Seven o’clock, Hearth’s Warming Eve. Donut Joe slouched on his chair by the counter, idly reading the newspaper. Nothing else for him to do in the empty shop.
A glance to the window brought a wry smile to his face. For most ponies, the holiday was filled to the brim with happy times. There were parties, mushy feelings, and all that good stuff. Canterlot had buzzed with laughter all day as friends and families came together.
They were laughing still, those ponies. Around brightly lit feasts, with their doors shut tight.
Joe found it funny, the contrast between there and here. The street outside his shop was never so desolate, never so dead, as on Hearth’s Warming Eve. Ponies all had somewhere else to be.
His smile – not large to begin with – slipped as his gaze drew upwards. Across the street stood one of those modern cafes that were springing up around the city. Under a fashionably golden roof, it offered music clubs and caramel espressos. It even boasted Fancy Pants as a regular, drawing the trendy of Canterlot in like flies to overpriced crepes.
Its windows were dark. The whole street was dark, save for a pink glow from Joe’s storefront. A tacky neon sign announced, ‘DONUT JOE’S,’ to the snow-swept pavement.
“Donut Joe’s Pastries.” Joe said the store’s full name, letting the last word descend to a grumble. “Not for long.”
He couldn’t compete. Joe’s store was no less tacky than his sign, with its linoleum floor and mismatched tables. Across from his counter, a karaoke set collected dust on a barren stage. There were no music clubs or caramel espressos at Donut Joe’s. There was just a baker, so desperate for money that he stayed open Hearth’s Warming Eve. He only had enough left to get the store through March.
About the only edge Joe had over the competition was the price. His donuts were a quarter-bit each, which was as cheap as they came in Canterlot.
They were cheap enough to draw in the customers, at least. Even on Hearth’s Warming.
Especially on Hearth’s Warming.
The bell above the door rang, and the first one entered. “Hey, Joe.”
Lightning Dust. The youngest of his regulars, and definitely the easiest on the eyes. She’d probably gotten a lot of praise for her looks, and her athletic frame showed she hadn’t taken them for granted.
Didn’t help her now, though. Joe knew little about pegasus culture, but he guessed a solid ninety-nine percent of their kids wanted to be Wonderbolts when they grew up. Sort of like guard officers for unicorns like him, or hoofball stars for the earth ponies. Lightning Dust was rare in that she didn’t grow out of the ‘Wonderbolt’ phase, and rarer still that she almost made it.
She’d never gotten around to sharing what happened while she was at their academy, but it wasn’t good. Not only did she get kicked out, but she found herself on a very big, very black list. Military and sports teams wouldn’t look twice at her, and even weather work was denied on account of her being ‘too high-risk.’
“Hey, Miss Dust,” Joe said. He set down the newspaper and put a placid smile on his face. “The usual?”
She grinned. “Yep. Lemon-times-four. Any discount today? You know, for Hearth’s Warming?”
“Uh-huh.” Joe nodded. Lightning’s ears perked as he turned. Four lemon-filled donuts, bottom right shelf. They went in a small cardboard box, and he turned back with it tucked in his elbow. “One bit.”
“That’s not a discount!” She scowled at the dry joke, but Joe held firm until she produced the bit. Donut Joe’s was a cash-only place, especially for the likes of her. He figured the entitled featherbrain was just the type to eat and run when her bits finally ran out.
She muttered and fumed, but in the end Lightning Dust was too proud not to pay. The bit was slapped onto the counter with an aggrieved sigh. Satisfied, Joe handed off the donuts.
Rolling her eyes, Lightning stormed to the table furthest from the counter and plopped her rump on a chair. She sulkily began eating, glare fixed to the distance.
A few minutes later, the bell rang again. A pony in a dark brown cloak entered, cowl low over his face.
Neither Joe nor Lightning even looked twice, both used to the charade. A blue aura pulled the cowl back, revealing a long white nose and blonde mane. The pony’s lips were already curled in their habitual sneer as he strode towards the counter.
“Hey Blues,” Joe said with every scrap of enthusiasm he felt. That is to say, none.
Even the cordial greeting got a ‘you’re not my friend, so don’t pretend’ glare out of the white unicorn, and his reply was straight to business. “Dozen donuts, mixed.”
“Coming right up.”
Among the regulars it was an open secret that ‘Blues’ was Prince Blueblood, second only to the alicorns as heir to Equestria. The rank left him as useless as his ancestors – doomed never to rule, yet never schooled to aid those who did.
When the secret leaked some months ago, even the laconic Joe had to ask. “So why do you come here?”
Blueblood’s sneer had flashed to a snarl, and his muscles tensed. “Because unlike in my circles, the ponies here don’t pester me with their stupidity.” He sent Joe a pointed look. “Usually.”
Joe took the hint, and they’d been all business ever since. Blues kept to himself, interacting with others only through angry bluster or sneering insults. Except for one time… triggered by Gilda of all ponies, complaining about her ex-gal pal.
His coffee was slammed to the table, and Blues had demanded she let him tell her a thing or two about pony mares. They’re one part greed and one part greed, and they only care about what they can get out of you.
Today there was no such explosion. Blues took his donuts, paid in a silver bit, and waited for Joe to count out the twenty-seven bits of change. Joe didn’t think it would kill the prince to let him keep the extra for once… but hey, who was he to judge? Cash is cash.
Blues traded a nod with Lightning Dust, but he picked a table in the middle of the room. He came to eat, not talk.
“I’m surprised to see you tonight, Blues,” Lightning offered.
“Oh,” was the terse reply. Blues began tearing into his donuts, and the pegasus followed suit.
It took a scant minute for the bell to ring again, though this time the door slammed over it. Joe winced as the knob met the plaster, but he said nothing. If he did, Gilda would slam it twice as hard on the way out.
The griffon’s cawing, surly voice rang out boisterously. “Ha! Thought I saw your lame cloak slip in here, Blues. Anyone ever tell ya that a disguise doesn’t work if it just makes you look suspicious?”
Blueblood pursed his lips and said nothing, not that she waited for a response. Gilda sauntered towards the counter, waving what was possibly a friendly claw at Joe. “Yo, Donut Pony! You know what I like, so make with the bear claws.”
Joe had already started carefully moving the crumbly treats, lifting them one at a time to a plate. “Evening, Gilda,” he offered with dull-voiced courtesy. “How’s life?”
“Eh, you know.” She shrugged. “Just figuring out what the hay to do with myself tomorrow, what with everything closed for your stupid holiday.”
Joe blinked, looking up from his task. “I thought you would be working. For that catering service, right?”
“Eh,” she said again, this time with a bitter tone. “Got fired today. On Hearth’s Warming Eve, fer crying out loud. ‘Warmth and Friendship,’ my ass.”
“Why?” Joe asked, though he already guessed the answer.
Gilda looked away, huffing. “The old hag in charge couldn’t take a little constructive criticism, that’s all.”
Working with the bear claws, Joe ducked his head lower to hide his eye-roll. That was her third job this month.
Near as he could tell, Gilda didn’t mean poorly to anypony. But she had a tongue that could light dynamite and an attitude to match. She came to Canterlot about six months ago as a train guard, got fired, and decided to stick around. Since then, Gilda had steadily worked her way through about twenty jobs.
Ponies talked in Canterlot. Already, Gilda was complaining that some places were blackballing her. Wouldn’t be long before the well ran dry and she moved on.
Tough breaks. Joe raised the plate and smiled passively. “Bear claws, six bits.”
It was odd that the always-broke griffon went for his more expensive treats. She once mentioned that bear claws were close to a snack she loved from the Griffon Kingdom.
That had led to Joe asking why she came to Equestria, which led to the claw-shaped scar on his shoulder. He didn’t ask since. Joe figured it served him right for being nosy.
As Gilda turned with the goods, Joe noticed Lightning slouch far back in her chair. She looked to the griffon with a half-smile and raised eyebrow, looking as ‘bad’ as she possibly could.
It was obvious as it was juvenile – the young pegasus thought Gilda was ‘cool,’ and wanted the feeling returned.
“Yo!” Lightning Dust stretched the word, patting the seat next to her with a hoof.
“Yo.” The response was disinterested. Gilda sat down at the corner on Joe’s side of the room, nearly as far from Lightning as she could get.
A silent few seconds passed. Sighing under her breath, the pegasus dropped the pose and returned to her last donut. She was nibbling – still hungry, but stalling as long as possible before parting with the next bit. Such was a hefty contrast to Blues and Gilda, who ate with exaggerated chomps and gulps. Joe guessed Blueblood loved the chance to be ‘messy’ with the commoners, though he’d never ask.
As for Gilda, she was a punk. And a griffon, to boot. But she paid well, and those six bits made opening the store worthwhile. Anything else Joe earned tonight would go right to the mad scramble for April’s rent.
April? That was when the business tax came due. He’d set some aside, but there was a new tax hike… hmm…
He could do it. Maybe.
Eyes distant, mind on his shrinking budget, Joe almost missed it when the door opened once more. The bell didn’t even chime. Polar opposite to Gilda, the newcomer pushed it open just far enough to slip through, letting the icy frame brush against her flank.
“Hey,” Trixie said softly. She quailed as the others turned, though none gave her more than a glance.
Joe beckoned her over, smiling warmly. He couldn’t help it, he liked Trixie. She was an interesting character, and he wished to death she’d write out her story. A showmare who lost everything, came back swinging evil magic, got exorcised (or somesuch), and turned over a new leaf. Gone was the petty, vengeful Trixie who ruined herself a second time. This was a new mare, determined to bring nothing but good.
If only the story had a happy ending. Trixie was slowly figuring out that good intentions didn’t put hay on the table. You needed contacts to make it as a showmare, and she had zilch.
But at least she was young, and pretty in a skinny kind of way. A few showgirl agencies had made her offers, though Trixie refused. She’d rather go her own way and starve a little than relegate herself to taking orders. That was part of why Joe liked her: he was sorta the same, going for hard independence over safe employment.
She picked out her donut – glazed with pinecone bits sprinkled on – and Joe retrieved it. “Quarter bit,” he said in his dull business voice. She had his sympathy, but Joe had his own bills to pay.
Trixie produced a tiny purple coin purse from her cloak and carefully counted out the money. Two tenth-bits and five pennybits. It took a little while, but it’s not like anypony was in line.
Joe flicked one of the pennybits back before she could collect the donut. It was a Vanhoover penny, no good anywhere but the northern city. Trixie sighed, mumbled an apology, and fished out a replacement.
“Thanks, Joe,” she said with a wan smile, and turned with her prize. The other visitors were looking away – Blueblood nursing a foam-cup coffee, the other two chewing slowly. Trixie selected her own table without comment, settling down at the same end as Lightning Dust. But she sat in the opposite corner, giving the pegasus her space.
Trixie glanced to the speakers on the stage. “Does anypony want to turn on the radio?”
Lightning Dust scowled and shook her head. “Pfft.”
“Nuh-uh.” Gilda slurred around a bear claw.
Blueblood looked slowly at Trixie with raised eyebrows, his habitual frown tightening. “If I hear ‘The Sleigh Bell Song’ one more time…”
The first two laughed their agreement, and Trixie fell silent. She began picking the pinecone bits off her donut, nibbling them separately.
Again, the noise of eating became the only sound. Each new arrival had made a short wave, but they all settled down into their own worlds. A little sad, maybe, but there was no helping it. They all had their own problems. The young jock, the bitter prince, the griffon thug, the struggling showmare…
… And Joe. When you got right down to it, donuts were the only thing they had in common.
Joe shifted his girth, plopping onto his chair by the counter. This would probably be it for the crowd. He had other regulars, but they were far too normal to be here tonight. And it’s not like anypony would try out a new donut shop on Hearth’s Warming.
No sooner had he thought the words than he ate them. Even the others looked up in surprise as the bell rang. They weren’t expecting anypony either.
And they certainly weren’t expecting who they saw. The grumbling, dour brown mare all but stormed into the shop, shaking snow from her blonde mane and cursing the Dark Gods who surely invented Winter.
Even Joe was blinking hard, making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks. The mare had been all over the news, coinciding with Canterlot’s efforts to make a new tradition. They were the ‘Hearth’s Warming Games,’ to be a friendly competition of winter sports across the next few days. The pony they brought in to organize it had been a hot-ticket media item, especially with the Crystal Games fresh in everypony’s minds.
In other words, Miss Nagatha Harshwhinny was not a pony who would turn up at Joe’s. Least of all at eight o’clock on Hearth’s Warming Eve.
The group held their questions – except Gilda, of course. “What the hay are you doing here?”
“Buying donuts, you twit.” With a huff more disdainful than even Blueblood could manage, Harshwhinny trotted to the counter, glare fixed on Joe. It was certainly a gaze to quail under, but Joe was more resilient than most. She wanted donuts, he had donuts. If they weren’t good enough, she could take her business elsewhere.
“You are ‘Joe?’” she asked, making his name sound like an insult.
He’d endured worse. Joe nodded, stepping back behind the counter. “Yeah.”
“Charmed,” she said, sounding anything but. “Give me the largest, most unhealthy muffin and/or cupcake you have. That has chocolate in it. Chocolate is a must.”
The others blinked, but Joe didn’t bat an eye. He’d been in business a decade and heard stranger requests. “Coming right up. That’ll be three and a half.”
“Only three…?” Harshwhinny asked, her glare melting for a second. She shook her head. “No, never mind. Here.”
She pulled a purse from her purple jacket and slapped the bits to the counter. Joe scooped them into the cashbox and produced a chocolate muffin the size of a pony head. Harshwhinny accepted it and walked to an empty table, ignoring Trixie’s wave to join hers.
Joe idly flicked a chocolate crumb that fell off on the counter, shaking his head. Harshwhinny was important. She was a coveted somepony important. The kind of customer who could put him on the map. Not a pony who came to a place like this, on a night like this.
But here she was. For whatever reason – he wouldn’t ask, and she wouldn’t tell – she was one of them. The lost and the washed-up. The ponies who groaned as Hearth’s Warming came, caring little for the storybook history or mushy emotion. It couldn’t put bits in their pockets or love in their hearts. What good were those stories, that spirit of fellowship, when the next months would see them fighting the same old battles they never quite won?
The door chimed again, and Joe groaned. Another loser, here to pass the evening with the other losers.
A second newcomer, and this one he didn’t recognize. She was barely adolescent, somewhere between a filly and a mare. A white unicorn with a wavy pink mane, and a childish pink parka covering her flanks to her neck.
The girl wore a confident, easy smile as she came in, which drew the group’s attention even more than her unfamiliarity. Even Harshwhinny had to know that you didn’t enter Donut Joe’s with a smile like that. Not tonight, when all the smiling ponies were elsewhere.
She all but glided to the counter, softly stepping with long, even strides. Blueblood and Gilda exchanged a glance and shrug, but the others just watched as Joe lumbered to his place by the cashbox.
The filly leaned down, poking her nose against the glass. “Hm… a Buckston Crème, please.” The voice was serene and slow, well matching her movements. While the treat was wrapped, she methodically pulled a quarter-bit from her parka and paid the bill.
Unlike the others, she didn’t turn away. The filly settled herself at one of the counter stools, her gaze more on Joe than the donut.
Joe frowned at the attention. “Enjoy,” he said dismissively, and busied himself with the cashbox. Might as well do something productive. With the night’s haul, he counted about three hundred eighty bits in there. Enough to get through March, but well short of April. And then May would come…
He closed the box, his frown turning to a scowl as he noticed her attention still on him. The others had already returned to their own worlds, nibbling their food and staring into the tables.
Might as well talk. She might become a regular. “What’s your name, kid?”
Her smile fell, growing softer and kinder. “Her name is Sweetie Belle.”
“Huh?”
A white hoof raised, and the filly pointed to the storefront’s giant window. Joe grunted, squinting against the light’s reflection. With night fallen, the window was just a mirror of the inside…
There. He’d have missed her if not for the white coat, all but lost in the enveloping dark. On the other side of the road stood a filly half the size of this one. Her lavender mane fluttered in the wind as she huddled herself against a bus sign.
“The buses don’t run tonight,” the stranger said as Joe watched the filly sneeze. “She’s trying to go home, but she can’t make it by herself.”
Joe shrugged. But he kept looking. “She doesn’t look like a vagrant. Maybe somepony’s picking her up?”
He could see it in the reflection cast by the darkened window – the stranger’s smile fell even further, turning to a patient frown.
“You probably know better than most,” she said softly. “Tonight is the night of feasting, merrymaking, and companionship. If a pony had a place they could be…”
Her head turned, and she glanced to the lost fools behind her.
“…They’d already be there.”
Joe felt his throat bob. The filly outside raised her head, and he saw her big green eyes that were shiny with tears. Teeth chattering, she whipped her gaze back and forth, looking for the bus that wasn’t coming.
‘Sweetie Belle’ was her name, according to the newcomer. With no relief in sight, the filly buried her face in her hooves, huddling against herself for warmth.
Joe swept his gaze away, neck cracking as he turned it to his left. Back to the worn shelves behind his counter, holding the donuts just like they always did. Comfortable. Familiar. Probably gone come April.
“Why doesn’t she come inside?” he grumbled.
He was looking away, but the strange mare’s voice remained clear. “Because she knows her family is worried, and she’s trying to get home to them.”
Joe didn’t turn to her, glaring steadily back to his shelves. “I see where you’re going, and I ain’t saving people from their own stupidity. Why don’t you help her?”
There came a soft, sad chuckle in the melodic voice. “Because I’m not even here.”
“What’s that supposed to…?” Joe turned as he spoke, and that’s as far as he got.
She was gone. The untouched donut remained on the counter, but the seat was empty. No telltale glow of magic, no signs of a speedy exit.
His mouth snapped closed. Even the others were looking to the stool with curiosity, their eyebrows raised and voices murmuring questions.
But it settled down after a few seconds. They hadn’t been paying attention, and each felt they probably just missed her departure. None of them even really cared for an explanation. The girl was here, she left, and everything was back to normal.
Joe uncertainly poked the abandoned donut with his hoof, brow furrowed. Back to normal? Had the strangeness really just come and gone without a trace?
He looked back to the window, hoping that Sweetie Belle would be gone. She was just a waking dream, like the young mare in the pink parka. He’d look out, and she’d be gone.
She was still there, leaning against the useless sign. Somehow Joe knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
Oh well. Joe locked the cashbox and stepped around the counter. “Be back in a minute,” he called out, walking to the door.
He trod silently, ignoring the incredulous looks. Harshwhinny excepted, they’d all been regulars for months. Blues and Trixie for almost a year. And not one of them had ever seen him leave. They hadn’t even seen him outside, or anywhere else but in his bakery. Gilda once joked that he’d shrivel in the sun like a vampony, leading Lightning to give her own rumor that Joe would turn to a wolf in the moonlight.
They were idle jokes, and nothing more. Heavy clouds blocked out the moon, casting the streets in darkness. It wasn’t snowing, at least, though the wind blew hard enough to kick some up from the ground.
And it was cold. Joe knew it when he laid hoof on the doorknob, but that knowledge was precious small defense when he swung it wide. The warm bakery fell under immediate assault by the chilly air, though was saved just as swiftly as he shut the door behind him.
He shivered, ignoring the eyes still watching from inside. Cold as it was, stepping past the window let Joe finally see the filly clearly. Her mane was two-tone between lavender and pink, and her little snout was buried in a green scarf.
Out of habit more than anything, Joe looked both ways before stepping onto the street. Nothing but blackness, of course. With the moon in shrouds, the only real light was coming from his pink neon sign.
The filly evidently heard Joe’s heavy hoofsteps as they crunched through the snow. She raised her head and smiled weakly in greeting.
“Kid,” Joe said gruffly. “Come inside. You’ll freeze to death out here.”
Sweetie Belle shook her head, rubbing her hooves along her forelegs for warmth. “I c-can’t,” she said between shivers. “I’ll miss the bus.”
Joe hated being the one to say it, but it had to be said. “The buses don’t run today.”
Given the state the filly was in, he half-expected her to collapse in despair. Instead, she just bit her lip and huddled lower to the ground. “Then I’ll call a cab when one comes by.”
Joe frowned, not wanting to contemplate the odds of a taxi coming anytime soon. “Just get inside,” he said, even more gruffly. “You can hang with all the others like you.”
“Like me?” She looked up at him, her meek expression replaced by a curious one. Joe mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to say it.
“The others,” he said, hesitating a second before continuing. “The ponies who… well, they’ve no place else to be.”
“But I do have a place to be!” Sweetie Belle protested shrilly. “I have to get home! Mom, Dad, Rarity… They’ve got to be worried sick about me!”
Joe’s heavy hoof tapped in the snow. “Where’s home for you?” he asked. If it was just a couple blocks, maybe he could walk her.
“Ponyville,” she said, and flinched at Joe’s incredulous look. “Um, my class came for the big play and I…”
She looked down and kicked weakly at the ground. “Missed the train.”
Joe sighed, looking upwards. “Right. Well, come on inside. I’ll letcha sleep by the ovens, and tomorrow you can–”
“No!” Her eyes were on him again: wide, green and innocent. “If I wait, my family will just get more scared. They’ll be searching, and getting the neighbors and friends involved… everypony will be so worried. They’ll search the town from top to bottom, and they won’t find me because I’m here! Everypony’s Hearth’s Warming will be ruined, and Mom’ll be crying, all because I… I…”
She sniffled wetly. Tears ran down her face fast enough to beat the cold, dribbling as water to the snowy ground. “All because her stupid daughter missed the stupid train, ruining Hearth’s Warming for everypony! And then they’ll be happy that I’m alive, but everypony will know they spent Hearth’s Warming looking for a stupid pony who couldn’t even–”
“Hey, enough of that!” Joe growled. He bent down in the snow, using his floury apron to wipe her face.
Even through the cloth, he shivered at the touch. “Wow, you’re cold. How long have you been standing out here?”
A blubbered response came from Sweetie’s lips, but Joe didn’t notice. As his rough hooves brushed away the tears, he saw the light play on them a little differently. The cheap pink glow had been overtaken by a faint white one, growing stronger by the second.
His ears perked up beneath the shaggy mullet. A muted trotting of hooves clipped through the snow, matched by the rattling of wheels behind them. Joe turned, looked… and grinned like a loon, overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all.
A cab. Hearth’s Warming Eve, and here was a cab.
“Taxi!” Sweetie shrieked right into Joe’s ear, waving it down with a relieved grin.
“Do you have money?” Joe muttered as the cab slowed.
Sweetie’s smile froze on her face. “Um.”
Joe sighed, glancing thoughtfully away as the cab approached. It was a pegasus pulling it, which was certainly odd. A sharp, deep-blue face protruded from his heavy yellow jacket.
The taxi creaked to a stop. It was a new-model carriage, enclosed and heated against the weather. Joe smiled at the good fortune and pointed. “Get in the cab, kid.”
She hesitated, glumly remembering her finances. “But I don’t have any–”
“It’ll be fine,” Joe said. “Just get out of this wind.”
The cabbie didn’t object when Sweetie hopped in behind him. “Heya,” he chirped as Joe approached, jogging in place. “Always gets blustery like this tonight. All the weather crews get the day off, and look what happens.”
He laughed, eager and young. “Happy Hearth’s Warming, am I right? Where are you and your daughter off to?”
Joe shook his head. “Daughter? No, just some kid. Er…”
He coughed, unable to meet the other’s gaze. What now? Send the filly to the police? Let them handle it? Or–
“You know if the sky chariots are running?” he blurted before giving himself a chance to reconsider.
“Oh, yeah,” the cabbie said. “My brother’s working one, if you can believe it. It sucks, but at least we both get tomorrow off.”
He didn’t want to ask, but Joe plowed forward. “They make trips to Ponyville?”
The cabbie nodded. “Ponyville? Yeah. Pretty close, all things told. But at their night rate plus their holiday rate, it’ll cost you a haunch and a leg.”
Joe gestured with his head back to the store. “Gotcha. Gimme a sec.”
He turned. The reflection was absent on this side, giving him a clear view of the interior. He saw Harshwhinny and Blues quickly look away, and Gilda hide her gaze behind a coffee cup. Lightning had pulled her chair closer to the window and was suddenly faking a talk with Trixie.
None of them looked up as Joe stepped through the door. But they watched him, out of the corners of eyes and from behind their donuts. Masking their attention behind habitual frowns.
Joe was not so dense that he couldn’t see their curiosity. He did his best to act nonchalant, but the poor bluff only aroused their silent interest. He whistled innocently as he made his way back to the counter, only recalling halfway there that he never whistled.
Even on the opposite side of the room, Trixie’s ear twitched as the lock creaked on Joe’s cashbox. He peered inside, frowning at the bits within.
Three hundred and eighty bits, give or take. Enough to get through March. Maybe even April if a miracle happened, though he knew he’d just sink in May. Still, that was four more months of Donut Joe’s Pastries. Of making his own way with his own store.
Joe licked his lips, feeling the outdoors’ cold still clinging to them. Who knows what would come after, but at least he’d be in business a little longer.
Or…
He glanced outside. The pegasus driver was still jogging in place. He seemed to be chatting amicably with Sweetie Belle, visible through the cab window.
Joe snorted through his nose. Or…
He grabbed a moneybag from beneath the counter and began quietly scraping the bits into it. Or I can do something else for once.
The bag went into his apron pocket. Joe walked slowly to the door, careful not to let it jingle. “Be back in a minute,” he said again. Noncommittal grunts answered him, though even they were forced.
Joe walked to the other side of the cab, wishing the deed to go unseen. He reached up and tapped on its door, leading Sweetie Belle to open it.
Her eyes widened as he pulled out the heavy, clinking pouch. “Mister…”
“Just listen,” Joe said. “I’m gonna pay the man, and he’ll take you to the sky chariot docks. Use the rest to get one to take you to Ponyville.”
Sweetie Belle started to say something, but Joe closed the door. The driver was looking back at the exchange, his mouth slowly forming a smile.
“Wow,” he said, grin widening. “Kid told me the story, and wow. I forgot ponies like you really exist. Reminds me of this one mare in Manehatten, she–”
“It’s friggin’ cold out here,” Joe growled, and he patted the pouch. “How much to get her there?”
“Hm? You already paid.”
Joe blinked, mind turning for a second before he shook his head. “No I didn’t. Look, quit screwing around and–”
“Hey, I’m cold too.” The pegasus snapped, though he couldn’t hide his smile. “You wanna say your goodbyes so I can get moving?”
Joe bit a lip, sighing lowly. No, he really didn’t ‘wanna’ say goodbye. He didn’t want Sweetie to thank him, or anything stupid like that. Too embarrassing. Too much of a reminder of what he was giving up.
He opened the cab door slowly, and set the pouch down on the filly’s lap. “You take care,” he said, not looking at her.
Sweetie Belle seemed to grasp his shyness. She smiled sweetly, reaching a tiny hoof to tap his own.
“You too, sir.” She gave a wintry cough into her forehoof and the smile grew. “And… Happy Hearth’s Warming.”
Joe met her eyes and finally smiled back. Soft and gentle, and he just quietly stood there a moment before clicking the door closed. The driver gave him a tiny nod and began trotting off, neither of them saying another word.
The carriage didn’t even have a rear window for Sweetie to look back at him from. Joe watched the painted yellow cab slowly disappear into the night. Soon only its lights were visible. Then they turned the corner, and Joe was alone. Alone with his pink neon sign, and his ponies staring at him from inside.
And… another. Joe swore he saw something in the corner of his eye. Something white and pink.
In mind’s eye, he saw the filly in the pink parka give her gentle smile.
“Thank you.” He heard her say the words. Joe turned, and there was nothing there. Just a trick of the pink light and white snow. As for the voice…
He let the thought pass and looked up at the sign, smiling. ‘Donut Joe’s.’ It had a good run. No regrets. It felt liberating, knowing for sure that it was over. No more mad scrambling for bits, just a cute little shop he could run his own way until the time came.
He’d miss it, of course. But things change. That’s just how life worked.
Joe craned his neck as he walked, still admiring the sign until the second he stepped back inside. He didn’t even notice the shuffling as ponies pretended not to have watched. With him on the other side of the cab, they couldn’t have seen him give Sweetie the bits. But he’d left with a moneybag and came back without, and they could all do the math.
Silence reigned for another few minutes. Not the busy silence of before, with chewing and slurping. But a dense, thick silence that seemed impossible to break. Harshwhinny picked halfheartedly at her muffin, Gilda sipped an empty cup, and all their thoughts were on the strange thing they had just witnessed.
There came a soft sound, but it felt harsh and loud in the silence. Trixie pushed back her chair and was approaching Joe. Her hooves clipped gently on the linoleum as they walked, and the others only feigned their disinterest.
“Trixie would like another donut, please.” Trixie said it even more softly than before, smiling even more shyly. Her horn glowed, and her little purse clicked open.
“Pinecone, right?” Joe bent down to the relevant shelf and fished one out with his magic. As he righted himself he saw her with her gaze deep into the purse, picking through her pennybits again.
A quarter bit… after losing four hundred? Why even bother?
Joe chuckled. It was liberating, being this way. “Don’t worry about it, Trixie.”
She blinked at him, and not without cause. Joe never did this. He never gave handouts. But he pushed the treat across the counter to her, a faint smile on his lips. “Eat up. Happy Hearth’s Warming.”
Trixie stuttered, awkwardly trying to crawl back to the reality she knew. “B-but Joe, Trixie can’t just take this from you! She can pay.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said again. He had a silly, growing smile on his face. Like he fell off a cliff only to find he could fly.
Trixie furrowed her brow for a moment before raising her nose. “Trixie appreciates this, Joe. But she does not accept charity.”
The arrogant mask fell, and she smiled knowingly. “Although, if you’re amicable, Trixie would be pleased to pay for this with a few magic tricks. Quite a good deal, if Trixie says so herself.”
“Sure,” Joe said, the humor evident in his voice. Trixie giggled. She quickly stowed the donut in her cape and dashed to the stage.
Nopony was even feigning their disinterest anymore. Something strange had happened, and Trixie was the only one who seemed to know what to make of it.
“Filliiiiiiies and gentlecolts!” she boomed not ten seconds after climbing onto the poor stage. The plain setup didn’t matter, and neither did the sparse audience. Trixie was a different pony when she performed, and somehow she made it work. The lights dimmed, sparks crackled in the air, and all eyes were on the stage. The ponies behind those eyes were in a curious humor, at least allowing themselves to be distracted by her.
“Prepare to be awed and amazed by the Great and Powerful Trixie!” Joe chuckled as her introduction continued, giving her both ears as he knelt to a shelf hidden behind the counter. He’d been planning on saving these for tomorrow, but…
“For her first trick…” Trixie doffed her tall hat with a goofy grin. She tipped it towards the others, showing that it was indeed empty. “Out of this very hat, Trixie shall produce…”
A drum roll came from nowhere, building in intensity as she turned it upside-down. “A griffon!”
There were chuckles and ‘pfffts’ of disbelief, the assembled ponies all glancing back to where Gilda was sitting.
Or rather, where she wasn’t sitting anymore. The surprised gazes turned back to the stage just as a shrill "BUH-CAWK!" sounded from it.
Gilda’s head was protruding from Trixie’s upturned hat. The griffon’s eyes were wide, and her beak moved wordlessly. It was impossible, with no space below for her body… but there it was.
“Whoa,” Gilda finally managed. Trixie placed both hooves on the hat and yanked downwards. Rather than take the head with it, it seemed to widen as it fell, revealing more and more of Gilda’s body before it reached the ground and vanished.
“Dude.” Gilda took a tentative step, slowly finding her words again. “That was freaky.”
Her gold eyes blinked, watching as Trixie produced a new hat – or the same hat? – and posed with it.
Applause came. It was hesitant and weak, as if by ponies who weren’t quite sure they were doing it right. If nothing else, the tiny audience was impressed.
A little volume picked up as Gilda added her own clapping to the mix, bringing her claws together with a sheepish grin.
“Not bad, shrimp.” Gilda sent a mischievous glance to the counter. “Now do Joe.”
Trixie arched her nose, smiling primly as her horn glowed. “The Great and Powerful Trixie does not perform the same trick twice. Instead…” She reached back and twirled her cape. Everypony blinked and startled, feeling the fabric brush their face as if they were right next to her.
And when they opened their eyes, they found themselves seated in a tight semicircle around the stage. Even Joe, with a tray of pastries balanced in his forehooves.
“There’s a darker side to this night, you know.” The lights dimmed further, and Trixie’s voice took on a sinister air. She leaned low over them, grinning at the attention. “It was only last Hearth’s Warming that The Great and Powerful Trixie met with a horrible fiend called ‘Santa Claws.’ A Griffon who filed his talons to–”
“Seriously?” Lightning Dust called out. Trixie frowned at the interruption, but the pegasus went on. “Story time? What are we, four?”
“Interesting question,” Trixie smirked. “But what you really should be asking is, ‘Why are my pants red?’”
Lightning snorted. “Dude, I’m not wearing anyWHOA!”
She stood straight up, her now red-covered rump knocking over the chair behind her. Joe and Gilda laughed, and even Blues gave a smile. Harshwhinny’s mouth was trying to smile too, though her face twisted as she suppressed it.
“Huh.” With the shock fading, Lightning looked at her flank like a foal after her cutie mark. “So this is what pants feel like.”
Blues raised his hoof, then pointed it to Joe’s tray. “Second question, if I may: what are those?”
“Little experiment of mine,” Joe said. He tilted the tray, giving everypony a better look. The pastries themselves were red, unlike the brown-yellow of usual baked goods. Their heart shape was under a thin layer of glaze and blue-white frosting, giving the illusion of melting ice.
Joe was never much used to talking about his artsier projects. He gave a nervous chuckle before going on. “They don’t really have a name yet… wanted to come out with something a little more peppy than the usual. The dough is cherrybread, and the filling is normal crème mixed with peppermint schnapps. Up top is frosting and maple syrup.”
“Dang,” Gilda whispered, eyeing the portions. There were almost two dozen of the treats.
“Anyway, I was gonna save them for tomorrow, but…” Joe shrugged and grinned. “I figure ‘eh, why not?’ Eat up.”
“Can we have more than one?” Lightning asked, a wheedling smile on her face.
“I don’t plan on having any leftovers,” Joe laughed. He held up a warning hoof. “Be careful, though. They got a lot of sugar, but the schnapps and cherrybread make them tart so you don’t notice as much. You’ll get a sugar buzz if you eat too fast. A regular buzz too, if you can’t hold your liquor.”
Now Harshwhinny was smiling as she stepped into the line. A small, closed-eyes smile of tightly restrained humor.
“Your concern is appreciated, Mr. Joe.” She didn’t say his name like an insult this time. “But some ponies here are possessed of stronger fortitudes than others.”
To underscore the point she collected two of the red treats. Not about to be outdone, Lightning Dust took three, smirking as she sat down next to Harshwhinny. The older mare gave a slight ‘hmf’ and feigned disinterest. But she finished hers within a minute and claimed two more, leading Lightning Dust to follow suit.
Joe winced as he bit into his own pastry. They weren’t bad, but they definitely tasted like an experiment. The maple syrup didn’t go well with the cherrybread, and the alcohol really added the wrong kind of ‘zing.’ Maybe skip the syrup next time… but he really liked the ‘heart melting ice’ look it gave. He’d have to try regular glaze and see if it looked right.
Joe brought out a few trays of normal donuts, seeing that the others had only politely eaten one or two.
Yet when next he looked, the experiments had disappeared. Joe blinked as he took their tray to the back for rinsing, trying to do the math. He had made about twenty of the alcoholic treats. Blues had one, he had one, Gilda had two…
The puzzle was abruptly solved as he opened the door back to the main area. Harshwhinny and Lightning Dust had claimed the stage. They staggered drunkenly against each other, leaning together towards the karaoke microphone.
“Eques-TREE-uh Girls
We’re kinda magical!
Boots on hooves, bikinis on top
Furry coats, so cute…”
Here they diverged, Harshwhinny grumbling about how ponies had ‘hair,’ not ‘fur,’ and that the songwriters should know this. Lightning Dust carried on the lines as best as she could, and they somehow linked back up when they returned to the chorus.
And they were laughing. With the audience and at each other, and soon they were laughing so hard they couldn’t continue.
While Gilda took over the microphone, Joe excused himself for another trip to the back. This was fast turning to an impromptu Hearth’s Warming Party, and he’d make it a proper one. The leftover peppermint schnapps appeared and promptly vanished down throats, adding to the pleasant buzz they were all feeling.
The ever-competitive Lightning Dust insisted that they needed to play games. That’s what ponies did on Hearth’s Warming, after all. And she was the first to yawn at the word and trivia games that followed.
“We need a ‘game’ game!” she clarified. “Something that needs dexterity and stuff. You know, like that one where you throw rings and try to get them around a cone.”
“Where are we going to get a cone?” Blueblood sniffed, lacking his usual hostility.
Lightning pouted for a moment, but then the light bulb clicked on. She whispered to Gilda, eliciting a laugh from the griffon.
“Yo Joe, Blues,” Gilda called, grinning fearlessly. “I mean… we do got cones…”
It took astonishingly little convincing. The game pit Harshwhinny and Gilda against Lightning and Trixie. The ‘rings’ they used were open-hole donuts, and the ‘cones’ were the ones on top of Blues’ and Joe’s heads. Joe played for the first team, Blues for the second, and the first trio to hide their horn from view would be the victor.
They were making a royal mess of the place. Tables toppled and legs tangled in chairs as the unicorns strove to catch the high-flung donuts. Most of the inebriated throws went wild, splattering against the stage and floor. It was messy. Messy and stupid and fun. Joe couldn’t remember when he last had this much fun.
“Come on, Blues!” Trixie called out, shrieking a tipsy laugh as she hoisted her latest try. “Two more to win. Catch!”
She didn’t look at the donut before she flung it. Only when it was high in the air did Joe see that it wasn’t an open-hole donut after all, but a custard one.
He opened his mouth for a warning, but it was too late. The throw was accurate, and Blueblood was able to brace himself beneath the descent. The donut lanced upon his horn, breaking up and spewing the gooey filling across his face.
The chaotic game stopped, ponies watching for his reaction. Blues scrunched his eyes and shook off the worst of it, sending custard flying across the floor. He cast a baleful gaze at Trixie, horn aglow.
And he smiled. A jelly donut levitated from the tray next to him and shot towards her.
The other ponies needed no extra bidding. Harshwhinny reared back with a fastball lemon-filled, Joe braced to fire the donuts from his head, and all rules fell to anarchy as the food fight began in full.
It ended eventually, as things must. The ponies settled down, coming sleepily into their sugar-lows. Sitting around a table together, sipping black coffee and eating pretzel buns Joe had brought out.
Joe emptied the used coffee grounds in the trash behind the counter, smiling wearily as he glanced at the clock. It was past eleven and fast approaching midnight, far later than he expected to stay open.
Others saw it too. They eyed the time and frowned as they realized this strange, strange evening was at an end. Blues glowered at the face of his silver pocket watch. He clicked it shut with an irate huff and stood from his chair. The prince’s face returned to its usual sneer as he approached Joe.
From the table, only Gilda watched as Blues strode to the counter with his nose raised in familiar arrogance. His voice matched, though the words didn’t. “I’ll get everypony’s tab, Joe. How much do we owe you?”
Joe only smiled as Blueblood’s velvet purse settled on the counter, vaguely proud that he wasn’t even tempted. “Don’t worry about it. Happy Hearth’s Warming.”
Blues gave that disdainful little snort of his… but there was something different about it this time. A hidden smile. Like he was in a far better mood than he let on. A white, manicured hoof raised up to the counter and punched the purse towards Joe. It fell over, rendering some of its contents visible.
A lump formed in Joe’s throat as he eyed the coins. Silver bits were the smallest currency in there, and there weren’t too many of those. Gold bits, crystal bits, platinum bits… was that a zirconium bit? Joe didn’t even remember how much that was worth.
“Blues,” Joe stammered. “I’m not–”
“Shut up,” Blues snarled, though his smug grin was breaking through. “And goodbye.”
Joe shook his head hard as Blues turned away. It was too much. No way he could take it.
“Y-you got some change coming, Blues,” Joe stammered as the prince was halfway to the door. That felt like a good compromise. Joe could charge him for the trays they ate and return the rest.
Blues only turned his head halfway back, that sneering smirk still playing on his face. “Go buck yourself,” he called out in the closest he ever came to a jovial voice. He shouldered the door open without breaking stride and was gone the next moment.
Joe’s head snapped to the window, and he watched the white unicorn vanish into the night. His eyes lost focus, and somehow he felt struck dumb. He didn’t notice the conversation around the table, or Gilda quietly slipping out the door. He didn’t even think about the cash on his counter, or how long that sum could keep him in business.
For one second, Joe’s world shrank to two realizations: Blues would never come by again… and he might not be the only one.
”Hey,” Gilda called, jogging after the receding prince. “Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Blues turned with an embarrassed, glowering frown, his breath misting in the nighttime air. “Gilda, I don’t want to talk.”
“Then shut up and let me do the talking,” she puffed, catching up and stopping right before him. Gilda swallowed and pressed on. “I just want to say, that was seriously the coolest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. The way you just slapped the cash down, and told him off when he tried to protest. Seriously. The. Coolest thing.”
If anything, Blueblood’s frown only deepened. “Gilda, I don’t want some sappy–”
“And I want you to kiss me!” she blurted, a blush rising up through her feathers.
“Huh?” Blues tilted his head and blinked, certain he was misunderstanding as she closed the distance.
“Like this, moron!” Not giving either of them time to think about it, Gilda pecked forward. She pulled Blueblood to her pillowy chest and slid her beak between his lips. Her narrow avian tongue danced with his flat pony one, and her claws pressed his neck and body fully into the kiss.
Just as Blues managed to process exactly what happened, Gilda broke away. Flushing and stammering, she backtracked in the snow.
“Alright, I’m cool. Thanks. Sorry. Thanks and sorry. I’ll be going now.” Gilda turned, spread her wings, and–
“Wait.”
Blueblood spoke it as a command, though a soft, pleading one. Almost nervous. Gilda looked back, seeing his hoof outstretched and face tinged pink.
“That is…” He lowered the hoof and coughed to the side, clearly just to buy another second. “Ah, that is…”
He turned his head back to gaze at her. “Come home with me.”
Gilda sighed huskily, looking away. “You probably think I’m wacked right about now, but I’m gonna give that a flyby. I ain’t much for one-night stands.”
“I’m not asking you for anything of the sort.” Blueblood smiled at Gilda’s surprised blink, himself warming to the hastily formed idea. “I am asking you to be my guest, in my visitor’s suite. Tomorrow I would like to take breakfast with you and then… then I would like you to be my date for the Royal Hearth’s Warming Ball.”
There were so many things wrong with that. Gilda coughed and laughed with the same breath, keeping her gaze away. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she offered lamely.
Blueblood’s retort was fast, his confidence growing. “Then come as you are.”
“Whoa, Blues.” Gilda laughed louder this time, and she did meet Blueblood’s eyes. “Blues, a griffon like me, in a place like that, with a pony like you…”
“It will be quite the surprise,” Blueblood noted calmly. And on his face, that mean smirk returned. The same one he shot Joe on his departure.
A second passed, and Gilda’s smile twisted to match. Blueblood yelped as she swept him up in her strong claws and spread her wings once more. “C’mon, where’s your house?” Gilda cawed cheerily. Hugging him tight to her warm breast, she beat her wings and rose to the sky.
Inside, the remaining three customers were almost asleep in their chairs. Lightning Dust had a foam cup in her hoof, eyeing the last cold inch of black coffee. Trixie was picking lazily at her pretzel bun, and Harshwhinny was simply sitting back in her chair, eyes on the clock.
Lightning Dust turned her eyes to the latter mare blearily, trying to recall who won their impromptu eating contest. With no clear memory coming to mind, she shrugged and tapped on the table.
“So Nagatha,” Lightning began, deciding that they were on a first name basis now. The older mare glanced up, and she went on. “I’ve been meaning to ask: what brought you here? Ain’t you like the big Warming Games hotshot?”
“Who will shortly be perusing the classified sections,” Harshwhinny grumbled, readily parting with the information.
“Ouch.” Lightning Dust gave a light chuckle, well familiar with the job hunt. “What happened?”
“Idiocy,” Harshwhinny groaned. “This morning I was informed that I was responsible for a performance to take place tomorrow night, after the first day of the Games. Only I hadn’t heard a thing about needing to recruit performers until that moment. So I’ve got a dry budget, and every band and singer out there is either closed for the holiday or well out of the price range.”
Trixie and Lightning patted a shoulder each, sympathetic as Harshwhinny shared the rest. “There are a million leaflets floating around the city now, advertising the Games’ schedule. There’s an hour block for an act in the stadium, and my name right next to it so they know whom to blame.”
“An act?” Trixie asked softly. Her eyes darted to and from Harshwhinny. “What kind of act?”
Harshwhinny shrugged. “What does it matter?”
Lightning Dust snorted, amused that the stern mare seemed so dense. Trixie just seized the opening. “Because maybe Trixie can be your act. You’ve seen her in action – there’s no illusionist in Canterlot more skilled than her!”
“I know,” Harshwhinny sighed. “And that’s why you’re out. I couldn’t even afford a middling showmare with my budget.”
She carried on before Trixie could correct her. “Besides, you’d have to split it with a pegasus I need to hire, too.”
Now, it was Lightning whose gaze grew curious as Harshwhinny explained. “The twits arranging the Canterlot Games want to copy everything done for the Crystal ones. I thought they just wanted the same sports, but this morning I also learned I need a pegasus to jump a scooter through a hoop as it starts. That’s in the pamphlet, too.”
“Uh, hello?” Lightning waved a hoof in front of Harshwhinny’s face, far more willing than Trixie to press the issue. “I’m a pegasus. I can ride a scooter.”
Harshwhinny pushed the hoof away, smiling wanly. “Kind of you to offer, but I don’t have the budget for a stuntpony either. Let alone both.”
The conversation had woken them all up a little. Harshwhinny rose from her chair and was fastening black earmuffs over her head, paying little heed as Trixie and Lightning kept looking from each other to her.
“How… much, exactly, is left?” Trixie asked quietly.
“Twenty thousand bits,” Harshwhinny grumbled, stunning the pair.
Only when Harshwhinny was almost to the door did Lightning find her voice. “As in money bits?”
“Or ‘chickenfeed,’ as Sapphire Shores’ agent called it,” Harshwhinny said, still resigned. She shrugged. “That’s life, I suppose. Farewell.”
For Trixie and Lightning, of course, it wasn’t chickenfeed. It was twenty thousand bits, and it took another few dumbstruck seconds before they realized it was walking away.
“Wait!” They shouted together, tumbling out the door after her.
And like that, without so much as a goodbye, Joe went from three guests to zero. He watched their undignified exit with a broad smile, mentally cheering as they ran pell-mell to come-what-may.
The smile grew wry as he surveyed the shop. No question about it, he’d be closed tomorrow for cleaning. Across the floor, walls and tables were dashed dozens of half-eaten and merrily thrown donuts. The chairs were in chaos, and jelly and custard were splattered in the unlikeliest places.
He could clean it tonight, but Joe was tired. He could clean early tomorrow too, and open for the afternoon. But there was no reason to. The specialties he planned to sell had disappeared down two mare’s gullets, and the schnapps he’d drunk would need to be slept off.
No, tomorrow Joe would wake whenever he pleased. He’d leave the shop closed and go out for once. Maybe he’d see what all the fuss was about these Hearth’s Warming Games. And why not? For him, the rat race was over.
The thought hit him with images of the store closing, and it wasn’t until he looked back to the counter that he remembered. Blues’ purse was still sitting there, carrying one hell of a graduation from the race.
Joe brushed the money into the cashbox, hardly willing to even look at it. It was too much to think about. Too much to plan for.
All those bits, and he could only imagine two things he definitely wanted to do.
One, he’d keep the price at a quarter-bit. No need to change anything, about the store or the costs.
And two…
His hoof brushed a switch, and the lights turned off. Joe settled down on his chair and looked outside, the darkness giving him a clear view. Snowflakes danced through the streets, twirling up and around that bus sign. Each one carried the pink glow given off by the neon sign above.
Two, he’d keep the shop open next Hearth’s Warming Eve. For any other souls with no place to go, he’d give them a place.
Maybe, then, just maybe… he’d get to see her again.
Author's Note
Took a break from my rather more bleak project to do something light and Christmassy. I enjoyed writing it, and I like how it came out. Things got a bit cutesy-wootsty, but IT’S A CHRISTMAS STORY, OF COURSE THEY DID.
Only other notes are:
1) Finally got to use Ms. Harshwhinny in a fic, and
2) Apparently it’s in my contract to crackship Blueblood.
