Chronicles of Equestria II: The Magician, the Toy Maker and the Past

by Ictiv

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Doctor Whooves, Sad, Original Character, Trixie, Derpy Hooves, Slice of Life
Length: 48925

A teal unicorn of curious origins sets up shop Ponyville and infamous mare returns.

((Continuation of Chronicles of Equestria I Reading is recommended but not required. Posting separately due to great magnitude of character and plot focus shift, along with sad tag requirement. Technically a different story in the same continuity.))

A curious teal unicorn who claims to have lived all of his life in distant, not particularly civilized lands, trying to find his way "back" to Equestria has finally returned and through offering his life work - a tome filled with self designed spells of great diversity - to the Princesses, he received quite a sum of bits with the intent to allow him to start a new life in Equestria. Surprisingly enough, he did not chose to pursue the study of Magic - his obvious talent, - instead, he chose to set up a Toy Shop, a home for gadgets and various items of curiosity, perhaps to live a life of absolute simplicity, or to leave something behind, perhaps even to find something.
But before he can do any of that, he will need a permanent assistant.

Published 2012-04-26 03:34:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-14 21:18:30 UTC

Prologue

’The ballroom is in a dim, silent darkness. A few ponies whisper to each other, but quickly hush themselves as a single, shining beam of light cuts through the dark, setting its gaze upon an eloquently dressed, dashing stallion and a beautiful mare standing gracefully in a dress that feels as nothing less but a poem given form.’

A small clicking sound was heard, followed by a non-stopping, quiet “tick-tock-tick-tock...”.

‘Now the two, greet each other with a bow of their head, yes... And then step closer. The stallion, rises on his hind legs, balancing clumsily. The mare is quick to help him and soon they are both standing on their hind legs, their front hooves locked around the other, creating a single, balanced beeing with two hearts two minds, but indeed one soul on the dance floor, both of them completed by the other. A moment later, the clopping of their hooves on the wood starts a steady pace: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. At this point, the orchestra starts.’

Another click, and the “tick-tock...” was joined by a louder, melodic music, a slow waltz.

’Slowly spinning around one another, spiraling in larger and larger circles on the floor. Then as the music lifts, the stallion bends down to allow the mare to lean ba- Perfect! Yes! They raise back,spin around each other, yes. One, two, three. One, two, three. Yes! Another graceful lean... Ahaha! A few more beautiful, harmonious spins, the mare twists around the colt and the music reaches the climax aaaaaannd, a final back lean as the music dies down.’

The rhythmic “tick-tock...” abruptly ended - along with the music - by a louder click which is followed by a series of faster ticking noises. The large, dark room is suddenly filled with light as the blinds on its windows separate, glowing teal.

‘Simply magnificent!’ laughed the teal unicorn stallion. ‘It follows Zherebetsky’s composition better than I hoped.’ He was standing over the still ticking automaton, depicting two finely dressed unicorns - a teal stallion and a golden mare - who were now dragged around just slightly above the surface of the large music box like the dolls they were, until they found their original places and took on their starting poses.

The delicate, polished and shining wood carved machine, with its fragile actors gave a harsh contrast to the surrounding workshop, filled with various tools and more than a hoofful of sawdust; though as workshops go, this was definitely among the more well kept ones, it’s tools organized in an uncanny fashion both by function and size. The furnishing was made of a couple of shelves, a two large cupboards, filled with old schematics and designs, three large tables - one with the schematics of the music box rolled out over it, one with enforced legs and with stone top, covered in sawdust and one final table with pieces of cloth, various small cogs, poles and other mechanical components scattered on it.

‘I couldn’t have imagined it would all turn out so incredibly life like.’ said Twilight Sparkle, standing behind the stallion in the workshop. ‘Your friend’s design is astonishing.’

‘Yes, she was quite gifted.’ smiled the stallion over his shoulder, while using a small, delicate duster to clean the prized machine of the workshop’s dirt. ‘But it would never have been possible without your help Miss Sparkle not to mention your tailoress friend. I mustn't forget to make her something in return. These miniature clothes? Beautiful!’ he added and gently lifted the contraption, flying it out of the room.

‘I didn’t really want to say,’ started Twilight unsurely, following the stallion out to the spacious corridor. ‘but I found it strange that the mare would be a unicorn.’

‘Hm?’ hummed the stallion stopping mid-step, but not turning back. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry, but you always spoke of her like you two were... Close. I half expected the other mannequin to be her likeness.’

‘Oh? But... Right, I told you she wasn’t a pony. Right. Um.’ the teal unicorn went on confusedly for a moment then continued his steps down the corridor, still not turning back and continuing in a careful tone: ‘Yes. I... You could say that we were... “Close”. The design is like this because.’ he paused for a moment, but before he could continue, Twilight interrupted.

‘It’s okay, I was just curious. No need to explain it if you don’t want to.’ she knew well that the stallion had his quirks, not wanting to talk too much about his past, in faraway lands among them.

‘As you wish.’ the stallion said relieved. ‘Did I really make her sound close though?’ he asked, looking back back at the mare while taking a left to enter the large front room of the building, still levitating the machine with great care.

‘Heh. Sort of.’ Twilight nodded, smiling at the somewhat confused stallion. ‘I’m pretty sure you mentioned her at least once every time we met the month, since you started this whole...’ Twilight was going to finish with something along the lines of “toy making business”, but entering the front room of the shop and looking at the countless contraptions she assisted in making, she realized that “toy” is not the best word, even if he prefers it.

Granted - apart from the large shelves - almost everything was indeed intended to be played with. There were dolls of course, but none of them was just that simple, some knew how to walk on their own, through the help of a few clever spells designed by the stallion, added to various unseen braces, that kept them going. Some others others could even fly around, since the transmutation spells created by this strange unicorn allowed for strong metals to be incredibly light. Then there were music boxes, none quite as delicately designed as the one he just brought out of the workshop, but all quite complex. Some were relatively simple, a small spinning model of a proud member of the royal guard, set to “The March of Eclipse”. Some more complicated. There was even one with a violin player where the music actually came from the doll playing its miniature violin. Twilight still didn’t want to believe she managed to make that one work. A couple of model trains, puffing magic smoke, randomly blowing their horn when wound up, a set of prank toys. A small lighthouse that stops turning and shines right at anypony that comes close. A clock that if you try to re-set to a different time, it waits a minute and rolls back to its previous setting. And even a complete set of chess pieces that occasionally try to crawl back to their previous spot.

And then there were those eggs. As soon as she told him about how she and “that dragon” ended up together, he decided to modify one of his previous ideas. The result was... Interesting.

In any case, the shop’s mechanical gadgets were more the last bastion of a dying art form than mere toys.

‘Yes, I suppose that is true.’ nodded the teal unicorn who seemed more concerned about his frequent mentionings of his old friend than Twilight. ‘I didn’t really notice it, until you mentioned it... I suppose this is what happens when you have your mind set on somepony for a very long time.’ he sighed and placed the large music box on a corner desk.

‘You almost sound like you’d like to forget her.’ Twilight fumbled around the topic.

‘Forget her? Never.’ the stallion said suddenly, turning to the mare ‘I don’t think I could and... And I think it would be the worst thing I could possibly do to her.’ he looked at Twilight for a moment then shook his head and turned back to the box, making sure everything was as it should. ‘What am I saying? You couldn’t understand. Sorry, just forget about it.’

‘Excuse me.’ Twilight replied apologetically. She was sure she could probably understand it if the stallion would just tell her what it is, but if he didn’t want help, she shouldn’t push.

‘Nothing at all...’ came from the stallion then he smiled at the ground. ‘I should be the one apologizing actually, making you create all these amazing contraptions after somepony’s designs who I barely say anything about beyond how brilliant she was.’ he looked up at the mare and continued: ‘Curiosity and the wish to inquire on more is simply natural. There are just things that are complicated.’

The stallion silently made his way behind a counter, filled with various little model ponies and other small toys. He took out a sign from one of the under counter shelves that had “Open” on one side and “Closed” on the other. He checked up on the large, twenty four hour clock above the counter which showed the time to be a quarter past one in the afternoon.

‘Should this feel so unnerving?’ he asked.

‘Hm.’ Twilight paused to think for a moment then smiled supportively at the stallion. ‘I can’t speak with the authority of a pony that would have braved life in untamed lands, met many cultures and created incredible spells, just to then become a toy maker in a small town. But from a “simple” librarian's point of view, who was a lot more nervous than she should have been when she became the librarian of Ponyville, I can say that the worst things that can come in through that door are known as the Cutie Mark Crusaders.’

‘Hah. Don’t even mention them.’ he smiled and came out from behind the counter, brushing his graying mane clean of dust with a gust of magic wind. ‘I unwittingly promised them to help find their cutie marks when we first met. Then I didn’t think I’d end up back here. Though maybe it’s better this way. I don’t like it all that much, to be dishonest I mean. Anyway, I think finishing that beauty was the best way to open this sho-’ he paused suddenly then laughed. ‘I almost forgot! I wanted to thank you in some way for all the help you’ve given me, setting this shop up.’ His horn glew teal and - out from behind the counter - a strange little statue flew to Twilight.

‘Uh, thank you.’ Twilight reacted, taking over the statue which she quickly recognized as the image of a Coyote. She didn’t see one in life before but read a lot about them, it was difficult not to. It’s eyes, which were made of pristine marbles, somehow worked into the wooden carving glowed with intelligence and curiosity.

‘It’s an old statue I’ve got from a group of elks.’ explained the somewhat awkward looking stallion. ‘My first thought would have been creating a small orrery, in fact I have the design for one, but as my use of magic gets, I wasn’t sure I could do it justice. It’s really not much, just...’

‘Oh, no thank you!’ Twilight interrupted. She got used to the strange, apologetic bursts of the stallion and wanted to make sure he knows that she’s quite happy with the gift. ‘It’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks. Though, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you even get this here? I thought most of your belongings were stuck out there.’

‘Well they are.’ he nodded. ‘In a way at least. If you remember the Tome I asked you to summon for me, I put similar bindings on every one of my belongings and been slowly trying to get them all back here.’

‘Ah, I just thought, you know...’

‘Yes, I know my spell casting isn’t the best, but the bindings won’t just disappear off the item so I can try again if I’d fail.’ the stallion explained then laughed. ‘I actually got one of my old weather coats back on the second try, but it was only the first try that I needed to fail to make it end up in a swamp or the sort, because it was drenched in mud and a small damselfly was trapped in its sleeve. The poor thing seemed pretty shaken when I’ve set it free.’

‘I suppose there were less heroic ends to a pony’s adventuring days than rescuing a damselfly who’s in distress.’

‘Well,’ started the stallion, smiling with a raised eyebrow. ‘I do try not to give us involuntary wanderers a bad name.’ he said then took on a more normal look, keeping the smile. ‘Back onto the task at hand though: This shop will not open itself, of that I’m certain so...’ he quickly lifted the “Open”/”Closed” sign from the counter and walked to the door. ‘Miss Sparkle?’ he bowed his head and courteously waited until the mare made her way outside, then followed.

Looking up, Twilight viewed the large sign over the door. In large, finely carved wood, the following read in amber and cream white letters: “Oakleaf’s Toy Emporium ~ Home to all Automatons!”

‘It really looks great, Mr Oakleaf. I just noticed that you’ve dropped “The Vagrant”.’ Twilight noted.

‘Well, it wouldn’t have looked as good, though I’m not sure how relevant that little made up title was to begin with. Not to mention having a home for once.’ said Oakleaf, drifting off for a moment before noticing himself and turning to Twilight.

‘I owe you a great deal Miss Sparkle. I’ll almost miss having you assist me, but life must go on! I’ve already got word from a very promising candidate for my permanent assistant and I’m sure you too have your hooves full with that Book Club you’ve been developing.’

‘You are welcome to join it at any time actually.’ the mare replied.

‘Perhaps. But I have a shop to start up right now.’ Oakleaf said and the door sign flew onto its place on the inside of the door turned to show “Open”. The stallion looked at it and shivered a little.

‘Would you like if I stayed?’ asked Twilight.

‘Oh no, I think I’ll try this on my own.’ he declined and had a strange light in his eyes that Twilight didn’t see yet. ‘Been a great while since I’ve been this excited about anything. Well not counting when I nearly fell to my death while arriving in Equestria, but this is different.’

‘I suppose I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Indeed. Take care Miss Sparkle.’

‘You too Mr Oakleaf.’ Twilight nodded good bye and turned around, heading back to her tree home.

On the way, she recollected the past month she assisted the strange stallion. As strange as he was on occasion and as unbelievable his past seemed, he was a generally light hearted pony and he showed her a quite a few little things about magic that while weren’t completely new to her, brought a new light to her studies. Still, it was hard to fight off her curiosity, she would have loved to know who was his mysterious friend who created all these designs, or just a few stories from his life, but he’d always brush them off as irrelevant or something he’d rather not talk about.

However, she had other things to worry about now. Her book club was starting to really take off the ground and she and her friends were requested by Celestia herself to perform at Canterlot on Hearth’s Warming Eve, just a month from now, not to mention Spike returning to his old self after an over a month long period of relative passiveness after his “incident”.

She’ll have time to find out more - if she’ll still care - but in the end: Life goes on.

The Toy Shop

‘Off! Finally!’ cheered a gray dot, whizzing over the main square of Ponyville, which was still empty in the early afternoon.

Derpy Hooves, the town’s mailmare has just finished shift, her empty mailbag still flapping on her side in the current of her flight. She could have been off earlier, but Post Haste - the better half of the telegram team - called in sick, which left the pegasus without her one colleague who voluntarily helped her complete the shift-end paperwork. It wasn’t too great a hit to her schedule though, it was just past one, so Dinky was probably still just packing. Ooooh the surprise she planned for her, it’s lucky how Twilight Sparkle gave those pamphlets to the post to scatter, she might not have even heard-

At this moment she spotted the very same librarian walking in the opposite direction below, probably to her library. She should tell Twilight that some important “script” or something arrived from Canterlot. It seemed important and Spike, who greeted her at the door earlier seemed a bit excited about it too. Something about “Cool, there’s a whole bunch of narration at the start!”

Quick on her wits, Derpy leaned to the side mid-flight, not even slowing down and shouted down to the unicorn, trying to focus the sound with her hooves, as best as they possibly can.

‘Hey! Miss Sparkle! There was an important message for you-’ she started but then a thought crossed her mind ‘Isn’t there a dead end here?’.

Just in time, she looked up and realized that she was heading directly at the roof of a furniture store. Luckily, she managed to correct her mistake by pitching up, her hooves tapping the roof, as if she was quite literally stepping over it. Looking back, she saw that the librarian, all though a bit confused waved at her and nodded as she got the message. Onto the School house! Twilight Sparkle was really among the few ponies Derpy liked. Perhaps it would be better to put in like that she didn’t mind being around the librarian or talking to her. Possibly because Twilight was usually very accepting when she made a mistake or another, though Derpy noticed that the library had no book deliveries ever since an incident when she left a package at the library’s doorstep, forgetting that there was rain scheduled for just an hour later; and she also kept a bit quiet after that incident with the heavy packages... But wait, she was thinking about something just a few seconds ago, what was it? Oh yes!

It’s lucky that she got all those pamphlets on her hooves a week earlier about a new Toy Shop opening this week and once old Mr Zippy came back from delivering a package of various gizmos and told her that the shop opens today and is filled with “Wonderful little thingamajigs”, Derpy knew that checking it out with Dinky would be an awesome start to their afternoon.

Reaching the School House, the mare quickly dived down for landing, though she miscalculated a little and had to clumsily trott a few feet on the ground to lose her momentum. Looking in through the window, she saw Cheerilee who seemed to be just about to finish off the class for today. It seems Derpy got here precisely on time. For once.

Waiting by the door for a minute, the pegasus was greeted by the door swinging open harshly. She jumped back and hovered in the air as three fillies rushed off, barely even noticing her, before jumping onto a red wagon and speeding off. Derpy knew those fillies well by reputation, “The Cutie Mark *Somethings*”, always off to some silly self declared errand to get their marks, dismissing the wise words of others and getting into more trouble than the rest of their class together. They weren’t all bad... Probably. But they were definitely no company to her Dinky. The filly didn’t need some vagabonds to drag her into trouble, she needed somepony who loves her and cares for her, and who makes sure she’s happy and not made fun of... Somepony like Derpy herself!

‘Aunt Derpy!’ came a happy tune from the school building and the small blonde filly came trotting out with her small saddle bag bobbing on her back.

‘Dinky!’ the mare greeted her niece happily and quickly swooped down from the air, grabbed her and hugged the small filly in the air. ‘I’ve got the best idea on where we’ll go today!’

‘Would you mind if we’d go someplace first?’ interrupted Dinky before her aunt could finish.

‘Uh...’ Derpy usually had free rein about where they went, without the filly not giving many requests, just happily coming along wherever she took her, so this question took her by surprise. As she looked blankly for a moment, wondering what Dinky could have in mind, her vision blurred as her right eye drifted off to the side. She quickly blinked and realigned her eyes a bit irritated, but then put on a quick smile, looking at the filly. ‘Sure! Where did you want to go?’

‘Oh, it’s great! Miss Cheerilee told us that she heard through Miss Sparkle that today there’ll be a new toy shop opening!’ Dinky started while her aunt carefully put her back on the ground. ‘She also said that Miss Sparkle helped make the toys there and they all have special enchantments and all that sort of things!’

‘Oh?’ Derpy had a mixed feeling of disappointment and surprise, she hoped she could be the one to introduce the new shop, but after all it was the same, mostly. ‘That’s great! I actually wanted to take you there too!’

Dinky was happy to hear that they can go and climbed onto Derpy’s shoulders who landed next to her. Moments later they were already trotting towards the intriguing new shop.

‘It was strange though.’ Dinky noted and Derpy looked up the filly who was using her mane as a pillow. ‘The moment Miss Cheerilee said that the shop’s owner is called Mr Oak... Leaf. Oakleaf. So as soon as she said that, Sweetie Belle,’ Dinky looked down in Derpy’s eyes ‘you know, that white unicorn from my class, so she got excited and said something like “He’s back?”. It was like she already knew him and then her friends got excited too and they rushed off as soon as Cheerilee finished class.’

‘Well, hello!’ came a familiar, Trottingham accent from behind them. Looking back, Derpy recognized Colt Smith, a slightly eccentric stallion she sometimes delivered to. The brown pony, with his usual, swept back mane hurried up behind them. He was wearing a formal, green necktie with a strange, metal stick between it and his neck.

‘Hello.’ Derpy replied. She didn’t know much about Colt Smith, besides him being some sort of author.

‘Excuse me for interrupting like this,’ the stallion began. ‘but I couldn’t help but overhear the mention of the word “Mr. Oakleaf”. Since I was just heading to a new shop sat up by somepony with the same name. I thought I’d check if I this was indeed a happy coincidence!’

‘We were going to that shop too.’ said Dinky nodding. ‘Aren’t you a bit too old for toys though?’

Colt Smith held back a laugh before replying: ‘I firmly believe that when someone grows old enough to be “too old” for anything, the best course of action is reverting back. “There’s no point in being great if you can’t be a little childish.” as my good Doctor would say. Oh, but I must ask, if it’s not an intrusion, Miss Doo was it?’

‘Uhuh! Ditzy Doo.Though everypony calls me Derpy.’ she nodded. She used to hate the name “Derpy”, but since Dinky started using it, it sort of grew on her and she used it mostly everywhere.

‘And I’m Dinky!’ chirped up the filly on her back, who didn’t want to be left out.

‘Colt Smith. A pleasure!’ the stallion smiled at the small pony. ‘I was just curious as to, since you were with the post: Did you ever meet this “Oakleaf” character?’

‘Not really.’ Derpy shook her head. She didn’t want to add that pretty much everything that was to be delivered there was labeled “Handle With Care”, which packages always end up with other couriers one way or another.

‘Well, I should have known.’ Smith said, then, seeing Dinky’s confused look, quickly added. ‘It’s the oddest thing really. I’ve asked around the bit the past few days and it appears he never really spoke to anyone. He spoke with the tailoress not long ago and occasionally exchanged a brief words with a few ponies who ran into him sometimes but usually he’s been locked up in that house of his since it was finished. I just find it rather strange that he would live in such seclusion, especially since he’s opening a shop.’

‘Why are you so curious about him?’

‘Oh, well no real reason I suppose. It’s perhaps that I’ve heard the strangest rumors about this stallion. Lived his whole life in more than far away land, becoming something of a magic expert and dealings with the Princesses. Probably half of it is just made up. Still, being an author I’m always out on the lookout of oddities. Somewhere between looking for a bit of inspiration and poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, I suppose.’ he grinned at the two with a strange, almost searching look in his eyes.

‘You are weird.’ Dinky said bluntly with a curious look.

‘I suppose I am.’ nodded Colt Smith chuckling a bit. ‘Ah, well look at that. Me and my big mouth. I keep on talking and we’re here already!’

Indeed, in front of the three stood a two story, newly built house, just over the door there hung a large, fancy, carved wooden sign which spelled: “Oakleaf’s Toy Emporium ~ Home to all Automaton”. It was somewhat surprising that it was put together in under a month, but even Sugarcube Corner was restored in under three weeks not that long ago, after the ‘dragon incident’. Apart from the unusually quick construction of it, it seemed like a normal house, but Derpy noticed that for some reason the writer is giving the building a concerned look. Smith noticed this and instantly dismissed this look off his face and continued in his previous high spirits.

‘Right after you, Miss.’ he stepped aside to let the gray mare enter. Derpy blushed uncomfortably over the unusual gesture but entered.

The shop was full, but it was empty. A strange phenomenon, but true none-the-less. Its many shelves were filled with small puppets, standing in place like statuettes, motion- and lifeless. Some of these miniature ponies stood up on their hind legs, holding various items, for example one of them held an incredibly small violin, next to it, an eloquently dressed stallion balanced himself on his hind legs and a cane. Further down the row a few ponies in strange, old clothes, ranging from classical gentlecolts to ancient, pre-Equestria noble mares. A few shelves over, there was a small suit of ceremonial armor that may, or may not have had a pony inside it. In a corner shelf, there was a large stack of small boxes upon each other, all closed. Across from the door, behind the counter was a larger wooden platform placed on a desk in the back corner with two very lifelike, but motionless ponies looking at each other blankly. But there was no pony inside and because of this the small, sharp ring of the doorbell filled the room up without competition. Derpy felt her niece grab onto her back a bit more tightly.

‘Uh...’ Derpy started.

‘Hello?!’ Dinky shouted from over Derpy’s head, while Mr Smith made his way into the shop behind them.

‘Well I didn’t expect that.’ he noted. ‘Quite an elusive fellow, not even found in his own shop.’

‘I’m coming!’ came from a door behind the counter and a sound of rapid hoof steps on wood accompanied the declaration. ‘Excuse me.’ came again, just before a teal stallion wearing an old style-ish, rimmed hat has made his way into the shop through the back door, a tea cup levitating before him. ‘I’m late from my first visitors, that is ought to be a lucky omen.’ he noted a bit distrait while placing the cup on the desk, then looked up and smiled at the visitors. ‘But don’t let my rambling distract you. Whatever I can help with, just say the word!... What made you so concerned little miss?’ he finished looking in Derpy’s direction.

The mare felt awkward for a moment then noticed that he wasn’t looking at her, but slightly above her. Turning her eyes up, she noticed that Dinky was looking around darkly, still hanging onto Derpy’s back very tight.

‘Dinky?’ the pegasus said trying to reach the distracted filly.

‘Huh?’ It seemed Dinky just realized that the older stallion was talking to her. ‘It’s just that they are very creepy.’ she said, but Derpy didn’t get what she could mean.

‘Creepy? The toys you mean?’ the teal stallion asked concernedly.

‘Miss Cheerilee said they are enchanted, but they’re just standing there. Like they’re waiting for something... Watching.’ Dinky explained blushing a bit, perhaps sensing how silly it all sounded.

‘Oh?’ the stallion noted then paused. ‘Oh! Why of course! You are very right at that, you know! Thank you!’ he smiled. ‘They do look very ominous and lifeless just lazing there, don’t they? Well, I think they had quite enough time to do just that!’ after finishing the stallion stepped behind the counter and placed his front hooves on it. His horn started glowing a dim shade of teal and he started to slowly tap his right hoof on the counter. After a few moments, the quiet tapping sound started to get louder and louder, not because he was hitting the desk stronger, but because every puppet in the room started ticking to the rhythm.

The first thing to come to life was a set of boxes in one of the corner shelves. They opened up, revealing carved and dressed mares in ballet stances, spinning around to slow melodic music, something Derpy had seen many times. Then, the eloquently dressed stallion started tapping his cane to the desk, before tipping his hat gently with one hoof, and beginning to walk left and right in an almost dance like fashion, following the melody of a song that the small violin player next to him began to play. A strange noise drew Derpy’s eyes upwards and she just noticed the circular tracks around the walls, just under the ceiling, and the model train that puffed smoke while going around it.

‘Impressive!’ noted Colt Smith who was examining a small, doll sized suit of armor’s martial practice very closely. ‘It must have been difficult to design a cog system allowing for such flexibility.’

‘Thank you, though I can’t claim credit for that.’ nodded Oakleaf. ‘I’m just hoping I manage to make them less cree-’ he started but noticed that Dinky already made her way off of Derpy’s back and was closely following the sneaky movements of a small cat which was crawling around its five foot long shelf adventurously. ‘Well, I’m not entirely hopeless!’ he finished, smiling as he saw the scene.

‘You wouldn’t at all mind if I’d ask you just a few question would you?’ asked Smith.

‘Oh, not really I suppose.’ Oakleaf replied surprised by the question.

Seeing how the stallions were busy with each other, Derpy turned to Dinky and joined here crouching at the bottom shelf where the small cat machine was now distrustingly prowling around a toy mouse which was twice its size. As Dinky reached towards the small mechanical pet, the cat jumped away, raising its back and tail ferociously, then - as Dinky stopped - it sat down tilting its head searchingly, before getting distracted by a rogue itch on the piece cloth substituting for its left ear and started scratching it with one of its hind legs, followed by the amazed eyes of the small filly. Derpy couldn’t help but smile at her niece’s reaction. She loved it when Dinky was like this, she loved it when the filly just watched something in silent amazement, there was something very... Earnest in it.

‘...Just asking because it’s difficult not to get intrigued with all these rumors flying around.’ Colt Smith’s voice hit Derpy’s ears.

‘Well, some of it is true, though I’d rather call it “being in the right place at the right time” than anything else.’ came from Oakleaf in a slightly concerned voice. ‘You seem to have done your research on me though, if you don’t mind me saying.’ he added.

‘Oh, well you know how it goes. Or rather, you don’t, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself! Colt Smith, intrigued to make your acquaintance. I’m something of a science fiction writer, so strange tales always catch my attention. I think it’s an understatement that your story of mysterious, far away origins, and ending up in royal court qualifies as a strange tale.’ Smith noted jokingly, though something else was in his voice too, which Derpy couldn’t put her hooves on.

‘That’s a curious coincidence!’ Oakleaf reacted in a lightened tone. ‘I think I came across your books through Miss Twilight Sparkle, the mare who was kind enough to assist me with creating these automatons. You wrote The Impossible Adventures of... of...?’

‘Doctor Whooves.’ finished Smith. ‘Originally it was just “The Doctor”, but my publisher convinced me otherwise. I suspect you didn’t read it then?’

‘Not a word of it I’m afraid, though not for a lack of interest I feel I should add. I just had a straining lack of free time recently. Miss Sparkle told me a great deal about your series though and that strange rod at your neck seems familiar by her descriptions.’ Derpy couldn’t help but look away from the new object of her and Dinky’s collective attention - a clumsy bird attempting to take off from its shelf, while the smaller, harmless, but persistent cat was hanging onto its leg weighing it down. Derpy was curious as to what in Equestria that weird pen thing could be, and thought she might get her answer.

‘Ah, you recognized the Sonic?’ Smith asked in a surprised tone. ‘It’s a replica somepony made for me. Been always a fan of small pieces of technology like this.’ Derpy saw as Smith tilted his head and pushed the rod out from under his tie, holding it up on his hoof. ‘Silly little tinker toy really. Want to know how it works?’

‘Go ahead, by all means!‘ Oakleaf more acknowledging than excitedly.

‘Well, I’ve made the Doctor himself a unicorn for it is obviously simpler that way, but’ Here he placed the rod in his mouth, starting to twist it around and a moment later the room filled with a sharp buzzing noise that made Derpy’s ears twitch and her eyes close uncomfortably vibrating. She had the familiar feeling as if her eyes would fall out if she didn’t keep her eyes closed.

‘Quite a noise it’s making!’ Oakleaf said with a raised voice to which Smith stopped the rod’s buzzing and placed the rod back on his hoof. Derpy forced her eyes open to which they started to roll around on their own and she had to close them again to re-focus, she hated when that happened when she was in public, which was almost always.

‘Ah yes, well it is called a Sonic-screwdriver for a reason, isn’t it?’ chuckled the eccentric earth pony, who didn’t seem at all bothered by the noise made by his weird rod thing’s earhurting skreech. ‘Now it just puts out some random characters here.’ he continued. ‘They don’t mean anything, but if it was real, it would tell the Doctor...’ he paused looking at the rod. His smile melted to a bizarre expression of expressionlessness that Derpy didn’t even know was a possible thing. ‘Some, interesting things... Oh! Sorry, I drifted off, had an idea for my next book you see.’ he quickly apologized, his smile swiftly making its way back onto his muzzle.

‘Are you alright aunt Derpy?’ called out Dinky, and Derpy just realized that she still had her ears shunned back from the noise, quickly she raised them again and smiled at the filly.

‘I’m fine!’ she lied and leapt back to the shelf merrily. The cat disappeared off the shelf somewhere, but before she could look for it, a ringing sound interrupted her thoughts.

‘Come on already! It’s open!’ sounded from the familiar orange pegasus filly standing in the open door of the shop. Seconds later two curious fillies, a yellow earth pony with red mane and a nearly pure white unicorn with puffy mulberry and pale rose mane walked in, looking at the many lively shelves with curiosity.

‘He made this?’ asked the white one and was quickly answered by Oakleaf himself.

‘I did indeed.’ came from him and though he was smiling, his voice sounded a bit tense. ‘Pleasure to see you again. Miss Applebloom, Miss Sweetie Belle and Miss Scootaloo, if I’m not wrong.’ he continued, turning his head to the fillies one by one as he listed the yellow, the orange and the white ones.

‘Hey, no! I’m Scootaloo, and she’s Sweetie Belle!’ Scootaloo protested, offended on being mixed up with the unicorn.

‘My excuses. So, came to look for some interesting toys, gadgets and prank items?’ he replied, smiling and looking at his own hooves.

‘Ahctu’lly...’ Applebloom started.

‘-you came because of the promise I made to you a month ago.’ Oakleaf finished looking at the three of them.

‘You’re good.’ Scootaloo noted.

‘Heh.’ Oakleaf smiled at his hooves again, then looked towards Colt Smith.‘Excuse me for a moment Mr. Smith.’ he said then walked to the fillies. ‘Evidently I’m not good enough, seeing how my last suggestion didn’t work. Remind me, what was it again?’ he asked and turned to one of the nearby shelves, lifting a small music box off it with his magic, which started to play a quiet rhythmic music as he opened it.

‘You told us to look for special things in our homes we did and work off of those.’ Scootaloo replied.

‘Huh, I thought that was a great suggestion. What happened?’ he asked while he closed the box and grabbed a miniature pony which was performing athletic moves from some either little known or made up school of martial arts.

‘Well, first we guessed that my talent could be picture framing, but after we got a lot of supplies but Scootaloo and I accidentally glued ourselves together...’ Sweetie Belle explained blushing a bit, while Oakleaf grinned at the lower shelf. ‘After finding out about it, Rarity kept me home the rest of the day and I had to listen to her talk about how I should learn to use my magic instead of my hooves to make sure these things don’t happen, she also kept mentioning something called a “Ferrora”, but I’m not sure what that had to do with me getting glued.’ Oakleaf just chuckled.

‘Anyway; continued Scootaloo. ‘after that, me and Applebloom went to their farm to look for her talent. We found an old music box Applejack always played for her when she was a filly and to which she would always sing along. We thought maybe we could try singing again to be sure, but Granny Smith heard her singing and got really excited, making us sing stupid songs from like the dark ages that were all...’

‘Hay! They weren’t that bad... I sorta like them.’ Applebloom interrupted.

‘Gah-fine! Let’s just say it didn’t work out.’ Scootaloo finished. ‘So yeah, that’s about it.’

‘We also tried flying the next day.’ noted Sweetie Belle.

‘It didn’t work out.’ Scootaloo said swiftly and simply, sending a dark look at the filly.

‘Ah told you it would be a bad idea. Those big kite things just were’nt meant for dis kind of...’ added Applebloom, but Scootaloo interrupted angrily.

‘Alright, alright! I get it! It’s not like I could have just tested it with my wings though, huh?!’

‘Okay now, hold on.’ Oakleaf shushed them chuckling slightly, while he opened the music box again, which stayed quiet this time, and after a little fiddling fitted the unwilling pony doll inside it and with a dash of bright, teal spell-light, the two were bound, the music starting to play while the pony performed dance like fight moves to the rhythm. ‘I think I know what the problem was, so as an apology for my mistaken suggestion: Here!’ he closed the box and flew it to the fillies’ feet.

‘A music box?’

‘We said we already tried music’ Scootaloo reminded him, groaning.

‘Oh, well, I didn’t fully expect you to try and work off of that. It’s simply a gift. As for an actual suggestion, let’s see.’ The stallion took a few steps up and down by the shelves. ‘I presume you all have idols? Ponies you look up to? Who you want to be like when you grow up?’

‘Uh...huh?’ Applebloom nodded unsurely.

‘Very simple then! Just go ahead and try to do what you like about what they do!’

‘We already tried flying.’ grunted Scootaloo who started to sound really irritated by the useless input.

‘Oh?’ Oakleaf paused for a moment. ‘But so many ponies can fly. I doubt you’d like a single pony for doing what so many do everyday. Maybe it’s how they do it, no? Try and find out why you like what they do and where you can apply it! Will it do for now?’

‘I guess...’ came from Sweetie Belle who sounded disappointed.

‘Just sit around and think. Again.’ came from the impatient pegasus.

‘Well it’s still better than just “find out who you really are”.’ noted Applebloom.

After the three made their less than enthusiastic leave from the shop, Smith suddenly noted:

‘Being a writer, I think I’m supposed to say something along the lines of “I wish I came up with them:” aren’t I?’ he chuckled.

‘Why?’ Oakleaf looked back at the brown pony, yet to shake off the smile he got while talking to the fillies.

‘Well, that right there is one perfect group.’ Smith started. ‘Ignorant, blind, brickheaded even, but honest, determined and innocent at the same time. “At least it’s not just about finding yourself.” As if they didn’t even listen.’ He paused. ‘Not to sound rude of course. I think those six traits are some of the best anyone can have, if they go the right direction with them... And now I just sound stupid calling blindness good. Don’t I?’

‘A little.’ nodded the teal stallion.

‘Well I suppose I just prefer to think of the world as a place where few things are grander than doing something extremely stupid just because it feels good.’ Smith persisted with a smile.

‘Hmph.’ came from Oakleaf in a lowly tone, while he looked away thoughtfully. ‘I’m afraid I just can’t agree with that.’ His voice plummeted, he rather whispered the words than actually spoke them. ‘I know that there must be limits to everything.’

‘Excuse me, did I say something wrong?’ Smith asked.

‘Are you alright?’ reached out Dinky’s high voice and Derpy realized that once again, she was blankly staring at a shelf, with her left eye at least, her right one was locked on the two stallions at the counter. She looked for Dinky to answer, but quickly realized that the filly wasn’t talking to her this time, but to the shop’s owner. The pegasus blushed, realizing that she faded out on her niece and walked up to her, not saying a word.

‘Hm?’ Oakleaf looked back at the small filly and after a moment of silence a half smile appeared on his face. ‘Very kind of you to ask, Miss. No, I just remembered something that happened long ago, nothing anypony should concern themselves with. However, I find myself in an unfair feeling right now. Three little impatient fillies barge in here for but a moment and I give them a gift on the house, yet the kind Miss who took her time to admire my creations and even sparked the idea to make it a bit more lively in here gets nothing? No, I think I just had a thought!’

The impulsive teal stallion made his way behind the counter and locked his eyes at something under the table, while his horn began to glow and small noises started echo from whatever got his attention.

‘Uh, what are you doing?’ asked Derpy curiously, trying to peek over the counter from a distance, but she didn’t see anything.

‘Just getting something ready.’ Oakleaf replied simply then looked up, his horn still glowing. ‘Being the terrible salespony which I am, I feel it only adequate that I give a second gift. This time to your lovely daughter!’

‘Uh...’ Derpy blushed while trying to correct the pony, but Dinky was faster.

‘Niece.’ the filly said smiling at the slight mess up.

‘Niece! Right. Again, my excuses.’ Oakleaf acknowledged while putting his attention back under the counter. After a few seconds his horn stopped glowing and he looked back up. ‘Well then Miss! Before I give this to you, I have a quick question: I understand most everypony around here knows Twilight Sparkle, the librarian, and her dragon assistant?’

‘Uhuh?’ replied Dinky unsurely. Derpy was even more clueless as to how the librarian would come up right now.

‘Well, what might be less of common knowledge is how she met her assistant. It is said, that she received a special test, she had to open a dragon’s egg, and after many attempts and some sort of special event, she finally managed it, earning her place among the best young magicians!’ While he said this, his horn started glowing again and slowly a small egg - perhaps two apples in size - raised from under the counter. ‘She told me how special this moment was for her, and I thought, I might recrea-’ he paused in his speech, looking at the confused but smiling Dinky infront of him who seemed amused by his endless banter. Oakleaf then chuckled at the floor before looking at Colt Smith. ‘You’re the crafter of words here Mr. Smith. I’m really overselling this gift, am I not?’

‘Uh, a tad bit perhaps.’ came the diplomatic answer from the brown stallion, followed by the ringing laughter of the filly who obviously found the indecisive but lighthearted shopkeeper hilarious.

‘Right then! I’m sorry for blather on like this. An old habit that I thought would have died down ages ago. Without further waste of words Miss Dinky, Dinky was it?’

‘Dinky Hooves.’ nodded the amused filly.

‘So without further waste of words, and preferably even less repeats, Miss Hooves, I’d like to give you this egg. Not just any egg, a puzzle egg. Miss Sparkle once suggested it to be a “Puzzlegg” but I’m not very sure on that name.’ With this, he flew the egg down in front of the filly, who examined it closely.

‘What’s in it?’ Derpy asked, watching as her niece walked around the resting egg.

‘Well it really depends on the egg itself, doesn’t it? It could be many things, though so I don’t spark the suspicion of bad memory, let’s just say it’s a surprise!’ he replied.

‘How am I supposed to get it open?’ came from Dinky.

‘Well, Twilight Sparkle didn’t get any guidelines either, so you must do with the slight hint of “magic”. But, I would lie if I’d say it’s impossible that the egg itself might give you a hint later, if you try your hoof- I mean your horn at opening it.’ Oakleaf explained with a mysterious look on his face.

‘What is that sup-’ started Dinky but the teal stallion interrupted.

‘Puzzle! Intrigue! Mystery! Solve it!’ he said, wrinkling his eyebrows but giving off a supportive smile.

‘Um, thank you.’ said Dinky and began to examine the egg again.

Derpy watched her niece circling the egg again, and suddenly she felt really out of place, unsure as what she should do, since she couldn’t possibly understand, let alone help with whatever magic the egg’s puzzle works on.

‘If you don’t mind Miss,’ sounded Oakleaf’s voice, calling to Derpy. ‘we weren’t really introduced. Would just like to get to know my neighbours.

‘Oh.’ she turned to him feeling uneasy but smiled at the stallion nonetheless. ‘I’m, uh. Everypony calls me Derpy. Derpy Hooves.’

‘Oakleaf.’ the teal stallion nodded, returning the unknowingly forced smile. ‘If you don’t mind me noting, you two look very close. I imagine you spend much time with your niece.’

‘Yes. Whenever I can.’ Derpy nodded, somewhat relieved that she wasn’t the topic. ‘Whenever I’m not working.’

‘Surprised you didn’t meet her actually.’ noted Smith. ‘She’s a mailmare after all, and if you don’t shy from me saying so, easily the sweetest of her kind.‘

‘Uh, thank you, but I doubt that.’ Derpy blushed and looked away again, but behind her persistent smile she felt agitated. She wasn’t much of a conversationalist to begin with, but when ponies started to talk about her, let alone say nice things, it just felt unnatural.

‘Honestly, though we really didn’t speak, that little smile outside the kitchen window every other morning and the quiet humming mixed with the mailbox’s creek just gives a certain “this will be a good day” vibe, if you understand what I’m meaning.’ the stallion kept praising her.

Derpy blushed even harder this time. Usually when in public she would just put on a smile like the one on most other ponies, but she just realized that she’s humming when delivering mail. She would always plan the rest of her day at this time, try and figure out what they could do with her niece and that always puts her in nice mood, however the idea that others can hear her humming in this mood sort of felt like they are invading her thoughts, which are for nopony else but her and Dinky. Not like it would be this writer’s fault that she’s humming, it’s just so very awkward.

Hold on. Her plans! She had so good plans for today, or well, sort of good plans. She didn’t think she’d end up in any awkward conversations with strangers when wanting to come here... But she wanted to take Dinky down to the lake anyway and there’s usually no pony there.

‘Actually, we should go.’ she said in an apologetic tone but still not ridding herself of the smile.

The stallions just nodded and bid farewell and she quickly stepped to Dinky who seemed excited learning that they’d go to the lake. “Maybe I can figure this thing out there.” the filly added which caused a slight boon in Derpy’s mood, who was impatient to get back to their solitary day, free of strangers. She placed the filly’s gift in her mailbag and escorted her out. The doorbell rang twice as they left, the stallions’s waned voices returning to their previous conversations from earlier behind the filly and her aunt.

Outside, and with nopony but her beloved niece to keep her company, Derpy felt free again. She flew before Dinky, flapping herself along backwards and started listing things they could do at the lake, and snipping in a few questions about the filly’s day. As she saw how Dinky got more and more into the spirit of things, not even mentioning that silly egg again just chatting on about her day and what’s she learned, Derpy’s earlier forced smile disappeared, leaving place for a real one.

There is no better way to spend a day than alone with one’s best friend in the world.

"The Last Show I'll Ever Do"

“The Last Show I’ll Ever Do”

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do!’ These desperate words, that were repeated often in recent months, yearned for nothing more than to break free and reach out to the vast reaches of the world, to whizz through forests, echo across mountains, run atop the surface of oceans to distant lands, fill the skies and soak their clouds, delivering their message to every single living being with ears to hear. However, they were stopped by a set of wooden walls belonging to a small cart just a mile or so outside of a small town.

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do.’ the words repeated weakly, and a long, pointy-ended hat - which was littered with many sparkling, dazzling stars decorating its side and a wide, magnificent rim - flew into one of the inner walls, with less grace than its stature deserved. On one side, the hat’s rim was soaked in some transparent fluid, and as it touched the edge of a poster after finding its rest on top of a cluttered table by the wall, the rim passed on some of the salty wetness to the paper.

The poster itself was drawn eloquently to capture the majestic nature of its subject: a mare with a confident fire in her eyes, a slightly smug, but charming smile at the edge of her muzzle, standing in a stance that sparked the thought that she is ready for anything the world has to throw at her right now and a magnificent hat on her head, not unlike the one resting at the bottom of the poster. The fiery eyes of the mare cast an engulfing gaze on the entire room, staring right into the very soul of anypony who dared to try and stand her stare. Sadly, like everyday, there was only a single pony inside the cart to challenge her, and she was hardly a worthy opponent to such a Great and Powerful poster as her sight was blurred and she was quietly panting from exhaustion.

She was staring at the poster at the bottom of which her hat has landed, seeing nothing but an ugly, azurish, purplish blob among other blobs of diverse colours. The mare wiped her eyes with one hoof to have a better look at this boastfully confident show-off on the poster. Her hoof raised up impulsively, as if she was about to punch the caricature, but she stopped and lowered her hoof, sniffing once instead.

‘That was the last show I’ll ever do.’ she repeated and looked away from the paper, her eyes drawn to the long broken mirror of the cabinet to her right. She took a long look at herself through the few shards that were still in the case. Her pale cornflower mane was a mess, her azure coat ruffled, and she had also managed to smuggle dirt onto her own face when she wiped her eyes with her muddy hooves. Perhaps if she hadn’t pulled the cart this whole mile in such windy autumn weather, she would still be in her show-ready getup, but how could she have just stayed there? She couldn’t stand those horrible ponies. They didn’t deserve to be in the company of somepony like... She just stared at the mare in the mirror again, the mane, the coat, the dirt, the puffed up red eyes.

She tried to hold it back, but in a moment she started sobbing uncontrollably, tears dripping onto the dusty cabinet. The mare opened the cabinet to take out her mane brush and make herself into something near presentable, her tears still tapping rhythmically on the wood. But then, she saw it.

A small silver rod with a sparkling star at the end flew out of the drawer, from right next to the brush. Her eyes were set on it, but they didn’t see the rod. They saw an old mare’s face with a concerned, but always proud smile. Then they saw many new faces, of ponies in awe and wonder However, very slowly, the expressions changed and a few of the ghostly images became more irritated, then, after a flash of lavender, the visages were just laughing. They were laughing. They were laughing! They just kept on laughing and laughing, pointing hooves at her in their amusement, reveling in the sheer hilarity her very existence represented.

The mare started to shake, her jaw numb from the pressure she forced on it, her eyes stopping the tears for an instant, instead housing a new sort of fire. But unlike in her poster counterpart’s eyes, the flames in her eyes weren’t of confidence. No, these were the flames of months of hopeless frustration concentrated and refined into pure and uncontrollable rage.

The small wand flew across the cart helplessly, crashing into the door opposite of the mirror cabinet, but it wasn’t over yet. It was flung towards the ceiling ever harder, then at one of the walls, then the desk, then at the floor, then back at a wall, and then-

Something rang on the floor and the mare opened her tear-bleeding eyes, the silver rod - now crownless - stopped in the air while small sparkling silvery pieces of scrap kept ringing on the floor.

The mare kneeled down to the floor, her mouth repeatedly forming the word “no”, yet not a breath of air escaped her lips. Her eyes locked up uncontrollably, burning tears pouring down her face.

Her mind was just about to simply give up; she couldn’t believe she has done this. She broke it. It was a gift, the best gift in the world. One of the only real gifts she had ever received. And now she broke it. She never mean to do it, not really. Perhaps everything was just so broken that she just didn’t realize anything else could possibly break. Especially not something like this... What has she done?

She stood up and cleared out the drawer, simply throwing the mane brush and other useless stuff aside, then carefully lifted every piece of the star and flew them into the empty drawer along with the silver rod. Finally she carefully slid the drawer to a close, twisting the small lock at its side.

She’ll need to fix it. She just can’t let it stay this way, but how will she repair it? She can’t do it herself, she never fixed anything, especially not something this elegant and precious, and she’s short on bits as it is. If she would perhaps have a friend who...

The mare sniffed painfully. She just couldn’t bare dealing with all of this right now. She turned around and fell into her small, rough bed, not even bothering to lift the blanket, just letting her body merge with the unhomely unity of wood, straw and sheets, while the soft pillow mellowly petted her face and dried her endless tears to the best of its ability.

The owner of the cart slowly, and bitterly, drifted off to sleep.

A void, or rather a familiar void: that is what surrounded the simple conscious idea of the mare. She was very much aware of the impossibility of a void being familiar since - by its very nature - a void couldn’t hold anything, including everything that could spark a feeling of familiarity. Yet in dreams, such impossibilities drift on to the shorelines of reality before being pushed back by a waking consciousness. She knew this too, as well as the fact that she is indeed dreaming at this moment. If she wanted to, she could have easily dismissed the dream and wake up, but though she had no idea what she was thinking before she fell asleep, the familiar burning feel around her eyes told her that whatever it was, she would rather just drift aimlessly in this void as long as she can, than to wake up and have to deal with her emotions full front.

After a momentary millenia, something broke the tranquility of the void. She recognized it as something she had dreamt many times, ever since she was little, though it usually varied around a bit. It would always start off in some wicked adventure, the scaling of an unscalable mountain; venturing to the bottom of the sea in a magical bubble to commune with watery spirits; defending a small town from a gigantic magical beast. The dreams were usually very rare, but it seemed as if for the past weeks, they appeared every night, perhaps just a symptom of her misplaced nostalgia. This time, she was given council by the God-Queen of the Fire Sprites; some sort of made-up elemental orb things. When she was younger, she loved these dreams for the adventure and even later she found a sort of childish charm to them; but lately in the past months she could barely stand them. Still, they were better than waking up, so she gave in.

Not quite enthusiastically, she went on the quest set for her by the Queen to free their coal mine from a flood sent by some hostile tribe or other. She did this dozens of times over the years and, though she deviated from her original path every time, she hardly had any freedom. She found that for some reason, if she does something completely different from her original path, these dreams just fall apart and she wakes up. So, as if rather watching a play than actually taking part in the events, she slaved through the “adventure” and had an imaginary ceremony held in her honour; while she prepared for the ‘shift’.

Though the dreams always started with outlandish adventures she would take part in, at their end, the dream itself wouldn’t end, instead changing from her adventuring through untamed, non-existent lands to her finishing the retelling the tale which she just took part in while floating in the void yet again, with nothing to accompany her but a large, blank audience. This was the part she really hated recently. The crowd cheered her enthusiastically.

Phantom hooves clopped on a non existent horizontal surface, which probably would have been the ground, should the apparitions have needed anything to stand on in this realm of impossibilities. The hooves clopped to applaud her story, complementing the way she told it, a few washed-away voices noting their favourite parts to their companions and the spooked whimpers or enthralled cheers of foals made the experience complete. It was everything she didn’t have.

There was a single, dim light in this grim parade of merriment, a ghost-like presence by her side in the void, keeping her company for as long as she could remember. Perhaps the withering remains of her self confidence or respect, who knows? But it was there; she could feel it. Whatever it was, it didn’t make a sound, it didn’t have a shape or form of any kind, not a direction or anything she could grasp. But it was there. Like a supporting hoof over her shoulder, never leaving, never saying a word, never faltering or questioning her. Yet, perhaps there was one thing, a slight scent of a sort...

She once came across a bouquet of flowers with the same scent, though long after she met with it in her dreams. What was the name of those flowers? Hydrangea.

She sniffed into the void, despite it lacking air and her not having a nose, or a body for that matter. The scent filled her and gave a wonderful sense of clarity that only her dreams could grant as of late. If only she could reach out to this presence, this part of her, just once.

As she thought this, with no intermission or explanation whatsoever, the image of a letter appeared in the void for a sudden, crystalised moment. In this fleeting instant while it was there, she could recognized it. She received it a few days ago. A sharp, formal envelope. Blank seal. She didn’t open it. She wasn’t sure if she even had it anymore.

Before she could even question the sudden emergence of the letter’s thought, it shattered the void, dragging her out of the dream and onto a rough, uncomfortable, straw bed with her face down in a wet pillow.

After she had awoken, the mare simply stared into the cold, wet pillow under and around her face. She was thinking. Though at first her mind held a small grasp on the mental image of the unread letter; soon everything that had clouded her thoughts before she had drifted asleep crawled back into her head. As images from her ‘welcome’ yesterday reappeared in her mind, she simply repeated the same, tired words into the pillow: “That was the last show I’ll ever do.” After this, she turned onto her side and stared blankly at the table across from her bed.

The mare rubbed her eyes. They were still sore from crying, though they weren’t shedding any more tears - she was unsure if because they didn’t have anymore to spare, or simply because she was beyond the point of crying. Right now, she wasn’t feeling anything. No depression, no anger, no frustration. Nothing. And it was terrible.

Then again, at the very least she could think. And thinking, she needed to do now more than anything at the moment.

She knew she wouldn’t- couldn’t continue her life as it was. For the past year or so, everything had just been going from bad to worse on a seemingly weekly basis. Lately, she couldn’t set foot on a stage without being swiftly followed by ridicule. If she could put on five minutes of performance without somepony marching onto her stage to make fun of her directly, and without the crowd shouting her away, she would be surprised. And why does she put up with this? Because at least some of them have the common decency to spare a few pitiful bits, on what would be the price of admission.

The very same thing that gave her money to buy food with, took the taste out of it. No matter what she tried, no sort of enjoyment found her dining alone in this cart. This damnable cart. Exactly like her old one, yet nothing in common. Her old cart- Trixie’s cart was a home, a place of rest and confidence. This wretched set of walls and wheels was a casket, a rugged protective casing. The only thing it had in common with Trixie’s old cart was but a couple of items it carried: The mare’s hat, cape and the silver star wand.

As the wand crossed her mind, the mare’s chest felt pierced for an instant, but she sighed and turned to her other side in bed.

Who is she kidding? She had had this line of thought countless times. First declaring that her latest show is to be her last, then taking stock of her options. But what options does she even have? She only really has experience with illusion magic and showmareship, neither of which did her much good, and neither of which she could ever practice again without being ridiculed. Should she look for something more general? She couldn’t possibly work as a salespony. With her reputation, who’d employ her, and what customer wouldn’t mock her? Try some sort of art perhaps? Hah, like she wasn’t living off of hoofful of bits as it was.

What would somepony else suggest? “Ask your friends and family for help.”... The mare curled up, her eyes itching.

What “friends”? If she had ever had any favors, she had lost them with her reputation. And “family”?... Why would any of them even want to know or acknowledge they have somepony like her in their family? She was only glad that the one pony she knew to have truly cared for her will never know what became of her.

It’s hopeless. Utterly, completely hopeless. Simply thinking about these things made her feel as if the thoughts would be burning away at her soul like some sort of acidic, putrid grime and, no matter how hard she tried to lock it away, the knowledge - that somewhere, somehow, she was the one who created this same grime that she sunk into - stood out in her mind, like a single pair of silently disapproving eyes, watching her wallow in self pity.

For a moment, a thought crossed her heart. “Would anypony miss me?” She forced her eyes shut and shook her head violently, physically getting rid of the idea before taking a simple deep breath and crawling out of bed.

She only now realized that she was still wearing her cape. She sighed and laid out the cloth on the desk, next to the matching hat, which still laid there, curled up in a painful pose in the corner of table and wall. The mare stepped to the cabinet and looked her shattered, dirty, unkempt image in the eyes tiredly. After a moment, she looked down, realizing that her attempts to open the top shelf of the cabinet failed. She sighed as she remembered that it’s only the wand’s remains that she could find in there, and started looking for her mane brush.

After a bit of turning around and looking under the table and bed, she found it stuck in the corner of the cart between her bed and the cabinet. She pushed her bed off an inch or two - as much as the small living space allowed - and looked behind it. Something was next to the brush, and as she leaned in a bit more, she realized it was a small, sharp, formal envelope with a blank seal.

She flew the brush out, then after a moment of thinking she drew the envelope out too and pushed the bed back in place. The mare glanced at the broken mirror as the brush started working its way along her mane, then looked at the envelope.

She had no idea why anypony would write to her, especially this formally, but the writing on its front just made it look all the more ominous.

From:

Oakleaf ‘The Vagrant’

Owner of Oakleaf’s Toy Emporium

Custard Street 19; Ponyville

She had never heard of who ever this “Oakleaf” was, but he was from Ponyville. Why would anypony write to her from that town of all places? Surely it must be some sort of mockery. But then again, it’s been well over a year now, who would decide to mock her only now? And why so formally?

She placed the letter on the desk and continued to brush her mane. It wasn’t until she finished that she lifted it again, but her thoughts were completely fixed on it all the while, just dabbling with the simple question of whether to open it or just throw it away and forget about it. Finally as she couldn’t decide, she thought back to how the letter had appeared, and the sensation she had felt before. She could almost smell that last, wonderful scent and the peace it brought that could only find her in her dreams these days. Though she didn’t much believe in omens, somehow this small, frail connection between the last good thing she could call her own and the envelope has given her a jolt of confidence that inspired her to open the letter, pulling out a folded piece of paper, on which the following words were etched in ink and finely crafted letters:

To ‘The Great and Powerful’ Trixie!

Allow me introduce myself, my name is Oakleaf. I’ve only recently opened up a Toy Shop of sorts in the town of Ponyville, partially to honour a very dear friend of mine. In all honesty, my talents do not lie with creating the various contraptions my friend has designed, and even though their assembly should be easy to anypony with decent skills in the use of magic, I’m unable to fully run this shop by myself.

For this, I’ve looked to employ a unicorn with talents in magic, who may assist me in the creation and possible enhancement of my friend’s designs. Naturally, as I’ve heard of your skills in the field of illusion, I was intrigued, as many - in fact, I’d dare say most - of what I plan to create involves the clever application of enchantments that aim at giving life-likeness to toys and the sort.

As I’ve learned of the recent disrespect you’ve received, despite your seemingly obvious talents, I’ve felt compelled to contact you first, and ask if you’d be interested in perhaps taking a break from your current practice, lending me some assistance in my plans which I mentioned above. Naturally, I would be happy to provide a handsome fee for your efforts, and given my enthusiasm towards magic, I’d also see such cooperation as an excellent opportunity for mutual learning, should you be interested.

Eagerly awaiting your reply;

-Oakleaf ‘The Vagrant’ ~ SP

Who writes like this? The whole letter sounded more like an invitation to a Royal Garden Party than a recruitment letter from a toy shop. And what is this “SP”? S Pony maybe? But what does the S stand for then? Or it might not even be “Pony”. And why her? Why would this stranger pick her out? Why would this Oakleaf character choose to give her an exclusive offer, while all of Equestria is laughing both behind her back and in her face at the same time?

She read it again and her eyes stopped on the line mentioning a “handsome fee”. She never wished to return to Ponyville after what happened there, but she knew she needed the bits, and really, what is more humiliating? Returning to Ponyville where she’ll be ridiculed but possibly receive a steady income; or continuing in this limbo of performances where she is ridiculed anyway and what few bits she receives feels more like pity then actual payment. Besides, if her pay was big enough, she could possibly save up enough to move away somewhere, somewhere where nopony had ever heard of her.

But first the wand. She’ll first have to repair the wand... Really, she could never hope to pay for its proper restoration with what she makes with these pointless performances.

She’ll take it.

A few phantom thoughts swirled around her mind. She couldn’t name them, but they appeared as soon as she decided to take up the offer.

She turned away from the cabinet and walked out the cart’s door. Instantly, she noticed the dark brown muddy surface at the end of the short set of stairs leading down from the door. As she took a look around, she noticed that the ground was only wet under her cart. Looking up, she noticed a single cloud sitting right above her cart, and a piece of paper glued above her door with crude words saying: “Let’s see if The Great and Powerful Trixie can escape a Great and Powerful Mudbath!”

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. Should she have not been the victim of this “prank” obviously set by one of those damned pegasi from the town nearby, she still wouldn’t have found it funny. If she would have hated the pony who became the victim of such a joke, she still wouldn’t have found it funny. Yet she was laughing. For the first time in many months, she was laughing. Honestly and freely - she was laughing. And the reason why, was so simple, it was wonderful all by itself: The phantom words revealed themselves in her mind.

“Stars around,” she thought.

‘That really was, the last show I’ll ever do.’ she finished, shouting the words with bitter, yet joyous vigour.

The mare stepped down from the door, and after a few minutes of slowly pushing the cart out of the mudpit, she attached herself to it and started pulling the cart down a path she never thought she’d travel again, towards the one town she hated beyond all, but cherishing in the sour knowledge that against all of this, only better days can possibly lay ahead of her.

“What in Celestia’s name was I thinking?!” the mare repeated in mind as she marched up and down in front of her cart, just off the south road into Ponyville. She couldn’t go a step closer to that blasted town, she just couldn’t. This horrible year was all its fault, that one damn incident had ruined everything, how could she set foot in the town again?! But she needed to.

It was pathetic really, she traveled for two days, just to get here and now she’s stuck, not a mile from the outermost houses of the town. Perhaps all that she needs is to clear her mind. Yes, that would be good.

She wandered off the road a bit, leaving her cart behind to take a stroll, still keeping a distance from the town. Following the sound of ducks, she happened across a small secluded lake and laid down just staring at the reflection of a hill across from her on the other side of the lake, taking a quick glance towards the distant housetops of the nearby town.

She had no idea how she’d clear her mind, the past months she hadn’t had the luxury for such a thing. She wasn’t even sure if she could afford it now. Going from town to town, shutting out the ridicule and degrading actions aimed at her, dragging that rack of wood she called her home and crawling onto a stage one rigid step at a time, knowing the outcome already; these were the things she could afford. It is such a tasteless, stagnant irony of her life that all she could afford to do happened to be everything she wished she couldn’t.

As she thought about it, she didn’t even know what she would wish she could do. Getting stared out of public revenues and barely scraping by on bits for many months didn’t do her any favors. She wasn’t even sure what she used to enjoy, what she’d do when not on stage. The very idea of passing the time loosely had just grown alien to her. However, this was an opportunity! If she can use this offer to get back on her hooves, then she can start again! But what would that even mean? Starting again? What would she do if she could do whatever she liked, or what would she buy if she had bits to spare?

The mare closed her eyes and rested her head on her front hooves laid before her. Hydrangea, the scent of that flower stuck with her, ever since she had decided to come to Ponyville, and she loved it. With the scent, she could also feel that presence that always accompanied her in her unconscious. She knew what she’d do if she had bits and would be far away from this land! She’d have a home - a real home, unlike this petty cart - and she would fill it with flowers, Hydrangea flowers! She’ll hunt down every shop until she finds some then decorate her home with them so she can always smell that scent!

The mare smiled slightly, her eyes still closed, and she turned her head a bit for comfort as she imagined it all. The home won’t have to be big, just any small flat will do, no need for a great view or anything. Though it could be nice. Yes perhaps. A nice little house on the edge of town maybe, with a small pond perhaps. Cozy enough for a single pony. She could have some nice wooden furniture, perhaps something along the lines of her old home from before... It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, nothing overly spectacular, just...

A few warm tears that escaped her eyelids ran down her face. She didn’t want her new home to resemble her old home at all. No. She opened her eye and brushed the tears away, raising her head high, while maintaining her comfortable position on the ground. Her new home will be nothing like any she ever knew, just as her life can’t be. And modesty? Ha! Why should she be modest? To whom should she be modest to? Strangers, whose only reason not to ridicule her is their lack of knowledge about her past? She knew what all these ponies were like, once they saw somepony else attack her, they would all join in. Is this the concept of their precious “friendship”? Following each other in the attack of others? Does it give them confidence? Is the idea this country supposedly built on nothing but a convenient excuse for the mentality of an animalistic pack?

Her whole being wished to scream this thought out, as the ultimate, foul truth that she was confirmed in time and again, but she couldn’t. The scent of the persistent flower faded, but the calm confidence remained and has now called her to ease her thoughts; such a thing had never happened to her before, but she didn’t bother with it, just rested her head down again.

Pseudo-justified cruelty or not, she had no obligation to do anypony the courtesy of modesty. When she’ll be back on her hooves, then she’ll be in control. She won’t let herself be drawn back by some false ideal of noble modesty, especially not for the masses who bastardized her life. No. She’s going to go for it all.

The mare blew onto the ground before her and stood up. She didn’t have to take anything from anypony, it was bad enough that she allowed herself to do just that for a year now. What was she thinking, taking punishment from ponies who betrayed their own wickerwork creed, for the sake of preying upon her?! She is Trixie for crying out loud! The Great and Powerful. And...

She looked at the ground for a few moments, her eyes wide open. She is Trixie.

She looked up and took a deep breath and an old, cold, but confident smile - which she almost forgot she had - returned to her face. She will turn her life around. She will get back on her hooves. And she will most definitely find a place where she can show them all what she’s capable of. And will she be modest? Will she bow her head to wolves in sheep’s clothing?! They’d wish. She’ll make it to the top. She’ll get a home that will be the envy of all and she’ll just cackle as the other ponies find themselves wishing they’d have been kind to her, while she’ll sit in the lap of luxury. To any other pony this would - by no doubt - be a nearly impossible task to accomplish, but she is Trixie! If she can’t do it, no pony can do it.

‘Hi!’ sounded from behind the mare’s back and suddenly her confidence which seemed to reach from horizon-to-horizon a moment before, rolled itself up into one uncomfortable ball of shame in her stomach, as she jumped up in fright and turned around.

In front of her was a small, purplish unicorn filly with blonde mane and big yellow eyes looking at her, and a gray pegasus with similar mane and eye combination. The latter of the two was between confused and shy the first moment Trixie laid her eyes on her, but then swiftly changed to a big friendly smile.

The filly tilted her head as seconds crawled by. It took awhile for Trixie to realize that it is time for her turn to say something.

‘Um, are you al-’ started the filly, trying to pick at the lack of response, only to be interrupted by it.

‘Hello!’ said Trixie, unnaturally loudly. For a while now, she only had a chance to speak on stage, or occasionally yell at “pranksters”. She quickly corrected her tone: ‘Uh, Hello.’

‘Didn’t know anypony else visited this lake.’ the filly said, staring the mare’s complete being in a way that seemed both innocently curious and annoyingly invading. The mare didn’t like it at all.

There was little doubt that this little filly is cooking up some stupid joke to make about her. To poke fun at the mare, probably believing to be clever and original, yet struggling to even come up with a single pun? Pathetic.

Trixie rose up and looked down on the filly. She’s even accompanied by another mare. What? They saw her cart and wanted to come and poke fun at her? Is this what she can expect from these ponies? Is thi-

‘I don’t think I ever saw you before.’ came from the filly. ‘You’re not from Ponyville, are you? Is she, aunt Derpy?’

The azure unicorn lowered her back and stood on loosened hooves while her eyes widened, but only as much as to be visible to the most attentive watchers. Could it be that she is not known?

The gray mare called “Derpy” paused for a moment, and wrinkled her nose up a little in a weird little notion, perhaps trying to think, but then just simply said:

‘Maaaybe from the west side of Ponyville?’

It was hardly even visible, but the unicorn’s eyes started twitching. Her company didn’t seem to notice.

‘Truly, you never heard of Trixie?’ she asked in a clean tone.

‘Uh... No.’ the filly replied.

This little filly didn’t know who she was. This filly honestly had no idea who Trixie is. She never heard of The Great and Powerful Trixie.

The mare just stared over the filly for a bit. The little unicorn seemed to be saying something to her, but she didn’t hear what it was.

After all of this, after keeping away from this cursed, backwards little town of misery for over a year, she returns and is greeted with ignorance? This place took away everything she had and it doesn’t even bother to remember? Every other little town greets her with malicious laughter, and now in the eye of the storm, there is nothing.

Without a word, the mare turned around and started walking. She wasn’t even fully aware of the walking itself, she guessed she’s probably going towards her cart which she left behind, but didn’t bother to think it through.

What was she even doing here? Ah right, some sort of job offer. Why not? Yeah. She’s going to look into that. Also, something about a new home. Far away. And being humb-

She stopped and lowered her head. She wasn’t sure how far she went from the two ponies, but didn’t really care. What did she expect really? Did she really wish they would welcome her with foul jokes and that they’d just make fun of her as usual? They still might. These were just two random ponies. But still, nothing? Not a note on what this town did to her? Not the slightest idea about it all? This was just an insult. Worse than that.

Now she knew. If no pony will make fun of her, that will be just as bad as if they would. Either if they’ll deny her memory, or if they’ll genuinely won’t know who she is, it will be an insult. After what this place had done to her, she deserved better than indifference. She saw enough of the “fair ponies of Equestria” to know that no comfort will welcome her here or anyplace else in this country. There was no way out of this. She didn’t need a way out of this.

Trixie raised her head with a sour smile and confident fire in her eyes. If they wish to make fun of Trixie, let them laugh on the outside, while Trixie will contently cackle on their pitiful nature on the inside. If they wish to build false innocence onto their ignorance, let them showcase their spinelessness. And if they would possibly attempt to comfort Trixie after what they had done...

Trixie laughed up loudly at the thought and continued her walk in a steady, confident pace. If these ponies would attempt something as pointless and stupid as that, then they’ve got another thing coming.

A soothing aroma of some worthless flower or some such appeared in Trixie’s senses for a moment, but she just blew it away, continuing her path one otherworldly step at a time.

The shop was a colossal show off. The first thing greeting Trixie as she entered it, was a spectacle of countless little dolls jumping and trotting around a set of shelves, a few boxes playing the same old lullabies and a few elitist classics. Near the ceiling a small train circled, puffing some sort of coloured smoke that neither managed to give it a good look or to make any sense whatsoever.

Trixie gave the shop’s contents only a quick, lowly glance, then her eyes set onto the counter, where a brown, and a teal stallion stood across from each other while having some sort of idle, probably purposeless conversation. The brown one chuckled with a noise that annoyed Trixie’s ears.

‘...I wouldn’t say the Screwdriver’s that special,’ started the brown stallion. ‘but it was quite difficult to get it just right, especially with... This.’ Here he shook his front hooves above the counter.

‘Well, I can’t lie, being a unicorn does make certain aspects of life a bit more glamorous.’ nodded the other, then looked at the door, his eyes quickly finding Trixie who was standing there, looking darkly at the merry two. ‘Good Afternoon Miss!’ he greeted. ‘Oakleaf, at your service. Uh, may ask if I can help you with something in particular?’

‘I am Trixie.’ she replied, somewhat irritatedly by the fact that once more, she is not recognized in this town of all places. ‘I’ve got your letter.’

Oakleaf didn’t say anything at first, just gave a long look to the mare. It wasn’t an engulfing gaze of evaluation, he just stared straight into her face for a few seconds, then as if awoken, opened his mouth:

‘Oh, of course you are!’ he said, walking around the counter. ‘I believed it might take more time for you to reply, but it’s excellent that, uh, you could make it. I’m very glad.’ he continued nodding at the end, the way Trixie saw from two faced charmers. She wasn’t impressed. The stallion continued, turning to the brown one. ‘Well, Mr. Smith, I’m sorry but I think we’ll need to continue another time. Miss Trixie and I have an appointment of sorts.’

‘Of course.’ nodded “Smith” without hesitation, and headed out the door right away, while passing a passive-aggressive look towards Trixie. She wasn’t surprised by this brief expression, she remembered his face from oh so long ago, and she replied with a sneer.

The sign on the door quickly flipped to show “Closed” to anypony passing by and Oakleaf addressed the mare again.

‘I have to say, I’m very excited that you came.’ he started and walked up to Trixie. ‘For formality's sake, again: I’m Oakleaf, and it is a pleasure to meet you in person.’ He raised a hoof, and though she hesitated, seeing how the stallion was persistent, she returned the gesture.

In the brief moment while he shook her hoof, she stared into Oakleaf’s smiling face. The insulting, schmoozing expression aside, there was something strange, she felt sort of disconnected from herself and the strangest feeling that she knows this pony came to her.

‘Trixie’s guessing you attended some of her shows.’ she said, touching the subject.

‘Oh no.’ he shook his head. After their hooves parted his smile got stronger for a moment, then weakened down. She wasn’t surprised as he was probably just faking it to get on her good side. ‘I would have loved to, but life’s been busy.’

‘Strange, Trixie’s almost sure she had seen you before.’

‘Really?’ his voice rang with surprise and even some excitement, but then he quickly dismissed it. ‘Must be a mistake though. Unless you’ve been to Ponyville this past month at least.’ Perhaps seeing that this did not convince Trixie, he then added: ‘Unlikely, but you could have seen me in the papers too. I’ve had an interview of a sorts with somepony a month ago or so, and a picture was taken of me a bit later too. Might have ended up in your reading.’

‘Maybe.’ Trixie shrugged. She read few papers lately, usually just to get away from her life. ‘But Trixie came because of an offer?’

‘Yes, of course. Frankly, if you’re interested in my offer, the job is yours, so it’s more of a question of where to begin? I don’t know how much you could already know of what you’ll need.’

‘Okay. Enough.’ Trixe said coldly and paused, looking at him with dark eyes. ‘I wanted to believe that you were telling the truth when you’ve sent that letter. I wanted to believe that someone would give me a chance, even though you obviously want me for a field you should know I have no experience in. But I won’t take this. No one would just recruit somepony on first glance.’ she shouted at the stallion. ‘Especially not me! So please stop playing around with whatever nonsense this is for and tell me- Tell Trixie what the punchline is of this stupid joke of yours!’

Oakleaf didn’t say anything just stared at her with a sad expression, which Trixie did not expect to see. There was something unusual about the way he looked at him. Simply the compassion nested in his eyes rang as something completely unnatural to the rejected magician. She would have liked to tell herself that he was acting, that this is still part of a joke played on her, but somehow she knew he truly felt horrible. And for her. She recognized that expression from sometime long ago, from times when ponies didn’t laugh at her passing, even before there was a “Trixie”.

‘I am sorry.’ said Oakleaf and looked away. ‘I suppose, I really wasn’t entirely truthful. While it is true that I’ve heard of your talents at magical illusions, the reason why I wanted- The reason why I want to recruit you is... Different.’ He paused perhaps to gather his thoughts the continued, looking at the mare. ‘I suppose you could say that your ill treatment is what inspired me to message you, I’ve heard quite a bit of it from some recent acquaintances and well,’ He stopped and looked away with an almost laugh-like grunt. ‘I suppose this is where I would claim to be a noble stallion, aiming for naught, but to aid the ill fated get on their feet or what not. But as much as I’d like to say, that’s not the case. I could also say, with true honesty that I know what it is to be rejected by all I come across, and even caught a glimpse of the self loathing written all across your pale, desperate, but fiercely angered face just a moment ago. But it’s not even the ever so popular excuse of gallant and very much fictitious heroes: an act of compassion to whom is weary of life. The reason why I requested your help was that you do not belong here. And frankly, that’s as close as I’ll get to somepony I can relate to.’

Trixie did not know what to do. More than half of her was burning with anger at this pompous, self-righteous bastard who’d go to no length to craft a circle argument, trying to salvage a morbid joke of an interview, while having the damnable, offensive insolence of downright claiming that he, with his sickeningly over decorated toy shop would have any claim to a life which is even remotely relatable to the slow, self-torture of an existence she had lived for nearly a year now. The rest of her however was unable to shake off the feeling that one expression gave her.

‘So that is why you wanted Trixie? To have somepony to relate to?’ she asked unsurely, containing her outburst, but still staring darkly at the stallion.

‘Oh, no. I simply couldn’t stand working with somepony from around here for too long. I know, I had the chance to try. That’s how I got this far. I’d just blabber on to them about my life, not even realizing mostly what I say, in a desperate attempt to not have to partake in any idle conversations. But, somepony like you, I’d doubt would even want to, or even could do that.’

‘You didn’t seem to have a problem with chatting idly with whoever that was, who just left.’

‘Oh, he simply wished to know more about how I created my automatons, and shared a few anecdotes about a story he writes.’ he said, adding a weak, smirk-like smile at the end.

‘Sounds like idle conversation to me.’ countered the mare in a lighter, but still grim tone.

‘Heh. You know how to argue. Fine, I suppose it’s more that I have few topics i could talk about, and most of them I really doubt ponies around here would like to hear about, others I don’t even want to bring up.’

Trixie paused before replying. This stallion kept talking in what felt like riddles, as if he was different than everypony else. In fact, he even felt like he’s different. Finally she asked: ‘What puts you so apart from everypony else, that you need to remove yourself from their company?’

‘Well, I don’t really “need” to, I have to note that. I enjoy the company of other ponies, I just- Ah, don’t let me blabber on! The answer is not exactly simple, but I suppose the short version would be that I have only been living here in Equestria for the past month or so. Before that, things were different.’ he said, skimming the subject. ‘Naturally, if you are interested, and don’t mind wasting your day listening to an old stallion’s tales, I’d be happy to-’

‘No.’ Trixie interrupted him, then quietly added: ‘Thank you.’ She was a bit lost, though not more than when she was faced with the idea that somepony was willing to employ her. Whoever this stallion was, or perhaps more importantly: whoever he thought he is, she had a strange, uneasy feeling about him.

Still, he did no attempt to pull a prank on her, no group of concealed ponies jumped out from anywhere to laugh at her hopefulness, so it seemed like he’s meaning what he says. And honestly, she needed this job. Any job.

‘So,’ Trixie continued. ‘if I’d accept this offer, what could I expect?’

‘Hm?’ the stallion asked a bit distractedly. ‘Oh, coins! I’ve- I’ve no- Let’s see. Due to my generous “sponsors” freed me from the fear of survival and since in all honesty you’d be doing most of the actual work, I’d think an even fifty percent of the total income of the shop would be fair, more or less?’

Trixie didn’t know what to reply. Though she had no idea what that would actually mean, not knowing the profits of the store, fifty percent seemed unreasonably high for an employee. For a moment once more, the thought that this is just a cruel joke has crossed her mind, but a little voice in her calmed her and whispered that she should not give up an amazing chance. After all, by this point, it was more likely that this stallion was mad, rather than that he means ill. Mad she can handle. “Mad” is not insidious. “Mad” is not her usual audience.

‘I accept.’ she replied in a calm tone. ‘Though...’ she paused, remembering something. ‘I already told you I’m not experienced in crafting toys.’

‘Ahah! Don’t worry about that.’ the stallion said in a very merry, and almost relieved tone. ‘One thing I think I’ve neglected to mention, is that I’m great with spells, or rather their theoretical design and application. I can teach you whatever you’ll need and believe me, even though you might think your illusions are different from what I need, once you’re into practice, you’ll find it all a simple walk in the park. Of that, I have no doubt at all! This leaves us with a single question I believe. When do you wish to start?’

Trixie paused before replying. She could have probably started that very moment, but beyond feeling such a thing to look desperate, she also wanted to just rest down, since she pulled her cart for miles today already.

The stallion just smiled and nodded as she said she’d be back tomorrow, and flipped the door sign to “Open” once more after she stepped out.

‘One last thing!’ the stallion called after her.

‘Yes?’ Trixie responded, turning around while something in the back of her head, still insisted that this is the late arrival of the prank which is to be pulled on her.

‘I have a fancy for tea, and thought to ask if you’d like some, and if you do: would Mauvette be good?’

‘I- Think.’ Trixie replied, to which the stallion smiled again and closed the door.

As she turned back and continued to her cart, she caught a glimpse of a small group of mares who were staring at her strangely. Trixie had little doubt that they recognized her, and continued with her head high and a slightly irritated expression on her face. In her mind, she started to grasp that she managed to get herself into a very, very strange spot of life. In the employment an overly eager, lonesome yet talkative madpony who gives her a lucrative offer, and even races to check if she’d be wanting any tea in the morning. And all of this in the very heart of the worst, most filthy excuse for a town she has ever known. At this point, she was only debating whether this was too strange-, or too good to be true.

But at the same time, it was true. It was strange, it made her anxious and uneasy, but she knew it was true. Somepony did employ her. She did have an income. A real income. And finally, finally at last she could say with an uneasy, but true certainty, that the last show she’ll ever do, is in her past.

Basis

A usual little orb of wonder, glistering in the light of the stars, flying through space in a majestic fashion, turning and dancing in the shine of its own brilliant sun, followed around by its moon, which by itself is rather normal; well, at least since its surface has lost the odd likeness of an alicorn mare. In short: An amazing world of infinite opportunity! On it, a shapely continent, riddled with marvelous mountains, grandiose gulfs, fabolous flatlands, luminous lakes, rich and mysterious forests, quaint little settlements and stupefying, even luxurious cities. In the continent, a country with a long, proud history, led by the sister alicorns who control the world’s moon and sun respectively, watching over their people in an eternity of peace, only interrupted by minor inconveniences and the occasional incidents which are swiftly and cleanly taken care of by the ancient Elements of Harmony. Truly a grand utopia in the flesh. Truly something that’s so good that it can’t possibly hold any merit to be real. But it was as real as the ponies inhabiting the great nation of Equestria, it was as real as the countless lives, swirling around in it, mostly unaware of one another, beyond a handful of friendly neighbours. It was as real as anything gets, but that didn’t necessarily mean that it was the only possible way for the world to be. Oh no. And the ponies knew too! That’s why so many read the dashing tales of noless dashing, but completely and utterly fictional adventurers, as produced by the usually merry, somewhat frantic but genuinely charming bunch who made up a good portion of Equestria’s writing community.

Colt Smith wasn’t one of them.

The middle aged, brown stallion who was trotting home through the streets and pathways of Ponyville was no less frantic than the rest of Equestria’s writers, and if the chatter of townsfolk is any measure, then his charisma wasn’t in need of much further refining either, but “merry” was probably not the word to describe the earth pony.

He was kind, he was attentive towards those around him and never forgot to give a friendly or supportive smile when talking with his neighbours. He could even have been described as a happy stallion, but the blind and deaf joy of common merriment was not something to define him. The reason behind this was most likely connected to the one thing through which he gained his relatively meager fame: The Doctor Whooves series of books, following the adventures of possibly the strangest of heroes who prances around the universe, stopping evil on every corner with the routine of a small town mailmare. He wasn’t quite fond of talking about the tale, though he never truly shared why. It was sort of a common agreement between those who knew him, that it’s either that he dislikes “fan talk” or that he’s just weird, in the way most writers are, and needs to get into “the zone” to pull the whole thing together.

Contrary to popular belief, the stallion had more on his mind than his story and the set of everyday routines which everyone has to bother with throughout their lives. No, for a while now, he was working on something, that in certain context could be taken very wrongly: He was spying.

Naturally, he didn’t spy for “the enemy” because of the lack of one such, and neither did his “spying” concentrate on anypony in particular, or rather, it only did due to an uncanny amount of coincidences. And that was exactly what he spied on: Coincidence. The thing about the great big world he shared with everyone else, was that coincidences were bound to happen. Some were trivial, such as a whole mess of neighbours happening to buy at the same shop, which exactly because of its triviality wasn’t considered a coincidence. Some were much, much greater and equally pointless, like a pony’s great, great, great uncle happening to have been good friends with a painter, who once drafted a picture of a mare whose great grand daughter would just so happen to be the original pony’s nanny. But, there were coincidences that just boggled the mind. Coincidences, which in a way could be said to be the reason why Colt Smith ended up in Equestria in the first place. And one of the most fascinating one of these coincidences - no, a system of coincidences - was just unraveling before his eyes:

An impossible stallion, laying claim to a life of adventure, residing to be a shopkeeper, admittedly not even following his natural talent’s calling. A rotten mare, who used her talents as an illusionist to try and place herself above others, visiting the aforementioned stallion on some sort of business. The clever and overly eager - yet somewhat insecure - librarian, who by herself happens to be a hub of fantastic events, an element of harmony, vanquisher of Discord, the saviour of the aforementioned strange stallion, and the one who could deliver, where the rotten magician could only promise.

Though Smith personally didn’t understand the concepts of magic, he wanted to think he had a grasp on a few fields that were always considered “everypony’s science”, such as the search for fate and destiny, even if only as a botcher in the workshop of the highest powers. He made a habit of looking for the bigger picture, playing around with hidden-, mystical-, or plainly non-existent connections between separate events and people. When once called out on this odd tick by a fellow writer, he would simply reply that he most probably adapted it from his eccentric creation: “The Doctor”. In fact, wondering on this strange connection of the three uncommon unicorns only caused him to ponder on how his character would look at the mystery. No doubt, the Doctor would have by this point constructed some sort of impossible piece of scientific ingenuity, scanned existence a couple of times, then having unlocked the mysteries of life and destiny, would have hurried on to pick a fight with a couple dozen of the ruder civilizations, before finishing the day in a couch, intimately cuddled up with a few pulp fiction novels.

Well maybe he wouldn’t have bothered with it in the first place - mostly due to his usual habit of letting the world have her secrets - but if forced, that’s probably what the Doctor would have done, and perhaps that’s exactly why Smith didn’t even try. Not for the futility of such an attempt, but for the grimm loss of wonder, the success of such pursuit would bring. He had an odd preference to searching, over finding. As much as he enjoyed looking for the key to mysteries such as the curious connection of the adventurer-turned-toymaker, the megalomaniac-stage-magician and the hero-turned-librarian, he simply felt that as romantic or fantastic the methods of his Doctor may look in a work of fiction, they were simply... And that was the dilemma that kept him wondering. What was wrong with what the Doctor did? It was a question of constant annoyance to him. He knew there was something elementally wrong, he felt it, he resented it. But he just couldn’t explain it. And how could he? To say there was something wrong, he first would have needed to declare what is right and wrong in the world, and it would have taken a more arrogant pony than him to do just that. Other writers would see this hole in the image of their protagonist as a mistake, a failing that needs to be corrected in their work. Smith saw it as a gaping wound that could not, and should not be patched. It was part of the Doctor, it was part of his being, just as it was part of Smith that he could hardly keep his mind together on a single point, or when he tried, his thoughts just drifted back on his Doctor.

Another mystery perhaps? The mystery how the Doctor can relate in his mind to everything? Could be, and he thought on it too, but again, doesn't everyone relate to everything in this insanely complicated world? Why would a self proclaimed, time traveling saviour of mystery be any different? And why would[...]?

While lost in the endless ongoing series of thoughts, Colt Smith unconsciously and automatically made his way home and made a cup of tea without giving the process a single moment in his overactive mind. He laid back and allowed the warm drink to soothe his mind and body. When his thoughts raced around aimlessly like now with the unicorns and the Doctor, a cup of tea would always help him relax. On one side, he hated how he could lose track of reality, and end up in an infinite highway of questions, answers and overly complicated, yet mundane concepts of existence; but, at the same time, he knew that this strange waltz which his mind performed was what allowed him to see the way he saw, and that the way he saw was exactly what got him where he was; and where he was, was not a bad place, considering the alternatives.

He looked around from the large, low sofa he was resting on, sweeping his study room with his eyes. The first thing that caught his attention was the odd little blue box on his desk, a finely crafted replica of the fantastical time machine of his tales - as he explained to his occasional visitors. The stallion’s eyes rested on the box for a while, a few deviant thoughts playing in the back of his mind, but finally he shooed them off and stood up, walking to his desk. There, he looked at a month old publication of “The Equestrian” - a popular newspaper which was ran out of Canterlot. He knew but a precious few of the ponies working with the paper, even though he should have known most of them due to his constant invitations to the bi-monthly writers’ conferences held in the capital. He attended a couple of times - perhaps thrice or so - but found that there was something lacking. No doubt, what was lacking was his own excitement towards an event where he would be locked in with eccentric and quiet masterminds of intrigue, the general writers who tend to stick with their small complement of visiting fans and colleague friends; and - of course - the outspoken adventure writers who confuse science fiction with big things that ring, dazzle and look good, fantasy with an excuse to write whatever they feel like, and romances with bitter comedies. Though, on further consideration, perhaps they are correct in the field of romance.

Interestingly, one of the few writers he knew, and one of the only ones he actually had any respect towards beyond ‘sociable’ level, was the author of the article he had last opened The Equestrian’s month old edition at. By itself, it wouldn’t be that interesting, but there was the fact this writer - Clover Cover - had in fact wrote it about the stallion Smith’s been thinking about. Yet another coincidence of sorts, though it would seem minor and relatively distant, possibly just another fragment of Smith’s imagination crashing on him as his racing mind tries to envelop all there is in an attempt which he knows better than most to be foolish.

Colt Smith huffed with an odd little smile on his face, clearing his mind of the headless conspiracy theory, instead just reaching off the sofa with one hoof, pressing a small gizmo on the ground and then listening to the newly started record player across the room. He rested his head on his hooves, closed his eyes and mildly sung along with the song’s writer: “Times, have changed. - And we’ve often rewound the clock [...]”

Before he would have stopped singing while drifting asleep for the afternoon, his mind played around one last time. As foolish as trying to figure out how the universe works, and why coincidences happen - or even what they truly are -, it is rather fun. Perhaps it too could be considered a sort of “bitter comedy”, between the thinker and the world.

Books are a strange sort of thing. They can hold knowledge; free or secret, important or trivial, useful or pointless. They can be more versatile than any other art form. They can carry more meaning than any historical artifact. Can depict, explain, study or simply state anything comprehensible and generally work with the most unacknowledged of the senses: Thinking. In fact, as Colt Smith knew from many, many historical examples that all civilizations have an era when all of culture and science rests upon the fragile pages of books; somewhere just before they become a plaything, and something else steps in.

There’s not much to be disappointed at however, being a writer didn’t necessarily mean that Colt Smith would have resented the relatively small interest books gathered in what was the most recent definition of “modern society”. The world changes, cultures change, and it’s probably good. But even if not, pockets of what was will always remain, if nowhere else, in their own given time period, stalwartly stating “I was.” even if no one’s paying attention. Ponyville’s library was a - temporally-speaking - mobile one of these pockets and a comfortable safe heaven for all things written across various eras. Maybe it wasn’t swarmed by ponies who’d be constantly checking new books in and out, but it was there always if somepony needed it, and in the end, that’s what’s important.

It’s been a week since he first visited Oakleaf’s new Toyshop, and his mind still played with the odd system of connections between the toymaker, “The Great and Powerful Trixie”, and the librarian in whose home he’s been looking at a brand new book at the moment, oddly titled: “The Brief and Frightening Reign of Grim Bolt”. ‘Looking’ was the perfect description of what he was doing, as he didn’t pay much attention to the actual contents of the pages, his mind distracted by the aforementioned mystery.

This was his general stance in life. His mind set on one thing, his body set on another, the two rarely acknowledging each other, like a young-bound marriage which went stale. It wasn’t rare that he even managed to have brief conversations without being aware of them until much later. When it wasn’t a system of coincidences like this, it was something else. Sometimes it was his Doctor, sometimes it was Equestria or the world in general, and sometimes it was all of the above together. Used to be, his writing helped. It allowed for him to channel his thoughts onto paper, but he didn’t do that for a while now. Everypony was amazed when during his first two years of living in Equestria, he released over four dozen short stories, none realizing that it would actually had been harder for him not to write them all down, than to be this “productive”. Beyond allowing his mind to stay together, writing of the Doctor also gave Smith a sense of closure which’s source he didn’t feel like sharing with anypony.

Recently however for the past months he just stopped, which had most ponies wondering, especially since his stories ended quite abruptly, on a note suggesting that his protagonist is bound to die soon due to some complicated, and hardly explained petrification of a single moment in the tangled and thoroughly violated timeline of his curious world. Exactly because of things like this is why some of his more negative critics claimed he stopped because he just couldn’t keep up with all the nonsense he weaved. Others claimed he was simply gathering inspiration and material for “something big”, but what that something could be, no one knew. The first few times he was asked when he’ll continue, he’d just reply playfully “Now, that would be telling.” but since then, he became a bit more bitter about the topic, trying to just ignore it.

In all honesty, the answer to why he wasn’t writing anymore, was very simple, yet complicated at the same time. He just didn’t want to write anymore. He had many reasons why he knew he shouldn’t write his stories, their ludacrisy being but a minor one. Another, much bigger reason was that the stories simply didn’t manage to say what he wanted to say; and really, how could they? He made the elemental mistake of writing about a pony above the commons, in a world bigger and more complicated than anypony would bother to understand. He placed a hero where a person should have been. There was no correcting that, without rewriting his work, but he couldn’t do that especially since what was already written was the only thing remaining to be said. Perhaps this caused his fixation with mundane pursuits like looking for coincidences. Perhaps it had just driven him into a unique, purely mental state of being stir crazy. Or maybe he had just pulled in one anchor and had yet to find another one to drop.

He looked up from his book and at Twilight Sparkle across the room who was gathering a couple of other books for him. A brief sense of sadness pressed down on Smith’s shoulder before he looked back down and closed the book.

‘I’ve got them all.’ came from Twilight a moment later, about a dozen books flying around above her head. ‘Did you have anything else on your mind that wasn’t on the list?’

‘No, thank you Miss Sparkle.’ Smith replied with a friendly smile towards the mare.

‘I’ll never get why you, Big Macintosh, and even that new stallion can’t just call me Twilight, even after I asked.’ admonished Twilight.

‘Maybe we’re just stuck in our strange, backwards ways, Miss Sparkle. Or perhaps we’re all secretly big fans of those fiendishly heartbreaking romance novels that are bent on milking the last drop of tears from their victims’ eyes and proving that all mares are masters- and addicts of reverse psychology.’ Smith played, paused and nodded: ‘Miss Sparkle.’

‘Well, if you are, none of you are get your books from me.’ she replied simply, while flying every book down before her eyes and double checking if she has everything. ‘Do you want that one too?’ she asked once done, flying the closed copy of “The Brief and Frightening Reign of Grim Bolt” off of the desk in front of Smith.

‘No, thank you. I’ve already read it before.’

‘You did? I thought it just got published this week.’ Twilight asked mildly, checking the cover again, but Smith still got hit hard by the question for a moment.

‘Oh, no.’ he replied quickly. ‘Not this book, but one very similar to it. I guess I’m just not interested in re-reading the same...’ he paused to look for a word. ‘Concept.’

‘Oh? Okay.’ Twilight nodded with a strange look, not understanding the odd reaction. ‘Uh, it’s probably not right to ask, but you seem so distracted again. Is everything alright?’

“Alright.” A funny little concept. When is everything alright really? Colt Smith knew for a fact that there was never a day something wouldn’t have been wrong in the world, but of course she meant with him.

Not a single moment had passed, yet for him it seemed quite a while as he looked at her, looking for his answer. He wanted to be honest with her with every piece his very being, or at least honest to anyone, but instead he answered this question as he always did when the librarian asked him:

‘Of course.’ he smiled, shrugging it off. ‘I just have a lot on my mind.’ he added, thinking that there was no reason not to share part of the truth, however ambiguous. ‘I’ve been thinking on this series of connections and oddities lately.’

‘What sort of connections?’ the librarian asked, while she reinforced the saddle pack in which she put the stallion’s books.

‘Ah, just how this Oakleaf fellow gets saved by you who were in just the right place at the right time, and though he obviously has no history with the field, decides to become a shopkeeper, then out of the blue decides to employ that showmare “Trixie” who you also happened to have some history with. For whatever reason, I also happen to know the journalist who wrote the first and so-far only article on him, which’s chances are already low.’ he spun the tale out, leaving a few details to himself. Saying it all aloud however just made him realise how completely pointless the whole chain of thought feels like in this form as if missing a component, a purpose. Before his mind could drift off once more however, Twilight placed the packed books before him and noted:

‘I don’t really know how all that is more odd than life in general, but if you meant Miss Clover by that journalist, then I suppose you could also add that I actually used to exchange with her when I was younger, so she knows both me and him.

‘Oh.’ Smith smiled back feeling awkward. Perhaps out of the blue, or perhaps seeing this, the librarian continued in an easier tone, lightening the mood:

‘Now, if let’s say there would be a Bad Wolf involved somewhere, things would start to get really spooky.’

‘Ha.’ nodded Smith, acknowledging the reference to his “work”, partially happy that the librarian read it, partially lost in an instabile sense of presque vu, as if he was forgetting something crucial.

‘Well...’ Twilight interrupted him after a few seconds of silence. ‘Here are your books, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to give you this.’ She flew a small pamphlet on top of the bags.

‘Hm?’ Smith looked at it as his mind refocused and he quickly recognized it as an info paper for the new book club the mare started a while ago, he had seen a few of them across town. ‘Oh, I’m not too sure if I’d belong...’ he started, but Twilight chipped in.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure our members won’t bug you about your series, and I won’t bring it up unless you want. And I’m sure some of them would love to hear a writer’s view on literature.’

‘Ah, I’m sure there would be better writers for that...’ the stallion started, trying to deflect the offer, but then made the mistake of looking into the mare’s eyes. They weren’t pressuring, they weren’t convincing, they were just what they were, with a dash of curiosity. ‘I think I’ll try and make it to the next meeting.’ he said after but a moment’s hesitation.

‘Thank you! I’m sure you’ll enjoy! Our meetings are always on the same day, just read the pamphlet and don’t let me keep you!’

The librarian wasn’t known to have this effect on ponies all facts considered, but Colt Smith respected her for everything she used to be and even more for what she was at the given time and for that, he had to accept. There rarely was a moment when he felt like he could read a thousand books and not find a proper representation of his feelings, but as usual when he left the library: That moment was right then.

There was always a great many things on which Colt Smith could never agree on with his Doctor. One of the few things he did however agree with him on was that you can tell quite a lot of someone by the way they look at others. During the month after the arrival of “Trixie” this belief just became more and more troublesome for him to wonder on.

In all honesty, he barely ever saw the mare in that month, nopony perhaps with the exception of Oakleaf and the owner of a small grocery store ever saw the hide of her. Yet, even without having any contact with her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted her out of Ponyville, as far as possible. It wasn’t a personal hate, instead he just knew too much of her to believe she’ll stay a quiet, laid back pony for long and he knew her place was not here. Or, at the very least, he believed he did know these things, and that right there was the problem. What sort of a stallion is he if he judges somepony off of who she may or may not be? His mind kept telling him that she just wasn’t supposed to be there, even worse, that she’s unstable and might cause any number of disturbances if ticked off at the wrong moment. She was a megalomaniac with atelophobia, one of the worst combinations possible. If she doesn’t decide to show everypony how superior she is, then it will be something else. Perhaps she’s just going to hold it in and become a ticking bomb. But why should she? What law does he know which bounds this mare to be a bringer of ill spirits? What laws he himself didn’t prove unbreakable? Sure he can predict certain things, but can he predict the course a mare’s life will take after an already unpredictable turn? Does he have the right to even try?

This was one of the core points which he loathed in his own creation. The Doctor’s shining justice over the misled and the ill-fated who perhaps could have been better if he only let them. Then again, as the very few ponies to whom he mentioned this problem with the Doctor replied, “that’s fiction, it’s allowed in fiction”. But why?

There were a multiple reasons why the showmare circled back into his thoughts repeatedly, the fact that she had set up her mobile-home a short way out of Ponyville, by chance visible from his home being one, the fact that he kept visiting Oakleaf for a while now, was another. As long as he lived, he had a fascination with gadgets of all kinds, that wasn’t much of a secret. It wouldn’t take a particularly brilliant individual either to spot a faint connection between this fixation and the fact that he was writing Science Fiction. On the other hand, he had a different sort of fascination which is less recognized as the life bread of the selfsame genre: a fancy for exotic cultures, something the toy maker had experience with. The third interest which made science fiction possible, and which caused him to visit the eccentric shop owner was when the first two came together and managed to make no sense whatsoever, is such a spectacular way that it just vibrated in the back of one’s neck, with the odd feeling that if one untangles this mess and reveals how it all works, all of the world’s problems will come full circle. - A charming, but sadly completely untrue idea, promoted by books. After all, what writer wants to annoy his or her own readers by leaving any major questions up for their imagination? Well, aside from a few like Colt Smith used to, back when he wrote. But that didn’t mean he didn’t at least hope that if he manages to understand oddities like the teal stallion running the latest toy shop of Ponyville, then he’ll have - at the very least - a better understanding of how this world works. A not entirely misguided idea, and one in which he had more certainty than most, even if he didn’t share with most, why that was so.

As stated already, Colt Smith wasn’t very savvy when it came to questions of magic. He could have just wrote it up along with a shrug next to the fact that he wasn’t a unicorn, but he prefered to think of it as a failing on his part, because failings, one can always overcome. For that, even with his limited understanding, he tried to untangle how, or at least: Why unicorns use magic the way they do. Naturally, it should be obvious that a unicorn can’t just look at a stone, squint his or her eyes then turn the rock into a diamond without any training, and a peculiar kind of elemental science behind it, so it shouldn’t be much of a mystery why it took so long for a unicorn to develop a way to make his way halfway around the world, back into Equestria, like Oakleaf did. Yet, just by being a writer of stories where action and consequence are of grave importance, Colt Smith knew that there was something about the toy maker’s story that did not add up.

The writer didn’t assume that Oakleaf would keep a secret for any malicious reasons, he knew better than to apply pulp fiction logic to life, but the amount of time it took for a stallion to figure out a way home, while his talent was allegedly developing spells, was a bit curious. Not to mention that after listening to Oakleaf’s descriptions of the various cultures he met and a bit of research, thanks to the extensive, and mostly unread collection of enciclopedic studies in Twilight’s library, Colt Smith concluded that while Equestria didn’t maintain any sort of official presence in those lands, the continent the toymaker was describing was very much explored in full recently, and more importantly: Many of the various cultures of those lands actually had rather good ideas about how to find a few small ports and settlements which were inhabited by colonist ponies, or griffons, all of which were settled in the past two decades. This could have given a quick way home to the lost unicorn, and it seemed rather odd to imagine that he’d forget to ask such questions. Granted, even if somepony knew where to look for those settlements, getting to them would have been a long, tiring and even dangerous journey, but it wouldn’t have been impossible, nor would it have taken two extra decades.

No, there must have been some reason why Oakleaf didn’t come back, aside from the difficulty of the journey, and Smith was bent on finding out what that was, for curiosity’s sake. As he saw it, the best case scenario was that the unicorn simply loved the adventure of living in those lands and among its cultures meaning he’s exactly the kind of a pony any writer who’s anything of a writer would like to talk with. There were a set of less inspiring theories Colt Smith had floating around in his mind, a few of them he even shared with a mailing partner - without any remorse for gossip. These curious ideas he wrote down and kept in his writing desk for later, along with the letters of his mailing partner, and an old talisman, bearing the royal sigil of the sun. A final theory which was in a way, hidden in plain sight was the toys themselves and their mysterious designer whom Oakleaf mentioned.

Naturally, even with all of these theories flying before his eyes, Colt Smith always kept on being a gentlecolt and didn’t pressure Oakleaf about them, he was genuinely curious about how a stallion of magic lived and thinked, and they both were aware of this without having to expressly say it. And that was enough. While Oakleaf did mention how interestingly the only two ponies who expressed such interest in his life so far were writers, and joked - then apologized for saying - that they probably are just running out of material; he didn’t seem to mind talking about his experiences, even if he did seem to dodge a number of subjects.

The one odd thing Colt Smith just couldn’t put quite anywhere, and for what he didn’t even have a theory for - thus quing the unshakable urge to think about - was Trixie. An act of charity? A crooked eye for talent? A good eye for talent? - Again, Colt Smith didn’t know the first thing about magic. - Or perhaps as Oakleaf once tried to explain: simply the premise to work with somepony who doesn’t want to chat a lot, and who’s not interested in absolutely everything he ever did? No doubt, that explanation - even if also true - was a nod at the fact how at that time Colt Smith had been lingering in the shop for three hours doing nothing but probing the unicorn with questions, but that didn’t stop Oakleaf from going on and entertaining the writer’s curiosity for another two hours that day, and then on many other days without any further words of dismissal.

Trixie was in many ways the exact opposite of just that, and while Smith wasn’t proud of having expectations, for the most part her behaviour was exactly what he expected. She was barely seen around the shop, though usually when she was around, Smith knew very well from the faint sound of wood being carved in a backroom with the use of enchanted tools - as Oakleaf explained once. When she did show in person however, she didn’t want to talk and made that very clear.

For courtesy’s sake Smith would greet her but she’d either ignore it or just reply in an off-the-shoulder fashion before moving on with whatever she was doing and quickly leaving. It also wasn’t necessary to see the mare a lot for it to become rather clear that she was constantly having ‘days’. Sometimes she’d give Smith a look fitting of a pompous queen, looking down upon her filthy subject; other times she’d look positively mad with Smith or the world either because of his presence, the fact he’s looking at her, or some other ambiguous source of dismay. One of the other things she did however, Smith had to accept as a bit surprising: sometimes the mare didn’t look angry or dismissive, she stopped walking with every step carefully planted in a powerful stance, and even the resentfulness disappeared from her eyes and she became something that wasn’t anything Smith could quite put his hoof on yet in terms of description, but it was definitely not The Great and Powerful Trixie. Perhaps this other mare deep inside her was who Oakleaf actually employed? How could he possibly know she even existed before meeting her?

Colt Smith enjoyed playing along in this silent little role of a dramatized detective, but nonetheless, he couldn’t lie to himself. There was always a reason behind his interest in Oakleaf’s strange history. He would have liked it if it was simply a casual interest in the unlikely and mystical, but the truth was that he knew better than most that the toymaker and his assistant didn’t belong in this place. He knew it, and trying to act as if it would have been just a simple hunch kept bugging the back of his mind, throbbing in a small little room in his head where he tried to hide a hated truth for the past three years, since he settled down. A small, simple truth he wished with all his heart would be nothing, but a lie he made for himself.

The simple truth was: he knew that Trixie didn’t belong. How? There was but one in the entirety of Equestria aside from him who knew, and neither of them would ever reveal it. Smith couldn’t blame Trixie for being where she was. He couldn’t blame her for being a broken, resentful shadow of a mare, as opposed to the fiery personification of hate and vengeance who should have returned in the future to reclaim her lost pride. Trixie in her current state was a broken note in the melody of fate, a misstep on the stairway of action and reaction, a speck of sand, trapped above one too large to flow down the hourglass. She shouldn’t have been anything that Colt Smith wouldn’t have anticipated as a faint possibility for a long while, but he still had no idea how she could come to be where she was. The answer lied with Oakleaf, and his shrouded past. There had to be a reason, a clue, just anything that would have made it so that Oakleaf’s completely uninformed decision to employ her would make some sense. The silver lining of course was the mystery of it all, and the possibility to solve it!

On the otherhoof, there was a different lining to the same cloud, one Smith couldn’t decide whether was of gold or but of the fool’s variety. For years, he lived knowing things he wished he didn’t. Things like where Trixie’s place was in the world. If she could break free of that, then perhaps nothing is set in stone, and Colt Smith too is allowed to act freely, the only question remaining: “Should he?”

Exactly these sort of thoughts were the reason why he was considered a minority for his habit of thinking too deeply and too much about everything he came across. Perhaps he should have just done as most do and lived in the moment, something he partially feared to do.

Thinking on these things and his attitude towards life, something else started beating in Colt Smith’s thoughts, something that did not originate in his mind. He had a little piece of paper on his desk back home. A little, physically insignificant little paper pamphlet which served as an invitation for him. An invitation to a book club. An invitation from Twilight.

There rarely was a moment when the little, hated, throbbing truth in the back of his head had stopped and left him in a moment of tranquility and without the need to overthink and complicate things which could be simpler, but as usual when the librarian crossed his mind: That moment was right then.

Silver Comet

“The Great and Powerful Trixie!” proclaimed the stylized poster in magnificent yellow and red letters, bent over the image of the blue showmare. The room in which it hung was still the same: The not very roomy living compartment of a show wagon. Still, the room seemed a bit different recently. Since the wagon stopped moving and took an uncharacteristically permanent place a few hundred yards outwards from the outermost houses of Ponyville, its sole tenant started spending much more time inside it, sleeplessly laying on the bed mostly. As she spent more time inside - and not just the nightly hours - she decided to use her time to pretty up the formerly chaotic interior. After the dozens of reshuffelings of the small decorative items, the tiny living space finally started to look a little homey; and even though the mare who would have called it home didn’t enjoy thinking of it as that, it looked rather impressive as far as wagons like this go; almost good enough, that should the prudish poster and the caricature on it have maintained the ability for emotions, they would have found the accommodations acceptable to their obvious greatness.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie!” was also the name by which the blue unicorn who lived in the wagon used to announce herself proudly a long time ago, when making her appearances in various towns and opening her shows of wonder. These days however, she wasn’t always sure who Trixie really is. Nevertheless, that was the name everypony knew her as in the nearby town. The first day when she got herself a real job with real payment, and the reality of her new permanent residence had hit home in her head; she had visited a small café which doubled as a low profile restaurant called “Café á la Dessinatrice” - whatever that foreign title may have meant. The waiter recognized as- and called her “Trixie”. She never went back to that place. Instead, the only place she frequented in town aside from her newfound workplace was a little grocery store where she picked up some food to get her by and since the first two failed attempts to start a conversation with her, the checker figured out that she doesn’t want any of that, making her visits a quick, sleek exchange of food and coins, and nothing more, without any of the unpleasantries. Just as she wanted it.

The case with her new employer was strange though. She expected the odd stallion to talk more - or at least more than nothing whatsoever - they were working together after all. But no, the stallion kept it all professional and never said a word that didn’t relate to the job she was employed for. He gave her a bit of “training” so to speak, explained to her a few spells that essentially enchanted various carving and crafting tools to perform specific tasks. With some cases, once enchanted, she didn’t have to do anything and the tools provided her with the finished “product”, without any extra assembly required. Granted, the spells weren’t the simplest - some requiring her to basically breathe life into puppets - but oddly enough, she had no problem performing them, making it feel like she’s just an unnecessary bystander at some times. Oakleaf, her employer himself, said that all the ease of the spells prove is that she infact has a knack for this school of magic, but that didn’t help her feel belong there anymore than she did before, as the only reason the stallion needed here there was that allegedly he couldn’t trust himself to perform the same tasks as well as they should be. Still, the fact that she could do something - if boring - where she’s not being made a constant mockery of and also gets paid for doing so, had a certain good feeling about it which she didn’t experience in a while.

She also had to realize, that all of a sudden, her life had an odd routine to it, something she used to take pride in not having during her shows, always improvising and going with the flow of things. These days were all the same. She got up, headed to the Toy Shop where Oakleaf was already waiting with a small breakfast which she could eat in privacy if she wanted - and as she always chose to-, a copy each of a local paper called “The Ponyville Post” and of “The Equestrian” - both of which she could “borrow” at any time she wanted - and finally a list of the things she should make by the end of the day to keep on quota. Then she’d walk into the backroom, check if the materials are there, enchant the tools - or check the small book of spells Oakleaf left her if she didn’t remember - and continue doing this until the day was done, taking a break only to eat lunch, which Oakleaf also provided without a word. When the day was done, she’d get half the coins earned that day and walk home, dropping into the aforementioned grocery store, buying something for a quick dinner and then go back to her wagon, eat and lay in her bed with her thoughts until she falls asleep.

It was dreadfully monotonous, and kept feeling like she was just waiting for something. But what? That pipedream of a plan to go in motion, when she saves up enough coins to move away from Equestria for good and do “something” else? Granted, the only thing that changed in her days was the amount of ponies visiting the shop, meaning more and more foals heard of it, more and more parents decided to treat them to some special toys and she got more and more coins in her half of the deal, but it still wasn’t amounting up to anything, and even if it was, she still wouldn’t know what she’d do if she left. The irony of the fact that the same town that destroyed all of her opportunities in showbusiness and her willingness to be a part of it, was also the town where her only remaining chance to make a living resided, was bitter and yet tasteless at the same time,

The one, dim highlight of her day was something that she just couldn’t explain, it was also the only reason why she’d allow herself to accept breakfast from her employer after the first day. It was that strange “Mauvette” tea that she’ve never heard of before and which Oakleaf kept preparing with every breakfast. From whatever past of hers beyond the horizon of memory, it brought an unplaceable nostalgic feeling to her spirit. Everytime she drank from it, she knew she had this tea before, but was never sure when, only that it was long ago, at a time when everything made sense. At times, she even wished to ask Oakleaf what this “Mauvette” is, and how she could get some of it, because at passing glances she didn’t see any of it in the windows of the many stores that riddled the street through which she made her way between her wagon and the shop, but since the stallion kept so silent, she remained so as well.

She never was sure about Oakleaf either. Whether him keeping silent was just proof that he didn’t really have the highest regard for chatting, or that for one he actually did understand and respect her cloudy disposition towards social interaction, she couldn’t tell, but - even if not particularly grateful - she was glad for the fact that he didn’t probe her with chatter, unlike Oakleaf himself was probed by another. This “Colt Smith” character just didn’t sit well with her. There was something about him, his walk, his talk, his very being. She always knew then Smith was in the shop, if for nothing else, for the fact that he always was. The noise chatter between him and the shopkeeper echoed through to the backroom, almost as loudly as the breaks which came when Oakleaf tended to the customers or those simply looking.

It was rare that she actually would have seen Smith, mostly just when he duties took her out of the backroom, but she would always notice the way he looked at her. She was disturbing and hateful to the stallion, it was written all over him, though he seemed to want to hide it. There was something about him and the way he carried his eyes around the room, like if he’d examine if everything in the world is where he wants it, and then when his sight fell onto her, it was obvious that she failed to be at whatever far away little forgotten place he’d like her to be.

It was infuriating to be subject to the judgment of some nopony who thinks he has the insight to know who she is, or the right to decide whether or not she should be. She hated that stallion with a passion, though she knew no more of him than his name and that he was of the pretentious breed of science fiction writers, no doubt blindly proud of his own ability to foresee a future which will never come. Still, on some days...

She had to question herself, she hated a stallion over nothing but the way he looked, she hated him without once talking with him. Was she truly right to judge him for judging her? What if he wasn’t even judging her? What if she’s just blinded by her own hatred? But why wouldn’t she? This damned town took everything from her. She has all the right to be mad at it and any pony in it she damn pleases to be mad at. Starting with that no good, purple parade of-

“No.” she kept repeating to herself when such thoughts came through her mind. She kept repeating it when she had the strength to, but if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that most of the time she was weak. Trixie’s proud hatred of those who cast her aside infected her like an incurable plague, clouding her mind. She knew this, but Trixie did not accept it.

It used to be so easy. She’d just put on a show, entertain the viewers, get a round of applause, feel good about herself and then move on. A new day, a new show, the same naive enthusiasm for bewildering the eyes and minds of of everypony in attendance. So what if she was perhaps a bit too proud? She was proud to entertain! But whom? She was proud to entertain the same ponies who now gave her those looks all the time. She was proud to entertain these two faced creatures? She was proud of nothing.

And here she was now. Spending her days in a small claustrophobic room and another, somewhat more spacious one where she made small constructs for a stallion who didn’t speak to her. She didn’t speaking with anypony, she didn’t do anything. She would have read books to pass the time, but she knew who ran the town’s library and she dared not go there, buying books on the other hoof would have been a waste of the precious bits that moved her ever so little closer to her plans of leaving this place far behind.

Clearly, she was but waiting. But why? She could no longer tell.

“Elements of Harmony to Perform at Hearth’s Warming Eve Pageant!” read the headline of the new issue of The Ponyville Post. “Ponyville’s own Elements of Harmony (Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, [...] ) are to star as the protagonists, in the tradition re-enactment of Equestria’s founding. The pageant which will be held next week, will take place in Canterlot’s illustrious...” The article which the mare glanced over while eating her breakfast went out of its way to explain in detail who the Elements of Harmony were and why Hearth’s Warming Eve was one of the most important holidays in Equestria; basically everything anypony in Ponyville, who was old enough to not even read, but just understand what the words meant knew already. Trixie read the article scornfully, making note of the way it went out of its way to praise every individual Element, Trixie thought to herself that perhaps the writing just goes to show that the stallion who wrote it is this desperate for a date. That thought made Trixie feel a little better, before throwing the paper away and resentfully making her way to the backroom of the toyshop, where she’d begin her work.

She worked for at least three hours, but the thought of the upcoming Canterlot play didn’t leave her mind for a minute. It would have been a laugh really, if she had still retained the ability to laugh. What claim did the Elements have to being actresses? There are ponies who dedicate their lives to the stage, ponies who hear the calling of showmareship from foalhood and who dream of a chance to take part is such a grand ceremony. Ponies who actually work for this chance. But no, the Elements save Equestria and all of a sudden all glory goes to them. It’s of no matter that they’ve ruined the last Grand Galloping Gala before, oh no the article makes no mention of that. They’re now in the graces of the public and nopony should dare dream of greatness while they can just drop in and take the glory. But again, why should Trixie feel bad for all the actors and actresses who are shoved in the background? Why would they be better than anypony else? It’s a cruel world and if somepony disagrees, their number just didn’t come up yet.

She never really wanted to be part of that show, she never felt that her talent would be to enact stories made by others. She used to be her own mare and then, just like now for the actors of Canterlot: The Elements fell into her life. Especially that cursed purple poser. Already, in the back of Trixie’s mind a nameless voice buzzed echoing “No.” to her. that she shouldn’t go down that path, but Trixie didn’t care.

The “Princess’ Prodigy”, “the youngest mare in recent memory to be taught by Celestia personally”, “the greatest unicorn”. Bah! No doubt she was born with an enchanted spoon in her mouth! Hidden powers given to her through the lottery of birth and boosted by the Princess who took her in as her new favourite. Trixie didn’t need to be born with immense power! She didn’t need royalty lead her to greatness! She was clever! She knew how to make less into more, the dim into brilliant, the small into gargantuan! This “Twilight”? She never did anything but read books and follow orders! No matter how nicely the papers worded it, that was the truth. It was Celestia that sent her where she needed to be, and it was the ancient artifacts that defeated both Nightmare Moon and Discord! As if using such powerful objects for their intended purpose was something to be awed for! No doubt, should she, Trixie get her hooves on something as powerful, she could easily show over the pompous little Princess’ pet. But then again, Trixie is above such petty cheats. Trixie needs no aid to be the best she is.

In her anger fueled march of thoughts, she barely noticed that she miss enchanted a small little pegasus stallion figurine which wasn’t quite ready yet - it’s wings being nothing but the copper framework at the time - and wasn’t even ever meant to fly, however, thanks to her mistake: it didn’t know that. Before she could react, the hoof sized construct jumped to its feet before her on the worktable and started galloping towards the edge where it leapt off and flapped its incomplete, fragile wings twice before crashing into a shelf next to the table and causing it to tip over, creating a pile of tangled pieces of tin, copper and other metals out of the previously well organized components.

Trixie first groaned annoyedly at the situation, but her responsibility swiftly fell down upon her shoulders and the mare started to analyze the damage, devastated by the knowledge that it will probably take the better half of the day to sort all of this out. Before she could have even take in the true size of the job she created to herself, the whole pile shook and miraculously, the runaway pegasus crawled out without a dent on it. The mare gave it a furious look and stepped closer, to which the little toy appeared to be almost scared - or at least as much as a lifeless automaton can be scared - and tried to launch off the ground again, but this time, it couldn’t even jump an inch, as a large copper rim from the pile got hooked into its wing’s frame and shackled it down.

The mare grabbed the toy in a magical grip and unhooked its wing. Part of her just wanted to smash the stupid thing, but there wouldn’t really have been any point to that and in reality, it was really her fault. She wondered for a moment what she should do, but before she could come up with anything, the workshop door opened up, and a teal unicorn hung his head in.

‘Is everything alright?’ Oakleaf asked the almost obligatory, though rhetorical question. It was obvious that he saw the piled up pieces and the franticly wiggling and rattling pegasus toy, which was still trapped in the mare’s azure bubble.

‘Uh-’ the mare hesitated. A side of her said that she should just dismiss the old coot, after all, she can handle this, but an older, more honest part of her knew that she should just say what happened. ‘I-I made a mistake. With this toy I mean! It jumped off the workbench and crashed a shelf. I’m going to fix it! I’ll fix everything.’

With that, she quickly flew the toy back to the workbench, and started replaying in her mind everything the toymaker told him about these enchantments, trying to remember an undo spell, which would take the life out of this troublesome gadget. Before she could have done that however, the toy flew away from her. Something in her yelled that she cannot let this all slip out of her control and pulled the toy back, before realizing that she just went against her employer. She quickly let go of the toy and went into a fearful and shame filled silence as Trixie in her screamed at her incompetence.

‘It is alright.’ Oakleaf said in a calm tone and examined the pegasus, which now tried to cover its head with its wings. Of course this didn’t amount to much, considering the few tiny copper beams that together formed the framework barely covered anything. ‘It’s alright.’ Oakleaf repeated, but this time the mare wasn’t at all sure anymore if he was talking to her or the toy.

Strangely, the miniature equine seemed to react to the words, something she didn’t even know they could. She knew Oakleaf’s toys would know when ponies were around, but this thing almost seemed like it would understand what’s going on. The pegasus lowered its wings - still to no great effect - and let them hang in the air where it was kept levitated by the stallion.

‘This one’s an lively fellow isn’t he?’ Oakleaf said, but it seemed like his words are still more aimed towards the toy than her. ‘Rather fond of your wing for a flightless figurine, aren’t you?’ he continued, to which the toy seemed to attempt to stand up straight on thin air, and do something which would have been an angry huff, if it actually had lungs. ‘Alright! Alright! I see. You want to fly.’ Oakleaf seemed rather amused by this little toy. ‘It’s amazing how you managed to improve on the enchantment.’ he added turning towards the mare.

‘I-I did?’ she said unsurely. She thought she made a mistake, but... Maybe she didn’t? Maybe it was her grand talent in magic that helped her see clearer? Perhaps Trixie’s greatness is shown aga-! Oh no, no, no, no, no. She can’t write it off as her own brilliance. It was really just a mistake, as much as she’d like it to be not. ‘It was really just an accident.’

‘Many, perhaps even most great things are accidents.’ Oakleaf noted with a strange smile on his face which seemed to come from more than just the toy’s uniquity. ‘And it’s not at all unthinkable either, after all, our designs were based-’ he started but stopped quickly, the smile disappearing from his face, giving place for concern for a moment, before returning to a more intentional, but supportive smile. ‘Whatever it is, I think this little one is rather impressive. I don’t suppose you could repeat that accident on purpose, so that just makes him all the more special. You wouldn’t mind if I kept him?’ The teal stallion lifted his right foot and placed the pegasus on it so it could stand.

‘I suppose not.’ the mare replied. She wasn’t quite sure what right she would have had over the toy to begin with.

The toy which was now partially free, no longer held by magical forces, used its freedom for yet another attempt at escape by jumping off of Oakleaf’s hoof and attempting to crawl onto his back and run over him all the way to the still open door. To its great disappointment, it was suspended in a teal bubble before it could have even reached Oakleaf’s shoulder.

‘I’ll see if I can teach this little guy some manners. And perhaps some other things.’ Oakleaf mused on. A moment later he took a look at the chaotic pile of copper and tin components next to the tipped over shelf and added. ‘Come to think of it, I feel today is going to be slow, and I had enough of Mr. Smith for a day, so how about you take the rest of the day off? Feel free to take the whole register’s contents today, as a bonus for this interesting little thing, if you will.’ the shopkeeper finished, but barely audible he murmured under his breath a name which hit the mare’s ears, perhaps for the pegasus toy: “Silver Comet”.

This turn of events came unexpected to the mare, she thought she’ll be slaving over the mess she made for the rest of the day. In her mind, she knew when she’ll come back tomorrow, she’ll have to clean up anyway, and part of her wanted to just stay and fix what she did right now. Still, she didn’t feel like arguing with the shopkeeper, so just nodded and walked out of the workshop.

She wandered back in her mind to the thoughts that caused her to make the mistake in the first place, and a creeping shameful feeling crawled up the back of her neck. She was once again blaming the whole thing on that librarian, all of her ill treatment and misfortune on somepony who’s only sin was saving her own town. All this anger at her must be wrong, she can’t seriously blame Twilight Sparkle for doing what’s right. But then why does Trixie feel so much rage against the purple unicorn? And really, what if that Ursa Minor’s appearance was her fault? What if she put too much effort into her act and caused all that chaos, securing those two naive colts in the thought that she can handle the situation? For a year now she was blaming the world for everything that was wrong with her and her life, and for a year, everything fell apart around her as she did.

The mare walked past the register, giving it only a glance. Somehow she felt she didn’t deserve anything today, or just generally at all, no matter how amused Oakleaf may have seemed from what she created by complete accident. She didn’t even look at Colt Smith who was still standing there, waiting on the shopkeeper to return, yet still she felt the stallion’s piercing eyes follow her to the store’s entrance. Naturally, as soon as she stepped outside the door, she realized what an amazingly stupid thing she did by not taking the bits Oakleaf told her she could have, but walking back at this point would have just made things worse, so she just kept walking with the weight of that on her back as well.

Unlike every other week, she didn’t stick to the smaller roads and she didn’t stop by her usual grocery store. She never brought money from home, so she couldn’t have bought anything anyway and hiding away in less traveled places would have felt like she’s insulting the ponies of this town by denying them the right to judge her as she walks past them. And really, they probably did have all the right to judge her. She made a mockery of herself that day so long ago, and indirectly brought an Ursa into the town and then blamed the town and Equestria at large for resenting her. What’s worse, she went on to pick at every little thing in her mind. She picked at the Elements of Harmony for getting into a stage play, she hated a stallion for what she simply assumed he thought and deep down, a part of her, a part where The Great and Powerful Trixie resided, also resented Oakleaf himself for being able to live so normal, despite the fact that she knew that he had a life far worse than just being laughed out of a couple of towns.

That selfsame part of her now shrouded itself in silence. It wasn’t a silence of compassion, it wasn’t a silence of shame. It did not stay quiet so she may have a moment. It was a silence of resentfulness. That part of her was utterly disappointed in her, its pride unshaken, denying what her mind now saw as the truth. Trixie made no mistake and it wasn’t worth Trixie’s time to argue about such a thing. But the mare knew she did make mistakes. Everypony did. She however? She blamed everypony for them but herself for the past year and for that, she was worse than all others.

In this line of thought she slowly made her way to her wagon which now felt both too far away, and oddly too close to the decent ponies in Ponyville who don’t deserve somepony like her among them. As she didn’t buy dinner, and she left before the shopkeeper would have gave her lunch, she didn’t have anything to eat for the rest of the day but some leftovers from the previous day’s dinner. She didn’t give much mind to food however, she didn’t give much mind to anything. She simply walked into the little mobile hole and fell into her bed, facing the closer wall, closing her eyes and waiting for time to pass and maybe, just maybe some honestly good thing about her would surface in her mind, something born of more than pride.

As the night started to fall, though her stomach ached from hunger, she managed to drift asleep. As always, she knew all too well what was coming, her lucid nightly dreams being all but the same stories of fantastic adventures she’d have as Trixie, but she didn’t really want any of that. While she first drifted into the empty void before her dreams, she welcomed the tranquility of no longer knowing why her shoulders feel heavy with shame. Following tradition too was the presence of that beautiful smell. If she had a body in this pre-dream void of hers, she would have closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the nonexistent air to enjoy the strangely existent scent.

The dream came slower than usual, and she was glad for that. Every moment where she can be but a puff of nothing and wouldn’t have to worry about anything, seemed like a moment spent in paradise.

Drifting timelessly in the void, two words echoed in her without any reason which would be known to her. “Silver Comet”. For some reason, the words formed a somewhat blurred image to her as she wondered about them. A proud, silver pegasus stallion with a smug but friendly smile on his cheek. Without a warning, the void filled up with a strange fog, the pegasus disappearing. For a moment, the mare thought one of her Trixie adventure dreams will come on, but soon she realized that she doesn’t recognize whatever story is about to start, despite the fact that she knew every one of the dreams that kept repeating for her. Unlike most other stories though, this one was blurry, and not only because of the fog.

She was standing on grass, she could feel it under her hooves, and though the fog allowed little light, she had a feeling it was dawn. It was the oddest feeling for her, but she felt utterly and completely neutral. Her mind was at peace unlike in any other adventure where she’d be overtaken with adrenaline and a passionate need to fulfil some destiny or other. Looking around, she found she’s standing in the middle of a large area filled with flowering bushes that were larger than she was, all of the emitting a wonderful scent, and somehow she knew what they were without even having to go through the moment of recognition. They were all hydrangea. Off in a distance ahead of her, there was a gleaming teal light she was unconsciously walking towards while the source too seemed to move away, but it was fine, somehow she felt comfortable with the light. A moment later, a familiar voice she couldn’t place pierced through the fog from another direction.

‘Have you thought about my idea?’ the voice called from her right before a sound of flapping wings came from there and the thick, silver fog of dawn disguising the similarly coloured stallion were blown away. Though the fog was gone, she could still barely make out the details of the silver pegasus by her side.

‘What do you mean Silver?’ came from her almost automatically.

‘About me and your adventure stories of course!’ came from the pegasus, who leapt up and hovered before her flapping his wings as they both kept going towards the moving teal light beyond the fog. ‘It’s no fair you having all the fun with the shows! Think about it, a dashing, fearless pegasus companion to your heroine would give some dramatic tension to some of those teeth clenching moments when you face off against those various monsters! They would love it! I could easily add some fantastical stunts to the whole thing! I could even have a cool name, like “Captain Comet”, and don’t you smirk at that. I might aswell be!’

The mare wanted to reply “I’ll think about it.” and even felt like she’d like to laugh lightly at the strange offer from this strange dream figure, but then she wondered what it would even mean. What would she think about? Who was this stallion anyway?

A moment later, the image of the frantic little incomplete toy entered her mind, vividly replacing the image of the blurred stallion and dispersing the fog, the hydrangea bushes and the teal light in the distance. As the memory of creating the toy came to her, she suddenly awoke, confused by what was the first new dream she had since she could remember.

Looking at the clock, the freshly awakened mare quickly found it’s only half past four in the morning. Her stomach still ached from hunger, but her mind had better things than to worry about problems it can’t solve at the moment.

She laid on her back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the dream. She really wasn’t sure what to make of it, since she couldn’t remember any dreams she had where she wasn’t re-enacting some made up story about Trixie, but this almost felt like it was something different entirely. Almost.

As her mind processed it, she started to think it to be some sort of self commentary. This Silver Comet seemed like a bit too proud pony, who wants to show off his greatness in some sort of a show, which he only mentioned as adventure stories. She herself kept telling adventure stories about Trixie and has been cast off for taking too much pride in her shows. Perhaps that was what it meant.

On the other hoof, Silver seemed to want all that for the fun of it too, perhaps he wanted to entertain for entertainment’s sake, if a bit proud, sort of like she used to be before a year ago. But why would her mind cast these things into some toy she broke? Perhaps it was her mind trying to tell her that she has broken herself, that she can never be who she used to be. Or maybe, she was broken from the start. Or it’s just a stupid dream and she thinks too much and should just clean her head.

The mare sighed and got out of bed. She had no food, but perhaps due to hunger, a thought most ponies wouldn’t ever come across entered her mind. She could just graze. Sure, almost nopony did that these days, everypony cooking home and going to fancy restaurants, and especially The Great and Powerful Trixie would never dream of such a thing, but then again, she wasn’t The Great and Powerful Trixie. Not anymore. Or at least, not right now. She was hungry.

She went for a walk and though it felt strangely primal, she did what everypony’s ancestors did with complete naturality: She grazed. The grass wasn’t exactly fresh, winter lurking just around the corner, but probably because how hungry she was, it felt good and familiar. She remembered precious little of her foalhood, could be she grazed sometimes in those days.

Because she was tired, or because she awoke from a dream different than any other, her mind was clear. The occasional thought about the strange dream crossed her mind, but she felt oddly neutral. In way, it felt like when she was in that field full of hydrangea back in her dream. Nothing bothered her, but because there was nothing around to bother her and neither did she bring anything with herself to bother her.

In her walk, around the time the sun started to shine up beyond the very distant Foal Mountain, she came across a single apple tree. She seemed to recall that there was an apple orchard in this town, but since that would have been on the other side of town, she didn’t believe it would belong to anypony in particular. Without much of a thought to it she simply plucked down a nice big apple and bit into it. If it was two days later, she couldn’t do this, as the weather ponies would have already begun planting the snow clouds, and no doubt the last fruits would have been collected up. This almost made it feel like the Apple tree was there just for her, which made the apple just that little bit tastier.

Wanding on, she across the lake by which she stopped when she first came back to Ponyville and on a unusual little thought she took a final bite from the apple and threw away the core, walking into the lake instead for a swim. It was perhaps the most natural of things yet it almost seemed unclean with the fancy pools and tubs of the day, yet it felt so much better.

After a few minutes when she was done paddling on the edge of the water, she crawled out and quickly dried and cleaned herself with a simple spell before laying down against a nearby tree. She couldn’t word why, but it felt very strange to do all this. Take a graze, eat an apple and just to swim in a lake as part of a morning walk would be something one wouldn’t think unnatural, but they also were something she never thought about. Sitting there, in the shade from the low hanging sun, she felt surprisingly... Normal.

She was relaxed and didn’t care about her mistakes or the mistakes of others. She just did what felt good, and she wasn’t sure when she did that last. Just relaxing herself and her senses, she noticed that the scent of the hydrangeas never left her. They were there, coming from nowhere, ever present in her mind, but somehow, they didn’t stand out. They almost felt like an internal part of this feeling she’s having. For a moment, the thought that perhaps the reason she can still smell them, is that she’s still asleep, but if this was a dream, she wasn’t sure if she ever wants to wake up.

But, she wasn’t dreaming. Just a few feet from her as she soon realized was the spot where she stood when she came across that crosseyed gray pegasus and that unicorn filly whose name she both forgotten. She remembered the way she felt when the filly didn’t recognize her. The white rage she felt for being forgotten in the town she then felt responsible for her misfortune. The town which may have been responsible. She was ashamed for the way she ignored them and she curled up a bit under the tree.

Those two probably had it right. No doubt both their lives were so simple and wonderful, frequenting this quiet little place away from the commerce, just enjoying the day for what it is and not caring about anything beyond. That’s probably why they didn’t even know who she is. Infact, why should they? The mare’s earlier thought that everypony should know who she is, even if it is for ill was rather laughable. Why should all ponies in this town care to know who she is? Why would she be important to them? Why would she be special enough for them to care? Perhaps it’s better to be unknown and at peace...

But then, if they have no reason to know her, they should have no reason to hate Trixie. New thoughts clouded her mind as a darker part of her awoke as well with the rising morning sun.

If they had better things to do, if their lives were oh so crowded and lively, why would they bother to make a mockery of Trixie? Why would they waste their time to pick on Trixie alone? Why would they not only allow but create a shockwave of rumors and mockery to launch from this place, plaguing all of Equestria and ensuring Trixie’s denial and unhappiness? Why couldn’t they just damn well leave her alone to do what she used to enjoy?

These filthy ponies didn’t just mock Trixie out of necessity. They didn’t mock her because she asked for it. They must have found some perverted pleasure in taking out their own frustration on Trixie.

Trixie’s gaze laid on the lake’s surface wishing to boil it and burn this whole cruel place along with it, but the mare would never do that. “No...” she whispered to herself soothingly. A very old voice spoke out to her from when she was a foal. “It’s alright...” The kind mare called her by her real name, but it felt like it wasn’t truly her own. Not anymore. And Miss Cotton Heart as wonderful she always was, couldn’t have possibly understood the feelings she had now. Or at least, the mare didn’t think Miss Cotton Heart could.

The mare’s thoughts wandered off to the broken wand in her drawers back in the wagon, but she knew that thinking about such things wouldn’t lead to anything. It’s not like she could make anything right. Her eyes were starting to feel hot, and she realized that she still had to go to work that day and there was a large heap of tin and copper she had to sort out in the workshop.

She stood up, walked over to the lake one more time to wash her eyes with a bit of clean, cooling water, started walking into town and took a deep breath of the air which - though she knew didn’t really smell of the flower - carried the aroma of what was now her personal plant of tranquility.

“Winter’s coming tomorrow!” read the headline of the new issue of The Ponyville Post. “It’s Written Script here again today to remind you that tomorrow’s the last day of Fall! It’s been a wonderful year with many good memories, but it’s time to say goodbye to green and brown and welcome the clear white winter wonderland! By tomorrow evening, the always vigilant Cloudsdale Weather Team will be here to deliver our first snow of the year’s end, so be sure to take one last stroll down to the flower park and have a good swim at the spa’s outdoor pool today! Of course, I don’t need to warn anypony to bring down their warm winter clothes from the attic as well. (I’m looking at you Dinky!) Speaking of foals, as you may know, I’ll be taking a two week leave from the column to go to Canterlot with my family (I’ll even play a minor role in the pageant, should some of you not have read yesterday’s article.) In my absence, the team will insert some extra articles from the fillies and colts of Ponyville who as you know also work hard on their own paper ‘The Foal Free Press’! I hope you’ll enjoy their stories and will have a wonderful time these coming day! Good bye!”

The article didn’t particularly thrill the mare as she sat there finishing up the breakfast Oakleaf left her, but it kept her occupied. She wasn’t quite sure where the stallion was, since she was a little late and the store label still said closed. She had a feeling that the stallion may have went to look for her, but she was only a couple minutes late and the doors were left open so that seemed a bit unlikely, and she never did check the quarter of the house which served as Oakleaf’s home, so that was probably where he was. Instead of intruding, she decided she’ll just go ahead and get to the workplace to start her cleaning up of the parts and pieces from yesterday’s accident.

While on her way, she heard a strange, thumping noise from one of the ground floor rooms which she believed to be his bedroom. A few seconds later, the door opened and Oakleaf stepped out, on his back a small little pegasus figurine with proudly stretched, though a bit oversized wings.

‘Ah! Good morning!’ he welcomed the mare in a merry tone and went straight on into the shop area.

The mare wanted to apologize for being late, but decided not to. She went on down the hallway to the workshop. As she opened the door, she was expecting the tipped over shelf and the heap of parts. Instead, she found the workshop completely organized and the shelf fixed.

Any other day, she would have just acknowledged this and moved on to complete her quota, but today was somehow different. She wasn’t sure why she felt so new and yet old, perhaps it was the dream, perhaps it was the grass or the apple, but today was different.

‘Mr. Oakleaf?’ she said as she walked back to the shop part of the house. The shopkeeper was just coming back from turning the window sign.

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to thank you for sorting out the mess I made in the workshop.’ she continued. ‘You didn’t need to fix my mistake.’

The stallion paused for a moment before answering. His face went through a quick change of unsure emotions from surprised to something similar to glad, but not exactly on the spot.

‘Ah, it wasn’t anything.’ he smiled. ‘I... I’m sensing you’re in a different mood today than usual.’

The mare paused for a moment as well before answering, slightly hurt because she knew how grim, resentful and bottled up she sometimes was, and she also acknowledged the slightly doubted fact that things are different. ‘I do.’ she said simply. At this point, she noticed the little - now finished - pegasus toy she created yesterday. It was looking down at her from the suspended rails on a section of the wall. It was the only toy “alive” at the moment.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.’ Oakleaf nodded. ‘And if I may say so, I think I should thank you too. Yesterday, I finished your figurine up, and though it took a while, it was quite fun.’ he whistled, to which the stallion took its eyes off the mare and leapt off the suspended rails, this time gliding through the air gracefully thanks to its large strong wings and not into the nearest shelf. It landed on Oakleaf’s raised hoof, then turned back to her. ‘This "colt" here is a very special thing.’ Hearing this, the little pegasus lifted his head high proudly and snapped his hooves next to each other as the guardsmen do. ‘His blatant enthusiastic pride actually reminds me of someone I knew. Hence the name.’ As the teal stallion said that, there was a strange, searching look in his eye, but perhaps the mare just imagine that. Still, thinking back to her dream... It still felt odd that she dreamt about the toy. And there was that teal light.

She wasn’t sure for a moment if she should speak her mind, but she decided to do it.

‘I actually had a dream last night with this toy. He- well, I called him Silver and he was a real pegasus. And... There was this teal light. Like you.’

Oakleaf’s face went through the same morph of surprised then glad again, but then quickly moved to thoughtful.

'I'm not sure where the name came from, but I think I know what the rest of the dream is.’ he said, then after a pause continued. ‘I already said you obviously have a talent for this kind of magic, but what many don’t know, is that magic can be a very personal thing. I think whatever you did yesterday, you poured a part of yourself into this little guy and hence the dream came.’

‘Is that dangerous?’ the mare asked quickly. She knew very little of magic, but taking a piece of herself and putting it into something didn’t sound like a good thing.

‘Oh no, no, no, no!’ Oakleaf laughed. ‘Not at all! Is an artist hurt while putting herself on paper or a canvas, or into a piece of rock? Nor is a scientist who bends her own mind to understand a difficult problem. Magic is someplace between the two. What you did wasn’t dangerous, and honestly, not even all that special in the grand world of magic, but it was definitely something wonderful.’

‘Thank you.’ Somehow, this little situation, as awkward and rigid it felt to her made her smile. Maybe it was for someone actually complimenting something she did, maybe it was her doing something actually compliment worthy, but she was happy for it.

There was a piece in her mind which just rolled its eyes at her making small talk with this old stallion and for getting glad over some stupid toy she made, but for the moment at least, that piece was shoved in the back of her head. It would of course get louder later. The mare knew herself all too much. There was an unsilenceable part of her which would never accept that she is now nothing more than a helping hand in a small unknown toyshop, as opposed to the supposed greatness she sometimes feels she’s capable of, but right now, she felt good about herself. And she hanged onto that feeling with all four hooves as she went on to make the items of the day.

Eventually, it came to her that she never asked Oakleaf about the teal light in her dream, but as she thought about it, it was his spell after all. If the spell really was the reason she dreamt what she did, then her following the teal stallion’s lead in the unclear world of magic, would make a lot of sense. That must have been the reason. What other explanation could be there?

Hearth's Warming Eve

‘Come on now Ditzy, I promise, it’ll be fun!’ said the gray pegasus mare’s brother, as they were sitting on a bench under the first snow clouds of the year with two weeks worth of baggages for a family, waiting for the train which would take her brother - Written Script - to Canterlot for the Hearth’s Warming Eve pageant. Scrip - as almost everybody called the unicorn - was trying to convince her younger sister to attend the aforementioned event, but she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea.

In all honesty, Derpy would have loved to go, but only to see her brother perform on stage in the show, however small the role was. The crowd of the city, all the busy and important ponies walking around, the sheer class of Canterlot frightened her. She wasn’t afraid to admit it to herself that she was just too small and clumsy and overall less to go to a place like that. Maybe she’d make a mess of things, or get her brother into trouble or something. And even if not, she was still just Derpy. She wasn’t meant to be with big town folk. She wasn’t afraid to any of this to herself, but her brother? If she’d tell him she feels like this, he’d think that it’s his fault somehow. That she’s not good enough because of him. He always was so nice, trying to tell her that she’s fine, that there’s nothing wrong with her, but Derpy knew there was something wrong. No, her brother was too nice and caring for her to push that sort of feeling onto.

‘I really shouldn’t skip out on work.’ Derpy tried.

‘Ah, but I told you Ditzy! I talked with Mr. Zippy and he said he won’t mind you taking a bit of time off!’

‘But-’

‘He also said that he’s glad that you’re finally taking a bit of time off! You’re working too much! He said you’re the only one on the team who didn’t take a single day off in the past two years Dinky! It’s time for you to relax a little.’ Scrip smiled at his sister and hugged her with one hoof.

‘I am relaxed.’ Derpy huffed under her breath, though it wasn’t exactly true. ‘Mr. Zippy might say he’s okay with me going away bu-but... It’s the holiday season! We’re going to have a lot of packages. I can’t let them do all the work.’

‘Hmph.’ Scrip chuckled lightly. ‘You know, this is what mom always meant when she told you that “It’s always the best of us who never are quite good enough.”’ after that, they both went quiet for a little while.

Derpy remembered when her mom used to say that after she got home sad and hanging her head from school if she caused her team to lose a game or another. Her mom would always smile down on her, hold her close and tell her that it’s nothing to feel bad about. That the game isn’t about being the best, but about trying to be. Her dad was always a bit more ‘to the point’, harsh and misspoken though he meant well. He’d say that it’s not her fault that she can’t focus on the ball or the target or whatever she needed to focus on. “Your eyes just aren’t made for that.’ he’d say, to which her mom would always give him a scornful look and say that there is nothing wrong with her eyes, that they’re beautiful the way they are, even if they’re different. Even then - though Derpy was grateful for them - those words didn’t serve much to convince her, possibly because right at the moment she was told her eyes were fine, they were usually pointing in two different directions.

Her mom didn’t lie of course, according to the doctors, the problem really wasn’t with her eyes - she never did lose sight in either of them after all. Instead, they said that her eyes just seem to be different, like they were meant to be the eyes of a pigeon or another big beaked bird which can move its eyes separately; only, she can’t control them properly. But those were basically the same things, and all that made the difference was that this way, she was called bird names. Even her cutie mark seemed like the universe just took a pity on her. One day, in school, she was just sitting around alone during recess, watching the other foals play wondering about what each of them will be like in the future and what they were like now, and how she could be more like them. The next thing she knew, somepony pointed at her and called out to everypony else that “Polly just got her cutie mark!” - “Polly” being one of her many nicknames before most her classmates settled on “Derpy” and it stuck. They’d all gather around, some making jokes about how her special talent is just sitting around, but nopony really knew what those bubbles meant. To this day, she wasn’t sure why she got her mark, but she knew it couldn’t have been anything special if she got it while sitting around. Of course, her mom never would stop trying to feel better about it and her other shortcomings, trying to make her feel like she was perfect the way she was, neither would her dad, though he wasn’t as good at it.

Derpy still remembered when seven years ago her mom passed away from sickness. Before dying, she’d still just go on and on about how Derpy shouldn’t think so little of herself, that she’s more wonderful than she could believe. She knew though. She knew that her mom - as insistent and as kind and caring she was -... Her mom was wrong. Crying for hours in the bathroom after her passing, she realized that though maybe her mom was right in saying that being clumsy- or her eyes being different isn’t her fault, but it was Derpy’s fault that her mom felt so bad for her, that her mom paid more mind to making her think she’s good the way she is, than anything else, even fighting her sickness. Derpy knew her mom would have died then even if she wasn’t worried about her, but maybe she would have died happier if Derpy wasn’t so sad all the time, if she didn’t come home after every time she was made fun of with a frown on her face. Maybe her mom would have been off better if she doesn’t have to worry about her. And it wasn’t just her mom, her teacher, her dad, the few foals who were something close to a friend to her, none of them deserved to have to feel bad for her because she’s the way she is. From that day on, she stopped crying and she stopped frowning. When she was with others, she’d always smile at them and make sure they think she’s happy. She laughed along with everypony who made fun of her, though every such laugh felt like slapping herself in the face. If she did something wrong, she’d excuse herself, maybe put on a little clumsy smile and let everypony think she doesn’t mind being made fun of for it. After a while, it became part of her nature. It was after this that she tipped over a box of supplies in school. She’d just say “whoops” and give an apologetic smile to the teacher while the class laughed. Somepony would bump up after her little “whoops” and shout “derp”. Before long after that, she finally had her name, and was stuck with it ever since.

There was really just one pony she didn’t fake for, and that was Written Script. Even now, as her eyes started draining tears from the memories, he wiped her eyes carefully with his hooves and held her close. She would have liked to fake to him too, but she learned long ago that her brother sees through her like if she was made of glass. Part of her wished he didn’t, she wished she didn’t have to make him feel like he was somehow responsible for making her feel better, but he did see through her. Another part of her was more than glad though. She was desperate for- but unable of being open and her brother was there to bridge that with supporting hoof, always. He never complained about her being the way she was, he never tried to make her change, he was just always there for her when she needed him. Well, almost always. Deep down, Derpy always believed he did it because he felt that he had to after their mother passing, since though their dad never did grow particularly cold after she died, he did grow very quiet, and Scrip probably thought that somepony needs to look out for his sister and as much as she regretted making his brother live like their mom did, it did make her feel better.

Sitting there, with her head on his brother’s shoulder, she could feel as he looked up at the large, melancholily ticking deep voiced clock which was hung on the nearby train station building.

‘It’s half past eight.’ he noted, petting his sister’s head with his own. ‘Goldy will be here with Amy and Sparky any minute now. The train too will be coming in around ten minutes. Do you think there’s at all a way for me to convince you to come?’ he asked. ‘You know that I already bought the ticket, and Goldy wouldn’t mind to share anything you could need.’

‘I’d like to... But...’

‘Ditzy, if you really want to stay here in Ponyville alone for the next two weeks, then I’ll stand by your decision, but I’d be really happy if you’d come. I could show you a lot of nice places we found with Goldy on our honeymoon.’

Derpy was torn on the whole thing and she knew that her brother didn’t even mention the fact that Dinky - or “Sparky” as the proud father called her since her first attempts at magic - probably would want her there. Derpy appreciated that he wouldn’t try to guilt trip her into coming, but that didn’t stop her from doing it to herself.

Sure enough, after another short bit of silence, the sound of hoof clopping hit their ears and looking up, Derpy recognized the silhouettes of a sleepy Golden Harvest - Scrip’s wife - and their two kids’ - Dinky, who was laying on her mother’s back, tired from a long day, and Amethyst Star their first daughter who was only five years younger than Derpy herself.

Practically as a reflex, Derpy wiped her face of tears and put on a smile.

‘Hello Scrip.’ the tired mother greeted her husband.

‘Hello darling.’ that replied.

‘Hey dad.’ came from Amy.

‘Hmmph phhh.’ came from inside Golden Harvest’s mane, presumably where Dinky’s head was supposed to be.

‘Hey Dinky!’ Derpy greeted the filly in a merry tune, genuinely happy to see her favourite niece.

‘Derpy!’ the filly shouted, her head flying out of her mother’s mane instantly. She tried to get off the back of her mom, but was obviously tired and slipped, right into one of the first piles of snow this season.

‘Careful dear.’ Golden Harvest yawned and with the help of Derpy who quickly galloped to them, put the sleepy filly back on her back. ‘So,’ she started and turned to Derpy with a tired but happy smile. ‘Will you be?’

Derpy took a look at the snoozing filly on the mare’s back and the nodded. She couldn’t bare the thought of two weeks without seeing her.

‘Great.’ Amethyst noted a bit crankily. She never liked Derpy very much. Amy also didn’t hate the pegasus, but she had a strong sense of disliking towards the clumsy mare. Derpy didn’t blame her for it though. As already stated, Amethyst was only five years younger than Derpy, and with Scrip constantly looking out for his little sister, Amy always lived sort of like she actually was a little sister to Derpy. When Amy was six, and her grandmother died, Scrip spent even more time with her aunt and less time with her, and when that changed again, Dinky was born and most of Scrip’s attention refocused once more on the new filly in the family. Amy never did blame Dinky for the lack of attention she had later, though some things were handed down to the small filly, including Amy’s old foal’s room which she traded for what used to be the guest room, and even her nickname, since she used to have the nickname “Sparkler” at home, until Dinky started experimenting with magic. Even knowing this, Derpy didn’t believe Amy held any of it against her, or at least: She hoped she didn’t. But still, the air between the two of them was rather sour.

‘Yes.’ Golden Harvest emphasised, giving her older daughter a slightly stern look. ‘It is great that your aunt is coming with us. Did you tell her about the place we reserved our rooms at?’ she continued turning to her husband.

‘Hm? Oh yes! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you Ditzy!’ Scrip suddenly lit up at the thought. ‘I think you’ll like it there, it’s a very old little rustic tavern. They say it was there even before Nightmare Moon, but I wouldn’t put much belief in that though. I was just talking with Miss Sparkle about the play since she’s also in it - ahem,’ he paused. ‘In a slightly bigger role than me - and she recommended this place. It’s called “The Feed Bag” back in a corner of Old Canterlot. None of the usual high brow Canterlot sublimity, if you can even believe that. A couple of letters later and we’ve got three rooms checked in for the next two weeks.’

‘Do we at least get two beds with Dinky?’ asked Amy, not because she didn’t like her sister - she did - but rather because like many at her age, she liked her privacy more.

‘Yes, but actually, we thought you could get your own room, if your aunt doesn’t mind staying with your little sister that is.’

‘I’d love to!’ Derpy said happily, and even Dinky added some noises of enthusiasm, her head once more gone in the orange jungle which was her mother’s mane.

‘It’s settled then!’ sealed it Scrip.

In a few more minutes, the train pulled into the station and soon the family was on it’s way to Canterlot. Though Derpy still didn’t feel too comfortable about going to Canterlot, she was happy that she’ll get to spend the next two weeks with Dinky, who was now sleeping between her mom and her aunt on the long, wall side bench of the train carriage. Looking up from the filly, Derpy exchanged a smile with Golden Harvest then laid her head down to rest during the scenic one hour train ride up to the mountain city.

The glowing wonder of Canterlot was bewildering and intimidating at the same time. Even at the late hour they arrived and with barely any snow, the walls of the townhouses were gleaming with white light from all the magical lamps littering the streets in a fancy and orderly way. The streets weren’t as frightening to get through, though that was probably accountable to most ponies being home at this hour and not out in the streets. In anycase, Derpy didn’t pay all that much attention to the city’s sights, she mostly just concentrated on trying to figure out the general layout of the part of town they were in. Scrip reassured them all that “The Feed Bag” is in walking distance of the train station. “Just down Loco Motion Avenue, across Caelum Square at the very end of Caelum Avenue, then through the gate of Old Canterlot’s wall and down left.”

Evidently, Scrip didn’t remember quite how big Canterlot was, since it took the tired family ten minutes just to make it to Caelum Square. Derpy was fine, she wasn’t particularly tired, but Golden Harvest and Dinky who was peacefully unaware of anything around her while quietly dreaming on her mother’s back. To help in, Derpy took it on herself to carry most of the packages on her back - which was rather easy with her wings keeping everything in place - Amethyst and Written Script levitated the rest.

As they passed through Caelum Square, Derpy could hear some beautiful melodies coming from a very large, very antique looking and very brightly lit building with large glass windows, which illuminated the entire plaza before it

‘That edifice is the Café du Soleil’ noted Scrip.

‘I remember when you took me here on the last day of our honeymoon.’ Golden Harvest noted dreamingly.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Scrip said excitedly. ‘I think that’s Clover Cover!’

Derpy followed his brother’s eye through the window to one of the tables right next to the large glass surface with a beige mare and a pale thistle stallion who seemed lost in each other. The stallion was saying something slowly, but it seemed it’s almost irrelevant to both of them as they wore a gentle smile and were looking into each other’s eyes. Derpy looked back away, feeling like she was intruding in their personal space despite the many feet of distance and the glass between her and them.

‘Do you really want to say hello to your friends dad?’ asked Amethyst Star, lowering the baggage she was carrying to the ground; her voice ringing with tiredness and slight frustration.

‘Hm? Oh no of course not!’ Scrip replied as he realized he was keeping them up. ‘Right this way!’ he continued, leading them off towards the large wall towering over the houses a few blocks down. ‘Miss Clover isn’t really my friend though. I wish!’ he chuckled. ‘She’s writing for the Equestrian! Also has a bunch of successful books out! Well, as successful you can get these days.’

Derpy wasn’t much for reading herself, though not because she didn’t like stories or even the presentation. It was simply difficult for her to read books with her eyes wandering off in different directions unless she concentrated. Post was simple, one or two lines of important information, where the package has to go. Simple. But books needed her to continually focus her uncooperative eyes on the same words for pages upon pages, and she just couldn’t do that while also enjoying the read. Her parents and later her brother sometimes gave her vinyl recordings of various ponies reading up books, but though she always thanked them, listening to those records just reminded her of her inability to read on her own. This of course mean that she rarely understood what anypony was talking about when they were discussing books, but since she didn’t really try to join any conversation unless she was asked to, this didn’t mean much of a problem. She may have been sort of illiterate this way, but she didn’t mind it too much. It was just another thing she had to live with, and she accepted that.

Finally arriving at the old tavern, they all were surprised, for different reasons. Amy and Golden Harvest from the looks of them were surprised because they probably didn’t expect Scrip’s description of the place as “rustic” to be correct right down to the slightly creaking wooden floor, the old, hoofcarved, sturdy tables, chairs and counter, as well as that unplaceable, somewhat relaxing smell that very old houses like this are practically filled with. Scrip himself was surprised by the tavern’s older, brown owner - who from the looks of it was chatting with three royal guards who just got off their shift and were eating dinner at a corner table. He was surprised because even before he could note that they’re there for the rooms, the brown stallion greeted him in a raspy but cheerful voice: “Ah! Mr. Script! Good to see you!” as if he knew him a long time and then even patted Derpy’s brother on the back, a... uniquely personal touch in a town like Canterlot. The just recently awoken Dinky was surprised both for having been dragged out of her dreams and because as she tried to state in her tired state of mind, she found the small tavern amazing.

The reason Derpy was surprised however, was somewhat similar: She was surprised that she actually liked this place very much. She thought her brother would just say that it was a nice place to comfort her, and he probably did only say it because of that, but there really was something about it.

There was a small entrance area with an old looking record player and a couple dozen records laying next to it, free for anypony to use as they feel like and a tall plant composed of virtually nothing but larger and larger leaves hanging down from higher and higher from a spine which was entirely covered up by them. After that small entrance, the tavern opened up to a room which would have been large for a home, but was just a bit on the small side for a tavern. It was riddled with tables in the middle and two rows of built-in benches with their own tables by the side walls. The tables seemed heavy and pale lines in the wood suggested they were sometimes moved around, especially to the benches at the walls, Derpy imagined that perhaps they had dances in the room on these occasions, though she couldn’t be sure. The bar table itself was cozily placed just to the right of the stairs by the left wall and ran to the right wall with the open balcony of the second floor above the bar. In the bar area, there were a couple sets of shelves with various bottles, but just as many old photographs, and even a bag which Derpy presumed to be the name giver of “The Feed Bag.” By the right wall of the tavern and just before the bar, there stood a wooden bust of a old looking stallion with a not-at-all wooden helmet on it that fit it like a glove, or, well in this case: helmet. Around the left wall, there were small windows with old fashioned wooden blinds on the outside, but also newer cloth ones hanging on the inside and across them, on the windowless right wall there were some portraits, pictures and even a large, ship’s wheel. The pegasus suspected that the latter was meant to belong belonged to an airship as opposed to the seafaring kind, given Canterlot’s position.

Derpy still didn’t feel quite comfortable being in Canterlot, or even this tavern, but there was just something very homey about the place that gave a it nice ‘smaller than life’ atmosphere.

The three bedrooms upstairs that they rented were more or less the same, and as Derpy could quickly see, it was rather obvious that this wasn’t a hotel with a surplus of various room types. There was only a total of four rooms in the tavern for rent to begin with, and all three of their rented rooms had two beds on opposing sides of the rooms, except for Scrip and Golden Harvest’s room where the owner seemed to already have pushed the two beds together. Aside from the beds each room came with a large drawer, a desk with a mirror attached to it, an old style room divider, two lamps on two end tables, a couple decorative objects and that was about it. The bathroom was on the end of the corridor and though the whole picture would have seemed a bit too simplistic for most ponies’ tastes, it still just added to the homely feeling of the place, and the rest of the tavern made up for the lack of other furniture.

Since it was already late, the five ponies didn’t bother much with pleasantries and just went to rest. Derpy helped her sister-in-law put Dinky to bed then after a “good night” bid farewell to Golden Harvest and rested down as well. Laying in bed, ready to sleep it somehow weighted on her heavier that she’s in Canterlot than it did before. Still, looking at her sleeping niece smile in her sleep, Derpy had to admit: Perhaps these two weeks will be good.

The next couple of days before the show, the family mostly just wandered around the city, looking up some of the more well known beauties of Canterlot. It became very clear that most of Canterlot’s citizens and even visitors had spent their time on the bright and shining Caelum Avenue which ran from the main city gates all the way to the doorstep of the Café du Soleil where it became the Caelum Square plaza. The avenue was riddled with countless fancy cafés. restaurants and even more so with theaters that all seemed to be playing their seemingly endless supply of musicals. The only other place that could be said to be remotely as busy as the Avenue, was the Royal Quarter which was now completely open to everypony due to the coming of the Hearth’s Warming Eve performance which - as tradition - would be held in the Royal Opera.

Though his part was small in the play, Scrip was expected to show up for an hour or two during each day before the performance for rehearsals of the scenes and costume fitting. He didn’t seem to mind that, after all, it’s not every year that somepony would win the lottery and get the chance to perform - even if just such a minor role - in the greatest production of the eve.

While he was gone, Derpy and Golden Harvest would usually take care of the fillies and wander around by themselves. Derpy didn’t much like the idea of going into crowded places, so she wasn’t very enthusiastic about the possibility that Golden Harvest would like to visit one of the big cafés or theaters. Luckily however, the earth mare didn’t plan on that, instead she mostly brought up places she and Scrip visited years ago when they were here. These places mostly included smaller art galleries and garden like parks, all of which seemed almost abandoned, most of the city being busy watching musicals and spending time in the popular plazas. Derpy didn’t much have a taste for either, but Dinky seemed to enjoy herself, and that was enough for the pegasus.

Nevertheless, Derpy was a bit out of her place in the city, and especially with Golden Harvest around. She liked her sister-in-law, but often felt unnecessary with her around. Because of this, often if Golden Harvest would go on to talk about some sights to her daughters, Derpy would just stay a bit back, not to disturb the family. In these moments, she usually had a bit of time to think.

Being in a large, fancy city like Canterlot was daunting to her, but it was still nothing compared to Manehatten where she and her brother grew up. The fancy two level apartment buildings and downtown villas of Canterlot had nothing on the highrise wonder that was Manehatten, though they had their similarities. Seeing the capital like this, it was clear that when they started building her hometown, the main idea was to remake Canterlot, except bigger and better; and though the latter’s success may have been up for question, it was definitely bigger. Caelum Avenue in particular was scary for her because it reminded her of its Manehatten recreation: Bard’s Way, the never sleeping, never resting, ever beating heart of the city with its countless entertainment venues and bright, spectacular lights, constantly announcing the newest shows for the floods of ponies filling the streets everyday.

Since she never liked being in crowds, she almost never visited that part of Manehatten, and in fact grew distant from the idea of watching the kind of theater shows Bard’s Way was famous for. Thinking about it, the only show she could remember attending was when her school organized a talent show. She didn’t perform, but she watched it. Most of the ponies performing didn’t have their cutie marks yet, and it showed, though others did very well and she recalled a foal or two in the dozens who actually got their cutie mark during the show, but she didn’t really remember much about it all. The only performance she could recall, was one she remembered because of the story being told. The filly performing used a story Derpy’s mom would always tell her, an old foals’ story about a unicorn witch who lifted a dangerous curse from a griffon prince. Most of the performance was blank in her memory, but she still remembered the lightshow that came with it, and the way the small unicorn filly performing used crude, but yet pretty light images she conjured to play the parts of the other characters - herself being the witch in the tale. The show ended in a large ovation from the crowd since it was probably the best performance of the evening, and Derpy wasn’t sure if that wasn’t in fact when the filly got her cutie mark. The pegasus wondered what could have become of that filly, probably she was off in some fancy town like Las Enif in San Palomino. It would be near impossible to find out now, she didn’t even remember what the filly looked like and probably a lot of unicorns had similar shows. The only thing she really remembered was that the filly’s stage name was “The Luminous Lulamoon”. Besides, she didn’t want to go to any crowded showhouse just for a few pretty lights.

Glancing at the various paintings in one of the galleries, Derpy saw many new pictures of big city streets, some of which depicted them with everypony smiling and merry. Derpy wished she could be one of those faces, only to realize that she was, even if only as a mask. What if she’s not alone like this? If others too just pretend like they’re happy, so to not disturb others? When this thought first crossed her mind, she instinctively turned to look at Dinky, who was laying on a bench in one of the small parks of Canterlot, staring at that puzzle egg she got from the new toymaker in Ponyville a few weeks ago, her horn glowing lightly. “No.” Derpy declared in herself, if it is up to her at all, Dinky’s going to grow up happy.

‘What did you see today?’ asked Scrip when the family reunited back at The Feed Bag on the afternoon of their third day in the city. They sat around one of the corner tables having a snack.

Dinky and Amethyst Star started to recount the historic statue garden they visited, Balcon Parc - which sat on the cliff side of Canterlot Mountain -, while their mother got a cup of tea from Umber Mug, the tavern’s owner. Golden Harvest was a fan of history and her throat was sore after the amount of it that she unleashed on her foals these past days.

‘A statue garden eh?’ Scrip replied in a mysterious tone. ‘Could this mean that you saw... Discord?’

‘Not the statue garden.’ noted Golden Harvest between sips of her tea, giving her husband a scornful look for implying that she’d show Discord to their foals after everything that’s happened just a few months ago.

‘Oh, I don’t think anypony’s going to see Discord for a long time.’ chipped in Umber Mug. ‘I hope I’m not intruding.’ he added a few moments later. The tavern was empty at the moment aside from them. Derpy noticed the past two days that it usually fills up at the same time each day, and it was early for that.

‘Um, not at all.’ Scrip said after a quick glance around their table. ‘What happened with Discord?’

‘Ah, well.’ Umber Mug started and sat down in an empty spot next to the table. They never really talked with the tavernkeep before, nor thought they would to begin with, but he seemed to take this sort of thing naturally, especially since he was always chatting with the other, returning guests. ‘It wasn’t much advertised, but after what happened, Discord was taken away to someplace deep under the palace. Me and one of the servants there are something along the lines of “old friends”. She’s a bit paranoid, and kept saying that when she and the staff were asked by the Princess to take “the new statue” down to a room they didn’t even know existed before, Celestia didn’t even seem stirred up, like she was almost expecting things to go the way they did.’ Dinky looked at the old stallion enthralled, but Amethyst Star and Golden Harvest were giving him doubtful looks and Scrip followed with an intrigued smile. ‘Personally, I think she’s just imagining things. And it was rather smart of the Princess to finally lock that thing away.’

‘I think she should have done it a long time ago.’ Golden Harvest nodded. ‘In fact, if she would have expected that Discord could get loose, she must’ve already done it.’

‘Yes, I told my friend that she was just a bit shaken up at the time, but she wouldn’t stop with it. She’d even tell that the whole time Celestia was instructed them, the Princess wouldn’t take her eyes off of a letter. “What could possibly be more important that Discord?” she’d ask. “It had this strange seal in the shape of the number eight! But it was swirling.” Poor mare was always like that, seeing things that weren’t there.’

‘So nopony can ever see Discord again?’ asked Dinky.

‘Well, not in the fle- Uh, stone? Not directly, I guess.’ Umber Mug replied. ‘But I’m sure there are a lot of copies of him in the work after all of this, and some of those big, beautiful mosaic windows of the palace show him. And actually, come to think of it, my cousin too had a slightly smaller scale clay copy of him in her historical clay museum right here in Canterlot. Though she made that herself, it wasn’t an actual... You know, um... Exhibit.’

‘But, if there are other statues of him, can’t he come back?’ asked Dinky.

‘Hahaha. No, that’s-’ started Umber Mug grinning at the thought but then his face went serious for a moment. ‘That’s not how it works. Is it? It is Discord, but even he- Ah no, can’t be. The Princess would already have collected those statues up if Discord could come back just like that.’

‘Still, just in case, where could we go to visit this museum of your cousin’s, so that we may possibly witness the awesome return of the king of chaos?’ Scrip asked in a playful tone, sneaking a glance at his wife who at first gave him another scornful, look but followed it with a lighter smile.

‘Yes, it could be nice to see something like that.’

‘I’m afraid it’s no longer here.’ Umber Mug noted in an apathetic tone. ‘Times have changed and most ponies around here don’t care that much about history anymore. Though, if you ever feel like traveling, she moved to Dodge City and sat the museum up there. Should be easy if you’re there, probably only museum of its kind there.’

‘Mmm. Sorry to hear that.’ Golden Harvest noted.

‘I guess that means...’ started Scrip, but stopped and just took a look around the tavern.

‘Oh, no.’ the tavern keeper shook his head. ‘This old place never was too popular. Except with the right kind of ponies. And as long as they’re here, so will the tavern. And when they’re gone... Well, there won’t be anything here either worth feeling bad about. The tavern is where its guests are.’ Umber Mug clopped on the old wooden floor, his eyes in another world entirely. ‘Ah, but the guards’ shift is almost over. If you excuse me, I have some meals to prepare!’

Scrip counted down the bits for their snacks and they headed out the door. They made down around the corner before their silence was broken, even Dinky was walking quietly in her thoughts, since her mother gave her back the strange little egg she’s been puzzling with whenever a ‘boring’ topic came around.

‘He was very friendly.’ Golden Harvest said, making the world “friendly” sound a tad uncomfortable.

‘Yes.’ Scrip nodded. ‘But for somepony from Canterlot, he was very interesting.’

‘A bit too much maybe.’ added Amethyst Star.

Derpy saw why the others would see the tavernkeep odd, but she didn’t feel that way. He was out of his place and out of his age here in Canterlot, but he didn’t make much of it and just did what he thought he should. She had to admire that.

‘I thought he was really nice.’ Derpy said. The others discounting Dinky looked at her a bit surprised, since she didn’t even take anypart in the conversation, and Scrip especially knew that she had a tendency of being uncomfortable with strangers. Instead of saying anything about it though, Scrip just agreed.

‘Yes, he was very nice.’ he said. ‘It’s probably just all this official and strict Canterlot air that makes him seem strange. Which reminds me!’ he trotted a few feets ahead of them then turned around and kept walking down the road backwards before them. ‘Something he said reminded me of something! Amy, Dinky! Did they ever told you in school what most of these illustrious buildings are built of? It’s pretty amazing, but nothing more and nothing less than clay! Well, enchanted clay, but still! Finest city in all of Equestria and every house is made of nothing finer than flowerpots, down to the very Palace!!’

Derpy’s mind dozed off a bit as her brother kept on talking about a very old poem about the construction of Canterlot. She herself wasn’t much into all that trivia, nor was good at remembering it, so instead she just proceeded to admire the architecture and street gardening while following their lead, as usual.

‘Are you excited?’ Golden Harvest asked of her daughters in the filled entrance hall of the Royal Opera. The first few days of their visit to Canterlot were over and the four of them discounting Scrip were waiting to get in. Derpy got a peek into the room where the grand stage was set up when one of the ponies working went through the gate, as she saw it to be nothing more than a large hall, she was wondering what the point of an entrance hall was to begin with, since said entrance hall was barely different, only having a bit of extra decor and an arrow pointing at a third hall across an arcway which read “checkroom”. The pegasus had a feeling that said third hall wasn’t the actual checkroom, since piling clothes in a big empty room would be just silly, instead probably there was just some desk nearby from where clerks took clothes to a fourth room and catalogued them. As she experienced, there was an awful lot of rooms in most of Canterlot’s buildings, and most of them didn’t serve to do more than provide a place for ponies to stand around in and wait for things that were their own business. In complete honesty, this sort of thing would have, or at least should have relaxed Derpy, after all, ponies just waiting and wondering on their business didn’t leave much of a chance for her to disturb anypony unless she walked up to them and talked, but she never planned on such things. Still, even though this should have made her feel more comfortable, even in all its fanciness - or perhaps because of it - the whole things had a rigid coldness to it.

Perhaps it was just too long since they’ve lived in Manehatten, but she got used to the way things worked in Ponyville. There, everypony did everything together, if somepony walked into a shop they were practically invited to join the current conversation that was more likely than not going on at the moment between everypony inside - at least in the more densely frequented shops. She’d stay out of these conversations if she could of course, but compared to the way things were here, that sort of spirit almost felt attractive to her. Here, it seemed like everypony existed in a bubble containing him or herself and perhaps a hoofful of others, and these bubbles stood apart from eachother making no note of the others, like they were actually alone in the hall and everypony else was just lively furniture.

‘Ditzy?’ came from Golden Harvest, taking the gray pegasus out of her thoughts. Derpy turned back towards her family.

‘Yes?’

‘If you don’t mind, me and the girls would like to send our good luck to Scrip, but I think they’re going to let us in any minute so I don’t want us to lose a good spot. Could you go backstage and just give him our best wishes?’

‘Um... I’m not sure that they’d let me back there.’ Derpy protested awkwardly.

‘That’s okay, if they don’t want to let you in, then we’ll just be here.’ After this, Golden Harvest and her daughters returned to whatever conversation they were having while Derpy was thinking earlier. All of a sudden, Derpy had a gripping feeling that she wasn’t sure she was part of their “bubble”, but she did her best to shoo the feeling away.

The pegasus really didn’t want to be the one pony in the crowd to walk up to the door on the other side of the hall that read “staff only” and just get sent away, but she wanted to say no to them even less, so she awkwardly made her way to the door. At the door a gray unicorn stallion stood in golden armour with some light blue velvet, as was customary. His eyes, the way looked and the sheer determination in every bit of his being was just as perfectly aligned with the traditions of the royal guard as his attire. As she approached, the guard gave her a quick, evaluating glance then proceeded to slowly scan the room, watching over the many guests riddling the hall, his expression not wavering for a moment, as if it his face was carved of stone.

Standing there a few steps from him, Derpy felt intimidated, though it didn’t manage to take her always present - if forced - smile away. She was always uneasy around ponies who beamed professionalism like this stallion, they reminded her of every good quality she didn’t have.

‘Excuse me.’ she started. ‘My brother is going to perform and I’d like to ta-’

‘I can’t allow any non-staff and non-performers beyond this point without supervision, ma’am.’ the guard said quickly and clearly, his eyes alone returning to Derpy for but a moment while saying this, then continuing their ongoing scan of the hall.

She wasn’t surprised that the stallion didn’t let him in, she was almost even glad that she didn’t have to go backstage where everypony was busy, but perhaps she gave up too easy. The others would be disappointed if she just gave up after a no, wouldn’t they? She hesitated for a bit to go back, wondering on what she could do.

Very soon, she heard the grand gate of the performance hall open and somepony announce that everypony can enter, but before she could return, a silver pushcart-table rolled out of the crowd with a light tan coated, black maned earth stallion behind it. The cart itself was packed with food and bottles of drinks. Derpy got out of the cart’s way while the stallion simply remarked to the unicorn guard “Catering.” to which that stood aside and opened the door. The tan coated pony pushed the cart through the door, however paused then and looked back at Derpy who was still standing two steps distance from the door, alone as such, since everypony else stayed far from the door, the caterer and the guard.

‘You want to get backstage?’ he asked.

‘Uh, my brother’s going to perform.’ she replied. ‘But-’

‘That’s pretty common.’ he nodded then turned to the guard and said: ‘I’ll take her.’

The guard didn’t say anything to accept the brief proposition, but neither did he oppose it. The caterer went on to push his cart further and the guard kept the door open. It didn’t seem like either of them was about to ask if she still wanted to go backstage, or that they’d even assume that she never did, but she felt like it wasn’t her place to argue so just hurried after the caterer, her wings clenched to her sides in awkwardness. She felt like the middle pony in a rigid protocol.

The caterer didn’t say a word just pushed his cart with hasty steps down the featureless, wooden corridor which first leaned downwards, then went on straight and upwards once more without any stairs. Factoring in the slight curves, Derpy’s spatial senses told her they went under the performance hall and back up again. There wasn’t all that much on this corridor, but a couple of large rolled up canvases that almost seemed discarded just laying to the sides, unorganized and chaotic in the underbelly of the elegant and proud royal opera. A side corridor they passed by seemed to have a lot more of them as well as other props in a larger room at its end, but Derpy didn’t take time to examine it all.

Reaching the end of their corridor once back on ground level, the caterer just pushed in a door with his cart, revealing the backstage, decorated for Hearth’s Warming Eve and filled with busy ponies, boxes of props and costumes as well as fancy dressers and mirrors. Derpy instantly recognized the six star guests of the evening in the middle of the room, but they weren’t who she was looking for. Her eyes quickly ran across the room looking for Scrip, but he was faster.

‘Ditzy!’ he greeted her merrily from the side of a room where he stood among other ponies dressed for the performance. Derpy almost didn’t recognize his brother which his mane dyed dark and dirty, as well as wearing an old burgundy shroud. he hurried to her, dodging a few stagehooves who were hurrying around with the aforementioned boxes of props and costumes and getting ready for act one. ‘I didn’t expect to see you back here.’ he said and gave her little sister a hug with one hoof.

‘The others wanted to wish you good luck.’ Derpy said.

‘Thank you for bringing that.’ Scrip smiled. ‘I’d lie if I said I don’t have a bit of stage fright right now.’ Scrip then gestured back to the group of ponies he just came from. ‘Those are the other “winners” of the performance lottery by the way. Wonderful folks! If we only had a bit more time, I’d love to show you the production but...’ Scrip paused and looked at Derpy with his piercing, brotherly eyes, right through her smile and at the part of her who’d just like to get out of the way of everypony who were all busy with the production.

Written Script looked a bit saddened about this, but smiled at Derpy.

‘I guess we’ll just talk after the show.’ he said, letting her off. ‘You do know where Goldy and the fillies are, right?’ The realization that she infact did not, hit her too quick to react, instead she just froze for a moment. ‘No worries, just take a glance out from the stage, you should see them. Give them my best!’ he said and after one last hug trotted back to the group of actors.

The pegasus didn’t really see any other way to quickly find Dinky and the others than what his brother proposed, and just wandering about in the crowd of the performance hall seemed like an even worse alternative, so since she was there anyway, she walked over to the curtained stage, carefully getting out of the way of everypony on the way.

Pushing the curtain aside slightly, she started looking for her family and in a few moments the waving image of Dinky caught her eye from the back of one of the rows. Almost as a reflex, she held out a hoof and waved back sending a big smile to her favourite niece before feeling somepony tap on her back. Looking back with the stupid smile still plastered on her face, she saw that it was the caterer and he didn’t look too happy about her abusing her situation to wave off the stage.

Derpy didn’t argue just hung her head, bit her lips and walked off the stage, followed by the disgruntled stallion. No doubt everypony in the audience now thought she was an idiot.

‘We saw you at the curtain, could you talk with him?’ asked Golden Harvest once Derpy got to them in the back of the performance hall.

‘Mhm.’ Derpy nodded simply, standing in next to her sister-in-law, Dinky and Amethyst. She still felt stupid about what happened, though a part of her knew it wasn’t that big a deal. She made the decision that she’ll just keep quiet for the rest of the night.

The show was still a few minutes away and the hall echoed with the voice of over a hundred ponies talking about things that together just formed a thick undecipherable chatter filling the room. No pony was particularly loud, but the way the room was built, anypony could hear a whisper from the other side, it had to be that way, so that the performers do not need to shout all the time. Derpy knew this because Golden Harvest was just explaining it all to Dinky, about the only conversation she could make heads or tails of; at least until a familiar, old voice hit her ears.

‘No, as much as I regret it, I didn’t get a chance to catch a single play since we last met.’ came from behind Derpy. A few moments later, three ponies walked past on her right in the empty middle row of the hall, only to find a place two lines ahead of Derpy’s family.

The one speaking, Derpy quickly recognized as the new toymaker of Ponyville, he had an old style looking hat floating next to him and the pegasus was rather surprised to see the unicorn here. The other two - a beige mare and a thistle stallion - didn’t seem as familiar to her. Derpy didn’t mean to pry, but with the acoustics and curiosity dwindling in the back of her head, she could hardly not focus on the conversation.

‘I do hope you won’t take this as the slightest hint of my displeasure by the way, as I’m glad to see you again,’ Oakleaf continued. ‘but I’m developing the uncanny feeling that I’m being intentionally bumped into by anypony who ever held a pen.’

‘How’s that?’ asked the other stallion.

‘For one, we just ran into eachother right now, and there’s also this young novelist in Ponyville. Keeps looking me up with questions about my life, that sort of thing. Colt Smith, if you heard of him.’

‘Ah, him.’ the mare nodded.

‘Nice fellow, but can be slightly unnerving, as if he’s trying to get to something specific.’ noted Oakleaf. Derpy could tell by his tone alone that he was smiling while saying that.

‘What about your shop by the way?’ the unknown stallion asked. ‘It still seems unlikely for somepony of your background would open a shop. Is it a success?’

‘Well, I won’t be going out of business as things are at the moment. For me, that’s success enough. I also managed to employ a very talented young mare as an assistant, but if I remember your words correctly Miss Clover - and I should note that I do have a very good memory - then you wouldn’t like her.’

“Miss Clover?” ran through Derpy’s mind and all of a sudden it hit her: The stallion and the mare were the ones she saw in that café, the evening they arrived in Canterlot, the ones Scrip pointed out. The mare must’ve been Clover Cover, though she still had no idea who the stallion was.

‘What do you mean?’ Clover asked confused.

‘“A loudmouthed unicorn who made a stage act of making a fool out of volunteers”?’ quoted Oakleaf.

‘Who...? Oh you can’t possibly mean that street magician!’ Clover asked almost shocked.

‘Who are we talking about again?’

‘Trixie,’ explained Clover. ‘that horrible mare I mentioned who caused an Ursa to go to Ponyville, whom Twilight Sparkle had to fend off!’

‘Now, “horrible” may be a bit over doing it.’ Oakleaf said, but there was not scorn in his voice. ‘Two colts brought the Ursa and only because they thought she could handle it and wanted a show. Not all the rumors are correct, just ask Miss Sparkle herself. Besides, if those colts were so convinced, that just means she’s that good, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s still Trixie.’ noted Clover, her voice still ringing from disbelief.

‘I wouldn’t be all that sure about that.’ noted Oakleaf mysteriously. ‘But in any case, she is everything I wanted, though she does need her space. She’s been through a lot since what has happened.’

‘So she’s a charity case?’

‘Sweets,’ interrupted the unknown stallion. ‘let’s not put more words on the topic than you have to, okay?’

‘Also,’ Oakleaf added. ’I believe the play’s about to start.’

As if on cue, a light turned on, shining on the middle of the stage and light music filled the room as the chatter in the performance hall died down and the curtains opened for the first scene.

The play came and the play went, much like every other day in Canterlot. At its end, everypony joined together to sing, but only for a little while. Once the song was over, and everypony started to leave, the same small groups of ponies detached themselves from the whole and continued to ignore the rest, despite singing about unity just moments ago. It was like this with big cities, but Derpy could never decide what this could really mean, only that it felt wrong to her. Again though, she should be the last to judge.

Strangely, the only feeling the play got out of her was a sense of homesickness. She missed that common spirit of Ponyville and especially that of the post office. Mr Zippy’s out of place comments he always laughed after and made the others laugh too, the back and fort friendly arguments of the Stamp twins. She usually couldn’t wait to get away from all that, since it meant getting to spend time with Dinky, but being in Canterlot, where there seemed to be an imaginary toll gate between every two ponies made her miss that, even if she didn’t take part of it much. Especially since Dinky here was already busy with her mother.

Scrip, as always picked up on her little sister’s thoughts and since he had much more time without the rehearsals, tried to talk to her. As usual, she didn’t feel much like sharing, but she appreciated it and it felt good as her big brother sat next to her on one of their last, quiet evenings in a cliffside park that yet again it seemed the ponies of the city ignored.

For a moment, she wondered whether or not they would have wanted to do other things if she wasn’t there, visit some of the fancy cafés or theaters aside from the pageant, which all were so unnerving to her. She even started to feel guilty for possibly stopping them from doing that by her mere presence, but it seemed like they all enjoyed themselves in Canterlot, so she just closed her eyes and hoped it isn’t so.

As their train back home finally started to lose speed as it approached Ponyville, an uncommon lightness filled her from the thought of returning home. As the breaks shrieked and the carriages came to a halt by the platform, she noticed something, or rather somepony who seemed more to her than odd at the moment: Post Haste.

She helped get their baggages off the train car, but then walked over to Post Haste who was waiting at the last car for a massive bag of letters and a couple packages to be put on a postal trolley. The only thing wrong with the picture was that Post Haste never made these deliveries. He was a nice enough colt, but nowhere as strong as to handle the train deliveries, let alone the Sunday load and it was a Sunday.

‘Uh, hey.’ Derpy greeted him.

‘Hey Ditzy!’ greeted that back, looking away from the mail which was being levitated into place by the train’s post mare. He seemed awfully cheery considering his task at the moment, then again, Derpy usually saw him like that. ‘I thought I remembered you coming back today. How was Canterlot?’ he asked quickly.

‘Nice.’ Derpy answered, her right eye following the floating mail as it lowered onto the trolley, making it bend down in the middle. ‘Where’s...?’ she started, trying to find out why Post was here, but he interrupted.

‘Oh, he looked a little green today so I- we told him to take the day off.’ he explained swiftly, glancing back at the packed trolley, his eyes widening for a moment. ‘So, didn’t you enjoy your vacation?’

‘It was... alright.’ Derpy said glancing back at her family, then looked at the skinny mail pony again with the massive delivery next to him. It would have been cruel to let him try and handle it all. ‘Do you need any help with that?’

‘With the mail? Oh no, it’s your holiday’ he said. ‘Besides, I can hand-’ Here, he pulled on the trolley, but it just wouldn’t move. ‘Takes a bit to start moving, I guess.’ he said, walking around the cart and trying to push. The trolley moved ahead three feet, then stopped. Usually it would have been Jumbo Delivery, a large unicorn who handled this, but Post already said he was sick.

Derpy couldn’t just let Post do all of this work by himself and he always helped her with her paperwork. The mare stepped next to the panting colt and gave the trolley a push, helping it do to the edge of the platform. Post Haste’s face turned a bit red and just said “Thank you.”.

Derpy waved over to Scrip and the others and he smiled and nodded back, leading off the family towards the town, while the pegasus helped push along the heavy cart with her Post. Maybe being in Ponyville meant more manual labour for her than a vacation in Canterlot, but here, she still felt more comfortable.

Affection

‘Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too! Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you! Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling, "Yoo hoo"! Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!’ echoed with two voices and a sweet melody through the rooms of the quaint little house on the edge of Ponyville, belonging to the lately less than prolific science fiction writer of the town.

“Love. Love is a peculiar thing.” said many of the greatest thinkers throughout many centuries of many cultures without even knowing of each other most of the time. Usually after saying that, they entered a thoughtful silence which they never left again, or at least not on the same topic.

Love really is peculiar though, isn’t it? After all, what is there to say of it? Nothing! Sure, some may go on long about how love makes them feel, but it’s rather a pretentious effort, attempting to use mortal words to describe something so utterly, undoubtedly, undeniably immortal as love. May as well count as blasphemy to try and explain it.

‘Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, let's go! Let's look at the show! We're riding in a wonderland of snow. Giddy yap, giddy yap, giddy yap, it's grand, just holding your’ The song went on, but one of the voices paused, distracted; only continuing a word later: ‘We're riding along with a song of a wintry fairy land.’

Then again, it has to be acknowledged: If trying to describe love is blasphemy, it is of the necessary sort. After all, what can be more important than that? It is the fuel behind every single thing that grants happiness. “I love this dish.” “I love this picture.” “I love my friends.” “I love you.” - - The list goes on.

Without love, there is no friendship, there is no enjoyment, there is no eagerness. Without that, there is no art, no science. Nothing really, just a monotonous cycle of the automated machine called Nature. But of course, nature itself created love for its own mysterious reasons, so it’s not even nature that we’re left with once we’re without love.

‘Our cheeks are nice and rosy, and comfy cozy are we. We're snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be. Let's take that road before us and sing a chorus or two! Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!’ A whistling noise joined in with the music, causing the voice which stopped previously to falter for a moment.

Of course, without love, there’s also no misery. Why take issue with the loss or lack of anything one does not love and enjoy? Why make an effort to survive if attacked? Or why attack anyone or anything if it won’t bring any good? Without love, not even the small consolation of stress or hunger relief can exist. Why bother multiplying as a single celled organism with but a faint breath of life, if there is no reward?

“Animals can’t feel love.” Some entitled philosophers would say, with their poems and proses of ‘love’, perhaps afraid how much smaller and less significant they would be in the grand opera of life, if every living thing would be accepted as a soul of its own. Them clinging onto their “special” emotions and feelings, like an extra in a stage play who tries to convince the director that he infact should play the part of an entire mob, not wanting to disappear in a crowd on stage upon opening night.

‘There's a birthday party at the home of Farmer Gray. It'll be the perfect ending of a perfect day. We'll be singing the songs we love to sing without a single stop, at the fireplace while we watch the chestnuts - pop; Pop! Pop! Pop!’

It’s a stupid thing though, worrying about philosophers who dare not accept love as more than their own precious crown jewel, representing their standing above the masses of “lesser beings”, especially like in a place like this. Equestria, a country founded on love and harmony and working together for the benefit of all. Colt Smith for one, knew better than most that Equestria’s foundations are fragile, but it never crumbled. Not anymore. And even if it did, even if the foundation was unstable, it was a foundation worth laying out.

It would have been a good feeling, a proud feeling to be born of this land - if not by blood, in spirit - for anyone, anypony, anything at all. A feeling with great love. But, it still is just an ambiguous idea that Equestria stands for and it hardly represents it without fail either. It’s less easy to fall in love with a country, than it is to fall in love with something a little more...

For a few seconds, only a single voice and a whistle followed the melody of the music, the other voice - Colt Smith’s voice - being lost in a thoughtful silence, before recovering. ‘-around the coffee and the pumpkin pie. It'll nearly be like a picture print by Currier and Ives! These wonderful things are the things we remember all through our lives!’ he finished the verse, but couldn’t shake the distaste gathering in his mind, so stepped over to the record player and stopped it, also halting the whistling noise.

“Not to say you’re anything like the greats, but you’re getting pretty good at singing. May as well try into that if you won’t drag anymore on The Doctor.” said a voice, but Colt Smith just ignored it and moved on to awkwardly comb his hair. It was a big day. It wasn’t a big day to Colt Smith in particular, but it was a big day for a number of other ponies across Equestria. Truthfully, Colt Smith had far enough of “big days” a long time ago, but when everypony is “graciously invited” to the Town Hall, it would only be rude not to attend.

It’s been a few weeks since winter was wrapped-up, the song he played just now too, was mostly just out of sentiment. He actually had an odd sort of regret for not actually riding a sleigh through the winter, but he didn’t really even think of it until the song itself and it was a strange thing for a grown stallion to regret something so generic. Still, he never once in his life rode a sleigh. There’s been so many things that he wished he would do and even been meaning to do, yet an invisible clock hanged ever over his head and as it ticked on, instead of urging him to do as he pleases, it urged him to be patient. It wasn’t a feeling he could easily share with anypony, it wasn’t even a feeling he himself could completely understand, but it was important.

Colt Smith sat down on his comfortable couch in his study, gazing up at the old, wooden timepiece counting at ten-forty in the morning. The town meeting would be in another hour and twenty minutes and then today’s book club meeting in another hour. Of course, Twilight will see Applejack off and the train to Canterlot leaves at forty five past, so no doubt she’d be a bit late. Sometimes, Smith had to admit to himself that it felt like he’s just too prepared for everything, something he wished to avoid since he settled down, but he just couldn’t. It was part of his nature, exactly as it wasn’t the nature of The Doctor. Just sometimes, he wished he’d be caught completely off guard by something, but he knew for a fact that things were fine just the way they were, even and especially when it seemed like they weren’t. That was the order of things in Equestria, even if nopony else had the means to realize that. That was the reason for the Elements of Harmony and that was the reason for Princess T-. For Tia. Besides, the one time he was really surprised, was when “Oakleaf” showed up, and that lead to Trixie’s re-appearance. If that’s not a sign that surprises are bad omens, Smith didn’t know what is. Even the minor act of anarchy which he exhibited when singing up with the town’s new book club all those months ago felt to him as if he’s just taunting the invisible powers that be to topple over everything that was- and will have been meant to be. Even as a writer of time travel tales he could never be bothered to figure out those more complicated tenses.

A sharp whistle from his kitchen signalled that the water for his tea was ready and just in time before his mind would head down another uncomfortable and uncontrollable path that he’d rather avoid. After a quick cup and a piece of bread with zap apple jam, his mind was once again under his control, reluctant to venture off into places he hoped it didn’t.

Nevertheless, his mind still raced around quite a lot as he began his curvy stroll across Ponyville, aiming towards the Town Hall. It’s been a long winter, with many happenings, but yet he barely remembered anything of it. Anything, aside from the long, yet too short sessions of the Book Club. He barely spoke during the meetings, unless asked by somepony in attendance. Honestly, he was afraid he may let loose a not too well thought through comment on the books in discussion, or perhaps dismiss a good lot of them just as they were: Glorified pulp fiction. He didn’t wish to insult anypony there. While this careful attitude made the meetings uncomfortable and it would have been an exaggeration to say he enjoyed his time there - in the conventional understanding of the word in any case - he never regretted attending.

He found a strange sort of engagement, just watching everypony else as they talk about their favourite books and stories, trying to sum up their emotions in words and as their faces light up on the mention of certain topics. Anyone of course could make the claim that he’s naturally attuned to watch for this and be interested in it, he is a writer after all; yet there was more to it than just that. There was a strange envy he felt for everypony in there.

“Books and stories are for those without a life to be concerned with.” he remembered someone saying from such a long time ago, it was an entirely different life to him. Still, in a strange way, it rang true these days, but in the opposite as its original meaning. If love is everything good in life, then being able to enjoy books, become one with their characters - however unoriginal - and take heart in the adventure, the romance, or even the tragedy, does all that not amount to a richer life? Perhaps a life not the reader’s own, but what would that matter? These members of the club were blessed, whether or not they realized. They had lives with space or control enough, to allow them to partake in lives shared with others. As strange or inappropriate it may sound, in a way they were partaking enmass in a love affair made possible through their stories and by Twilight Sparkle.

The closest in fact, that he came to truly enjoying himself was not watching the ponies attending, or at least, not in plural. He rarely allowed himself to stare at Miss Sparkle, but there was just something so blissful about the way that she related to the presence of everypony else. She didn’t shine up with every realization that others enjoyed their time there, instead, she just sat there, looking, watching. She was so busy in her mind, obviously thinking on how to make the meeting more interesting every moment, what to bring up, what to mention. She was so dedicated to make others happy, and yet it seemed she didn’t even if her mind failed to actualize it. Still, she knew in a part of herself that she succeeded. Smith could tell. From the sweet, little, unconscious smile hiding on her cheek, the wide-opened, carefully watchful, yet engaged eyes. She was the perfect host but dared not realize it. That was what made her who she was. That was what kept Colt Smith going.

As Smith wondered, a couple of pegasi flew over his head pushing a large bundle of clouds together. They weren’t on the weather team, but it wasn’t a surprise for Colt Smith, today would have went very different if they were. Ponyville’s weather team - along with the weather teams of all other towns near Canterlot - were called away for the past few days by Celestia, for a suddenly surfaced event she needed weather control for. Most of the team Smith had seen return last evening, but all of them were exhausted and they took this day off. Naturally, every day when the weather itself is controlled by inexperienced hooves is one step closer to disaster, but Colt Smith was confident that nothing unexpected will happen. If it does or perhaps even happens ‘less’; well, that’s probably bad news.

As if on cue, a deep and powerful thunder broke the tranquil humming of early Ponyville commerce in the streets, followed by a less loud but audible crackling of wood, coming from Town Hall a few blocks down.

The few ponies around him exchanged a couple of concerned looks and words, some heading down towards Town Hall at various paces ranging from walk to gallop. Colt Smith simply continued down his pre-planned path, taking no other note of it than a small, internal nod.

‘Now careful, Derpy!’ came from the scornful and newly singed pegasus hovering by the Town Hall building. Rainbow Dash didn’t seem all that pleased with the grey mailmare who stood atop a dark storm cloud and had unwittingly released a bolt of lightning at her. It wasn’t Miss Doo’s fault of course, but that didn’t mean that her earlier mistake of accidentally releasing the same cloud’s fury upon the Town Hall - effectively causing a quarter of the structure to collapse - was any less of a disaster.

‘I just don’t know what went wrong.’ the gray pony replied in a sweet voice, jumping on the faulty cloud, trying to get it to comply with her. Colt Smith, standing below in the growing town meeting crowd cringed a little, then two arching rods of light leapt out of the disobedient cloud and at its clumsy herder, Leaving Miss Doo even more disoriented.

‘Yeah, it’s a mystery.’ Despite the obvious need for experience hooves, Rainbow look like she was about to run to the other’s rescue any time soon. Perhaps touching a cloud on her day off would have been a form of giving up to her, instead just finishing up on the Rodeo banner she was helping to hang up on the partially destroyed Town Hall.

Giving up on the misbehaving cloud, Miss Doo tried to take herself out of her uncomfortable situation by flying down to the other pegasus and complimenting her work. Smith got an itch on the back of his neck, then the still in-flight mailmare crashed into a structural pylon backwards. In the next few moments, the pylon started an unpreferable journey downwards and Rainbow Dash attempted to do right by her reputation by catching it, before crashing through the ground along with it.

A few gasped around Colt Smith, but he just kept examining the scene. Naturally, a few moments later the more colourful of the two pegasi flew out of the hole unleashing a desperate, verging on enraged command at the gray pegasus to do nothing. A moment later, there were two holes in the porch of the Town Hall. Colt Smith just allowed himself an acknowledging smirk at the ridiculous series of events and moved on to joining in on the “Applejack! Applejack” chant that started in the crowd once it was obvious that the pegasi are alright and someone spotted the mare of the day approach.

The Mayor of course gave one of her famous, pre-written speeches to celebrate the send off of the orange pony to Canterlot where she’ll be taking part in the Rodeo and from where she - as the Mayor emphasized - she promised to bring back enough winnings to save the Town Hall. A very early promise of course, but given that the Hall needed a restoration since Smith moved here, and now it did even more: understandable.

Colt Smith couldn’t care less about the Mayor’s speech, and the Rodeo didn’t have him all that excited or in the “team spirit” either. He had a feeling that he already sat through this whole overall pointless ceremony, and the fact that the Mayor had a way with saying everything in a way as if she’s just constantly repeating last week’s speech, didn’t help. Then again, Colt Smith wasn’t here for the speech, or to see Applejack off. Not even to give her his best wishes, since he knew how much good that could possibly do to her chances of winning the Rodeo. Not a whole lot.

The reason why he actually was here didn’t really accomplish a whole lot either, but for him it was important. This was a big day, and what’s more, in a week’s time Rodeo winnings here or there, they’ll have to start renovating this old building. There’s no reason that with all the small shrapnels and rubble left from the accident he couldn’t take a small souvenir as memorabilia.

He waited for the crowd to dissipate, scouting the area of the two holes in the Town Hall’s porch for the right piece of wood and when everypony was gone, he trotted up there and picked up a charming little sharpnel.

“Perfect time to remember that I didn’t bring a satchel.” he thought to himself as he held it in his mouth. It would be an intriguing conversation to have with a doctor, about how he got splinters in his tongue. One of those odd little uplifting smiles snuk onto his face imagining the scenario and contemplating how ridiculous he really is just scavenging the Town Hall right now, but before he could turn around and head home with his little trophy, a voice entered his ear.

It was a very quiet noise, a very pathetic noise. It came from below him and from below the heart of whomever made it, from a sunken little painful place Colt Smith wished he didn’t recognize. For a moment he had no idea who it could be, but for only a moment.

He never saw her fly out of there did he? Miss Doo fell into one of the holes a second time while performing an odd cheer earlier, but she never flew out.

He really shouldn’t intrude. It’s not his place. Though, it’s strange. He didn’t expect her to sound like that. Somehow the mare and the weak or muffled sobbing just did not combine well in his mind.

He definitely should just go.

But he heard it again, ever so faintly, ever so short, like an old, distant light house’s flash through very thick fog.

She could be hurt, maybe she can’t fly out.

Colt Smith just closed his eyes, sighed and then, with every smallest piece of himself hating the fact that he’s just about to do exactly what The Doctor would, spat out the wooden shrapnel into a small pile of similar pieces and turned back towards the holes.

‘Hello? Is anypony down there?’ he called out, peeking downwards. What a ridiculous notion really. He knew perfectly well that somepony was down there, was almost sure who it is too. What on Earth could drive everyone to always try and use this tired old icebreaker?

No response came at first, though Smith was sure he heard something move, as well as a quick, faint breath. The second time around when he called down however, the gray pegasus stepped out from behind a support beam, smiling at him.

‘Oh, hi Mr. Smith.’ she said in a light but slightly broken tone. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to continue but then just closed it, one of her ears flickering anxiously.

There was something very off setting about the way the mare acted, the seemingly merry yet distraught behaviour she was putting off, following the sobbing noises that he had no doubt belonged to her now nonetheless. Whatever her reason could’ve been to act like this, Smith felt like the best thing to do is just to play along.

‘Ah, Miss Doo! I wasn’t aware anypony was still about. Are you quite alright down there?’

‘Uh, I’m very well.’ she replied hesitantly, though the smile never left her face. Smith noticed that he ear’s still fluttering and she was picking at the ground. Even as she spoke to him, her eyes were set somewhere near but not quite on Smith - well, her eye which was looking towards him anyway, like she didn’t want to look at him.

‘I see. It is just that I saw you fall down backwards and...’ Smith couldn’t help but feel like this whole conversation was completely ridiculous. He wasn’t much of a fun of all this beating around the bush, and if there was a problem, it wasn’t going to do anything to help it. ‘Look, Miss Doo. I’m sorry but I’ve heard you sob.’ The mare’s good eye snapped onto him and just barely visible, but she pulled her neck back when he said it. ‘I know it’s probably not my place to ask, but may I help? Are you hurt?’

‘No!’ she said quickly, the smile flickering. ‘I was just- I-’ she started but her voice broke and a sob came through. ‘I’ll be fine. Thank you, goodbye.’ With that, she turned around and walked back behind the beam, out of Smith’s sight.

This was entirely unlike the mare Smith knew, or rather who he believed her to be. At this point it was no matter how harshly he felt that he should just let her be as she seems to want it, he had to get to her. Maybe he could help, or maybe he couldn’t. It wasn’t really that which made him want to her. He wasn’t the best one to help anypony really, never did have any luck with that. He was of course curious too, he had to know what could drive the sweet mailmare to act like that, but it wasn’t curiosity either that drove him. It was that familiar and hated stench of necessity. He was supposed to try and help the mare despite her objection. It just was “the way”. The Doctor’s way. The way of the self proclaimed hero who seeks a calm conscience for himself. Sadly, it was also the one way he knew which was justifiable.

Looking down, he saw that the large wooden beam which broke through the porch’s floor boards stood rather solidly and at an almost comfortable angle he could easily slide down on.

After a few quick, agile moves he was below the absurdly high built porch, which felt strangely dusty for a more-or-less sealed off place like this, not to mention the wooden floor; could have been an old decommissioned cellar once.

‘Y-You came down?’ sounded from around the beam where the mare disappeared a few seconds ago.

‘I know, I just couldn’t help but think you needed some help.’

‘I-I’m fine.’ Miss Doo stuttered, then looked out from behind the beam, her expression growing grimmer instantly. ‘Ah, but-! Now you’re trapped down here too. Because of me.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’ Smith shook his head, stepping closer to the mare carefully. He didn’t try to smile at the mare, he had a feeling that she wasn’t going to feel any better from that. Instead, he tried to seem as idly certain as he could. ‘I may not look the part, but I’ve had my experience with being stuck in places and that beam’s more than enough to get out for me. However, if I may, I sense that it wouldn’t be as easy for you.’

The mare shunned her wings back, as if attempting to hide them, though of course that was rather impossible.

‘Well, I couldn’t climb out, but I-I could just fly, so I’m fine.’

‘Could you?’ Smith asked pressing down the point.

The mare just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to reply. Her face was stuck in a concerned expression. In the dark, it would have been hard to see her eyes precisely, but even though the damp air of the old cellar, his calm breaths brought in the faint smell of tears.

‘I-I hurt my wing... Just a little! It’s really fine.’ she admitted finally, lowering her wings to their standard position by her sides. ‘It’ll be alright in a while. It should be.’

‘I know I’m not a- doctor of any sort, but could I take a look at that wing?’

The mare fell in a bit of silence once more, then instead of replying, she just sat down, turned her head at the floor and slowly stretched her right wing out.

Smith walked over to the surrendered pegasus and took a careful look at the damaged wing. There was a small but prominent bump next to where it joined her torso and seemed to pulsate slowly. Smith could only imagine how painful it could be and was both impressed as how the mare could keep the pain at bay, and sorry for her. It took a special kind of life to be able to do this. How could have the sweet mailmare had such? She didn’t seem wanting to share.

‘Well, I’ve seen worse, but I wouldn’t hold my breath until it heals itself.’ he said, respectfully not noting or questioning how she can ignore the obviously painful injury. ‘It would be for the best if you’d go to the clinic immediately.’

‘But I can’t.’ she noted quietly, not lifting her head, just pulling the wing back.

‘I know.’ Smith replied in a similar tone, allowing for a bit of silence to come.

He sat down by the mare, looking forward as opposed to at her, but his eyes scouted what was visible of her face. A single teardrop fell from her closed eye and left a wet mark on the wood. After this, she made a quick movement with her right wing, which ended midway with a painful hiss even she couldn’t hold back. She returned the wing to its resting place and moved her left instead to wipe her face slower, either because of the newfound pain or because she gave up on passing the motion unnoticed.

‘I don’t think I could carry another pony up that beam, but-’ Smith started and stood up. ‘I could go up and get a pegasus or two, maybe a unicorn to help get you up from here?’

‘No!’ the mare said decisively, then turning calm again. ‘Everypony’s busy, they should be allowed to go on with their day.’

‘What? You don’t want to get out of here?’

‘Not if- No.’

Smith didn’t know what to make of this. ‘So you’re perfectly content just sitting here until judgement day?’

‘What day?’

‘-Sitting here until the end of days?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can’t be serious.’ Smith just shook his head.

‘I am!’ the mare started to sound angry, but she still didn’t look up at him. Whoever or whatever she was mad at, it wasn’t him.

‘Is there somepony you want to get away from? Was it Rainbow Dash, because I’m sure she didn’t me-’

‘I want to get away from me!’ she yelled finally. ‘I don’t deserve anypony’s help. I just wrecked the Town Hall! Applejack will have to give up her prize to fix what I did and Mayor Mare probably won’t want to see me again, possibly along with my family. I’m just a useless,derping, retard.’

This one line had hit Smith like the front line of a stampede. It wasn’t just the sweet and merry mailmare describing herself like that, no. Rather - though he knew the last word - he didn’t recall hearing it a single time since he was in Equestria. He passed over the slight paradox of the word not being used and yet being known and instead as soon as his wits were about him once more, he replied to the tearful mare.

‘That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard!’ he said to the mare. She seemed shaking a bit - as well as such things could be determined in the dimly lit room - but it felt like she would just refuse to openly cry. ‘I won’t pretend to know everything about you, but I know this: You’re not any of that.Granted, perhaps you’re a little clumsy but that has just about as much to do with you, as not being able to hold a pen properly has to do with me.’

The mare wouldn’t reply. A half movement of her right front hoof suggested she planned to just turn around and maybe walk away, but either because there wasn’t where to walk to, or because she felt it rude, she didn’t and just stood there, hanging her head and staring at the dust. Finally she whispered back: ‘I still ruin everything.’

‘Why? Because of the Town Hall? Believe me, this building was meant to break down, if not you then somepony else. The state it was in, a harsher rainfall would have done the job.’

There was no reply for a while once more, Smith just waited paitently as he wasn’t sure what else to do. After a small, wet black spot suddenly appeared in the dust of the floor under the mare’s face, an answer finally came, in a broken tone as if she’d already regret saying it while she does. ‘Name a single pony I do any good for.’

No good answer existed for that Smith didn’t know enough of her to give a decent answer, or what he did, didn’t exactly apply here. It was a stupid question really, half the world could ask the same question and end up with a generously patronizing answer at best. As fancy as it sounded that only a life given to others is a worthy life, the world didn’t exactly work that way, most ponies just trying to have fun and enjoy each other's company. He couldn’t say that though, even if it was a bad question to ask, it was obviously an important one for her.

‘Come, let’s find a way out of here.’ he said finally, looking around.

She was still in silence, but Smith didn’t mind, in his head he was already considering the possibilities. It still seemed most likely that where they are is an abandoned cellar, and he had yet to see a cellar without an entrance, so it was just up to finding it.

Taking several steps towards a rounded, concave wall in the direction of the Town Hall’s heart, a small part of the wall which stood apart from the rest became slightly visible. It wasn’t easy to make out, but as it was a comfortably large rectangle, it seemed obvious that it was a door, except it was missing the knob. He did what seemed obvious: He knocked.

Though no answer came, the mare finally looked up and asked: ‘What are you doing?’

‘I think I found the exit.’ Smith said simply.

‘I thought there were no exits.’

‘Well, technically that’s true. From the sound of it, this is covered from the other side but probably by no more than a couple thin planks and some wallpaper to fit the other side of the wall.’

‘You’re... Not going to break it down, are you?’

‘I’ll pay the repairs.’ noted Smith taking another look at the wall and trying to find a good distance to stand. ‘If there’s anypony on the other side of this door, or wall or whatever: I recommend you move back!’

With that, Colt Smith turned his back on the door, planted his front hooves sturdily on the floor and then bucked against the door with all his might. Something cracked and the door moved two full inches away before the laws of physics had a chance to step in and the door tipped over as light entered the empty cellar.

‘Are you alright?’ the mare asked concerned but Smith just stretched and smiled.

‘Nothing new.’ he said. ‘As strange and inappropriate as that probably sounded.’

Stepping through the newly opened doorway, Smith was in what looked like the document vault of the building, large sliding shelved boxes all around.

‘I may have to pay for wallpaper change too.’ he added after taking a look around. ‘This room is ugly.’ His attempts at lightening the mood going without response, he changed the subject. ‘Come now, you really should see a doctor.’

Miss Doo walked over to the new doorway but stopped before crossing through, with an expression Smith just didn’t know how to put to words.

‘Look,’ he started. ‘I’ve seen you most every morning for the past three years as you delivered the mail. I barely know anything about you but I know that smile you’ve always wore in every morning. Nopony can smile like that without something that is truly worth being happy for. I doubt whatever it is to just go away because you made a mistake, so just think of whatever or whoever it is that one special thing is.’

The mare looked up at him, then wiped her face again with her left wing. She didn’t really say anything, but seemed calmer, and that made Smith glad.

Walking upstairs, they came across a secretary who gave them both a very strange look, she probably heard the door being broken down earlier but didn’t say anything. Smith stayed back for a moment to give her a quick note about the damage and that he’ll be back about that. Wasn’t entirely sure if he did it for the sake of it being the right thing, or to reassure the gray pegasus that everything’s alright.

In direct daylight, he could see that the strained wing was worse than it looked in the dark, and driven by an almost automatic sense offered to guide her to the Ponyville Hospital, claiming that he had nothing better to do anyway. Technically that was a lie, given the bookclub, but that could wait. Considering, it was a stupid lie to make since this was the very mare who delivered him his clearly signed bookclub newsletter every week, but she didn’t make any note of that.

If only he knew why the mare was so different then, part of him had to know. Of course however, he couldn’t and shouldn’t. It was none of his business, but still.

Arriving at the hospital, he bid farewell then after noting to himself that he’s already ten minutes late from the meeting across town, stepped into a faster pace back the way he came. Before he could make it more than a couple of steps away from the gate when some called out.

‘Um, Mister! Uh... Smith?’ came from a rather skinny looking beige stallion in post uniform, a mostly empty bag and a stamp cutie mark to go with it. ‘I’m not sure if that’s the right name, I don’t work in your area usually. My name is uh Post Haste.’ the young looking stallion was oddly nervous.

‘Uh, yes I’m Smith. Colt Smith, is there something I can do for you?’

‘Well, I just saw you with Dinky, I mean my colleague just now and she looked hurt. Thought I’d ask if you knew if it was serious.’

‘Oh! Well, it wasn’t anything too bad I suppose, but I’m sure she’s still in the lobby so you could just ta-’

‘No, no, no.’ the stallion shook his head. ‘She doesn’t really like to be in the center of attention. She’s like that. I was just concerned, that’s all.’

‘I see, I hope I didn’t disturb her then with my presence.’ Smith carried on. Concern for the mare here or there, the stallion still seemed very nervous for something like this, so on slight hunch, he probed a question. ‘Well, I’ll be going but since you mentioned you’re not in my area, I wonder if you may know a friend of mine, Sunny Gleam?’

‘I don’t know anypony by that name sir.’ he replied, but Smith wasn’t surprised. He made the name up just then. ‘I work between Old Park Avenue and Bonnie Street.’

Smith couldn’t help as a coy smile came on his face for a moment. As he suspected, the closest the zone described by the post stallion could be to the hospital, would be about ten rows of houses off. Something else occurred to him about the colt as well, but he just bid him farewell and hurried on towards the library, without wishing him inexplicably an early birthday.

Smith’s day aside from being slightly late from the club for the first time, went according to plan. He’d silently sit and try to enjoy the discussion the others had on surprisingly good book which was chosen for the week. Inój Myslitel's - an old, eastern immigrant - “Foundation”. Smith could have gone on for hours about the fictional science of Psychohistory as showcased in the book, but not having actually read it, trying would have surely ended awkwardly. Besides, it was more engaging to see others think their way around it. Science Fiction being his home ground as well, the others attempted to get a few comments out of him but Smith did his best not to take the center of attention and just admitted the truth: The story belonged to a whole different sphere of science fiction from where his stories resided.

Something was off though and it stopped him from paying even as much attention as before. Equestria wasn’t a perfect place, far from it but it didn’t need to be. Life would probably have been awfully dull in a perfect world, as places to live go, Equestria still was far ahead of almost any other place Colt Smith knew of or saw for himself. To see somepony as merry and joyful on the outside go so bitter and hurt, in almost an instant. It felt like someone broke a light bulb in his head, and his eyes didn’t yet adapt to the dark, leaving him wondering if the shadows shall hide the same, beautifully idyllic world they did before, or if there are demons there, finally creeping out in the dark.

He’d look at Twilight as he always does, relaxed and content for a moment, as he saw her to be the same as always, but among his present thoughts, even this could not introduce peace.

He went home autonomously, independent of conscious decisions. Across the front door, into the kitchen, drink a glass of water, read the rest of today’s paper, into his study, close his eyes. As oh so very often.

While performing his usual return-home-routine, he mumbled a bit ‘Porter - Still of the...4’ and as he finished, he stood in his usual spot in the middle of the room as the music started playing.

‘In the still of the night, as I gaze from my window.’ Smith’s voice resonated in unison with another’s, his eyes closed and mind far away.

Perhaps things like that with Miss Doo should be expected as well as just simply accepted. Life is life, wherever it may be...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Colt Smith’s eye open wide in sudden surprise. He didn’t have visitors in a long time.

‘Stop’ he mumbles again, stopping the music and trotting going to the door quickly. He isn’t sure why he’s is such a hurry either, but his heart seems to beat faster for some reason. ‘Yes?’ he says opening the door, and before him the door reveals Twilight Sparkle.

‘Uh, hi! I’m not interrupting anything?’ Twilight asks almost instantly, looking at the jumpy stallion concerned.

‘Not- Not really.’ he replies, trying to process why on Earth the unicorn would want to come to him today. A few stray thoughts fly through his head, but he hushes them off quickly. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Well, I just saw that- This maybe dumb, but I noticed that you were very upset today and was wondering if it was something about the meeting.’

Smith’s eyes and eyebrow took control over themselves to create some strange expression no one could decipher, while Smith himself was trying to make sense of what the librarian just said.

‘Why would I be upset about the meeting?’ he asked first, but then quickly corrected: ‘I wasn’t upset.’

‘Ah, I’m sorry, it just really seemed that way.’ Twilight noted in an apologetic tone, though it seemed like she didn’t believe it. ‘I guess I just thought because of how you didn’t seem that interested, though I thought you’d love this book.’

‘Foundation? Oh, I do! Fantastic wr-’ Smith started, but quickly stopped.

‘Oh, so you have read it?’ Twilight asked, her eyes lighting up intrigued as she smiled.

‘Um, I-’ Smith wasn’t sure what to reply to this, so he said the first thing that came to his head. ‘Actually, I’ve only read a review of it.’ he paused, feeling guilty as the light dimmed in Twilight’s eyes. ‘A very detailed one.’

‘Okay.’ she nodded. ‘Just thought that if you didn’t like it for some reason, I could ask why, so I know what books to recommend later on. But I suppose if it wasn’t...’ Twilight paused and an awkward silence fell. Smith realized that he should have asked her inside a couple exchanges ago, but felt anxious about the idea, not to mention it late now.

‘WouldAreyouyoulikesuretothat-’ they said, talking over eachother.

‘Excuse me, go ahead.’ Smith said quickly.

‘I just, uh wanted to ask again if everything was really alright.’ Twilight admitted after momentary hesitation.

‘I- Truth is, I saw Miss Doo earlier.’ Smith said, giving up.

‘Dinky?’

‘Yes, she seemed... Very shaken up about the damage she caused. I told her of course that the Town Hall was in bad condition anyway, but it seemed she was blaming herself very harshly.’

‘Well,’ Twilight started in a very neutral tone, obviously unsure if she should be compassionate about this or treat it like ordinary news. ‘I can see why she would.’

‘You didn’t see what she was like, I think this meant more to her than just that.’ Smith replied calmly. He wanted to look into her eyes and try to show her that way, but his eyes snapped away from the unicorn’s eyes. ‘It’s nothing, I was just concerned for her. Um, be kind to her if you see her.’

‘Alright.’ Twilight nodded, giving a somewhat week but earnest supportive smile to him, which felt good somehow. ‘I will. Farewell Mr. Smith.’

‘Good bye, Miss Sparkle.’ he said and as the unicorn turned away, started to close the door.

‘Oh, and one more thing!’ Twilight said turning back.

‘Yes?’

‘Sorry if I intruded, but that was a very nice song and I thought you sang it beautifully.’ As she said that, Colt Smith’s face started to feel awfully hot. He wasn’t one to lose control on his sense, but then again, if it would happen at any time, this would be it. ‘I was wondering, since I was going to introduce a few poems- uh...’ she continued, however probably saw the way he reacted and changed her mind. ‘Nevermind. Good day!’ she said with a final smile and walked off in a faster pace.

Smith took a few seconds before closing the door then blew into the air. As per usual, he put on his calm and controlled posture, walked back to his study and sat the music to continue where he left off.

His shoulders melted as the melody once more washed over him. He closed his eyes and sang along with the aged voice.

‘Do you love me, as I love you? Are you my life to be, my dream come true? Or will this dream of mine fade out of sight, like the moon growing dim; on the rim of the hill; in the chill, still, of the night’ he finished. His neck felt stiff, wanting to bow, but he just took a deep breath and chose another song as the final notes’ echoes faded.