Just a few millimeters to the left, and the gear slips right in with its brethren. It's a small thing, but somehow, it's so satisfying to see a gear drop in like that. It's like it belongs; the gear knows its function, and all the other gears are happy to see it. I assume they are, anyway, although I’m fairly certain gears do not have feelings.
Sweat trickles down into my eye, and I pause to wipe it away and readjust the magnifier. Pocket watches are always the hardest to work with. Such tiny inner workings require the most focused concentration and meticulous attention to detail. One last gear and it should be up and running again. I clench the tweezers in my hooves and take the final piece, then glance through the magnifying glass once again.
"Is it done? Is it done? is it done?!"
I suppose a lot of people would be startled by an excitable filly leaping higher than the table itself and yelling in your face, but I've developed quite the steady hoof—not to mention that I have faced far, far worse—so the most I get is a momentary distraction.
"Soon, I promise," I say in the sweetest tone I can think of, given that her older sister is only a few feet away and appears to be quite protective. "One more gear and this should be up and running like new."
Slowly, I put the last gear into the face, where it clicks into place. The filly jumps up onto the chair on the other side of the table and leans in, staring just as intently as I reattach the face of the watch.
"Alrighty, let’s see if this is working now…"
The filly leans forward so she’s mere inches from the watch as I wind it. She takes a deep breath and holds it, before a comforting tick tick tick sounds from the device and the hands move for the first time since I was first given it. No sooner does it start ticking than the filly leaps all the way onto the table.
"It’s workin’, it’s workin’!!" she yells as she grabs the pocket watch and spins around to show her sister. "Applejack, it’s working’!"
She holds the watch up for her big sister. Applejack takes it in her hoof, examining it with a sparkle in her eyes.
"Well I’ll be," she says, marveling at the watch. "This ol’ thing hasn’t ran in years! How’d ya do it?"
"Oh, it’s just a matter of finding what doesn’t work and replacing it with what does." It’s a rather standard and dull answer, but I find a lot of people appreciate the honest approach. "In this case, that watch was so old that I had to replace nearly all the parts in it. If you’re not careful, I’ll have to replace everything at some point."
"Yeah, but even if that happens, y'all can fix it!" Apple Bloom chimes in.
"Well yes, although if I replace enough parts it would cease being the watch it once was, now wouldn’t it? That’s the core issue with the Ship of Theseus, you could apply it to a watch I guess."
I can tell that that throws the sisters for a loop. Come to think of it, does Theseus exist here?
"Uh, beg yer pardon?" Applejack asks.
"Nevermind," I quickly get out. "Not to sound rude, but I don’t think many ponies would understand."
They shoot each other another glance. I think I'm just digging myself deeper here.
"Well either way, can’t thank ya enough for this," Applejack says. "This watch was an heirloom of my pa’s, rest his soul. Stopped ticking years ago, never could figure out how to get it runnin’ again. You openin’ up this store was a real life saver. Y'all seem to know yer way around a watch or two."
"Oh really? And what gave you that idea?"
Applejack looks around the small shop; every wall is covered bottom to top in clocks, all of them ticking (not nearly in time enough for my tastes, but getting them all set just right would be a nightmare). She snickers to herself.
"Just call it a hunch."
As we talk, Apple Bloom continues her childish sprint around the room, looking at various clocks and occasionally checking the pocketwatch. She seems so thrilled that the thing is working; it sounds like this is the first time she's ever seen it actually functioning properly. She fiddles with one of the knobs on the side, then her eyes widen.
"Applejack, look!" she yells, turning and galloping back towards us. "If I twist this knob, I can get the date and month, too! This thing’s—"
What has seemed inevitable this whole time happens, and Apple Bloom trips over her own hooves. In a flash, the watch is headed straight for me. For a moment there’s a glint of fear in the sisters’ eyes, but over these eons I have developed quite the reflexes, and I catch it before it slams into the wall behind me.
"Apple Bloom, y’all gotta be careful!" Applejack yells as she rushes over and takes the watch from my outstretched hoof. "The old thing wasn’t workin’ before, hardly gonna matter that we got it fixed it if it’s in a hundred pieces!"
"Your sister is right, little one," I tell her. "You must be careful, or you're going to end up right back here with that watch in pieces. Just try not to run around when holding it like that; you have the energy of a Montag."
"Thanks!" she chirps. After only a moment, the big smile on her face wavers and her head tilts to one side. "Wait, what's a Montag?"
"The Montags, little girl, are the most energetic creatures you will ever encounter," I tell her as I sit back down at my workstation. "They're about half your size, and they're full of energy, quite literally. Their movement is what powers the world around them."
Apple Bloom's eyes light up in wonder while behind her, I can see Applejack stifling a giggle.
"Oh, you should see them when they get excited,” I continue. “They start rushing about, crowding each other... it's hectic, but it creates the most dazzling light show along the ground."
"Whoa, that sounds awesome!" Apple Bloom says. "I wanna meet a Montag!"
"Sadly, I don't think they exist around here. And even if they did, they try to stay as far away from other creatures as they can. The odds of you ever meeting one are, to be frank, quite remote."
For just a split second, that childlike wonder that's been on her face since since I met her seems to go out. Even the bow tying her hair sags a bit. "Awwwwwww, I bet it’d be all light-y and stuff.”
“All light-y,” I say with a chuckle. “Yes, I guess you could describe them that way.”
“Hey Apple Bloom," Applejack interjects, "why don’t ya run along back to the farm and show Big Mac and Granny Smith.”
Apple Bloom nods, then turns and trots out the door, now being far more careful as she cradles the watch in her hoof. Applejack turns back to me and extends a hoof of her own.
“Just wanted to officially welcome ya to Ponyville, Mister… shoot, I plum forgot to ask for your name.”
“Doctor Whooves,” I tell her as I accept the handshake, or, rather, hoofshake. That will take some time to get used to.
“Nice to meet ya, and welcome to town, Doc,” Applejack says. “Y'all got a nice little setup here, I’m gonna make sure to tell everypony about the work ya did with our watch.”
“I do appreciate that, thank you.”
She has a firm hoofshake, and there’s something about her that’s quite trustworthy, but I can’t help but notice the expression on her face. She seems like she’s trying to hide something, but subtlety doesn’t seem to be the Apple Family’s forte.
“Is everything alright?”
“Well yeah. It’s just… well, that thing about the Montags.”
I’m sure she can see the sparkle in my eye. “Oh yes?”
“I know I ain’t the most well read pony out there, but I ain’t never heard of no Montag. I think that any creature like that I woulda at least heard an inklin’ of.”
“I really doubt you would have,” I reply. “As I said, you won’t find them anywhere in Equestria. Or outside of Equestria, to be perfectly honest.”
Applejack raises a single eyebrow. That wasn’t quite the reception that I thought I would get. “Beg yer pardon?”
“Um, nevermind. It’s hard to explain. She seemed so excited to hear about Montags, I didn’t want to get her hopes up of meeting one.”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbles to herself. There’s an awkwardness in the air, one that I was not anticipating in the least. Perhaps my people skills aren’t up to the snuff that I thought they would be. “Listen, this is gonna sound like a silly question, but… y'all haven’t actually seen a ‘Montag,’ have ya?”
My mind momentarily goes into a panic. There are plenty of options, yet the word “abort” is screaming loudest in my mind. I force out a laugh.
“Of course not,” I say, which quickly brings a smile back to her face.
“Sorry, that was a silly question,” she says.
“Not at all,” I say, mustering a smile that I certainly hope looks pleasant.
“Look, I didn’t mean to put ya on the spot like that. They’re just stories, ya know?”
She cocks her head ever so slightly when she sees my reaction to that last sentence. However, she doesn't seem to want to press, so I quickly smile back. “Of course.”
“Well anyway, thanks again for fixin’ the watch for us! I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ y'all around Ponyville. See ya, Doc!”
With a friendly tip of her hat, Applejack leaves the shop to chase after her sister, and I go back to my work. There’s a smile on my face; the two of them are some of the first ponies I have encountered since arriving in this world, and they treated me with respect, just like any other pony.
Still, what she said is bouncing around in my mind, and I just can’t get it out of there. I shake my head with a sigh as the words echo.
Just stories…
It would take far, far too long to adequately explain who—or even what—I am. I'll try to keep it as simple as possible, but I make no promises.
There are infinite dimensions that exist in reality; every possible world that can exist, does exist. And all these worlds need people to take care of them. That is where we come in; we police these worlds, we keep everything running smoothly, we ensure that timelines don't unravel so catastrophically that all of reality itself collapses into itself. That would be bad, obviously.
That's what I do. Or rather, did. I helped police dimensions and solve problems for a long time. Longer than I think most people—ponies, I guess I should say now—can even imagine. It was my job to ensure that everything works, keep everything in its proper place. Keeping the universe ticking, to sum it up.
When your tour of duty is up, you are given one of two choices. You can let yourself simply disappear into the ether, forgotten by all, or you can choose a dimension to make permanent residency in as an ordinary denizen. They warn that the second option means you lose your abilities, and more importantly, you lose all connection and contact with the rest of the overseers. You are completely ordinary. The warning doesn't seem that important, though; nobody ever takes option two anyway. After a thousand lifetimes of fixing problems, all we want to do is to simply move on.
That was my plan, too. Until I found this world.
It was a world inhabited by equines... intelligent, sentient, and rather colorful equines. There is something so very peaceful about the simple life that these ponies lead: even with the occasional monster attack, things return to normal fairly quickly.
They say that it's not good to become attached given how many you have to deal with. But I ended up visiting their world numerous times, and found myself hesitating to leave. I never interacted with any of them—interaction is strictly forbidden while fixing reality, of course—but oh how I've watched their world unfold around them.
I wanted to be there. I wanted, more than anything, to be able to meet these ponies. To stop watching, and start living. Most in my position wanted to move on; I wanted to start over.
And so, when it was time for me to finish my service, I told them: I wanted option two.
They weren't subtle about trying to talk me out of it. I was outright told I was making a terrible mistake, that I would regret it. I've always been one of the more stubborn ones, though, and I had my mind made up. I knew exactly where I wanted to go.
And thus, here I am. Reborn, although that more accurately would be born for the first time, as it were. No ability, no power, no nothing. Just me.
And my stories.
"Oooooooh, this one has a bird in it. Bon Bon, come look at this!"
There’s been a significant uptick in the number of ponies I’ve met here in Ponyville in only a few days. I guess word got around quickly that I had opened up, and many of them wanted to come see the new store. I’ve had a steady stream of ponies trotting in and either looking through the store or just introducing themselves to me, culminating in the couple who are currently examining a vintage cuckoo clock.
I’m at my work station with a job I was handed this morning: a fairly simple wall clock, but I find myself oddly entranced with working on it. The pony who dropped it off wanted it done by the end of the day, and since I don’t have any other projects today, I figure I should take my time on it.
"Excuse me."
I glance up to see that the couple are both looking my way. "Yes?" I ask as I get up and trot towards them.
"Is it safe to put this above a fireplace?" the unicorn asks, gesturing towards the cuckoo clock they were looking at. "We think it'll go really well there, but, ya know... wood and fire."
"I wouldn't worry about that, I presume your fireplace is well protected, and as long as you hang it a foot or two above the top, you should be fine. To be honest, I'd be more concerned about the wax."
"Wax?"
I tap on the bird sticking out of the clock. "This little guy's made of wax. If you have it too near a fire for so long, I'm not too sure he'll be looking this pretty if his face starts to drip down onto the floor." I gesture to the clock next to it. "This one I think is a far better option for one above a fireplace. The bird is wooden so it should hold up just fine. Not to mention that it's a bit more modern. It should be more accurate and be easier to set."
The unicorn opens the clock up and examines the wooden swallow inside, while her partner smiles at me. "You certainly know your stuff about clocks."
"Time has always been a most fascinating subject to me," I tell her. "Working with clocks seemed to be a logical step. By the way, I believe this is our first time meeting; I'm Doctor Whooves."
"I'm Lyra, and that's Bon Bon," the unicorn says.
"Nice to meet you," Bon Bon adds. "You moved to town recently, didn't you? I'm impressed you could get this whole shop up and running so quickly. You've barely been here a week and you already have this whole place going."
"I've always had a knack for managing time well."
"Yeah, I can tell," Lyra says as she looks around the room. "Hey, you know what? I bet you'd get along great with Minuette."
Bon Bon nodded. "Oh yes, you have to meet her! She collects antique hourglasses and clocks, too. It must come with the cutie mark, huh?"
Cutie mark. Cutie mark, cutie mark...
Before I got to this world, I did some research of course, but without direct interaction with anyone here, getting a lot of detail was simply impossible. I didn't decide to come here based on some kind of encyclopedic knowledge of how it worked, I came here because of how wonderfully peaceful and friendly it seemed.
I was hoping to pick up as much as I could as quickly as I could once I got here, vis-à-vis history, terminology, things like that. But this phrase, cutie mark... it sounds so very familiar, and I know I’ve heard it before, but for the life of me I can't place it. I rack my brain trying to think of where I heard it, but nothing comes to mind, so it's time to improvise.
"We'd have to compare. I don't have it right now, but I'll be sure to go get it when I meet her!"
Oh dear, wrong answer. I can tell immediately; Bon Bon tilts her head to one side, then leans over to look at me.
"Uh, what?" she asks me. "What are you talking about? Your cutie mark is right there. Where it's, uh, supposed to be."
Right. Cutie mark. The hourglass.
"Bon Bon, it was a joke," Lyra said.
Ah, a way out. "Not necessarily," I say. "It's been so hectic setting up so quickly, I thought I had misplaced it for a second, too."
The two of them laugh. I can't tell if it's natural or forced, but they seem to buy it. I take the clock off the wall as quickly as I can and bring it to the desk to move on from the awkwardness.
“I've always loved cuckoo clocks," I say, carefully wrapping the clock up for the couple. "Are they much in style here?"
"What do you mean?" Lyra asked. "They’re super popular all over Ponyville, we’re like the only couple that doesn’t have one.”
“I mean more here in Equestria.”
“‘Here in Equestria?’” Bon Bon tilts her head to one side. "Wait, are you not from Equestria?"
I nodded. "Not originally, no."
Again, the couple glances at each other. This conversation is not going the way I hoped. I may have underestimated my knowledge of this world.
"Outside of Equestria? I’ve never known any pony who lives outside of Equestria. Were you living in the Griffon Kingdom or something?”
“Goodness, no!” I say, laughing. “Just a small town.”
Bon Bon raises one eyebrow. “A small town.”
“Yes.”
“With other ponies.”
“Yes.”
“Outside of Equestria.”
Oh dear. “...Yes?”
There’s another odd glance exchanged between the two, and they rather rapidly pay for the clock and leave. After the front door shuts, I can see them head off to the right, and I can see them talking about something. I’ve always been rather curious—I guess that’s exactly why I’m here now—and I surreptitiously slip open the side window, just in time to catch their conversation.
"—tside of Equestria! When's the last time you heard of a pony who didn't live in Equestria?"
"Maybe there is some small village out there or something?"
"Lyra, you can't possibly think that he's telling the truth, can you?"
"Erm... Okay, maybe he isn't. But so what? Applejack told me he was telling Apple Bloom weird stories, he's probably just eccentric."
“Do you think he’s hiding something? Why wouldn’t he tell us about his past? Isn’t that weird?”
“I think you’re being a little too hard on him, Bon Bon. He’s new to town, maybe he just doesn’t want to talk about where he came from?”
"Yeah, maybe I am. Seems nice enough, I guess."
Their voices gradually fade into the distance, replaced with the ticking of the clocks. Seems nice enough… I guess that’s a step in the right direction. I wonder if all the ponies in this town are going to just disregard the stories I tell them, even though I am not one to make things up. I wonder if they’ll all think that I’m some sort of liar. I wonder if this is just what I’m going to be here; that weird person who tells lies.
I wonder if anypony will notice the dent in the wall below the window.
It's been a few weeks, at least according to the number of times the sun has risen and set. I'm still getting used to this whole idea of time suddenly being linear.
I’m slowly getting to know many of the inhabitants of this town. It’s striking me that ponies are a very curious lot, as they all want to come visit the new shop and get to know the pony who just moved in. It’s taken time, but I think I’m getting more comfortable with everything. Walking on four limbs, the lexicon of this world, the idea of living, it’s all coming into place.
Well, mostly. The whole “connecting with ponies” thing seems to be eluding me.
Oh I’m getting along with ponies just fine, but there’s always an air of awkwardness no matter who I talk to. It seems I’ve already built up a reputation in town for the stories I tell. I’m not exactly sure what that reputation is, but at the very least ponies seem to know me.
The front door jingles.
"Excuse me."
I look up to find two figures entering the shop. One of them has the air of a very important pony, his hair slicked back and a tie hanging around his neck. The fact that his cutie mark appears to be several sacks of money is a dead giveaway, too. A little girl is with him, wearing a small crown on her head.
"How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if you could assist with an old piece of mine that's been broken for a while."
He opens a pack hanging from his side and extracts a well-worn wall clock. It's a beautiful specimen: oak finish, hand-carved face. It looks like it's been around for quite a long while although I can immediately spot exactly what’s wrong with it.
"Oh dear," I say, poking at what’s left of the minute hand.
"I've never gotten around to having it fixed, but with a new clock expert in town now, I figure it's the best time to get it looked at. Do you know if this would be difficult to replace?"
"The actual fix should be simple," I tell him as I get out my screwdriver to remove the hands. “Really, the bigger issue will be finding hands that you like. If you want, you can look around the store a bit at some of the other clocks; if you see some hands that are to your fancy, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I will do just that, thank you.”
"By the way, this is an absolutely beautiful piece. Where did you get it?"
"A griffon trader who was in town many years ago,” he says as he starts to survey the clocks in the room.
Griffon? "Wait, there are griffons here?" I blurt out. I really need to think before I speak.
"Not any who live here in Ponyville, no," he replies; thankfully, I believe he has misinterpreted my question. "But we get visitors every now and again."
As he continues to browse the walls, I finish the task of getting the old pieces out. I put the two hands aside and marvel at the clock. It really is a beautiful piece, one of the nicest I've seen yet. The sheer craftsmanship that has gone into every minute detail, the amount of skill and years of experience this must have taken to build, is awe-inspiring. But if it was made by a griffon, it would make sense. They'd be the first creatures with opposable thumbs that I've heard of here.
"Hey! Be careful with that! It’s gonna be mine!”
A shrill voice pierces the air from below me. I glance over the desk to see that the little girl he came in with is now staring up at me, her eyes narrowed.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Daddy said I could have it when it's fixed," she continues. "I don't want to get a dented clock because you were messing with it."
"That's not something you would have to worry about, little girl," I say. "I'm quite careful. And even if some damage was done, I'd be happy to fix it up before I give it back, naturally."
“I don’t want to wait!” she practically shouts.
"Little girl, I have no doubt that you're eager to get this lovely piece, but it will take a little bit of time. Once your daddy finds the right hands, I'll have to modify them to get them to fit into the clock. It's a complicated task, but I'm sure that—"
"Don't patronize me!" she snaps at me. "I'm not like the other kids in this town, you know."
"I didn't mean to patronize you. I was merely stating a fact." I cannot believe I am arguing with a girl who is, by the looks of it, eight years old. She just rolls her eyes.
“You're new in town, aren't you?" she says. "Let me explain things; my parents run Ponyville.”
"I would think the mayor would be in charge..."
“My parents have money. Therefore, they run Ponyville,” she continues, completely ignoring me.
“Money isn’t everything,” I say. She just laughs at me. “I do look forward to getting to know you and your family, though.”
“Sure, whatever.”
I roll my eyes as I turn back to the clock. “Little girl, you need to learn some manners.”
"Just fix the clock," she says. "So us actual important ponies can get on with our lives."
That makes me freeze in my tracks. I don't know what it is about it, but something about her tone of voice really drives that sentence home: actual important ponies.
I whirl around and stare at the girl. I can tell almost immediately that even a stuck-up brat like her knows that she crossed the line. Her face softens quickly as I glare at her from over the my desk.
"Little girl," I say. "You can say whatever you want, but I am not going to stand here and let you tell me that I am not an important pony. I can assure you that I am far, far more important than you will ever realize. I do not appreciate the tone in your voice, and I think an apology is in order."
The girl seems frozen; I doubt she gets talked to like that very often. But before she says anything, her father steps forward.
"Mr. Whooves..."
"It's Doctor," I snap back, completely on autopilot. That doesn't please him.
"Whatever the case may be, I don't appreciate you talking to my daughter in that tone of voice either."
It suddenly hits me how awkward all of this is. After the way these past few weeks have gone, this is the absolute last thing I want. I'm trying to connect with these ponies, not scare them off.
"O-of course."
I've stared nothingness in the face, matched wits with cosmic horrors beyond comprehension, and yet here I am backing off from a colorful horse with pictures of money on his side. And now I'm going to have to apologize to a child.
"Little girl, I'm sorry for speaking to you like that."
The girl smiles, and after a few seconds her father nudges her.
"I'm sorry too," she mutters, quite insincerely. The father sends her off, and she quickly heads to the other side of the store.
"I do apologize for Diamond," he says. "I know that she can be a little... well, let's call it 'blunt.' I'm trying to get her to open up a little bit more, not judge ponies as harshly."
"It's fine. It just caught me off guard is all, and I suppose my reaction was just as bad."
"Water under the bridge," he says. He then puts a large piece on my desk. "Would there be a way to get the hands of this piece onto the clock?"
"I think so," I say. "You have good taste; I think this is the nicest piece that I own. That does of course mean this will cost a little extra..."
This draws a chuckle from the pony. "You really are new to this town, aren't you? Let's just say that money will be absolutely no object."
"I guess I could have figured that out myself, given your—" it takes a second to remember the word for it "—cutie mark."
He pulls a cheque book out of his bag and starts to fill it out. "I got it after I opened my first lemonade stand as a child, you know. There are certainly worse destinies to have."
If there is one thing that I have learned in this world so far, it's how to hide confusion. I've become an expert at hiding muttering with a cough, or playing off ignorance as a joke. But even I couldn't hide my scoff at that last line. When I look up, I see that he's now staring directly at me; his face is a bit scrunched up and his eyebrows have tilted down.
"Excuse me?"
"Hmmm?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Oh no, no." I quickly reply, hoping that's the end of it.
"Did something I say upset you?" Drat.
"It's not that at all. It's just, well, I don't exactly believe in destiny."
His eyebrow raises, and his tongue presses into his cheek. Did I just strike a nerve?
"You don't... believe in destiny?"
A part of me thinks I should just end it there, but I can't resist. This could be the most interesting, and longest, conversation I've had in this world yet.
"I never have. The idea that the future is set in stone, that what happens next has already been decided and I don't have any power over it, it doesn't sit right with me. I don't like being told that I'm not in control. How would you feel if someone told you the only reason you're rich is because you were predetermined by the universe to be rich? That you had no say in the matter?"
He snorts. "It worked out quite well for me."
"I don't care how it worked out. The point is how you got there. How can you be sure that your hard work is what got you that wealth? What if the universe just decided to pick you as being rich, and nothing you did had any merit whatsoever?"
"What exactly are you implying here?" he says.
"Nothing at all. I'm just telling you my viewpoint on things. I have seen—and done—enough to know that destiny has no merit."
There's a stiff, awkward silence in the air as he looks around the room, then finally back to me.
"Sorry if I'm not understanding this," he says, "but I've just never run into a pony who doesn't believe in destiny, much less one who is so vehemently against the idea."
"...Never?" For some reason, that sends a chill down my back. "Not once?"
"Not that I can remember," he replies. "And if you don't mind me playing devil’s advocate for a minute, you do work in a clock shop, and your cutie mark is an hourglass."
He waits. He's expecting me to say something. I still don't get these cutie mark things, I have no idea what he's trying to imply.
"That's true," is the best I can come up with.
"So, it should follow that you've always had an interest in clocks. Or timepieces, or time, something along those lines. Wouldn't you say that's a form of destiny? I'm not sure what you were doing when you got your cutie mark, but certainly it's a sign that the universe had some sort of plan for you to work with time, yes?"
I don't say anything. I didn't do anything to get this mark; it just appeared at the same time I appeared. I hadn't paid it any mind. After all, it only made sense that after working with time for so long...
"That does make sense," I say quietly.
"I'm not trying to suggest anything, of course. Just food for thought." He looks back; his daughter is leaning against the door, half falling asleep out of boredom. "Do you know how long it will take to repair the clock?"
"About a day, just to make sure it's working properly." I wonder if he can tell how far away my mind is now.
"Excellent. Well, it's been nice talking with you," he says. With a nod, he turns and leaves, his daughter right behind him. She briefly looks over her shoulder at me and rolls her eyes before the two of them are out of sight.
There are no other customers, so I return to the task at hand and start taking the face of the clock apart. My mind is absolutely anywhere else, but it’s my duty to fix the clock.
With the disturbing feeling in the back of my mind that this is what I was always supposed to do.
Of everything I have learned since coming here, one thing has consistently perplexed me: sleep.
I don't expect I will get used to the concept of sleep anytime soon. The mere idea of just slipping away into unconsciousness on your own accord, and staying that way for several hours… it just doesn’t sit right with me. Either way, I found myself succumbing to sleep anyway, whether I like it or not.
Not that it matters tonight, I wasn't going to get any sleep anyway. I’m far too busy staring at the ceiling.
The conversation that that pony and I had has been playing on loop in my mind for hours now, and I doubt it will be stopping anytime in the near future. The way that he talked about destiny and how it influenced his future. The fact that according to him, all ponies believe in the concept of destiny.
The point he made about me. My destiny.
I have looked destiny in the face and laughed. I have changed destiny, altered it to my whims, outright defied it to make many universes a better place, to keep things in check. Some have said that what we do is defying destiny itself. I always viewed it differently, though. It's not that I was altering destiny, it's that there was nothing to alter, period. I don't believe in destiny. That's something that set me apart from the others. They believed they were changing fate. I believed fate never existed in the first place.
But here I am. In a world where destiny isn’t just accepted universally, there seems to be no doubt that it exists. I had never learned that about this world before coming here. I had just seen ponies going about their day, making friends, living calming and peaceful lives. Why didn't I research this more? If I had known about it, I may have reconsidered everything. Was I that hasty to live a 'simple' life that I ignored the obvious? Stupid, stupid, stupid...
These cutie marks. Once a pony gets them, that seems to be it. They know what they are supposed to do in life, and it typically plays out successfully for them. Their future is laid out in front of them, and then they follow it. It's destiny.
It's not sitting right with me. The idea that the ponies here have their future set in stone, and there's nothing they can do to change it. Why? Are there any ponies who don't want the destiny that awaits them? Or do they just all accept it? I have yet to meet a pony who seems less than happy about their situation in life. That can't just be it, can it?
I'm up. I'm pacing back and forth in my bedroom. Pacing feels awkward with hooves. Not only do ponies have their future set when they get their cutie mark, but as far as I can tell, some of them knew well before that. I’ve met ponies whose names coincide with their cutie mark; that Lyra girl had a lyre. Did she get it before or after her parents named her? Did she change her name? Was she just okay with having her life pointed towards playing the harp, whether she liked it or not?
I’m sure that eventually I’ll figure these questions out. I’m sure that that as time goes on I will grow to understand this world more. I’m sure that eventually everything will make sense.
I’m just not sure if I belong here.
After everything that has happened to me, unfathomable amounts of time keeping the universes in check and changing them at a whim to prevent disaster, I’m just supposed to forget all that and accept whatever the universe has planned for me?
I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how I can.
I lie back down in bed and resume staring at the ceiling. I can hear the ticking of the only clock in the room. It’s the only one in my house as every other clock I own is in the shop. When I got to this world, I was left with enough money “to set up a life for myself,” and that’s about it. And what did I spend it on? Clocks. Damn clocks. Because it just felt right, it felt appropriate. I had been working with time so long, it seemed like the perfect career for me.
Or maybe it’s because it’s just what I’m supposed to do, whether I like it or not.
It's raining. Of course it's bloody raining.
The sound of the rain on the windows is only slightly muffled by all the ticking. I didn't get much sleep last night; I couldn't stop thinking. It's catching up with me; it feels like every ounce of energy in my body is being used to keep my eyes open.
I don't even know why I opened the store today. There's too much on my mind to even think about anything else; that's probably why I've just been fiddling with some worthless wall clock all morning. Not to mention that with the heavy rain outside, nopony wants to leave their house. Fine by me.
The pounding of the rain on the windows gets louder and louder. I glance up from my work to see why: the storm is now producing hailstones which are bouncing off the windows. The noise is the first thing to drown out the constant ticking of the clocks. It’s quite the welcome respite.
The hail momentarily lets up and it’s right back to the ticking. The sound is normally soothing, but after the night I’ve had, it’s the last thing I want to hear. I try to focus more on the work at hand, but there's nothing to do other than taking apart this clock, and putting it back together. The hail returns, and the ticking is gone. There are a few gears to the side of the clock that I took out to inspect for any wear and tear, but they're all in perfect working order. Because they're doing what they're supposed to be doing.
I lose track of time as I stare at the gears. It's not like there's anything else to do besides think. The hail again subsides. The ticking is ringing in my ears. It's almost deafening. I pick up one of the gears and put it back in the clock. It fits perfectly. Like it should. I look back at the hourglass that is permanently affixed to my side. I think it was just there when I arrived. I didn't pay it any attention when I was setting up my new life here. Was it signifying that new life? Or directing it? I don't know, and that's what's upsetting me the most. Why is this so hard? I wanted a simple life. I wanted a life, period, not a damn conundrum of an existence.
I'm thrust back to reality when the front door of the shop slams shut. I didn't even hear it open. I look up to see a winged pony standing at the front, breathing heavy; presumably she darted in to get out of the rain. She takes her cap off and shakes her hair out, then unfurls her grey wings and shakes them like a bird, spending water spraying on every clock near her.
"Oh, heh. Sorry," she says as she turns towards me. There is something off about her that I can't put my finger—hoof, whatever—on. "I know we're supposed to deliver in rain or sleet or hail, but this is ridiculous!"
She smiles at me. I'm not in the mood to smile, so I respond with a nod. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Yup! I have a letter for you."
"A letter?" There's a bit of clarity. It's not much, but simply knowing someone wants to talk can be enough for now.
"Yeah, from town hall." She reaches into her bag and rummages through it. "I think it's just a copy of your building permit."
And the clarity is gone. "Oh."
She hands me the letter and smiles again. Now that I’m looking at her directly, I see what it is that is off about her. She appears to suffer from strabismus; one of her eyes is staring almost straight up at the ceiling. The realization—coupled with my state of mind, of course—catches me off guard. Either she doesn't notice or doesn't care, because she keeps right on smiling.
"Thanks," I mutter as I take the letter from her.
"No problem!"
She turns and heads back for the door. Just as she opens it, there’s a deafening crack of thunder and the hail starts coming down harder than before. Her wings tuck back against her body and she leaps back from the door, just watching as hail pounds all of town. With a quick glance back at me, she starts pretending to browse the store.
She can stay if she wants. I really don’t care one way or another right now.
Minutes tick by with an uncomfortable awkwardness in the air. She keeps circling the store, looking at clocks while glancing at the windows every few seconds, waiting for the storm to let up. I’m still tinkering with a clock because it’s the only thing I can think to do.
"So… clocks, huh?"
I look up to see her standing right across the desk from me, that same smile on her face as she looks at the components spread out in front of me.
"Yes," I say, hoping she gets the hint that I’m not exactly in the mood to talk. "Clocks."
She doesn’t get it.
"I just have one of those cheap plastic ones," she continues. "I should get one of these nicer ones, although I can’t really afford one right now. Maybe if I save up?"
"That would be the way to afford one," I reply.
"Well, great! By the way, my name’s Derpy."
She extends her hoof. I meet it with mine, not looking up from my table.
"Doctor Whooves."
"Whoa, no way!" Dammit. "My last name is Hooves, too! That’s so cool! Although I bet it’s a common name. Were there a lot of ponies named Hooves back in, um…" She goes quiet as she realizes she has no idea where I lived before this.
"Elsewhere. And no."
Finally, finally, I think she’s getting it. Her smile disappears, and the room is silent again. Every few seconds she glances up at me, but I’m not about to respond. I just want to be done with this. After another few minutes, the rain finally lets up; she looks back one last time.
"Hey, so, uh, I’m gonna get going," she says, reaching for the door. "You’ll probably see me a lot, I do all the mail delivery in town."
"Mmm."
She pushes the door open. "M-maybe I’ll buy a clock some time. I’m, um, I’m glad you opened up shop in town."
I’m glad you opened up shop in town.
“I’m not," I mutter, once more engaging autopilot.
I wait, but I don’t hear the door close. I look up, and she’s still standing at the door; for the first time since arriving, it looks like both her eyes are directed firmly at one thing: me. She closes the door in a huff without leaving.
"You know," she says, the sweetness in her voice completely gone, "I just wanted to say hello. If you’re gonna be a big grump, I’ll just leave your mail on the front stoop from now on."
Despite the fact that she’s staring a hole in me, her voice is softer than I would expect from an angry pony. Like she was truly expecting to make a new friend when she entered this store a few minutes ago. She looks so… hurt. Now there’s a lump in my throat to accompany the knot in my stomach that’s been tightening all week.
"Look, I…" I mumble, not wanting to look her directly in the eyes. "I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind, I’m not trying to be rude."
Almost immediately, she’s smiling again. "That’s fine! We can start over. I have a delivery for you, it’s—"
"No no, we don’t have to go that far," I interrupt. I have a feeling if I don’t, she really will go through the whole process again. "I’m sorry if I was rude. It’s just that all of this is so new to me."
"Yeah, I can imagine that it’s tough opening a store."
"It’s not the store, it’s everything."
She tilts her head to one side. "What do you mean everything?"
That was a stupid thing to say. "Nothing."
"Nothing? Is it everything or nothing?"
"Look… it’s complicated." I turn away from her. "More complicated than I think I can really explain. Let’s just say that things are very different for me now that I live here."
"Oh. I know how that feels!"
That sentence. It rattles around in my head, leaving a ringing in my ears. My teeth clench.
"No, you don’t," I say quietly.
"I moved here from Cloudsdale, that place is totally different than here!" she continues. "Everything there is, like, really competitive. You’re always trying to beat out everypony else, trying to be the top at whatever you’re doing. I get where you’re coming from."
"No, you don’t." I repeat. My voice cracks.
"I mean, maybe it’s not the exact same scenario as you, but any kind of change can be difficult to deal with."
"It’s completely different."
"But—"
"It was different!!"
She leaps back. My hoof hurts; I think I slammed it into the table. I don’t know, I don’t care. I can’t take this anymore.
"You have no idea what I gave up!" I say. Or scream. I can’t tell. "Nobody does, because you can’t even comprehend what I once was! Do you know what I used to do? I didn’t take care of clocks, I took care of reality. I kept the ebb and flow of time working properly. The reason that you are standing here and not floating in some endless black void is because of me. The reason that order exists in this world is because of me! And like a fool, I gave it all up because I wanted to live some kind of normal life!"
My voice is reverberating off the walls. I can’t hear Derpy; I’m honestly not sure if she’s even still in the room. The corners of my eyes are burning and my throat feels completely clogged. This is a new sensation. I don’t like it.
"I gave everything up, and what do I get for it? A world where everything I’ve done, my entire existence up until this point, are just stories to everyone here. A world where not only do I have to start everything over, but can’t take anything from what I once was with me! A world where this damn hourglass on my side is supposed to dictate my whole destiny!"
That last word makes me choke. I feel like I could collapse at any moment; I can’t stand up anymore, and I fall back into my chair. My head hits the table. I’m completely out of energy. The only thing I can do is stare at the wall. My cheeks are wet. There’s a hard truth staring me in the face and I've been trying to avoid it this whole time.
"I’m not supposed to be here," I say. I can barely hear my voice. Maybe I’m just thinking it. "I’m not meant to be here. This world doesn’t accept me, and I can’t accept it."
No more talking. There’s nothing left to say. The only sound in the room is the ticking of clocks. I don’t think anyone else is here but me, but I’m too—is tired the word?—to even move. Even if I could, I don’t think I would move anyway. I’m ready to just give up.
Then there’s a scraping sound next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure pulling up a chair and sitting down.
"Feel any better?"
I glance up. She’s still here. And she’s still smiling. She’s sitting next to me, and she gently pats me on the shoulder.
"You’re… still here?"
"Why would I have left?" she asks. "That would have been really mean of me."
"Did you even hear what I said?"
"Yes. I don’t really understand, but like you said, I don’t think I’m supposed to."
For some reason, all I can do is chuckle. "Any other pony I’ve said things like that to has just thought I just had wild fantasies."
"I would think that too," she says. "But, I don’t know, you seem kinda… sincere about it. I don’t think you’d make all that up."
I turn my head, still resting on the table, to look at her better. She’s looking directly into my eyes, still with that same smile on her face, the smile she has had for almost the entire duration of her time in the store. I’ve barely known her for ten minutes, and she’s been the very paragon of pleasantry no matter what I have said.
"I don’t know who—what—you were," she says. "But you’re not anymore. You’re here, aren’t you? And you’re not going anywhere to, um, save Ponyville or whatever?" I shake my head. "Well then, why spend it so sad?"
She puts her hoof under my chin and lifts my head up off the table.
"When I moved to Ponyville, I was kinda caught off guard, too. Like I said, things in Cloudsdale are really competitive. I didn’t understand how ponies could get along so well, or not strive to be the best. It’s just what I grew up with, what I had lived with my whole life. But all that changed, you know."
"What changed it?"
She looks around the store. My eyes follow hers; she’s looking at all the clocks adorning the walls.
"Time."
"That’s not funny."
"No, I’m serious!" she quickly replies. "I wasn't trying to be funny. It took time, it really did. It was a jarring change, and after a few weeks of being in Ponyville I was pretty miserable. But it takes time. I was sure that I was going to move back to Cloudsdale." She stands up and looks out the window. The rain is still coming down, but it’s tapering off now. I can see the reflection of her face and despite her eyes facing different directions, I can see a sparkle in both of them. I may not have spent long in this world, but I recognize a look of pure contentment when I see it.
"But after some time passed, I realized that I was meant to be here, too. Yeah, it was a big change in my life, but as I got to know ponies, as I got more used to everything, I was happy." She turns back to me. "I bet it’ll be no different for you."
"Moving from one town to another isn’t exactly the same as, well, coming into existence."
"So it’ll take a bit longer!" she chirps. "So what if you used to be an alien or a superhero or whatever. I don’t really get it, but I’m sure you’ll fit in fine here! Come on, you’re the guy who works with clocks! You gotta know that things change with time, right?"
Something about her sheer joyfulness through all this is quite inspiring.
"Coming here was a pretty drastic decision, but one that I had my heart set on. Even if I didn't exactly do all my research..."
For the first time since she entered the store, I smile back at her.
"Time does have a way of working a great many things out on its own," I say. "I suppose giving it more time to adapt would be in my best interest."
"See?" she practically squeals. Suddenly my whole body feels like it’s being constricted; she’s wrapped her hooves around me in a hug. She’s a lot stronger than she looks. And it occurs to me that, without even thinking about it, I’m hugging her back.
"I… do appreciate you talking to me about this," I say quietly.
"It’s okay," she says, as she pats me on the back. "I’ve been there. Kinda. Maybe not exactly your situation, but I know how it feels." She slowly pulls away, and to my surprise, her smile falters. "Listen, I, um… I have to go."
"What? So soon!? But…"
"I gotta finish my deliveries," she says, sadly picking up her bag. "I have a lot today."
"I understand," I say, sitting down behind the desk.
"But I can come back tomorrow!" she quickly replies. "My deliveries always pass right by your shop, even if I don’t have anything to drop off." My head jerks up a little quicker than even I expected. She grins again. "I mean, only if you want me to—"
"Yes!" The volume of my yell makes us both jump a bit. "I mean, yes. I’d like that very much, actually."
She giggles as she opens the door. "Yeah, I can come by tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re my last delivery so we can talk more. See you then!"
With a wink, she trots through the door, and I see her wings unfurl and she takes off into the air. I watch as she swoops into the distance towards city hall, then disappears behind the roof of another building.
I look down: the remains of the clock I was working on are scattered about, an absolute mess of gears and wires and springs and other components. The face and the innards of the clock are sadly bare. I reach over and pick up the first gear in my hoof, placing it in the very center of the clock. The next gear slips right into place alongside it.
I look around at the store, at the many clocks on the walls. They all are showing the same thing, all ticking in as close unison as I could get them. They don’t seem to be keeping track of time, though. Now, I’m sure they’re counting down to something.
She’s coming back tomorrow…
And she does come back. She comes back every day for the next week. She tells me as much as she can about this world. It’s odd to say this, but she acts as my tutor to, well, to life.
For a few days, all we talk about is this world, about cutie marks, about Equestria itself. I didn’t know nearly enough when I got here, and I doubt I will understand everything for quite some time. And yet just talking to her puts my confused mind at ease a bit. I still have so many questions that I doubt are going to be answered by talking to a single pony—one who, at the risk of sounding rude, is a bit ditzy, if not enthusiastic. Nevertheless, I think at some point I’m going to have to travel across Equestria to get to know the world a little better.
I have plenty of catching up to do.
But Miss Hooves is just as interested in hearing the stories I tell. Stories of daring adventure through space and time, of setting universes right when they are hurtling towards disaster, of worlds that she could not even conceive. She’s enthralled by each one, hanging onto each word. Her smile is adorable. It’s funny: she’s hearing stories that nobody in this universe has heard, or in any universe for that matter. Still, I don’t think she’s too concerned with possessing such knowledge. The way she looks into my eyes, props her chin on her hooves… I’m not entirely sure if it’s the stories themselves that are the most interesting to her.
A week passes. She’s come by every day, and each time she’s stayed a little bit longer.
Today, I’m working on the largest project I’ve gotten yet: a full-sized grandfather clock. I’m just placing the face back on, carefully balancing on a chair to reach the top of the massive piece, when the bell over the door jingles. Just from the timing of it, I think I can guess who it is.
"Hello, Miss Hooves."
"Hi, Doc!" she chirps. She comes up behind me. "Huh… where have I seen that before?"
"It was dropped off this morning by a couple," I reply. "I think they were bakers."
"Oh, the Cakes! Cup Cake and Carrot Cake, they’re the sweetest."
I glance behind me at her. "They’re bakers... both named Cake?"
She chuckles. "I guess it runs in both of their families. Cake is a more common name than you’d think."
I shrug and turn back to the clock. "Well, they wanted this to be fixed up sometime in the next few months. The entire inside is rotted out and most of the gears are completely worn. It’s going to take some real work to get this up and running."
Derpy glances at the innards of the clock and sticks her tongue out. "Ew. I’m not surprised they’re fixing this, it’s been sitting in Sugarcube Corner broken for years. I bet they’re gonna fix the whole place up. They just found out that they’re gonna be having twins in a few months!"
"Huh." I hop down from the chair. "Twins… It’ll be nice to have somepony who knows as much about the world as I do."
She giggles. She has the most adorable laugh. "Oh come on, you’re doing fine."
I go back to my desk and slide the drawers open, looking for some replacement gears. "So, how go the deliveries today?"
"I have the day off, actually."
With the right gear in hoof, I open the front of the clock and start to put it in place. "Really? Then what brings you to the shop?"
"No reason, really. I just wanted to stop by to say hi to a friend, that’s all."
My hoof stops a few inches from the destination. That last sentence really sticks with me. I wanted to stop by and say hi to a friend, that’s all.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
I shake my head back to reality. "No, I’m fine. It’s just… new to having an acquaintance, that’s all."
"Really?" She leans in closer, her head angled to one side to compensate for her left eye drifting upwards. "Didn’t a bunch of other, um, things work with you when you were saving the universe?"
"Well yes, but it’s not like we talked. Or… interacted. It’s difficult to explain," I say to her. "We just fixed things, and that was that. We never talked. We never even had names."
"Huh. Well, you have a friend now!" she says.
"Your enthusiasm is awe-inspiring." I smile at her, and she practically gasps.
"You really need to smile more often," she says. "So, like, am I the only pony you know?"
"You’re the only pony who I’ve talked to more than once in the past week, so yes."
"Well we gotta change that!"
"But—"
"No buts! Listen, Ponyville is a town where everypony knows each other and gets along. Didn’t you say you came here to ‘retire’ or whatever it is? You can’t just do that and then not talk to anypony!"
"It’s not that, it’s… well, the first few times I talked to anybody here, it didn’t exactly go well."
There’s a pause. Derpy starts snickering to herself.
"Didn’t you tell me that you took care of reality and time, and fought crazy evil monsters? I figure that’s gotta be a lot worse than having conversations with us."
I don’t exactly have a response for that.
"Tell you what," she continues. "A friend of mine is having a party tonight at her house. You should come along! I can introduce you to some ponies, get the ball rolling, nudge you if you start sounding weird…"
"Sounding weird? Look, I know you have the best of intentions, but everything that I have told you is true!!"
"I know, but no other pony is ever going to believe you." She slinks back. "I-I mean, maybe Princess Celestia might? I’m not trying to tell you to forget everything you’ve been through!"
"Then what are you telling me?"
She takes a few steps forward again; she’s right in front of me. That smile… it’s the same one she had the first time we met.
"I’m telling you that you can keep living in the past, but it’s not going to get you anywhere in the present."
I can feel her hoof on my shoulder, and the tenseness in my body melts away. She smiles that wonderful, authentic smile of hers.
"You… do raise a good point. Okay, if you’d like, I’ll go."
"Really?!" Even she seems surprised that I answered that.
"After all, I did come here for retirement, I should enjoy it, right?"
"Cool! First thing’s first, though. It’s gonna be a bit formal, so you should get something to wear."
She’s suddenly pulling my leg, quite literally. I nearly faceplant on the ground as she drags me towards the door.
"Bloody hell what are you—"
"Come on, you should wear something nice! I bet you’d look great in a tie. Oooh, or a scarf!"
She flings the front door open and takes off into a gallop towards a shop in the distance. I stare after her, then look back at the shop. All the clocks inside, ticking away. The last bit of time that I can control.
I quickly duck back into the shop and grab a piece of parchment and a quill. I scrawl on it as quickly as possible, then exit and lock up the shop, taping the sign on the front: "Be back sometime!"
I turn back: Derpy is frantically waving to me, standing in front of a store. I can see her grin from here. With one last look back at the shop, I take off into a gallop myself. I’m actually looking forward to that party tonight, now. Even if I don’t have the tales of my past to enthrall anypony besides Derpy with.
They’re just stories, after all. I think it would be much more interesting to make some new ones.
Special Thanks: shortskirtsandexplosions, PropMaster, Pilate, and CSquared08,
