in the sky, rich orange filled the horizon and bled into the clouds. He dawned his trademark coat and top hat, swung open his door, and sauntered onto the street. Few ponies were present outside, most were inside their homes with their families after a long day. He traveled alone through the town. The market and salesponies closed up their stalls as he passed by. Carousel Boutique reflected the falling sun, a shining orange-yellow beacon amongst the other buildings in the square.
Knock. Knock. Knock. His hoof rapped upon the door. No answer.
Knock Knock. Knock. Again, no answer. He turned to walk away, the door creaked. Turning around, Claude saw the pony he sought.
"Ah, Miss Rarity! Good to see you! I was starting to think you were not at home." Claude said jovially.
"Why hello...uh..."
"Claude!"
"Claude, the puppeteer, of course! I'm terribly sorry, Sapphire Shores recently asked for a new line for a tour she's starting soon, and I've been running myself ragged creating designs.
"Well, I won't take much of your time. I have but a simple question for you." Rarity gave him a curious look. "When you gave me the second theater, who was that little one that accompanied you?"
"That was Spike, he's one of my dearest friends. What about him?" Her inquisitive look stuck while watching Claude.
"Do you happen to know where he lives? I need to ask him something. Since you're the type of pony everypony should know, I figured you would be the best to come to for this quandary."
Rarity blushed slightly, "That's sweet of you. Spike lives with Twilight in the library. What sort of business do you have with him?"
"He, uh, he wanted to know if I had a book on the history of puppeteering."
"I wonder if he's trying to add more books to Twilight's collection. Can't imagine why, that filly has more books than she knows what to do with."
Claude forced some laughter to share with his host, "Well, I must thank you, Miss Rarity. You've outdone yourself once more!"
"Well, it was nothing, really. Just glad to help where I can!" She smiled at him, one he mirrored. They said their goodbyes, he set off as she settled in for the night.
Arriving once again in the market, he sat on a bench near the Quills and Sofas Store. He found himself alone, the market closed for the night. It still being light out, today must've been a holiday of some sort. Claude racked his mind for dates, nothing around now that he could remember.
'Spike is the dragon's name.' A wicked grin grew across his face. 'He'll know where I can find Miss Rarity's secret to success.' He peered down the street, a resting sun illuminated a large tree in the distance. A lived-in tree, Ponyville Library, occupied by Princess Twilight Sparkle and the small dragon Spike.
Ponyville Library was always a curiosity to Claude. A source of untold knowledge built into what's essentially a natural lightning rod never really made sense for him. In his few years of living in Ponyville, he'd never been granted access within, always some excuse of events or catastrophes that required the library's sole attention. He always watched it as he passed by in his daily routines, noting those who came out and who or what entered. Even when the now Princess Twilight moved in, he never once knocked upon its door. Business picked up, and he'd never found the time to see Twilight to ask to explore within. Pulling himself from the bench, Claude walked towards the library. The street silent, save for the slow clop, clop of his hooves. The tall and oaken library door shone some light through it's viewing window. He peeked inside, and saw a blurry mare moving from one side of the room to the other.
"Glass is foggy..whoever made this ought to be-" Another moving figure caught his eye. Green, and short, it seemed to be the only thing the mare inside yielded to. Claude fixed up his coat, and knocked on the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock. A slow knock echoed through the main room of the library.
"Who could that be?" Twilight wondered aloud, "Spike, you didn't invite anyone over, did you?"
"You're a princess, it's probably ponies needing to ask you for help or something." Spike replied half-minded, and waddled into the kitchen. Twilight raised an eyebrow at her assistant, and turned towards the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock. The rapping echoed once more. Claude chewed his lower lip, impatience contorting his face. He glanced at the windows nearby. A latch opened, and Claude looked upon his princess.
He respectfully bowed to her, "Your highness, may I have but a moment of your time?"
Twilight pulled him back to face level, "You don't need to bow. I'm always happy to help those in need."
"You see, I've lived in Ponyville for many years now. I've never been able to see inside the library. I figure myself a bit of an academic in-"
"You what?!" Twilight exclaimed, shoving him inside before he could finish. She whirled books around the room, showing him the various sections and subjects and the countless bits of information she possessed from years of study. Claude politely listened, though when she turned her back to him, he prowled about. He scribed mental notes about every interesting detail the library held.
A few minutes passed until Twilight stopped turning around. She focused now upon the books, still talking about them to the open air. Claude passed her by, and listened around. Clanking of dishes and some quiet grumbling emitted from the kitchen. He peered inside, and saw his treasure.
Spike stared into the oven, watching his creation cook while his stomach rumbled. A casual glace behind him revealed a portly shadow monitoring him. Panic shot through him, and he branded his spatula against the shadow. "Who's there?"
Claude stepped from the shadow, a giant grin painted on his face. "No one who might pose a threat to you," he chuckled at Spike's spatula, "You may sheath your weapon, brave warrior."
Setting his spatula on the counter, Spike examined Claude. "Hey, you're the puppet guy, aren't you?" He questioned, Claude served a proud grin in response. "It's kinda late, what're you-"
"I'm here for you, my dear dragon friend," he adjusted his top hat, "You do remember the fair, yes?"
"Yea, Rarity sure made a knockout theater. Well, she made two of them, but you-"
"I already explained the flaws of the first. I came to ask for the 'designer secret'. How did she create the second theater so quickly?"
"Oh, that's an easy one. It's an old spellbook from The Castle of The Two Sisters. Called the Inspiration Manifestation."
Claude raised an eyebrow, "And where might I find this Inspiration Manifestation?"
"I-uh, I ate it."
"You what?!"
"It was the only way to get it away from Rarity, it made her go crazy!"
Claude rubbed his chin, "Did it...pass?" His face awkwardly twisted.
Spike frowned, "No. Twilight said she'd help," He listened through the doorway, her book babbling still filled the other room. "She's easily distracted, if you couldn't tell."
He chuckled, and turned attention towards the oven, "Then why are you making food?"
"Well, if enough goes in, it'll have to come out eventually...right?" Spike shot Claude a nervous glace, and Claude shrugged.
"Since the Inspiration Manifestation is currently...in use, I'll merely have to make due," He listen in on Twilight, she began to slow her speech, "I better get back in there. Good luck with-" he nodded at Spike's gut, "that." Claude abruptly left Spike, who shrugged and returned to his meal-watching.
Twilight turned just as Claude returned to his seat. Exhaustion and excitement mixed on her face, "So, what do you think?"
Claude nodded, shining his proud grin, "Quite a wonderful collection you have," he produced a pocket watch from his coat and glaced at it, "My, look at the time. I must get back. You know, last minute maintenance on my puppets before the next show."
"I think Spike's making nachos, you wouldn't stay for those?"
He stood and walked to the door, "I'm afraid not," Opening the door, he tipped his hat, "Good evening, princess." The door slammed, and Twilight raised an eyebrow. He ran through the empty street, wind ruffling his neat facade. Bashing through his front door, horn illuminated, the puppets revived.
Both shared glances, and sat upon the table as Claude paced about the room. "So he ate a book of infinite power," Malcolm pondered, "He probably didn't think of it coming out the other end."
"Bet he still would've eaten it," Mormo noted, "You know what Rarity looks like. Guys'll do a lot of things for a pretty face."
"Including defecating an entire book?"
Mormo shrugged, "Only one thing for sure now."
Claude paused, and looked to Mormo, "What's that?"
"We gotta get the book one way or the other. It's probably pretty damaged as is, any longer it'll be utterly unusable."
"So what, we feed him pound after pound of laxatives?" Malcolm suggested.
"No," he looked to Claude, "Time to get out the amateur surgeon kit." Claude stared at his old friend. Malcolm grew livid, flying around his master in protest. "Do you want infinite power or not?" Mormo flew over to Claude's ear, "Or are you content with being out-shined by stuffed rags while hiding in a tablecloth?"
Author's Note
Decisions, decisions. Stay weak and hidden, or take action and gain great power? Both will result in permanent consequences.
