A Measure of History

James stared at Rarity, his eyes rather glaringly proclaiming his astonishment and confusion to the world. His mouth hung slightly open, and he could see Rarity’s gaze flicker all over him, gauging his befuddlement.

“James, you do look quite foolish like that,” she said, taking a step back. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“Rarity,” James began, his hand motioning towards the unicorn. “Didn’t we just see you yesterday about your… gift?”

She nodded, her gaze briefly flicking towards Twilight, who stood a short distance behind James. “Mmhm, that is correct.” Her mouth curled downwards into a frown, and her eyes took a rather worried look. “Why? Do you not like it?”

James looked to the side, taking in the objects gathered in Rarity’s magical grasp. “No, it’s not that. I’m just wondering how you managed to finish it all in one day. Even less time, considering.”

Rarity did not respond for several moments, before bursting into a fit of giggles. “Oh, James. And here I was, thinking you didn’t like my work.” She trotted closer to James and placed a hoof on his stomach, giving him a roguish smile. “I think you underestimate my abilities.”

He chuckled in response, shaking his head. “No, I never said that,” James said, an eyebrow raised as he smirked. “But, one can't help but doubt the quality of the work, if done in so short a time.”

The self-proclaimed fashionista gasped in mock indignation, her hoof retracting to her chest. “I never!” Rarity exclaimed, snapping to look at Twilight. “I think you’ve got a rather mischievous fellow on your hooves, Twilight.” She winked. “Do be careful with him, dear.”

Twilight stared at the two oddly, her head tilted and an eyebrow raised. One of her ears hung limply. “Very funny,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Using her magic, she took the clothes from Rarity, shifting through them. “So, here’s two shirts, two pairs of pants, some socks, some of these… smaller pants, I guess. I assume you’ll have some more for James within the next few days?”

Rarity nodded in response. “Yes, though the next batch will take a bit longer. I tried to model them on the pieces of James’ suit.” she turned to James, giggling. “Some things were harder to make, all things considered, but I made do with what I had.”

James took a moment to look over Rarity’s gifts, his eyes wandering around their cloth and fabric. The shirts were quite plain, though Rarity had been opposed to this particular request of his. Apparently made of linen and cotton, they were simple long-sleeved shirts, one grey in color and the other a basic white. However, their collars seemed to have been turned over—a rather unique standout from the rest of the shirts.

The pants were, again, simplistic, and seemed to have been modeled after the remnants of his suit’s matching pants. Grey and clean, they had no visible details that James could parse out. All in all, Rarity had stayed true to his original suit’s origins, albeit without any sort of details only a machine could create. He might have preferred more casual wear, but he would take what he could get.

“Yeah, this is great,” James replied, grabbing his new garments from Twilight. “I appreciate this, Rarity, I really do. Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back?”

Her eyes closed, Rarity shook her head, drawing a horizontal line with her hoof through the air. “Nonsense! As long as you’re grateful, and you don’t happen to be some monster in disguise, we’ll be fine. Besides, it was a challenge, and I do love challenges.” she assured him, before looking at Twilight. “By the way, Twilight. Is our picnic with the others still on schedule, or has James’ appearance put that on hold?”

“Picnic?” Twilight asked, her ears perking to attention. “What picnic?”

Rarity’s lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. She was nonplussed. “Our monthly picnic. It's this afternoon. Have you forgotten?”

Twilight’s eyes widened and brightened with recollection as she gave a loud gasp. “Oh, yes! Our picnic!I completely forgot about it!”

“So does that mean the picnic is off?”

Twilight shook her head in an urgent panic. “No, no! It’s still on, Rarity, I just… what with James appearing out of nowhere, and this new assignment from Celestia, I’ve just been so scatterbrained lately. I’m really sorry, Rarity.” She turned to James, nervously smiling. “You don’t mind, right James? I really don’t want to miss this picnic with my friends.”

He was about to shake his head, a hand already moving to wave in dismissal, but Rarity interrupted him. “Why not have him join us, dear?” she asked, tilting her head. “The more, the better, yes?”

“I guess,” Twilight replied, casting a sidelong look at her human partner. “James, would you like to join us? I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

“Why not,” James said after a moment, shrugging. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Rarity smiled, her ears pricking towards James. “Excellent! Then I’ll see you two at the park this afternoon. Ta-ta!”

Twilight and James waved the seamstress goodbye as she departed from Twilight’s home. Turning to the other unicorn, James adopted a sheepish expression, holding up his new clothes.

“I guess I should change out of these scraps now, shouldn’t I?” he chuckled lightly. Twilight nodded back, a faint smile on her lips.

“That might be a good idea,” she said, turning around. A quill and a piece of parchment floated towards her. “We’ve got a couple of hours until the picnic, and I need to pick up a few things. You can join me, if you'd like. It might be a good way to introduce you to some of my friends around town!”

James nodded dubiously. “Sure, if you think so. Though, I get the feeling some of those ponies out there aren’t very fond of me yet.”

“Which is why we should introduce you as soon as possible!” Twilight chirped, scribbling across the parchment. “Let’s see, Fluttershy probably has the tea covered, Rainbow Dash with the...” She stopped, turning to James as her ears pinned back against her head. “Why are you still standing there, James?”

He took a step back, self-consciously grinning. “Oh. Right, sorry. I’ll get to it. See you in a little bit, Twilight.”

She waved him off, continuing to write at a rapid pace. “Grapes, strawberries, some other fruits, I think Rarity’s got those handled. Applejack should have her apple assortments, so, that leaves us with some cupcakes, sandwiches, salad, and…”

“…watermelons!” Twilight exclaimed, speeding through the Ponyville market. She was a mare on a mission, and ponies gave her a wide berth as she blazed a trail through the quaint town, paying her no heed. They were quite acclimated to the librarian’s eccentricities, and had learned to avoid Twilight’s troubles and problems unless they were personally involved.

Somewhere behind her, struggling along like a thirsty pack mule, staggered James. An assortment of bags and boxes juggled through his hands. His breaths were heavy, and though they paid Twilight little attention, the residents of Ponyville gave the human even more space. Their eyes were wide as the unfamiliar creature stumbled after his host.

“Twilight!” He cried out, grunting in pain as he nearly tripped on a rock. “C’mon, Twilight, wait up!”

“Can’t!” She yelled back. “No time! Picnic is in fifteen minutes, and we still don’t have our watermelons! Or our cupcakes!”

James gave a low snarl, struggling to maintain his hold on his luggage. One particular paper bag was giving his fingers problems, the wiry rope of its straps digging into his flesh. He grunted in pain, his feet dragging along the ground. “Dang it Twilight,” James muttered, his eyes searching for the pony in question. “And I thought I was supposed to have breathing problems, or something…”

He could feel Zecora’s medicine working within him, the warm fluids soothing his lungs. James was sure that, had he not indulged in such measures, he would have been struggling even more. Physical exertion had always been difficult after his injury, to say the least, and though he wasn’t entirely disabled, not by far, it was always a pain. However, James could feel the medicine dying out, its effects slowly subsiding as his body processed the brew.

Finally, his gaze landed upon Twilight, standing before a fruit stall. A rather perplexed-looking stallion tended to the stand, leaning away from Twilight as surprise rolled across his face. James limped towards them, coming to a halt beside Twilight.

“Do you have watermelons?” Twilight asked, urgency and panic ringing through her voice. “Oh, what am I saying, of course you do! One watermelon, please!”

The salespony rapidly nodded, disappearing for a moment. He returned with a large, green fruit, black stripes rippling across its surface. “That’ll be sixteen bits, ma’am.”

Twilight virtually threw the golden coins at the stallion, sputtering a quick “thank you” before rushing away. “Let’s go, James! We need to get to Sugarcube Corner for our cupcakes!”

He watched as the mare galloped away, before turning back to the stand. His eyes glazed over the large fruit, his frown curling deeper and deeper. James gave the salespony a brief glance.

“Sorry about her. I’ll have to carry that, right?”

The pony nodded slowly, backing away inch by inch from the stand. “Yep. I’m afraid you will, sir.”

James sighed, a mixture of frustration and dread lacing his breath. Shifting the bags and boxes around in his arms, he took a loose grip on the edges of the watermelon, before lifting it up with a strained grunt. James struggled with the large fruit for several seconds, finally settling it into a somewhat comfortable position.

“Right,” he said, turning away from the fruit stand. “Twilight, you will pay for this,” he muttered, and trudged off after his host.

He quickly found her, waiting rather impatiently outside of what James assumed to be Sugarcube Corner. True to its name, the building itself bore remarkable similarity to a gingerbread house. While the walls and door were normal enough, the bakery’s roof looked as if it were made of cookies and gingerbread, layered in a thick, creamy frosting—or, rather, it at least appeared to be frosting.

The very top of the building seemed to have been built to resemble a cupcake of some sort, possibly vanilla, with what looked to be strawberry frosting decorating the top. The chimney—well, James thought it was a chimney—was a trio of candles. Warm, smoky fire billowed from their tops. At the base of Sugarcube Corner, beside the door, was a garden, its assortment of fuchsia and magenta flowers a bouquet of sweet candies. It was all rather striking to the man, though not completely in a good way.

James surmised that, if he stayed for far too long a time at this “Sugarcube Corner,” he might develop a particularly debilitating case of diabetes. Perhaps heart-disease, if the former weren’t enough.

Or he might get fat.

“James!” Twilight exclaimed, having seen him approach. If she had noticed his struggle and discomfort with having to carry their picnic supplies, then she had given no sign of having done so. “You’re here! Good, we have to hurry.”

He gave a mere grunt in response, lacking the conviction and breath to say anything more. Frankly, James was beginning to question his host’s sanity.

“Come on, let’s go inside. Cup Cake probably has our order all ready!” Without a further word, Twilight rushed into the building. With a grimace, James shifted the bags and boxes in his arms, before following the unicorn into the world of sugar.

He ducked through the door, its frame a little too small for the man. As he passed through, a bell rang above him, signaling his entrance. Further into the room, James could see Twilight standing opposite a rather plump pony, a counter and register between them. To his side, a long row of tables and booths were arranged, and James took a moment to set his bags, boxes, and the troublesome watermelon on the one closest.

“Your cupcakes, Miss Sparkle!” the plump pony chirruped, her voice almost sing-song like. “A dozen vanilla cupcakes with strawberry frosting.”

James approached the two, though neither had noticed his presence yet. “Thank you, Mrs. Cake,” Twilight opened the box, briefly scanning over its contents. “These are perfect. How much was it, again?”

“That’ll be eight bits, Miss Sparkle. Say, have you seen Pinkie around…” the pony, Mrs. Cake, trailed off, her eyes slowly shifting towards James. He stopped, awkwardly returning her stare. “Oh, my.”

“Hm?” Twilight turned around, finding James behind her. “Oh! James, you’re here! This is Mrs. Cake, she owns Sugarcube Corner.”

“So it’s true?” Mrs. Cake mumbled, her eyes glazing over James.

Twilight tilted her head, her ears hanging loose in confusion. “What’s true?”

“Ponies were talking about you, Miss Sparkle,” Mrs. Cake answered. “There were rumors that you had found some unknown animal from the Everfree, and that you had tamed it.” She looked up and down over James, and he felt quite uncomfortable. “Looks like you’re dressing it up too, and it’s carrying your things for you. Is it your pet now?”

The unicorn leaned back, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?!” she cried out in disbelief. “No! No, no, James is not an animal. And he is most certainly not my pet.”

Ah, so there it was. A chink in the armor, a way for James to get back at Twilight. He had promised to himself that he would find a way to exact revenge on the unicorn, and James had found his moment.

“James here is perfectly sentient. How we ended up with him is a long, long story,” Twilight continued, waving her hooves like a mare gone mad. “He’s most definitely not under my control. He thinks, he acts, he talk. He's just like you and me.” She gestured towards James, motioning for him to begin speaking.

Inwardly smiling like a devil, James stood still like a statue, his stare lancing forwards as he made no effort to speak. Mrs. Cake raised an eyebrow, her ears lopping in confusion as she looked back at Twilight.

“Are you sure, Miss Sparkle?” she asked, a small grin creeping across her mouth. “Because that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Twilight’s face reddened, and she stomped her hoof lightly. “James!” she exclaimed, taking a step towards the man. “Please, just speak. Say hello. We’re in a hurry!”

Still, he did not respond, an immovable rock unresponsive to Twilight’s queries. She nudged him lightly with a hoof, growing somewhat frustrated. “James, please stop messing around?”

After another moment of silence, Twilight seemed to deflate, a long sigh escaping her mouth.

“Please?” she asked, a tinge of regret hinted in her voice. He couldn’t help it—he did not answer for a moment further. Twilight looked as if she would give up and collapse, before James finally opened his mouth.

“Alright,” he said, a chuckle bubbling from between his lips. “I’m done, I’m done messing with you. Sorry, Twilight.”

“It’s alright,” she responded, looking away. “It’s because I made you carry all that stuff, right?”

“You just noticed?” James deadpanned, crossing his arms.

Twilight simply nodded, looking quite glum. “Yeah, though only after Mrs. Cake pointed it out.” She looked up at James, frowning. “I—”

James held a hand up. “Stop. You tell me I say sorry too much, but take a look at yourself too, Twilight. You don’t need to apologize so much.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” James reassured her, his voice soft. “I understand, Twilight. We’re in a hurry, you don’t want to be late, all that good stuff. Speaking of which, we should get going. I’m thinking the others are waiting on us by now. We can talk about this later.”

Twilight nodded, turning back to Mrs. Cake. “Thank you again, Mrs. Cake. Oh, and Pinkie should be at the picnic with me.”

The plump baker gave the two of them a warm smile. “Have a nice picnic, Miss Sparkle. Oh, and do be sure to tell Pinkie that we need her to babysit the foals again tomorrow.”

She shivered, icy droplets of damnable rain spattering across her coat. With a pained whimper, she sent a bit of energy to her horn. A pink sheen enveloped the cloak upon her back, tightening it against her cold flesh and fur. She shuffled her hooves across the muddy ground, trying her best not to trip on the grey rocks of the land as she rushed across the field.

The rocks, the confounded rocks—oh, how she hated them, small pebbles of torment that caused her no end of suffering and pain. And for what? For the small nibbles of food, and the rotted hole in the ground her employers thought was fit for her? She was great, she was powerful, and yet she had been condemned to a life of misery.

Yet, for all the hatred she bore for the rocks, and for all the contempt she held for her employers, she hated one pony above all—the one who had taken her life away from her. She had been loved, she had been adored, yet one simpleton, one weather-bitten coxcomb, had taken it all away from her.

She hated Twilight Sparkle with all her heart—her rage could have melted the rocks, torn asunder the storms that, only a little over a year ago, she would have been comfortably sheltered from, lavender cushions and silken blankets warmly tucked around her.

By Celestia, she was even beginning to hate the color purple!

Bracing herself, she busted through the flimsy door of her ramshackle home. She was safe, at least somewhat, from the insolent storm above—a godsend, really. She did not know how much longer she could have resisted the urge to plan, to scheme.

Despite her troubles, the unicorn giggled, a manic snicker that might have shaken the heart of a normal pony. She waltzed across the floor of her home, the old, warped carpet snagging against her hooves as she danced. To the table she hopped, humming a low, lively tune. She wouldn’t suffer much longer—she might take her place, or take her friends, her money, her power.

My, she could even take her town and home—that sounded like a rightfully wonderful idea!

With a final twirl, and an ultimate twist, the mare plopped down into the one seat in her home, the feeble wood of the chair squeaking and screaming under her. Insolent earth ponies, hadn’t even the time nor the desire to find her something safe for her to sit on, much less a tolerable domicile. A bowl of stew sat before her, murky clouds of grey rot wafting from it. She took a sip—it was cold! The stew was so cold, it seared at her tongue, at her throat! Audacious slave drivers, she would have her revenge one day!

She chuckled, her thoughts drifting towards the idea of revenge. It had been difficult indeed, to find the amulet. She had searched far and wide, through the mystic archives of Canterlot itself, and through the deepest halls of the Crystal Empire’s Hypogean Athenaeum, but she had finally found it, tucked safely within a modest little storefront.

A storefront, really?! She cackled loudly, slapping her hoof against her knee. A storefront, in the middle of Canterlot, protected by none other than a frail weasel of an old codger. He had been reluctant yes, but money bought all ponies. She had been sure of it, and she had been affirmed of her wisdom. Now there it was, hanging around her neck, its blood-red jewel shining like a murderous herald of luck and power.

The searches themselves, however, had not been completely fruitless. In Canterlot, sat upon a table at a small cafe, had been a book, simple and plain. She had, out of curiosity, took a peek, its title having been enough to pique her curiosity. The Magic of the Har’yagul—the possibilities of unknown magic, even those of fiction, had interested her, and when she had taken naught but a gander, she had been sucked in. She had been amazed. Stupefied. And ideas began to settle in her mind.

Magic of the spirit, calling upon one’s tumultuous emotions and intellect, had been bountiful in those pages. Tales of spells, weaving webs of light and rays of dark, had been the first. As she delved further, she found notes of complex sorceries, miracles of conviction, that could sunder entire legions with occult beams of arcane, accretions of crystal cerebrum. The Har’yagul, they had been called—they were powerful, that much was clear. So, she had hired some ponies, some muscle, stallions of ill-repute, to search Equestria, to find any mention, any notion, of the Har’yagul. Or even better yet, a living sample, a true specimen to behold, and to learn from.

They had taken some time, that much was true. But her toils, her drudgeries, the slow-yet-steady desolation of her purse, had proven profitable. Her stallions had brought back news, news from Ponyville itself, of a real, live, breathing member of the Har’yagul species, sleeping under the roof of the very mare she hated above all.

My, if things went her way, the Great and Powerful Trixie might not have need of the Alicorn Amulet after all.