Under the late afternoon sun, Bramble-Stitch wondered where those ferry-slowing bastards were doing with the old Fanford ship, a steady but rickety ship supposedly from the ship-wrights down in Evening Tide. It has to be a lie, you know. As if anyone could persuade those Equestrian-damning faints to part with any of their precious ships.
They learned quick not to let anything fall into Equestrian hooves, they did.
They still mourn their royal family, they did.
Absentmindedly, Bramble-Stitch smacked the side of his face, squishing he hoped another mosquito that got too close. He pulled back his hoof to see it damp with perspiration and cursed that he had been out here so long that he could no longer tell the difference between a pest and his sweat.
But in this situation caught in the dreary heat, caught in his impatience, everything was pissing him off (not including the Princess, because the ponies organizing this could have done better) and where was the damn boat?
He knew of course, some of the ferry workers like Kettle Dip and Ginger Reed, as everybody knew everybody in the small river-town of Flown. He knew of course the reason. Kinda. That it had to do with the Equestrian-wide festival of sorts being held in the Princess' honor. Princess Twilight's honor, he corrected himself. There were a lot more princesses these days and although he didn't care for them, one day he might.
Or at least, it would be polite of him to know their names and standings for when he arrived in Canterlot. At some point. And he thought that this particular party was more to impress Princess Celestia, the only Princess, he thought personally, they needed than this Twilight. They hadn't party this loudly when her sister came back from the moon.
Priorities and ponies, two things that didn't work well together. Good thing, they had a kind ruler that wouldn't be too offended.
Bramble-Stitch leaned back against the wooden bench, called on the strength of all his ancestors in the long-line of Patch and sighed. Ha, that was the problem alright.
He was only calling the strength of his mother's ancestors.
His mother, round and full and so young, wandered into Flown and died as he took his first breath. Luckily, his grandmother took him in for his early years before she fell to age, said the doctors that made him stay with another family. She fell to grief, he remembered as he got older and able to save money, in that right way of living lonely and restless.
He came to Flown two years ago because his mother was here. Had been here, he said to others.
That's it. That's all.
The barmaid told him that he was looking for peace. The motel owner told him to look for pity elsewhere.
But really, that was it. That was all. She had been here and maybe he's been looking to find something to take. It might have been peace. It might have been pity. But really, he was looking for a word to tell him where she had been before she came to the town.
And there was nothing of that sort.
His mother had a unusually quiet way about her, despite her yells and strains because of his birth and her first and last actual words outside of “Help me!” and “Damn him!” was his name. And then she died.
It took a while for him to realize, that maybe, he wouldn't find what he been looking for. He'd lingered around Flown longer than he would any other place in his 23 years of life because mainly, he had no reason to go.
But then there was something. Not from her but from Him.
Bramble-Stitch, his hooves restless, opened his messenger bag and took out two letters. One was a job-opening as a junior librarian in the western wing of the Holly's Shadow 57th library. The one that kept on getting caught in supernatural mysteries and all of their workers constantly went missing. Oh boy, why didn't he hurry straight there? All he had to do was not go missing. Easy money.
The second was a request for him to claim his birth-right as the first and only LEGITIMATE son of the noble house of Morning. Of course, there had been additional papers with the second letter. They had done their research on him. They knew, he tended to be a paper-pusher and ink-minder. They knew, he wouldn't care much about his title or birth-right.
So why couldn't he just sign over his right to his step-brother in law and let everyone go on their merry ways?
It didn't say it in those words but it was nice to read how stupid and understanding his step-brother thought he was. It's really funny how only a year ago, his step-brother had once been his undiscovered half-brother until That Stallion (It was never going to Father or Dad or even Asshole) got into a accident in the hospital and changed his will. There was quite a scandal that none of That Stallion's children was his and he knew all along but after a near-death experience decided to be petty.
To him, Bramble-Stitch.
Why would That Stallion think it was a great idea of using him as the punishment for his problems with his real family? Really, did anyone think he'd feel sorry for all of the step-siblings he'd never known and wouldn't have known about? He wanted to be dined and wined before he signed over his rights. He wanted to meet That Stallion and-
And it was that part he was fuzzy on. Generally, his plan was to head to Canterlot and hem-haw about the house of Morning until someone grabbed him and gave him money to shut up. Perhaps, he'll meet That Stallion or not and the money would be so good that he wouldn't care. Then he would go to Holly's Shade to pick a fight with whatever likes grabbing librarians and emerge not missing.
The steady pay in Holly's Shade was ridiculous good but Bramble-Stitch wanted to make his peace with the world before he tried his luck. He owed something to his mother who could have lived and should of lived because of the money and power of the house of Morning. But didn't and died in a backwater town, leaving behind a desperate child.
There wasn't anything to be found in Flown. He'd come here for just that purpose and if there had been, it had left before he was born. He knows about her mother in youth from his grandmother. Knows that he has her eyes and limbs and sweet mouth that shouldn't be cursing. But his mother had taken off to places unknown the moment she turned 16 and died 10 years later in Flown.
What was his mother doing in that gap of time? What places did her hooves tread?
And if the answer could not be found in either her grave or cradle, That Stallion might know. Or not. And Bramble-Stitch, in a odd yet bitter way, hoped That Stallion wouldn't know. That he couldn't know. Because if he did and left his mother to die in this place...
He still didn't know how he would react. What would he would do? To That Stallion? To the family of step-siblings and wife? To himself?
His pondering failed him and his will felt weak and worn. What was he doing?
Perhaps he shouldn't go to Canterlot. Send a letter to Canterlot once he got settled in Holly's Shade and they would sort out the inheritance issue through the mail as proper folk should do it. He didn't need to go looking for pity.
“Buddy, you paid for the afternoon ferry to Bulwick right? It's arrived. Hell-O, Bramble-Stitch, are you in there?”
Bramble-Stitch jerked out his daze and looked up at the weary ferry worker, Moss he remembered, who snorted in amusement.
“Bulwick?” He muttered loudly, echos of his thoughts curling his tongue and temper. “I don't know my maps all that well but I thought this was the most direct route to Canterlot. Shouldn't I be getting off at Gardenia to take their rail-road to Cinder Rock which is the closest to Canterlot and the only rail-way built up the mountain?”
“Normally yes. That is the suggested route but we are having some trouble with the parades, multiple orders from around the area and the cargo-hold carrying nine times the usual volume that it's slowing us down. We have to take a longer route and more stops to drop off items to customers. How else does Flown make it's money? I love it. I hope a princess gets crowned every year.”
“Flown makes it money by ripping ponies off by the load, ya shit. I don't have the time to be caught up in your sham of lying and over-charging the stupid souls who use river-shipping. I'm not getting off at Bulwick. If I can't get to Gardenia, drop me off at... uh... around the northern part of Dahlia’s banks and I'll walk to Gardenia myself.”
“Are you crazy? The Dahlia river tends to have bandits.” Moss paused for a unnecessary dramatic effect. “Diamond Dogs are said to be in that area too.”
“Fuck you, Moss. I'm not the one who should be worrying about Diamond Dogs remembering me. Why are you talking to me like an idiot?”
“Because you look like one, duh. And you sound like one, too while I'm at it. You're not exactly traveling with a party of ponies to watch your back. You don't have wings to fly out of danger. No horn for none of that sparkle sparkle. And my friend, you don't scream intimidation. So how would you like to be murdered: throat slashed by bandits or eventually eaten by Dogs. After they tortured you in their mines somewhere, to be fair.”
“Bulwick's too far. How long is this parade and party madness going to continue?”
“Three months tops.”
“Is Pond and his boys around. I don't like their ship. I don't like their steering. But I.. You know what, forget I brought them up.”
“You're out of luck anyway. Pond's gone and advertised himself as the quickest ferry around here which is true. But you'll lose 30% to his bad handling of valuables and 40% to the water. The stuff that does get there is top-notch, though. What are you in a hurry for, anyway?”
“Job opportunity in Canterlot.” It's not really a lie. “I want to get up there before I lose my nerve.”
Moss rolled his eyes. “You know something, we are going to have a honest talk. Right here and right now.” He chomped down in that ugly, messy way that pegasi did when they moved things with their mouths on the letters Bramble-Stitch left beside him and shoved them into his bag. Then he pushed the bag onto the ground and sat down as if he'd hadn't been rude. “We are mates, right?”
“Sure. We drink together often enough.”
“We talk too. Listen Bram, don't make that face at me, the jobs in Flown are hot right now. There's orders going in, orders going out. Deals being made to expand the wharf. Business is booming and we have an edge over the rest of the river settlements since we're usually talked to first about shipping. You may not be the ship-riding type but there is always a need for a pony who crosses the T's and dots the I's. Sailors do not like paperwork and this town is mostly full of them. Even the children would rather run off into the water than bother with that book stuff. Thus, by my clever thinking, I do not think you are going to Canterlot for a job.”
“I don't have to explain-”
“Your body language says it all. You've found a lover that you have been writing to for weeks but there's something I want to confess-”
“My father found me, okay! I don't care about it. I just want to take a look at him, maybe swear a little and walk away with some mo- I mean what?”
“Forget that I said anything!” They said at the same time. Bramble-Stitch felt his face light up and there had to be some dignity in this conversation that he could walk away with.
“Hmm, good talk, Moss, really good. You know something, I'll take that unnecessary ride to Bulwark, after all. I've already paid for the ticket and I'm not in that much of a hurry. And I'll see you around, yeah?”
“Bram, wait. I wanted to confess that I rather you not chase someone in Canterlot because I thought it was silly that they wouldn't make the trip to meet you half-way. Sets a terrible tone to relationship, I should know. Come on, admit it, you've thought of me as a big brother. Big brothers do these things or so I've heard from Pond.”
“I liked it better when I thought you were going to confess your love to me.”
“Sorry to break your heart, Bram but the only type of fairy I am is of the bottles. But feel free to tell me how pretty and masculine I am. Come on then, do it. Say, 'Moss is the sexiest piece of stallion' you've met so far. And also ever.” Moss stretched his wings and flexed.
“Do I still have to get off at Bulwick. Come on, Moss. Come on. You owe me. Remember the Mutt incident. Who came and bailed you out? Who walked in on that... baffling and mentally scarring sex act.”
“Please stop, already. How was I supposed to know? She, later found out as he, had a very thick accent and he did have referrals. And could you out-talk a changeling? Nobody believed in those changelings until they showed up to invade. Who really? They nearly took the capital. I mean you did, but you're a prude and I, uh, just went to the wrong place and don't bring it up. We swore on my old mattress we set on fire together not to talk about it.”
“It wasn't the wrong place when you willingly got sold into mining labor which still doesn't explain what I walked in on.”
“ Calm down, Bram, it's a long and tragic story which I do not want to talk about. That Dog promised me pearls and I was on that green goo-! Oh god, Bram I just wanted to have a heart-to-heart and you've ruined it with your Bram-ness. Fine, you tosser. You'll get to your Gardenia soon enough. I have an idea to circumvent the rules.”
“I am not getting into a cargo-box.”
“Well then, I got nothing.”
