Table for Two

by KitsuneRisu

Rating: everyone
Tags: Main 6, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Other, Original Character, Mystery, Comedy, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 43800

There's a cafe at the edge of town: cozy, warm, and inviting. A place to go when you need somewhere to be. But here, in this cafe, everyone is equal. In this cafe, everyone is free to speak their mind. And in this cafe, the Gods listen back.

There's a cafe at the edge of town, a place few know.

A perfect little place: cozy, warm, and inviting.

A place to go when you need somewhere to be.

But here, in this cafe, everyone is equal.

In this cafe, everyone is free to speak their mind.

And in this cafe, the Gods listen back.

▲

Table for Two is an experimental story about conversation, through conversation.
To new readers: it is strongly recommended that you read this story in order, and be patient with oddities -- nothing is quite as it seems.

Published 2015-01-26 07:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-25 05:17:36 UTC

Happiness - Applejack & Pinkie Pie

Freshly fragrant.

Steam.

Wooden cup.

Just a quirk, but something unique.

Applejack stared out into the rest of the room. It was warmly lit, stained glass lamps lining the bar, soft music playing in the background. The Cafe was always half-full at any time of the day. Everything was gentle. Everything was smooth. It was heavy in browns and greens; a place full of the classic touch of the city, back when cafes still had a bit of its own life to it.

Hers was a straight black.

No cream.

No sugar.

Just Applejack and the coffee.

She took a sip.

“Ya know? I never really liked coffee,” Pinkie said, dropping into the seat across from Applejack.

Applejack quirked her eyebrows at her new companion over the cup she had raised to her lips.

“Heya, AJ!” Pinkie returned the greeting.

“Y’done with the bakery?” Applejack placed the cup back onto the table. No saucers. No coasters. The Owner of The Cafe insisted. Each table now had a history.

“Yeah! You done with the apple things?”

“Apple things all done.” Applejack smiled, quickly tilting her head to the side. “Gonna get yourself a drink?”

“Aw, I don’t know,” Pinkie sang, running her eyes to the chalkboard on the wall. “Coffee’s not really my thing.”

“They got other stuff.”

“Can't go wrong with other stuff.” Pinkie kept reading.

“What’s wrong with coffee, though?”

“It’s bitter.” Pinkie turned back, placing her forehooves on the table and stretched out over it like a cat. “Bitter like Sunday morning.”

Applejack pulled her cup back almost instinctively. “Is… that a saying?”

“That’s a song, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so, Pinkie.”

“Well, it’s bitter. And biting. And all those other funny words you use like ‘acidic’ and ‘body’ and whatever. I don’t even know what they mean!”

“Uh… ain’t you a chef?”

“Oh yeah.” Pinkie raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah! I am! I do know what they mean!”

“Don’t never change,” Applejack murmured, taking another sip.

“Hehehe!” Pinkie laughed. “So maybe I’ll get something sweet, or creamy, or full of starch.”

“They’ve got some tea here too, I think. But you’re gonna get looks from The Owner.”

“Looks?”

“He don’t like tea-drinkers around these parts, I reckon.” Applejack smirked.

“Oh really, and what’s he gonna do to me if I order a cup of tea?” Pinkie smiled back.

“He’s gonna ship you off to Trottingham.”

“Trottingham!”

“Yeah. And… and he’s gonna…”

“Yeah?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah?”

“I… got nothin’.”

“That’s why you leave the yarning to the professionals,” Pinkie tapped herself in the chest.

“Yeah, well.” Applejack took another sip.

The chatter in The Cafe continued. It was always good to get out of the sun. Applejack stared out the large windows that bordered the walls, over the flowers that grew in the planters surrounding the building. She was usually in the sun. It was always good to be able to kick back.

“You know,” Applejack said, turning back. “Speaking of things you don’t like, I actually can’t believe I never really asked this before, but… what do you like?”

“What do you mean, AJ? You know what I like.”

“No, what I mean is… uh... “

“Use your words like Granny taught you!”

“Quiet. What I mean is what… makes you happy?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I mean. Element of happiness or laughter and all that. Y’know.” Applejack danced her hooves around the air. “You’re always lookin’ out for what everypony else likes. But… y’know? I don’t think we’ve ever asked you what makes you happy.”

“Me?”

“Know any other Pinkies around here?” Applejack looked back and forth.

“Making other ponies happy makes m–”

“Naw, Pinkie. Naw. None of that. That’s the answer that I expected from you.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Pinkie?”

“Yeah, Applejack?”

“What makes you happy?”

Pinkie absentmindedly beat her hooves on the wooden tabletop, tapping out a strange rhythm, like a little song that she played in her head. Her eyes wandered off to the right, looking upon a scene that only she could see. Her smile dropped to one of plain stoicness, and she bit her teeth together in thought.

And all she did was continue playing her song until a voice broke the performance.

“Not a difficult question, is it?” Applejack asked, staring at Pinkie’s face.

“I don’t know, Applejack.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what makes me happy.” Pinkie smiled again. “I just am, I guess.”

“There’s gotta be something, right?”

“I’m sure something exists. But… I’ve never really taken the time to think about it.”

“Okay. How about this then. Whatcha think makes me happy?”

“I already know that, silly! Hard work, a fruitful harvest, bringing your sister to school. You know. All that kind of stuff. Family.”

“What makes Twilight happy?”

“Learning new things. Discovery. Being able to share all the things she knows. She really likes to improve the world with her boring old book things.”

“What about Fluttershy?”

“Animals. Broken animals. So that she can fix them.”

“Rainbow.”

“Flying. Flying. Flying. Flying. You know? It occurs to me that Rainbow’s pretty bor–”

“Rarity?”

“Ugly dresses that she thinks are really pretty but actually are really ugly but we never talk about that ever.”

“Princess Celestia.”

“Princess Luna.”

“Princess Luna?”

“Princess Luna.”

“What about Pinkie Pie?” Applejack pointed a hoof at the pony across from her.

Once again, neither of them spoke a word.

“That’s just really weird.”

“But why, AJ? Why is that weird? Whhhhyyyyyyyyyy?” Pinkie started whining.

“Because everypony has something they like. The fact that they don’t really know what it is just means... you said it, didn’t you?”

“Said what?”

“You said it earlier. You ain’t never taken the time to think about it.”

“Y...eeeeeeah?”

“You’re too busy thinkin’ about every pony else that you ain’t had a single thought for yourself.”

“Well… is that bad?”

“Kinda is, Pinkie. I mean… you’re a pony too. If you spend all your time just thinkin’ about others and what others care about, then…”

Pinkie clammed up.

“You know, I remember that one time during your birthday…”

“We never talk about that time!” Pinkie hissed.

“Whoa.”

“Neeeeever!” Pinkie pulled herself across the table, staring into Applejack’s face with a shadow over her own.

“Really?”

Pinkie held there for a few moments more, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“Naw. It’s alright!” Pinkie pulled back into her seat. “Hehehe. That was fun. I made new friends that day.”

“Yeah but you see? That’s the thing. You had to make new friends just to… do what? Tell you that you’re alright? Tell you that you’re loved?”

“I guess that’s what happened.”

“Huh.”

Applejack reclined in her chair, hoof to her chin. A furrow had formed across her forehead.

“Applejack?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is this bothering you so much?”

The pony shrugged. “Don’t seem right to me. You’re somepony we care about too, you know. But it seems you treat yourself less than the rest of us. And that ain’t right at all, no how, no way.”

“Why?”

“Because you should be on the same level as the rest of us, Pinkie! That’s how friendship works.”

“Why?”

“Because friends treat each other as equals.”

“Why?”

“Because, Pinkie… everyone should be as important to each other as everyone else.”

“Why?”

“Pinkie.”

“Why?”

“If you say ‘why’ one more time, I’m going to throw my coffee at ya.”

“How?”

“Pinkie!”

“Okay! Okay! Fine!” Pinkie threw her hooves up. “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t really think of myself. Bad habit, okay? Life back on the farm was pretty tough. I’m emotionally scarred, Applejack.”

“Whut?”

“Could be worse. You remember Maud, right?”

“Uh… huh?”

“I mean, she repressed herself. I just find a different avenue to compensate for the fact that both of us didn’t get enough positive reinforcement from our dominant parental figure in early childhood. But that’s what you get with authoritarian-style parenthood.”

“You know, Pinkie? I never… ever truly know how much you’re aware of anything that goes on around you.”

“I have a therapist.”

“O...kay.” Applejack hadn’t blinked in a while.

“Look. Don’t worry about that. I know, alright? I don’t think of myself too often.”

“Well… bein’ that… you don’t mind if we try to change that, do ya?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“How about I call up th’ gang, and next saturday we can all go out and do something? What’d you like to do?”

“Oh! Anything’s fine, Applejack! I mean, as long as you and the other girls are ha–”

Applejack took another incredibly pointed sip of her coffee.

“I mean… I’ll think of something.” Pinkie smiled.

“Miss Pinkie?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“Mandhoofling double Ristretto, please.” Pinkie said.

“Uh…” Applejack muttered.

“Very well, miss.” The Owner bowed. “I’ll be back momentarily."

Pinkie beamed.

“You don’t like coffee, huh?”

“Yeah.” Pinkie smiled.

“Yeah.” Applejack turned the corner of her mouth up, staring out the window again.

There were no ponies passing by in the streets. There never was. There were only the ponies in The Cafe and the ponies who weren’t.

“You know what I like, though?” Pinkie asked.

“What?”

“Right now,” she said, giving Applejack her best grin.

School - Sweetie Belle & Luna

It was a strange order.

90% milk.

10% decaf.

Enough sugar to coat an apple.

The Owner obliged. He always did. He had anything you ever wanted. The cafe always had anything you ever wanted.

He even knew exactly how much sugar ‘enough to coat an apple’ was.

Sweetie Belle sat at her table. Staring into the design of the woodwork. It was something she enjoyed – looking at designs in things. There were patterns everywhere, no matter what you were looking at. It only mattered how you looked at them and how much you looked at them and if your head started spinning or not.

Sometimes it helped. Sometimes it didn’t.

“Oh.” The voice came from above.

Sweetie looked up.

“Oh, hi, Princess Luna,” she said, her legs dangling off the edge of the comfy plush beanbag she was sitting upon.

“Yes. Small child,” Luna said, scanning over the rest of The Cafe. Inexplicably, every other seat seemed to be full now, although there was never a time that Luna recalled that it was.

She was forced to look back down.

“It appears The Cafe is… full.” Luna observed, dourly.

“Um… guess so. Got a seat here, though.”

Sweetie pointed to the beanbag across from her.

“This is… a young pony’s table.” Luna said.

“Yeah.”

“With beanbags.”

“Yeah.”

“And crayons on the tabletop.”

“Yeah.”

“Crayons.”

“You want pencils? They got pencils,” Sweetie Belle muttered.

“No. I think I shall… perhaps indulge myself another time.” Luna sighed, turning for the door.

“Alright. Goodbye, Miss Luna.” Sweetie Belle returned to staring at the table.

Luna stood there. She tilted her head to the young child. The young child that was giving a blank space complete and full attention.

“What are you staring at, small child?” Luna asked.

“Sweetie Belle.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sweetie Bell, Miss Luna. You forgot my name, didn’t you?” She continued to stare at loops and swirls.

Luna’s eyes darted left and right, her head following in motion a while after.

“Yes. I had. Thank you, Sweetie Belle.”

“I’m looking at the wood thingies in the table, Miss Luna.” Sweetie explained.

“The… wood thingies?”

Such a concept.

“Yes, Miss Luna. You know those lines? I dunno what they’re called. I like how they look, though. They move around and stuff. There’s a million shapes on this table.”

Luna sat down in the beanbag. It was uncomfortably small. She had to press her hind legs against her midriff to fit completely.

“Grain,” Luna declared.

“What now what?”

“The lines. They are called… grain.”

“Like… the stuff you make bread with?” Sweetie made a face.

“Yes. It is the same.” Luna nodded, nary an expression on her own.

“Why… are they the same word?”

“That is how words work, Sweetie Belle.”

“Isn’t it weird that they’re the same? Why can’t there be a different word?”

“Because that is how words work! Words just mean things! It matters not if one word is replaced with another word, it only matters that we understand what they mean!”

Sweetie lifted her head to look at Luna.

“You’re angry about words.”

“I am…” Luna cut herself off. “I am not. I am merely… excitable.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Luna turned to look at the menu on the wall. Perhaps she needed a drink after all. When she had turned back, she had found the child, once again, resuming her duties.

“Do you really find that all entertaining?” Luna asked.

“Um… yeah. Sure, I mean… it’s alright. Sis doesn’t allow me to touch her sewing machine, so I gotta do something.”

“But… it is merely looking at lines upon a table.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And… it is… it is a nothing. It is nothingness. It is an action that precedes nothing and proceeds to be nothing.”

“I’m not sure what you just said, Miss Luna.”

Princess Luna placed her hoof on the table, a glint of gold blinding Sweetie for a moment.

“This! This all. What is it for? Why do you stare at lines?”

“I told you, Miss Luna. There’s shapes in.”

“There are no shapes!”

“You can’t see them?”

Luna blinked. She hadn’t given it consideration before.

“Should I be able to?” Luna asked.

“Why not?”

Luna’s eyes flicked to the side as she cleared her throat. She gave out a soft sigh, her mane rustling as she looked over The Cafe.

Slowly she looked down.

It took three tries before she managed to get her focus to stick.

“There… there are no shapes here.” She said, immediately pulling her head up again.

“Then what’s that?” Sweetie asked, pointing at a small bit on the tabletop.

Luna turned her eyes downward again. “A circle. Yes. Fine. You found a circle. Well done, small child.”

“It’s not just a circle. See, there’s a bit there that’s sorta not really straight.”

“Fine. A bad circle. This is what fascinates you?”

“Yup.” Sweetie Belle said.

Luna stared back. “Why?”

“Because it’s there.”

“You do not answer the question in a straight-forward way!”

“No, really. It’s ‘cuz it’s there, Miss Luna. My sister always says that we have to look at the small things in the big things in order to make the big things look good. It’s part of design or whatever. She’s trying to teach me.”

“Well… yes, I mean, it applies in such cases, but…”

“Don’t you ever look at the clouds, Miss Luna?”

“The clouds? Yes. Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“To predict the weather, which is important for the crops.”

“I look at them to find shapes.”

“Shapes again.”

“Yeah, but I mean, why is what we do different?”

“What is the basis of your comparison?”

“I mean…” Sweetie Belle said, looking at a cloud through the window. “Look. Look at that one. The one there. What’s that cloud mean?”

“What it means? It will rain in three hours.”

“Yeah, well, all I see is a bunny.”

“It looks nothing like a bunny.”

“It looks nothing like it’s gonna rain, Miss Luna.”

Luna paused in the middle of her response. She held a hoof up, mouth agape. She slowly closed it again.

“I see what you are getting at, small Sweetie Belle child. An interesting perspective. Aren’t we clever.”

“Heehee,” Sweetie chuckled, grinning mischievously at Luna. “Nah, big sis says stupid things like that all the time. She always likes to show me how stupid I am.”

“Stupid?”

“Well, I dunno. She just says that there’s a lot of things in life to learn. And that not everything can be learned in school. So she does things like this all the time to show me that I don’t know enough.”

Princess Luna’s eyes wandered.

“And then, you know? I ask her then, why can’t I skip school if all the good lessons is outside of school, and then she gets mad and then she starts yelling again and beating me and taking away my toys.”

“She doesn't beat you, really.” Princess Luna raised an eyebrow. "Does she?"

"Well... no," Sweetie Belle said. “But sisters are dorks, anyway.”

“Yes. Indeed. Sisters are… dorks.” Luna agreed readily.

Sweetie Belle sighed.

“I guess I just like shapes,” she said, shrugging.

“Perhaps… we all should.”

“Huh?”

“I never went to school, you know.”

“What?”

“Not regular school, I mean. I was… tutored. Even now, I am being tutored. I have a lot of things to catch up on. Things that I missed for a thousand years.”

“That sucks. School at your age?”

“Ahem. Yes. But that aside, perhaps we never ought to stop learning.”

“Uh…” Sweetie Belle muttered.

“Maybe… we all should stare at the shapes in the table. For if we never even bother to look, then we will never know that they’re there at all.” Luna nodded.

“Um… I think you’re thinking too much about this, Miss Luna. I was just goofing.”

“Miss Luna?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“I will have what the small child is having,” Luna said.

“Um. You sure about that, Miss Luna? This is basically just milk.”

“Yes.” Luna nodded. “Yes I am.”

“Very well, miss.” The Owner bowed. “I’ll be back momentarily."

Luna nodded again as her eyes swept back across The Cafe. It had died down once more to a bearable half-full capacity, although she couldn't remember anyone having stepped out.

She turned back to Sweetie Belle.

“Tell me something else,” Luna said.

“Um. Sure I guess. What do you want to know?”

“What you see in the clouds,” Luna said, pointing out the window.

Author's Note

Conversation Sparked by Crack Javelin

Fame - Rarity & Rainbow Dash

A silver tumbler sat on the table, gently perspiring beads of water that glittered and glimmered like jeweled sand strewn upon a metallic shore.

It was pure silver, too. Rarity insisted. It was the only way to drink a drink of such terribly fine composition, a drink befitting her and her alone.

It was a blended mix of irish cream, orange blossom water and cinnamon extract all shaken together and layered over a concentrated cold brew coffee made with fresh spring water.

Luckily, The Owner just happened to have all those ingredients in stock – including the silver cup. They had just come yesterday, he claimed, and Rarity was lucky.

The coffee itself was about as regular as any other coffee, but it wasn’t always about the taste. It was about the fact that she was drinking it.

She lifted the cup to her lips with both hooves and took in the memory.

“Hey! Hey! Look who’s arrived!” a voice came from above.

Rainbow Dash threw her chair aside and deposited herself into it.

Rarity lowered her cup back to the table. “Mmm. Hello, dear.”

“I have!” Rainbow claimed, pointing to her own chest.

“Have what?”

“Uh… arrived! You know? Like… ‘look who’s arrived!’ and it was me, and…”

“Yes, I… understood, dear.” Rarity gave Dash her best piteous smile, the one she used on Sweetie Belle when she was being ‘charmingly precocious’.

“So, uh… yeah! Whatcha drinkin’ over there?”

“They call it Oriental Dawn. I read it in this month’s issue of Canterlot Trotter. I’m rather surprised they have it here, in fact!”

“Yeah, I dunno. This place always has what you want,” Rainbow Dash scratched the back of her neck. “I guess they’re super serious about coffee or something.”

“Indeed. And this drink, my dear, is stunningly smooth. Floral notes and a touch of sp–”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Does it taste good?”

“I… ah… y-yes. I suppose it does.”

“Over here!” Dash said, reaching out and snatching the cup.

“N-no. Hold it with the tips of your hooves. You’re touching the cup far too much... it will warm up and…”

Rainbow, took a big gulp.

“N-no! Sip, Rainbow. Sip it! It has complex flavours!” Rarity held her hoof out.

Rainbow banged the cup down on the table.

“Eh, tastes like coffee.” she shrugged.

“Brute! Absolute brute!” Rarity pouted, pulling the cup back toward herself.

“Hey, I like things simple,” Rainbow said.

“Horrible! Uncouth!”

“Yeah. Ya done?” Rainbow asked, smiling impishly.

“Yes. Yes I am.” Rarity settled back into her seat and raised a hoof to the cup. “It’s… ah...”

“Yeah.”

“You should try to appreciate it more. It was concocted by a famous mixologist, don’t you know.”

“Uh…”

“It was made by a pony who does drinks good.” Rarity rolled her eyes.

“Right.”

Rainbow tapped her hoof on the table.

“Just tastes like coffee, though.” Dash said.

“That’s not the point! It’s… it’s the chance to revel in creation! It’s a chance to partake of another pony. It’s an opportunity to… to be enthralled in fame.”

“Uh… so. Drinking a drink made by some whatever pony makes you feel special?”

“Well. Yes. Of course.” Rarity replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?”

Rarity blinked. "Why?"

“Yeah. Why?” Dash asked, unimpressed.

“W...hhhhy?” Rarity repeated, echoing Dash.

“Yeah! Why? I mean… you’re just drinking some thing some other guy did. So what?”

“Because he’s… he’s a known culinarian! He’s…”

“Yeah?”

“He’s famous.”

“You know, I never really got that. It seems like it’s stupid to wanna drink something just because the pony who made it is famous. I mean, what makes him famous anyway? Is the drink any good?”

“Well, I mean… it’s the same as dresses, isn’t it? Why do ponies wish to wear the latest designs? Why do they wish to purchase the big Canterlot names? Of which I am not one, but I really ought to be, and…”

“I dunno.” Dash shrugged. “Another thing I never really got.”

“I…” Rarity said, holding up a hoof. “I mean… it’s obvious, surely…”

“So… wearing a famous dress makes you… feel happy?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because… other ponies look at you and go ‘Oh! She’s wearing the latest Haymani! She’s so exquisite!’”

“Yeah but that… that really means that they just kinda like your dress, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Rarity nodded.

“Not… you.”

“Well… no.”

“So if you were the same pony, and you wore a whatever dress one night, and the next night you wore some… I dunno. Whatever thing. Does that change who you are?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

“So you’re… saying that you’re a dress?”

“Yes! No! I mean… oh!” Rarity flailed. “A bit of the fame… sort of carries to you, you see. You wear a famous dress and you become famous.”

“That’s… stupid.”

“No, it’s… I mean…”

“How do you become famous just by being around famous?”

“I don’t know. I really… I really can’t explain. But that’s… that’s how it is. Everypony wants to be the center of attention sometimes, don’t they? And this is one of the ways to do it.”

“I guess I just don’t get it. I mean… why would you even wanna be fake-famous for?”

“Fake?”

“Yeah, right? Because it ain’t real.”

“Then what would you consider to be real fame?”

“I mean, it’s like, you gotta do things for yourself, right? Like, if you wore a famous dress, isn’t it just whoever made the dress that’s famous eventually?”

“Well, they already are, dear. That’s why we want to wear them.”

“I think I’d prefer to be the one who makes the dresses.” Rainbow shrugged.

“We all do, dear. We all do.” Rarity sighed.

“See… it’s like… I wanna be famous too, right? But it’s like, I wanna be famous for me. I wanna be a wonderbolt. I wanna fly around and do stuff and have ponies know me. There’s only one of me. Nopony else can take that away, or copy it, or wear me and pretend to be famous.”

Rarity thought for a while.

“You’ve always wanted to fly next to the Wonderbolts, haven’t you? In a show.”

“Yeah! You got that right!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? Because it’s awesome, that’s why.”

“No, I mean… why would that make you famous?”

“Because! It’s the Wonderbolts!”

“Why couldn’t you do it alone?”

“No one’s gonna look at me if I’m flying alone! Besides, it’s just… the wonderbolts!”

“Dear, you might at least try to explain.”

“Fine!” Rainbow moaned. “If you’re invited to fly with them, it’s like… it’s like an honour, right? They’re the best. So if you’re next to them, being allowed to be with them, it’s like saying… you’re just as good. You can keep up. And that’s awesome. Because then you know you’re good.”

“So everypony who’s ever flown with the Wonderbolts are just as good as they are?”

“Nah, of course not. Wonderbolts are in a class of their own. No one’s as good as them.”

“But it’s still an honour to be thought to be as good as them.”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Even though that may not be reality?”

“I suppose so. Yeah.”

“Sounds stupid.”

“What?”

“I mean… how do you become famous by being around famous?” Rarity smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Hey, that’s what I said!” Rainbow stopped, tilting her head toward the table as she furrowed her brow. “How’d you do that?”

“I really wanted to win the argument.” Rarity sipped her drink.

“I… huh.” Rainbow continued to mutter. “I mean, but… if you said that, then… you see…”

“Don’t think too hard. I think it’s rather simple, really.”

“Yeah?”

“I think in the end, we all just want to be better than we are. Some ponies work towards that. But there are some ponies who just don’t have the opportunity or the skill. So… they dream. And there’s never anything wrong with dreaming, is there?”

Rainbow’s lips curled up into a half-smile. “No, I guess there ain’t.”

“Especially when it allows me to sell more dresses.”

“What was that?”

“Hmm? Nothing, dear.”

“Miss Rainbow Dash?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“I dunno. What are you guys famous for here?”

“Coffee, Miss Rainbow,” The Owner replied.

“I’ll take a coffee then.”

“Very well, miss.” The Owner bowed. “I’ll be back momentarily."

Rainbow looked out of the window absentmindedly, not really thinking about anything at all. It was just a mood she was in.

“You know, I really always just thought that it was kinda dumb to just go with famous things for no other reason. I guess I was wrong.”

“Maybe not,” Rarity shrugged.

Dash looked over, raising an eyebrow.

“To be completely honest,” Rarity said, pointing to her cup, “this is actually quite distasteful.”

“I’ll share mine with you,” Rainbow said.

“I’d appreciate that very much, dear.” Rarity gave a tired smile, pushing the drink away.

Author's Note

Conversation Sparked by FanOfMostEverything

Shelf - Daisy & Lily

It was a high mountain coffee.

Plain white mug.

Two sugars.

Cold.

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“I could go on forever, you know.” Lily said.

“Good, then while you’re sitting there screaming ‘no’ to yourself I’ll go back to the shop and put it up. Now leg it over.” Daisy held out an upturned hoof, lowering herself into the seat across.

Lily scrabbled for the plant. It probably wasn’t necessary; Daisy made no effort to steal it. It was part of Daisy’s plan to wear out the enemy before the plant could be lifted off her lifeless corpse.

“How did you even find me here, anyway?” Lily asked, cradling the flower.

“There was a big sign outside the front that said ‘Lily’s here! Come get me!’.”

“What, really?”

“No, you idiot! Now do you really think this is the best place to be doing this, though?”

“Probably not. And that’s exactly why I’m staying here. If you want to cause a scene, you can be my guest.”

“I’m not causing the scene here! You’re causing the scene!”

“Shhh! Keep it down!” Lily said, holding her hoof to her mouth and hissing exaggeratedly.

Daisy waited. She knew what was coming.

It was that little line between expectation and flippancy that she found so incredibly infuriating.

“You’re causing a scene,” Lily finished, under her breath.

“Oh, you! You!” Daisy screamed. “Enough out of you!”

No one turned to look. No one bothered. Everyone in The Cafe kept to themselves. The Owner politely polished his glasses – both the ones above the bar and the ones on his face.

The Cafe never paid attention unless it needed to.

“Maybe you need a drink,” Lily said, hoisting her head up high. “You can have mine.”

“And what’s wrong with finishing it yourself?”

“It’s cold.”

“And why is it cold?”

“Because I didn’t want to drink it.”

“And why didn’t you want to drink it?”

“Didn’t want it in the first place. Ordered it because, you know. This is a cafe. I gotta order something or else they won’t let me hide in here.”

Daisy nodded. “Makes sense.”

Lily nodded back.

“Now fork it over!” Daisy yelled again, thumping her hoof onto the table.

“No!”

“Do it!”

“Nuh.”

“Lilianna P. Watergoose, if you don’t pass that over right this instant…”

“Oh!” Lily gasped. “You full-named me!”

Daisy bit over her lower lip, eyes focused heavily. She nodded, throwing her legs across her chest. That’s right. She went there.

“She full-named me!” Lily continued to bewail, turning to the table behind her, addressing the other two perfectly innocent cafe-patrons who were having their own perfectly innocent conversations. “And with somepony else’s name!”

Lily turned back, holding the flower pot away even further while she dabbed her free hoof in the air as if she were putting the final touches on a painting. “Now, that’s just rude on many different levels, Daisy!”

Daisy breathed out to the ceiling. It was something between a sigh and exasperation. “Nooooo. I wasn’t, Lily.”

“Yes you were, and you know it!”

“Fine. I know it.”

“Apologies." Lily demanded for them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apologies to Lilianna P. Watergoose.”

“I’m sorry, Lilianna P. Watergoose!”

“Now, go home!”

“Not until you give me the flower!”

“Alright! Allllright!” Lily shrieked, tearing at the air with her invisible claws.

“Oh. Oh!” Daisy held her hooves out. “Give it, then!”

“No!”

“But you said…”

“Not yet, Daisy! Explain to me. Explain to me why you want to put this on the shelf.”

“I’ve explained before!”

“Explain it again!”

“Why?”

“Well… we’re in a new context.” Lily explained, looking around.

“Right. Context is important.” Daisy wagged her hoof.

“Very much so.” Lily mirrored.

“Changes meanings and all that.”

“Meanings are very important.”

“So. Listen. Three months of hard work. Right?”

“Wouldn’t call it hard, really. It was really all the plant’s hard work, wasn’t it?”

“Three months of the plant’s hard work. And it should be rewarded for it.”

“Why not a medal?”

“No. Can’t pin a medal to a leaf, Lily. You know that.”

“Yeah, I was just being silly.” Lily sighed wistfully. “But that’s it then, eh?”

“That’s it.”

“Rationale?”

“Reward.”

“Not good enough.”

“Tell me why.” Daisy spat out bitterly. “Tell me why that’s not good enough.”

“It’s not a matter of ‘why’, Daisy. It’s a matter of ‘where’.”

“What’s wrong with its location?”

“Where is the shelf, Daisy?”

“It’s in the shop!”

“Where in the shop?”

“On the first floor of the shop!”

“Where on the first floor?”

“In the main room!”

“Daisy,” Lily said.

“Lily?” Daisy asked.

“Are you going to make me narrow it down step by step?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You can not put a flower, much less a champion bloom, on a shelf all the way at the back of the shop, Daisy.” Lily said, punctuating each word with a bob of the head.

“Why not?”

“Because it needs to be seen! That’s its purpose in life! You don’t have it work three months and then suddenly shove it away! People have to see the bloom and then it can be bought! Do you never want it to have a home?”

“No…” Daisy’s voice started wavering. “But… It’s… It’s…”

“What? Huh?” Lily interrupted, mocking tone punctuating Daisy’s struggle.

“It’s… It’s… I-it’s…”

“What? Come on! what?”

“I-It’s shy.”

“We’re not putting the flower in the back of the store on a shelf!”

“You never listen!” Daisy wailed. “You never care about what I and Bertrunk wants!”

“Oh! You named it!” Lily grit her teeth and looked to the skies for assistance. “I told you not to name it and now you’ve gone and named it!”

“So what if I have?”

“I told you the danger! So now what? Huh? What’s it been telling you?”

“He… he doesn’t like attention…” Daisy huddled up against herself.

“Oh Celestia. We’re in for it now.” Lily groaned.

“I don’t see the problem…”

“You don’t see the problem? What if it had imprinted on you? Then what?”

“It didn’t! I made sure!”

“How did you make sure?”

“I wore the suit and everything!”

Lily paused, mid-retort.

Her eye narrowed as she tilted her head to Daisy.

“The suit?”

“Yeah! And all the attachments.”

“Everything?”

“I promise.”

Lily sat back in her overly-downy chair, letting the pot hang from the edge of her hoof by the barest of touches. “I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“You really don’t.” Daisy breathed out a sigh of finality.

“Fine. You may put Ber…”

“Bertrunk”

“Bertrunk. Yes. Thank you.” Lily gave Daisy her best annoyed eye. “You may put it on the shelf.”

“Thank you,” Daisy said. “Thank you.”

“I am moving the shelf from the back of the store to the fr–”

“Ohhhhh no! No! No you don’t! You don’t pull something like that, Miss Lily!” Daisy stood up, pressing her entire weight forward.

Lily stood up in kind, slamming the flowerpot upon the table, continuing to rattle.

“And you don’t get to put it anywhere in the back! I’m telling you right now that–”

“–turn the entire store around if I have to and–”

“–changed all its soil ever since it was a seed, so–”

“–where would you even find a peach at that ho–”

“–of our experiences can be said to be located in the pari–”

“Excuse me, miss?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. “We have had time to consider.”

“What?” Daisy and Lily both replied at the same time with the ferocity of a pair of starving otters.

The Owner nodded to Lily.

“Oh, sorry.” Daisy stepped back, motioning to her other necessary half. “Yeah.”

“On the house, Miss,” The Owner bowed, placing a coffee on the table. It was a high mountain coffee in a plain white mug with two sugars.

Hot.

“Ah… w-why?” Lily asked cautiously. It was always best to be overly-cautious against unexpected charity.

“The Cafe has noticed your coffee has gone cold before you were able to savour it. We have decided to make sure your experience here is… optimal.” The Owner purred.

“Oh. Well. T-thanks, I guess.” Lily said.

“Am I also to understand that this amazing specimen of a flower is for sale at your shop?” The Owner continued, turning slightly to observe the remarkable, yet indescribably beautiful flower.

“Well. Yes, but–”

“I wish to purchase it, Miss.”

“Well, now,” Daisy cut in, a phantom sweat beading on her forehead. “It’s certainly quite expensive, you know… a-and…”

“Here is exactly the amount you require for me to purchase it.” The Owner swept a small mound of bits onto the table.

It was exactly the amount that was required for it to be purchased.

“Daisy…” Lily whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Stop this… stop this now…”

Daisy gave Lily a few looks back to indicate that she, in fact, was unable to.

And it was only a moment later that a swift hoof came up, shears at the ready, and snipped the flower at the stem.

It was removed from its perch with the utmost of grace and respect. You could not say otherwise.

The flower finally made home at the very edge of the cup that The Owner had just laid down.

“It is the wish of The Cafe that you enjoy this coffee with a little bit extra,” The Owner said, motioning to the cup, “in order to show our utmost regret for your sour experience with your first order.”

And then he was gone.

Both ponies, Lily and Daisy each, stood there silent with jaws agape and heavy breathing upon their lips.

Lily sat back down, eyes dry. “What… what do we do now?”

“Okay. Calm down. It’s… it’s fine. We’ll think of something.”

“I don’t like this, Daisy.”

“Hush now. I’m thinking. Drink your coffee.”

Both eyes met.

“Hey, you know what?” Daisy said. “You should give me your coffee.”

“What? Why?” Lily burst out in stark defiance.

“Because, Lily. You had your chance with the hot one. Isn’t it fair that I have mine?”

Lily rapped the table sharply. “You’re always doing this!”

“What?”

“Always!”

“What?”

“Always causing a scene!”

The Owner smiled and polished his glasses – both the ones above the bar and the ones on his face.

Author's Note

Conversation Sparked by Martian

■□ The Mare Who Came in from the Sun □■

With a gasp, a flutter of her lungs, and a shake of her wings, the young mare staggered backward and bumped against the doors that would have let her out had they not been quite thoroughly stuck.

She brushed aside a few ungoverned strands of hair from her face and stared.

She stared at the wooden floor and the beamed ceiling.

She stared at the polished oak bar that lined the back wall.

She stared at the flourishing plants that nestled themselves away into every nook and cranny.

She stared at the amazing array of paraphernalia that sat cozy behind a counter to the right.

She stared at a table in front of her.

It was a round table with swirls and spirals ingrained into the woodwork; chipped and well-worn where untold years had left their mark. But yet, it was finely lacquered over, and sheened under the orange glow of a lamp that hung from the ceiling.

And there, under the only light that illuminated the room, sat a stallion.

“Come. Take a seat,” he said, as gentle as a pat of butter. He held out his hoof, motioning to a chair that was suddenly available. “Please. Stand not on ceremony.”

The young mare did not move. She huddled to herself, one eyelid lower than the other, heavy breath echoing her heavy heart.

“W-where am I?” she asked, her voice cracking like stained glass. She winced as a sharp pain lanced through her forehead.

The stallion tilted his head slightly and stared at her over his round black spectacles. “Is it not clear? This is a cafe. This is The Cafe.”

The mare turned around and peered over her shoulder through the giant Prench windows into the darkened streets beyond. There was a wooden signboard sticking out from the front of the entrance that said exactly what the stallion mentioned.

‘The Cafe’ was carved, cursive script into an oval plank, and there it hung, dancing ever so gently with the midnight breeze.

“No. No. This isn’t right,” the young mare whispered. “This place is wrong. I can’t…”

She doubled over, clutching at her head, a burning fire suddenly engulfing her mind. It sparked up as if from nowhere and quickly reached an intensity that brought her to her knees.

“W-what’s happen...ing?” she cried out, gritting her teeth.

“Alright. It’s alright,” the stallion said, unperturbed but quickening his speech. “Stay calm. It will be alright.”

The mare remained on the floor, groaning, doing everything within her current power to push aside the pain.

“Listen to me,” the stallion continued. “Listen. What is the one strongest thing on your mind right now?”

“Nggg…” the young mare grunted. There was the pain. There were a score of questions about her current situation. But for some reason, an unlikely feeling remained in the pit of the back of her skull – something that she should very well not be thinking about given the circumstances, but yet, there it was.

“I…” She breathed. “I want a c-coffee.”

“Good! One coffee. Here you go, miss.”

The young mare stood up, brushing a few drops of sweat from her cheek. Although her breathing remained heavy, all traces of pain were suddenly gone, as if they never were to begin with.

“Pain gone?” the stallion inquired, resuming his regular pace. “Then. We are fine for now. Please. Have a seat. And here’s your coffee.”

The cup stood upon the table, full of hazelnut latte. It was her favourite of the coffee-related beverages, and it had always been there.

“Wait… what?” The young mare scratched her head. “When did…”

“Oh, don’t mind it. It’s safe to drink.”

“No. I mean… but… has that always...” the young mare pointed at the coffee. “What’s… what’s going on here? What is this place?”

“The Cafe.”

“No. That’s not right. This place – it doesn’t exist.”

“Hm.” The stallion hummed. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I was… walking home from University. And suddenly, I felt like I really needed a coffee. Here. At this… cafe that doesn’t exist.”

“And how do you know this cafe does not exist?”

“Because it doesn’t! I walk this way home every single day! I know this place wasn’t here yesterday!”

“Curious.”

“What is? Who are you? What have you done to me?” the mare peppered, stepping back a bit more to circle the room.

The stallion seated at the table had a strange overbearing presence of being underbearing. It was like trying to accept him was something that you wanted to brush off. As if it was an impossibility that made you question what you just saw.

He was a shadow cast by darkness; the first instance of deja vu.

The young mare wasn’t sure if he was really there or not.

But clearly, he was. He was speaking to her. She was in this strange place and she had no idea why.

He spoke again.

“Isn’t coming in here what you always do?”

“What are you talking about?” The young mare walked back up to the front doors, giving them a shake. “I have never been in here before! This afternoon I just decided to get some coffee! It was the first time! And… now it’s night! What did you do to me?”

She turned, glaring at her host. “What did you do to me?”

“I did nothing. It is still the middle of the day. You could leave right now and it would be the exact same time as when you entered this place.”

“Yeah but the doors are locked, aren’t they?” The young mare danced around the tables, looking for another exit.

“So they are.”

“How did you… make me want to come in?”

“You’re not supposed to have realised that, you know.”

“Realised what?”

“As I’ve said. You were not supposed to have suddenly felt like having a coffee here. You were supposed to have always come here three times a week after your schooling, and… today was no exception.”

“How can I have always done something that I never did?” the mare continued to speak to the room as she moved to the bar, rummaging through equipment and throwing aside cups in search for a lever or button or switch that would pop the doors open.

“Well. These are the facts,” the stallion said. “It seems, curiously, that you are now able to see beyond Experience.”

The young mare stopped assaulting the dishware, stood up straight and gave her wings a good shake.. “What does that even mean, ‘beyond experience’?”

“It has to do with why I have called you here.”

“Who… are you?” the young mare asked, staring at the back of the stallion’s head. He had made no effort to turn. He continued sitting there under the spotlight, facing the doors.

“I am The Owner of The Cafe.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“I am an arbiter attempting to save a life.”

“Alright.” The mare stomped back to the table, knocking down a lamp in the process. “Alright. You want to play that game? Fine. Why have you brought me here?”

“You recall the pain that you felt earlier?”

“Yeah?”

“A lot more is about to come.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That is a fact. A few days ago, you were struck by an errant fluctuation in Experience, right here in this very spot as you were walking home.”

“What?”

“You now have experiences that you have never gone through. It is similar to the way that I brought you here. I gave you an experience that would not occur until we met and I gave you your coffee. The process would have gone much smoother had you not been aware. But your awareness made you realise it never happened. And it brought you pain before I could make the experience happen.”

“How could I have gone through things that I haven’t? That makes no sense! That just makes no sense!”

“Yes. It wouldn’t to you. But regardless, in order to make sure that you don’t suffer, we will have to equalize you.”

“Equalize.”

“Yes. We will have to now make sure you actually do all the things that you have already done.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’ll die.”

“Die.”

“Yes. Die.” The Owner nodded nonchalantly. “You will not be able to exist in harmony with the rest of Experience. Experience will try to remove you.”

“I just… I mean…”

“I understand that this is a very strange set of circumstances. But you must believe that all I wish to do is help.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Why not?”

The mare dropped back into silence. Her mouth flapped open and shut as she tried to summarize the whole thing back to herself.

“There is… a simple way for me to prove to you what I am saying is true.” The Owner interrupted. “You have never been here before, yes?”

“Definitely!”

“Then I want you to remember the times that you have.”

“What?”

“Just remember. As if you were recalling anything else. It’s the same process. Just remember things you’ve seen while you were here.”

“But I’ve never be–”

“Just remember.”

This was unfathomable. This was beyond that. This was stupid. The young mare closed her eyes.

Applejack and Pinkie Pie.

Rarity and Rainbow Dash.

She threw her eyes open with a gasp.

“Yes?” The Owner asked.

“I… what? I… I’ve been here before.”

“Well, from your perspective, you haven’t. But you have. And that is why Existence is trying to erase you.”

“I’ve been here four times before.”

“No. More than that. Many more. You only remember four times at the moment.”

“But… Princess Luna and Sweets? Why’s Sweets talking to her? And why’s she so young?”

“Experience is universal.”

“And they all happened here. In this cafe. Is this some kind of weird set-up or something?”

“No, no. I assure you. There are reasons.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re trying to help me experience all these events so that I would have actually experienced them, or else my head will explode.”

“Much worse than a paltry explosion. But yes.”

“Yeah.” The young mare’s eyebrows flicked up and down in stunned disbelief. “And how do we do this?”

“Well. It’s simple. The Cafe will handle all of it. These events will come, once in a while, on an unfixed schedule. All you have to do is wait for them and be present when each experience happens.”

“But some of those memories were so… I mean… Princess Luna and Sweets? That would never happen. And that looked like it was many years ago.”

“Oh, no. It’s happening right now. But also yesterday and tomorrow. And some of them may not come from your experiences, but from someone’s experiences. Although some will be yours alone, and only yours. It's complicated. But no matter what, they will all happen here. They’re all happening here right now.”

“Right now?” The young mare looked around the empty cafe.

“Yes.”

“Across time and space. So this cafe is some kind of… time… machine dimensional gate thing?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t travel through time and space. Time and space travels through us. Or more precisely, The Cafe. And there is no such thing as infinite dimensions. Only infinite Experience.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That is to be expected. But you will. In time.”

“So time does exist.”

“I… am just going to say yes. It’s easier that way.” The Owner nodded.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

The young mare shook her head, looking around distractedly.

“So,” she finally said.

“Yes?”

“I have a few questions.”

“And I would like to answer them.”

“You said you tried to change my… thingie. Make me feel like I had always come here. But that didn’t work.”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t it work?”

“It is probably an aftereffect of your brain being ripped open by an errant bolt of Experience. It's happened before. Not for me, but it's happened before.”

The young mare raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the only one who's... had this before?"

The Owner nodded slightly.

"You've... helped other ponies before?"

The Owner nodded again.

“So, what’s this bolt thing, anyway?”

“It was caused by this place. This place is… or perhaps will be, to someone, a site of extreme importance. It will mean something very much to a great number of individuals one day, and sometimes, when that happens, Experience can leak.”

“Okay. These… experiences. In my memories I’ve only remembered ponies that I sorta know. Why?”

“Because Experience and knowledge are tied together in the weave of understanding. The moment you experience something, you are acquainted with it. So you can never experience anything that you don’t already know. But who knows what else you will see? You may even run into yourself one day. Maybe even more than once.”

“Why are they all about two ponies chatting?”

“That was the original experience. It echoed.”

“Something that inspired a great number of others was… just two ponies having a talk?”

“Why not? Conversations are powerful things. Perhaps it was a momentous agreement. Perhaps it was the words that started a war. Perhaps it was simply a proposal of love. Conversations can be illuminating and life-changing. I am quite partial to them myself.”

“Can I… see that experience?”

“No. It does not belong to you.”

The mare chewed her lower lip. “This is just like philosophy class at the Uni.”

“I hardly think this philosophical.”

“Whatever. Look. Just… do me a favour. Give me a couple minutes to digest this. I… you’ve gotta have some kinda inkling of what I’m going through here.”

“Yes. Of course. I have dealt with similar situations in the past. Please take as much time as you require. There are still a few days worth of time left before you start feeling some unwanted effects. It would be good if you could come to terms with this ultimately. Even if you do not, I will still be obliged to take you through the process anyway. I hope you will eventually see that I do this merely to spare you from a most terrible demise.”

The young mare blinked heavily, casting her eyes downward. Thoughts passed through her disquieted mind as she considered all that needed to be considered. But bouncing amongst the questions was just one tiny fact that was demanding to be clarified.

“You’re not… a pony, are you?” the young mare asked, looking back up. Or perhaps it was more of a statement, said just to bring that slight bit of known to the unknown. "You're not even mortal. Not even like the princesses. Right?"

The Owner remained silent.

“Alright then.” The young mare’s head tilted up and down, not even enough to be called a nod.

But it was a nod in spirit.

She took a seat by the window, the same one from her memories, and stared out into the darkness.

Beyond the semi-frosted panes of glass, everything looked foreign. It seemed as if things were so very far away, and while everything looked familiar, it did not feel as if it were anything more than a backdrop on a stage. The Cafe gave off a strange tinge of colour that the young mare felt more than saw. It carried a spirit that shifted and danced through the air, whispering moments into her ear.

But what it came down to was trust.

Either she was willing to accept this strange stallion’s explanation of events or not.

There was a mystery behind one curtain, and the threat of death behind the other.

The choice should have been clear, but mysteries were not always pleasant.

She sat for what felt like an hour, that passed into a day, that passed into a week, all within a minute.

Thinking.

Thinking.

Thinking of the past. Thinking of the future.

There was a time when she would have gladly jumped into something like this just because of how cool it was.

There was a time when she was a bit more excited.

She was older now, but still.

Maybe she could make the best of it. That had always been her style.

“You are about to witness a great many conversations,” The Owner said, appearing by her side to stare out into the empty streets. “All here. Different times. Different ponies. It may be sunny one moment but snowy the next. You may see the most unlikely of events and the most unlikely of conversationalists. The Cafe will accommodate. You will adjust. Each new day will feel different, and sometimes it might even feel as if it were a story told by a different narrator altogether. It will be disconcerting at first. But you will adjust.”

“I… understand.” the young mare nodded, her soft cerise mane falling back across her face. One half of her mouth turned up into a smile. “You know what? I guess this could be fun.”

“Well then. Miss Scootaloo?” The Owner said, turning to give her his best smile. “You appear to have had time to consider. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” Scootaloo replied. “Yes I am.”

~=~

Freshly fragrant.

Steam.

Wooden cup.

Just a quirk, but something unique.

Applejack stared out into the rest of the room. It was warmly lit, stained glass lamps lining the bar, soft music playing in the background. The Cafe was always half-full at any time of the day. Everything was gentle. Everything was smooth. It was heavy in browns and greens; a place full of the classic touch of the city, back when cafes still had a bit of its own life to it.

Hers was a straight black.

No cream.

No sugar.

Just Applejack and the coffee.

She took a sip.

“Ya know? I never really liked coffee,” Pinkie said, dropping into the seat across from Applejack

Applejack quirked her eyebrows at her new companion over the cup she had raised to her lips.

“Heya, AJ!” Pinkie returned the greeting.

And sitting at a table apart from the two, hooves gently cupped together, sat a young mare, watching closely.

Author's Note

Looked over by Crack Javelin

Temperature - Twilight Sparkle & Rarity [Cold in Gardez]

It was not, as coffees went, a particularly sophisticated order.

Hot milk, a shot of near-boiling water forced at high pressure through finely ground beans, and a tablespoon of cocoa powder, all mixed thoroughly with – most important – a spray of whipped cream on top. To the other patrons, the ones seated around her or in line behind her when she’d ordered, it barely even qualified as coffee – more like a hot chocolate with a bit of caffeine added for kicks.

A foals’ drink, in other words. The sort of order that provoked little smiles from other customers as they indulged in their bitter, black brews. Coffees that beat the tongue into submission until it was too scalded and scarred to remember what sugar or cream tasted like anymore.

Twilight Sparkle blew on her cafe mocha and gave it a careful little sip. The hot liquid stung her tongue, numbing it, and she quickly pulled the cup away and swirled the burning liquid around her mouth and teeth to cool it. With nothing else to occupy her mind, she gazed out the wide window beside her seat.

Ponies trundled through the light snow. The storm had tapered off by morning, leaving a few inches of white powder on the streets and roofs. Flurries still fell, not enough to add anything appreciable to the piles on the ground but enough to look pretty. It built on ponies’ coats as they walked through the muffled, still air, leaving a white dust on their manes and backs that turned to sparkling dew as soon as they walked in through the doors. They stamped their hooves and shook themselves like wet dogs in the entryway, between a pair of folding wax paper screens the cafe set out for days like this.

Twilight heard the chair across from her table slide out, followed by the quiet creak of wood as somepony settled into it. The faint scent of cotton and lilac told her who. Without looking, she lifted her cafe mocha and took another careful sip.

Still a shade too hot for her liking. She considered taking a gulp anyway, but discarded the urge and set the cup down on the battered table. She was a patient pony.

Outside, through the glazed panes, snow fell in faint veils. It shrouded the distant rooftops. A faint tracing of frost creeped up the edges of the glass, concealing the world beyond with white and silver fractals that vanished when her breath touched them.

Twilight and her guest stared out in silence for a long minute. She could hear the other mare’s breath, slowly calming as she recovered from the effort of trudging through the storm.

“Bit for your thoughts?” Rarity finally asked. Her chin was propped on her hoof, her nose just inches from the window. It fogged every few seconds as she exhaled.

Twilight tilted her head. To be truthful, she was thinking about dozens of things, each for no more than a few seconds before some new thought chased it away and ran off with her imagination until it too was overthrown. Rather undisciplined of her.

Still, Twilight owed her an answer. “Energy, I suppose.”

“Energy?”

“Mhm.”

“How do you mean?”

“This coffee, mostly.” Twilight nudged her cup with the tip of her hoof. It was not really coffee, of course, but that was a needless distinction and would have distracted from her main argument. “It’s still too hot.”

“Ah. Did you try stirring it?”

“No, that would have melted the whipped cream.”

“Of course. May I ask why you have whipped cream on your coffee?” She smiled at the question, her eyes darting between Twilight’s mug and her face.

Twilight glanced at the mug. “Well, it’s a cafe mocha, actually.”

“Fair enough. What does that have to do with energy?”

“Heat is energy.” Twilight sipped at her mocha again. Perfect. “I was wondering whether the liquid was losing more heat through conduction or radiation.”

Rarity’s eyes flicked down to the mug held between Twilight’s hooves. “You have radioactive hot chocolate?”

“No. I mean, yes, I guess, but it’s not a source of ionizing radiation. Well, except maybe for some trace amounts of potassium, but that would hardly be measurable. It’s perfectly safe.”

“A relief to hear, I’m sure.”

Twilight arched an eyebrow. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“Twilight, if I were mocking you, it would be because you ordered a little filly’s drink from a big filly’s cafe.” A tiny smile bent up the corners of her mouth, softening the impact of her words. “I’m surprised they even serve those here.”

“I’m a grown mare. I can have whatever I want.” She took another sip. “Anyway, it’s a popular item. They have those little marshmallows instead of whipped cream, if you prefer.”

For a moment – just a fleeting instant – Rarity’s eyes betrayed a hint of interest, but just as quickly her expression returned to the lidded indifference she so often wore. “Hm, not for me, thank you. They’re too sweet. Cloying, really.”

“Of course.” Another sip. Not perfect anymore – it had cooled a hair past that point. Still delicious, though, as it traced a molten chocolatey path down her tongue and throat.

Silence returned. They gazed out the window as a gust of wind sent the snow fleeing down the street like a frightened ghost.

“So, which was it?” Rarity asked.

“Which was what?”

“Radiation, or the other thing.”

“Conduction?” Twilight took a longer sip now, almost a gulp. The mocha had cooled further and was well on its way to lukewarm. “It’s probably a bit of both. Depends on the emissivity of the ceramics used in the mug. I did some of the math for it, but then it started snowing again, and I guess I got distracted watching it.”

Rarity glanced out the window. “It is beautiful. Cold, though.”

“What, this?” Twilight shook her head. “It’s barely below freezing.”

“And I’m sure in Canterlot this would be a balmy spring day,” Rarity countered. “But we don’t live on the side of a mountain.”

“You don’t like the cold?”

“I’m of two minds about it.” Rarity turned away from the window, gazing up instead at the blackboards fixed on the wall above and behind the register where, written in chalk, the Owner announced the day’s specials. “I don’t like being cold, no. But, ponies who are cold tend to buy clothing, and I do appreciate that.”

Twilight nodded. “I know the feeling. Ponies who are cold tend to use the library more often.”

Silence proceeded from that statement. Rarity turned back toward her, an eyebrow raised.

Twilight fidgeted. “Okay, fine. No they don’t.”

“Well, more’s the pity. Perhaps I’ll stop by this afternoon for a little light reading.”

“That would be nice.” Twilight hid her smile behind the mug as she took another drink. The mocha was merely warm now, and she gulped it down unhesitatingly. When she looked up, Rarity had turned back to the window, gazing out with her chin resting on her hoof again

“Bit for your thoughts?” she asked.

“Thinking about our friends,” Rarity said. “I wonder if they’re warm, or cold, or something in between.”

“Well, Dash is probably up there somewhere.” Twilight made a vague motion with her muzzle toward the clouds. “She’s been planning this storm for days, she said. The others are probably inside, staying warm. Unless they’re outside, being cold.”

“That does cover most of the possibilities.”

Twilight shrugged. “That’s winter for you.” She took a final swig of her mocha, lapping up a dollop of whipped cream that had somehow survived the whole cup’s journey.

“Any good?” Rarity asked.

“Very. Cooled off a bit too much at the end, though. There’s probably some optimal pace at which to drink a hot beverage so it doesn’t scald your tongue when you start, or get too cool by the end.”

“Sounds like a promising thesis statement. Oh, you’ve got some cream on your nose.”

Twilight blushed, rubbing her muzzle with her hoof. “Sorry, was a little left at the end.”

“Oh, it was there since I walked in,” Rarity said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “It just looked too adorable to spoil, though.”

Ah. Twilight’s blush doubled, recalling the smiles the other customers had given her. “Well, uh—”

“Miss Rarity?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“Yes.” Rarity turned to him, all smiles. “I’ll have the cafe mocha, please. With those little marshmallows.”

“Very good.” He sketched a slight bow. “I’ll have it right out for you.”

Silence again. They filled it by gazing out at the drifting snow.

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by Cold in Gardez.
The Cafe is appreciative for his time.

Wings - Vinyl Scratch & Fluttershy

Marshmallow fluff splattered down the sides of the cup, running onto the table, causing little candy mountains to form, capped by rainbow sprinkles and overlooking a river of chocolate sauce.

Standing tall above the landscape was Mount Cookie-Latte, a behemoth of sugar and crumbs and delicious flecks of assorted snacks all crumbled and thrown into the mix.

It was a ‘table-service’ coffee, which involved The Owner dispensing liquid marshmallow from a jar to the cup until the customer said to stop.

And Vinyl Scratch did not say stop until the fluff had reached twice the height of the cup itself and collapsed all over itself like an avalanche of dreams.

Her request was to be given ‘something wow’, followed by ‘something’ again and a mock explosion noise with related hoof-gestures.

The Owner had left the horrendous mess with the utmost grace, leaving Vinyl ready to plunge headfirst into the fray with her own brand of gracious countenance.

“Oh my,” came a soft squeaking.

“Hey! Fluts!” Vinyl yelled out, setting her drink aside for the moment. “Whachu doin’ here?”

“Oh. I, um, I stopped by to pick up some coffee beans.” Fluttershy smiled, moving to the table and staring at the mess. “That’s… that’s a thing you got there.”

“I know! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like the most awesome drink I ever drank!”

“What does it taste like?” Fluttershy tilted her head.

“I dunno.” Vinyl shrugged. “Hey, wanna join me?”

The chair nearest to Fluttershy, aglow with a magical sheen, blasted forward and bumped into the little pony’s chest.

“O-oh,” the little pegasus muttered. “S-sure, Vinyl. Maybe for a short while. Thank you.”

Daintily, she lowered herself into the offered seat, making sure to avoid touching the table.

“Didn’t know you drank coffee, Fluts.” Vinyl chuckled, moving her goggles up.

“It’s not for me,” Fluttershy explained. “Angel gets cranky in the morning if he doesn’t get his Blue Mountain.”

“Ah, right. Well, you oughta get something, though, eh? How’s about I get you one of these?” Vinyl pointed to her mutant drink. “Tasty bevs. Tasty bevs.”

“I… wouldn’t know how to drink it.” Fluttershy’s eyebrows fell backward.

“You just pick it up and put it in ya mouth, yeah,” Vinyl sang, floating the cup an inch above the table, causing more froth to splash down.

A feathery shield came out at the ready, hiding Fluttershy from the horrible assault of sticky white goo.

She peeked out from behind the feathers. “Um… it seems a bit messy, and… I don’t wanna get my hooves dirty...”

“Hey, uh…” Vinyl said, scratching her head, returning the drink to the table. “I dunno. You could… use your wings?”

“That’s not… what they’re for.” Fluttershy protested, returning her defenses to her back.

“Yeah?”

“Um… yes.”

“You know, you know, you know?” Vinyl waggled her hoof. “It always kinda bugged me, you know?”

“I know?”

“You know?”

“Bugged you?”

“Yeah, you know.”

“I… don’t really… what?” Fluttershy murmured.

“Yeah! Exactly, it’s like… what do you Pegasus-sus use your wings for?”

“Um… flying, mostly.”

“Yeah, but I mean what do you lil peganauts use ‘em for?” Vinyl dropped.

“Flying. Yes.” Fluttershy nodded. “Flying.”

“Naw, pegaloon, you know what I’m sayin’, right?”

The little yellow pony had to take a little mental step back. “P-pegaloon?”

“Yeah, like, you know! Pegasus? Balloon? Come on, Fluts, keep up.”

“Yes! Yes. I will keep up.” Fluttershy resumed to nodding furiously. “We um… mainly fly. I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Look. Us monobones use magic, right? But you know, sometimes we do other things with ‘em.”

“Oh, that’s none of my b–”

“Like I hang my headphones on ‘em when I’m lazy, right? Or sometimes if I gotta point at somethin’, it’s like a big old arrow, right?”

“Yes. I… I think I see what you mean.”

“Yeah!” Vinyl sat back. “You can ask any ‘corn. We all do stupid things with ‘em.”

“Oh well… that’s…”

“So like, I reckon, surely there’s gotta be some dope shiz y’all peegies get up to, ya know?”

“With, ah, with wings? Well… I suppose so.”

Vinyl’s grin widened.

“Um…” Fluttershy continued, holding a hoof up to her mouth. “Well, they’re quite flexible. You could pick things up with them. It’s quite useful.”

Vinyl moved in closer.

“And you could fan somepony who was hot, I suppose?” Fluttershy continued.

Vinyl nodded.

“Um…” Fluttershy mumbled.

“That’s it?”

“I guess so.”

“Aww, come on!” Vinyl looked off to the side before flicking her head back. “Look, I’m sure you done some really weird things too, right?”

“Weird? Like… what do you mean?”

“C’mon… gal like you. You don’t haveta hide or nothin’. I ain’t gon’ tell nopony else!”

“I’m sure I don’t know…” Fluttershy squeaked.

“You know. Like… unorthodox stuff, yeah?” Vinyl whispered.

“I don’t know… maybe if you gave me an example?” Fluttershy offered, at a loss.

“Oh, I see how it is. I see. Aight. I get yer game, Fluts.” Vinyl pursed her mouth and leaned back with respect. This was how it was on the streets.

“My… game?”

“Yeah. So I tell you what. Here’s a little sum’in sum’in from me.”

“I do like battleclouds.”

“Okay. One time, right? Three in the mornin’. Perfect time for a peanut butter, okra and vegetable extract sandwich, right?”

“That sounds horrendous.”

“Whatever! So there weren’t no more clean knives in the house ‘cuz I used them all to play darts with, right? And like cleaning’s for Octavia and stuff. That’s her deal. So… I used my horn to spread the peanut butter.” Vinyl mimicked the action, rocking her head and hooves back and forth as if she were playing some odd instrument.

“You did what?”

“Yeah, and the next day, Octy was all like ‘why is the peanut butter got swirls innit’ and all that.” Vinyl burst out with a devious grin. “And she ate it anyway, and it was real funny.”

“That’s… um…”

“Okay. That’s one from me. Now you. Gimmie somethin’.”

“Um… one time my feather molted and I gave it to a little child to cheer him up.”

Vinyl blinked.

Fluttershy smiled, enwrapped in the memory.

“You kiddin’?” Vinyl asked.

“N-no. He was really happy after that, a-and h–”

“Okay. Fine. One time, right? Octavia’s lower back was itchy, right? But I had my hooves full carryin’ a bunch of equipment and things.”

“Why were your hooves full? Couldn’t you have used magic?”

“Well, why don’t you fly across the street every time you gots ta cross it? Sometimes it’s just easier t’ do things regular, right? Now you gonna let me finish my story or what?”

“S-sorry.”

“So my hooves was full, right? And she was like ‘oh mah Celestia Vinyl mah back is so itchy ugh ugh ugh ahm dyin’ Vinyl please help me Vinyl’ and like she was beggin’, right?”

Fluttershy fidgeted.

“So I bend over and use my horn, right? But the angle was weird and it kinda slipped down a bit, right?”

“Oh my goodness.”

“And nothin’... you know. Nothin’ happened, but it sorta like hotdogged itself in there a bit.”

“W-why are all your stories about terrible things happening to your housemate?” Fluttershy whispered.

“But it were funny and we all had a good laugh and everythin’. So okay. Your turn.”

“I… I don’t get this, Vinyl. My turn for what?”

Vinyl shrugged exaggeratedly. “Uh… a story? A cool, ‘bang pow’ kinda story?”

“About my wings?”

“Yeah! Come on. Freak me out!”

“I don’t want to freak anyone out…”

“C’mon, Fluts!”

Fluttershy reacted with a small mouse-noise as she started to play with her hooves. “Oh… ah.. um…”

Vinyl stared at her with a ferocious intent.

“I… I use a hairdryer to dry my wings after a shower?” she offered.

Vinyl’s expression began to drop.

“I… I sometimes use them as a blanket at night? I… I don’t know, Miss Vinyl!” Fluttershy’s voice began to warble. “I don’t k-know what you want!”

“Really?” Vinyl asked, a note of frustration playing off her response.

“Really, honest, Miss Vinyl. I’m sorry. I really am. But if you want something from me, maybe you’d better ask me straight, because I really don’t understand what all this is that is being done!”

“Aight. Aight.” With a sigh, Vinyl leaned in close after sneaking a look left and right once more to make sure no one else was listening. This was all very secret stuff. “So there’s this thing spreadin’ around, right?”

“Spreading?”

“Yeah. About pegasi. They sayin’ somethin’.” Vinyl gave a little half-shrug, half-cringe. “So’s I heard. And I just wanna get the skinny, ya know? Can you blame a girl for bein’ curious?”

“What… what are ponies saying about us?” Fluttershy’s lip started to quiver as her vibrancy dropped a few shades into sepia. “W-what’s going on?”

“So just tell me straight up, aight?” Vinyl whispered.

“O-okay,” Fluttershy whispered back.

“So they say, when you lot visit the bathroom and you gotta drop a stunner, uh… they say y’all prefer to use your wings inst–”

“Miss Fluttershy,” The Owner said.

“Oh hey! Hi! What’s up?” Vinyl shot up straight like a snake being electrocuted, as she folded and refolded her forelegs across her chest when she couldn’t get it right the first time. “Whachoo doin’ here? Huh? Heh. Heh heh. Yeah… sup.”

The Owner gave Vinyl a look.

He turned slightly to face the other patron. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“The usual, please,” Fluttershy forced out.

“Yes. If you would follow me to the counter, I will prepare it accordingly.”

The Owner departed,

Fluttershy stood up shakily.

“Ah… well. It’s been… fantastic, Miss Vinyl. It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go! Angel needs his… I have to go!” Fluttershy stammered, smiling as much as she could bring herself to as she slowly backed away from the den of timberwolves.

She turned and trotted with all due dainty haste to the counter, keeping her wings tightly pressed to her body.

Vinyl let out a big sigh.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, as she plinked the side of her glass.

And she sat for a while, engrossed in thought.

A wind swept through the cafe as the door opened.

“Hi, Vinyl!”

“Oh hey! Blossy!” Vinyl’s eyebrows perked back up.

“What’s goin’ on?” Blossomforth asked, giving her wings a shake.

“Oh… nothin’ much.” Vinyl replied, eyes roaming over Blossom’s figure.

She pushed the chair out with a burst of magic.

“Hey… wanna join me? she asked, smiling at the pegasus.

Frankly - Blueblood & Gilda [Crack Javelin]

One part espresso to three parts steamed milk.

No frills about it, just a simple drink brewed to perfection.

The caffè latte sat upon a plain white saucer, and next to it on a plate of its own was a half-eaten croissant, surrounded on all sides by golden-brown flakes that had crumbled off after the pastry had sustained a particularly hefty bite.

Blueblood brought a napkin to his lips.

As with all the other times before, Blueblood did not fail to notice The Owner’s frown as he made his order. The chalkboard menu above the bar consisted of only a short list of speciality drinks, but squeezed into the bottom corner as if it were an afterthought was a small blurb that said “or ask for anything else”, and so Blueblood did just that.

He asked for food.

And begrudgingly, The Owner gave a small nod, shuffled into the back room, and returned with the fluffiest, most decadent piece of breakfast bread that Blueblood had ever seen in his entire life.

For a time Blueblood wondered why such magnificent croissants were kept from the public eye but that interest never turned into an inquiry, and that inquiry eventually became his own little secret.

The Cafe was always quiet in the morning. Despite the superb coffee, despite the croissants kept under wraps, the place always seemed to be on the verge of a long, deep sleep, kept awake only by the small trickle of curious drifters who just so happened to be ambling by. But for now, he was alone within the walls of the shop.

And it was quiet.

A crowd would only ruin the mood.

And as Blueblood mulled over his thoughts with a slow sip of his drink, there came the sounds of outside floating through the open door, but only for a moment before the click-clack of something sharp on wood drowned out the noise altogether. Blueblood looked up just in time to see the door swing shut on silent hinges and there, looking as out of place as a square peg in a round hole was–

“A griffon,” said Blueblood, as if announcing that the sky was indeed blue.

The griffon’s gaze slowly drifted across the empty bar, grazed the chalkboard menu, and focused on the open checkout counter before she turned her head to the side and regarded Blueblood with a particularly suspicious stare.

“You run this joint?”

Blueblood set down his cup. “Not quite."

“Then talk about some stellar customer service." She frowned, looked around the empty cafe once more, and sighed. "What do I gotta do, hop the bar and make something myself?"

Blueblood held back a grin. For a species whose faces were fifty percent beak, griffons were no less expressive than the most open-hearted of ponies – if one were trained to spot the signs, of course. And Blueblood saw in this griffon a certain quality to her scowl, a certain fire in her eyes and heard enough of her sandpaper voice to know that she was the type of individual who sneered rather than smiled, and if there ever occurred a situation so embarrassing and terrible that caused her to laugh, she would most certainly be laughing at you rather than with you.

Or maybe he was just imagining things.

“I’m sure the owner is around,” said Blueblood. “Irritable kind of fellow, but he’s accommodated me quite well so far. Why don’t you have a seat while you wait?"

“I don’t plan on sticking around long."

“You’re blocking the doorway."

The griffon’s wings rose slightly. She glanced over her shoulder, bunched up her talons, and started toward Blueblood with an unidentifiable look. She stopped at the edge of the table, eyes narrowing as she grasped the chair opposite of him, yanked it out, and dropped into the seat.

“Well, you don't have to sit here,” Blueblood said. “Why, I imagine anywhere else would be all the better for you."

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” The griffon raised a brow.

“I make poor conversation."

“So do I."

“Then all the more reason you should sit somewhere else. Two wrongs don’t make a right."

“Is that so?”

“It’s only logical that one and one of a negative will just equal more of that negative, so if you will please, Miss.” He directed a hoof elsewhere. Anywhere that was not close to him.

In a slow motion, the griffon placed both palms on the rim of the table and leaned forward. “I get it. You’re telling me to buzz off. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want anyone getting between you and your–“ she gave a downward glance, “–bread."

“Good. Then let’s not make a big fuss over a small misunderstanding. As brief as our conversation may have been, it has been–"

“I’m not going anywhere."

“–a pleasure.” Blueblood’s smile fell away. “What?"

“I’m not going anywhere,” the griffon repeated.

“What?Why?"

She actually had the nerve to look astonished. “Because you’re the only pony who’s ever told me what to do? Seriously, any other pony would have used up every single ounce of their guts just to squeak out an 'excuse me’ or ‘sorry’ or whatever else you ponies say to get away from the big bad griffon. But you? You must have tons of guts. More guts than every single pony put together. Like literal tons of guts and ba–"

“Please,” Blueblood said. "Enough with the guts."

“Right."

Blueblood sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He couldn’t believe he actually wanted to know, and before he could stop himself his mouth was dropping open and the words were spilling from his lips.

“Perhaps introductions are in order?” came the sounds from his mouth.

“Gilda,” came the reply from her beak, dancing on the air between them before finding a home in his ears. “The name’s Gilda."

“Gilda,” he repeated.

It flowed quite nicely.

“As for myself, my name is Blueblood. I’m something of a regular here, as strange as that may seem."

“Not really,” Gilda said, looking around. "I can see the appeal. It’s kind of a cozy little place, isn’t it?"

“Indeed it is."

“Is it always so empty though?"

Blueblood regarded his coffee. “Only when I’m here."

“Huh."

Blueblood looked up.

“You don’t smell bad,” said Gilda, wearing an inquisitive expression. “And it’s not like you’re hard on the eyes either."

“Er–"

“I’ve been around enough ponies to know the difference. What are you, like a supermodel or something?"

“Uh–"

“Doesn’t matter. Because let me tell you, you’ve got a killer mane. I bet when it’s windy outside, your hair goes like 'whoosh’, all majestic-like and such.” Gilda drummed her talons on the table, then smiled. “Bet it drives the girls crazy."

Blueblood could only blink at the griffon. She had turned toward the window, her chin resting in a cradle of claws as her eyes followed something that only she could see.

“It’s nice,” began Blueblood, “talking with someone so forthcoming."

“Huh?” She looked up.

“Candid."

“Can-what?"

“Honest,” Blueblood said. “You’ll say anything that pops into your mind, won’t you? It’s nice. Refreshing."

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” Gilda said. “Words are like… they’re words. They’re things you create and put out into the world, you know? They’re a part of you. So when you say something that means one thing, but inside you meant something completely different, it’s like ‘what are you doing?’."

Gilda paused. “You’re just twisting yourself up."

“Feelings can get hurt very easily that way,” said Blueblood.

“And you know what I say to that?” Gilda jabbed a finger into the table. “I say screw them, because why should I be dishonest with myself just to spare the feelings of some weakling who’s gonna get offended by what I say? Me, a complete stranger to them. It’s ridiculous."

Gilda huffed, shaking her head.

“And you know what else? Why am I the one who gets the stink-eye, the one who’s expected to keep her mouth shut after the babies come crying and the hammer comes down? Gosh, as if it’s my fault for sharing what I think. So much for being open with others, right?"

Blueblood nodded slowly. In front of him, his breakfast remained half-finished, completely forgotten in the midst of the sulking griffon. He gave his mane an errant flick with a hoof.

Still in place.

“Ah but you see, it’s not so much about never speaking your mind so much as it is, well… about filtering what you say."

“But that just goes back to twisting your own words."

Blueblood wrinkled his chin. “Ah, no.”

“What? You’re gonna have to give me something better than a ’no’ there, bud."

“It’s called tact,” said Blueblood. “For example, say, in a completely hypothetical situation, there was someone called Person A standing in... say, a doorway, blocking it in such a way that no one else could enter or exit. No one gets their morning coffee, all hope is lost, et cetera, et cetera. Many thanks, Person A."

Gilda raised a brow.

“Now imagine someone called Person B,” Blueblood continued. “An innocent bystander who just so happened to be inside the coffee shop when disaster struck. He notices the crisis and within his own mind, is presented with two paths on how he should proceed. Should he be nice and ask kindly if Person A would move, or should he point out in as blunt a fashion as possible that she is preventing everyone else entry with her massive, massive frame."

Blueblood smirked.

“Did you just call me fat?” asked Gilda.

“I have no idea what you are talking about."

“And what the heck! The second option, that’s exactly what you did!"

“That’s what Person B did, you mean."

“Uh, no, Blue. You never said what Person B did because you just stopped, so all that tells me is that you were clearly drawing on real life for your 'hypothetical situation', right? Something that happened five minutes ago maybe?"

Gilda let out a thoughtful hum, scratching the side of her head.

“So which one was the better choice?” she asked.

“That depends entirely on how you perceived me, doesn’t it?”

The feathers on Gilda’s shoulders ruffled upwards in a griffon’s version of a shrug.

“You know, Blue, only one of those choices would have made me sit down in this chair and try and figure you out. You’re kind of an honest guy yourself.”

Blueblood concealed his smile with a hoof. “And to think I come in here to escape the incessant chatter of ponies."

Gilda raised a single claw.

“Pony?” she asked.

And in that moment, The Owner emerged from the back room, bearing a tray loaded with sparkling, clear glasses on his back. He disappeared behind the bar, emerging seconds later sans tray and wearing the warmest grin as he approached the table.

“Miss Gilda,” The Owner said. “You appear to have have had time to consider. Can I take your order?"

“Uh,” she looked the bespectacled stallion, to Blueblood, then back again, “I’ll have what he’s having?"

“An excellent choice,” said The Owner. “Shall I bring your caffè latte to the table or would you like to take it at the counter?"

“Table’s fine, thanks."

“Very good. I’ll be back momentarily.” And with a slight bow of his head, The Owner disappeared in the same manner that he came, leaving the two in silence.

Brow furrowed, Gilda leaned over the table and whispered, “How in the whole wide world did he know my name?"

Blueblood shrugged.

“I haven’t the foggiest."

The griffon said nothing as she glanced out the window before gesturing to the array of the tableware in front of Blueblood with a drum of her claws.

“So,” she began, “is it any good?"

“Hm?"

“Your drink. How is it?"

“Ah.” Blueblood’s horn sparked to life as he levitated the cup to his lips and drained what little remained. He set the cup down and regarded the griffon with a small smile.

“It’s fit for a prince,” he said.

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by Crack Javelin.
The Cafe is appreciative for his time.

Thweeths - Bon Bon & Twist

Thweeths - Bon Bon & Twist

Lake Angelica Green Reed Coffee was one of the rarest roasts available, and Bon Bon was nothing short of astounded to see it offered on the menu that day, on the very day that she had heard of it and mused about its taste.

From the lands of the hippogriffs to the far South, the plants that produced these beans were a particular type that grew only underwater in muddy soil, and instead of cherries, the beans grew nestled in hard shells that could withstand the torrential, feverish waters of the lake.

The beans, once removed by way of mechanical press, would then have to be roasted for forty-five minutes at 450 degrees celsius until they turned as black as night and as shiny as oil. After grinding in a special grinder that was strong enough to break them, they would then have to be boiled for at least two days continuously before any flavour would be gently coaxed out.

A further step would then be necessary to bring it to a drinkable state by utilizing freeze distillation, a process that would take many pieces of specialized equipment and a further two days.

From eight pounds of beans harvested from the most offensive landscape in Equestria and near a week of work, a single batch of coffee would be produced – say, three or four cups – and kept in vacuum-sealed containers at sub zero temperatures to ensure that it didn’t spoil.

The end result was a coffee that was surprisingly sweet, held the flavours of sun-dappled cattails and velvet begonias, and had an acidity so high that the beans could have been as green as the reeds that grew in its vicinity.

The Owner gave Bon Bon a cup on the house.

It was served in a small glass. 7 fluid ounces. No frills to it. No decorations.

Just a light-brown liquid in a cup.

It spoke for itself.

Bon Bon lifted the cup to her lips but stopped, lowering it back to the table without drinking. She sighed, pushing her glasses back up her face.

“Thomthing wrong?”

Bon Bon looked up. A pony in her early twenties stood there.

“What’th up?” Twist asked, grinning,

“Oh hey. Have a seat.” Bon Bon smiled back. “Did you bring the stuff?”

“I got the thtuff right here!” Twist slapped a few loose sheets of paper onto the table. “Juth ath you athked!”

Bon Bon sighed. “Twist.”

“Yeth?”

“Twist, we spoke about this before.”

“Oh, thorry.” Twist gulped down the remainder of her candy. “Sorry.”

“It’s polite.”

“Yes, I know. I know! I just took some caramel for the walk over.”

“Alright. Good. Sit down.”

Twist slid into her seat. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s wrong with the coffee? You were like ‘I’m gonna drink it’ and then you were like ‘I’m not gonna drink it’ and then you didn’t.”

“Oh. I just… can’t bring myself to.”

“Um… why not?”

“I’m afraid of what I might find.”

“Okay. That’s… uh....” Twist scratched her head. “But anyway, here’s the report you asked for, Miss Bon Bon.”

“Good, good.” The pony quickly ran her eyes over the sheets of paper. “I see all factories are producing at quota. How goes our push into Northern Haysia?”

“We’re working on the negotiations right now, Miss. Interpreters cost a fortune.” Twist shook her head, her wild curls flying all over the table.

“A necessary step.”

“Oh yes, of course, Miss. I get that perfectly. Just… expensive.”

Bon Bon pushed the sheets away, clasping her hooves, all the while giving Twist a rather specific look. “So.”

Twist found a distraction to her right.

“Come now. Have you given my proposal any thought?”

“I’m just a simple secretary, ma’am.” Twist smiled politely.

“I’m not asking you to give up your life, my friend. I’m asking for an idea.”

Twist sat back, her eyes continuing to wander.

Bon Bon folded her legs across her chest.

The rest of the chatter in The Cafe went on without them.

“What’s wrong?” Bon Bon asked after a little while. “Why are you so afraid of an idea? Please. Tell me. I want to understand.”

“Ideas change things,” Twist responded hesitantly.

“Well, isn’t that a good thing oft times?”

“They’ll change me, too.”

“Are you worried that things will be too different?”

“Well, it’s not that… I mean, I don’t want to seem like I’m not enthusiastic or anything… I can work–”

“I’ve been working with you for four years.” Bon Bon waved it away. “I know you by now. Just speak.”

“Look. I mean, I like what I do and where I am. I don’t want to rush about and do all the businessy stuff. I’m no good with that. I don’t feel comfortable with it.”

“You can learn, though.”

“But I feel that’s… forcing myself to do something I’m not happy with. It’s changing who I am. And I guess I just like this.”

Bon Bon shrugged. “I’m offering you a big opportunity. Who wouldn’t want to take it?”

“I’m sure there’s a hundred other ponies more willing and suitable for the job, Miss.”

“Yes, there are. But I still want you.”

“Well… why?” Twist asked. “Why do you want me so much?”

“Well, frankly,” Bon Bon took in a short breath, “there’s quite a number of reasons. I don’t want to lie, so let’s boil it down to two points. I think you’re creative and that your ideas could be a huge asset to the company. And also, you’re my friend and I want you to do the best in life.”

“I… appreciate that. But… couldn’t you just make me… I don’t know… Super Secretary or something?”

Bon Bon’s mouth curled up. “You’re already holding that position, dear. You don’t get higher than being my assistant.”

“Well… I just don’t want to have to handle all that stuff. I stay outside when you have your meetings. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do on the other side of the door.”

“You don’t want recognition?”

“No, Miss.”

“You don’t want money?”

“Well, I would, of course, and I would love to sell you my ideas. But I just… prefer things simple. I’m sorry, Miss.”

Bon Bon’s head lowered. It was a disappointment to hear, but one that left a few fleeting thoughts.

“Please don’t fire me, Miss.”

Once again, Bon Bon found the need to wave Twist off, this time with a tinge of annoyance.

Bon Bon sat and thought.

“Is everything to your enjoyment, Ma’am?” A voice rang out, sharply, calling Bon Bon back to shore.

She turned and looked up at The Owner, who was standing there with slight concern.

“Is there something wrong with your drink?” The Owner asked, gesturing to the untouched cup.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” Bon Bon replied, eyes catching the glint of the ceiling lights bouncing off the rim of the cup. “Hm.”

The Owner smiled with a strange precision and walked away in complete silence.

“That was weird,” Twist said, watching him go.

“I suppose…” Bon Bon said, staring at the plain glass, “there’s really no harm in keeping things simple on the outside.”

“Miss?”

“Listen. You’re alright with selling your ideas, correct?”

“Well, sure.”

“But you want to avoid having to do all the business stuff, as you put it.”

“Miss… I really don’t…”

“Listen. I have an idea.”

“Yes?” Twist asked, with worried trepidation.

“I’ll make up a new position within the company.”

“A new position?”

“Yes. A sort of… brainstorming tank of some kind. Nothing but brilliant ideas underneath, but no other frills to the job. Just get in a room, think of stuff, write them down and that’s all you need to do. Plain and simple.”

“Brainstorming?”

“Yes! I mean. There are a lot of ponies with ideas whom… like you, don’t want to get their hooves muddy with big decisions. Maybe we could just keep things very simple on the outside so that it doesn’t distract from the things underneath,” Bon Bon continued to muse.

“Are you offering to pay for this?”

“Yes, why not? What do you think, Twist? Commission or royalties?”

“Well… a royalty scheme would be much more fair in the long run, especially if you intend to expand the product line or run different campaigns…”

“See? Ideas already. Fantastic.” Bon Bon stuck out a hoof. “Alright. Here’s what I want for tomorrow. I’ll put together a plan. Could you get pony resources to come down to see me as well as ah… Perfect Sum from accounting?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“And get Fine to help look for anyone within the company who wants to throw or suggest an idea. I want to get this started as soon as possible.”

“That’s… rather fast, Miss.”

“Yes. Fast is how I work.”

“That’s what I don’t like about it, Miss.”

“Hey.” Bon Bon slowed down and caught Twist’s eye. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll be fine. I promise. Your job won’t change, and if you don’t like it, you can back off. No obligation.”

“Alright, Miss.”

“Really. It will be fine.” Bon Bon gave Twist a smile. “I’ll be here for you all the way.”

“Okay.” Twist smiled back.

“For now, why don’t you pitch me your best idea?”

“You know what I’ve always wanted?” Twist responded, looking sideways as The Owner stepped up to the table. “I want a caramel that’s got both hard bits and soft bits at the same time. For that lovely texture.”

“Miss Twist?” The Owner said, stopping next to her. “I’m afraid we don’t have that.”

“Oh, but soon we will,” Bon Bon said. “We will.”

Author's Note

Conversation sparked by -Frost

■□ The Mare Who Looked For More □■

Scootaloo blinked, and the scene was gone.

In the moments of light and sound, between the cracks of realities, things came and went, riding in on fleeting thoughts and disappearing when was most appropriate, leaving nothing but the single memories that stood testament to their existence.

When the moment is gone, all that is ever left are memories.

The Owner walked back to the counter, now clean, now clear, everything back to normal, as normal would have it.

Scootaloo followed behind the stallion, frowning with a tinge of guilt, its source a slight ponderance.

“You look concerned,” The Owner observed.

“I feel concerned,” Scootaloo replied.

“Over what you just saw?”

“Maybe more about what I haven’t.”

“And what haven’t you seen?”

Scootaloo settled atop a stool, taking a sip of the water that was always there when she needed it.

After a moment more, she replied.

“I haven’t seen her for a while, now. Twist, I mean. It’s been a few years. I wonder how she’s getting on? Good job, though, by the looks of it.”

“A job she had only in that moment, and a few other moments aside.”

“So what about the real one?” Scootaloo looked up, toward The Owner.

The Owner stared back.

“Can’t say, huh. Is there even a ‘real’ one in the first place?”

“Yes. Yes there is.”

“But how can there be? I just saw a whole bunch of different characters. They must exist somewhere, even though they’re not mine.”

“No, you’re thinking dimensionally again.” The Owner nodded. “You are the singular and real, as are all the ones you know. Have no worries about that. The Prism values individuality. To dilute yo–”

“The Prism?” Scootaloo cut in.

The Owner switched over without so much as a break. “They are currently those who are in charge.”

“In charge of…”

“Everything.”

“And you?” Scootaloo pointed.

“I am one of their harbingers.”

The pegasus drummed her hoof on the countertop.

“I have questions,” she said.

“And I answer what I can. You need not preface.”

“Well, I have questions that you go all quiet to.”

“Then I believe I shall go quiet aga–”

“How long have I been here?” Scootaloo rapped once upon the wood.

“Two weeks or not at all.”

“I think I deserve some answers.”

The Owner fell silent again, but it was a different silence this time around. It was a silence of thought, the kind one takes before delivering a reply of weight.

“I suppose it would be… alright, as faulty as your logic is. The delivery of your plea, however, has evoked an emotional response. You give me no choice but to sway in your favour.”

“Hey.” Scootaloo frowned. “What do you mean ‘faulty logic’?”

“Well, I do not believe that you’ve performed any sort of activity that would warrant ‘deserving some answers’.”

“I’ve put up with your coffee for two weeks.”

“What’s wrong with the coffee?”

“I like soda! Why isn’t there any soda in here?”

“Because this is a coffee house.”

“You know what? Let’s start there.” Scootaloo prodded at the air. “What’s your deal with coffee, anyway? The only time I ever see you annoyed or even the slightest bit upset is when someone comes in here and doesn’t want a coffee.”

“It’s… what’s expected of me.”

“Well, you’re in charge of this place, aren’t you? And you always have whatever anyone wants in the end, anyway, so why put up all that fuss?”

“Because it’s what’s expected of me.”

“And you can’t do anything else?”

“No.”

“Wait, what?” Scootaloo narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

“I am whatever it is that is expected. Nothing more, nothing less. You walk into a cafe expecting a waiter of some kind, so that is how I appear to you. Others expect things differently, so what I am, and what I can provide, is entirely up to their whims.”

“Wait, you’re saying that you only look the way you look because I expect it?”

“Yes.”

“And the reason why you get huffy over coffee and act all snobbish about it is because that’s expected of a coffee shop owner?”

“Yes. That is the gist of it.”

“Well, where’s my soda, then? I expect soda!”

“No. You don’t. You hope for soda. You expect coffee. I’m afraid they’re a little bit different. You had sandwiches last night because you believe that cafes should provide food of some kind. It’s probably a good thing that you do. But unfortunately, the existence of a light, bubbling, frothy ginger-based beverage is not within your world outlook for an establishment of this sort.”

“So you… can only do things and look… how you look to different ponies based on how they believe the world works?”

“You’d find that most things in this world follow that rule.”

Scootaloo rubbed her chin. “So… what happens if someone who did believe in soda came in here, ordered one, and I took it from them?”

“That would be theft, I do think.”

“Yes, but I’d get the soda?”

“Yes.”

“That is so… absolutely complicated.” Scootaloo declared.

“That is why I do not attempt to explain things much,” The Owner said.

“Okay,” Scootaloo wagged her hoof at The Owner. “So… you look different to everyone.”

“Yes.”

“To me, you’re a stallion. Have you ever been a mare?”

“I’m sure I have.”

“It’s not definite?”

“I do not get to choose what I look like to others. As always, it is a result of expectations.”

Scootaloo smiled a bit. “That’s kinda cool, though. You guys could be anywhere. You’d just blend in. Like some sort of social chameleon.”

The Owner smiled back, but not with his eyes.

“Uh…” Scootaloo continued. “So… do you have, like, an original form or something?”

“Yes. But only to myself. When I look in a mirror. It is the last gift – a reminder of who I was. I do not have an identity to any others. Only what others need.”

“Huh,” Scootaloo muttered. “That’s… a bit sad, isn’t it?”

“It is the sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice.”

“You recall earlier, I mentioned that The Prism values individuality above all. In order to preserve it, we who work for The Prism have to give up our own.”

“So this Prism thing…”

Scootaloo cut herself off. The look on The Owner’s face told her that it was pointless to continue down this line of questioning.

“Alright, then. I got one for you.” Scootaloo went on. “If you look different to everyone else, then wouldn’t it be incredibly troublesome for you if someone had to describe you, and you had two different fellas giving two different accounts?”

“Well, that usually rarely happens, but if they do, things adjust.”

“In what way?”

“Well, expectations can be subverted. If there were two who were looking upon me, and one of them said suddenly, ‘I like his vest’, then I would be wearing a vest, and would always have been wearing a vest. Expectations turn into suspicion, and suspicions are validated when I prove them true. In essence, I validate myself.”

“But that… how can that possibly work? Expectations don’t change depending on what anyone says.”

“Doesn’t it? Have you never been overly excited to watch a movie, and then have that excitement altered by a great number of your trusted friends telling you that it was bad?”

“Well, sure, but… when I actually watch the movie, I still accept it for what it is.”

“Yes, exactly. All you have, after all these influences pile on top of your own expectations, is the end result. Not many are privy to how you would have experienced it otherwise. It is the same as me. I am the end result of expectations being altered by influence.

“And even in the case that I have already been seen before, as you are well aware, experiences can change over time and with additional information. There surely have been times where you read something or watched something which you didn’t understand, but with a new approach, found that you loved it?

“It works the same for me. Except far more quickly.” The Owner concluded.

“Alright… alright. I’ll buy that. But… but! What about…” Scootaloo tapped the counter furiously once more.

“Are you so determined to find a scenario in which this system would not be able to work?”

“C’mon! Lemmie ask a question, alright? This is pretty interesting stuff!”

“Very well.”

“What if… you had two ponies who saw you, then both later, apart from each other, described you. Both accounts would be different!”

“They wouldn’t be able to.”

“What do you mean they wouldn’t be able to?”

The Owner tilted his head. “Well, describe me.”

“Describe you?”

“Yes. Go ahead. Look at me, and remember what you see.”

Scootaloo gave him her best casual glance.

“Now, close your eyes,” The Owner said.

“Alright.” Scootaloo did so.

“Now, describe me.”

“Ahh…” Scootaloo muttered.

“What’s my mane colour?”

“Umm…”

“Is it short or long?”

“I don’t... “

“And my coat? What colour is that?”

“Coat? Well, surely…”

“Cutie mark?”

“I didn’t even realise you had one.”

“Am I male or female?”

“You’re…”

“What is the one thing you remember about me?” The Owner asked.

Scootaloo’s eyes flicked open. Suddenly, he was there again, as he had always been. How silly of her to have forgotten. He was the same as she remembered.

“Your glasses,” she pointed out. “I remember your glasses.”

“Yes. These glasses are not real, and the only real thing about me.” The Owner took them off his face, tilting it upwards. They were thin-rimmed, circular, and cast in silver. A simple pair of glasses for a simple stallion.

“What do you mean?”

“They are an item through which I see the world. Your world. Without them, I would not be able to work. They are the only thing that is a constant, and therefore the only thing you can remember.”

“Huh.”

“And going on further, we tend to have no reason to be remembered in the first place. We are thoroughly forgettable, and it always works better this way. Through a series of cosmic laws and safeguards, we have managed to survive for a very… very long time. And the only times we have been known are the times in which we have chosen to divulge ourselves. For example, to you.”

“Well, don’t I feel special?”

“Yes. You should.”

“And what if you had to be part of a place where glasses weren’t…”

“I have contacts.”

“Ah.”

Scootaloo bubbled back into her seat, sinking down, mind churning. A variety of expressions came and went before she finally lurched forward, a playful grin etched upon her face.

“So…”

“Yes.”

“You only do things that others expect of you.”

“We have determined this, yes.”

“But now I know that you do things that only others expect of you.”

“Yes, you do.”

“And I also know that expectations can be changed depending on influences.”

The Owner nodded.

“So,” Scootaloo’s eyes roamed as she put it together. “I now know that you can give me a soda as long as I expect that you can. And I also know that this expectation can be altered by new information that I currently have.”

“Oh?” The Owner raised his eyebrows.

“Which means that I can now expect to get a soda based solely on the knowledge that I can get one as long as I expect that you can give me one, which I do.”

“Yes, it does seem sound.”

“It validates itself.”

“Yes, it does.” The Owner said, placing a bottle of ginger ale on the counter. “Very good.”

Scootaloo smiled, grabbing for the cold, frosty refreshment. “Thanks. But there’s a lot more that I wanna know.”

“And in time, perhaps, you shall.” The Owner said, looking up as the lights dimmed. “But for now, you must prepare. We are ready for another experience.”

“Hey, as long as you keep these coming.” Scootaloo lifted her bottle. “I’ll be ready for anything.”

“I certainly hope you will,” said The Owner, turning to the door.

Author's Note

Looked over by Dinoguy1000

Eyes - Derpy & Pinkie Pie [Horse Voice]

Chamomile tea had never been Pinkie's first choice for coffee shop fare, but it was appropriate for the situation. It was pleasant and healthful, yes, but also a drink for sober, serious moments, when things had to be sussed out calmly and quietly. This was far from Pinkie's usual method for helping others, of course, but this time nothing else would suffice, and she knew she was the only one who could do it.

It wasn't long before the Cafe's front door swung open slowly, and Pinkie's expected guest slunk in. Her blonde mane was matted and unkempt, and her grey wings were clutched protectively at her sides. As she approached Pinkie, her gaze darted this way and that, and her perfectly-aligned eyes focused on one place, then another. But she did not look at the patrons who stole glances at the ragged-looking newcomer: She looked above them, beside them, and sometimes through them.

Halfway to Pinkie's table, Derpy glanced to the right, and shied from something that wasn't there.

When she reached Pinkie's table, she did not sit, but stood tense, in the manner of one prepared to flee at a hint of danger. "Okay," she said, "I'm here. Talk."

Pinkie leaned across the table and stared into Derpy's bloodshot eyes. "You haven't been getting enough sleep, have you." It wasn't a question.

"I think I slept... three days ago," Derpy said. "Or maybe four."

"Then you must be super-tired. Sit, sit!" Pinkie indicated the chair opposite her, and Derpy haltingly obliged.

"Nopony's seen you in three weeks," Pinkie said. "Did you ever even go outside?"

"At night, to crop grass." Derpy focused on a spot on the table. "They mostly come out during the day. That's why I asked to meet in the evening."

"Oh, you silly-filly." Pinkie lowered her eyes and shook her head a little. "You've been cooped up three whole weeks just because of something you don't know..."

"Pinkie..." Derpy stared at a place behind Pinkie's shoulder.

"... Maybe you should just be afraid of your own fear, since there's no real danger from anything else..."

"Pinkie!"

"... I mean, if they were going to hurt you, they would have by now!"

"They're behind you."

"Oh, I know."

The two stared at each other, one waiting calmly, the other struck dumb. Without breaking her gaze, Pinkie took a sip of her tea.

“Miss Hooves?” The Owner said, stopping suddenly by. (Derpy nearly jumped out of her hide at this, but the Owner took no notice.) “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

Derpy said nothing, but stared at the space above the Owner's head and shrank back in her seat.

"I think my friend could use a little hot chocolate," Pinkie said.

The Owner nodded and turned back toward the counter.

"So?" Pinkie said once he was out of earshot.

Derpy stared, clearly expecting Pinkie to explain. Pinkie only shrugged a little.

"So that doesn't... I mean, how did you start seeing them?" Derpy said.

"It was a little after I got my cutie mark. I was scared at first, but I tried doing what Granny said, and laugh at them. After a bit, I got used to having them around. And they're not there all the time. Just when something interesting's happening, or going to happen, or..."

"That's it?" Derpy said, grimacing.

"Yep! I never thought I'd meet anypony else who could see them, until I knocked on your door this morning, and you answered by shouting through the keyhole, and I knew something was up, so..."

"And you can hear them too?"

"Yep again! But I can mostly tune 'em out if I try."

"You can?" For the first time in weeks, a tentative smile of relief appeared on Derpy's muzzle. "Oh, thank Celestia. Please, you have to tell me."

"'Course I will! But it's your turn first. I'm still just dying to know how you started seeing them."

"Alright," Derpy said. "I'll tell you, and then you can show me how to make them go away. It was..." She stared at her hooves, and wrinkled her brow, in the manner of one concentrating on a difficult memory. "It was the black opal. I found it in the back forty, in an abandoned raccoon nest. You know they like shiny things."

"'Course! I'm friends with Fluttershy."

"Right. That was a few years ago. I kept it on top of my dresser because it was pretty, and I thought maybe I could sell it if I needed to."

"Okay..."

"Three weeks ago, I was reaching for something up there, and I accidentally knocked it off, and it fell and broke—shattered. And then..."

Pinkie tilted her head like a curious animal. "And then... what?"

Derpy intensely examined the table's edge. "You won't believe me."

"Hey—it's me, you know."

Derpy considered a moment, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "It was made of smoke," she said.

"What was?"

"There was something inside that opal. Made of smoke. It said it had been a prisoner in the opal for hundreds of years. It was grateful for being released, so it would grant me one wish. Anything I wanted."

"Wait, wait..." Pinkie scrunched her brow and tapped her head.

Derpy slumped forward and crossed her forelegs. "I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"Oh, I do," Pinkie said casually. "I was just wondering, did it say what its name was?"

"Actually, yeah. I think it was, like, 'Her-mees' or something."

There followed a pause, during which the Owner unobtrusively delivered a small cup of chocolate, garnished only with a little whipped cream.

"Why?" Derpy said at last. "Do you know him?"

"So what happened next?" Pinkie said, ignoring the question.

Derpy blinked, taken aback at this casual rudeness. Regardless, she went on. "I told it I wanted to see things as they really were. I only meant I wanted my eyes to be straight. I never imagined things would be like this." Her teeth clenched a bit harder, and a sharper edge crept unto her voice. "Guess I know why he was a prisoner in the first place. And the voices, Pinkie! You wouldn't believe the things they say!"

"Sure I would!" Pinkie said. "I hear them too, you know."

"Well, they think I'm somehow mentally impaired, for starters. And that I have a daughter, and this coltfriend—a doctor of some kind. And the worst is, they miss my strabismus. They think it was cute, or something."

"Well, it was! Everypony thought so."

Derpy glared. "Those walleyes kept me out of the Wonderbolts, you know. If there's one good thing that came from this, it's that I don't crash anymore."

"See?" Pinkie said. "You never know what's good and what's bad 'til you get to know it real well."

"I don't care," Derpy said. "Please, just tell me how to make it go away."

"Oh, nopony can do that, silly. A smart pony like you should know: Once the truth is out, you can't stuff it back to wherever it escaped from."

“But you said—”

“I can teach you to tune ‘em out for a while. That doesn’t mean they go away.”

"So what am I supposed to do?” Derpy’s voice cracked a bit. “Put up with this for the rest of my life?"

"Well, duh. I mean, what else would you do?"

At these words, Derpy seemed to deflate before Pinkie's eyes. "Okay, new plan." She stood and began turning away. "I'm gonna go off into the bush and eat the first oleander plant I find."

Pinkie reared up and hammered both forehooves on the table. "You sit down and finish your drink, missy!"

This outburst drew looks from the few patrons still around them, but neither cared at this point. It had the desired effect: Derpy paused mid-step and turned back.

"No more of that talk," Pinkie said, "or you're off my guest lists permanently!"

"That's kind of the idea," Derpy said. "Maybe you can live with... this." She gestured around her only slightly, as if cautious against spying eyes. "But I'm not you, Pinkie."

"So you learn to live with it! You have ponies who care about you, Derpy Hooves!"

"Well, what do you suggest?"

The Owner chose this moment to again appear out of nowhere. "Excuse me," he said, "but we're going to be closing in about ten minutes."

"That's okay," Pinkie said. "We were just about to go."

As the Owner walked to the next table, there was another pause as each mare waited for the other. This time, it was Pinkie who broke the silence. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's get you orientated!"

Derpy studied her hooves—first one, then the other. At last, without looking up, she said, "I'll try."

"Well, 'cmon!" Pinkie dropped a few bits on the table and, as quickly as possible in a place crowded with tables, made to head for the door.

Derpy started to follow, then paused. "Wait a sec." She turned back to the table, picked up her untouched cup of chocolate, and downed the whole thing in one swig. She set the cup down, turned back to Pinkie, took a deep breath, and stuck out her chest.

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready."

* * *

Last night I saw upon the stair,
A little man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
Oh, how I wish he'd go away…

—Hughes Mearns, “Antigonish”

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by Horse Voice.
With additional help by Garret Sylvar.

The Cafe is appreciative for their time.

Yes - Big Mac & Applejack

Like a huddling of snow pushed up against a corner and left to be forgotten, the final remnants of foam gathered itself along the porcelain shores of a pristine black lake, waiting for the moment when they would finally disappear and leave nothing but a tepid pool that no longer held the sparkle of winter.

Through the window, the snowflakes fell piece by piece, each counted, each observed, no two the same but yet all the same as a matter of perspective.

They swelled upwards with a sudden breeze on the other side of a wall of glass, leaving the cup of coffee untouched, not a single ripple scarring its perfect surface.

Big Mac sat, quietly, in wait, watching the snow as it danced through the foggy morning.

All around, cheer.

All around, happiness.

The voices lifted, they roared, they called, they whooped and hollered even in this early morning, for it was a morning of joy and celebration, even for the things they knew nothing about.

Big Mac sat, quietly. Perhaps there was no reason to wait for anything. Perhaps there was nothing he was expecting.

A gust upset his coffee as the door opened, and a tatty, hoof-knit scarf wrapped around a cold face appeared.

“Hey,” Applejack said.

Big Mac nodded. Slowly. Twice. There wasn’t much point in trying to chase away his sister. Tenacity was something that she had more of, and he just didn’t feel like arguing.

Applejack sat, as she was going to.

“Hey, Mac,” she repeated, sliding into it. She was careful not to look straight at Big Mac.

But he knew. He knew what was to come. He knew what was ahead. He nodded once more, saying everything he needed to in that small gesture.

“I just don’t think it’s right to keep this going on too long,” Applejack spoke to the window. “Two days is cuttin’ it.”

Big Mac nodded, but not convincingly so.

“Is that all?” Applejack shrugged.

Big Mac shrugged back.

“Damnit, talk, Mac!” Applejack slammed her hoof on the table.

The stallion’s mouth opened, closed to moisten his drying tongue, and opened again. He tapped his hooves together, running them around as if twisting up an imaginary napkin.

“It ain’t easy,” he spat out.

“It never is. But you can’t do this. You know this as well as I do. Now, listen. We’ve all given you enough space, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you just clam up to yerself.”

“You don’t gotta worry.”

“I kinda do.” Applejack gave him a look. “And you can best believe I ain’t leaving here until we sort this out.”

“What if I just leave?” Mac asked. “What’s stoppin’ me?”

“You’re stoppin’ you. You know darn well this is somethin’ you ain’t gonna walk out on. But the longer you take, the more likely she’s gonna be the one doin’ the walkin’.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Look, Mac, whatever it is, let’s work it out. Keeping her waiting is probably about the worst thing to do to a gal. You gotta give her your answer.”

“Don’t got one,” he murmured, finally getting it out.

“Well, you better come up with one quick.” Applejack frowned. “Come on, Mac. Mama didn’t raise no saplings. Why ain’t you sure?”

“Because she asked.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Wasn’t me who asked.”

“I’m still not followin’.”

Mac played with his hooves again.

“What is it?” Applejack prodded. “Nervous? Jitters? Well, we all get that sometimes. But I’m gonna be be–”

She was cut off by a rapid shaking of Mac’s head, his bushy mane shuffling back and forth.

“Then tell me,” Applejack implored.

“I don’t get why she was the one who asked me first. I should have been the one t’ do that.”

“Oh no, you ain’t sayin’ that, Mac. I know you better. You ain’t boilin’ this down to a simple case of who gets to do what. She has every right to ask as much as you do.”

“No, that ain’t it at all.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know if I was ever gonna ask if she didn’t.”

“What, you sayin’ you don’t love her?”

Mac shook his head again, angrily this time, over the beginnings of a frown.

“Then what’s it matter who asked, or who asked first?” Applejack questioned.

“What if she made a mistake?”

“By asking?”

“Yep.”

“Is that… a mistake that usually happens?” Applejack asked.

“Nope. I mean… I was waitin’. For things to be right.”

“Yeah, I get that. But I think you better explain why this means you ain’t ready to settle on somethin’.”

“Maybe I took too long.”

Applejack waited patiently for Big Mac to gather his thoughts. He was always one of minute expression.

“I mean, I always kept waitin’. Just goin’ on,” Mac said. “But I wonder what I was waitin’ for, sometimes. I wonder why I didn’t just ask first. Why it got to the point that she couldn’t wait no more.”

“Because she feels it’s the right time, Mac.”

“But I didn’t. And she knew that. I always kept on thinkin’, things could always be better. We were waiting for me to be ready.”

“Things can always be better, Mac. There ain’t no such thing as a perfect harvest.”

“So maybe I just can’t provide for her that’ll make me happy.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be happy.” Applejack said.

Immediately, she waved her hoof in front of her face, as if swatting a fly away.

“No, no, no,” she said. “That ain’t what I meant. Look. I mean… You just don’t feel good about it because you’re tryin’ to be perfect. And that ain’t ever gonna happen. You want the best, and that’s natural, and you wanna make sure everything’s as smooth as butter. And that’s understandable. But for her, there’s somethin’ really a lot simpler that she wants.”

“Yeah.”

“She wants to get married.”

The snow kicked up once more, swirling through the air.

“You know,” Applejack continued. “Whether you think you’re ready or not ain’t the problem. She thinks you’re ready. And I suppose that’s the whole point.”

“Yeah. I get that. Maybe if I explained it to her…”

“You probably owe her some kinda explanation either way.”

Big Mac sighed again.

“I really don’t get what’s eatin’ you so bad.” Applejack said, honestly.

“She just shouldn’t have asked me.”

Applejack shook her head. It was hard when he was being stubborn. It was harder when that stubbornness was being backed by fear and a lack of confidence.

“So what do you want to do?” Applejack asked.

“I’ll tell her. She’ll understand. I just need a bit more time. And when things are right, I’ll let her know.”

“If you say so, Mac.” Applejack responded, quietly.

“She’ll understand, right?”

“Yeah, of course she will.”

“She’s great like that.”

“She’ll understand. But you know what?” Applejack raised her voice. “You’re going to disappoint her. And it has nothing to do with how ‘ready’ you are about all of this. It has everything to do with the fact that you’re just lettin’ some silly notions distract ya from the right thing.

“Do you want to know why she didn’t wait for you? Do you want to know why she asked first? It’s simple. When ponies want something, they ask for it. Sometimes, even when they know the risks, they still want something bad enough that they’re going to try anyway. It’s as simple as that. She don’t care ‘bout perfection. She wants you not to worry neither.

“I think the only question you really have to ask yourself right now is if this is somethin’ you also want. Not sometime later. Not sometime in the past. Right now. And I think you really oughta stop worryin’ so much about anythin’ else, because there are things you can work out later, and things you gotta worry about now, and you are making me goldarn angry, Big Mac!”

Applejack took in a breath and brushed her mane out from under her face, sitting back down. She hadn’t remembered standing up. She also hadn’t noticed when The Owner had appeared, standing beside her with a strange look on his face.

“I don’t know how I can put this more simply for you,” Applejack said.

“Miss Applejack,” The Owner said. “You look… ready to order.”

Big Mac shrunk into his seat.

Applejack turned to look. “I’m not thi–”

“Although,” The Owner cut her off. “I’m not sure why you needed to take so long to answer. There is only one obvious choice, of course.”

“Beg your pardon?” Big Mac muttered.

“Oh, I apologize.” The Owner turned. “I was speaking to the lady. We have a delightful butternut-pumpkin latte on special. It’s your chance to get it now only for this short time. Once it’s gone, who knows when it will be back? Even if you asked yourself later, we might not be able to accommodate. And you surely will regret missing out on this fabulous offer.”

Applejack just stared.

“Clearly, you know what your answer must be.” The Owner said.

Big Mac stood up.

“Hey! Where are you goin’?” Applejack followed suit.

“Schoolhouse. I gotta go now.”

“What are you gonna do?” Applejack threw out in a half-threat as Mac made for the door.

“I’m gonna get married!”

“But it’s the middle of class!”

“I don’t care!” Mac said, letting the door shut behind him.

“You left your…” Applejack held up a scruffy, beige, thick-weave. “... scarf.”

She smacked her lips, settling back down into the comfortable plush chair as the snow kicked up even more furiously outside.

“I guess that settles it, huh?” Applejack said aloud.

The Owner rocked back and forth on hooves, looking with a plain expression from the door to Applejack.

“Was it something I said?” he asked.

Food-Chain - Fluttershy & Golden Harvest [Esle Ynopemos]

Sourdough bun, lightly toasted. Vegetable oil spread on the top half, garlic hummus on the bottom half. Peeled, sliced cucumbers and bean sprouts between. One long toothpick through the middle, pinning a single pitted olive to the top. A glass of water to the side.

The water was something of a compromise. The Owner had tried to insist on coffee, but Fluttershy didn’t really drink coffee. Her nerves were already high-strung by default and didn’t need any help from caffeine. She was only hungry, so she’d ordered the sandwich. Still, it was The Cafe and it wouldn’t do to just drink nothing, so she had a glass of water too.

Fluttershy liked booths.

She sat in a small one by the window, sipping from her cup of Compromise. The seat backs formed a protective barrier between herself and everywhere else. A velvety cushioned wall that kept her safe and sound while she sat down and ate her sandwich. Even the window was slightly tinted, allowing her to watch the ponies passing by without fear of them returning her gaze. A pony would have to pass directly by the one open end of the booth in order to notice she was there.

A pony passed directly by the one open end of Fluttershy's booth. This pony halted, and her eyes narrowed. “You.”

Fluttershy froze. Her wings glued themselves to her sides. Her skin prickled as every yellow hair on her neck stood straight on end. She turned, slowly, stiffly, to face the pony who had addressed her in such a tone.

It was one of the farmers from town. Granted, there were many farmers in Ponyville, being a farming town, so this did not narrow Fluttershy's accuser down by much. This particular farmer, though, had a curly orange mane and a coat nearly the same color as Fluttershy's own. This was enough to identify her as Golden... Carrot... Harvey... oh, Fluttershy was terrible at remembering names. But whatever the mare's name was, she fixed Fluttershy with a glare that could peel an onion.

“...M-me?”

“Yes, you.” Without invitation, the scowling mare sat down across the booth from Fluttershy. “You're the reason my crop is ruined!”

Fluttershy did not know how to respond to this. She certainly did not remember ruining anypony's crop, but this mare seemed quite convinced that she had. She stared down at her sandwich. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“You should be.”

The booth was filled with a long, uncomfortable silence. The soft walls no longer kept the world at bay but rather kept Fluttershy trapped here with this angry farmer.

Fluttershy hated booths.

After some time, she cleared her throat to break the silence. The silence yielded only grudgingly. “Um... how did I—?”

“Bunnies.”

“Bunnies?” Fluttershy repeated.

“Bunnies!” The mare banged her hoof on the table, eliciting a frightened yelp from Fluttershy. “Your bunnies got into my carrot patch and ate the sprouts! You owe me ten carrots.”

Fluttershy felt the impulse to protest that they weren't really her bunnies. Bunnies belonged to none but themselves, and they would do as bunnies did. However, this did not seem like a very helpful argument at the moment so she just dropped her gaze to her cup. “I'm sorry. Would... would it help if I bought you something to drink?”

The aggrieved gardener crossed her forelegs and huffed. “I guess it would be a start.”

Fluttershy frowned and fidgeted with her bit purse. The menu never listed prices, but she always seemed to have enough to pay her tab. She wasn’t sure that would hold true if she paid for another pony, though. “What do you think you’ll get?”

The mare glanced at the blackboard menu on the wall and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t drink much coffee.”

“I don’t either. I got a glass of water.” Fluttershy held up her glass.

The mare raised a pair of irate eyebrows. “Do you think a glass of water is worth ten carrots?”

Fluttershy’s ears sank. “No.”

Silence returned to the booth like a server checking that everypony's orders were to their liking. Fluttershy tried to shoo it away with a sigh. She met with only marginal success. “Have you considered getting a cat?”

“A cat?”

“A cat.” Fluttershy took a bite of her sandwich. “Lots of farmers have cats.”

The mare blinked once, twice, three times. She looked at the menu again. “A cat…?”

“Oh. No, not to order,” Fluttershy shook her head. “I mean, for your carrot patch.”

“Why would I get a cat for my carrot patch?”

“To keep the bunnies out,” Fluttershy said.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” The mare nodded.

She was quiet for a while except for occasionally tapping her forehooves together. After a long pause, she glanced around the corner of the booth before leaning forward and asking in a low voice, “How does a cat help?”

Fluttershy raised her eyes at this. She swallowed a mouthful of sourdough and bean sprouts. “Do you… do you really not know?”

The carrot farmer shook her head.

“Cats eat bunnies,” Fluttershy said.

The other mare’s face went pale. “They… eat them? I thought cats only ate mice!”

Fluttershy shook her head. “Unless you train them not to, cats will eat any creature smaller than themselves.”

The other mare recoiled from Fluttershy as though she were a monster. “Don't you take care of the bunnies?”

“I also take care of cats.”

The mare sputtered a halting string of disbelieving noises. “I... buh... you can't just... it...”

Fluttershy sipped her water. “You won't have to worry about bunnies eating your carrots.”

“Because the bunnies will be dead!” shouted the mare. “Doesn't that bother you?”

Fluttershy's ears flattened, and she set her water down on the table. “Of course it does. But the bunnies will also die if they can't eat.”

“So I have to sacrifice my carrots for them to live?” the pony asked. “Can't they eat something else?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Fluttershy said. She poked at the olive atop her sandwich. “They could eat the apples in the next orchard over, maybe. Or the turnips in the next field. Or wheat stalks from the field after that. As long as those farmers don’t have cats.”

“They don't have to eat pony food, do they? Can't you just feed them bunny food?”

Fluttershy raised her eyebrows. “What do you think bunny food is made of?”

“Pellets?” the mare guessed.

“The pellets are made out of cabbages. Turnips. Carrots. Pony food.” Fluttershy bit the olive off the toothpick in her sandwich.

The mare tapped her hoof on the table. “What about the forest? There's plenty a bunny can eat in the forest, and they won't ruin anypony's crops there.”

“You're right, the bunnies wouldn't ruin anypony's crops in the forest,” said Fluttershy. “There's lots of berries and roots and all the things that deer and bears eat. And when the deer and bears find all that gone because bunnies ate it, what's to keep them from wandering out of the forest and eating your carrots? They need to eat, too, and a cat can't stop a bear.”

The mare paused. “Do bears eat carrots?”

“Bears eat anything.”

The carrot farmer chewed on her hoof. “What if…” She paused, counting out a calculation into the crook of her foreleg. “What if I just let the bunnies have half of my carrots?”

“That would be very nice of you,” said Fluttershy. “Then only half of the bunnies would starve.”

“Half?” Tears formed the corners of the mare’s eyes. “But… but I can’t give up my whole crop. I need it to live.”

“I know.”

The mare sat there, thinking long and hard. She frowned and rubbed her chin. She leaned back against the velvety wall of the booth. She slumped forward and traced her hoof along the spiral grains of the table. Finally, she buried her hooves in her curly mane in defeat. “So what's the solution, then?”

“The solution?”

“Yeah,” said the mare, giving Fluttershy a pleading look. “What do I do?”

Fluttershy sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. There isn't a solution. Everything needs to eat. And that food has to come from somewhere. Carnivores like gryphons or cats can be more direct about it, while ponies like you and me can try and be nice about it, but ultimately you have to take food out of something else's mouth or else starve yourself.”

Fluttershy finished the final bite of her sandwich, swallowed, and gave her booth mate a sad smile. “As for what to do… I think you should consider getting a cat.”

“Huh.” The mare sat back in her seat. “Huh.”

Outside the window, ponies continued on their day. A pair of fillies spent their allowance on gumballs at the candy shop across the street. A construction worker lumbered by with his lunch pail on his back. An old mare gave her pet collie a treat. None of them gave the two ponies in the window booth any notice.

Booths were okay, Fluttershy supposed.

“Miss Golden Harvest?” The Owner appeared at the open end of the booth with an orange tabby curled up asleep on his withers. Fluttershy was so surprised by his sudden appearance that she did not have time to chide herself over the fact that that was the mare's name, how could she forget. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

Golden Harvest blinked. “Is that… a cat on your back?”

“It is, miss.” The Owner nodded his head. The cat’s ear flicked and he stretched one of his paws out into the air.

Golden chewed her lip. “Could I… could I pet him?”

“Of course, miss.”

Fluttershy had promised to pay Golden’s tab. Her bill that day was for one sandwich, one glass of water, and one orange tabby. She had precisely enough to pay for it.

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by Esle Ynopemos.

The Cafe is appreciative for their time.

Doors - Scootaloo & Sweetie Belle

The young pegasus didn’t give the menu more than a quick glance; within a moment of sitting down she already had her order in mind.

A water was delivered to the table without protest.

A water suited the situation best.

It was tasteless, lacked character, and was completely free.

Her entire body leaned forward over the edge of the seat, a hoof buried into her cheek as she propped it up, her eyes closed, trying to ignore the cloud of chatter that was standard noise for a busy cafe.

The noise died down, bleeding into white.

A young unicorn burst through the door soon after, to which the pegasus gave a lazy regard, barely even looking up from her slump.

The unicorn’s face was a mix of emotion: her eyes betrayed anger; her quivering lip betrayed sadness; but mostly, she was disappointed.

“What are you doing?” Sweetie Belle yelled, throwing her book-bag to the ground.

Scootaloo sighed, reaching out for a sip of water.

“So, that’s it?” Belle continued. “Not gonna say anything?”

“What’s there to say?” Scootaloo replied, shrugging. Her shoulders scratched at the air as they raised up; her shaking was harder to hide when she had to move.

Belle invited herself into the seat across from her friend. “An explanation would be nice!”

The table rocked.

“I’m not the one who needs to give an explanation!” Scootaloo screamed.

Sweetie Belle shrank in her seat.

Water pooled at the edge of the table and started trickling off the side.

Scootaloo, breathing furiously, raised her hoof off the table and folded it across her chest, sitting back in resignation.

The chatter of the cafe never picked back up again.

“Scoots, can we go somewhere else–” Belle hissed.

Scootaloo opened her mouth, huffing, her eyes narrowing as she proclaimed: “No. This is my home now. Right here. And I’m not moving.”

“We can talk to them–”

“No! This always happens! I’m so sick of it! I mean, seriously? On the first day of university? Why today? Why after I was accepted?”

“I don’t have an answer for that,” Belle said, softly. “But you know how parents are. They’re always doing things wrong. Mine are… just… weird.”

“Yeah, they are. And today, they crossed the line. I am not moving back to Cloudsdale. I worked my wings off to get accepted into Canterlot University, and I’m not going back!”

“Well…” Belle trailed off.

Scootaloo breathed a bit slower now, her frame no longer rising and falling with her chest. She sighed again, looking off to the side.

“We were never really that close, anyway,” she said, with a tinge of reluctance.

Belle listened.

“I mean, I was sent here when I was like, what? Five? Never looked back since.”

“Yeah but it was for the best,” argued Belle. “I mean, not that I’m saying anything but… you know.”

“Yeah, I know. My wings. Dude, I got over that ages ago. But I can fly now, and suddenly they want me to go back to Cloudsdale. They want me to ignore my home. My patron family. My friends. I mean…” Scootaloo started waving her forelegs around toward Sweetie. “You! You guys! They want me to give you guys up and just go ‘home’!”

“They probably miss you.”

“Haven’t they been living just fine up in Cloudsdale by themselves these last fifteen years?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I mean, not like we don’t visit or write or whatever.”

“It’s not the same, Scoots.” Belle swallowed hard.

A look of disbelief crossed the pegasus’ face.

“You taking their side? I can’t believe you’re taking their side. I can not believe you’re taking their side!”

“Look… I don’t live with my parents either. You know that. But I got Rarity, and… she’s still real family. You know?”

“How dare you insinuate that the Clovers aren’t my real family! They’ve been taking care of me for more than my so-called real parents have!”

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t–” Sweetie clapped her hoof across her forehead, shaking it wildly.

“And they have had every opportunity to come down to live with me, haven’t they? Dad could have got a new job here, couldn’t he?”

“Now, that’s not fair, Scoots,” Belle raised her voice. “They were poor. Your patrons were nice enough to take you in for free until your parents could pay them back. They worked hard for you, too!”

“Why are you protecting them?”

“Look, I’m… I’m not…” Belle fumbled for the words. “It’s just… you always end up frustrated with them, and I don’t… I don’t feel it’s right. I’m not saying you’re the one who has to take on all the burden, but maybe you could just work something out with them this time instead of going all-or-nothing like you usually do.”

Scootaloo blew out an exasperated puff of air.

“Like, ever since your wings finally grew in seven years ago, hasn’t your dad been asking you to go back?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s just the same thing. He keeps asking like every year or something, and I keep telling him I have a life here. You know? And he still wants to stay up there for his own stupid reasons, so whatever.”

“Scoots, his reason for staying up there is because Cloudsdale is his home.”

Scootaloo looked away.

“And he still tries to ask. And I think it’s just… because it happens so often or whatever. When was the last time he asked you?”

“About two years ago, or something.”

“He stopped after that?”

“Yeah. I thought he got a clue. But guess he didn’t. Yesterday I get a letter from him asking me to go back. Asking me if I would consider moving back to Cloudsdale. Asking me to go up there as soon as I can because they wanna talk about it.”

“Maybe they just want to talk about it, Scoots.”

“I’m sick of it.”

“I know the timing’s off, but–”

“No! The timing’s stupid!” Scootaloo burst out again. “They knew I was entering Canterlot U. They knew. They sent a letter of congratulations and everything. Saying, you know, good on me, I’m gonna have a great life, and then suddenly, bam, I’m supposed to just drop everything and go back.”

“Maybe they just don’t understand how you feel. Have you ever told them properly?”

“Yeah, I tell them all the time in the letters.”

“No, I mean properly. Face-to-face. When was the last time you went up there?”

“I dunno. Ages ago.” Scootaloo shrugged meekly. “I guess I kinda just wanted us to drift apart. Would’ve been easier.”

“Well, maybe you should just… go up there. Talk it out and work it out.”

“I don’t know, Belle.” Scootaloo shook her head as she tried not to think. “I just… I don’t wanna handle it. I’m independent now. I got everything I need here. I got school to worry about.”

“Scoots…”

“Look, don’t…” Scootaloo held up a hoof. “Just… please. This is my life, okay? I just… I’m gonna just ignore their letters from now on. I don’t need this kind of stress. I can live with them not being a part of my business.”

Scootaloo stood up roughly, looking down as her mane flew across her dry eyes.

Sweetie Belle looked up at her. “Scoots…”

“Just don’t!” Scoots snapped, jerking a hoof outward toward her friend and shutting her eyes. “Just don’t. Okay? Look, I’ll see you at school or something. Whatever.”

She swept away.

Sweetie Belle sat there, staring at the table, watching the water drip off the edge.

Reverse explosions of white light blinked in and out of The Cafe, random splashes of blinding flares cascading throughout the space.

Images and sounds and ponies overlaid each other like a series of still images being thrown out one after the other, all dancing within the ghostly lights and dazzling cacophony.

When the lights died down, there were only two left standing in the middle of the room.

Scootaloo, an older version, but not by much, stood there, biting her lip, releasing it, biting it again, her heart racing.

“Miss Scootaloo,” The Owner said. “Are you…”

“No,” Scootaloo whispered. “No, no, no, no.”

The Owner tilted his head to the side.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Scootaloo shook hers. “That didn’t happen.”

“No. You went home.”

“I went home. I did. That was the truth. That happened. Belle… she… she convinced me.” Scootaloo held up a shaking hoof. “Heh.”

“Yes.”

“I went home and... “ a small, melancholic smile started to curl up at the sides of Scootaloo’s mouth. “... I went home to meet my new brother.”

The Owner nodded.

“He was born on the day they sent the letter. They wanted me to go home so that he…” Scootaloo choked, a tear running down her face, “so that he could grow up with family.”

Scootaloo turned, suddenly, staring at The Owner.

“But we talked, and we agreed on an arrangement. I’d stay, but I’d visit a lot more, and when I’d finished my studies, I’d reconsider moving back. We agreed. That happened. That happened!” Scootaloo roared, pointing behind her. “Not this! I went home!”

“Yes, you did.” The Owner nodded, impassively.

“Why show me this? Why?” Scootaloo wept bitterly. “Don’t you even care?”

The Owner stood, considering his stance. His eyes moved briefly to the left, but he showed no signs of happiness, sadness or regret at what transpired.

“I… am sorry that you had to see that,” The Owner said calmly. “But it is not up to me. It is one of the things that you had to.”

“And you just stand there? Like that?” Scootaloo wiped her face with her leg, sniffing. “Heartless!”

“It is one of the things I gave up when I took on this responsibility,” he said.

Scootaloo dipped her head down.

“I am… sorry, genuinely,” The Owner’s voice echoed through the empty room. “But… if it is any consolation, that is a mere shadow. You… did go home. You have grown closer to your family. That was the true experience.”

“How do you know?” Scootaloo whispered.

“How?”

“Yeah!” Her head shot up suddenly. “How? You keep talking about experiences and all this other crap, and… you tell me oh yeah, what I just saw, what I just saw with my own two eyes, and felt, and heard, all that wasn’t real? That other Scootaloo who just freakin’ made the dumbest mistake of her damn life wasn’t real?”

“No.”

“I could have been her! I could have!” Scootaloo held her hooves up to her head. It had begun to throb.

“But you weren’t. You weren’t.”

“Tell me why!” Scootaloo shouted, pleading. “Tell me how this all works! No more funny answers, okay? Please. Please.”

The Owner was silent for a while. He looked, if anyone could say, mildly concerned.

“Please.” Scootaloo implored, one last time.

“Very well. I will… tell you,” The Owner said, looking cautiously toward the sky.

Author's Note

Looked over by Meridian Prime.

■□ The Mare Who Never Lost Her Way □■

Scootaloo tapped her hoof on the table.

Over time, her sadness had subsided, turning first to anger, then to frustration, from there to irritation, and then finally back to anger because she worked that way, but eventually a calm came about her – a lingering, tumultuous calm – upon which The Owner finally dared to tread; testing these old waters for the opportunity to proceed.

“You have questions,” he offered, steepling his hooves as he sat, with a general look of repose, across from Scootaloo.

“Yeah. Quite a lot of them.”

“You will not understand.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Scootaloo snapped. “You said you’d give me answers.”

“And I shall. But me being able to explain and you being able to accept them are two different things.”

“Just try. Please. All this… I mean, you get it, don’t you? From the very start I’ve trusted you. I’ve followed along with this because you said that if I don’t I’ll die. But I still know so little! What am I seeing? Why am I going to die? There’s so much that I just need to know right now. And you’re kinda the only person here who can tell me.”

“Very well. I shall try my best. I shall… attempt it to put it in words you understand. But where do you want to begin?”

Scootaloo gave it a small moment of thought. This was the kind of thing that had many questions coming in from many directions. But there was always a good place to start.

“Alright,” she said. “The basics. Let’s go through it again. Why am I here? From your side of things. Tell it to me from your side.”

The Owner nodded. “What does an experience mean to you?”

“An experience? It’s just a thing, right? Something we all go through. Something that happened, and we’ve seen it, or registered it or whatever. We can look back on them and… I guess remember them. Something like that.”

“Yes. Now, imagine, if you will, that experiences were not tied to the ones having them. Someone else could have an experience that you had. You could have an experience that belonged to someone else.”

“That’s… just impossible.” Scootaloo shrugged.

“As I said.” The Owner raised his eyebrows. “You would not under–”

“No! Alright. I do. I’ll… okay.” Scootaloo held out her hoof. “Experiences aren’t tied to the ones having them. Perfectly logical.”

The Owner cleared his throat.

“I was alerted to your situation when a collection of experiences travelled through time and space and forced their way into your brain. An ‘errant bolt of experience’, if you will. In essence, this meant that you had experienced these events before, although you hadn’t.”

“So… basically I went through something although I’ve never done them before.”

“Yes. Your mind struggled to make sense of it, which caused your initial pain, while the universe would try to correct this by putting you in those events by attempting to shift things around. Both are impossible for the universe or for you to achieve. And this is why we have to intervene.”

“Wait, hold up a moment…” Scootaloo rubbed the bridge of her muzzle. “Wasn’t it a thing that the universe always tries to correct itself if something went wrong? Something like that?”

“Oh no. Not at all. The universe is a fairly useless, fragile thing. It’s just as logical as you are. The universe would understand what we do as much as you are capable of.”

“Huh.”

“Yes. We take care of things. I’m here to take care of you. As mentioned before, we have to equalize you by making you experience the things that you have already experienced. That way, your mind will be happy, the universe will be happy, and you will no longer collapse inward upon yourself like a miniature black hole, erasing yourself from time and space in all directions. And believe me, that is a mess to clean up.” The Owner tilted his head forward in a slight bow.

“Well.” Scootaloo smacked her lips. “No need to be so cavalier about it.”

“Do you understand your predicament?”

“I guess so. In a way. So, where did these… other experiences come from?”

“I do not know.”

“Oh, come on, you said you’d–”

“It comes from a place that I cannot yet see.”

“But surely you can see through time, can’t you?”

“Well, that is a gross assumption.” The Owner leaned back slightly.

“Yeah, but you can, right?”

“Yes.” The Owner nodded.

“So why can’t you see it?”

“Because it hasn’t happened yet. Your… kind seems to enjoy thinking of time as a linear thing with fixed points. But time is a three-dimensional construct. Things are always changing other things, and sometimes the effects don’t happen in the future until it’s happened already in the past.”

“I… have no idea what you just said.”

“Alright. Let me explain it this way. Let us assume that I travel back in time from point A to point B, point A being the time that I left, and point B being a time in the past that I arrive.”

“Got it.”

“I arrive there with a friend, and drop him off. I tell him to assassinate a figure of great importance that will affect the timeline and surely will change the future in some subtle way. Let us make these assumptions as truth – that he will be successful at exactly one hour after I leave him, and that the future will be changed as a result of this action.”

“Alright. Following so far.”

“After dropping him off, I leave point B and arrive back at point A. What do you expect I will return to?”

“Well, your friend did something in the past, so the future past that point is all affected, right? So… the future will be changed.”

“That is the linear way of thinking.”

“I’m wrong?” Scootaloo pursed her lips.

“When I go back, I will have one hour before the effects of the past will start to change the future. He would take one hour in the past to effect that change, and I will have one hour in the future to let the effects take shape.”

“No, but… something that happens in the past always affects the future. That’s… just logic, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. But that is not how it works. You see, time is less of an importance than you realise. Sometimes, time runs parallel with itself. Events happen at different points of time at the same time. It’s all rather complex. I wouldn’t try thinking too much about it. We have entire departments in the Prism dedicated to the mere task of monitoring this. What is more important is the fact that everything has a cause, and everything has an effect, and everything is relative to each other beyond time and space.

“As of now, I do not know what the event is exactly, for it has yet to happen, although I can narrow it down to what I have already told you. Something of great importance happened in or around this cafe – which will probably exist at some point in the future. The original event was most likely related to two characters having a talk. This event was strong enough to send these errant experiences hurtling through time and space to a random location, where it sought you out and hit you.”

“Okay. So… something’s gonna happen… this ‘event’, and I suffered for it in the past.” Scootaloo mumbled to herself, trying to keep up. “But why me, though? Why did it target me?”

“Because you are most certainly a part of the event. In some way, form, or capacity, you are involved.” The Owner said.

“Wait. No, wait,” Scootaloo stammered. “Me? You said… you said it wasn’t me.”

“No. You asked me if I could show you the event. I said I couldn’t, because it didn’t belong to you.”

“But doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t belong to me either.”

“Oh right. It hasn’t… happened yet.”

“Yes. I do apologize for having to state it at such, but under the circumstances, it was essential that I get you to agree to doing this in the shortest time possible. Luckily, we are at a point where we have more room to speak.”

“Yeah. A conversation.” Scootaloo huffed. She felt irritated, and nothing more. It was a burning question, but it was one that wouldn’t be answered.

“I apologize, once more. But all I can say is that it might happen quite soon, from your perspective.”

“I just can’t wrap my head around this,” Scootaloo groaned. “I mean, how could something be affected by something that is going to happen?”

“That is the nature of the experience, is it not? It’s all encompassing. We have expectations for things even though they have not happened yet. We have memories of things that are past. Altogether, the before, after, and during, they all come together to form a whole.”

“But… that’s just all philosophical stuff!” Scootaloo raised her voice. “It’s not an explanation!”

“It’s the best that I can give you. I do not mean to sound belittling, but–”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Scootaloo huffed in resignation. “I’m just a pony, right? Not some big shot prism whatever. I don’t deserve to understand.”

The Owner fell silent, as he looked straight ahead, before he looked away, staring past the girl opposite, looking for something very far away.

“Perhaps it is not something that deserves to be understood,” he said, after a moment’s consideration.

“Whaddya mean by that?”

“I was like you, once, before I took on this responsibility. This… job, as you would put it. And in the knowing of things, certain things are lost.”

“Lost?” Scootaloo said, softer, this time, her frustrations melting.

“As the old stories go, with knowledge comes the loss of innocence. And innocence is a place where one may work and live in happiness. It is a place where everyone has the potential to enjoy a relative bliss, of sorts.”

“Well, I guess so. But… isn’t knowledge good?”

“We all pay certain prices.”

“But nothing you regret, I hope?”

“No. That is something I am no longer capable of,” The Owner said, plainly.

“Oh.”

“Yes. And if you ever do see me happy, or if any customer here sees me happy, once again, it is merely because it is in their expectations to. It is never the truth.”

“But what about right now?” Scootaloo asked. “What… who am I talking to right now? Is this the truth?”

“That depends.” The Owner looked at Scootaloo, a slight hint of something shimmering behind his otherwise expressionless gaze. “How much do you expect that I will show my true self to you?”

Scootaloo moved her mouth around, returning some moisture to the dry desert it had become. She breathed out, a long, lingering breath.

“Alright. So. The other thing.” the pegasus bristled her wings, shifting in her seat. “If you don’t mind me… going on...”

“Please proceed.”

“That thing I just saw. The last experience I just saw.”

“Yourself.”

“Yeah. Myself. Now, I asked you this before, and you keep saying that all these things I’m seeing aren’t real. Right?”

“Yes.”

“But you also said that these experiences were someone else’s.” Scootaloo waved her legs around in the air slowly. “They… broke off, or whatever, because of the event, and flew into my mind. So, are they real or are they not?”

“They are both.”

“Both.”

“There is no direct term for what they are in your language and understanding. But you could think of them as potential.”

“Potential?”

“Yes. They are the stories that might have been told, had this place existed. This cafe.”

“But The Cafe doesn’t exist.” Scootaloo checked.

“Not yet, no. But I should clarify. This is not to say that these events will definitely occur in the future. As you have pointed out, there are some things that you have seen which are unlikely to happen. Unlikely to occur.”

“Yeah. Some of these things are just… I wouldn’t see them happen in any lifetime.”

“What you see are things that might happen.”

“Like… a different universe?”

“No. No. Once again, I have said before, there are no other universes. There’s only one. You have to understand this.”

“Tell me more.”

“It is like looking into a reflection in a pond. What stares back is you, but ripples change the image. It is not exactly you, nor does it truly exist. Slight differences–”

“No,” Scootaloo cut in. “Tell me more about the other universes.”

“Ah.”

Scootaloo tilted her head. “Something wrong?”

“This is not a comfortable topic.”

“Surely, it can’t be as bad as what we’ve already spoken about?”

“It is not a comfortable topic,” The Owner repeated. “Are you certain you wish me to speak of it?”

The pegasus looked downward for a moment, a second of guilt passing by as she even considered pursuing this thought.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. I think… it’ll be okay.”

The Owner, too, gave her the consideration of time. He gave her the chance to take a step backward.

She did not.

“Alright, then. I suppose this is an eventuality, regardless, for you to understand certain other concepts. So we shall speak of this, and then I shall speak of its relevance.”

“Okay,” Scootaloo whispered, her nervousness not obscured behind her voice.

“Now,” The Owner adjusted his glasses. “Long ago, it was decided by The Prism that there would be only one universe. The prism, as mentioned, are the ones who are… currently in charge. They are the caretakers of things, and the ones who live between. That is all.”

Scootaloo nodded, listening intently.

“At one point, when They Before still lived–”

“They Before?”

“That is what we call them.”

The Owner kept his eyes on Scootaloo’s.

He continued talking.

“An infinite number of universes were kept. An infinite number of worlds. An infinite number of you. I believe you have heard of the theory that each action we take fragments the universe into an infinite number of varieties?”

“Y-yes. Something like that.”

“For each action any single thing would take, for each possible outcome of any one occurrence, there was a world that held that single, particular series of events.”

“Y-yeah.”

“When They Before left, and the Prism took over, it was decided after a long and serious consideration that the universes would be… deconstructed.”

“Wait, what?”

“One by one,” The Owner said, perhaps a bit too forcefully, “the universes were filtered through. Examined. The ones that were thought to be too chaotic were the first to be removed. Then, the ones that did not have a brightness of future or past.”

“Re...removed.”

“Yes. Their energy was taken back and put to other uses. Better uses. Eventually, all other universes had been dismantled for certain reasons, one and all, and after it all, there was left only one final universe. And that is the one you are lucky enough to belong to.”

“S-so. There… there was all these other universes, that’s… that’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“All these… other worlds… had real ponies. Real other beings.”

“Yes.”

“And they’re all…”

“Gone.”

“Killed?”

“No.” The Owner shook his head. “Returned. They all once belonged to a single universe, at one point. The infinite universes was a different system, tried by a different mind. The Prism found it not to work. And it had to be returned to the whole.”

“That is… I mean… I don’t…”

“It is not a comfortable topic.”

“Yeah…” Scootaloo mumbled, her hoof flying to her mouth. “No kidding.”

“You remain the single one left. All the other universes are merely shadows now, echoing from you. I understand that it must be difficult to think of an infinite number of other lives disappearing, but if it makes you feel any better, their perspectives are all now yours. What you have been through is now shared.”

“But I don’t see the point!” Scootaloo yelled, a sudden anger welling up. “Why even do that? I… I know I can’t see it like you lot, but it just seems like you killed a whole bunch of everything for nothing!”

“No. We didn’t remove life. We created life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before, when there was one copy of every single thing that could possibly happen, you were merely one part of a whole. Nothing you did was truly yours. You just happened to be that one single universe out of all of them. Your action was already pre-ordained. You were following a script, to put it in that way. And everything was following a script, because it was written out from start to end, in a never-ending book that kept splitting itself apart at every junction.

“But now, everything you do has consequence. Everything you do has a lasting effect on the world. If before, your actions were preordained by chance, then now, your actions carry genuine weight and actual meaning. No matter what scenario you find yourself in, be it something that belongs to your world, or something that perhaps is beyond what should be considered a regular experience, your thoughts, actions, and choices change things.

“This is also why I am unable to simply just look to the future to find the answers that you seek. Because the future, in this new world, is not written in stone.”

Scootaloo buried her temples in her hooves, pushing down hard upon the table, as a white light burned behind her eyelids.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I need a moment here or something. This is just… I don’t even know. Is it terrible? Is it… something I should be thankful for? I don’t even think I get the magnitude of what you’re saying! How do you even get rid of something one by one if something is infinite?”

“The shape of the universe is growing now, based on the actions of everyone in it. This is the new way.”

“And what am I supposed to do, in this new way?”

“Nothing needs to change. You simply have to continue living your life. Continue making the right choices. Continue understanding that everything you do has an effect. We all affect one another. Our actions have weight, and always will. The Prism would have the world itself learn how to shoulder responsibility.”

“This is crazy.”

“Shall we break this conversation?”

“No!” Scootaloo yelled. She spat out a deep breath, running her hoof across her face, wiping off the dampness matting her mane to her forehead. “We’ve… come this far. Let’s continue. Okay? I mean… you know?”

“Yes. I do admire your tenacity.”

“Just… just gimmie a moment to gather my thoughts, alright? Boy, I could really use–”

The glass of water had always been there.

“Damn, man,” Scootaloo sniffed, her eyebrows curling downward. “I… just, damn.”

She grabbed the glass, pulling it to her lips, allowing the sweet, nectar to quench her thirst and wash away that coalescence of shadow that weighed in her chest.

Slamming the glass back down on the table, she gave her mind a quick shake, and grit her teeth. “Okay. So. There’s only one of me. Just the one.”

The Owner nodded.

“Now, what are all these things, then, that I’m seeing?”

The Owner nodded again. “They are the echoes; the shadows. Experience has its own mind, and it lives outside of dimensions and time. Potential will always live, even if the truth does not. If one can ask ‘what if’, and imagine worlds that do not exist, then one gives birth to potential.”

“So I’m just looking at a bunch of ‘what if’ stories?”

“To be certain, that is true, in the way you state it.”

“But what I don’t understand is… if the event caused experiences to come and mess me up, why are they all these… weird odd things, and not things that actually will or are going to happen?”

“The things that are going to happen invaded your mind as well.”

“They did?”

“Yes, but the universe is not trying to correct them, because they will happen eventually. You will also remember them when they actually happen. But you will experience it as if you had experienced it before, because your brain will suddenly attempt to catch up. You refer to the sensation as deja vu. These are not the ones that seek to destroy you.”

“Oh. So… yeah. I get it. So, it’s… happened many times before, huh. I mean, since Deja vu is pretty… common.”

“More than we would like. But those are rather common, and rather harmless. It’s usually from the world adjusting when certain things happen.”

“So where do all these… um… echo experiences come from?”

“It is a place that we call The Hotel.”

“The… Hotel.,” Scootaloo droned. “The Owner. The Cafe. The event. The Prism.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Nothing.” Scootaloo raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“The Hotel is a place where possibilities are allowed to live in an area between existence and nonexistence. It is a place that surrounds reality, enveloping it, and the experiences that are causing you trouble have been drawn from there.”

“So it’s a place where… any form of other possible thing that happened can come true.”

“Yes.”

“How is that any different from infinite universes?”

“Well, for one, things are only created through necessity, and can disappear soon after. It’s much more energy efficient, and it saves a lot of space.”

“Space?”

“Yes. It is like this. Imagine yourself in a corridor with a number of doors on either side, each door leading to a room.”

“Like a hotel.”

“That corridor is ‘now’, and it belongs to you alone. Each door that you see leads to your potential next act – something that you would do. There are, of course, infinite possibilities. Each time you open a door, you can see a different act and a different outcome and a different experience play out, based on your expectations.”

“So, what’s behind the doors is sorta like how you guys work. It only pops up based on what I think I’m going to see back there,” Scootaloo said.

“Yes. And imagine that at the opposite end of each room is another door that leads to another hallway with a lot of rooms.”

“Right. I can keep opening doors.”

“Yes. You can go back, forward, sideways, and explore all the possible outcomes of your actions, and their related actions, so on, and so on. You may go back in time, forward in time and all throughout, and since they are potential…”

“... they’re not limited by time or space!” Scootaloo finished.

“Yes. Very good. You are catching on, it seems.”

“Yeah, I think I... I think I’m beginning to get it.”

“Now, the true path, the one true path, is to keep walking down the original hallway that you started in. That represents your real life. And there is always only one hallway because whatever your choices are, it will change the hallway as it goes along. The hall is only… built as you travel along life.”

“Metaphorically, of course.” Scootaloo interjected.

“Of course. And somewhere down that hallway is the event. It is a landmine, waiting for you to step on it. And once you do, it will send out a shockwave, a blast, that will ripple through the walls of the hotel and throw open a few doors by accident. When those doors pop open, their potentials escape, and being on your floor of the hotel, they sought you out and realised themselves.”

“Huh.”

“And just like a shockwave, the event tends to affect things… in close proximity. Which is why what you have seen are conversations and who you have seen are either characters you are familiar with, or characters that someone you know is familiar with. Of course, you have to keep in mind that things related to each other in the hotel is outside of the three axis system of spatial recognition that you are familiar with, and–”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s all weird space.”

“Yes…” The Owner said slowly. “Weird space is a succinct way to put it. And finally, what is behind the doors are created through necessity. When the–”

“Okay, let me try this one,” Scootaloo interrupted again, to The Owner’s perfect composure and patience. “So, the event was what caused this. But the cafe doesn’t exist yet.”

The Owner nodded.

“But when it happens in the future, this shockwave that pushes itself back through The Hotel and through time will cause these potentials to exist, and that’s why all of the conversations have taken place here in The Cafe.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re here, with this… fake cafe thing, whatever this is, to create that environment so that these experiences can actually happen, so that I can see them, so that I don’t die!”

“Yes. Precisely.”

“Hah!” Scootaloo yelled out, a faint smile on her face. It was a small victory. But it was something that she was proud of, even under the most pressuring of circumstances. “I got this, don’t I?”

“Yes. You… do.”

“Aren’t you impressed?” Scootaloo smirked.

“Yes.” The Owner said, slightly, as if he didn’t really say the complete word in essence.

“Then… why do you look so worried?” Scootaloo’s smile started to drop.

“Please, do not give me any mind. I am simply reminded of a time once, when someone else was… impressed.”

“Oh.”

“I… think we should end this here. You have what you need. And there is no need to press on more. It would be a mistake to do so.”

A coldness swept past Scootaloo’s wings, giving her a phantom chill. She now felt regret for her excitement. A strange regret that came from nowhere, perhaps in the sudden realisation that her epiphanies were nothing at all to celebrate.

She stroked the tabletop absentmindedly, feeling the grooves of the wood on the tip of her hoof, allowing them to remind her that it was all very real.

“Uh…” she said, murmuring.

“Yes?”

“So… ah… why are you telling me all this?” Scootaloo asked, softly. She was scared now. Scared of the things invisible. Scared of what lay between.

“Did you not want to know?” The Owner responded calmly.

“Yeah, but… earlier, you only told me what you had to. Right now it feels like you’re giving me all this information that I’m not supposed to have.”

“Things change.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. There’s nothing in this life that isn’t affected by decisions. Our conversations, too, have shaped the future. I have mentioned this.”

“But why have you told me all this?” Scootaloo repeated.

“We have four experiences left to go.” The Owner said, abruptly, turning to the door. “Do you remember them?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Slight inklings.”

“Just four more, and then it will be over. You will be returned, and you will be… fine. The next one comes… soon.”

“Oh.”

“Something the matter?”

“No.”

The Owner nodded, and moved away slightly, returning to the counter to prepare.

“Actually,” Scootaloo spoke up again. “I… don’t know. I guess I just didn’t know how to feel once the end was near. I don’t really know how I feel now.”

“Perfectly understandable,” The Owner responded. “I don’t know how you ought to feel either.”

“Are you uh… are you even capable?” Scootaloo asked with slight hesitation.

“I…” The Owner paused, his head bobbing once as he thought. “I remember what it was like.”

“You’re sure… different.” Scootaloo said, somewhat piteously.

The Owner made no reply.

“Well… thank you,” Scootaloo said, after a few brief moments of silence.

“For?”

“For everything. I guess. Telling me all this. Helping me through.”

“Half of it is my job,” The Owner said, matter-of-factly.

“And the other half?”

The Owner looked up, locking eyes with the pegasus.

“I do not know,” he said.

“Well, then, thank you all the same.”

“Yes. You are welcome.”

They continued staring at each other for a while longer, neither one giving off any hint of any emotion whatsoever.

“Are you going to get into trouble for telling me?” Scootaloo asked.

“No.”

“Not afraid that I’m gonna tell someone else once I get out of here?” Scootaloo smiled faintly.

“No.”

“Good. Trust. Yeah? Trust is good.” Scootaloo nodded. “Glad you trust me. Glad we have this… you know. I mean, I trusted you at the start, right? Trust, and all that...”

She trailed off, tearing her eyes away and turning to the door.

The Owner kept looking, peering straight ahead.

“Yes. Trust,” he repeated.

“You do trust me, don’t you?” she asked the room.

The answer never came.

A bright light took her away.

Images shuffled before her eyes like cards in a deck, and a single ace was pulled out, flourished for her sake and displayed in all clarity.

And she watched, her final question lingering on her mind.

Author's Note

Looked over by Meridian Prime.

Pear - Celestia & Twilight Velvet [Pearple Prose]

There had been a slight disagreement when he had taken her order. What sort of pony came to The Cafe and didn’t order coffee, after all?

But Celestia had insisted, and The Owner had been reluctant, and Celestia had, eventually, picked a random drink to go with her order. The Owner was appeased after that.

The pear that Celestia asked for was ripe, and soft, and her lips were coated with juice from her first bite. She looked and felt wholly undignified, but the ponies around her hadn’t glanced at her once, not even after her and The Owner’s rather animated discussion.

It was refreshing. And the pear was delicious.

She felt, more than saw, her friend’s arrival. Celestia had been sitting in a quiet corner of the Cafe, by the window, at a tiny table for two that fit her perfectly despite her size. She had been staring at her cup of unwanted coffee when she heard a tiny gasp, and she looked up to see Twilight Velvet staring at her, a mite bewildered.

“Velvet!” Celestia beamed at her friend. “How lovely to see you!” And she had meant it, even if she had rather enjoyed the peace and quiet and the muffled sounds of conversation that she couldn’t quite parse. “We haven’t spoken since…?”

“The School,” Velvet said, with an expression caught somewhere between a wince and a grin. “Yes. Quite a long time ago now. Sorry.”

Celestia recognised the apology, and ignored it. “Indeed, it has been a while. Would you like a seat?” She opened her wing in invitation. “Tell me, how is life in the Sparkle household?”

Velvet hesitated a moment before she sat. “Well, profoundly unexciting, I must admit, what with Shining gallivanting off to the Crystal Empire and whatnot.” She flashed Celestia a crooked smile. “But it’s been… good. Retirement has been treating Nighty and me pretty well. I do miss teaching, though.”

“Oh? And how is Night Light these days?” Celestia asked.

Twilight Velvet snorted. “Still with his head in the stars, as he’s always been. Do you know what he got me for our anniversary this year? Go on, guess.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Celestia smirked. “A telescope?”

“Every. Year.” Velvet rubbed her forehead with a hoof, groaned, and smiled a long-suffering smile that Celestia quite envied. “He didn’t even come to bed that night. He spent all night looking for ‘our constellation’. Didn’t even know we had one, to be honest.”

Velvet laughed, and Celestia joined in with her own quiet giggling.

“Well, I’m glad to hear everything seems to be going well for you, even if it’s a bit…” Celestia smiled, “...unexciting.”

“Ah, well, it’s not like being a highly-respected professor of theoretical magic at one of the most prestigious schools in the world beats lying in bed and reading terrible romance novels all day.” Twilight Velvet’s smile turned brittle. “And, besides, you made it quite clear then that-”

“Miss Velvet?” The Owner said, appearing at their table silently. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“Oh.” Velvet blinked, and seemed flustered. “What do you serve?”

“The Cafe is well-known for its coffee, Ma’am.”

“And nothing else, apparently,” Celestia muttered under her breath.

The Owner coughed loudly.

Twilight Velvet looked at The Owner strangely. “I haven’t had coffee since I worked at the School.”

“Very well, ma’am. Your order shall arrive shortly.”

And then The Owner was gone.

“Um… Okay then.” Velvet turned back to face Celestia, opened her mouth to resume speaking, and then frowned. “Are you eating a pear?”

Celestia blinked. She’d forgotten all about it. “Oh, yes. Yes I am.”

“Hm.”

“What? Is there juice on my face?”

“No, no.” Velvet hesitated. “Well, yes, but that wasn’t it.”

Celestia wiped away the juice with a flash of her horn. “Please, tell me.”

Velvet just shrugged. “I just don’t see you eat that often. It’s like seeing Santa Claus.”

Celestia stuck her tongue out at Velvet. “Hush, you. I happen to appreciate the art of eating as much as the next pony.”

Velvet smirked lopsidedly, then tilted her head. “Do you even need to eat?”

“Hmm? Oh. Not as such, no.”

“Then why do you?”

Celestia arched an eyebrow. “Because I have taste buds.”

Twilight Velvet made a gagging face. “Then why are you eating a pear of all things?”

Celestia stifled a laugh. “I’ll have you know that pears are not only nutritious, but delicious and auspicious.”

“Nutritious I can understand.” Velvet’s lip curled in mild distaste. “Not so sure about the other two.”

“Did you know,” Celestia began, sitting up a little higher, “that there’s a civilisation, off to the East, that considers the pear to be a symbol of immortality?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I travelled there, once, a very long time ago now. They were a very honourable and hospitable people - very gifted storytellers - and when they visited Canterlot some years later, they planted a pear tree in my personal gardens, as a symbol of both my longevity and our new friendship. It’s still there to this day.” Celestia smiled her secret smile, and was quiet. When she blinked, she saw a land embraced by the sun, and when she breathed, she smelled tea, and incense, and the sea.

Celestia opened her eyes to the sound of The Owner setting Velvet’s coffee down on the table.

The Owner bowed out, and Velvet thanked him before turning back to The Princess with a thoughtful expression. “That’s quite interesting. I don’t really see how relevant it is, though.” She sipped at her coffee.

“The point of it is that pears are important, or, rather, symbols are. Also, I like pears. How’s your coffee?”

“It tastes,” Velvet said, “terrible, botched, lukewarm, with not enough sugar.”

“Oh.”

“It tastes almost exactly like the sort of stuff I’d make in the morning when I was late for class.” Twilight Velvet studied her reflection in the coffee. Her hoof tapped out an absent-minded rhythm on the table.

The two were quiet for a while. Celestia finished her pear and gave consideration to the core that went uneaten, while Velvet sipped at her terrible coffee for a minute or two before abandoning it.

“So,” Velvet said, eventually, “how is Twilight?”

The tone she spoke with was different, Celestia noted - clipped, oddly formal. She sounded exactly like a university professor.

“She’s fine,” Celestia said. “Anxious, perhaps, but the happiest I’ve seen her in some time.”

“Really.”

Celestia nodded. “Yes. Haven’t you been in contact?”

Velvet looked away as she spoke. “Not exactly. Not since her coronation.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Velvet shot her a glare. “Excuse me?”

Celestia looked at her, without expression. “Did she not speak to you, or did you not speak to her?”

Velvet shifted in her seat. “I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.”

“Really? Because I think it’s very much my business.” Celestia looked at her old friend with a mixture of concern and irritation. “Why haven’t you and Twilight been speaking?”

The smile on Velvet’s face was thin, and her ears flicked. “Well, we’re both busy ponies. Or, she is, at least. I wouldn’t want to bother her.”

Celestia said nothing.

“She has a very important position now, after all,” Velvet continued. “It takes a very special kind of pony to do what she does, and it seems Fate decided it was going to be her.”

“Velvet.”

“And not only that, she’s the wielder of perhaps the most powerful body of magic in the known world. Do you remember, back in the day, when we calculated the theoretical maximum of the ultimate expression of Friendship? How many zeroes were on there, again?”

“Twilight Velvet,” Celestia said, sternly. “I want you to listen to me.”

“I am not a child, Princess Celestia,” Velvet said. She sounded tired. “I would rather you didn’t treat me like one.”

Celestia didn’t speak, for a moment. “You’re right. You aren’t.” She relaxed back into her seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to get angry.”

Twilight Velvet shifted in her seat and frowned slightly. “No, I can understand, I suppose. I just… I don’t know.”

“Velvet, please.” A white hoof reached across the table and reassuringly stroked Velvet’s own. “Talk to me.”

Velvet looked up, once, into her friend’s violet eyes, and then down, at the remains of the pear. She sighed. “Alright. Okay. I confess, I’m not entirely sure how to explain this, but…” She hesitated. “Have you ever felt… a bit meaningless? Or, no, that’s the wrong word. What I mean is, I wake up, I have breakfast, I’ll read a book, maybe I’ll go shopping for groceries or something, then I’ll come home and I’ll watch TV and I’ll go to bed. Meanwhile, my daughter gets up, saves the world, becomes a princess, and gets back in time for tea.”

She laughed, and to Celestia it seemed nearly genuine. “Oh, it’s very silly of me, I know. But that’s just how I feel,” Velvet said.

Celestia let the information settle in her head, and considered it quietly. She felt surprised, above all else, yet it made perfect sense in hindsight. “Are you… jealous, then? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

But even as she spoke, Twilight Velvet was shaking her head vigorously. “Of course not. Do you really think I’m that petty?” She stopped then, and thought. “Well, I suppose jealousy might be a part of it. But Twilight’s life is not mine to live, and besides... ” She gave Celestia a smile. “I’ve had a rather interesting life of my own, have I not, Tia?”

Celestia returned the smile, and gestured for her friend to continue.

“No, I think I’m just... scared.”

“Scared?”

She nodded. “Of the future. For my family. For you, sometimes. But, and this will sound selfish, mostly for me. My golden years have passed me by, and what have I got to show for it? There isn't anything that I can point to and say, 'this is me'."

Celestia almost glanced outside involuntarily, at the sunny streets and smiling ponies and, beyond that, the burning midday sun.

Velvet followed her gaze. "Do you see what I'm getting at now, then?"

It was then that The Owner appeared, casting their table into shade. "Excuse me, Miss Velvet," he said. "Would you like some more coffee?"

Velvet blinked, surprised. "O-Oh, yes, please." She offered her slightly chipped, somewhat stained coffee mug. The Owner refilled it, then bowed out.

Velvet turned back to Celestia. "Anyway. Maybe I'm just being a sentimental old fool. But sometimes I look at Nighty and all his beloved telescopes and I just think, you know?"

This time, Celestia smiled, and nodded. "Oh, I think I do." And before Velvet could say another word, she held her own mug aloft in her magic. "How about a toast? To old times?"

"Of course." The two mares clicked their mugs together, then drank.

"Eugh." Celestia made a face. "Mine's gone cold." She put it aside. "Never was a coffee person, anyway."

Twilight Velvet didn't respond. When Celestia looked at her, she saw her looking down into her cup, contemplating her reflection in the brown surface.

"Velvet?"

She blinked, and tore her gaze away. "Oh. I... Yes. Sorry, I just..." She glanced down at her watch. "I should get going. It was nice catching up with you, Celestia."

Tentatively, almost reluctantly, she put her coffee mug back on the table, before picking up her bag and leaving the Cafe.

Celestia sat in silence, and thought of years gone by.

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by Pearple Prose.
The Cafe is appreciative for his time.

Sides - Discord and Chrysalis

Her eyes darted around with intensity the moment she appeared, as she jumped out of her chair and allowed her satin wings to beat furiously as an expression of her absolute displeasure.

Outside, the skies glowed red, blotting out the dawn, faintly pulsating lights echoing their intent on the distant horizon.

The Cafe remained empty, dusty, dirty, cracked and unpolished; the only upright table the one from which Queen Chrysalis pulled away.

The periodic waves of sirens and the rumble of air pushed past the walls, filling the room with muffled thuds as dust scattered from the ceiling like a sprinkling of salt upon a dead flowerbed.

The queen narrowed her eyes, glaring at the one sitting across from her.

“Do you understand what you have done?” She spat. “The agreement promised your non-involvement until the talks were concluded!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Discord shook a finger, relieving himself from the chair to stand in kind. “The agreement promised me not to act under command of Queen Twilight or any of her surrogate forces. It said nothing about me acting under my own whims.”

“Do you think,” Chrysalis blared, fury in her eyes, “that mere wordplay will excuse you from a violation of the terms? The hearing is tomorrow! And you could not even wait one single day?”

“Oh please.” Discord rolled his eyes. “Do you think none of us already know how these talks will go? We all know that you’re just stalling for time. But that’s not what I’m here about.”

“Then you know that you have given me the excuse to slaughter all of your kind! You kidnap me while I humbly abide by the rules! The very reason why your non-involvement was dictated!” Flecks of spit ran off her forked tongue. “I will run the blood of thousands into the ground!”

Discord shrugged, smiling faintly. “Fine then. You got me. Leave. Walk out that door.”

He pointed, a single scaly claw hovering in place.

“You should know, of course,” Discord continued, “that we are currently in the middle of Canterlot. And, oh. You do seem to be trespassing, a clear violation of the conditions that the peace talks were built on.”

The queen’s pupils constricted to pinpricks.

“Now, should I start calling for the guards now, or did you want to run off first, maybe turn into something else, make this a little fun?”

The queen lowered her head slightly, fumes of green smoke emanating from her nostrils. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk,” Discord said, beckoning to the chair beside her. He didn’t wait before retaking his own seat.

Chrysalis remained standing.

“Suit yourself,” Discord said. “Now, as I mentioned, I came here by my own volition, believe it or not. The games between mere mortals do not interest me in the slightest.”

The creature across the table assumed a twisted, bemused smile.

“However, I am here to ask you to consider taking the peace negotiations tomorrow seriously.”

“I beg your pardon?” her smile dropped.

“You heard me.” Discord narrowed his eyelids.”Take them seriously. Actually consider peace. Consider stopping all this… foolishness.”

The queen stood, silent, trembling with anger. Finally, her mouth spread open, and with a expulsion of ichor, she laughed one single time.

“You!” She declared. “You? Asking for peace?”

“Yes, me.”

“The lord of chaos?” Chrysalis sang, mockingly, shriekingly.

“Surprised? Well, isn’t that just what chaos is? Always surprising? Always–”

“More foolish wordplay!” Chrysalis cut him off. “Your trickery may work for those with slower minds, but you are dealing with the Changeling Queen! And she will not be easily swayed!”

“Alright then,” Discord drummed his paw on the table, “what else can I say?”

“Why would you want peace between our kinds?”

“Maybe I just feel sorry for everyone. Ponies and changelings alike.”

“I do not believe you to be capable of a single altruistic deed. You are even more heartless than I. Lie to me again, and I will walk out those doors myself, and give you the war that you so very much desire to avoid.”

“You certainly are committed, aren’t you, Chrissy?” Discord chuckled. “No. No, I think I shall call your bluff.”

“You think this to be a bluff? Do you doubt my devotion to this war?”

“Ooooh! Okay. This is fun.” Discord danced his hands through the air with glee. “Let’s play this out. Let’s see. So, okay. You walk out that door, and you get captured. Right? Then what happens? Oh, let’s see. Violation of the terms also means that I no longer have to play nice. And then… oh! You’re far away from home, no backup, no magical shields prepared, you know, given how easily I managed to snatch you up… Do you see where I’m going?”

“You would not kill me with such underhanded tactics.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“The years have made you soft!” Chrysalis shot out once again, with venom and spite. “The ponies have weakened your heart!”

“Which heart, though?”

Chrysalis plucked up a tattered, weary hoof and pointed it toward the Draconequus. “You hide behind your jokes and cavalier nature. But in the end, you are merely hiding what you know to be the truth. It is the same reason why you listen to the False Queen Twilight. It is why you even agree to such silly things as contracts in the first place!”

The changeling brought her hoof back down.

“No. I am inclined now, to believe that you indeed wish to avoid further bloodshed. To avoid further culling. That much is certain. You wish to spare others from death. But I do not believe the reasons for such are for the simple love of the ones who have made you this way – weak and pathetic. If anything, I would believe you are merely trying to stretch out their torment and suffering.”

“Well,” Discord shrugged again. “So if I said that were the reason, would you consider maybe stopping all this silly little fighting?”

The queen smirked, baring her fangs. “No.”

“Fine then. The truth. If it will please you.”

“It will not. But it will show me how far you have been broken.”

“War… is boring.” Discord looked up. “And I’ve had enough of it.”

“Boring? All this mayhem and destruction is boring to you?”

“Only a fool would confuse chaos with constructed warfare. No. War is utterly, absolutely boring. And when it’s all done and everyone’s dead, then what? No one for me to play with. No one for me to… annoy.” Discord clicked his tongue. “And that would be a real shame.”

“How absolutely selfish.”

“I’ve had nothing to do all this while, you know. Not a single day of fun. So would you please stop all this fighting so that I can get back to business?”

“No.”

Discord sighed, bobbing his head. “Figured. And how much longer do you want this war to last? Another two years? Three? Maybe make it eight so we can have a snappy name. ‘The Ten-year War’. It’ll be talked about in legend. By whomever’s left over, I suppose.”

“As long as it takes!”

“Now, I don’t see why you need to fight. You will find Queen Twilight’s offer tomorrow rather generous, I believe. Fertile lands. Free rein. Everything you’re fighting for, really. You get it all.”

“Not everything.”

“What could possibly be missing?”

“Do you… think…” Chrysalis hissed, “that I do this for land? For tithe? For what I can merely take? No. I do this because I want to. I care not who has to die for it. But the heavy hearts and burning minds, and the pain that is drawn forth from every single tear that the False Queen sheds each night reaches me in my homeland. And I await the day that I am able to drink of it myself.”

“So this is all… just for revenge?”

“Is it not a simple reason? One that I think even you can appreciate.”

“How much do you hate Queen Twilight?” Discord lowered his voice to a mutter.

“I am beyond hating. She fuels me. She is the only reason I continue to live. As long as her world continues to crumble, I will survive. Nothing else will nourish me.” Chrysalis ran her tongue over her cracked, dry lips.

“I see. Well, that’s rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps for you.”

“So you aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”

“Not until I have what I want.”

Discord kept quiet, eyes straight, looking off into the distance, to the world outside the window.

“Now, our conversation is over.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Discord mumbled.

“I am disappointed, though.” Chrysalis smirked. “No theatrics? You truly have gone soft. I expected mo–”

Discord snapped his fingers.

The queen disappeared.

No, there was no need for theatrics.

No need for anything else.

Discord, absent of any trace of a grin, snapped his fingers once more, and a laminated square materialized between his fingers.

He stared at it.

“Mister Discord?” The Owner said, as he drew forth from the quaking shadows. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

Discord spoke, as he stared forth, not turning to regard the being waiting at his side.

“Hate is a powerful force, isn’t it?” Discord asked.

“Quite so, sir,” replied The Owner.

“Almost as powerful as other things.”

“And what would these ‘other things’ be?” The Owner asked.

Discord shifted in his chair, gazing toward the master of the broken bar. “Bring me whatever you have. I don’t care what it is, as long as I can drink it.”

“Very good, sir. I shall be back momentari–”

“No. Bring two. One for me,” Discord settled the old photo of Fluttershy down on the table, “and one for her.”

“Very good.” The Owner nodded, disappearing.

Discord sighed again, staring at those long-gone eyes that stared back.

“I tried,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I really did.”

Fingers danced upon the table, absently remembering times once past and nevermore.

“But now, I will have to break our little promise,” he told the room. “I’m sure you’ll understand. Right?”

He frowned, as he listened to a phantom.

“You always make it difficult for me.”

He pulled back, stretching, the act itself giving him some reprieve, as he turned to gaze at the skies.

“War it is, then.”

Author's Note

Looked over by Dinoguy1000.

Sleep - Trixie and Twilight Sparkle [HerpyDerpy]

Liqueur coffee.

One part whiskey. Four parts coffee. Two sugars as requested, and a generous amount of fresh whipped cream to top it all off.

‘Picks you up and puts you down,’ was the description.

The perfect drink to finish off a not-so-perfect day.

The Owner slid the order across the table to the only patron in The Cafe.

Trixie, draped in her trademark cloak, put her hooves around the beverage and turned to gaze out the window.

It was still pouring down – probably even harder than when she had arrived. She closed her eyes and listened to soothing cadence of the pelting rain for just a moment.

Opening her eyes, she took a sip.

It was strong.

It was hot.

And it was just what she needed.

She let out an instinctive sigh of contentment and raised the mug again, but before it could touch her muzzle, there was a ringing of a bell and a chilled wind gusting in from behind her.

She took another sip – a larger one this time.

“Trixie?”

On most other occasions, Trixie would be pleased to be recognized.

“Yes, it is I,” she answered, offhandedly, without turning around.

Twilight Sparkle walked over to Trixie’s booth.

“Keep moving, Sparkle.”

“What are you doing here?” Twilight asked, eyeballing Trixie suspiciously.

Trixie let out a deep breath and lowered her mug back onto the table. “What does it look like? Trixie’s trying to enjoy her coffee.”

Twilight placed a hoof on the table. “No, really. What are you doing here?”

“None of your damn business, Sparkle,” Trixie growled, folding her front legs together. “And Trixie resents the implication. But if you must know, Trixie is merely passing by.”

She continued after a moment’s pause. “What do you want from Trixie, anyway? Trixie is sure you already accepted her apology about the whole amulet incident.”

Twilight tilted her head slightly and gave her companion a quizzical look, who sat still as a statue, eyes now glued to the drink in front of her. After a few seconds, Twilight snickered and deposited herself at the other side of the table. “You’re right, Trixie. My apologies.”

The Cafe fell silent.

No sound except for the rain.

The soothing cadence vexed the showmare greatly.

Trixie took another swig of her drink, and as she did so, sneaked a quick glance out of the edge of her eye.

Twilight’s head was now resting on the table. In fact, so was the entire front half of her body, which was now sprawled out in a strange form that didn’t look in any way comfortable.

Trixie cleared her throat.

“Princess Sparkle... what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” The contorted form replied. “Haven’t been sleeping much lately. Thanks to Princess duties, and all.”

“How’s that working out for you, by the way?”

Twilight adjusted her head and looked up with a frown. “Insomnia’s never fun.”

“No, fool.” Trixie pointed towards one of Twilight’s newly-minted wings. “That.”

“Oh… why do you ask?”

“Curious, is all.”

“It’s… fine, I guess.”

Trixie furrowed a brow. “You don’t seem overly enthused, Sparkle.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Twilight said, sitting up. “It’s a great honor, and it’s beyond what I have ever dreamed of, but… I don’t know. I suppose it’s not as exciting as ponies think it would be.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not really. In fact, I don’t think it’s changed much of anything at all.”

“That can’t be true,” Trixie protested. “You’re famous now! Everypony knows who you are. And you’re practically immortal! And you have wings, and-”

“Yeah, but none of that changes my lifestyle in any significant way. I still have the same friends, and I still do the same things I used to do on a daily basis. All those things you mentioned? They’re more of a pain than anything else. And I still don’t know how I feel about living for centuries on end, either.”

She paused and looked backwards, extending her wings slightly. “The wings are nice though. I do enjoy flying.”

“So you’re saying,” Trixie asked, slowly and deliberately, “that the thing you enjoy most about being a princess is that you can fly? Like the five billion other pegasi in Equestria?”

“Well, I don’t think there are that many pegasi – or ponies, for that matter – in Equestria. And I’m also not as good at flying as your average pegasus yet, but yes. Flying is fun.”

Trixie stared dumbfounded at the alicorn, who responded with a smile and a shrug.

“I hate you so much, Sparkle.”

Twilight laughed. “Hey, I think this is the first time I’ve heard you not refer to yourself as Trixie. Why do you do that, anyway?”

Trixie didn’t respond save for narrowing her eyes in annoyance.

“Ms. Sparkle? You appear to have had time to consider. Would you like to order now?”

Neither mare had noticed The Owner now standing next to their table.

“What are you having, Trixie?” Twilight asked, inspecting what little remained in Trixie’s mug.

“Liqueur coffee.”

“Any good?”

“Yes. Very good, actually.”

Twilight nodded. “I’ll take one too, then.”

The Owner adjusted his glasses a little. “Very well.”

“So…” Twilight started, with a casual tone. “Why do you do what you do?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, a mare with your skills? I’m sure there are a lot of options for you out there. I can’t imagine a showmare makes a lot of money, and it has to be tiring, traveling all the time.”

“You’re mocking my choice of profession?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just...” Twilight trailed off, looking down.

“What?”

“Curious, is all.”

Trixie scowled. “I will humour you, only because you showed me the same courtesy.”

“Okay?”

“But first, tell me. Why can’t you sleep, Sparkle?”

Twilight blinked. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Humour me.”

“Alright...” Twilight tapped her hooves together. “I worry… about stuff. Especially now, with the whole princess thing.”

“Simple worries,” Trixie said, nodding. “Is that all?”

“Yeah, if you want to put it that way.” Twilight frowned. “So, why do you do what you do?.”

“Because I’m afraid, Sparkle.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of being forgotten.”

Twilight scratched her chin, giving the answer a moment’s consideration. “So, you decided to be a traveling performer because you want to be famous?”

“I don’t want to be famous. I’m afraid I won’t be.”

“Isn’t that... the same thing?

Trixie sighed and shook her head slowly. “No, it’s not.”

Twilight rubbed the back of her head. She thought about pressing the question further, but something about Trixie’s demeanor made her decide against it.

“O...kay? Still, a rather silly thing to be afraid of, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.”

A moment passed

“So, why are you afraid of being forgotten?” Twilight asked, unable to deny her unsatisfied curiosity.

Trixie didn’t answer, but propped her head on an upturned hoof and looked out the window.

Twilight’s gaze followed, but there was nothing except for the streaks of rainwater and the darkness beyond. She looked back at Trixie, who was still staring out wistfully into the nothingness.

“Um… Trixie?”

Trixie exhaled deeply and closed her eyes before turning back to face Twilight.

“Do you know of a stallion by the name of Mirage?”

Twilight cocked an eyebrow. “I… can’t say I do.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Who is he?”

“He was one of the greatest and most knowledgeable magicians in all of Equestria.”

“That’s unlikely,” Twilight said, sitting up and leaning forward. “I’ve read about all the great magicians. All the way back to Starswirl.”

“Not this one, you haven’t.”

“So, who is he then?”

“He’s my late father.”

“Your father?” Twilight repeated.

“Yes. He taught me everything I know about magic, and that’s only a small fraction of what he knew about the subject.”

“Was he a performer too?”

Trixie scoffed at that comment. “No. He was a janitor, at the library in Canterlot.”

“But you said he was-”

“Yes. Brilliant. Knew almost everything there is to know about magic.”

“So why was he-”

Trixie suddenly slammed a hoof onto the table, causing both her mug of coffee and Twilight to jump.

“Because he’s also a fool!” she snapped angrily, her voice rising. “He spent his whole life reading books. Studying. Practicing. And for what? The only small thing of worth he managed to accomplish was passing on some of the crumbs to me.

“He was afraid of change, afraid to do anything outside of his comfort zone. Nobody knew of his talents! In fact, hardly anyone even knew him at all.”

Trixie shook her head and laughed to herself before turning to Twilight.

“Listen, Sparkle. I love my father,” she said, the anger in her voice now subsided. “He was a good stallion, but he was also a coward that squandered all his skills and talents because he let his fears control him. When he passed, I promised myself I’d never let that happen to me.”

An uncomfortable silence followed as Twilight looked down, fidgeting with her hooves as she tried to figure out what to say.

“I didn’t mean to pry, Trixie. I’m sorry,” she said, eventually.

“Sure you did.”

“Well, I… I’m sorry either way.”

“Don’t be,” Trixie said, before taking a final swig, downing the rest of her coffee.

She wiped her mouth and pushed the mug to the side. “Tell me something, Sparkle. Why do you think you have trouble sleeping?”

“I already told you. I worry about… stuff.”

“What kinds of stuff?”

Twilight took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“I’m afraid of failing, of not being good enough.”

“Why?”

“Because if I fail, I’ll be failing my friends. My… subjects,” Twilight answered, shifting awkwardly in her seat.

“But that’s not the only reason, is it?”

“I-I never thought I’d have this much responsibility!” Twilight suddenly blurted out, throwing her hooves in the air. “I mean, being Celestia’s pupil? That was a lot of pressure. Then I become an element holder, but at least I had my friends to share that with.”

Twilight sighed deeply, slumping back down.

“But this… How could I possibly afford to fail at this?” she whimpered.

Trixie watched as the princess attempted to bury her head into the table with the help of her hooves.

Complete silence.

The rain had stopped.

“Sparkle.”

“Hmmph?”

“I used to have trouble sleeping too, you know.”

Twilight peeked over one of her folded hooves. “Yeah?”

Trixie nodded. “I had my worries too. I used to think… what if I hadn’t done enough? What if, despite all my efforts, nobody will know me? What if when I’m gone, nobody will remember my name? What if I end up just like my father?”

Twilight sat up slightly.

Trixie placed two bits on the table.

“And you know what, Sparkle? That may be the case. But you know what else?” Trixie continued, standing up. “Maybe I don’t always go about it the best way, but I’ve busted my rump every day. Traveling. Promoting. Performing. Making sure at every show all the colts and fillies are entranced by the unforgettable performances of The Great and Powerful Trixie.

And if I’m not remembered despite all that, I can at least honestly say to myself I made an effort. I tried my very best. And that’s a lot more than what I can say about my father.”

She put on her hat and adjusted her cloak slightly.

“And that, Sparkle,” she said, moving towards the door, “is why I sleep just fine.”

And with the ring of a bell, Twilight was left alone with her thoughts.

A moment passed.

“Apologies for the wait, but here is your order, Ms. Sparkle.”

Twilight added two more bits on the table.

“Thank you, but I won’t be needing that after all,” she declared, getting up.

“I’m going home.”

Author's Note

Conversation scribed by HerpyDerpy.
The Cafe is appreciative for his time.

Time - Spike & Shining Armor

Freshly fragrant.

Steam.

Wooden cup.

Just a quirk, but something unique.

There was something thoroughly familiar about the situation – it was the sort that everyone had been in one time or another. It might have been in any location. It might not be over any sort of delicious beverage. It was the tone of it; the feel of it – the way that it called back long-distant memories and brought new ones to the table.

Yes.

There was a table.

There was always a table, wasn’t there?

Spike poked the side of the cup with a claw, giving himself a private smile. He knew exactly what she’d be thinking if she were there.

The cup didn’t make sense. Wood just wasn’t right for a cup of coffee. What was missing, clearly, was the clink. When you picked it up – a clink. When you set it back down on the saucer – a clink. Apparently the people who ran this place didn’t even believe in coasters; the many stains on the table were evidence of patrons past, and thusly, in the setting-down of cups, the best that could be summoned was a dull thud. It just wasn’t right. And besides, tea was far superior.

But Spike, if he were asked, was okay with it. It was kinda cool. It gave the place some character that made it unique. It was hard to find places like this nowadays, in a cookie-cutter world.

It was on that thought that the door opened, and a rush of cold blew in on the winds from the wintry streets outside.

“Whoa, hey!” an errant voice swept in after the winds died: it was that of a stallion, rugged, burnt with vocal fry. “Fancy seein’ you here!”

A moment passed.

“Hey?” the voice repeated.

“Who… me?” Spike asked, pointing to his own chest. He looked up at the stallion only then, when no one else gave a reply.

“Yeah! You! Spike!” Shining chortled. With a flick of his head, his hood fell away, leaving only his shoulders and back awash with a powder snow. “Mind if I join ya?”

“Oh! Yeah… sure!” Spike said, getting to his feet. “Of course!”

“Hey, hey! Sit down! Don’t worry,” Shining Armour said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “They’re not around.”

“Yeah.” Spike chuckled, settling back down. He scratched his head with a little embarrassment. “Force of habit, you know?”

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Shining responded, throwing himself roughly into his chair. The last remnants of snow fluttered off his travel cloak. “So, something on your mind?”

“Huh?” Spike was quick to blurt out a response. “Oh, no. Sorry. I was just not really expecting to run into anyone here, that’s all. Figured I found a quiet little place where I could kick back a little.”

The dragon quietly observed his surroundings consciously for the first time since he entered. There was just the right number of patrons – enough to give the cafe a worn-in atmosphere but not enough to overcrowd the tone with unnecessary joviality.

A fireplace that roared with a pulsing heat helped to drive in the mood, and the lights were set with a warm natural white that made the furniture glow with that special winter coziness.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you least of all. What brings you to Canterlot?” Spike asked. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Just passing by, really. Wife’s off at some winter gala thing at the castle. The Winterm–”

“–moon Parade,” Spike finished.

“Hey! Yeeaaaah!” Shining Armour’s face lit up as he swung his hooves toward Spike in brothery approval. “You know it, huh!”

“Well, ‘course I do.That’s where Twilight is right now.” Spike smiled back.

“Oooooh. Yeah, of course! Shoulda realised!” Shining nodded. “So, how’d ya get out of it?”

“Eh, well.” Spike shrugged. “It’s a three-day event. Today’s just dress rehersals. Nothing I’m involved in, so Twilight gave me the day off.”

Shining Armour nodded, mouth pursed into an ‘o’ as if he were being shown the technicalities of nuclear physics.

“And ah… that’s probably why you’re off the hook too,” Spike mentioned casually, taking a sip of coffee from a wooden cup. “In case you were wondering.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah! I know. Of course, heh. I knew that.” Shining grinned, eyes gazing at the table.

“Uh huh.” Spike replied.

“Yeah…”

“Yeah.”

A songbird, one late for migration, sputtered a cold warble on a windowsill.

“So… it’s just us now,” Shining said.

“Sure is.”

“No wives. No… whatever Twilight is to you.”

“Nope.”

Shining Armour shifted in his seat as the silence beckoned him further into its domain.

The songbird flew off.

“This is weird,” he said, finally.

“Little bit.” Spike took another drawn-out sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Shining Armor.

“What do we… uh… talk about?”

“I dunno. Anything,” Spike set his cup down. “What do you usually talk about with Princess Cadance?”

“Oh! Loads of stuff!” The prince’s face lit up.

“Go on…”

The prince’s face dropped.

“Nothing, huh.” Spike raised an eyebrow, leaning back on his chair and draping an arm casually over the back.

“Well, no, it’s not nothing. It’s just that… it’s stuff that doesn’t really… work? I don’t know. Am I making sense?”

“You’re trying.”

“I mean, everything we talk about usually has something to do with the stuff that we do. You know? Castles and policies and who we’re going to meet tomorrow and what a horrible headache she had at work today and all of that…”

“Mmm,” Spike hummed.

“It’s… it’s weird.” Shining Armor played his his hooves on the table. “I’ve lived with her for so long, and everywhere we go, and everything we do… she’s usually the one who starts talking first. You know? It’s almost as if the world has a… a camera centered on her or something.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feeling.”

“But don’t get me wrong! I’m not complaining!”

“No, of course not,” Spike assured.

“It’s just that…”

“Sometimes it feels hard to talk about stuff when she isn’t around, right?”

“Yeah!” Shining Armour smiled again.

“Uh huh,” Spike hummed.

“I mean… don’t you.... feel that way sometimes… too?” Shining asked, his tone skirting the subject.

“Maybe. Sometimes. Not really.” Spike shrugged again.

“Well… which one is it?”

“Not really.” Spike nodded. “But I get it, though. That’s the married life, it is. Or… whatever it is I have with Twilight. But it’s the same difference, I guess.”

“What is that, though?”

Spike looked to the ceiling, reading the answers that were written there.

“Time.” Spike flicked the lip of his mug. It teetered slightly, threatening to fall, but righted itself as if it were ordained to by the universe.

“Time?”

“Yeah. Your time is her time. Princess Cadence is a busy lady, just like Twilight. That’s what we’re for. We give them our time so that they can get more things done. Of course, that means that in the end, most of the things we do are the things they do, and… well. We become them, a little.”

“I… are you sure?” Shining Armor scratched his neck. “That sounds awfully...”

“I’ve been married a lot longer than you have.”

“Well, I guess… but…”

“It’s incredibly sad, isn’t it?”

Shining Armor blinked, the words snatched from his mouth. “Well… I guess… I mean, a little…”

“I used to think about that a lot too,” Spike admitted. “I mean, it’s not something that you can’t not think about, really. It was always the thought that the more of her I became, the less of ‘me’ I was. Sound familiar?”

Spike shot Shining a knowing look.

“I mean, I haven’t… really thought about it…” Shining muttered.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Spike smiled. “It’s normal. I was there. Honestly. You haven’t been married for that long, either.”

“Ah…” Shining grunted and cleared his throat soon after. It was particularly dry. “Well… let’s say that I do kinda feel that way, maybe, a little, maybe… how… how do I… fix it?”

“Nothing to fix.” Spike shrugged. “You’ll be okay with it eventually.”

“I don’t know about that… it’s been getting harder as time goes on. I guess I didn’t really think about how it’d be like, married to someone so busy all the time. I mean, look at today! I’ve virtually forgotten how to hold a casual conversation!” Shining lamented.

“Don’t think you’re doing too bad so far,” Spike said.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Shining nodded. “How are you okay with it?”

Spike stared into his coffee. “Well, I guess it’s just because we’re that close, yeah?”

“But I’m close with Cadence too…”

“Well, you are, but at the same time, you’re not.”

“What do you…”

“Well, what I mean is... “ Spike frowned. “I guess it’s like… milk and coffee. It goes well together, right? Let’s say you’re milk and she’s coffee. When you got married, you kinda… poured yourself into her.”

“Uh…”

“But even though it works like that, you still wanna give it a stir, right? So that the milk and coffee becomes milk coffee.”

“Uh....”

“Look, metaphors are Twilight’s thing, okay?” Spike folded his arms across his chest. “What I’m saying is that you guys are fine together, but you haven’t been stirred yet.”

“And… how does that feel?”

“Well, when that happens, everything is mixed together. So… even though you share her time, and sort of take on her responsibilities and her life, you also share in her happiness and sadness. What works for her also makes you happy. What she accomplishes makes you satisfied.”

“Huh.” Shining remarked. “Is that what it’s like with you and Twilight?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Just means that I ain’t bothered too much by being her assistant.”

“Because…”

“Because I ain’t her assistant. Just a friend.” Spike smiled. “And knowing that means I also know how to be someone else when she’s not around. And trust me that I know that she acts differently when I’m not around either.”

Shining Armor didn’t respond. Instead, he looked off to the window, staring at the light snowfall that fell outside. A number of things crossed his mind, all of which he pondered on in silence.

Spike suddenly laughed. A fresh, healthy chuckle. A private joke, but one that was worthy of joviality.

“W-what?” Shining asked, jerking his head around, as if he had just been caught with his hooves in the royal panty drawer.

“Twilight’s kind of a dork, really. I bet you anything that right now, she’s running around with her gala dress on backwards wondering where I am and wishing that I were there.” Spike pumped his fist in the air.

“You know…” Shining tapped his hoof on the table. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Yeah?”

“And you’re completely right.”

“Aren’t I always, though?” Spike grinned.

“Mister Armor?” The Owner said, as he swung past the table like a burst of cold riding the breeze. “You appear to have had time to consider. Can I take your order?”

“I’m sorry,” Shining responded with a grin. “If it’s alright, I think I’d like a little more... time.”

Author's Note

Looked over by HerpyDerpy.
And special thanks to everyone who sat with me.

■□ The Mare Who Stepped Into The Sun □■

The figures turned to shadow, and the shadows turned to translucent lines drawn in empty space, filled with a strange crystal mist that dissipated between blinks.

In effect, nothing was ever there. The Cafe was back to normal – or as normal would have it for Scootaloo; it always seemed too perfect during the times when the visions were not around.

And yet, when she watched the images disappear, they lingered in her chest and on her mind. They were the memories made real, and upon having experienced them, she was finally complete.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but soon realised that there was nothing much to say.

Behind her, The Owner stood, respecting the silence, as her expression dropped from a general acceptance to a lingering frown.

“Is there much to be angry about?” The Owner said, breaking the length of laconism, stepping forward through the tables.

“Huh?” Scootaloo turned around. “Oh. Yeah. Well. No. And who said I was angry?”

“You seem as such.” The stallion stopped before he reached her.

“Well, would you even know?” Scootaloo grumbled.

“I can… guess.”

“Do you even guess, though?” Scootaloo shot back.

The Owner stood still, the only indication of his thoughts a slight movement of his head.

“No,” he said after a while. “I make educated determinations.”

“Yeah.” Scootaloo nodded in triumph, words laced with spite. “Thought so.”

“Is there much to be angry about?” The Owner asked again, pointedly.

This time, it was Scootaloo’s turn to wait before responding.

She looked down, up, to the side, stared at the tables which held a bagful of stories and more.

“I… guess not,” she murmured. “But it’s the end. And endings are sad, aren’t they? Maybe I’m angry at that.”

“Endings can be. But they can also be happy. Are you not happy that now your life is no longer in danger?”

“Yes, of course.” Scootaloo narrowed her eyes, as if the question was an insult to her intelligence. “But it’s not quite the same, is it?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t know.”

“I expected you to say that.”

“And that is why I did.”

“Yeah. It’s The Cafe and all that and…” Scootaloo caught herself. “No wait. No. You said that you exert control over what you chose to say, didn’t you? So doesn’t that mean that you really don’t know?”

The Owner nodded. “Clever girl.”

“Yeah, I got all this down, brother!” Scootaloo smirked, shuffling from side to side in a mock celebratory flaunt. “I got this!”

“Clever girl,” The Owner repeated.

“Yeah.” Scootaloo stood still once more.

Something caught her attention suddenly, and she spun, looking, staring out to the windows, which normally would have been darkened, as if there were a thin layer of film covering each pane of glass.

They were still dark, as they usually were when there was no memory playing, but:

“Birds,” she exclaimed, reaching toward the panes of black glass. “I hear birds.”

“Yes. They are yours.”

“Mine?” Scootaloo turned back again to stare at The Owner.

“Yes. We are done. You have seen all you need to see. Therefore, we are home.”

“Home.”

“We have returned to the place where you left. All you need to do is walk out those doors, and you will be back where you belong.”

“Oh.”

With a flourish, and nothing more than that, The Owner pointed to the exit. Although nothing could be seen through the doors, something told Scootaloo that, indeed, everything was as he said. All she would have to do was open the doors.

And step through.

And everything would be as it was.

She didn’t move.

“Is there a problem?” The Owner asked, lowering his hoof.

“Heh, eh heh,” Scootaloo chuckled, rubbing at the back of her neck. “That’s… ya gotta throw a party, right?”

“A… party?”

“Yeah! I mean, we made it! Right? After this whole thing’s done and over… this is it? Just sorta… ‘there you go, on your way now’? There’s gotta be more, right?”

“No. Not any more than is necessary,” The Owner stated dryly.

“How ‘bout a cake? Or something?” Scootaloo asked, stepping away from the doors. “This place has cake! I’m expecting it!”

“You want cake.”

“Fine. More soda, then,” Scootaloo demanded, snatching the cup off the table where it had always been.

In a single draw, she chugged the entire glass of burning hot ginger beer, letting the firey essence of ginger sear her throat and bring tears to her eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her leg, smearing them across her face. “Now you!”

“Me?” The Owner asked.

“Yeah! Can’t… can’t have a farewell party without everyone joining in!”

“I do not require susten–”

“Just drink it, damn it!” Scootaloo yelled.

The birds continued to tweet just outside the window.

The Owner opened his mouth, apathetic as always. “Is there much to be angry about?”

“Oh, shut up,” Scootaloo grumbled, lowly, against her will, under her breath. She no longer had the will to shout. “I guess you really don’t get it.”

“No. I’m… I apologize. If I have caused disorder. But I am suited for this job, as it seems. Emotions… interfere.”

“This something that Prism of yours said?” Scoot’s eyebrow shot up angrily.

“Yes.”

“Sure sounds like a bunch of nice ponies.” Scootaloo threw herself into a chair, slumping down over her folded forehooves.

The Owner watched.

“Previously,” he said, “I have not had many problems with returning ponies back to their place.”

“Well, everypony’s different, aren’t they?”

“Yes. That is true. So… perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps you can tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Scootaloo unfurled her legs across the table.

“Tell me why you are angry. Maybe I will understand.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That ruins the mood!”

“I am not aware of any mood to begin with.”

“Ugh!”

Scootaloo’s forehead hit the table hard. Hard enough for her to feel it and for it to jolt her eyes shut, but not hard enough for her to forget how awkward it had been all this while. All of it was pride, ultimately. In the end, there was no choice but to play by his rules.

“Fine. Let me spell it out for you. I know what’s going to happen when I leave those doors.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“It’s the reason why you’re okay with telling me all this. About your Prism thing, about how it all works. I’m going to forget, aren’t I?”

The Owner tilted his head.

“Yeah. I knew it. The moment I leave, everything gets snatched away as if nothing ever happened. You wouldn’t risk anything, would you? Or maybe it’s the Prism who said that it has to be done. But you’re going to make me forget everything that happened!”

“Yes,” The Owner said. “It is as you described with your capacity for perception. However, is this something to be angry over?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to forget, okay? I don’t want to forget this place, or you, or these… crazy things I’ve been through! Is that hard to understand? You keep a whole damn… hotel full of experiences! Surely you understand their importance? And now you’re saying that I’m going to lose all of these new experiences I had simply because… because why?”

“Because… they aren’t really yours. They’re not yours to begin with. They never were. They too, have a home where they belong. They do not belong with you, just as you do not belong here.”

“Then what about being here? Isn’t that my experience?”

“Yes, it is, but it is too dangerous for ponies to keep. It will… ripple. Even if you do not tell another soul. Even if you eventually forget. The fact that it is there will be problematic down the line. We exist to prevent problems from happening. This is the very reason why I have put you through all of this in the first place.”

“But… I value my time here. With you. It’s been… fun.” Scootaloo said sadly, her eyes closing.

“It is an imprint. You do not even know me at all. I am nothing but whomever you want to see, do you forget? I am exactly whom you believe me to be, and nothing more. Your relationship with me is as real as a relationship with an imaginary friend.” The Owner said.

Scootaloo deflated.

She stared at the table, trying to find the patterns in the grain just as she had seen someone else do many meetings ago.

“Is that what you really think of yourself?” she whispered, tracing the lines on the table with her hoof.

“Yes.”

“I won’t leave, then.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I won’t leave. You never said I had to. I’ll stay until I can keep these memories with me without harming the universe. Surely you guys can figure something out.” She sniffed.

“You have to leave.”

“Or else what?”

“In such cases I would be… forced to make you leave.”

Scootaloo perked her head up. “You wouldn’t.”

“I have to. I apologize.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t wish to.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Scootaloo twisted, throwing her back over the table now, staring up into the ceiling as she lay there on her makeshift cradle. The ceiling was crossed with wooden beams, and only now did she notice the lamps that were nested amongst them like owls roosting in the rafters of a barn. It was a magical, mystical thing to her, in its pleasant beauty, and she wondered why she had never seen them before.

It was probably because she never had a reason to look up.

Scootaloo’s eyes tilted upward when she heard the shuffling of a chair, and above her head, The Owner lowered himself into a seat.

He stared straight, over Scootaloo’s body, ahead into the distance.

“There was a pony once, a long time ago,” he started. “Who lived very much in fear and anger and confusion.”

Scootaloo kept quiet, continuing to look at the glows hidden amongst the forest.

“He was otherwise any regular pony. But he saw things. He was able to see shadows.”

Scootaloo held up her hoof, blocking out some of the light, casting a shadow of her own across her eyes.

“One day, someone visited him. They told him that inside of him there was a seed. It was a gift that didn’t belong to him, but it was one that he carried and had to nourish. He was told that there were many like him who carried seeds, but his seed was special. His seed was unique.”

Scootaloo started to fly her hooves through the air like a plane.

“They told him that like all the others who carry seeds, when he died, he would be taken by the seed and be part of a greater plan. They told him that they were informing him of this in order to calm him. They told him that he would forget he had ever been visited, but the calm would continue. They had to calm him for his safety, but he also was not allowed to remember their visit for his safety as well.”

Scootaloo’s hooves stopped moving. They hovered there in mid-air, still, reflecting.

“But this stallion’s seed was special in a particular way. It allowed him to remember their visit. It allowed him to see all things beside. It made him… anxious. It made him worry. It made him think and dream and wish and hope and it made him angry and happy and above all other things, frightened.”

Scootaloo lowered her legs back to the table.

“That stallion then decided to die early.”

The Owner shifted in his seat.

“But he left the world when the world was not ready to let him go, and thusly, all those things that brought him there – the anxiety, the fear, the happiness and anger, were all taken from him. He was incomplete.”

The Owner stood up.

“That stallion later found out that he would have remembered it all, and understood it all, in due time. All he had to do was wait. But unfortunately, that stallion was cursed with knowing what he should not have, and ended up less than he should have been.”

The Owner looked down, meeting Scootaloo’s eyes as she stared up, upside down, from her platform.

“It is just a story,” The Owner said. “And you have a choice to make. The two are unrelated, I am sure.”

Scootaloo swung her legs, sitting up, dragging herself to the edge where she perched on the edge, looking down between her hooves.

She let out a long, drawn sigh.

She shook her head.

“I just don’t want to forget you,” she admitted. “And this. No matter what it is, it’s been fun.”

“And I am both happy and sad that you feel that way.”

“But not really, right?” Scootaloo smiled.

“No. Not as such. But it is regretful. I still understand regret. If it is any consolation, you will no longer regret as soon as you leave. And I will not regret either, as it is my calling to do this.”

“Yeah.” The young mare swung off the table, stepping lightly towards the doors with a sense of trepidation; her gait uneven and her breathing shallow.

She stared at them, the two wooden doors, thick and foreboding, as if hiding a great treasure. They glared back.

“Yeah,” she said again. “I guess I knew this was always going to happen. I just didn’t wanna… you know.”

The Owner lowered his head in a drawn-out nod.

“So, what’s going to happen when I leave?”

“You will go back to the moment you had that headache. The moment that I led you here. But you no longer will want to come in, as this place will not be here. As you know, The Cafe doesn’t exist in reality. You will simply have a strange feeling akin to deja vu, and you will continue on your way. From the perspective of you in the future, everything that had happened was merely a strange fleeting memory on the wind.”

“And that’s that, huh?”

“Yes.”

Scootaloo took in a breath. “That’s that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She placed a hoof on the door. “Any chance I’ll… remember this? When I die, maybe?”

“I do not know. It is possible. But not certain. The chance is very small.”

“Ah well. As long as the chance is there.”

She pushed. The door opened a crack. Sunlight streamed in, exactly as it was on the day she arrived. The smells, sounds and feeling of it was just as she remembered. It was nostalgia for something that happened mere moments ago.

“I don’t want to forget,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to lose this place.”

“I’m sorry,” came the voice from behind.

The sun hit her fully now as the doors swung completely open, causing her to wince and turn away.

“Hey, do me a favour, okay?” She called out. “P-please.”

“Yes?”

“I won’t remember, but you will. If you ever find out what that first conversation is… the one that started all this? Remember for the both of us, okay?”

“I… I will.”

“Thanks,” Scootaloo said, a tear escaping her eye.

She took in two, three more short breaths. She simply stared out, at the road, not wanting to turn behind. Besides, all she would have seen is what she wanted to.

“Goodbye,” she cried out, jumping through.

~~~

Her hoof lowered from the handle of the door. She was… sad for some reason. Instinctively, she raised a leg up to her face to wipe away an errant tear.

It was strange. She felt sad, but had no reason to be.

In fact, it seemed that her mind had blanked for a moment, because it took that hefty stallion pushing past her from inside to remind her that she was just about to enter The Cafe.

That’s right.

The Cafe. She was just about to go in.

Frowning at her odd mood, she entered the door with a tinkle of a bell, and sauntered into the establishment.

It was as busy as she always knew it to be, with tables strewn about in a nonlinear fashion. The owner of the place had insisted on giving it character, so there were many small things for the alert patron to find, such as how no coasters were used and how lamps were hidden amongst the beams in the ceiling.

All things that Scootaloo knew, of course. She had been here so many times before.

But today… she felt as if this were the very first time she had truly stood in this building, as if every time before was just a phantom playing tricks on her mind.

She waved it away without a second thought. It was a ludicrous, laughable thought. No, she also knew, surely and steadily, that this was one of her regular haunts, and today she had made plans to–

“Hey! Scoots!”

Scootaloo turned, smiling widely. “Hey, Belle!”

Sweetie Belle sauntered up. “Hey, I found it!”

“Yeah, you did! Good job, you.”

“Nice place, too,” she joked with a mock snideness. “I mean, I could’ve probably done better with the interior deco, but…”

“Oh, shut up and take a seat,” Scootaloo grinned, as they made their way to a table by the window.

“No, but really, it’s a nice place. Where’d you find it?” Sweetie asked.

“Dunno. Was just walking back from Uni one day, and I decided to go left instead of right, and I just found this place. I really like it, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s cozy. Can’t believe I never found it before.”

“It’s in a weird location,” Scootaloo shrugged.

“Anyway, how’s things been going?” Belle asked. “It’s been a while since I saw ya.”

“I know. I know. School, right?”

“Tell me about it. School’s nuts. Did you know that Rarity was a guest lecturer at the design fest? I was so scared I was going to run into her, you have no idea!”

“No way!” Scootaloo laughed.

“No, really! I was hiding in the toilet half the time! I knew if she saw me she would drag me out and…”

“Excuse me, miss?” A voice came suddenly from Scootaloo’s left. “You’ve um… have you had enough time? I could take your order now.”

Scootaloo turned suddenly, her expression dropping in shock, although she had no idea what warranted that response. But the sight of Blanche, the regular waiter, brought back that sense of comfort that seemed to have been cast upon her.

“O-oh, ah. Yeah, hey! The usual for me, huh?” Scootaloo said, her smile returning.

“No problem. What about your friend here?” Blanche asked.

“I dunno, what do you guys have?” Sweetie Belle leaned over, smirking at the waiter and giving him a wink. “Something sweet?”

“I… um…” Blanche stuttered, stepping back. “I’ll get you a menu, miss!”

He rushed off, a grin chasing him down at his back.

“Well, he was cute, wasn’t he?” Sweetie said with a laugh.

“Dude. Not cool.” Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “Don’t mess with them, okay? I swear, you’re turning into your sister more and more each day.”

“Whoa! Don’t even go there,” Sweetie declared. “Just let a girl have her fun, why don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scootaloo slumped back in her chair, looking around.

As her eyes travelled the length and breadth of the place, she took it all in again for the first time – from the steam coming from the brewing machines to the tables full of chatter and life and fun. It was all there. New experiences being made. New conversations to be had.

“Hey, you okay?” Sweetie asked, peering up into Scootaloo’s face.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry!” Scootaloo recovered, her eyes snapping back. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“Of him?” Sweetie chucked a hoof toward the waiter.

“Well… this place in general. Just… I don’t know. All of a sudden I feel so thankful for having found this place, and I don’t know why.”

“It’s a nice place.” Sweetie shrugged.

“Yeah, it is. It feels like home, you know?” Scootaloo’s head bobbed.

Friends and conversation fueled the fire.

Chairs and tables and a place to belong to.

And coffee that was to come – there was always coffee.

“It feels like home.” Scootaloo reasserted, smiling, as she looked out the window, the birds calling to one another as they took to the skies.

THE END

Epilogue

Author's Note

Looked over by HerpyDerpy.

A great thank you to all my readers who have journeyed with me on this long collection of stories. Thank you for the patience and kind words and comments, they all kept me going to finally finish this story.

Many thanks also to all our guest authors who have kindly donated a piece of their own - to Cold in Gardez, Crack Javelin, Horse Voice, Esle Ynopemos, Pearple Prose and HerpyDerpy, thank you for lending your unique voices to this project and making it the amazing thing that it has come to be. Your experiences only serve to fortify the journey, and we are all better off for it.

As always, thank you for reading, and see you in the stars.

■▲ The First Conversation ▲■

Epilogue

A knock. A step. An entry.

A voice.

“You wanted to see me, Red?”

“Yes. Come in, Chartreuse.”

The door opened to Red’s office, a white square cut out of the air, each surface equally shiny, like an azure-tinted marble buffed to a mirror-sheen.

As the stallion pulled in, he shaded his gaze; it was always far too bright in there. The Seven were beings of light in pony shape, Red, one of them, being a vessel of swirling beams of crimson, scarlet, vermilion and everything else in between, and if one looked deep enough, one could see the universe itself, swirling around in her core. It was unique to her, and always made speaking with her visually unpleasant to a degree.

Red herself sat behind her desk – a floating white slab of the same material, covered with papers and other gadgets that she used to perform her duties.

Stacks of paper continuously appeared wherever you looked, but equally fast did they shuffle down into nothing as problems were solved and new problems appeared. They continued to noiselessly pile up and break down even as she looked up from the sheets she was reading to give her employee some attention.

“Ma’am.”

“I’ve read your report. And I’ve read your request,” she said, pulling her glasses off her face. They were horn-rimmed, black framed ones that now swung on a silver chain around her neck. When she spoke, her stars swirled around and bounced off each other like a flurrying mist. “And I would like to ask you why you think this is a good idea.”

“Have I not performed adequately?”

“No, that’s not relevant,” the pony called Red snapped, in as much as a universe in a jar could. “I’m asking why you want to do this.”

She threw the sheets of paper across her desk, the other piles of paper gently moving out of the way in fine consideration.

It came to rest upside down in front of Chartreuse.

The top read Requisition for the Amendment of Present and Past Reality (Real Estate). Chartreuse did not need to read the rest.

“I believe I have written my reasons in the repo–”

“No, you haven’t,” Red interrupted. “It’s not good enough. I want to know why you want to inject a cafe into… where ever!”

Red tapped the report, a small explosion of light escaping the tip of her hoof every time it came in contact with the table.

“I believe it is necessary for the growth and prosperity of the area.” Chartreuse said.

“No you don’t. You’re a bad liar. I’ve known you ever since you joined us. And you, sir, are lying.”

“I… believe it is necessary for–”

“I am giving you to the count of ten to get to the point or else I am going to put this request form somewhere you don’t want. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes, ma’am. I g–”

“Do you know?”

“I know, ma’a–”

“Where I’m talking about?”

“I know.”

“Eight.” Red counted. “Nine.”

“It’s for a girl,” Chartreuse said.

If Red had any facial features, it would have expressed things.

“Really.” She said.

“Yes. The… subject of the report.”

“A girl? That girl?” Red turned the report back, flipping pages over until she reached a photo. “Huh. Ugly creature, ain’t she?”

“Yes, ma’am. But all the same.”

Red lowered the report down. “Tell me the story.”

“She exhibited a… pattern of behaviour that I have not seen before, and one that I have… remembered myself having from times past. Before I… died. I do not wish for her to suffer through dis-ease.”

“Have you run a scan on her?”

“She does not carry a seed, ma’am, nor is she visioned.”

“Then… I don’t see the need to do this.”

“I… wish for her to be comfortable. That is all.”

“Huh.” Red leaned back in her chair, considering the circumstance. “I thought you didn’t have those feelings.”

“I was not aware I had feelings either.”

“But… you do feel something?”

“I am… not sure.”

“And yet, you want to do this for a girl and you don’t really know why.”

“She was sad to have to leave. She wanted the memories of The Cafe. I have decided that in lieu of her old memories, I could give her the chance to make new ones.”

“Obviously nothing to do with the time you spent with her, was it?”

“That would be unprofessional, ma’am.”

Red nodded, light scattering around the room, sending the echoes of shadows of reflections dusting all over.

“You do understand the responsibility needed, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have writt–”

“No. I don’t want it from the report. I want it from you. You tell me now; do you know what’s involved and what you’re getting into?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have already traced every change to the end of their potential lines and found that there will be only small variances from the prime universe. Nothing that will not eventually reconcile. For everything else that has not, I will personally see to myself.”

“And what about the main problem?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have seen how placing the building there in time will affect the hotel. It will cause a rift.”

“And I trust that you will take care of it?”

“I… already have, ma’am.” The stallion’s eyes trailed to the report.

Red’s head tilted down in kind.

It flicked back up, the stars within falling upon Chartreuse.

“You want to be the source?”

“The source has to be something. It might as well be of my own device. I am prepared for that.”

“You sure?”

“I am prepared for that.”

“All those hours in self-reconfiguration?”

“I am prepared for that.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“I am unable to like her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

The being called Red picked up the sheet of paper again, staring at the photo of Scootaloo. “Weird lookin’ pony.”

She slapped it down soon after, and both the report and the request melted into the table.

“Fine!” she declared. “It’s your existence. You just make sure that everything goes smoothly, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“And listen. This is a personal favour. You got it? Don’t be thinking that I do this often, so don’t you dare ask again. Messing with the universe stream is annoying and complicated. And I hate it.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Now get out of here. And you owe me one.” Red glowered, in her own special way, in which case the stars in her head glowed a bit brighter.

With a click of his heels, Chartreuse turned and left, leaving Red alone with her endless piles of paper.

Red shook her head, reaching down to the left. Paper stacks scurried out of the way, gently nudging a small white mug into her grasp.

She lifted the cup of coffee to the general vicinity of her head, where a sip caused a swirl of brown to get pulled, spiraling, along the vast expanse of her body. It travelled along like a comet, finally disappearing at the very center of her galaxy.

“Maybe you’ll be fixed yet,” she muttered, setting the cup down to get back to work.

To Be Continued, Sometime, Somewhere

Author's Note

This story takes place within the Prism, a collection of loose stories about a very particular Equestria.
There are other stories in this collection which delve more into the lore and world of the Prism:
(In order of publication)
Table for Two
A Child of Imagination

Thank you for reading.

[BONUS] Introduction and Chapter Readings

While I normally do not engage in the practice of adding readings or awards or whatever it is to my stories themselves (I feel that people ought to judge them by virtue of what they are, and only let what other people think be a guide to different interpretations), Table for Two was always envisioned as a sort of group collaborative effort. For that reason, I'm adding a bonus section here to the story.

While the story itself may be complete, this world is always open to new additions. If there are any other little tidbits or guest-donated chapters, they will all come here, added as I get them. And it is for that reason that I am also listing readings. If someone would like to listen to a reading along with the chapters themselves, feel free to pop open this page in another tab and hack away.

And of course, if you, yourself, wish to add something to the collection, or open a door of The Hotel yourself, by all means -- send me a PM, and we'll talk.

Thank you very much for reading this collection. It was great fun to write, and it was great fun to work with all sorts of other creative minds. Thank you to all who donated, and thank you to all who participated. May we meet again in the roads ahead.

Readings by Musical Story
Thank you so much for these. They're amazing, and you're great.

Chapter One:

Chapter Two:

Chapter Three:

Chapter Four:

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven:

Chapter Eight:

[APRIL FOOL'S CHAPTER] Rocks - Tom & Boulder (Plus Reading by Leoshi)

Author's Note

This chapter was originally written for April Fool's 2015. It is not to be considered canon in any way.
It is Horizon's fault.

[APRIL FOOL'S CHAPTER] Rocks - Tom & Boulder (Plus Reading by Leoshi)

We now have a reading, courtesy of Leoshi.

This is one of the most glorious things.

A big old cup of peat-moss bog-water congealed in a glass flask, which was the perfect kind of flask to hold peat-moss bog-water, and no, we don’t care that we just said that it was in a cup.

It trickled down the side every time Tom tried to take a sip, because boulders don’t normally drink, and as everyone knows, lips are an essential tool in the art of imbibing of fluids from rimmed vessels.

Tom, sadly, was lipless.

For he was a rock – specifically, a boulder, and he was there in the cafe that day to make a great impression.

Having fleed (which is now a new word) from Rarity’s bosom, he coated himself in a fine layer of shale and granite and other types of rocks that I can’t be arsed to check up on Wikipedia, and was once again the real rock that he was always meant to be, not some stupid old useless giant diamond. I mean, heck, who wants that old thing? Rarity? Rarity can go suck it. Seriously. You know how stressful it is being a diamond in Rarity’s boutique? Have you ever been a banana in a gorilla cage? At least bananas eventually get eaten, and then they’re kinda done with it. Well, let me tell you, diamonds are forever, and Rarity also is forever because she got her immortality granted by the prince of the 18th level of Bek’nobeth, which is a region in hell specially made for the vain and slightly dumb, and Rarity is a frequent patron, let me tell you what, but actually I love her so please don’t comment about this, okay? I don’t need the stress.

Tom unfolded the letter to look at it one more time – not because it was important, not because he had forgotten what it contained, but because I have to somehow communicate the reason for this plot through exposition, since all these stories so far are pretty much in media res, which means that we gotta get creative to explain backstory, yo, and sometimes people are just too damn stupid to extract it from subtle text, but again, I love you all, I’m joking, you’re all really smart please don’t thumb me down or write nasty comments or I am probably going to cry.

Having just checked the word count, the author then realised he had another 1200 words of this nonsense to fill, so he continued on.

Dearest Tom, read the letter, I am writing to you from a place very far away; from a pocket very far away. My name is Boulder, and I will be passing through your town on a journey of self-discovery and enlightenment, and I wish to exchange words with you.

The letter did not include a date, or time, or any way to get into contact, so it was lucky that rocks had extra-strataory communication.

Tom knew, with all the cracks in his body, that Boulder would be there, at that time, in this weird cafe.

It was a safe place.

It was a private place.

A place without judgement or birds.

God, they hated birds. They poop everywhere, and then all the stuff happens, and ick.

And otters. Did they mention they also hated otters? Otters pick you up, bash your face against clams, and then deposit you into the ocean where you will have to contend with sea-slugs and starfish and nudibranchs crawling all over you for the rest of your life. I mean, honestly. If someone picked you up, smashed your face against a clam, and then dropped you into the ocean…

...that’s murder.

Rocks don’t get no respect.

Without a moment to waste, the door swung open, and Boulder rolled in.

He was a smaller rock, one that could fit snugly into a vest pocket, and one who had a most fortunate life. If you saw him, you’d be able to tell from his lustrous sheen and his amazing complexion.

He rolled into the seat across from Tom and sat there, observing the other ponies in the cafe.

Boulder turned to Tom.

“...” he said.

“...”

“...?” he asked.

“.... …, … … …,” Tom replied, “... ….”

“...” Boulder sighed, leaning against his palm. It was a tough time. After a moment, he turned and looked back at his counterpart.

“...?” he asked, slowly, but it was the suggestion that irked Tom more than anything.

“...!” Tom shouted.

“......”

“...? …!”

“... – ”

“...,” Tom cut him off, “..., ….”

“...,” Boulder asked, “...?”

Tom didn’t have a reply. Was it fair to accuse Maud for this? It was true that one does not name a dwarf ‘giant’ unless they had a rather ironic sense of humour. But maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be something that he had to hate himself for.

“...,” Tom said, finally coming to a conclusion, smashing the table into half. “...!”

“...?”

“....” Tom pointed. There was only one last member of their family that could point the way to the truth.

The door banged open so suddenly that it had no time to fall off its hinges. The entire frame came off in this newcomer’s hand, who proceeded to lay his muscular arm across its body and smash it onto the ground with a scattering of glass and fragmented wood.

“Finally,” he yelled. “The Rock has come back to The Cafe!”

“...!” Boulder yelled.

Dwayne sauntered over to the table, staring down at the tiny little pebble. “And just who in the blue hell are you?”

“.. –”

“It doesn’t matter who you are!” Dwayne screamed, fusing the table back together with his aura. “If anyone’s got a problem with you just because you’re a tiny little jabroni jack-ass with a big-ass name, then you just get your ass into the gym and work your candy-ass until you are a boulder!

“Nobody, and The Rock means nobody, should ever tell you what you can or can’t do! And then one day, when your candy-ass ain’t so candy no more, you roll on back home, you go find this Maud Pie, and you take your size 13 boot, lube it up, and stick it up her–”

“Mr. Rock,” The Owner asked, sliding up beside him. “You appear to ha– ack!”

Dwayne grabbed The Owner by the throat, hefting him up onto his shoulders. With a great hoist, he turned him over, onto his back, smashing him straight onto Tom’s lithe frame, off which The Owner bounced and flew over to the other side of the room, careening across the bar, skidding down the nicely lacquered wood, dragging down all the glassware and lamps, and ending up in a heap behind the counter.

“You wanna go one on one with the great one?” he pointed, raising his eyebrow spectacularly.

“...,” Tom said.

“Oh.” Dwayne lowered his arm. “Then The Rock will have a People’s Coffee. No milk.”

And then Scootaloo was a zombie.

In Memoriam: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson

1743 - 1868

[ART]

Here's just a bunch of interesting things of the art-sort that various people have done for me.

This card was done by Crack Javelin sort of as a joke that he kept making where he insisted The Owner was Pierce Brosnan. I then took his art and turned it into a card for kicks.

It then later prompted this card by FanOfMostEverything.