Through to the End of the Line at Daybreak’s Interference
They marked days like this on their calendars, and one of the perks of getting older was that the wait didn’t seem nearly as long now. When she was on her circuit, she didn’t always have the time to stick around for long, but every so often she’d drop in with a fanfare of fireworks, and they knew that it was time.
Snips closed up early this Saturday - he worked weekends because he loved the job, although he could never quite articulate why. Snails was off just like he was always off, either bothering Snips or going on his little adventures. Trixie worked more than either of them, but mostly in the department of carting things around between territories.
As always, she’d stood in the town square dramatically, waiting for them to show up, her brow to the sun in respect for all the princesses had done for and with her. It was difficult to tell, but she always seemed to cast a longer shadow than the next unicorn, as if her own image was adding to her physical form in some abstract way. It took a couple minutes for them to arrive, although they set out as soon as they saw the fireworks, rough blue and orange and somehow noticeably bright against the afternoon sky.
Snips arrived first, but they didn’t speak. It was only when all three were assembled that the festivities began, and if one of them was sick or injured, then they didn’t ride. It had started out as a courtesy, and with the stretching of years had grown into a tradition. Even in the silence, though, Snips could pride himself on the long years it took to become as tall as her, and the way that she still seemed so young. By the color of her mane it was difficult to tell her age, although she’d once confessed it had been the result of an early magical accident, but she never wrinkled, never slowed, never seemed to deign the passage of time with her company. It made him jealous, for although he wasn’t old by any means, he was still aware of the dawning aches that would haunt him down the road.
Snails showed up a half-minute later, taking his time. Neither of the others minded, because he usually outpaced both of them if he wasn’t paying attention to moving slowly. He was taller than both of them, and as lanky as ever, but his work kept him in money and decent moisturizer, and he didn’t lack anything that mattered to him.
It’d taken forever for him to really learn what his cutie mark meant, just like Snips; they’d gotten them doing dares, and on the same day, although they could never agree on which of them got theirs first. After he’d learned about snail farming, though, the calls for escargot and beauty cream ingredients came pouring in, and all it took was a little overseeing. It was hard for snails to cause much trouble, in the end, so he came into his own and joined some union or other.
Snips had never heard of snail farming, so he supposed it was reasonable for Snails to need some time to learn his calling, but given his own cutie mark he could only blame the time it took to figure it out on being a dumb kid. There was even a good niche for it; hair salons were something fancy in Canterlot, and the spa had a couple vacant rooms where he could ply his trade.
The shampooing and washing and stuff took a few months to get right, but no one could disagree that he was the master of cutting, never too long, never too short. His magic guided him to exactly what his clients wanted, down to the hair, and no one in town who’d visited him ever cut their own hair again. It was a point of pride, in fact.
But they’d gathered, and it was time for the celebration. They moved wordlessly, as one, to the nearest pub. Which is to say, the only pub in Ponyville, where their corner booth had long since become traditional, and their drinks of choice the same. The tacky seats and low-level background chatter had seen them through many dark times, most of them involving Hurricane Spoon, who taught them in their young adulthood not to play with fire in the romance department.
Snips shuddered at the memory, brought back by the upholstery, of wanting to marry her and then having to see his best friend under that same spell a few months later. It made him realize they’d always had a weakness for bad mares.
No one spoke until they’d all received their starters - Electric Lemonade and a pair of Fireball Shots - and clinked their glasses in total solemnity, and had their fill. Then, at last, the straining silence of decorum was allowed to collapse and rest a while.
“How’s the latest tour?” Snips asked.
“As prestigious as the last three,” Trixie replied, “I’ve hit a groove.”
“Happens to the best of us,” he said, “Canterlot keeps flirting with me.”
“Canterlot’s got some good money.” Snails said.
“Yeah, but I’d never move there, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to the business.”
“Oh, so it’s still not a family business?” Trixie asked.
Snips snorted, and gratefully levitated his second shot, “Ask Snails. Twist propositioned him.”
“She asked me out for lunch!” Snails said, and then downed his alcohol and continued, “She wouldn’t have been any good for the business, anyway.”
“You’re going to get tired of being married to your work, you know,” Trixie said in her most sage tones, only halfway through her lemonade. The drinks were a formality - she could just alter their blood-alcohol content by magic or grab some more interesting psychoactives abroad - but they were a fun one. This way it was more like a race, and they could get the small talk out of the way.
“You keep telling me that,” Snails said.
“It’s true, though. You’ve got the advantage of staying in one place, and not having to make a first impression on anypony. There are nice mares around here.”
“Yeah, mom,” Snails said.
“Still no luck finding your amazing traveling coltfriend?” Snips asked, and she winced a little.
“Cheese and I are having an understandable rough patch,” she answered, and leaned over the table to whisper, “He wants to see other mares. I should’ve known, he’s definitely the type.”
So they chatted, and drank heartily.
* * *
“H-hey, Trixie, rememberr when you used t’ talk in the third pony all the time?” Snips slurred, walking on her left while his compadre took the right. They were going through the square again, on the way to their ultimate destination, the mythical End of the Line at Daybreak’s Interference.
She’d chosen the name.
Snails snorted, “I remember that. When’d you stop?”
Trixie’s brow furrowed, and then she declared: “I don’t remember!”
All three of them laughed, and leaned on each other, and moved like a single organism.
The song they sang was disappointingly in-tune, and there were only a couple hiccups in between the lines, but they got by all the same. A couple more got them to the outskirts of town with only a few shouts to be quiet and a few blue bolts of magic hurled through bedroom windows. From there, it was into the Everfree.
The forest had become much less threatening in the last years, nothing like how it had threatened the last generation. It was all thanks to the Elements, of course, in some epic world-saving maneuver or other. Snips didn’t hate them or anything, but their museum still drew ponies in years after it was set up, and their tourist manes were usually greasy and got tangled up in his scissors. Plus they were terrible conversationalists, but hey, that’s big-city for you.
“Tourists suck,” Snips said.
“Yeah,” Trixie nodded.
“Huh?” Snails asked.
* * *
Finally, there it was. They had to crawl in through a shattered window, but they got back inside, and the castle was as dusty as ever. Since the Elements moved on to bigger and better castles, they never bothered keeping up with the old ones, and this had come back to life only to gently glide back into dilapidation.
They took the staircases up, up and up, until they found the tower and the roof-access window. Trixie lifted both of them and floated herself to the roof-garden while they discussed breakfast.
"Wouldn't mind some escargot," Snails said. He was already sobering.
"You're always in the mood for escargot. What we need are flapjacks! Flapjacks and coffee!" Snips said.
"The Great and Powerful Trixie needs a cheese omelette."
"Hey, you're doing it again!" Snips said, and then stumbled for solid ground as she lowered him, "The, the third pony thing!"
She smiled, "Yeah. Thanks for reminding me."
"Takes me back," Snails said, staring out at the Everfree.
"Yeah?" Snips joined him.
"Yeah. Back when we woke up the Ursa."
Trixie snorted, "Is that thing still there?"
"Probably not. The Princesses probably relocated it or somethin'," Snips said.
"It's about time," Trixie announced, stepping up to the edge of the garden, and they were all silent.
Glittering between the trees and hoisting itself above the horizon, casting three long shadows against the beds of flowers that grew onwards, and tangled their roots together and embraced awkwardly in dirt that long since should've stopped sustaining them, Celestia's sun rose.
Author's Note
Something simple and sweet as a palate cleanser before my new projects.
