After a long day out on the town your legs ache from walking for hours. A gorgeous day well spent shopping around town for the basic necessities. All day you had been too busy going shop to shop searching for the things a human in Equestria needs. Your search for knives and forks failed again and human t-shirts are not easy to come by in a world dominated by quadrupeds. However food is a pan-dimensional need and the steady diet of fruits and vegetables has had you shedding the pounds since your arrival.
The market seems to empty as you collect all the food you'll need for the week. It isn't until you take a moment to look up that you see the weather team covering the brilliant blue sky with dark clouds. Suddenly with abject horror you remember that it's a storm night. Quickly paying for you carton of strawberries, you beat a hasty retreat back to your house with several bulging bags of food hanging off your arms. However before you can even leave the market you can feel the first drops on your face. The dead weight around both your arms makes running any distance awkward so you quickly stride from awning to awning down the streets of Ponyville.
Under a particularly large awning you take a moment to catch your breath. Setting your bags down against the wall, as far away from the rain as possible, you stay hunched over trying to get rid of a stitch in your side. While you're hunched over you can hear a rustling noise over the din of the falling rain. Peeking out into the rain from under the awning you can tell the noise is coming from the adjacent alley. Looking through the falling rain you can see a large dumpster with the lid propped open by a bindle. A brown tail is hanging out of the dumpster slowly twitching as the body connected to it searches through the refuse. A flash of lightning causes you to quickly pull your head back under cover as the thunder loudly rolls over the sodden town.
Another flash, this time the thunder shakes the ground like a locomotive. As the thunder rolls away and the shaking stops you hear a loud clang from around the corner. Braving the torrential downpour you peep around the corner to see the bindle on the ground and the heavy lid now closed on the brown tail. Quickly you run into the rain to free the pony. Throwing up the lid up against the brick wall behind it, you peer in to see a bright eyed face staring back at you with mild disapproval. "Finally find a dry spot and of course someone wants you to move on."
Taken aback by the blunt comment you stumble through an apology and ask the white pony if she'd like any help considering she seemed ready to use a dumpster for a bed. "Nope, no help needed, requested or required. Now if you don't mind, I was just putting together gourmet dinner," she says without a hint of sarcasm. Peering down you can see a dirty paper plate piled with an old potato, 3 rotten apple cores and a half eaten roll. Still being soaked by the rain you raise an eyebrow and ask again if there's anything you could do to help. "Didn't I tell you to scram? Besides, nothing out there that I can't get in here." A strong gust of wind blows the rain into the dumpster creating little pools of foul smelling water.
You know this isn't right, you unleash a salvo of promises to try and lure the pony out of the dumpster. A warm meal, a hot bath, clean clothes, soft sheets. A roof. Still avoiding direct eye contact, the pony half turns its head to you and replies, "Really, you have all those things? And you'd be willing to share them with somepony like me? NO! No deal, I've always done it on my own, no reason to change that now." You're just able to pull your fingers out of danger as another gust of wind slams the lid back down. A beat of silence passes before you hear, "Did you say something about a bath?" the now muffled voice asks.
As a deposit on your promises, you give the small pony an apple from your bag to snack on during the walk. You're able ask what her name is and she replies "People just call me Hobo Pony, I've never really cared for names anyways. I'm nothing but a dusty traveler"
Although you're soaking wet, you still try to stay undercover for as much of the walk as possible. Hobo Pony doesn't seem to mind and just walks down the middle of the deserted street with her bindle over her shoulder. Surprisingly the brown splotches on her coat that you thought was dirt aren't washing off. Eventually you reach the last stretch to your house. Braving the rain one last time you motion to Hobo Pony that this is your place. She looks up in awe at the three story building. It had been the only place in town with ceilings high enough for you to be comfortable in and as such was one of the bigger houses in town.
Fumbling in your pocket you pull out the key with your rain chilled hand. The lock clicks satisfyingly and you enter the warm room. Hobo Pony enters behind you as you drop the groceries off in the kitchen. Returning to the entryway you can see her gazing around slowly, unsure of what to do in a place like this. You offer to draw her a warm bath and help her get cleaned up. She doesn't voice an acceptance but follows your beckoning up the stairs to the bathroom.
Turning the taps you test the water with your still cold hands. After fiddling with the taps for a few moments you're able to find a nice mid-point between hot and cold. You hold your still frozen hand under the tap for a few moments to try and warm them up. With the tub full you turn and see Hobo Pony standing in the doorway. You point out to her where the soap, shampoo and brushes are and then turn to leave. Passing her in the doorway you can see she seems unsure about something. You ask her if everything is all right. She replies, "All this effort for me," she says quietly with a lowered head. "Everyone who's gone through this much effort has always wanted something in return..." her voice trails off as she rubs her front leg pensively. Acting quickly you get down on one knee and place a caring hand on her shoulder. You tell her that the only thing you want in return for all this is knowing that you made another life better. Standing up you point out which cabinet the towels are stored in and head down to the kitchen. Your mother always said that a happy heart can be made with a warm bath and a good meal. You get to work in the kitchen hoping to have something ready by the time Hobo Pony is done with her bath.
What you had figured would be about 20 minutes to make dinner turns into nearly 40 before you hear the telltale sound of water draining from the tub. In the short amount of time you hadn't been able to make much. A baked potato, a basic salad and some bread and butter on the table. Just as you finish setting the table for yourself and your guest you hear a soft thumping coming down the steps. You quickly place the last plate down on the table and stand back feigning pride in what you've put together. Rounding the corner you can see her hair is no longer greasy and her coat is several shades whiter. She's sniffing the air with exaggerated breaths and her nose held up high. Bringing her nose down to a reasonable level she sees the food prepared and carefully walks over to the table.
Hopping up on the chair she carefully inspects the food you've laid out. She carefully picks through the salad as if looking for something. You assure her it's fresh, you just bought the lettuce earlier today. She looks up and answers "Sorry. Force of habit. I once chomped down on a big 'ole nice looking apple and saw half a worm hanging out of the bite mark!" Laughing to herself she returns to her meal. Not thinking, you had laid out cutlery for her. After fumbling with the fork for a little while you invite her to eat however she'd like. She smiles and digs into the bowl with her hooves.
After all the salad in either eaten or on the floor, she turns her attention towards the potato. As she reaches for it you try and warn her it might still be a little hot. Your warning reaches her ears too late for it to be of any use. "Ouch!" she yelps, "Heh, hot potato, forgot that food can be hot." She places the potato on the side of her plate and reaches for the bread. She takes the half-loaf and goes to smack it against the edge of the table. She brings the loaf down hard. She's shocked when it simply bends to conform to the angle of the table. She holds up the bread in front of her face and stares at it with a quizzical look. "Never seen bread act like that. How old is this thing anyways? Two, three days?" You reply that you saw the baker pull it out of the oven around noon today. "Well it ain't acting like any bread I've ever seen," she says as she rips off a chunk of bread and pops it in her mouth. As she chews it you can tell she was expecting something different. Just by her expression you can tell that she's savoring the softness of the fresh bread. Finishing your half of the meal you glance at the window and see that night has fallen early thanks to the thick cloud cover. The rain is still pattering against the glass. However the thunder and lightning seem to have abated.
You watch as Hobo Pony takes the now cool potato between her hooves and hungrily chomps down on the brown vegetable. You clear away you dishes as she finishes the potato. She leans back against the chair with a look of satisfaction. Apparently a full stomach can do amazing things to people AND ponies.
As the night drags on you set a fire in your cast-iron stove and pass the hours watching the flames as Hobo Pony shares stories that she picked up in her travels. Some tall tales told to her by a old-timer, some of her experiences going town to town. You sit back in your chair and just listen. Between stories you can hear the rain pattering over the crackle of the fire. As the clock ticks away the hours it is all too soon your bed time. You slowly walk over to the hall closet and extract a spare pillow and blanket. Returning to the living room you explain to her that she's welcome to the couch tonight and that if she needs anything your room is on the top floor right at the top of the stairs. You also tell her that she's welcome to stick around for breakfast tomorrow morning. Nodding to show she understands you pass her the sheets and head upstairs. The long day of shopping and the recent events have your soul at rest and your body in need of it. Curling up in bed you fall asleep quickly thinking of making something with eggs for breakfast.
In the middle of the night you're awoken by a creaking door. A moment of panic passes when you remember you're not alone in the house tonight. Assuming Hobo Pony is in need of something you manage to string together enough words to ask her what's wrong. "Nothing," she replies timidly, "It's just that, you know how night time always makes things seem more important than they really are? Well I've been thinking, In all the years I've been out on the dusty trail no one's done this much for me without some ulterior motive..." voice trailing off again. "Yeah sure I've had people throw a few bits or some leftovers my way. But nothing like this, a bath, a dinner, a bed." She stops dead in her tracks. For a second you wonder if she's the one with an ulterior motive. Curious you ask her when the last time she slept in a bed was. "Years? Too long to remember anyways. But newspaper and cardboard can be soft if you get enough of it." She sighs again. "The couch is fine, more than I could ever have asked for. And everything you've done for me, there's no way I could ever repay you for it." By this point you're sitting up in your bed, listening intently trying to figure out where she's going with this.
"Remember what you said? About making another life better?" You nod slowly. "Well, you have all these things," she says motioning to the four walls and a roof around her, "And you're in bed all alone." Even in the dark you can see a hint of blush on her white face. "And I know how lonely some nights can be when you're all alone." You've had enough, you get up to remove her from your room. She senses what's going on and pleads. "Please! Please! Just let me finish!" You stand in front of her with your arms crossed. "What you said. It's the only way I could ever repay you for all this. Let me make YOUR life better." Your arms fall to your sides. "Through everything you've done tonight I can tell how much that idea means to you. As much as it means to you that's how much repaying debt means to me." Her tone becoming more and more desperate by the end of her appeal. You sigh and return to bed. Not agreeing to anything but not tossing her out like you had planned. She follows you back to the bed, you tell yourself that if she makes any moves she's out the door.
She climbs into bed behind you moving in close under the covers. You can feel her soft coat rubbing against your back. Smooth and silky, far from what you had seen this afternoon in the dumpster. She's warm, but even under your thick down covers it's not too warm. Maybe this isn't too bad. You can feel her chest lightly heaving against your back. One of her brown splotched arms reaches over your back, you can feel her fur on your upper arm. This is pretty nice you think to yourself. Against your better instincts you roll over and wrap your arms around her. You held her close against you chest. She sure was right about that bed thing. Clutching her close you again feel your soul come to rest. In each other's arms you let the steady rhythm of her breathing and the falling rain carry you off to sleep.
The light of morning wakes you. One of the best night of sleep you've had in years. But you're alone in bed. You search the house but she's nowhere to be seen. Her bindle which had been left at the door is gone. You're sad, but it's bittersweet knowing that you did make some one's life better, if only for a night. Wandering into the kitchen to make breakfast you see a note on the table. You sit down with a glass of orange juice. The note reads: "For everything you've done, I can't thank you enough. Maybe we'll cross paths again in the future, or maybe not. Regardless, wherever you are on this Earth always remember that you've made another life better. For me, I'm just a dusty traveler. I may not know where I'll be tomorrow, but I know that in my dreams I'll always be with you. Thanks again." The note is signed with a sketch of a bindle carrying traveler marching down a dusty country road with a bright smile filled with confidence plastered on its face.
In Another Place, At Another Time
In Another Place, At Another Time
The years slipped away. Sun turning to rain, turning to snow, back to rain and back to sun. The endless cycle of time and the seasons passing you by. Life is good in Ponyville, the food is plentiful, ponies are friendly and you finally found a proper set of cutlery in a curio shop. The clothing issue had been solved through a custom order at Carousel Boutique, although it had taken three afternoons to get the idea of a T-Shirt into Rarity's head.
The sands of time had eroded the memory of that night. Only the odd time did the memory breach into the conscious part of your mind. And when it did appear, even concentrating all your energy on remembering brought back only the vaguest of details. Something about a bath, a dinner, a shadow in the doorway. Her being gone the next day. All the memories turned to dust in the deep of your mind.
On the walk home after a day out shopping, you passed by the old alleyway. Running over your checklist on the walk set your mind in gear. At that moment, stirred by the proximity to their origin, the winds of thought carried the memories of that night to the front of your mind. This time they appeared stronger and clearer than they had in years. Looking to the right, the dumpster was still there, a little rustier and with a few more dents, but still sitting in place. Looking up you see only a few clouds against the sky. Knowing you still have a few minutes, you set your bags down against the same wall as you had all those years ago and walked towards the dumpster. Throwing open the lid you're met with nothing but the stench of rotting garbage. No big green eyes staring back at you, no condescending tone, no "gourmet dinner". You let the lid slam down again.
The rest of the walk home had passed quickly with the memories of that night filling your head like burning coals in a freezing stove. Each new memory falling like a domino into another one. The storm, the bindle, the dinner. Each image flooding back in vivid detail, the clearest they've been in years. The warm memories blind you to the ever darkening sky and the cool wind that has started to blow. Approaching your house the last recovered memory comes forth for its moment in the spotlight, the note. Your mind raced. The one physical proof you had that that night had actually happened. Mind still racing, your legs match the furious pace of your thoughts, desperate to get home and find that piece of paper.
Throwing open the front door and dropping your bags on the floor, finding the note is the only thing on your mind. Rouge apples roll across the floor and the milk bottle tips on its side as you begin your search. Tearing up cushions on the couch. Looking under dressers and digging through messy drawers filled with old letters, receipts and tax forms. Lifting up chairs and squinting under shelves. Filled with horror digging through the stack of old papers by the stove. You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you don't find it there. While by the stove, you light a small fire to combat the draft blowing through the living room. Through the photo albums and the books stacked in your bedroom. You turn the house inside out, but that little slip of paper still eludes you. The fire in your mind calms from the inferno it had once been. The cold water of truth used to extinguish it seeps down to your heart. Another deep sigh escapes you and you turn your attention to the two flattened grocery bags on the doormat. You collect the stray apple back into the bag and right the bottle of milk. Hoping it hadn't spoiled during your search, it is the first grocery to get put away.
Out the kitchen window you can seen the rain has started. You turn and open the fridge. The shelves inside are bare, filled sparsely with cheeses and juice, greens and vegetables. A half dozen eggs and some butter fill the dairy drawer. In a world sans meat, there just isn't that much that needs to be stored in a cold place. You place the milk in the empty spot in the door. Closing the door you admire the front of the fridge, covered top to bottom with library slips and newspaper clippings and reminders to yourself. Under a faded yellow return slip from the library, you spot the corner of a lined sheet. Staring at it your heart starts to race. You reach for it, but stop yourself, choosing instead to savor the moment of uncertainty. What if it isn't the note, just some buried and forgotten letter. No, no one else has that type of paper here, it has to be it. You carefully grab the corner and pull up, revealing the familiar cursive. You rip it off the fridge, bringing down several other papers with it.
You hold the note in front of you and for the first time in years read the yellowed page. Every word bring the realization that you had never really forgotten them. Carrying the note to the couch you read it again and again, each time resting your eyes on the sketch at the bottom. The dusty traveler on a country road. Time has taken its toll on the paper, turning it a pale yellow. But the confident smile remains untouched through the ages. You sink into the couch still tracing each line of the sketch with your eyes. Many a night you had sat in this exact spot with a drink in hand wondering if that night had been real. And now in your hands was the answer. Those night sitting here calling yourself crazy had finally been answered. You wonder where she might be tonight, on the streets, in a dumpster somewhere. Or maybe she found a place and settled down, tired of being the dusty traveler. Taking a break from your thoughts, you notice the striking similarities tonight has to that night. The day out shopping, the rainstorm, the fire burning in the stove. You sink deeper into the couch, closing your eyes and remembering each glorious detail of that night. The warmth of the memories drag you into an early slumber.
Thunder wakes you in the middle of the night. You'd dreamt of her. The night you'd spent together. You jokingly ask yourself if dreaming about sleeping is something to be proud of. A flash illuminates the room, thunder hot on its heels. You lie on the couch swimming in the residual feelings left from the dream. Not every night had been spent alone since she had graced your abode. Several others had taken her place since then. But none of those nights were quite the same. They had all been acquaintances in a different sense. Some pony who's company you enjoyed, and they reciprocated that feeling back towards you. Different from taking in a pony from the street. A pony who had never had that feeling before. The others had beds and homes and families to go away to, Hobo Pony didn't, she didn't have anything, that's what had made that night so special. In one night, by being yourself, you had given her more than she had ever been given before. You had made a life better. You clutch a pillow tight, imagining it was her you let the occasional roll of thunder carry you back to sleep.
An unknown noise wakes you again. The pillow has fallen out of your arms and onto the cold floor. There's a knock at the door. This is impossible, too perfect, it must be a dream. The room is dark, the fire in the stove nothing more than a pile of ashes. Still assuming you're dreaming, you stumble up off the couch towards the door. In the entryway you hit the light switch. You flinch as the bright electric light hits your darkness tempered eyes. The pitter-patter of the rain on the window continues. Another knock at the door. You tentatively reach for the doorknob. The same anticipation that had rocked your body reaching for the note returns. The cold air and nerves cause your whole arm to shake. It takes all your concentration to steady your hand and grab the door. You open it, closing your eyes against the wet, cold wind. You look down, the green eyes look back.
Your eyes lock for what feels like hours. Finally coming to your senses you step aside wordlessly and let her in. She seems to understand your silence and softly sets down her soaking bindle in the corner. Her coat is grey and matted from the rain, not the soft white you knew it capable of. Her hair has fared better, but still a few grey hairs slip out from under her ratty, creased hat. Without saying a word she goes for the stairs, remembering the layout of your house. On the stairs she looks as you for approval. With your eyes you motion to her that she's free to go farther. Standing in the lighted hallway, you hear the water start to run. Still working under the assumption that this is all a dream, you follow the sound up the stairs pausing at the closed bathroom door to listen to the splashing of the water. Shaking your head you continue up the stairs to your bedroom. Maybe you can go back to dreaming about sleeping rather than something as stupid and impossible as this. You crawl into bed and wait for sleep to come listening to the sounds of the rain and the noises from downstairs.
But sleep doesn't come, you listen as the sounds from the bathroom turns from running water and splashing to telltale sound of water draining. Then thumping on the stairs and the creak of your bedroom door. In the dark you squint to see her coming into your room. Again without a word you make room for her next to you. She hops into bed next to you and wiggles in close against your back. She reaches over you, her soft coat rubbing on your back and arms. Her coat is still warm and a little damp from the bath. She smells like shampoo. You can feel her chest rise and fall against your back. Each breath brings her soft fur in contact with your back. She wraps her leg around you holding you even tighter than before. The full bed feels good, it feels warm and safe.
Giving in at last, you roll over and return her embrace. Lifting up the duvet, the cold air feels good against your skin. You hug her tight. Face to face you give a weary smile that she returns. You close your eyes marveling at just how much can be conveyed through body language. Just before you fall asleep for good you hear her whisper, "I missed you." You hope your smile is a good enough reply.
Daylight breaks through the gap in your curtains. The harsh light burns your eyes. Even with your eyes closed you can sense that you're alone in the bed. A crash from the kitchen answers your question before you're able to ask it. Getting out of bed you grab your bath robe. sneaking down the stairs you see the bindle lying at the door half covered by her hat. Sneaking lower, you crane your neck trying to see into the kitchen. Peeking in you see digging through the drawers. She come out with the handle of a cast-iron frying pan between her teeth. She tries to walk towards the out of sight table but the heavy pan causes her to veer into the fridge.
Taking the noise as an opportunity, you come down the stairs as normal. You can see her struggling to pick up the pan. You announce yourself to her by casually reaching down and grabbing the pan. Her eyes follow the pan up to your face. A huge smile breaks on her face as she says, "You're up!" moving to the stove, "I hope you don't mind but I decided to take you up on that offer of breakfast." Chuckling you assure her that it's not a problem. But looking at the table you see that she might not exactly be accustomed to cooking. Burnt toast, still runny eggs and spilled juice seem to be on the menu for breakfast.
You offer your help with making breakfast. She turns to you with a mischievous grin and replies, "No help needed, requested or required!" Both of you share a hearty laugh. Her laughing seems like enough of an invitation to help. You get up and remake the toast, crack more eggs and pour some new juice. By the time the meal is ready, she's sitting patiently at the table waiting. You serve her first, but she waits for you. When you sit down she digs in ferociously. By the fury with which she devoured the food in front of her, you can tell she probably hasn't eaten much over the last few days. But, despite the concern you quietly eat your meals.
After the meal you clear the table. At the sink, you take the non-confrontational position as your chance to finally ask the question that's been sitting on your mind all night. Why did she come back?
Her answer is a simple one. "I got tired. Tired of travelling, Tired of the dust. Tired of not knowing where the next meal will be. Tired with life." Your back to the sink, you listen intently. "It was that night here that planted the seed in my head. As long as I can remember I've been on the road. I grew up on the streets, it was my destiny." she says gesturing to her cutie mark. "A life on the road can sour you on things. People all seem so angry and upset. Until you came along I'd forgotten just how far people are willing to go to do good." To you this seems almost rehearsed, too well thought out and free of pauses to be coming out on the spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. Every time a passerby thumbed their nose up at me or said something under their breath. I thought of you." Hobo Pony comes over to meet you at the sink. "I'm ready to turn it in. A new beginning, a fresh start." Quietly she finishes, "And I'd like to spend it with you." Her head to the floor hiding her blush.
You'd been ready for this. Taking off the pink dishwashing gloves and apron you go down on one knee. Face to face, you grab her again, her coat as soft as any other pony's. She wraps her legs behind your neck. A tear in her eye she says, "I'll take that as a yes." You nod. She turns from the kitchen and goes to the entry way. You wait for her to reappear. She does, but with her bindle and hat. Heading towards the living room you follow her curious as to where the dusty travelers seemingly last trip is going.
You see her by the stove, the door swung open. Prodding at the heap of ashes she reveals a small golden core of hotness in the inside. In one swift, move she tosses the hat and bindle into the fire. You rush to pull them out put she holds you back. "So I can never go back." she explains. You go to the couch, the ancient note still on the end table. Bringing it to the fire you show it to her. Recognizing it, she smiles and looks back at the burning flames. Taking in the drawing for one last time you crumple it up. Bending down you take careful aim to throw it into the hottest part of the fire. You watch as the fire consumes the yellowed paper. Entranced by the dancing flames, you don't even notice as Hobo Pony gives you a peck on the cheek and whispers "Thank you."
A.N. Probably should have mentioned that this is all based off of Tess' Hobo Pony Tumblr. Defiantly worth checking out. http://askahobopony.tumblr.com/
