"What's it to You?!"

Chapters

Destiny and Cutie Marks
Look Out, Ponyville
Cutie Mark Crusaders, YAY!
Sugarcube Corner And More
Letters, #1

Destiny and Cutie Marks

My name is Raised Ire. I really prefer to be called Ray, but Raised Ire was the name my parents gave me — and they're surprised I'm a little grumpy, with a name like that! Not only would any foal with a name that stupid act out a little, but there are a lot of studies that show that a pony's name influences their personality and even their Cutie Mark. I know that's true -- not only did I read an incredibly long book about every study on Cutie Marks since the Fall of Nightmare Moon, but I'm a living example of it.

I had a long time to think about Cutie Marks. I'm old enough to be at Trade School -- if I was most anypony else, I'd be well into my first year already -- and I only got my Cutie Mark today. I'm not the oldest pony to get a Cutie Mark -- technically, ponies can get Cutie Marks until 'physical maturity' -- but I was certainly a late bloomer, and I guess whatever it was that makes ponies have Cutie Marks was grasping at straws, because I wasn't even doing anything special, for me: just another spat with the old goat who sells potatoes at the market, and all of a sudden my flank started glowing and, Ta-dah, I had a Cutie Mark. I just bought the potatoes I'd been haggling for and went home. If I figured my folks would be happy I finally got my Mark, I was wrong -- Mom and Dad wanted me to have a nice little Mark for woodworking or something, not this. There weren't any Trade Schools for foals with Cutie Marks for arguing. There weren't any jobs for ponies with arguing for their special talents. My parents acted happy, sure -- they both grinned and congratulated me, then asked me to go upstairs to my room while they 'talked'. I had an idea of what they wanted to talk about, and it wasn't my Cuteciñara, but I didn't try to eavesdrop. Whenever my parents 'talked', they always announced their decisions at the dinner table, and apart from a week or so doing whatever they decided for me -- smithing lessons, sculpture class, even group therapy -- everything returned to normal. I didn't have to worry.

.: • .:. • :.

"We're moving!"

I paused, a forkful of Brussels Sprouts halfway to my mouth, to stare at my mother, who was grinning widely. It took me a couple seconds to notice my mouth was open and close it, I was so shocked by the randomness of that statement.
"What?" I asked. I sounded like I was choking. I tried again. "What are you talking about?"

Mom grinned like she wasn't turning all our lives upside down. "Well... your dad and I were talking, and we thought, well, maybe we could do with a change. A less... hostile environment. This place might be a bad influence on you."
"No need to fuss on my account." I snapped. It sounded sarcastic, but really, I'd much rather they didn't uproot our lives 'for me'.

Apparently, I did not do too well on getting that across, because Mom's smile only got wider. "I knew you'd understand!" she chirped, "We've already found a less... irritable town, and we're planning to leave in a week, so you should have time to wrap everything up before then."

I stared at her. When had I shown that I 'understood' this scheme? And why were we leaving in a week? How had they already found 'a less irritable town'? "How long have you been planning this?" I asked accusingly.

Apparently the 'accusing' part didn't translate, because Mom was still grinning. "We've been thinking about it for a while, but ... this afternoon showed us we'd waited to long."

This afternoon? The only thing that happened this afternoon was... "My Cutie Mark? What does it have to do with this?" I asked, confused.

Now Mom was frowning. "It's proof you're just not fitting in in this town. Sweetheart, you can't have such a... vulgar talent."

Mom has an amazing talent for saying the rudest things delicately and politely. I 'can't have' this Cutie Mark, like it's nothing but a toy I want! "Really? This is my special talent, mother! What happened to 'your Cutie Mark is part of you'? What happened to 'we each have a destined Cutie Mark'?"

Mom looked pissed, but her voice didn't waver. "You can't get a Cutie Mark for arguing, dear."

That was actually true. Based on current knowledge of Cutie Marks, it is impossible to get a Cutie Mark for something like arguing. It's even an example in one of my books as an 'absurd Cutie Mark'. But, well, my now adorned flank speaks for itself.

I could explain this, but arguing with my mom, unlike arguing with any other equine, stresses me out, and I was starting to get a headache. Besides, trying to convince Mom of anything was like shouting at a brick wall; it didn't do anything except take up time. I couldn't do anything, so I just yelled "Buck this!", shoving my plate away and stomping toward my room.

Mom poked her head out of the dining room. Her grin was back on, but it was kind of forced. "Start packing; we only have a week!" she reminded me.

My slammed door was the only answer she got.

.: • .:. • :.

It's now been a week since I got my Cutie Mark. It's almost time to leave. I made the most of this last week -- I even got a sort-of Cuteciñara from my friends, although it was more of going out on a Saturday afternoon for milkshakes and hayburgers. Oh, well -- it's the thought that counts, and it was actually really fun. I'm too old for all the fuss and pretty ribbons of a traditional Cuteciñara, anyway.

Now, standing in front of my old primary school, waiting for my friends to get here, I suddenly miss this town. I realize this is silly -- I haven't even left yet -- but I miss everything about our little town. I miss the old nanny goat who has 50 different kinds of potatoes for sale and knows everything about each one. I miss the creaky theatre that's somehow still standing, despite a petition to demolish it going around every few years. I miss that old jackass who is always warning ponies that 'The End' is coming. I even miss that cheap old mayor who always makes me want to buck him in the face. I miss the thousand little quirks of our little town that makes us unique, that no other town could hope to match. I can't believe my parents are willing to leave this place just because of me, and if they had asked me, I'd never want to go.

I’m pulled out of my uncharacteristically sappy reverie by the arrival of my friends. Sadly, I can understand why my parents wanted me away from them. We look like the kinds of foals most parents wanted their sweet little fillies and colts to stay away from (despite the fact that we are all in the top ten GPA, 2 of us are in top 5, and we are more open-minded and accepting than most of those 'sweet' foals). Take Crystal Goblet. I've seen some pictures of her as a little foal (she's not very good at hiding stuff, and I've been over to her house a lot) and, not to be weird, but she was the cutest filly ever. She had a cloudy grey coat, an electric blue mane and tail with white stripes, and a pair of glasses drawing attention to the deepest purple eyes I've ever seen on a foal (not that I look too much, but still). Note that I said had. She looks way different now. For starters, she dyed her mane and tail black (and somehow made it permanent magically) and got contacts. Her personality hasn't really changed since then as far as I can tell, though, as evidenced by her greeting me by practically knocking me over with a hug. Her makeup is smudged and she's sniffling as she practically crushes me, but she is grinning widely.

The final member of our little trio came up to the front gates more sedately, clinking and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about Chrissie. I couldn't stop her in time." he says, his voice sounding a little more amused than polite.

I smile back as I push Chrissie away and flick my tail. "It's ok, I needed one more heart attack before I left," I laugh sarcastically.

Dark Night is a great example of somepony scary-looking being a complete dork on the inside. He's muscular and scary looking, a look that is not helped by the fact that he has piercings practically everywhere. He has three studs on his left ear, five on his right, one on his left wing(!), a thin piece of steel through his right foreleg, and one on the edge of each eyebrow. Aside from the metal bits sticking out of him, he also has the misfortune of being a deep navy blue with a black mane and tail, which still draws fear for being close to the coloring of Nightmare Moon. However, if more foals got to know him, they'd learn that the worst he could hurt anypony is by scratching them with one of the pieces of metal sticking out of him or bumping into them accidentally.

His smile widens into a full grin at my reply; both of my friends could tell when I was actually mad, and I pretty obviously wasn't. He shrugged, extending his wings in the morning sunlight. "Eh, it's something to remember us by," he replies.

I trot over and bump his shoulder affectionately with mine. "I won't need something to remember you two by. You're pretty unforgettable, and besides, you'll both write often enough that I won't have a chance to, right?" I ask teasingly.

Chrissie nods vigorously, practically bouncing over. "Don't worry about that!" she exclaims. "We'll make sure to write all the time, right Nighty?" She punctuates the last few words by giving Nighty a significant look.

He nods complacently. "Of course. You'll write back?" he asks me.

I flick his flank with my tail. "Duh. You didn't have to ask, idiot." I reply affectionately.

Our casual goodbye is interrupted by my mother, who gallops up looking tired. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" she exclaims.

She looks like she'd been looking all over for me. I open my mouth to respond, but Mom just grabs me telekinetically and starts cantering away, lecturing me about how I shouldn't have run off without telling her where I was going, especially now. I actually had told her, but she doesn't give me time to say that.

.: • .:. • :.

It turns out that despite Mom panicking and searching for me, we still got to the train station in Bridleton early; the train pulls in about five minutes after Mom and I sit down on one of the uncomfortable benches next to Dad and our carry-on. After the obligatory mess of getting on the train and getting settled, I sit down on my bed and look out the window as the train slowly pulls away from our town. Watching the familiar houses pulling away, I narrow my eyes. Look out Ponyville, I think, here we come.

Author's Note

Yeah, I read a story (can't remember which one, sorry) referencing an arguing Cutie Mark as impossible, then rewatched the Stare episode, and you can't expect me to not write something like this. Eh. I'd appreciate comments, if you have something to say. Do you like it or dislike it? Why? How could it improve? Seriously, I don't like to beg for comments, but criticism is how people get better, and I want to make my stories the best I can make them.

I did not draw the picture, I made it on this site. If you want to make it, here's the Pony Code: 2D3N000000DD8900FFC49D00201FE0000UN381640400000000E50E0EFF7FFF06107F
I did draw the Cutie mark.

Look Out, Ponyville

After about six hours staring out the window, ignoring Mom's attempts at traveling games (which would only be fun if I was in primary school), and wishing I'd packed more books in my carry-on, I've come to the conclusion that train rides are extremely boring. It would be a bit more interesting if there was something other than sand and the occasional parched-looking bush outside, or if Chrissie or Nighty were here, but as it is, the train ride so far has been absolutely mind-numbing. Mom is attempting to entertain herself by prattling on about the town we're moving to (Hometown of the Elements of Harmony! Great tourist destination! Best baked goods this side of the Griffin Kingdoms!), but Dad's clearly more interested in the 'Help Wanted' section of the local paper -- the sooner he finds a job, the better, I understand and respect that -- and I couldn't care less about Ponyville, as long as it has basic amenities and isn't secretly the lair of a crazy murderous cult or something. (Technically, I shouldn't have watched that movie at my age, but it was definitely worth it. Fun, and harmless as long as you have a firm grip on the difference between fiction and reality. Besides, seeing Chrissie jumping at small noises for the rest of the week was worth any nightmares.) Since it obviously won't be some kind of horror movie nightmare and seems advanced enough to at least have working plumbing and a farmers market, I don't need to know anything about Ponyville. I'll be fine as I am.

.: • .:. • :.

It feels like days, but it really only takes another hour or so before the train pulls into Ponyville Station. So far, Ponyville seems bigger than I expected, but rather small for all the important things Mom was saying about it -- hay, it seems too small to have its own station. At least the map I grabbed at the station says Ponyville has a library (marked by a tree, for some reason) and a few restaurants (most of them weirdly fancy-sounding), so I'll be able to do stuff outside of the house. One thing it doesn't seem to have much of is Trade Schools (actually, it seems to be short on schools in general: there's only one school building on the map, labeled as the campus for primary and secondary school) but that's normal for smaller towns, and there's likely a lot of businesses offering apprenticeships. When it's time for me to get a job, I'll have no shortage of options. I just have to make sure Mom doesn't sign me up for something without my knowledge, as that's a trick that she's done at least twice before, always with something I hated (although I admit the signed-up-against-my-will bit might have contributed to my dislike of the things in question). Hopefully getting situated will distract her from messing with my life for a while.

When you're an Earth Pony, walking and reading something is close to impossible, so I'd had to stop while looking at the map, and then trot to get back to the rest of my family. Mom had, fortunately, not noticed my absence (getting yelled at for wandering is not my idea of a good way to arrive at a new place), as she has her nose stuck in her own map. Dad’s making sure she didn't bump into anypony while she, presumably, looks for our new home.
"So," I ask Dad, trotting up on his left, "Do you have any idea what our new place is like?"

Dad sighs at the question. "Cheap," he answers, "but it seems nice enough, from what we saw of it. Insurance was Tartarus-cursed expensive, though."

I look at him for a second as he pulls Mom out of the way of an apple cart. When she's no longer in danger of being run over, he looks back and continues. "Honestly, it looks too nice for the price we got it. I'd bet a bushel of apples something's wrong with it when we get there."

Mom looks up from her map to give him a Look, then looks back down. "Now, dear, it doesn't do any good to expect the worst. I'm sure our new house is wonderful."

Dad smiles tiredly and nuzzles Mom. "I'm sure, dear."

Mom nuzzles back and smiles at him; I pretend to gag. It's nice that they like each other, and I've seen much worse, but it's more gross when it's your parents are doing it. Besides, it's kind of gross anyway.

Mom smiles indulgently at me, then looks ahead. While we were talking, we'd walked up to a house. "We're home!" she exclaims.
"Right," I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes. It's actually a nice house, pale blue with a roof that looks like thatch -- although there's probably shingles underneath -- and a generally... homey feeling, for lack of a better word. The door is the same bright white as the window boxes -- yeah, actual window boxes, with daisies in them and everything -- and the window frames, and from what I can see the curtains are the exact same blue as the house. There's even a white picket fence around the lawn, and a few nice yellow flowers that I don't know the name of planted close to the house. It looks like someone had been trying to make the house look as much like a perfect home as possible.

Mom trots up to the door and unlocks it with a key from one of her saddlebags. "Come in, both of you. Our things should arrive later today; until then, let's go look around. Your room should be upstairs, sweetie, why don't you see how it looks?"

I nod and trot in after her and Dad, then climb up the stairs to my new room. Right now it looks empty. There's a bed, of course, but it has nothing except a mattress on it. Aside from that, there's a white bedside table with nothing on it either, and pretty much nothing else. The walls are painted a deep ocean-y blue that looks very nice but clashes with pretty much everything I own, and the closet door and the door to my room are both painted white. The room is big enough, and just having a closet is pretty cool, but it'll need a lot of work before I can call it my room. Until then, or at least until our stuff gets here, there's pretty much nothing to do in here, so I have no reason to stay.

After tossing my saddlebags onto the mattress and double-checking the map I got, I leave the room. (Somewhat) carefully bucking the door closed behind me, I trot down the stairs and out the door, yelling "I'm going out!" behind me.
"Come back before it gets dark!" Mom shouts in reply.

I don't reply to that. I don't need to; I'm 90 percent sure Mom just says that out of habit. Mom had already pulled the door closed behind me, which was nice of her, so I just set off down the street in the direction the map had said the library was.

.: • .:. • :.

About 5 minutes later, I know why the map marked 'Golden Oak Library' with a tree. Mainly, it actually is a tree, with a red door and, like, 10 windows and even a balcony with a telescope on it. I stand and gape for a second, probably looking extremely touristy, before shrugging inwardly and pushing the door open. It's just a library, and probably a tourist attraction too, which is cool. Doesn't really matter as long as it's a quality library.

It's actually smaller than the library back home, which I guess is probably a problem with making your library a tree, but it's nice and well lit, and not super full. Actually, the only ones inside are a delighted-looking purple unicorn and some kind of dragon, maybe? Both of them look like they work here.
"Hello," the unicorn exclaims, "My name's Twilight, and this is Spike. How may we help you?"
"By leaving me alone. I can handle myself." I reply, scanning the books on the shelves. Twilight looks somewhat disappointed, but she doesn't continue trying to 'help', which is more than I could say for the children's librarian at the library I used to go to. That old pegasus just couldn't leave well enough alone.

As I look around, it becomes increasingly apparent that this place is made for unicorns, or pegasi, maybe, although I'd heard from Nighty that flying up to get stuff is tiresome and annoying. I can't reach the higher shelves, and can't even look at the books on the top shelf. At least the stuff on the lower shelves is interesting. Eventually, I choose a book called Jobs for Ponies of Unusual Talent. I might as well see if there are any jobs for ponies like me, and even if there aren't (or they aren't in this book), which I highly expect what with the Cutie-Marks-for-things-like-arguing-are-literally-impossible thing, the book promises to be a good read.

I trot up to where Twilight is dusting and clear my throat. "Miss Twilight? Can anyone check out books here?"

Twilight spins around, smiling again. "Of course! Right this way."

I follow Twilight to the table in the center with the bust of a horse on it, where she levitates a library card and a stamp out from some compartment. "Okay. First, we have to get you signed up..."

.: • .:. • :.

A few minutes later, I walk out of the library with my new library card stuck into Jobs for Ponies of Unusual Talent, which is balanced on my back. I'm walking back home much more carefully than I had trotted out, in order to keep from dropping my load, but as long as there are no surprises, I should be able to get home no problem.

As soon as I think that, a pink blur rushes straight at me with a giant gasp. "Sweet cakes in Tartarus!" I exclaim, rearing up and batting at the pink missile with my forelegs.

The blur, which has resolved itself into an achingly pink earth pony mare, grins at me, her eyes going wide with delight. "Ooooh! That sounds great! Do you think there actually are sweet cakes in Tartarus? How amazing would that be?!? But it doesn't matter right now. I'm not a Cake, silly, I'm a Pie! And this is Ponyville, obviously. Tartarus is all dark and sad looking, and here isn't like that at all!"

I fall back onto my forelegs, staring at her in confusion. "...huh?" I manage after a second.

The pink mare gasps again, bringing her front hooves to her mouth in exaggerated horror. "Oh no! I completely forgot to introduce myself! How awful! Let's start again; Hi! I'm Pinkie Pie, and I'm super duper looper happy to meet you! You know why?"
"Why?" I ask, ears going back in case she starts shouting or something. Honestly, the way this is going, I wouldn't be surprised if she starts singing out of nowhere.

Thankfully, or not, she just grins wider and grabs my head with her hooves. "Because I've never met you before, and I know everyone in Ponyville, so if I don't know you, that means you're new! And if you're new, that means you haven't met anyone yet! And that means I can throw you a 'Welcome to Ponyville' party!!!"
"...Uh, you’ll have to check with my parents first. Pale blue house on Thistle Lane? I'm going over there right now if you want to ask them." I respond. Actually, a 'Welcome to Ponyville' party sounds cool, and watching Mom deal with this overexcited pink mare would be fun by itself.

Pinkie Pie gasps, actually seeming to lift off the lift off the ground with surprise. "More new ponies!?!?" she exclaims breathlessly, before turning in midair toward my house. I have a second to wonder whether it was such a good idea to give this mare my address before she explodes off in the direction of my house, leaving a boom and a rush of air in her wake.

After staring after her for a second, I turn and pick Jobs for Ponies up off the road and brush it off. Placing it back on my back and swallowing a few times to get the taste out of my mouth, I set off slowly toward the house. I stop for a second to admire the sunset; it's just as bright as it was at home. Also, I must have spent more time in the library than I thought, as it was just about midday when I left. Great, that means our stuff must have came.

I start moving again, slightly faster now. Usually I'm a bit of a night owl, but today all I want to do is get my room close to how I like it and fall asleep.

Author's Note

Hi, I realized that I forgot to include something last chapter. Mainly, Chrissie has her Cutie Mark! (Nighty, unfortunately, does not, but he doesn't seem to mind). The main reason I didn't just add Chrissie's Cutie Mark is that I unfortunately don't know what it looks like. I know what her special talent is -- glassblowing -- but my limited knowledge of the subject means that I can't think of a design for a Cutie Mark that isn't a pipe or a bubble. Does anyone have a suggestion?
Also, I'm sorry for taking a long time to upload a new chapter. I meant to have this finished and uploaded a few months ago, but life and a major case of writers block got in the way :twilightsheepish: .

Cutie Mark Crusaders, YAY!

It’s fully night by the time I got home, so the glow in the windows is even more noticeable. The curtains are drawn, so I can't see inside, and it's not unusual to have the lights on past dark, but the light coming through the curtains seems strange somehow, almost... pinkish, maybe? I don't know what it is, but I’m on alert as I open the door...

...And come face to face with a grinning Pinkie Pie. "WELCOME TO PONYVILLE!" she exclaims loudly, almost propelling me back a few centimeters.
"What took you so long?!? You almost missed the party!" she continues, vibrating in place. Looking past her, I saw that our empty little house had been transformed into party paradise while I was gone. The weird chandelier thing is completely festooned with streamers, and a disco ball is hung from it, even though that looks ridiculous. A small blue cannon is resting in the corner (no, I don't know why either), next to a plastic table covered with plates and party food -- pastel-frosted cupcakes, a bowl of assorted candy, corn chips with at least three different dips, miniature hayburgers, and no doubt more I can't see. Pop music plays from somewhere, and ponies are dancing in the middle of the floor. The furniture we brought with us was apparently shoved into a corner, where a sofa and two chairs sit forlornly. Mom is standing in front of the door to the rest of the house, scowling, while Dad is eating a cupcake.

Brushing past Pinkie, I walk over to where Dad is leaning against a wall. "My stuff is in my room?" I ask.
"Yup," Dad answers, sighing, "Most of our stuff's in boxes in the rest of the house. We barely had any time to unpack before this started." He waves a hoof at the party. Poor Dad; he probably just wanted to go to bed too.

I nod at him, then grab a lavender-topped cupcake and put it on a plate. After carefully placing it on top of Jobs for Ponies, I carefully set off towards my room. Navigating the dancing ponies is hard, and climbing the stairs is harder, but I've been doing this all my life and get to my room safely. My room looks pretty much the same as it had when I'd left, except for a pile of cardboard boxes in the middle of the room. I put the cupcake and book on the bedside table and look at the pile, which is almost twice as tall as me and looks to be precarious. Thankfully the box with bedding's on the top of the pile, so I can get to it easily, without having to worry about keeping the pile from falling apart. Getting it off the pile without dumping it on the floor's a bit of a trial, though; whoever brought my stuff up seems to have forgotten that, as an earth pony, I cannot use telekinesis to move things. I'm used to both of my parents forget this seemingly easy to remember fact, but it's still annoying.

Oh well, that doesn't matter. I can talk to my parents about this later; it might even be fun. For now, I have to make my bed. Hooray. I open the box, then take a bite of cupcake to get the taste of packing tape out of my mouth. Wow, this is a good cupcake. Whatever else I can say about Pinkie, she has good taste in baked goods. Not sure what the flavor is though; it tastes sort-of blueberryish, but there's something else there (besides an unhealthy dose of sugar). It doesn't matter; shaking my head, I turn back to the box and start unpacking. There's the mattress-cover thing, there's the sheets, there's the pillow, pillowcase, blanket, that's all I need right now, right?

After making my bed at least sleep-in-able (which was more trouble), I take a semi-celebratory bite of cupcake. Again, this thing is great. Wow. I probably shouldn't be having this much sugar right before going to sleep, but I definitely shouldn't leave it all night, so finishing it seems like the logical course of action. I can start Jobs for Ponies while I eat.

After climbing on to the bed with the paper plate the cupcake's on in my mouth, I set it down carefully on top of the blankets and reach for Jobs for Ponies. You know what doesn't taste good? That book. Jeez, with all the new inventions lately for making life easier for earth ponies (and others without telekinesis or dexterous wings), you'd think someone would make something to deal with bad tasting objects. I'm used to it, but that doesn't mean I like it. After propping the book up on a pillow I take another bite of cupcake for the taste. I swear I can almost recognize the extra taste, but can't put it into words -- beside 'really good'.

Enough fussing over a cupcake. I reach forward and nudge open Jobs for Ponies, then absently take another bite as I start reading.
Welcome, reader! Are you feeling lost? Struggling to find the right job, even though you've found your special talent? Many foals believe that their Mark will hold the answers to what they should do with their life, but the truth is that sometimes getting your Mark only opens up more questions. Sometimes there just isn't any clear choice for a career for your special talent, or you find yourself miserable in what you thought was your destined job. Don't worry, there's nothing wrong with you...

.: • .:. • :.

"...Hello?"

I turn my head to glare towards the door, but soften my gaze when I see that the doorway is occupied by a trio of hesitant foals. The one in the middle, a pale-yellow earth pony filly with a reddish mane tied back with a giant pink bow, clears her throat and speaks again. "Miss? Pinky told us to ta ask ya ta come back down. The party's at your house, after all."

I huff and shake my head. "Anytime else I'd say fine, but she didn't ask and we just got here, so I for one don't want to party right now." I reply, frowning.

The orange pegasus filly standing to the right flutters her wings in surprise. "But it's a Pinkie Party!" she exclaims, as if not wanting to go to a Pinky Party was the most surprising thing in the world.
"And I'm not in the mood," I reply, "and if Pinkie had asked before setting this up and waited for a better time, I'd probably be fine with it. As it is, sorry girls, but could you tell Pinkie I'm staying up here?"

All three fillies immediately droop, putting on their best 'about to cry' faces. Great, now I feel bad. It's just a party, there's no need to act like I bucked their puppy! "Woah, hey, what's with the act?" I exclaim, "You three can't seriously be this heartbroken that I don't want to come down."
"...Pinkie said she'd give us a special treat if we got you to come down." the orange Pegasus replies sheepishly after a second. The white unicorn to left adds, "And Pinkie makes the best baked goods in Ponyville!"

The fillies widen their eyes pleadingly and chorus, "So please come down!"

So now they're begging. Geez, Pinkie's baking must be awesome. I pause for a second, then shake my head. "I'm tired, I just had to spent most of the day on a train, and right now all I want to do is read this book and then go to bed. So you'll have to go down and tell Pinkie I said no thanks."
"Aww, come on!" the fillies reply in unison. Can't they just give up already? I turn back to my book. If I ignore them, they'll probably go away, right?

My guess is immediately proven false as a whirr and a small thump herald the Pegasus jumping onto my bed and almost climbing on top of me in an attempt to look at what I'm reading. "Getting The Right Message: How to find the real meaning of your Cutie Mark? What're you reading a book on Cutie Marks for?" she asks, her tone implying that reading a book on Cutie Marks -- or anything, probably -- was a waste of time.
"Ah didn' even know there were books about Cutie Marks. Tha' could be helpful!" the earth pony exclaims, climbing onto my bed and sitting next to my shoulder.

At her words, I take a closer look at the fillies I could see (obviously I could not see the Pegasus' flank without craning my neck, since she's currently straddling my back). Yep, all three of them are blank-flanks. Maybe I should've noticed that before...

"I'm reading a book on Cutie Marks 'cause it's interesting. That's really the only reason I need, isn't it?" I tell the Pegasus, flipping the page with my muzzle. "And also 'cause it might help me get a job, but still. My point still stands."
"What's your Cutie Mark for, anyway?" the unicorn asks, her muzzle uncomfortably close to my flank, "Hoof care?"
"Gymnastics?" volunteers the Pegasus.
"Uh... makin' ponies mad?" guesses the earth pony.
"Arguing," I answer, holding back a laugh, "but you were close."

All three fillies gasp. "Arguing? Really?" asks the Pegasus.
"That ain't possible!" the earth pony exclaims.

The unicorn seems confused. "...Are you sure?" she asks hesitantly.

I really don't need this now. I need to get to sleep. And my cupcake'll go bad. I take another bite, then reply, "Yes, I am sure. Maybe I'll share the story later. And yes, I know, arguing isn't the most common special talent. That's why I'm reading a book for ponies with 'unusual talents'. Now, can you please go? It's getting late, and as I've said a few times before, I'm tired. I'll probably see you three around, so if you really want to keep talking, we can talk next time we see each other. Ok?"

The three (two that I can see) droop again, and they all get off my bed and walk out the door. A green glimmer around the knob pulls the door closed after them. ...Great, now I feel like a monster again. I'm certain they're doing this on purpose.

Well, at least now I can finish my cupcake and get to sleep without any more interrupting. Uh, hopefully, knock on wood, all that. The last thing I need is the Dramatic Effect Gods to punish me for saying everything's gonna be ok. With my luck, I'd get Pinkie herself up here after me.

I took another bite of cupcake -- mm, good -- and refocused on my book.
Sometimes, Cutie Marks aren't the clearest things in the universe. I've known many foals who probably wish they got a message saying 'you're good at this' and a filled-in job application instead of a mysterious picture. If you or a friend are confused what your Mark means or the talent you think you have feels wrong, don't worry.

Author's Note

So, it's been a while (like always), but here's a new chapter! This one seems to be a little more thought-heavy; what do you think?
Speaking of your opinion, I have another story on here from a while ago. I'm thinking of rewriting it completely, but I'm not sure, so do you guys think you could take a few minutes to read it and tell me if I should delete it and try again?

Sugarcube Corner And More

I probably shouldn't have been reading my book while I ate. I ate slowly -- bending my head down to take a bite of cupcake meant not looking at the words -- and when I finished eating, I just set the plate aside because I was almost done with the chapter. Then the next chapter's title was so interesting I just wanted to read the first paragraph to find out what it was about, then I had to read the rest of the chapter, and then, long story short, I ended up waking up the next morning with Jobs For Ponies laying open on the bed and my muzzle keeping my page. Oops. At least I didn't drool...

After carefully putting the book on the bedside table -- using my map as a bookmark -- and stretching a little 'cause falling asleep reading makes me Tartarus-cursed sore, I turn to the pile of boxes in the center of my room. I should really do something about that... but first, food. I haven't had anything but a daisy sandwich, a bag of stale chips, and a cupcake since yesterday morning; of-bucking-course I'm hungry.

I quickly grab the plate from last night (paper plates stink like Tartarus if you leave them out) and go downstairs to the kitchen, only to find it full of boxes and mostly empty of food. The cupboards are open and empty, which I guess makes sense since we just moved here, but it’s still a pain. There is a box of Oat Flakes on the counter, which is better than nothing even if I think it's gross, but there's probably no milk in the fridge. Worth checking anyway, I guess, but I might have to head out for breakfast. I drop the plate in the trash casually as I try to move around the boxes to get to the fridge.
"You shouldn't bother," I hear from behind me, "we haven't had a chance to get food yet."

I turn around and see my dad standing at the kitchen entrance. "Well, I guess I'm eating out then. I'll grab some groceries while I'm out, ok?" I reply. I turn to leave, but stop when Dad clears his throat.
"Listen, sweetie... I know this move must have been stressful for you. If there's anything we can do to help..." He trails off, but I know what he means. And also what I'll say.
"Let me go home." I say it in a sarcastic tone, but I mean it, and Dad knows I mean it, and maybe that's why he seems a little sad when he smiles back and says "Anything else."
"Then I want a dog." I've been asking for various pets since I was in primary school, and I expected the same 'We aren't ready for a pet yet, sweetie' that I've heard every time, but it's worth a try.

Apparently I’m right to try, because Dad's response is "I'll talk to your mother" instead of a refusal. As he leaves, I smile to myself. I shouldn't get my hopes up, but maybe I'll at least be getting a dog out of this mess.

Now, for food. First I take a second look at my map to find out where the grocery store and the nearest restaurant that seem like they serve breakfast are. There really isn't much choice -- just a small out of the way place called The Daisy Café, a bakery/restaurant named Sugarcube Corner, and the cheerful-looking Lucky Clover Eatery. Of course, I choose Sugarcube Corner. Who wouldn't want baked goods for breakfast? Besides, it’s relatively close, and the map said there's a marketplace nearby so I can get groceries afterwards without trotting all over town. That's the excuse I can give Mom if she fusses, anyway.

Replacing my map in Jobs For Ponies, I bump my door closed and trot downstairs. I take care to close the door to the house quietly, since I don't want to wake Mom up just yet, and start off down the street.

.: • .:. • :.

What is with Ponyville and weird-looking businesses? Sugarcube Corner looks like someone took the winning entry in the Annual Nightmare Night Gingerbread House Festival and turned it into a real house. There's even bucking fake peppermints on the walls! I mean, usually I'm not one to fuss about other's design choices -- Pretty Ribbons has always done enough fussing for the whole town -- but seriously? The roof looks like it's lined with frosting. Why.

After a few more seconds of unashamedly staring, I shake myself and go inside. What the building looks like doesn't matter, right now I just care about what the food tastes like. The inside isn't quite as... food-like... as the outside, but it's still a bit over-the-top. Why do I still care? I have no idea.

Anyway. There's a display case under the counter that's immediately visible to anyone walking in the door, staffed by a nervous-looking sky-blue earth pony mare with a mane that looks like pink toothpaste. Off to the side there are tables, so someone can sit down and enjoy their food. The display case is filled with tasty-looking cakes, pies, cupcakes, and other things, and I can already tell I'll be spending a lot of time here.

I trot up to the counter, smiling at the nervous mare. "What's in that pie?" I ask, pointing to a cut-open pie filled with some sort of dark berry mash.
"Blackberries, fresh this morning!" the mare exclaims, although she still seems nervous. "We have a sale today, by the way. Two slices of any pie for only 6 jangles!"

I look to the menu board and see that usually one slice of pie is 4 jangles; that's a fairly good deal. I check to make sure I have 6 jangles to spare in my bag, then put them on the counter. "Two slices of blackberry pie then. Thank you ma'am." I reply.

The mare hurries to cut two slices out of the pie and give me a plate, which I carry to one of the booths. After the usual nonsense of getting the plate from my back to the table without making a mess (it'd probably be easier to just carry it with my mouth, but I prefer to see where I'm going) I take a bite and immediately decide that yes, I'll be spending a lot of time here while I'm in Ponyville, if all the baked goods they sell are as good as this. Only the fact that handling a fork requires concentration and taking things slowly keeps me eating at a normal pace.

.: • .:. • :.

I've finished my first piece of pie and am starting my second when someone behind me suddenly announces "It's the next time we see each other! Can we talk now?"

Startled, I drop my fork and turn around, coming muzzle-to-muzzle with the yellow earth pony filly I'd met last night. The unicorn who'd spoken sits to her left, and the pegasus is on her right. For a second I just blink at them, then I remember that I should respond, but all I can come up with is "...What?"
"Las' night ya said if we wanted ta keep talkin', we could do it next time we see each other," the earth pony filly elaborates, "An' now it's the next time we see each other." Well, I can't really deny that, although I hadn't expected they'd take what I said so... literally. "Um, ok," I respond, still slightly off-balance, "Come over here, then. It's easier to talk if we're comfortable."

At my invitation, the pegasus literally jumps over the wall-thing dividing the booths and, with the help of her wings, glides over the table and lands in the seat across from me. Fortunately, the other two don't try the same stunt and just walk over, the unicorn holding a large milkshake with three straws in it.
"So... why do you still want to talk to me?" I ask, picking up my fork again. The fillies look at me as though it should be obvious.
"We wanted to know how you got a Cutie Mark for arguing. I thought that wasn't possible!" the unicorn exclaims before taking a big sip of milkshake.

Yeah, I probably should have figured that out. It's true that, technically, my Cutie Mark isn't possible, and if it was someone else who had it I would be asking questions too. I'd like to think I'd ask more tactfully, though. "Sure, I can tell, but there isn't much of a story to it." I say. The fillies just watch me wide-eyed, making it obvious that they want to hear anyway.
"Ok then, prepare for disappointment, but here we go. So, I used to live in a little town even smaller than Ponyville, and we didn't have many big businesses there like this place, just a market where most of the stalls are owned by one family. I think you all have a marketplace like that too, but I might as well explain. So, in the market, most people change their prices based on how much money they think they can get out of you, and it's generally expected that you haggle the price down to something you're willing to pay. All I was doing was haggling with the old goat who sells potatoes, 'cause mom needed some for a new recipe she found, and my flank glowed and I got my cutie mark. Simple as that."

As I finish talking, the foals blink in almost synchronized confusion (wow) and the earth pony speaks up. "Tha's all? Ya got your Cutie Mark jus' hagglin'?"
"Told you you'd be disappointed. Sorry if you all were expecting more, but not everyone had a grand revelation of some sort." I reply, a bit more crossly than I'd meant to, but that doubting tone was starting to remind me of how my mom reacted.

The unicorn sighs and puts her head on the table sadly. "Sorry miss, it's just... we were hoping there was something to the story that could help us get our Cutie Marks." she says, and the other two nod droopily.

Great, now I feel bad for some reason. Rude. Foals shouldn't use their powers for evil. "Look, you... what're your names anyway?" my train of thought derails as I realize that I don't even know their names yet.

Apparently the chance to introduce themselves cheers them right up, as they all sit straight up and grin.
"I'm Sweetie Belle!"
"Ah'm Apple Bloom!"
"I'm Scootaloo!"
"And we're..."
"THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS! YAY!!!"

The other people at Sugarcube Corner turn and glare at our table, then turn back to their meals with the look of ponies who are used to this behavior. My ears, at least, are not used to this behavior, and I rub one with a hoof to hopefully make some of the ringing go away as I stare at the Crusaders.
"Well, that's great. It isn't possible to introduce yourselves in an inside voice?" I grumble. The fillies shake their heads cheerfully. "Great."

My fork scrapes the plate and I look down to see that I've apparently finished eating during the conversation. I look back up at the foals and smile at them as I put my plate on my back. "Ok, this was a fun conversation, but I sort of need to go now? I've got groceries to buy. See you all later, hopefully?" Really, I sort of hope it'll be a while until I next see the Crusaders, but it's good to be polite. The three of them look sad to see me go, but when I look back after trashing my plate they're sipping their milkshake and chattering like they hadn't been talking to me a second ago. That's fine by me.

I leave Sugarcube Corner mostly happy and full, and turn in the direction I think the market is. Time to get some food.

.: • .:. • :.

It took longer than I expected to get to the market, and even longer to find and buy everything I think we need, so it's almost lunchtime and my hooves and voice are sore by the time I get back to the house. At least the boxes in the kitchen have been mostly unpacked and moved out of the way now and the cupboards are full of cookbooks and cooking supplies like they should be. With most of the boxes empty and folded up, it's easy to get to the fridge and put the fresh produce, milk, and bread away relatively neatly (Mom can organize it as she likes later). I'm going up to my room to tackle my own unpacking when I hear my parents talking in the hall and, like any foal would, stop to listen.
"Do you really think she's ready?" my mom asks, her hooves clacking on the floor as she probably trots in place anxiously. Then there's a pause, probably my dad nodding.
"But there's so much going on in her life right now. Moving, looking for trade schools and such, and --"
"That's exactly why she needs this." Wait, go back a bit. What was that 'and' for? What's the third thing?
"Are you sure she's responsible enough?" Rude. I'm plenty responsible, look who was just out getting food for all of us?
"I'm sure. She needs this, Honey, you know that." Thank you, Dad. At least if they're arguing about what I think they're arguing about.
"But --" If they're going to keep going in circles, it's no use eavesdropping. I go back to the kitchen, close the fridge a bit more loudly, and yell "I'm home! We have food now!"

The murmur of voices I could still hear from the kitchen immediately stops and I instead hear two sets of hoofsteps come down the stairs. A orangey-gold aura surrounds the fridge handle before Mom is even in the kitchen, and I have to step back to keep from getting hit with the door. Very rude. "I'm 'a get a start on my own unpacking, so I'll get my own lunch later, 'K?" I say as the loaf of bread, block of cheese, lettuce bunch, and one tomato float out of the fridge, then I trot past Mom and Dad and up the stairs to my bedroom.

I actually can't do much unpacking right now, since I'll need to paint the room at some point and it's easier to cover all the boxes with a tarp or something in case of splatters than to move all the things I have to somewhere else. However, I can probably move what little clothes and shoes I own into the closet and move the boxes into something an earth pony can deal with easily instead of the messy tower they're in right now.

First thing, I go to the two boxes left slightly to the side of the stack, the ones marked 'FRAGILE' with my messy mouthwriting and then later with an official-looking stamp, and shift them into the back of the closet, where they'll hopefully be safe. The things in those boxes are important, and I don't want any of them to be broken accidentally. Then, much less carefully, I topple Mount Boxes. Most of them are taped shut, so nothing spills out, although there are some heavy clunks as they hit the ground. I don't need to worry though, nothing in those boxes will get any more beat up from that than it has from being in my room, and besides, I packed stuff carefully enough. The pile is much easier to deal with knocked over, so it only takes me a minute to find the box marked 'CLOTHES'. I unload the contents of it into my closet: a few dresses for special occasions, a couple of winter coats, some scarves, and a few sets of shoes. The closet is big enough that it still looks empty.

Next I move the boxes that were upside-down or on their sides so they're right-side up, and push them into the corner near my bed so a tarp could more easily cover both those things. That's enough unpacking for the day, I think. I climb into bed, grab Jobs for Ponies again, and settle in to read until dinner.

.: • .:. • :.

"Sweetheart! Dinnertime!"

I look up from a list of Jobs most Ponies Don't Know About and stretch again, then call down "I'll be down in a sec!", reaching for my map/bookmark with one hoof. After my place is marked and the book, now more than half finished, is placed on the bedside table, I walk downstairs to the dining room, which isn't part of the kitchen anymore. I guess that's an improvement over our old house, although for me it means if I make myself a snack, I have longer to carry it. Dinner today is apparently sandwiches, which is fine by me even if it probably means the oven doesn't work yet. Mom wouldn't pass up a chance to cook and doesn't consider sandwiches and such 'real' cooking, even if her cheese and dandelion sandwiches are delicious. I rag on Mom for a lot, but I can't fault her cooking: she could probably make grilled fish tasty. I take a seat, wash my hooves, and pick up my sandwich. Before I dig in, however, I say as casually as I can, "So, can I have a dog?"

Mom puts her sandwich down and wipes her mouth delicately before speaking. "Sweetie, you know --"
"Yes. If you can find a place that sells them. We didn't find any pet stores here and we're not going out of town." Dad interrupts. Mom raises her eyebrows at him, and he leans over and nuzzles her.
"Ugh, not at the dinner table, please? But also thank you." I say, smiling before taking another bite. The cheese tastes different than I'm used to, but not necessarily bad.
"It will be your responsibility," Mom says worriedly, "You'll have to train it and feed it and take it out, remember. It's not just a furry friend."

I roll my eyes. "I know, Mom. You aren't gonna change my mind."
"I know, I'm not trying to, it's just... you're growing up..."

I take another bite of sandwich without responding. I've been growing up for a long time. I've been nearly grown up for a long time. I'm almost too old to be called a foal, and Mom's acting like I'm a filly just starting secondary school.

Mom waited a few seconds, then turned to Dad. "So, how was your day, hun?"

I tune them out as they start to talk about job hunting and such and focus on finishing my sandwich. I have something I want to look at as soon as I can get up to my room.
"May I be excused?" I ask as soon as I finish, already standing up and picking up my plate. Mom nods without looking at me, engrossed in her conversation on how much it would cost to have someone look at our oven. I drop off the plate at the sink and hurry up to my room.

Once there, I walk over to the box corner and look for one in particular. After finding and opening it, I dig through the contents, hoping past me had thought to leave this near the top. Luckily she/I had, and it only took a few minutes before I was crawling into bed with my prize. Soon, I was eagerly opening my worn copy of Dog Breeds of Equestria. Jobs for Ponies could wait.

Author's Note

And once again, this took way too long to get finished and published. Hopefully now that I'm not as busy, I'll be updating this more often than once every few months :facehoof:
Thanks to everyone who's still here :heart:

Next up: a short chapter on the ponies we left behind :twilightsmile:

Letters, #1

Fortunately, I put my book away before I went to sleep last night. Of course, the only reason for that is that I finished it, and the only reason I finished it before I fell asleep was that it's mostly pictures. However, the point is I put my book away and fell asleep at a... not too unreasonable hour, and therefore am able to wake up before my parents as usual without being too tired. I try to be quiet when I climb out of bed and go downstairs; I like having the morning to myself. Before getting something to eat, I go to check the mailbox mostly out of habit and, to my surprise, actually find something there besides ads and the daily paper. Putting the aforementioned ads and paper on the table, I look at the letter I got, with a sparkly bat sticker holding it closed instead of wax and Ray ❤ written on the back in Chrissie's loopy hornwriting. I hadn't expected them to write this soon, but it's definitely a welcome surprise. I open it as carefully as possible to not rip the sticker, and prop the letter up on the salt shaker to read as I eat.

Dear Ray,

Sorry, this is super soon, but we missed you so much! Chrissie's practically been crying. It's sweet. I have not! Don't listen to Nighty, he's a dirty liar Yeah right Stop stealing the letter. Anyway, we missed you a bunch, so I guess we're a bunch has happened since you left!

First of all, Nighty's decided to pierce his other wing, so he's an idiot Excuse you, you two were the ones who were so upset about symmetry. And you were whining for months after you did the first one. I was not whining. You totally were. Ray, you remember? He wouldn't shut up. So anyway, Nighty's being stupid, so please write back and tell him to not do it, I don't want to listen to him whine all the time again. Rude. You're rude. Also, Miss Twisty Cane says she'll teach me a new spell soon if I keep working hard! I'm so excited! She's been talking about it non stop since she heard the news. I'm really excited, and also shut up. On other news, Pretty Ribbons is talking about renovating that old theatre. I doubt it'll go anywhere, but it's being talked about. I think she'll do it. She's sounding all serious about returning it to its 'former glory' or whatever and looking for pictures of it in it's 'prime' so she can do it right. She was even trying to put together a petition! I'll be impressed if she manages it. Maybe we underestimated her. So anyway we'll totally keep you posted on that ❤ That's all for now, I think. We'll write you again soon. We look forward to hearing from you!
Love,
Crystal Goblet and Dark Night

The letter itself is ripped and wrinkled, Chrissie's loopy writing and Nighty's more careful script fighting for space on the page, and I can imagine Chrissie and Nighty grabbing the paper from each other and reading over the other's shoulder as they wrote it. It's nice to hear of home, even if I've only been gone for a couple days. I finish the piece of toast I'd grabbed, then grab a piece of paper and a quill. Dear Chrissie and Nighty, I started, It's nice to hear from you. First of all, Nighty, it's your body, but do you really need another piercing?...

Author's Note

Bonus shorty chapter, because I haven't updated for ages! So, here's Chrissie and Nighty again, and a little more of Ray's old town. Next time they'll have more to talk about, but Ray's only been gone for a day or so, so not much new has happened.

I didn't write all of Ray's letter this time. Do you all want me to? I rather like this end, but it'd also be nice to have the whole reply there.