Rainbow over Trottingham

by Jackelope

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Other, Romance, Pipsqueak, Cheerilee, Featherweight
Length: 24124

Featherweight has been feeling some peculiar feelings for his best friend Pipsqueak as of late. Maybe it’ll take a class field trip to his friend’s home city of Trottingham to understand them.

Cheerilee’s class is on a field trip to Trottingham, which was severely under-researched before it was commenced. Whilst the entire class has been distraught over the low-tragedy of the weekend they’re about to endure, Featherweight is far too confused to be sad or angry about their bad luck. Fortunately, his best friend Pipsqueak is there to accompany him on this venture. However, the silver lining of misfortune to that fact is that Pipsqueak is the source of Featherweight’s confusion!

Through the disaster and rain, Trottingham will reveal to Featherweight what his symptoms are the cause of, and cure him of his discombobulation…

THIS WAS A REQUEST
This fic marks the end of my 'old' requests. This fic, if I am to be honest, went through the literary equivalent of development hell. I, to this day, have no clue as to why this was so difficult to write. Perhaps it was because I had a style of writing firmly implanted in my head that I wanted to do, but I had to keep it consistent with how I wrote the rest of it so after a while - with no offence to the person who requested this - writing it became painful. It prevented me from dedicated time to larger projects, and it was sucking all my drive and motivation to keep writing. Now that this is done, I can finally move onto other things, such as putting more effort back into Learning to Love as well as some larger side fictions. Anyway, I hope that you like this despite its shortcomings. Leave a dislike if it is deserving. Ciao. :twilightsmile:

Published 2019-01-24 19:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-01-24 19:10:01 UTC

Chapter 1: Downpour

Rain. Lots and lots of rain. An abundance of it that can’t be understated. It was as if the entire ocean was being poured through a sieve, like a million yaks had taken to spitting on the ground from the heavens, or that the whole crowd at a Sapphire Shores and Songbird Serenade duet concert were told they had cancelled.

The entire class saw it from the ferry, and more than a few voiced their distinct displeasure, namely Diamond Tiara and Silverspoon. Although the annoyance didn’t encompass the whole class, the infamous trio of Scootaloo, Applebloom and Sweetie Belle were just ecstatic to bring their particular brand of chaos to another place in the world. Feather swore there was something sinister going on in their group, and that the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’ was merely a front for an amateur cult that had barely expanded in membership past the initial three. Needless to say, Featherweight had to be persuaded on more than one occasion not to run that particular story.

“Cheer up, everypony, I’m sure it’s just a bad rain day. It’ll pass soon,” Cheerilee assured the class, who were all lined up on the starboard side with horrid expressions upon the face. “I’m sure it will,” Cheerilee said again, unsure, furrowing her brows and placing a hoof on her chin. “It must,” she uttered once more, the corner of her lip pulling back into a grimace.

Featherweight cast an apologetic look at Cheerilee, looking at her past all the open maws of horror and sheer looks of disappointment held by most of the class. He felt terrible by proxy, again, cringing when he looked upon the city they were ever getting closer to. “I don’t think Cheerilee expected it to be like this,” he remarked.

“Culture, rich ‘istory, the birthplace of many great ponies and many sights to see. I don’t blame Cheerilee for thinking it’s a Prance on a budget,” Pipsqueak shrugged as he said his consolatory remark, giving Featherweight a pursed-lip smile.

“M-maybe everypony will cheer up when the rain stops,” Featherweight attempted to inject optimism in his words, trying to see the silver lining like he could in the many clouds hanging over the city. Whose idea was it to put so many clouds over a town? he asked internally, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” Pipsqueak concurred, smiling with some teeth, “it’ll be great. Cobbled streets, restaurants, and plenty of fun places to see. I think if I remember there being the autumn time fa-”

“Outta the way!” Rumble’s panicked voice sounded as he charged through the ferry door, his cheeks bulging out as he threw his head over the side of the boat between Twist and Applebloom, vomiting the contents of his stomach into the water as his wings flared out from behind him. A series of ‘ewws’ erupted from all the school colts and fillies. Rumble looked up, haggard. “R-rain, that means... clouds!” he exclaimed, ecstatic, sighing in relief at seeing something more familiar and still.

This prompted smiles from the class, some shaking their heads at the bizarrity. “At least somepony is happy to see the rain,” Featherweight remarked.

“Yeah,” Pipsqueak concurred, “you know, we shouldn’t let it put a damp’ner on things. Why should rain stop us having fun?”

“Right,” Featherweight smiled at him, nodding. After the other colt looked away to set his sights back on his home city, Featherweight caught himself staring overly long at the confident visage of his friend before forcing himself to look upon Trottingham, grimacing at the familiar feeling of weightlessness in his gut.

Galloping, hooves smashing on the cobbled stones, heart pumping; every unfamiliar pair of eyes on him. Those were the primary things that Featherweight acknowledged as Cheerilee and the class galloped to their place of stay. It was surreal to him that mere rain was all it took was to make a such an atmosphere of intensiveness that’d more befit a scary story than just a bunch of foals who didn’t want to get their manes and coats wet. Although, he was sure that if anypony in the class did feel genuine fear about being under such rainfall, it’d be Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon; their expression looking somewhere balanced precariously between pure horror and seething rage. The same sentiment couldn’t be extended to Rumble, whose gallop was more like a hasty canter, and exuded relief from every pore.

“I’ve forgotten what it feels like to not have rain falling on my head,” moaned Snails, his sparse orange mane clinging to his head.

“At least you can feel your head,” gripped Snips in his trademark drawl, his hair hanging over his eyes. “I don’t even remember what having one feels like.”

“Yeah, this rain is annoying,” replied Snails.

“What about it?” Snips retorted, clueless.

Featherweight tried to survey his surroundings, as scarce he could consider his current state, the rain falling so heavily that it forced his eyes to blink the droplets away often. Trottingham looked as though parts of it were frozen in the past, with rustic wooden houses often plonked between those of stone, but somehow the brown wood and grey stone seamlessly blended together; making it fit, look natural despite the dichotomy. What’s more, Featherweight saw chocolatiers and cobblers next to arcades and general clothing stores. From looking at the sky, one could see the sunlight pouring all over the surroundings, the clouds ironically acting as a natural umbrella for the warmth and light of Celestia’s satellite. In a way, Trottingham was a city of contrasts, and upon that thought, Pipsqueak and his mottled coat flashed in Featherweight’s mind.

Pipsqueak ran alongside him Featherweight. The expression he wore wasn’t dissimilar to anypony else’s, that being, a simple grimace and squinted eyes to keep the rain from disrupting his view. “Are we nearly there?” his voice was raised in volume to sound over the rainfall, directed to Miss Cheerilee.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, the school teacher’s coat was a shade darker it was so damp. “T-the hotel Regalia should be somewhere around here.”

“’Should?’” reiterated Diamond Tiara, whining.

“Y-yes, any second now we should run into it.”

“’Should!’” Diamond said again, fuming.

Featherweight extended silent sympathy toward his teacher as they turned a corner onto what yet again appeared to be just a regular cobbled street. However, this was marked by a sigh of relief, so sharp Featherweight heard it despite the rain. “There!” Cheerilee announced with cheer, running ahead with mirth as the class followed her, Featherweight holding his breath.

She led them to a nondescript, non-detached, and non-invitatory establishment. The bricks were faded pink, with a wooden sign hanging from two rusted chains jutting out from the building that just said ‘Regalia’ in admittedly fancy looking cursive. Light barely peeked out behind two tattered curtains in the large bay windows that flanked either side of the door. Featherweight felt immediately apprehension in his gut, an anxiousness he was sure extended to the rest of the class. Regardless, Cheerilee hurriedly pushed down upon the handles and practically threw herself in, all of the school ponies pouring in behind her with varying degrees of reluctance on their face.

After he blinked away the raindrops, Featherweight immediately set his eyes upon the new surroundings. Dim was the word that called to him the loudest as he looked around, sat upon the thin red carpet. There was a single chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but it was a very tall ceiling. He looked at the floor and saw several white spots where wax had undoubtedly fallen from the high hanging source of light and hardened upon the floor. He looked around him, and besides the young ponies shaking themselves free of rainwater and generally just being relieved to be out of the rain, there was nopony here. There was, however, a vacant counter and upon it was a lone shiny call bell. Compared to the peeling wallpaper, the profusely scratched and nicked rails on the stairway and the many creepy and faded paintings upon the wall, that bell was the only ‘new’ looking object in the entire establishment.

“Um, wait here, class,” Cheerilee instructed, her hoof steps were as visibly anxious as Featherweight felt; eventually coming to hold her forehoof out over the bell, tapping it and producing a high pitched ring that sent shivers through Featherweight’s body like a gust of cold air. “Hello? Anypony?” she called out, continuously tapping the bell repeatedly.

Suddenly, a loud thunderous bang sounded from above, shaking the dust and some of the chandelier’s candle wax down to the floor; attracting the eye of everyone to the ceiling, their faces aghast. Twist gulped, looking from side to side.

“What was that?”

“That’s just, Calvino!” a cheery voice erupted from behind the counter, prompting every pair of the class’ eyes to land on the new pony, all hopping back in fear at his sudden arrival; Cheerilee’s eyes parted wide in alarm. The stallion physically looked young, his deep dark blue coat was trimmed short, and his face lagged the sag of age, but hard purple lines were etched beneath his eyes and the stallion’s cheeks had several pronounced unshaved black hairs. Furthermore, he was dressed in a painfully unwashed uniform, a red dress jacket and an accompanying fez atop a black mane; each sporting stains of something that Featherweight couldn’t deduce. “I’m hmm-mhh-uh and what can I do for all of you young and lovely faces?”

“Um…” teetered Cheerilee, visibly taken aback by the outright eccentricity of the stallion, blinking.“We’re the, uh, Ponyville class scheduled to stay here this weekend,” she ended, wearing something of a smile, although Featherweight could tell it was hard for her to do so. “I’m Miss Cheerilee. We sent the bags via pegasus delivery… r-right?”

“Class... Class…. Ponyville…. Ponyville…” the stallion tightened his expression, his hoof coming to his chin in thought before his eyes parted and he looked at Cheerilee with a wide toothy smile. “Is Ponyville where that delightful delivery mare with golden eyes was sent from?”

“Yes! That’s Derpy Hooves,” Cheerilee answered, a relieved smile on her face.

“And is Ponyville where the Elements of harmony reside?” he asked.

“Yeah, one of them’s mah sister!” Applebloom interjected, waving her hoof with a hint of pride in her smile.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, although he quickly resumed his unsure expression. “And you said you’re Miss Cheerilee?”

“Yes…?” she arched her brow, tilting her head.

“And you’re the teacher of ponyville schoolhouse?” he inquired further; jutting forward his neck and looking at Cheerilee with one wide amber eye.

“Uh… yes?” she answered, perplexed. “B-but I already told you th-”

“Good news!” he interrupted, the exclamation taking everyone by surprise. “We do have your bag!”

“Oh good,” Cheerily replied, body relaxing with ease. “Wait,” her body stiffening and brows lowering skeptically, “Bag? A-as in singular?”

“Of course!” he confirmed cheerily. “Oh, Dilap!” he called, his voice melodious.

Like some bizarre play, all the ponies followed where the receptionist’s eyes went to next, a dull wood door by the stairwell. It creaked open in almost deliberately slow manner, all the class reared back, bracing themselves for whatever horror lunged out from behind the shadow of that door.

“Y-yae?” a meek, elderly and accented voice called back. A frail old earth pony stallion was its owner, and he walked with a laborious slowness from out the darkness of the room. He was dressed similarly to the stallion at the counter; his uniform neat and clean. His coat was grey, his mane grey, everything about the stallion looked old; almost as if this was his destiny from youth. Additionally, when he stood still his entire form quivered, his legs ready to fall out beneath him at any moment. Featherweight looked him with a worried grimace, his body almost willing him to go rush to the stallion’s aid. However, there was a striking feature about the stallion that earnt a raised brow. His eyes were a lemon-like shade of yellow, which created a dichotomy with the rest of the stallion, as they looked the most youthful.

“Would you please get the lovely madam her bag?” the receptionist asked sweetly, looking at Cheerilee as he spoke.

“A-aye, sir,” he complied, retreating back into the room whence he came at farrago speed of fast yet vexingly slow.

“He’ll be just a moment,” the stallion behind the counter informed, smiling with way too many teeth.

All the students looked to the open door. The trepidation had already left them but was instead replaced with the realisation of the abode’s quality. It wasn’t scary, nor was it haunted, it was just incredibly dross. The class had only experienced their first case of bad customer service.

“Any moment,” the receptionist informed, still wearing the smile, which had already become obnoxious to Featherweight. “Any moment now.”

Several deadening minutes passed. Much of the class, Cheerilee included, had resorted to sitting on their flanks; eyes glued to the door. Featherweight could the dust setting on his open eyes, prompting him to rub his eyes and drag his hooves down his cheeks, sighing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity; a few minds considering the prospect they had landed themselves in Tartarus unknowingly, the old stallion finally appeared from the void of his quarters.

Dilap plodded into the light, Featherweight cringing at the familiar suitcase the old stallion balanced on his back. The faded green box was carefully placed upon the floor, the decrepit stallion taking a few steps back and smiling a partially toothless smile; the oddly placed triumph in the smile only made Featherweight feel more guilty for his fortune. Featherweight shyly emerged out from the other students, the feeling of many envious and angry eyes upon him as he approached the case. He looked at Dilap with a smile he found painful to wear. “Thank you,” he expressed his gratitude weakly, grabbing the grip of the large suitcase between his teeth and cowering back into the gathering of students, stopping next to Pipsqueak who flashed him an empathetic smile.

Cheerilee sighed, looking glancing to the class and Featherweight could see remorsefulness in her eyes. “Alright,” she began, looking to the still grinning receptionist, “can we get the keys to our rooms?”

“Sure thing, madam! I’ll be right back!” he said as he zipped beneath the counter, disappearing. Just as the class and Featherweight prepared to release a sigh of annoyance, he materialised from out under the counter; carrying a wicker basket, dropping it on the desk with an audible jingle. “Here you go! Sixteen rooms, plus board, for your sleeping pleasure!”

“But…” Cheerilee began, sounding exhausted, “there’s nineteen of us.”

“Oh,” the stallion began, for the first time sounding something other than jovial. “Well, I’m wholly sorry for that. And I’m afraid we’re completely booked!”

“Really?” Cheerilee retorted in disbelief before sighing into her hoof. “We’d just have to make do,” she said resentfully, turning to the class, walking to them. “I’m sorry, class. But it looks like a few of you have to have to share your rooms.”

“But if there’s nineteen of us and sixteen rooms, while true one of us has to be in a two, one of us has to group up in a three at least,” informed Snails, earning the eye of every classmate. “What?”

“We’ve got that covered,” Scootaloo announced, wrapping her hooves around Applebloom and Sweetie Belle with a grin.

“Good,” Cheerilee exhaled, likely feeling relieved something went smoothly today. “So… any takers for who want to share the double?” At this most the class began to shift in their places, awkwardly looking from side to side at each other, Cheerilee sighed. “Come on, ponies. Does the idea of sharing a bed sound that bad to you? Diamond Tiara, Silver Spoon, you’re best friends. Why not share?”

“Ugh,” Diamond Tiara cried, self-entitlement exuding from every inch of her, “we can’t do that. We’ll get our natural scents all mixed up with each other. And thanks to a certain somepony we don’t have all of our perfumes!”

Cheerilee rolled her eyes. “Snips, Snails?”

“Er,” Snails began, looking to Snips.

“What she said!” the two of them said in unison, prompting a growl of frustration from Cheerilee.

“Anypony?” she asked, desperation in her voice.

Featherweight looked at Pipsqueak next to him, giving him a half smile, gesturing to Cheerilee with a shrug. Pipsqueak exhaled, and he raised his hoof, looking at Cheerilee exasperated. “Me and Featherweight will do it.”

Cheerilee sighed, relieved. “Good. Thank you colts,” she nodded to them, reluctantly turning back to the counter.

“And will that be all, madam?” he asked, innocent enough, again wearing his smile.

“Yes, thank you,” she told him, before grabbing the basket between her teeth; turning back to her students and placing it on the floor. “Come on, students. Each of you pick a key and go to your room. I can tell each of you are exhausted and annoyed,” she mumbled the last part, “so let’s all get an early night and start again in the morning. It’s a new day after all. A fresh start.”

“Why do I get the feeling she’s saying that for her own benefit,” Pipsqueak muttered, deadpan.

One by one the students filed in a line at the basket, picking a key out like a raffle ticket. What the prize was they weren’t sure, but most of them were sure each was a winner, but none of them believed they were going to be elated by the reward they were going to receive. Featherweight and Pipsqueak were last in line, and at the bottom of the basket there resided a single lonely key; the tag attached by a piece of thin white string was the number ‘12’ written on the red card in gold. Featherweight looked sideways at Pipsqueak, who gestured toward the key with a shrug. “Number twelve it is,” Pipsqueak watched Featherweight lean down to pick up the keys between his teeth; the lithe colt gripping the tag by the edge, reluctant to take more of it in his mouth than necessary.

As they walked toward the stairwell, following Cheerilee, the stallion behind the counter looked at them with mirthful eyes; also his broad beam of a smile. “Enjoy your stay.”

The smile became creepy again, Featherweight thought, hastening his pace.

The stairs creaked with every single step they took, causing Featherweight to recoil with every single one of them. The first flight ended with taking an immediate sharp turn, and they went further on, before finally finishing the first flight on a hallway of doors, marked by yet another staircase at the end. Featherweight watched as he passed them the faces of every pony who opened the doors to their room, each one pulling a face of varying disgust and disappearing inside it before he could peek into what possibly awaited him in his own room. One of the accommodations he passed was similar to the others, exempting the garish ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob; the smiley face above the ‘i’ screamed it the work of the receptionist. Is this Calvino? he asked internally before his attention was torn away by a voice.

“‘Ere’s us!” Pipsqueak called from near the end of the hall, trying hard to wear a smile. “Wanna let us in then?”

“O-oh, right,” Featherweight responded around the key, flustered. He cantered to Pipsqueak, using his wings to balance the suitcase on his back, the contents of which jolted around and send him careening from left to right; causing his friend to chortle at his awkwardness. Featherweight was given a sad frown by Cheerilee as she entered her room – the one next to his. Finally applying brakes, Featherweight looked to Pipsqueak with a blush, who then nodded toward the door and prompting Featherweight to swiftly slam the key into its hole; turning it with a satisfying ‘clunk’ of the lock. Featherweight spat the taste of copper from his mouth, looking at the knob with reluctant discernment. “D-do you want to do the honours?” he inquired with no spirit.

“Nope,” Pipsqueak answered drily, “but I’ll do it anyway.”

Pipsqueak raised his hoof, slowly, as if it were hefting a significant burden. He looked to Featherweight one last time before he turned the brass handle, clicking open the door and allowing it to swing open, both of their mouths dropping open. It was unexpectedly more terrible than either of their already abysmal expectations. Pipsqueak, being the braver of the two, was the first to step inside; Featherweight immediately followed.

The only source of light, a fresh candle on the bedside table, revealed more to the room than they wanted honestly to see. Flaked off paint, cold pouring in from some doubtlessly unseen crevice, and many dark corners. Featherweight suspected something lurking within them, an irrational fear that unintentionally brought Featherweight closer to Pipsqueak’s side, prompting him to deliberately take a step away as they entered the room proper; closing the door behind them. They looked around their weekend abode in silence, likely because their voices were snatched away from shock. Featherweight walked to the right side of the room, eyeing the curtains before yanking one of them open, giving him the perfect view of another building’s stern and the mountains of rainwater. “We have a view,” he informed sardonically, smiling limply at his friend.

“Bedspread’s clean,” Pipsqueak shrugged, looking at the pulled back sheet and pillow with a frown. “Well, rel’tivly speakin’. I don’t think anypony’s slept in this bed for so long that any germs they left prob’ly died of old age.”

“Or they’re lying in dormant, waiting for their next victim,” Featherweight retorted humorously, stopping at the adjacent side of the bed.

“You think somepony died ‘ere?” Pipsqueak smirked.

“It’d explain why the place is so rundown. Either nopony is staying here because of a tragedy, murder, or because it’s haunted. Hauntings are good to get readers, but nothing gets the eye quite like a good ol’ murder,” Featherweight shrugged nonchalantly, speaking matter-of-factly. “It’d make for a good scoop!”

“This place isn’t scary, Feather. It’s just a dump!” Pipsqueak marked by leaping on the bed, the audible sound of springs alerted Featherweight to the probable discomfort of the mattress, watching Pipsqueak sprawl himself out on the bed stomach down. “‘Sides, you said yourself ‘seeing is believing.’ Nopony’s going to believe you without a few snaps.”

“Aha!” Featherweight raising his hoof with a jubilant flair. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Featherweight informed as he sauntered with mild swagger over to his case, pushing the two pronounced brass buttons; the two locks unclasping with a click. Inside the case was a small yellow box in the middle of the rest of his luggage. He clasped it between his two hooves and yanked it out, rattling the contents within, pulling the top off with his teeth and spitting it out onto the green carpet. Featherweight smiled happily at the sight of his polaroid camera, the old thing had been with him since he was young. The black case had several deep scratches, the lens had a crack in it, the steel joints became stuck more often, and the clicker was sometimes unresponsive. The only new piece of this relic was the film within. It was old, on the verge of breaking, yet he couldn’t part with it. He pulled it free from the box and presented to Pipsqueak with a large smile. “Ta-da!”

Pipsqueak smirked, shifting on the bed onto his stomach, head on his hooves. “Lucky. But you could’ve lost that like everyone did. Why’d you bring something so valuable on the trip?”

“I couldn’t miss the opportunity. Not every day you come so far from Ponyville, and I just thought I’d take some pictures,” Featherweight shrugged, before taking steps towards the bed, wrapping the camera’s brace around his neck and aiming it at Pipsqueak.

“You’re taking a picture now?” Pipsqueak raised a brow toward him but eyeing the lens.

“Why not?” Featherweight grinned. “Have to capture misery and bad times too. Otherwise, it’s too… fake.”

Pipsqueak scoffed. “Well, mis’ry loves company,” Pipsqueak echoed, before patting his hoof on the bed besides him. “Come get on the bed, we’ll take it together. Two frowny faces on their face day in Trottingham.”

Together? The word made his stomach somersault for some reason. “O-okay,” he replied more promptly than he meant to, causing him to internally chastise himself as he went along with his friend's suggestion, snaking onto the bed with awkward movements. The bed was double, but loosely so. Barely enough room to hold them both. “How should be do it?”

“What’s the matter? Forgotten how to do selfi- sorry,” he caught himself, rolling his eyes, “I meant ‘self-portraits?’” the colt flexed his two hooves sarcastically, imitating Featherweight’s past lingo. “Just lie next to me and take the picture.”

“S-sure,” Featherweight swallowed. He folded his wings close to him, lying on his stomach next to his friend before placing the camera in front of them both, their shared reflection in the lens. “A-alright. Ready?”

Pipsqueak scrunched his face to one side, shaking his head. “Look at you. You’re going to barely be in the frame. Get closer to me,” Pipsqueak directed, nodding with beckon at Featherweight.

“O-okay,” Featherweight stuttered, feeling the dreaded symptoms arise within him. I don’t even have to look at him anymore, it’s getting worse! he lamented as he shuffled closer, pressing into Pipsqueak’s side, his heart beating against his ribcage as he felt the warmth from his friend’s body. “C-close enough?” he asked, feeling himself oddly placed dissatisfaction, wearing a weak smile.

“Yeah, I think that’ll do. Take the picture,” Pipsqueak prompted, looking towards the camera with a pursed smile, eyebrows raised. To Featherweight it conveyed the perfect emotion. Bad, but I’m fine with it, the expression that encapsulated this place, although Featherweight wondered what stopped him from being entirely displeased. He was pulled out of thought by Pipsqueak’s eye shifting to him once more, crease between his brows. “Are you going to take it?”

“Oh! Yeah, y-yeah!” he smiled innocently, fumbling his words. He arched his hoof off the side, reaching around so that the limb would be out of frame, his hoof coming to press upon the shutter softly. A small click followed as the button was pressed, yet no flash accompanied. “Dammit,” he muttered, mildly annoyed at the finicky nature of his camera. He pressed down again, again, and again; until Pipsqueak released an annoyed grunt.

“Let me do it,” Pipsqueak sighed, reaching forward before Featherweight could object, brushing the colt’s hoof to the side as he began pressing down on the shutter in exactly the same repetitious manner as Featherweight. The cream coloured colt came to pause at the contact, his hoof lingering close by Pipsqueak’s, face tight knitted into an expression of contemplation. “Is something the matter?” Pipsqueak asked, concern in his voice as he glanced sideways, continuing to press the shutter.

“Yes... I mean no,” he caught himself, shaking his head lightly with anxious snigger. “I’m just not feeling too good. Must be stress, it’s been piling on. Bad train ride, the sight of the city from the ferry, everypony losing their luggage and being short of rooms. It’s just been rough.”

“Oh, alright,” Pipsqueak gave to him a sympathetic smile, still pressing down upon the shutter.“should we just get the day over with then?”

“Sure,” Featherweight agreed, internally sighing with relief. “I can’t wait to get my head do-”

Pipsqueak’s eyes bulged out in surprise as a sudden flash emitted from the camera, attracting both of the bug-eyed colts to it. “Huh, it worked,” Pipsqueak pointed out, lifting his hoof off the device, looking to Pipsqueak with an unsure grin. “Does that count?”

“I think it does,” Featherweight giggled, imagining the terrible quality of the picture in his head, with Pipsqueak’s extended hoof still in frame and their surprised expressions.

“We could retake it,” Pipsqueak proposed

“Nah. It’s perfect the way it is. After today, a picture taken by mistake couldn’t be any more fitting if it wanted to,” he explained, directing a smile to his friend. “I just hope tomorrow is better.”

“It’ll ‘ave to be pretty bad t’be even worse than t’day,” Pipsqueak scoffed as he spoke, climbing up the right side of the bed before worming his way beneath the covers, looking visibly uncomfortable to even be beneath it; his body looking small beneath the sheets as he brought his hooves close to himself. “I think it might be a good day.”

Featherweight admired many things about Pipsqueak, but his optimism was always at the forefront. “Really, you think so?” he probed as he mimicked his friend, furling his wings close to his body as he climbed beneath. Warm, he thought.

“Yeah,” he nodded, curling his lip, before snaking his hoof out of the covers and held it toward the ceiling in declaration. “If it isn’t, I promise I’ll make it one.”

Featherweight grinned, rolling his eyes with scepticism. “How can you promise something like that?”

“I dunno,” Pipsqueak shrugged, looking at him sideways with a toothy grin. “I can still try. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?”

Featherweight looked to his friend, the bed being so small meant their faces were only a few inches from one another, giving him unbridled access to the other colt’s eyes. There was an odd determination within them, a subdued fire, which fuelled the symptoms Pipsqueak ailed him with to emerge once more; the cream coloured colt falling into stupor whilst looking into his eyes. “Yes,” Featherweight replied simply, the colt next to him grinned and directed his eyes back to the ceiling, grinning a smile that exuded confidence. “They are.”

Pipsqueak smirked, giving the colt a nod of agreement. “It will be a good day,” Pipsqueak assured, before his mouth opened wide, a yawn escaping his gullet; the day catching up to him. “But first, we must sleep. Been quite a day.”

“Agreed,” Featherweight replied promptly, forcing his eyes away from Pipsqueak, turning onto his side and staring with pursed lips at the flickering candle; making sure to keep all of his limbs close to himself. “Goodnight,” he barked, before closing his mouth shut tight.

“Night,” Pipsqueak replied, seemingly uncaring of Featherweight’s tone. Featherweight heard creaking, no doubt Pipsqueak turning on his side. Featherweight could feel the end of his friend’s tail flick into his back before as his friend tried to get comfortable. “Sweet dreams or whatever.”

Featherweight didn’t reply to his friend, too lost in thought to do such a thing. He watched the candle flame dance as he went so deep into mind as to get lost. Even with his back to his friend, the only sounds being the flame, rain and breathing, his heart wouldn’t stop its relentless beating. He felt through his chest the organ’s relentless pumping and thumping. It reminded him of what it felt just before vomiting, the rise of bile in his throat, but it never followed through; just teetering on the edge of making him wretch. After a while he began to hug himself crushingly tight, trying to make it stop, but it failed to relent. He tried closing his eyes but it got worse, the colt responsible for this feeling came into his vision behind the closed lids, wearing the same cocksure smile as he just was prior.

Sighing, Featherweight, with all the slowness of a sloth, turned around. His eyes landed on the back of Pipsqueak’s head, remaining stuck like glue. He watched his friend’s chest rise and fall beneath the sheet, reminding him of the afternoon on the train. He didn’t take into account how low long his eyes were unbroken in their vigilant watch of the sleeping Pipsqueak, but all he knew what that is managed to stop the deafening sound of his own heart. Soon, he began to feel a genuine drain of consciousness, as his body willingly floated into the arms of sleep.

With furrowed brows and a clenched jaw; slamming his eyes closed despite the ailment, a singular thought arrived in his head.

What is wrong with me…

Chapter 2: Calvino

Featherweight’s gratitude for his dreamless slumber was immeasurable, even if he had to suffer sleeping on what amounted to an itchy sock stuffed full of cotton swabs and nails. The parting of his eyes was slow and deliberate, an irrational part of him feared punishment if he did it too quickly; exhaling when Pipsqueak’s sleeping form did not come into view. He turned onto his back, staring at the cracked paint of a firmament, trying to trace the long faded lines he postulated was once a great damascene, the inlays sold just to keep this shambles of a building afloat. They were, however, just conjurations of his mind, trying in futility to distract himself from the vociferous. His imagination failed to distract him for long, and he threw his eyes like a fishing lure to window, hoping to bait something to distract him from his own thoughts. Still falling, he remarked, the ceaseless torrent of rain still descending from the sky. A day here, and he already began to think it natural, like falling leaves in Autumn. Does it stop? he asked, but quickly forgot what he was referring to, the door creaking open.

“Still in bed? You mus’ really have a thing for being extremely uncomfortable,” Pipsqueak jested, leaving the door open as he walked in, a general mass of voices came from the hall. He wasn’t the only pony awake then.

“Yep. I love feeling of being poked in the flank,” Featherweight scoffed, rolling his eyes with sarcasm that only a teenager could perfect. Although there was an odd and distant howl in the air a far distance away that coincided with his comment, one of irony, derision, and farsighted mirth.“Did I oversleep?”

“That’d imply you’re missin’ anythin’,” Pipsqueak gave a gloomy kind of smirk, gesturing to the window with a nod, “I don’t think we’re going out in that.”

“Well, if that constitutes a bad start to the day, things can only be on the up, right?” Featherweight tried to inject optimism into his words, but only a few pathetic spurts came from his vocal syringe, his forced smile faltering.

“It’d have to anyway. I made a promise, remember?” Pipsqueak offered a reconciliatory reminder, wearing a smile Featherweight saw no flaw in. “Simplest way to start a day good is a good breakfast. Or so my mum sez.”

“Breakfast?” Featherweight repeated sceptically, getting out of bed, “here?”

Pipsqueak shrugged. “Can’t be worse than Sweetie Belle’s cooking. ‘Sides, the stallion at the counter said we ‘ad room an’ board when we got ‘ere. I’d expect some toast at the very least.”

Featherweight chortled, stopping before Pipsqueak.. “If it’s an improvement over Sweetie’s cooking, then at least we won’t be filling our stomach’s with ash.”

Pipsqueak chuckled. “Plus anything’s better than being cooped up in the room all day. Better than the… alternative,” he ended by looking to the window. Droplets fell lazily down the glass, and Featherweight grimaced.

“Yep.”

Cheerilee looked… not so cheery. Whilst the rest of the class were chatting amongst themselves in the entrance hall - complaining mostly - Featherweight’s eye was drawn to his despondent teacher. The receptionist-bellhop-whatever was chewing her ear off about Celestia knows what, and Featherweight could tell that the stallion’s yammering was an unneeded annoyance atop the mare’s shoulders. Featherweight was partially curious as to what the one-sided conversation consisted off, but his curiosity did not outweigh his desire to be a replacement for Cheerilee’s thoroughly chewed ears. He never considered himself an Atlas, and he wouldn’t start now.

“Has he been behind that counter all night?” Featherweight’s attention was grabbed from Cheerilee and to the question instead, partially because it wasn’t another complaint being forced into his ear, and because it was coming from Pipsqueak.

“I don’t know,” Featherweight answered honestly. Now that the question was put forth, his interest was admittedly piqued by the enigma was ‘hmm-mhh-uh.’ “I’m not being mean or anything, but there is something off about him.”

“’Off?’ The stallion’s ‘bout as ‘off’ as year old milk.”

“Now that you mention it, he looks as though he hasn’t slept for a year,” Featherweight concurred with Pipsqueak’s colloquial analysis.

“Speaking of years, how many do you reckon he’s got under his belt?” the splotched colt asked, nodding in the direction of the elderly bellhop.

Featherweight looked in the direction his friend nodded and saw the elderly stallion half-emerged from the ‘staff-only’ door, visibly struggling with the weight on his back. Featherweight was about to comment on the scene, the wrinkled stallion an almost eye-watering sight. The pegas- Wait? Pegasus? Featherweight saw, plastered to his sides, a pair of very tacky looking wings. “Did he always have wings?” Featherweight asked, brows furrowed.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Pipsqueak answered, uncertain, throwing a raised brow to the photographer. “Why would he be wearing fake wings?”

Featherweight shrugged, his eyes lingering on the struggling stallion. “I don’t know. He does look like he’s having some trouble...”

Pipsqueak pursed his lips, eyes squinting somewhat. “Yeah... but it is ‘is job, he can’t be strug-”

In the midst of the earth colt’s sentence, one of Dilap’s hooves buckled on the first step of the stairs. Featherweight released a sigh from his throat. “I’m going to help him,” he asserted as he began to walk over to the aged stallion.

“Are you sure?” Pipsqueak asked, lagging behind a few steps.

“Yes,” he affirmed, glancing back at the colt. “I’ll be right back.”

Pipsqueak let out a chuckle. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

‘For you.’ That particular duo made Featherweight’s heart skip a beat, forcing him to look anywhere that wasn’t back lest the splotched colt would see the pink tinge on his cheeks. He trailed over to the gray stallion, who was resting on the second step of the red carpeted stairwell. The stallion behind the counter seemed oblivious to this, his loud yet indiscernible wailing towards Cheerilee likely the reason why. “Do you need any help?” the lithe pegasus asked him, earning the focus of the stallion’s yellow irises. “You look like you’re struggling here.”

The stallion released a tired sigh, his breath sounding like a foal’s rattle. “Ay. Ya cannae jus’ make’an ol’ buck like me do ev’rytin can yae?”

Featherweight blinked. He had only heard sparse snippets of the stallion’s voice the night before, and had no clue an accent so thick was laying in wait. Gulping, the colt reluctantly parted his lips, spewing out an answer. “N-no? No you cannot,” he tried to steady his voice’s shaking uncertainty.

The old stallion released an unusually high pitched chortle, the gaps between his stained teeth producing a slight whistle. “Ay, ya a gud wee barra, gud ‘ead on ta end of ye neck,” he complimented, Featherweight presumed, and the colt felt his body relax itself. The eldery stallion got to his hooves, seemingly undergoing a miraculous revitalisation, prompting the young pegasus to take a step back in surprise. “Ah’m no yun’ cuddy, barly walk a brae,” he spoke casually, removing the fez from his head and putting it upon the wide-eyed colt’s head, to which he released a thick chuckle. “A peedy me. Barry! Tek this up’ta twa, ‘cross frum wan. Jus’ a bitta scran,” he spoke, Featherweight seldom comprehending anything at all. Suddenly, the aged stallion manoeuvred the silver serving tray off his back and onto Featherweights, grinning sideways at the colt. “Ee’s a chookie, but ‘is eens are mist. Ee’s minted, so dinnae let ‘im kno’ yeez a cuddy, or ye panbread,” he instructed, incomprehensibly, before smacking the colt on the rump; walking off towards the staff door. “Ah’m sneak a bevvy un kip.”

“W-what?” the colt asked, long after Dilap dissapeared behind the door. Looking between the door and the stairs, he felt his lips bend into a frown, and he took an uncertain first step onto the stairs. Well, at least it’ll give me something to do, he mused, releasing a sigh soon after.

After climbing to the top, he went to the door he glanced at the night before. ‘Calvino,’ etched in with a smiley face substituting the dot above the ‘i.’ He rapt his hooves against it, sitting and awaiting a reply. A minute passed, and then two. I did wake up late. He might not even be in, he thought, believing the justification for leaving apt. He began to turn, resolving to leave the platter and fez by the staff door. However, before he could fully turn from the door, he heard a click, and then felt a tight grip wrap around his tail, yanking him backwards with inconsiderate force. He released a pained yelp, being dragged along his belly backwards into a dark room. He felt the grip come undone when the door slammed in front of him, taking an escape out of the equation.

“Eh, getting impatient are we, Dilap?” the voice sent shivers up Featherweight’s spine. He felt the weight of the platter be removed from his back. It was, however, replaced by a much more oppressive weight. He felt four knife-like points pressing into his back, making him quiver and shake. “I could very well tear out your spine, you impudent welp! You’re like a pony! Weak, petty, and most of all: good at getting on my nerves!” he exclaimed, the point on his back subtly applying more pressure, prompting Featherweight to squeal.

“W-wait, wait, I’m not Dilap!” he yelled, releasing a half-sobbing.

“Eh?” the faceless voice uttered, surprised. He felt the knives leave his back. One feeling was replaced with another, a sudden inclusion of a warm breath on the back of his neck. “You sound like a runt. Little more than a chick,” the voice mused aloud, the colt closing his eyes on reflex as the voice began to touch the back of his head; then to his sides, rolling a feather between two joints. “Dense feathers. Soft. Noble clutch? Someone fancy. Working in a hovel like this? Well, this place has an odd magnetism for the wealthy,” he commented idly, walking away. “I should know. How many years has it been? I can’t see the days go by anymore, but I can feel the age upon me; weighing me down, like bags of sand.”

Timidly, the colt turned climbed onto his hooves. He turned to see a decrepit room, so filled with junk and other assorted rubbish it seemed half the size of his shared abode in the hotel. He couldn’t discern how much of it was sentimental, practical or straight up trash. He noted a lot of empty soda bottles around the room – which likely gave the room its peculiar smell, but then again, that could be the result of general neglect - many of which were brushed and moved aside in almost an outline of the owner’s predetermined path. The room was scant of light, coming in only through a window largely covered in boxes. Not likely out of consideration for guests, Featherweight could tell. If he cared, truly, then he would have done something about the dense dust that was barely a notch below smoke in its thickness. Peculiarly, the colt noted a menagerie of twinkling jars. He didn’t dare move from the spot to go inspect them more closely, but he noticed that they were abundant; atop makeshift shelves and piles of other junk. He also noticed a cracked frame, by the mouldy bed; atop a splintery night stand.

His eyes finally landed upon the owner of the voice, who moved around with loud shambling steps. It was a griffon. Something the colt had only seen rarely, either on a train or the infrequent visitations of that one abrasive she-griffon. The griffon was a faded shade of dark blue, tall and indomitable. His large wings were held loosely to his sides, the tips of which dragged along the floor, perhaps acting to balance the large griffon or simply a product of his age. He came to stop near a set of shelves, next to where the bathroom door was. Turning, Feathweight finally got a look at this face. The low light didn’t help him discern anything about him. He recognised the hooked beak. He noticed the griffon’s eye upon him, and he seized up; believing the griffon was looking right at him. Yet, the passive, and unblinking eyeball, made his brow arch. He thought the Griffon was lookin They reminded him of cat’s eyes, giving a slight luminescent milky shine - looking like a miniature moon embedded within the eye socket of his skull.

Featherweight recalled a name the bellhop said the day before. “A-are you, Calvino?” he asked.

“Yes,” he answered, picking up a silver fork before putting it back, continuing to rummage.

“C-can I leave?” Featherweight asked, quietly, shaking on the spot.

“No,” he replied firmly, his voice clear but carrying a heavy accent firmly. His talons meanwhile continued feeling along the shelf before him. “I have need of you. You might be new, but so long as you have an ounce of competency within you, you’ll be far more serviceable than that fool, Dilap,” he bemoaned, tone flat. “ I thought they poured every piece of gold I give them into repairing this hovel. I thought I heard guests. Lots of them. Many young voices, I heard them through the walls – they’re thin here - as did I hear their heavy, clumsy steps. Hooves? Bah! They defile Griffon Stone by merely being here. All of them do. Never actually thought a pony would be stupid enough to bring a clutch of foals onto this island, but clearly I overestimated them. At the very least these beds finally have bodies in them, and it’s someone’s gold other than my own helping keep the place warm. It sounded like they were many. They hire you in anticipation?” he asked at the end of his grumpy ramble, turning to face him, pointlessly.

“U-uh, yeah. I-I’m just a temp...?” he grimaced, hoping the lie was adequate.

“Ah. Probably a younger griffon. You probably aren’t resentful of them as I. Well, I’ve grown tolerant in my old age, so I won’t hold it against you. It is, however, a shame that your employment is only temporary,” he replied, his tone devoid of emotion so the colt was unsure if it was genuine. “It would have been refreshing for a new voice to hear. I’ve been listening to Dilap’s voice for twenty-five years now. Still can’t make out a word he says, but he listens decent enough – I make sure of it...” he continued to talk, still fumbling around the packed shelf. “I keep this place afloat you know. I am its beating heart. As long as I live, so does the Regalia.”

As the griffon felt around, the colt felt his investigative sense stir. He took a quiet step forward, trying not to elicit to sound ‘clumsy’ or ‘heavy.’ “Why?” he asked the griffon.

His talon stopped atop one of his jars, tapping the metallic lid. “Preservation,” he said, simply taking the jar off the shelf.

“It means a lot to you then?” Featherweight asked.

Calvino, who carried the shiny jar close to his chest, trailed over to the bed and sat his rear upon it. “Heavens no,” Calvino scoffed, looking in the colt’s general direction. “I could never care for a place such as this. Its beds are uncomfortable, its doors are too narrow, and I never cared much for the food. No, no...” he trailed off, mumbling. Before Featherweight could inquire further, he unscrewed the jaw with an audible ‘pop,’ beckoning the colt with his other talons. “Come here, I need to give you something.”

Nodding, even if he couldn’t see it, the colt took deliberate and soft steps towards Calvino, until he was standing at the foot of the bed. He waited for a moment, awaiting the old griffon’s command... before he brought a hoof to his face. “I’m right here,” he informed Calvino, sporting an awkward grin.

“Good, good,” he trailed off, his talons reaching into the jar. Featherweight tried then to get a closer look, but he soon found that unnecessary, as the griffon pulled out a fistful of what was held inside. He keeps his bits in jars? Featherweight though with a perplexed expression, watching as some of the bits fell through the gaps in his talons. “Here,” Calvino said, reaching his arm out toward the colt, “take these and buy me some of that fizz from the soda shop down the street. Keep the rest for yourself.”

On that, Calvino opened his clenched fist, allowing the bounty of bits to fall onto the bed. Featherweight’s eyes parted wide. He had never seen so much money just... dropped, so haphazardly. He tried to count. Ten, to twenty, even thirty! But he soon gave up, looking between Calvino and the small pile with a parted jaw and widened eyes. “A-are you sure, t-that’s a lot of-”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, audibly tired, popping the lid back onto the bit-filled-jar. “Just make sure to bring back six bottles. I’m parched.”

“Yes, sir!” Featherweight replied, immediately set on scooping up all the bits on the faded green bed cover. Whilst he did, he found his eye wander over to the photo frame he had seen earlier. He saw behind the cracked glass an old sepia photo, and from that particular distance in the dark he could make out the vague shapes of two griffons, quite close together in proximity. He saw a large, heavyset griffon to the left of a more lither and small one. It didn’t take a detective to discern that the larger griffon must have been Calvino. So who was the smaller one? Featherweight parted his lips to ask, but quickly closed his trap. There was something off about Calvino’s expression. He didn’t notice it before, but it must have been present all the while. He couldn’t place his hoof on it, but there was something of a profound sadness within the griffon’s features...

When he piled the small mound of bits up, he was immediately faced with the task of carrying all of them all. He was unsure of how accomplish this task, and began chewing his bottom lip decisively...

“Nice fez,” Pipsqueak complimented with a chortle, turning to face the pegasus, who was both audibly – and visibly – excited, his little wings doing slight flaps.

Featherweight released a falsetto hum of his acknowledgement, reciprocating the earth colt’s grin – albeit weakly – and stood adjacent to him with a jittery frame. “I need you to come back to the room,” he requested, his body rumbling with excitement. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Pipsqueak’s brow raised, his interest piqued. He shrugged, smiling. “Lead the way.”

Featherweight released an exhale upon the colt’s reply, holding his breath in his demure excitement. “Come on then.”

Featherweight went off with Pipsqueak in tow, attracting a few passive eyes from other students but otherwise not arousing too much attention with their obvious skulking. They reached their room rather quickly, the pegasus glancing from side to side to ensure no prying eyes before he made his way in, Pipsqueak’s unsure gaze and humouring smile encouraging him on.

“What is it you wanted to shoooo’my gosh!” Pipsqueak exclaimed with palpable shock at the sight.

“Ta-da,” Featherweight grinned beside the shiny pile, the mound of coins glittering in the more bountiful light of his room; finding enjoyment at the sight of his friend’s bewildered and joyous expression.

“Where did you get so many bits?” Pipsqueak asked, somewhat loudly, still in the throes of disbelief. He marked his question with a few curious steps, coming to stand over the pile near Featherweight.

“After I helped, Dilap, Calvino gave them to me,” he informed.

“Pretty big tip? No wonder that old codger is still working here, he’s probably saved up a pretty hefty retirement fund by now.”

“Eh, it’s not a tip. Not technically,” he replied, earning a brief flicker of disappointment in Pipsqueak’s features. “I have to use some of it to buy soda, apparently. I could have whatever’s left.”

“Well, unless they charge ten bits a bottle, I still see a lot of bits left over,” Pipsqueak reasoned.

“Yeah...” Featherweight nodded. “I’m gonna use my spare satchel to carry some of them,” he told him, before looking with a grimace towards the window. “Shame I have to go out in that.”

“Shame we ‘ave to go out in that,” Pipsqueak corrected, wearing a cheery grin, coming close to wrap a hoof around his friend’s neck. “What kinda of pony would I be if let m’ best friend go out alone in such a storm?”

Pipsqueak was close. He was warm. The fluttering in Featherweight’s gut emerged, as did the quickening of his heartbeat. Amongst the trivial thoughts, of wondering how much soda he’d have to get to satisfy the griffon, when to return the fez and how to bear such torrential rain, there was a distant one; a meagre whisper. One which prompted the teen pegasi’s cheeks to brighten red. Don’t let go. He squirmed free of his friend’s grasp, looking at him with an anxious eye. “H-hey, you don’t have to come.”

“Posh,” Pipsqueak replied, waving his hoof dismissively. “You might need help carryin’ the soda. ‘Sides, I was born ‘ere. I want to see how much its changed since I was little.”

Featherweight felt his lip pull at the corner at the innocuous answer. “Alright. It’s not like I could stop you anyway,” he replied, giving a roll of his shoulders. “Could be fun.”

“Yeah!” Pipsqueak replied, enthused. He then cast an eye to the twinkling golden pile, a slight waver to his smile. “Should I carry all that or should you?”

Chapter 3: Dandelion and Burdock

Featherweight, cautiously, walked up the idle mare. She sat on the floor, back physically pressed against the counter, looking as though she had aged fifty years yet retained all her colour. The enigmatic stallion was nowhere to be seen, and the rest of the students were up to their own devices, chatting and idly sitting, likely waiting for it to all be over.

“Miss Cheerilee?” Featherweight probed, timid.

“Yes, Featherweight?” the mare responded with a veiled glumness, already rubbing her eyes with fatigue despite the clock’s recent strike of noon. As she turned to him, her head tilted somewhat, brow raised. She pointed to his side. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I was actually. With Pipsqueak,” he answered. “You did say were gonna get to explore the place. And you said we could leave the hotel so long as we were back by six o’clock at the latest.”

Cheerilee’s eyes widened a little, astonished. “You really want to go out? In that?” her questions were blatant in their scepticism, the mare’s eyes drawn to the entrance door, fat droplets of rain still falling from darkened skies. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, cheeks pulling back into a smile, showing off his slight buck teeth.

She sighed. “Go on then. It’s not like you needed my permission anyway. But thanks for telling me,” she intoned her appreciation, before releasing a tired sigh and standing on her hooves. “He promised a full breakfast. Said, ‘Dilap was on it.’ And then some nonsense about him being a master chef,” she divulged, exasperated.

“Are you okay, Miss Cheerilee?” Featherweight asked. His concern for his teacher was genuine. He didn’t like seeing her frown, it wasn’t natural.

Her cheek tugged back to form a tired half-smile. “I’ll be alright. Just need to lie down for a spell. Clear up my head. Go have fun,” she ended with a fondly toned firmness. “Teacher’s orders.”

“Will do, Miss,” he replied, giving her a warm smile and nod before departing for the entrance, where Pipsqueak stood – wearing Featherweight’s spare, bulging satchel.

“Ready to go?” Pipsqueak asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, before glancing to the bag. “I’m surprised you’re able to carry that.”

“I know, right?” he replied tartly. “Maybe it’s adren’lin. I’ve never carri’d this much money before. It’s kind of exciting.”

“Or maybe you’re just strong?” the compliment, while flowing effortlessly from Featherweight’s mouth, came something as a surprise to him. He thought to respond with a joke, or some other quip, yet the remark on the earth colt’s physique came out on instinct. Did I just say that? he asked himself, trying to prevent the smile he wore from wavering.

Pipsqueak’s face reddened slightly at the compliment, scratching the back of his neck. “W-well, I have been carryin’ a lot of campaign posters recen’ly whilst runnin’ for student council president,” he reasoned with a slight stammer. “Those things can be deceptively ‘eavy. You should know, you’ve helped put a few up.”

“Y-yeah,” Featherweight confirmed, going along with Pipsqueak’s assessment. So long as Pipsqueak was talking, he wasn’t. And he was assuredly fine with that. The silence remained for a few moments, like an unwanted guest, although as far as Featherweight could tell the awkwardness had only chosen him as the primary host to it.

Pipsqueak simply grinned and nodded toward the door, unperturbed. “Shall we?”

Featherweight gave a single, flaccid nod. “Y-yeah...”

The meek pegasus didn’t check to see if anypony watched their leave, only recoiling slightly at the sudden intrusion of rainfall sounding in his ears; the doors providing a surprising level of soundproofing for flimsy looking things. Outside, it barely looked day. The skies so thick with blackened clouds that only daylight squeaked in from the city’s edges, giving precious visibility to those walking the streets. As soon as Featherweight walked out into the downpour, he frowned. It was in his head, but he already felt the rain make him feel physically heavy; soaking into his coat and wings, beginning to mat his mane to the sides of his head. He sighed, expecting the same sort of reaction from Pipsqueak, but he bore witness to something else entirely.

The pinto patterned pony had his head angled upward, mouth open and tongue lolled far out to catch raindrops. It was a… foalish sight. But Featherweight felt his lips curve on reflex, endeared to his friend’s carefree demeanour. It made his heart thump and flutter. Cute... he thought, ironically, without thinking. It wasn’t just his body reacting in weird ways now, but even his own mind had fallen pray to his mysterious ailment. At least this time, it had the decency to remain just a thought. Maybe I should have insisted he stayed, he concluded, gulping.“W-whats it taste like?” he asked casually, trying to distract himself.

Pipsqueak closed his maw, smacking his lips before casting a sideways glance at the colt. “Rain,” he answered, giving a meek grin. “It’s pourin’ down. Which way did you say this place was?”

“Just down the street...” Featherweight answered, trailing off before puckering his lips, a realisation dawning on him. “I… I-I don’t know which one.”

Pipsqueak scoffed, looking out at the roads before them. They went off in three directions. There was occasional stallion or mare walking out under the rain, better equipped then either of them – sporting an umbrella or wide brimmed hat – and looking just as dull as the skies. “Well, I think I would’ve remembered seeing one up the street we came,” he put forth, raising his hoof off down the centre of the two roads, writing an invisible cross in the air with the tip of his hoof. “So… left or right?”

“You want me to decide?” Featherweight replied with an air of surprise, before shaking his head. “Besides, what if I chose the wrong street? Neither of us know the city – not well, anyway. We’ll get lost.”

“You’ve got wings,” Pipsqueak retorted.

“Have you ever flown in a rainstorm?” he asked rhetorically, shaking his head.

“Let’s just wing it then,” Pipsqueak propositioned, oddly cheery. “Just go to the end of the street and back. We don’t have to wander off like a couple of idiots.”

Featherweight sighed, shaking his head with a humouring smile. “Alright then. I just wanna get out of the rain. And quickly,” he replied, before looking between the two streets, settling on one. “Right. Lets go right.”

“Right-ho!” Pipsqueak agreed enthusiastically, taking off with a light canter.

“Right behind you,” Featherweight followed, trying to match the colt’s chipper pace. Whilst he followed behind, his eyes were naturally drawn to Pipsqueak. Not just in his peripherals, like the passive eye one would throw to somepony who they were accompanying. Featherweight, somewhat consciously, began to linger his oculars upon the colt. A few moments after he caught himself, forcibly tearing his eyes away with warm cheeks; trying to ignore the flapping sensation in his gut…

This was a terrible idea.

“Is this it?” Pipsqueak asked, coming to a sudden halt, the bag of bits jostling.

“Maybe?” was Featherweight’s reply, coming to stop next to Pipsqueak’s side – consciously maintaining a distance.

They stood before a rather quiet building. Like much of the architecture, it was attached to the buildings on either side of it – both of them businesses as well. The windows were tinted black, giving something of a secretive or elusive aura to the place. Glancing above the door, there was no name, just two letters with red outlines and gold filling. D and B, Featherweight read them in his head, which filled him with a journalistic curiosity that enticed his hoof forward.

“Woah, hey,” Pipsqueak’s words accompanied the outstretching of his hoof. “What are you doin’?”

“I’m going to look inside? If it’s not the place we go back,” Featherweight explained. “No harm in that, is there?”

“Eh?” Pipsqueak replied, unsure. “Looks kinda shady, don’t it?”

“I don’t think ‘shady’ is the right word. I’d say… subdued,” Featherweight remarked, half-smiling. “C’mon lets see what its like.”

Pipsqueak sighed, letting his hoof fall. “Sure. Just, uh… watch your back,” he advised with an uncertain grin, patting the pegasus on the haunches assuredly before striding forwards toward the closed door of the nondescript store.

Nodding, Featherweight walked alongside Pipsqueak, eyes dead set upon the door. His head become overactive, soon regarding it as foreboding rather than plain. A simple push was all that was needed, a little bell chimed from above upon their entry. Featherweight recoiled at the sudden smell that filled his nostrils. Fruit, flowers… caramel… is that root beer? Sarsaparilla? Featherweight was more so confused by the concoction than outright disgusted. Glancing to Pipsqueak he saw his bottom lip curl, nodding his head in quiet approving. The inside of the abode was didn’t really match the outside aesthetic.

Featherweight, almost, in a way, was disappointed.

The floor was black and white tile. The walls were covered in a freshly pasted wallpaper – the pattern not particularly memorable, just a mishmash of daffodils and sunflowers. There was a single table and two chairs placed in the middle, despite there being plenty of room for a few more. Naturally, Featherweight’s eyes were drawn to the back, where there was a display and adjoined counter. The display case was empty, devoid of any goods or items for sale. A mare was at the counter, resting her head upon her hoof with a bored expression.

Despite the unflattering look she wore, Featherweight couldn’t deny the fact she was beautiful – almost suspiciously so. If one could find suspicion at the fact such an attractive looking mare was in such a drab place. Her coat was a deep rich brown – almost caramel - her mane was a medallion hue of yellow, styled in myriad braids and knots. Her eyes were a deep crimson; devoid of any energy or ambition. When the duo began to walk towards her, there was a raise of the brow, but other than that she yielded no visible reaction to their presence.

“She’s kind of creepy,” Pipsqueak remarked in mutter to Featherweight. “Pretty though.”

When the two reached the counter, Featherweight took a slight step forward. Her continued non-reaction unnerved him,. “H-hello?” Featherweight greeted, her still making him unsure he’d even get a reply back.

“Hey...” she replied, almost surprising the colt. She kept her head on her hoof, punctuating her utter disinterest.

Featherweight shared a momentary look with Pipsqueak. He shrugged. “Do you sell soda here?” he asked her, almost unsure in his tone. Her expression remained blank. “For Calvino? The weir- the griffon who lives at the Regalia. Down the street?”

She, at first, did nothing. Just stared at Featherweight. A moment passed, and suddenly, she inhaled a long breath – as is starved for air. She held it in for a moment, until she made a long exhale, bordering on a sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a moment,” she drawled, leaving the counter and turning without a second glance. Pipsqueak and Featherweight went onto the tips of their hooves, looking over the counter to see where she was going. As they watched her leave, Featherweight glanced at the mark on her rear: a flowering dandelion.

“Where is she going?” Pipsqueak asked.

All Featherweight could do is shrug.”Maybe she has some soda in back?”

They watched as she disappeared behind a corner. A few a minute passed, and the mare’s continued silence combined with her lack of a reappearance wasn’t exactly reassuring. “Why is she taking so long? Did she go out the back door or something?”

“That’s not very good customer service...” Featherweight remarked with a frown.

*click*

“Huh?” the colts said in unison, their sights shooting to the source of the noise.

By the door, with their back to them, was the mare from before. Or, at least, it looked like her. Her mane was tied into an assortment of pigtails, her coat didn’t possess the same amount of sheen, and curiously - when she turned to face the pair - Featherweight spotted her cutie mark. An odd looking flower he recognised as burdock. Jutting out from her head was a horn - if there existed the idea that this mare was just the other in disguise, it was just a distant forgotten thought by now. Upon her face were a pair of glasses, with blue frames and shoddily repaired in the middle with a piece of white tape; her large, almost creepy smile revealed her braces.

“Uh, hey?” Pipsqueak greeted her with a wary tone, shooting Featherweight a slight grimace.

“Customers!” she squealed, her voice betraying a lisp, as her horn became imbued with a shimmering red aura as she began taking steps towards the two.

Featherweight leaned slightly to his right, at the door. “D-did you lock us i-” The colt was interrupted by suddenly being held aloft in the air - dangling by one of his hind legs, his wings flapping uselessly as he gently rocked back and forth. “H-hey!”

“Get off ‘im!” Pipsqueak commanded before recklessly charging at her, before he too found his hooves no longer touching the floor - held aloft by his tail. The bulging satchel on his side poured out the entirety of its contents onto the floor, bits rolling on all directions; the majority clinking against the floor.

“It’s been so long since we’ve had actual customers,” the mare continued, seemingly ignoring the vast sum of wealth on the floor; giddily hopping towards the counter. The two colts, now held firmly within her shimmering red grasp, were moved over to the singular table and chairs. “I can’t wait to show you our selection,” she said in an overly jovial voice, but the ominous air that surrounded it was still very much prevalent - not at all aided by the fact she had them trapped in her magical grasp. “Just take a seat and I’ll be with you momentarily!” she informed, the two colts vaulted in the air - free of her magic momentarily - before she grabbed them again, forcibly sitting them in each chair. “Whoopsie daisy!”

Featherweight’s fore hooves were held together via magic behind the backrest of the seat. He found trying to force them apart a tiring endeavour, if not impossible to begin with. He very quickly resigned himself to whatever was held in store for them, but he couldn’t say the same for Pipsqueak.

“What are you doing, crazy lady!” Pipsqueak insulted, definitely trying to free himself from the red bonds around his hooves. “Let us go. N-now!” he, again, tried to order her with a firm and intimidating tone. However, being either the blame of puberty, or fear, it cracked like a worn vinyl record.

“Pipsqueak…” Featherweight murmured at the colt, shooting him a firm glare; trying to reign the colt in.

“I’ve got a wonderful selection for you!” she exclaimed from the otherside of the counter, her horn still shimmering. “Just wait right there,” she, rather pointlessly, requested, before disappearing under the counter.

“What is she gonna do to us? Dammit. No wonder my parents moved. Everypony in this city is insane!” Pipsqueak griped, kicking his hooves in frustration. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Featherweight asked, staring at him incredulously.

“I don’t know. I just feel like I should be,” he said rather vaguely, frowning.

Before Featherweight could retort, a large white bowl was slammed upon the table between them. “Ta-da!” the mare exclaimed enthusiastically.

Featherweight looked at the bowl on reflex; his top lip receding and his muzzle wrinkling at the sight. To him it looked like a bowl of black mush, with a pointless inclusion of a cherry on top. An attempt to force out some degree of appetite, but failing completely. “W-what is that?”

“Looks gross,” Pipsqueak commented, unabashed, still rebellious tone.

“Aww, c’mon guys. You won’t know until you tried it. It’s like my sister says: ‘Burdock, you’re beautiful on the inside,’” she ended on a flatter cadance, imitating her sibling. On finishing, she picked up a stainless steel spoon from the bowl, scooping up a spoonful of the black goop, presenting it to Featherweight whilst some of it dripped onto the table. “Open wide. Blaaaah,” she lolled out her tongue, an infantile gesture.

Featherweight pursed his lips tight and skewed his head away, shaking his head in adamant refusal. At that, she released a sigh, before the colt felt a pressure be applied to his jaw and cheeks, forcing his mouth apart before the utensil was shoved in into his gob and forced shut around it. Immediately, his taste buds were figuratively attacked by the unpleasant taste. Tart, bitter, a combination of unvapoured cough syrup and milk. Whatsmore, his mouth was kept forcibly closed, so he had no choice but to swallow the foul substance. When he did, she finally released the grip around his muzzle, allowing him to vocalise his disgust.

“Bleh!” he spat with a grimace, parting his mouth.

“Hmm? So I’m reading a soft three to a hard four on that one. Alright, gotcha. Probably too much melon,” she replied to his disgust, with what he perceived as nonsense, before looking pensively at the black mushy mess.

“What did you give him? Was it poison?” Pipsqueak inquired, visibly angry, casting glances between Burdock and Featherweight; looking worried for the latter.

“No you silly billy!” she replied, careless of the young colt’s anger, lifting the bowl up with an expression of exaggerated pride. “It’s ice cream!”

“Ice cream!?” Featherweight exclaimed, brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and ire. “It’s lukewarm, for one! And mushy!”

“Well, it has been under the counter for a few days. Dandelion always tells me to stick to soda, but I like to branch out, ya know?” she told them with undeserved level of confidence, leaning on the table. “Soda’s good and all. Fizzy, poppy, tasty. All that jazz. But you’d be surprised at how few folks like the taste of fermented dandelions and burdocks. Not everypony is like you or I.”

“Yeah…” Featherweight confirmed slowly, sharing a look of incredulity with Pipsqueak. “Can we just some soda and leave?”

Burdock eyed the pegasus with a raised brow, before releasing a giggle. “Of course not! I have some more things for you to try. I can see the ice cream is a bust - have to work some more on the correct recipe,” she spoke in aside, before glancing to Pipsqueak, “and then after I can send both of you on your merry way - ways,” she ended innocently, before making her back to the counter. “I won’t be a few minutes!” she reassured, not that it put Featherweight - and he guessed - Pipsqueak at any ease.

While she disappeared under the counter, Featherweight looked to Pipsqueak, wearing a frown. “I’m the one who needs to say sorry. I was the one who insisted we come in here anyway.”

“You’re right,” Pipsqueak affirmed, making Featherweight wince, although he only felt confusion when the colt began to laugh.

“W-what?”

“I thought she was gonna kill us,” he replied, still chortling.

“She’s still got us trapped,” Featherweight pointed out, brow raised.

“Yeah, but she’s crazy,” Pipsqueak said, and Featherweight could not perceive how that was supposed to reassure him. “I mean, all she wants to do is force feed us some bad… whatever this stuff is. It’s certainly better than dying.”

“Huh, yeah,” Featherweight concurred. He’d hate to die. “There’s still the chance that whatever she gives us might kill us - poisoned, unintentionally or otherwise. Either that, or she has a psychotic break and tries to then.”

“Not exactly helping keep me calm, Featherweight,” “If she did, I’d stop her before she could hurt you,” Pipsqueak said, rather confidently, but gentle in tone. “You’re my friend, right? I’d protect you.”

“Erm...” Featherweight responded, gormless. Even in a situation in which he could potentially meet his end at the hooves of a crazy pop maker, the feeling that had burrowed into his gut returned upon Pipsqueak’s resolute remarks, making him blush. Even though the earth pony colt was bound, no chance of escape, Featherweight felt genuinely safer in his presence. The colt smiled. “Hey, I-”

SLAM

The colts flinched, eyeing an aura covered glass with two bendy straws, throwing surprised eyes to Burdock. “Messieurs, le smoothie,” she said in a faux Prench accent, bringing a hoof to her lips and kissing it before she tossed it away. “Bon appétit.”

“Uh, what is it?” Pipsqueak asked, looking at it.

Featherweight, too, was confused by what exactly he was looking at. It looked like some sort of goopy syrup, with visible blackened chunks within. He looked at Burdock with an unsure gaze. “Is this… a smoothie?”

“Yes! I made it myself,” she bragged.

“I think we guessed that,” Pipsqueak replied, sighing with a grimace.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked, forcing each straw to their lips. “Dig in! And don’t think you’ll get any closer to leaving here if you don’t drink. Every.Single. Drop,” she said with a sudden firmness, eyeing both with a wild smile.

With a crease between his brows, Featherweight took the straw past his lips. He formed a seal around it, seeing Burdock nod in approval, her smile as disconcerting as ever. Her eyes bore into him, and he looked ahead, trying to forget her; only to filled with equally troubling sight. Pipsqueak’s eyes were a rich shade of deep reddish brown, the sort of fine colour he’d expect to see on a prolific artist’s palette. He became lost in them, even as the pinto colt’s face contorted into an expression of disgust as he slurped down the disgusting concoction.

Featherweight barely tasted a thing.

After a while, Pipsqueak released his mouth from around the straw, smacking his lips together with a grimace. “Gross,” he remarked simply, giving Burdock a look with squinted eyes; his lips downturned in frown.

“Aww, that’s too bad,” Burdock said, disappointed, before directing her sights at Featherweight. “It looks like your friend enjoyed it though!”

“Huh? Featherweight?” Pipsqueak probed, arching an eyebrow. “There’s none left. You can stop sucking now.”

Featherweight blinked, before his eyes widened as he pulled away from the straw, giving a shy smile. “Y-yeah. Sorry, my bad.”

Pipsqueak tilted his head slightly. “Uh… are you okay? You’re not allergic to anything are you? You’ve been acting a bit stran-”

“Hee!” Burdock squealed, triumphant, hoping her forehooves upon the table - the glass falling over. “You liked it? You liked it? You liked it right? Tell me you liked it?” she gushed, looking Featherweight squarely in the eye with a large toothy smile.

“Uh…” Featherweight began, nervous, finding her far too close for comfort. In truth, he barely registered the bitter taste on his tongue. “Yeah, it was g-great. Nice job…” he forced a smile.

“Yes!” she squealed - so high, in fact, both colts flinched - before she began to hop around the pair of them like a rabbit on a sugar rush. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” she cheered, both the colts pulling their cheeks back in awkward half-smiles. She eventually stopped, panting. “I-I’ll get more. I have so many different recipes for you to try!”

“Burdock!” a mare’s voice boomed from behind the counter.

Burdock jumped, startled before she threw her eyes to the counter. “D-Dandelion?” Burdock exclaimed in surprise, before she resumed her normal expression of joviality.

“Help us!” Pipsqueak pleaded. “This mare is crazy!”

“She’s not crazy!” Dandelion chastised. As she came into view, Featherweight saw she was balancing a six-pack of sodas on her back, each of them clicking with every step she took. He saw an expression of woe and exasperation on her face, giving Featherweight a worried glance before looking back to Burdock. “Let them go, sis.”

“Aww,” the mare said, the magic that had enveloped her horn dissipated, releasing both colts their magic cuffs.

“Ah,” both colts sighed with relief, rubbing their sore fetlocks.

“Put the bits back into his satchel, Burdock,” Dandelion ordered, in a tone that was reminiscent of a parent scolding their foal.

“Okay…” she acquiesced, her horn sparkled with light as she scooped up the pile - even picking up individual coins that had rolled to the edges of the room. Featherweight wasn’t a unicorn, nor had a deep understanding of magic, but the passiveness and ease she was able pick up every individual piece seemed something only a unicorn with great finesse was able to undertake. Pipsqueak rattled in place when the full weight of the collective sum was dropped into the satchel, Burdock clipping the bag closed.

“Now apologise.”

At that, Burdock looked between the two, a crease formed between her brows. She then gave her sister a passive expression, head tilted. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, clueless.

“You… you made them sad,” Dandelion answered.

“How?” she asked.

Featherweight shared a sad frown with Pipsqueak as Dandelion grimaced. “Just… just apologise, Burdock,” she requested, gently.

Burdock blinked, before looking between the two colts, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

Dandelion gave a heavy breath. She craned her neck to grab the pack off her back, before placing it upon the table before Featherweight. “Here. Your soda,” she said, flat.

“We can pay-”

She waved her hoof dismissively, shaking her head. “No, no. Just take it,” she insisted, before looking to her sister. “Do you want to go restock the fridge, Burdock?”

Burdock smiled. “Anything for you, sis,” she complied, happy, cantering away.

Featherweight shared a sympathetic look with Dandelion after her sibling departed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry I called her crazy,” Pipsqueak offered, hopping down from the seat. “She’s not… all there, is she?”

The mare retained her stoicism, looking between the two colts, sighing. “Is there anything else I can get for you, gentlecolts?”

“Er… no?” Featherweight replied.

“Then show yourselves out,” she stated bluntly, looking between the two. Even if she tried to keep her face blank, Featherweight perceived an air of sadness about her.

He gripped the handle of the pack with his teeth, jumping down from the chair, and followed Pipsqueak out, back under the blanketing rain.

He felt impotent.

The incident had left the colt’s head empty right up until he was outside the griffon’s door once more, Pipsqueak besides him.

“Are you okay?” Pipsqueak asked, concerned.

“Yeah, it’s just, at the end there, things got kinda… heavy,” Featherweight replied, his answer reminding him of the weight on his back.

“It wasn’t great,” Pipsqueak concurred. “Is there anything I can do?”

Featherweight released a heavy sigh. “No. At least I don’t think. I just hope Calvino appreciates the soda,” he said, nudging his shoulder against the six pack, “and all his bits being returned to him.”

Pipsqueak scrunched up his face, looking at the satchel - now being worn by Featherweight. “Are you sure we can’t take a few off the top? I mean, he wouldn’t know, would he?”

Featherweight half-smiled, looking at the colt coyly. “He said we could have whatever was left from the soda we bought. We didn’t technically buy any soda, so...”

Pipsqueak rolled his eyes. “Tch, fine,” he tutted, before releasing a smirk.

“I’m sure if you ever became a career politician you could happily ‘take a few off the top,’ whenever you want,” Featherweight jested with a chuckle.

“Ha!” Pipsqueak scoffed. “You’re a better colt than me. Hopefully you’ll be there in the future to reign me in, eh?”

Future. The word reverberated in his skull. Pipsqueak saw him in his future, and that elated him, but much like rain sodden wings, he didn’t find it uplifting. He should’ve been happy at the prospect of being the colt’s friend, even far into the future. Perhaps a part of him wanted to end the friendship, but detested the idea of never seeing him again... This was all beginning to get annoying. “Ugh…” the colt grumbled to himself.

“Huh? Somethin’ the matter?” Pipsqueak asked, taking a concerned step towards the colt.

“Uh, no, I just…” his sentence fell off as he took a reactive step away, forcing a grin. “I just remembered how unpleasant it was in his apartment. I don’t like the prospect of going back in there again.”

“I could come in if you want? Keep you company,” he offered.

As much as Featherweight loathed the idea of turning him down, he shook his head. “He’s blind, and hates ponies. You being in there when he wasn’t expecting you would… complicate things. To say the least,” he explained.

Pipsqueak gave a disappointed sigh. “Okay, okay. I’ll be waiting in our room,” he told him, pivoting away from the pegasus; flashing him a smile as he walked away. “Be quick, eh?”

“Sure,” Featherweight smiled, watching his friend leave.

Sighing, Featherweight straightened his posture. He gave the door a few firm knocks, before putting his hoof back on the floor. This time, he remained stock still, not wanting to repeat the same mistake as last time. After a few minutes of waiting, and audible bangs on the other side of the door, it was slammed open - the griffon’s decrepit form hanging over him, his milky eyes looking around pointlessly, his talons reaching out. Before Featherweight could speak up, the griffon’s digits landed atop his head. “Who’er you?”

Shoot. He forgot the fez. “I-it’s me. I got those sodas you ordered,” he revealed, giving the slender cat a timid grin.

“Ah…” he nodded, before turning around, his hands feeling against the walls. “Come in, come in.”

“R-right,” Featherweight complied, keeping his steps light as to not produce clops.

“Close the door,” Calvino commanded, his voice husky, dry.

“Alright…?” Featherweight acquiesced, if only on the merit that Calvino didn’t seem to have harmful intentions towards him. A few more steps him, and the colt removed the soda from his back and the satchel from his side - both audible and obvious.

“What’s that? Coin? I said you could keep the rest,” he chastised, kicking a discarded bottle out of the way of his pathing, sitting upon the bed with a wheeze.

“They were free.”

“Free!” the griffon exclaimed, growling, before descending into a coughing fit.

“Are you okay?” Featherweight took a step forwards, concern in his voice.

Calvino waved in his direction dismissively. “Yes, yes. Just pass me one of those glasses already,” he requested, gesturing a come hither motion with his hand.

“Oh, right away!” Featherweight was quick to comply, picking up one of them out of the pack - the glass wet with rainwater and condensation, cold between his hooves. “Here,” he said, holding it out towards the blind griffon, “it’s right here.”

Calvino snatched it from out the colt’s grip, making him flinch. He brought the top of the glass to his beak, prying off the cap effortlessly and spitting it out uncouthly onto the floor. Next, Featherweight watched with widened eyes as the griffon threw his head back and allowed the entire bottle to pour effortlessly unto his gullet, the dark caramel liquid disappearing into his beaked maw. After it was empty, the griffon released a belch - at which Featherweight grimaced in disgust - before allowing the bottle to roll out of his fingers and fall onto the floor; rolling away from the bed to join the rest. “Ah…” Calvino sighed, satisfied, breathing. “Soothes my throat. The rest are by the door, yes?”

“Yes…” Featherweight replied, looking by the door, the five remaining bottles resting in their pack.

“Good…” Calvion affirmed, breathing, before gesturing toward the door. “You can go now.”

“Oh, right,” Featherweight nodded, turning his back on the griffon. However, as he did, something began to gnaw at him. He glanced back behind him, to the faded picture. He had been curious about it, and by extension, the enigmatic Calviono, ever since he saw it. It’s why, mid step, he turned back to the griffon, unsure in his standing. “Um, Calvino,” he verbally prod, earning the griffon’s white eye.

“Yes? What? What do you want?” he grunted.

If he was going to inquire about something personal, he’d need to earn a degree of trust from Calvino. He had an idea about how to earn it, but he felt apprehensive about doing it. “I... “ he began, nervous. “I… I’m a pony,” he revealed. “My… my name is Featherweight.”

Calvino aimed his white eyes at the colt, wearing a blank expression. The colt didn’t know what to expect from the griffon. Perhaps a biting remark of some sort, a lion-like roar of anger. He waited with bated breath, flinching… and then the griffon began to laugh. “Haha, ha, ha, haha,” his grumbly laugh was sporadic, his taloned hand going to his belly as it burst, a tear leaking from one of his eyes. “Do you think I am an idiot?” he asked, wiping away one of the salty drops.

“...What?” Featherweight asked, confused and perplexed by the griffon’s reaction.

“I grabbed you by the tail. I heard your steps outside my door. I even heard your voice the night before,” he explained, smirking. “That’s not mentioning those pidly wings of yours.

Featherweight scrunched his brows for a second, before resuming his look of confusion. “So... you don’t hate ponies?” he asked, hopeful.

“Oh, I hate your kind with a passion, but like I said, I’ve grown soft in my old age,” Calvino responded with a casual shrug.

“Ah,” Featherweight replied with a nervous chuckle, before his brows raised. “Wait, does that mean-”

“Yes, I know that fool Dilap still believes I think he’s a griffon,” he interrupted. “He keeps quiet enough, keeps his distance. But never have I, in all my years alive, heard a griffon that spoke in his putrid accent.”

“Okay?” Featherweight said, still confused by something. “Wait, if you knew I was a pony from the very start, why did you go on the whole spiel about hating ponies?”

“Spiel?” the griffon scoffed. “I told no glibs. I simply thought it’d get you out of my feathers as soon as you returned. But evidently, you’re a lot more brave than I initially perceived, young Featherweight,” he complimented, audibly reluctant in doing so; his talons going to his beak, rolling it on the tip of the bill. “My beak has blunted with age. Tch. The shame of it,” he commented, before directing his sights in the colt’s general direction once more. “You have a reason for staying. Tell me. I prefer my privacy.”

“O-oh, well, I…” Featherweight stammered. He wondered how to articulate the question, glancing to the photograph by Calvino’s bedside.

“Spit it out already,” Calvino carped, impatient.

“By your bed. The photograph-”

Calvino suddenly rose from the bed, wearing a scowl. He must have got disorientated as he did, looking around aimlessly. “Why? Have you been looking at it?” Calvino demanded as answer as he balanced against one of the walls, voice quivering with anger. Even in his sickly state, he still looked intimidating to the comparatively smaller pegasus.

“No, I just glanced it at most,” Featherweight recoil as he answered, his voice threatening to waver with fear. “I just thought… I just thought you looked sad, and… and...” he trailed off, shrinking in place, the griffon’s shadow over him.

The griffon stayed standing for a while, before he fell back onto the bed, a talon lightly clutching at his chest. He grumbled, before exhaling. The room was silent thereafter, Featherweight feeling too nervous to shatter it. After a while, the griffon reached behind him, his talons fumbling around on the nightstand until he gripped the edge of the frame. Featherweight saw the delicacy in which he handled it, deliberately securing a greater grip on it before it was lifted from the table, bringing it to near his chest. He couldn’t see what was upon it, but he rubbed his thumb over the glass, sighing. “Come here,” he patted the bed, speaking softly.

“Sure,” Featherweight complied, the griffon’s sudden shift in demeanor left him wary, but he still hopped onto the bed regardless - the mattress feeling lumpy and uncomfortable, even through the blankets. “I’m here,” he informed Calvino.

“Tell me, what do you see?” Calvino asked.

Featherweight felt a lot of weight hang upon the question. He looked from the griffon’s empty eyes, to the photograph that was presented to him. “I see you,” he told him, looking at the familiar figure in the picture. The photo was a sepia brown, so could not see original colours of Calvino’s feathers, but the griffon was dressed in some sort of finery - top hat, suit jacket, even wearing a monocle and pocket watch - but most striking thing about the picture, was that he wasn’t alone in it. “I see a lady,” he told him, “a griffoness. You’ve got an arm around her.”

“Yes...” his voice quivered, a breath escaping from the blind griffon’s lungs. “What else. Describe her,” Calvino requested, leaning in closer to the colt.

“Um, she’s wearing a dress. It looks pretty. Frilly... she has a stripe across the width of her beak. And she’s wearing a hat,” he told him bits and pieces of what he saw as it came into his head. “She’s holding the arm you’ve got around her. And she’s… she’s smiling.”

The griffon released a breathless chuckle, seemingly on the verge of a sob. “I can’t look upon her anymore, but I can still see her.”

“Matilda,” the name was uttered softly, as if was being presented to the colt on a fine pillow, it was said with such an understated amount of love that Featherweight could barely process it. “My wife. She passed away here, in this damnable city.”

“I’m sorry,” Featherweight consoled, frowning.

“Your condolences are thirty years too late. But… but you have my thanks,” he nodded, bringing the photo to his chest, holding it tight.

“You’ve been here for that long? If you hated this place so much, why did you never leave? Go home?” he asked, trying not to provoke offence, his voice filled with a genuine curiosity.

“When she died here, I knew that I was never going to see home again. Home no longer existed. Not while she wasn’t there,” he said somberly, sniffing. “And she won’t be anywhere. Not anymore...”

“The hotel? You said the hotel would remain, so long as your heart kept beating? Why?” the question carried with it much curiosity, the colt couldn’t help but lean in eager to listen.

The griffon blinked, although his expression betrayed no pensiveness. He kept his eyes on nothing. “It was funny. I hate ponies. I loathe everything about them. Their cities. Their food. Their stink,” he finished, directing his eyes pointlessly at the colt, before aiming them forwards again. “But Matilda. My Matilda. She loved everything,” he gave a chuckle, his cheek tugging a little, betraying the glimmer of a nostalgic smile. “You was fascinated by your kind. But she loved this city most of all. And this hotel. This relic, this... destitute hovel. Admittedly, it wasn’t always like this. But such refined lodgings fell out of favour. When? I couldn’t say. They gradually got replaced, all of them one by one. But this hotel? I kept it alive. I keep it alive for her…”

“You must have loved her a lot,” Featherweight remarked, feeling admiration for the griffon.

“I still love her, young Featherweight,” he replied, his milken eyes pointed at him, as if you punctuate his point. “I still feel it. Here,” he marked his sentence by clutching his chest. “In my heart. I get pains everyday. Everyday I don’t hear her voice. Everyday I don’t feel her body against my own. I long for her, everyday. I sometimes sob to sleep, and wish for death, just to look upon her again in the flesh.”

“It sounds almost like a curse,” the young colt commented, feeling a tad uncomfortable, familiar with some of the things he described. “Like, something you’d want to get rid off.”

The griffon, for the first time, smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong. It is a blessing. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. It lets me know I am still alive. I would never get rid of the pains, or my sorrow. Not even for my sight back...” he paused, his eyes going to the floor, a wistful expression on his face. “It lets me know my love was real. That it meant something. Love shared is the most precious feeling the world has to offer us, and should be kept close, and never loosened. As long as I feel this, I know that she feels it too, and that she awaits me, someplace.”

When the griffon finished, Featherweight aimed his eyes at the floor, his mind in a state of reflection. The symptoms of his illness. The queasiness, the pains. All triggering whenever he came into the presence of a particular colt. Could that be it, truly? He couldn’t. Not for another colt, surely? But if he then had to ask himself why he tugged so vehemently towards refusal. What kept him from acceptance? He turned a slight eye towards Calvino, timid. “I… I think I’m in love,” he revealed, swallowing.

It felt almost liberating.

Calvino chuckled through his nostrils. “So the young colt is in love, eh? You feel it too? In your chest?”

“Yes, but-”

“But what?” Calvino cut him off with the curt question, his brows furrowed.

“I… I think I’m scared,” Featherweight answered, truthfully.

“Bah!” the griffon scoffed, waving dismissively. “Let your fear borrow those little wings of yours and let it fly off. You don’t need such a foolish feeling at your side.”

“Fear? I-I’d say it’s quite useful. It stops you from making stupid and risky decisions,” he tried to rationalise, articulating with the pointing of his hoof.

“You are an idiot,” Calvino stated rather blunty, rubbing his hand down his face. “Good grief. You ponies are all the same. Always fumbling and unsure of everything.”

“H-hey, at least I admitted I love someone,” the colt retorted.

“Yes, but how long did you put that off for? If you keep acting like a pony, you’ll never admit your true feelings to the one you love,” the griffon chastised, poking the pony playfully in his cheek.

“Fine!” the colt exclaimed, standing on the bed. “I’ll right there, right now and admit-”

“Woah, woah, calm down young buck,” Calvino avised, forcing the colt to sit again with his free hand. “You have to choose the right moment. It’s no good to plant a garden in autumn, when you best wait for spring.”

“Then… then when do I tell them?” the colt needed an answer, regarding the griffon as a wise sage.

Calvino smiled. “Ah,” he began, his beak cracking into a nostalgic smile. “When I declared my love for Matilda, it was beautiful. When we were high upon the sky, we fell onto a cloud together after a bout of laughing. It was then, when the sun was at its zenith - the stars of dusk twinkling overhead - I told her that I loved her. Oh, I remember it clearly. We kissed, and then our cloaca-”

“What’s a cloaca?” Featherweight asked, naively.

“Oh, uh, um…” the griffon’s voice became that of audible panic, pointing his eyes sporadically around as he stammered. This confused Featherweight for two reasons.

“What?”

“You can leave now,” the griffon shooed, lightly nudging the colt.

“But-”

“If you leave, you can take that satchel of bits with you,” Calvino encouraged.

“Oh, uh… okay?” the colt agreed with a slight scoff, hopping down from the bed. He trailed to the otherside of the room, throwing the strap of the bag over his head, looking back to the aged griffon. “Thanks for the advice, sir.”

Calvino let out a sparse laugh. “No problem. But remember. Pick the right moment, when love is most potent. That’s when you declare for her.”

As the griffon spoke, Featherweight opened the door, glancing back to him as he left. “It’s a colt, actually.”

“Wha-”

Slam!

I love you...

I love you!

I… love… you?

Iloveyou!

The words played over and over in his head. The mantra of his feelings. He imagined himself saying them in a variety of different ways, none sounding right. Admittedly, he had no clue how to do it correctly anyway… maybe Calvino would let him practice with him?

“Miss Cheerilee?”

The tone of worry that came across in the voice down the hall took Featherweight out from his thoughts. Outside a door there was a small gathering of students, whispering amongst each other, eyes on the door to the teacher’s room. Featherweight felt a compulsion to go investigate, even if a part of him was tethered to Pipsqueak – even if he had no clue on how he’d act around him now, knowing now of what ailed him. It’d also be inconsiderate of him to simply pass by without some manner of looking into it. He approached the small crowd apprehensively, only earning a few cursory glances before those same eyes fixed onto the door again.

“What happened?” he asked, earning the disinterested eye of Silver Spoon.

“Miss Cheerilee ran from the lobby crying about twenty minutes ago. She’s been locked in her room ever since” she informed, frowning.

Featherweight now wore a similar expression of concern, eyeing the door with pursed lips. “Has she said anything? Opened the door for anypony?” he asked.

“No. We’ve been trying to get to come out but nothing so far,” she replied. “It’s kinda scary.”

Featherweight felt worried. He tried to think quickly of what to do. He doubted his voice alone would prompt her to open up, and from how this establishment was ran, he doubted he’d be able to procure a second key. Not that forcing himself and the rest of the class into the room was likely to solve things. He contemplated, pensively combing over everything, until his eyes widened, an idea made fruition in his head. He squeezed past the small crowd to get to his room, his pace hurried.

“Hey, how was-”

“One minute!” he interrupted his friend, momentarily forgetting his feelings; closing the door behind him. He dropped the bag beside him on the floor, the bulging piece of apparel earning Pipsqueak’s full attention – the colt leaping from the bed.

“Wait a minute. Is that-”

“One minute,” Featherweight, again, interrupted, going to the half-open closed closet.

“Why are you getting into the closet?” Pipsqueak asked.

“I’ve already come out of it...” Featherweight muttered drily under his breath, looking back at his friend. “I just need to test something.”

“Okay...?” Pipsqueak responded with uncertainty, sitting down.

Now that there was quiet from his friend, Featherweight pressed his ear against the wall. His sense of hearing piqued for any kind of sound. A minute passed, and it may have been a trick of the mind, but he thought he heard a muffled sob. “M-Miss Cheerilee?” Featherweight called softly at the wall, tapping his hoof against it, trying to get his teacher’s attention. A minute passed, and then two. The sobbing had stopped, but silence reigned thereafter.

“Featherweight…?” he heard a muffled voice call back through the wall. The sudden voice startled the colt a little, but his lip twitched with an accomplished smile.

“It’s me, Miss Cheerilee,” he confirmed, speaking gently yet loud enough to be heard through the thin wall.

“I can hear you...” she remarked.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, “the walls are thin.”

At this, the mare groaned, the colt startled by a sudden bang against the wall – a slight depression appearing on the wall. “Uh, are you leaning against the wall?” he asked.

The wall smoothed out again, followed by a loud sigh from his teacher. “No...”

“Uh...” Featherweight wasn’t convinced, but she nor he was in any state to be called out on it. Featherweight glanced to Pipsqueak, who was watching earnestly. “Are you… okay, Miss?” he asked, directing it towards the wall, concerned.

There was a period of silence after the question was asked. Featherweight simply waited for reply, not drawing his eyes from the wall; even as Pipsqueak sat next to him, waiting. “I’m fine, really,” she replied with a pathetic forced tone of sincerity. He couldn’t see her, but he was sure she was nodding and smiling on the other side. “You don’t have to worry about me, Featherweight.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he retorted, a crease forming between his brows.

He could hear her sigh on the other side. “Featherweight… you’re old enough by now to understand that when somepony makes a mistake it doesn’t feel… good. It feels like your heart is in a vice,” she paused to sigh. “And each mistake I made just made it tighter. I can’t imagine how much you all hate me-”

“What?” Featherweight interrupted, “We don’t hate you. We could never hate you. I mean, sometimes, I get annoyed by surprise homework or pop quiz, but I’m sure everypony gets annoyed by stuff… except maybe Sweetie Belle,” he said as an aside, before resuming his sights on the wall. “It’s not your fault , Miss. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have. I didn’t know but I should’ve. This is your last year with me, and this’ll be what you remember. The terrible hotel, your missing belonging and the stupid rain!” she countered. She spoke in a voice that was foreign to Featherweight. It almost made him recoil. It wasn’t the voice of a teacher to her student. It was that of a mare, tired and upset with life at the moment.

It was enough to threaten the welling of tears from his eyes.

“What are you talking about!” he exclaimed, cross. “A couple bad nights isn’t almost enough to erase all the good we’ll remember you for, Miss! You’re like a third parent to every student under you, don’t you know that? All you wanted was the best for us, and that’s all that matters. Sure, in the moment things are bad, but one day we’ll look back on this day and laugh. It’s not going to frame the years under you negatively, Miss. There will be a day when we want to come back to this time in our lives. Not just because we’re younger, or because we’re in school, but because of you Miss Cheerilee!” he spoke with a trembling passion. He felt a bit foolish directed such a display at a wall, but he hoped at the very least Cheerilee heeded his words on the other side.

A minute passed and then… nothing. No words, sniffles or movement. None that he could hear anyway. With furrowed brows he turned to Pipsqueak, who was frowning in silence concurrence. “Are you okay?” the earth colt asked; his body looked indecisive on whether to take a step towards the pegasus or to remain seated.

“Yeah...” Featherweight replied, dejected in tone as well as spirit.

“Do you think she’s gonna be okay?” he asked, this question considerably harder to answer.

“I don’t know...” Featherweight replied meekly, continuing to look at the wall, hoping a voice would come from the other side.

“Miss Cheerilee!”

The name was exclaimed pleasantly, loud, and from the hall. Featherweight scrambled out the closet.

“Hey!” Pipsqueak yelped as Featherweight clipped him.

The pegasus colt shot towards the door, his haste made him clumsy, tripping over the bag of bits before even reaching the knob, which his hooves constantly glanced off of as he tried to get a grip. When he finally made unlocked the door he fell out face first, which was followed by a frantic climb to his hooves, eyes being thrown to his immediate right; his cheek tugging slightly into a smile. His teacher was surrounded by his fellow classmates, all speaking over one another so loudly that Featherweight couldn’t discern what was being said.

“Now, now, I’m okay, I’m okay,” the mare reassured them, releasing a jovial spurt of laughter. Her reassurances didn’t silence them however, but Featherweight supposed that she didn’t care that much.

“I think that answers our question,” Pipsqueak commented, joining Featherweight in looking at the reinvigorated mare, half-smiling. He stood close by the colt, the narrow hallway not generous in room. “i didn’t know you were even capable.”

“Of what?” Featherweight inquired, wearing a confused grin.

“Being that loud,” Pipsqueak jested, giving a short laugh, marking the end of his sentence with a light jab into the pegasi’s shoulder.

“Yeah...” Featherweight concurred weakly, reciprocated the colt’s grin with forced smile. “I don’t know where it came from...”

Pipsqueak gave a smirk, the expression of soft joy was frame-captured in the mind of Featherweight, whose heart now pumped in crescendo to the three syllable phrase that was repeated over in his head. He didn’t know if the colt truly continued to look in him in the eye or if his mind was racing so fast it appeared as though time itself had stopped. It was possible that the revelation of his feelings as exacerbated his condition, his chest tightening uncomfortably as a result of breathlessness. The mantra continued.

I love you

I love you

“I lo-”

“Woah,” Pipsqueak said suddenly, his brows lowering as his eyes widened slightly.

“W-what? I didn’t say anything!” Featherweight panicked.

“What?” Pipsqueak replied, confused, before shaking his head. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked, although he came to the answer all by himself immediately after.

The students around Cheerilee had quietened down, all seemingly arriving at the same conclusion as he had. Featherweight noticed a sound absent from his hearing. It had been going on constantly so it just faded into the background of his subconscious, like breathing. He glanced to his classmates, and then to Pipsqueak, both had directed their eyes in a particular direction and thus Featherweight followed suite. He looked past the rows of opening doors, past the tacky carpet, the shabbily painted walls to the window at the far end of the hall. On the surface of the glass, new speckles of rainwater stopped appearing, and dim rays of sunshine shone through the window, revealing the dust particles that floated in the air.

The rain had stopped.

Chapter 4: Sun Faegar

Featherweight was so taken aback by the sight before him he could scarcely remember how he got to it. After the rain had stopped there was immediate chaos. Fillies and colts scrambling to escape their room, to get outside to validate what they were seeing. Cheerilee tried to co-ordinate them, calm their frantic bodies. They were all in their mid teens but Featherweight didn’t doubt that his teacher was very likely having some traumatising flashbacks to her class when they were first years. Featherweight thought of accompanying the lot of them, he was encouraged by Pipsqueak after all, yet it occurred to him at that moment that Cheerilee was trying to stop them going outside. It did dawn on him that even if they did get outside, then what? What would they do other than look upon the scarce sights and look on in envy at ponies who actually had money to spend on their day out in Trottingham.

Pipsqueak was reluctant at first, but with further encouragement from Featherweight, he was convinced not to complain about spreading the wealth amongst the class. Students accepted eagerly of course, but Cheerilee was reluctant to accept money of her own students. Again, with the same level of insistence he directed towards Pipsqueak, Featherweight was able to have her relent and accepted a portion of the generous sum her offered her.

Featherweight had expected when they left the Regalia that everypony would scatter in all directions. The pursue their own avenues fun. However, leaving the confines of the hotel had them look upon a weird scene. Featherweight, with all he experienced thus far, wasn’t struck with the same level of confusion the rest of his peers were, but still found himself pausing to watch. The citizens were like ants. They trod walking same direction as the pony in front, sparsely covering the width of the road. Featherweight recalled sharing a look with Pipsqueak, who shrugged in return. He had no clue what was going on.

Featherweight remembered the odd two word reply a stallion gave to Cheerilee after she broke through the small crowd of students. She flagged the attention of a passing stallion with her hoof; the stallion only spared her a glance, not stopping. “Where are you all going?” she asked.

“Sun Faegar,” he replied promptly, carrying on.

“Excuse you…?” Cheerilee rebuked with little commitment as her head tilted in confusion.

This vague answer inspired within Featherweight a deep feeling of curiosity, one which visibly flowered in several others as well. Cheerilee offered to lead a few students to where the other citizens were heading but she soon found herself leading the entire class, the colts and fillies with their bits within little baggies between their teeth. As they got closer to where the natives were heading, Featherweight’s ear pricked at the sound of… music? Laughter and boisterous voices. Is this where they were all heading towards?

It was when the class stood before their destination that they were all given pause, a staring completely still, as if they had locked eyes with a deadly cockatrice. It was certainly coaxed out of them the same level of surprise, the coloured lights and quickly summoned festivities came as a shock to Featherweight and he guessed those around him as well. Despite his outward expression of being awestruck, inside he was smiling like a fool. Erected everywhere were stands and tents, with entertainers and preformed traipsing around. They had painted on their features the sun, wearing excessive beams whilst some ponies shambled around in white and grey, looking like clouds; carrying large water droplet shaped lollipops in a box hanging from their neck.

Featherweight was content with just staying by his teacher, but others were not. As though being swept away by the majesty of it all. A few of his peers simply wandered off, making way for the nearing food or games stand, typically in pairs or trios.

“Wait, wait!” Cheerilee called, trying to stop them, a frantic look in her eye. Although her voice fell on deaf ears, and she sighed, head fallen in exasperation. “Be back at the Regalia by eight!” she decreed, taking off like the rest of them; leaving Featherweight standing a sea of strangers and bustle.

“Hey!” a voice at his side alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone. “What’d you fancy doin’ first?” Pipsqueak asked, holding aloft his small share from the bag, glancing around eagerly; spoilt for choice.

Featherweight felt a rumble in his belly, and he gave the earth pony colt a sheepish grin. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat.”

“You just read my mind,” Pipsqueak smiled, hooking his hoof around the colt’s neck. “Let’s go see if the stereotypes about Trottingham food are true.”

Featherweight felt his face flush at being held by the colt, his sheepish smile unwavering. “T-that it’s good?”

“Oh no,” Pipsqueak chortled, shaking his head knowingly. “Not at all...”

And with that, Pipsqueak led Featherweight around from stall to stall, eagerly eating and participating in the games they had on show. Featherweight ate his fill, even if the radish pies and curdled lemon milkshakes weren’t exactly suited to his tongue. The colts both spend numerous bits playing the games they had on offer. Hook a duck, ball throwing, even bobbing for apples. Each piece of food and each go at a game cost only a singular bit, and Featherweight thought they were well worth the price. There were light jibs at each others skill with a ball, or the ability to stomach some particularly unpleasant offal, but by the time the sun began its slow decline, Featherweight’s jaw ached from smiling for so long.

“I’m out of bits and we’re almost out of time,” Pipsqueak said, haggard but disappointed all the same.

Featherweight frowned. He saw less and less of his classmates around, and even Cheerilee was nowhere to be seen. However, he didn’t want it to end, not yet. There was something that felt distinctly incomplete about it. He was happy. Extremely so. It was supposed to mount to something, wasn’t it? He saw Pipsqueak looking with disappointment into his empty sack, but he still felt a weight in his own.

“I-I’ve got two bits left,” he informed, wearing an encouraging smile.

Pipsqueak smirked. “I guess it’s good you don’t have my appetite,” he remarked. “What are you gonna spend it on?”

“What are we going to spend it on,” he corrected.

Pipsqueak’s grin grew larger. “Cool. What’d you have in mind? Some more food, maybe one last go at a game?”

“O-oh, well, I was thinking that...” Featherweight trailed off, limply pointing his hoof forwards.

Pipsqueak followed where Featherweight’s hoof was pointed, blinking in apparent surprise. It was something they had all seen when they entered the fair, a huge wheel which scraped the sparsely clouded sky. Large seats gently swayed back and forth as the wheel spun, sat in by mares and their accompanying stallions. Whether or not Pipsqueak was oblivious to that was unknown to Featherweight, who heartbeat quickened in his chest in anticipation of his answer.

“A Ferris wheel?” Pipsqueak said, brow raised, looking at Featherweight with a grin. “Can’t you already get the same view from flying?”

“Yeah, w-well, I just thought-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured, his smile soft. “I’d like to see what my home city looks like from so high. Especially with you, if that doesn’t sound too weird,” the earth colt smirked, although it was his turn to have flushed cheeks.

The remark came as a surprise to Featherweight, but no less made him smile at Pipsqueak’s receptiveness. “O-oh, good! Should we…?”

“Lead the way,” Pipsqueak offered. “Celestia knows I’ve been dragging you all over this fair,” he ended with self-deprecating grin.

“O-okay,” Featherweight nodded, his body becoming warm despite the encroaching cold.

The winged colt walked ahead at an even pace, not too fast nor too slow. The wheel ahead spun at a leisurely pace, stopping every few moments to offer the ponies in the top-most seat a view of the surrounding area and the ones in the bottom-most to get off and allow new ponies to take their place. The attendant was a mare wearing a gentle grin, who nodded towards the colts in acknowledgement as they approached her.

“The two of you?” she said, voice twanging with an accent.

“Yes,” Featherweight replied, dropping the two bits into the frog of her extended hoof.

With that she tossed the bits into a nearby hat, bringing the wheel to a stop the next time one of the chairs aligned with the chain link barring entry. “All aboard,” she said with a warm smile, the two colts giving her a nod as they passed by her, getting onboard.

The seats were snug, forcing the two colts to press their sides into one another. Pipsqueak didn’t appear fazed, but Featherweight had to consciously push that simple fact out of his head. They were thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, their hooves almost touching as they rested on the bar that kept them safely inside the seat. As the wheel began to make its slow climb – the chair rocking gently back and forth as they ascended – Featherweight found his eye constantly glancing to the colt at his side. As the day progressed, he became less abashed in gawking at the colt. When love’s switch was flipped, it gave way to something he never felt towards another before. It was attraction. The coltish frame of Pipsqueak was underlined with the lithe muscle not uncommon in earth ponies. It was an admirable sight, which made his heart thump and his face blush.

“Are you alright? Not afraid of heights are ya?” Pipsqueak chortled at his jest, nudging the colt out of his doughy eyed stare.

“No...” Featherweight replied anxiously, looking out ahead with an empty expression. The three story buildings began to fall below his line of sight, his hooves idly kicking back and forth as the wheel climbed them higher.

“Is something the matter?” Pipsqueak asked, concerned. “Ever since we’ve come here, you’ve been acting a bit weird. Ever since we arrived, I started to notice… things.”

“What things?” Featherweight asked passively looking ahead at the pink and orange horizon.

“Well, you’ve been blushing constantly for one – yeah, I noticed,” Pipsqueak said, rushing out his sentence prematurely to counter Featherweight’s expression of shock. “I mean, I would’ve thought you were just sick, or something, but if you were you would have said something.”

“I… I can’t say,” Featherweight almost chocked on his words, glancing away.

The wheel was nearly at its peak, and the view would have taken his breath away if he were not holding it in. He could see seagulls and pigeons roosting on rooftops, likely having had their fill of fallen fair food. The sun being on the horizon meant that his eyes could afford to look upon it. It looked as though it was submerging into the ocean, the sky above twinkling with the emergence of stars as a rainbow crescent lorded over the city’s edge.

Featherweight’s eyes widened as he saw his friend’s hoof coil around his own, prompting him to dart his eyes to Pipsqueak. “Wha-”

“I care about you, alright?” Pipsqueak admitted. Despite his pinked cheeks his expression remained stern, his grip just as firm and assuring. “Please, tell me what’s wro-”

Featherweight couldn’t help himself. His own eyes were locked in wide-eyed shock with Pipsqueak. His lips were puckered and pressed against the colt’s next to him. It could barely be called a kiss, as Pipsqueak didn’t reciprocate. He just kept his lips pursed, his body frozen. Featherweight was carried forwards by nothing more than the feeling of the moment, but the contact of their lips felt like an explosion of euphoria to the young pegasus. A moment of gratification that sent his heart into a one-sided punching match with his ribcage.

Half a minute passed, and Featherweight pulled away with a timid slowness, the wheel ending at its zenith, the two colts the highest ponies in Trottingham at that moment. No words were uttered from Featherweight’s tongue, his eyes looking downward, his temperament similar to that of a guilty foal. His shame was only heightened when he felt Pipsqueak’s grip around his hoof around waver, until it was let go entirely, leaving his hoof cold and alone, the fire that had warmed him from inside out faltered, the cold breeze penetrating his coat. Not even the heat from the colt next to him could ease his chill.

As if to match his mood, he gradually came down again, the sky becoming black with night. He didn’t cast a glance to the nice attendant, nor did he risk looking at the colt who walked alongside him. He felt humiliated and pathetic, his eyes holding a thin layer of moisture as tears threatened to fall from them, held back only by his desire to not appear even more wretched than he already was. He remembered the route back to the Regalia easy enough, entering ahead of Pipsqueak into the empty hotel lobby. He glanced the clock. Miraculously they only a couple minutes late, but despite how early it was in the evening Featherweight supposed the rest of his classmates were as fatigued as he was. He wasn’t sparing with the energy expenditure, and his body was asking for a pretty hefty bill.

He passed by the counter, the nameless bellhop drooling as he snoozed with his head on top of it. At least he was getting some sleep. Featherweight then climbed up the stairs wordlessly, hearing them creak the weight of the colt behind him.

The room was dense with something besides dust when the door closed behind him: awkwardness.

Featherweight wished he could’ve sought out the elderly griffon’s advice at this moment, but from the sounds of it, his kiss with Matilda was entirely mutual – he couldn’t say the same for his. He climbed onto the bed, limbs heavy, and simply fell onto his side, eyes clenched closed, trying to force the memory of the day out of his mind. His talk with Cheerilee, the life lesson from Calvino, the experience in the soda shop and the every hour at the fair. All of it. He hated the day as much as he hated himself. He felt the bed shift as a weight fell down on the adjacent side. Figures. Pipsqueak was likely just as tired as he was.

Between them was a pretty large gap and mutual silence. A minute passed, then several, and soon enough Featherweight felt ready to be embraced by dreams…

“What was that?” he heard Pipsqueak say, his voice was quiet, diffident.

Featherweight opened his eyes but he didn’t look back. “A kiss...”

“Oh… why?” Pipsqueak probed.

Featherweight shifted on the bed. He pulled the corner of the blanket to his chest, pursing his lips with reluctance. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you,” he repeated, somewhat louder, just to feel again that pleasant heat in his chest.

Pipsqueak was quiet for a worryingly long time, enough to make Featherweight hug the sheet even tighter. Should he have admitted to that?

“Cool...” he uttered finally.

“...’Cool’?” Featherweight iterated Pipsqueak, almost scoffing, the almost indifference in his voice bringing a small smile to his lips.

“Y-yeah, I mean, what d’ya say to somepony who tells you that?” the colt’s voice was almost skittish.

“It is quite a load to drop on someone’s shoulders. Sorry,” Featherweight replied, tone apologetic.

“No biggie,” Pipsqueak said, smirking. “I mean, it should really be me apologisin’.”

“Why?” Featherweight asked, brows furrowed.

“If I had known I was so lovable-”

“Shut up,” Featherweight laughed, snorting.

After the two shared a laugh, the room was quiet again. The awkwardness was still very much present, but the sad veneer that Featherweight had coated it in was effectively washed away by Pipsqueak’s light-heartedness. There was a lull, but then the mattress sank as somepony shuffled across it, and Featherweight hugged that corner of sheet even more closely.

“So… why do you love me?” Pipsqueak asked. His tone was gentle. As if he didn’t want to risk scaring Featherweight.

“I don’t know,” Featherweight answered. It was the truth. It was just a feeling her felt, a need to be closer to him, to have him in sight. But he didn’t know how to put that into words. “But if I had to guess, probably for the same reasons I like you as a friend.”

“Then why are you my friend?”

“Who wouldn’t be your friend?” he shot back, almost offended that he’d even ask. “You’re passionate about what you do. You’re caring. Not just with me but others too. You’re funny. And on top of all that you’re absolutely fearless…”

“’Fearless’? Not that I’m the one to shrug off a compliment, but did you see me when I was tied to that chair?” Pipsqueak pointed out. “I was freaking out.”

“But despite that you still put me ahead of yourself. You threatened someone for me. You kept telling me everything was going to be okay. I still can’t believe it...” Featherweight murmured.

“But… but I’d do that for anypony.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Featherweight elaborated, sniffling. He was getting emotional. He didn’t know why. “You’re selfless, and I don’t ever want to lose you. Friendships can end, but love...” he trailed off, clenching his jaw.

He didn’t want to say anything after that. He closed his eyes, tears building at their corners. He wanted to sleep now. He believed that the night should rightly end, and was prepared to let that happen… until it didn’t.

There was more shifting on the bed, prompting Featherweight’s eyes to open groggily. There was a pause, and then he soon felt himself pulled into a warm embrace, Pipsqueak’s chest against his back as the earth pony held him close to him. Featherweight felt an exclamation of surprise become lodged in his throat, and his instinct to pull dulled, and his body remained still as the colt’s hoof wrapped around his belly. He felt warm. He glanced back, looking upon Pipsqueak for the first time since he kissed him atop the wheel, and saw his contented expression, his eyes closed as he attempted to drift off to sleep. Featherweight was confused but he didn’t find any reason to complain. His lips trembled, risking a smile, laying his head back onto the pillow before gently closing his eyes, asleep in his Pipsqueak’s hooves.

Chapter 5: The End

Sunlight still came through the window when he awoke, which was a pleasant surprise, but not more so than the hoof of Pipsqueak, which still wrapped around his belly in tender hug; his cheek on the colt’s shoulder. Feather heard the slow breathing, the colt still peacefully asleep. The pegasus wasn’t in any hurry to break free of the grasp, there was something grounding about it, which brought sanity and realness to his shaky perception. Were they coltfriends now, or was Pipsqueak just regarding him as a teddy bear? They were questions, but Featherweight was happy with them rather than the ones from yesterday or before. The ones that had him asking himself why he was so queasy, or why he felt so weird looking at the colt currently holding him close. The new questions could be answered with time.

He was content with waiting.

And wait he did. He wanted to savour every second in Pipsqueak’s hooves. Eventually though, the passage of time brought the inevitability of things moving forward, and time does not like things refusing to adhere to that.

“Pipsqueak, Featherweight!” a call came from outside the door, the voice belonged to Cheerilee. It was accompanied by several considerate knocks on the door. “We have to be at the pier by noon. Please get ready and meet me in the lobby,” she instructed, silence following thereafter.

Featherweight heard Pipsqueak groan, the colt’s hoof uncoiled from around his belly, rolling onto his back. He stretched all four of his limbs as he yawned. Featherweight simply looked at him, unsure of what to say but still smiling all the same.

Pipsqueak looked at his dopey expression with a cocked brow. “What?” he inquired, grinning.

“It’s just… I just...” he trailed off, failing to conjure an answer that didn’t make him feel silly. “I can just… look at you now and not feel weird.”

This answer failed to make Pipsqueak lower his brow. “O… ‘kay?” he chuckled, turning on his side. “Well, you might not feel weird, but I do - even if it is a little flattering. Think you can ease up on the lover’s gaze a little?”

“I can try,” Featherweight offered, his voice carrying a tone of faux committal, grinning.

“That’s all I ask,” Pipsqueak smirked.

The two colts then prepared to leave. They tidied up the bed, straightening out the sheets and making sure everything was as they had left it. They didn’t expect anypony else would be staying in it for quite some time however, all things considered…

“I suppose the upside of our luggage getting lost is that I don’t have to pack anything,” remarked as he opened the door, glancing back at Featherweight. The pegasus was ensuring the largely unused camera was safely in its bag, clicking it closed. “You didn’t get to use that much, did you?”

“I had other things on my mind,” Featherweight said, his cheeks taking on a tinge of pink.

“Oh...” Pipsqueak replied, awkwardly smiling. “Well, maybe it was for the best.”

“Why?”

“You kiddin’? Between being trapped in the hotel for over half our stay here, our horror-serial of a room and being force fed an assortment of goop, I’d rather there be no pictures,” he elaborated with a slight grimace. “And besides. You were there for all the good bits. Don’t need a picture to remember those when I can just, well, look at you...” he voice trailed off as he became sheepish, his cheeks flushed.

Featherweight chortled, amused but also surprised. “Wow. That could be construed as a flirt you know,” Featherweight pointed out, giggling.

Pipsqueak pouted, cheeks still red. “Well, maybe it was,” he replied, “or maybe it was just a simple admission of fact.”

“It’s still nice to hear anyway,” Featherweight said, voice soft and sincere, smiling at the colt.

Pipsqueak’s pout dissipated, his eyes averted somewhat as shyness overwhelmed him. “I-I’ll just wait in the lobby,” he informed, turning all too hastily away from Featherweight, disappearing around the corner and out of view.

When the earth colt had left, the pegasus sighed, before reaching out to balance on the bed, his other going to his chest. He needed a hoof there to help calm his racing heart, his calming breaths were underlined with a nervous titter and smile. Featherweight, on the surface, appeared to be taking it in stride. The whole reveal of his feelings, the back and forth thereafter. There was an element of truth to this. Such feelings had been bubbling within him for months now, and he was able to stomach it somewhat, however he still experienced a sudden onset rush that inflicted him with vertigo.

He took a few deep breaths, calming his quivering body and his beating heart, achieving enough calm to pick up his suitcase and leave the room; closing the door behind him.

Under sunlight the hotel looked abandoned, especially without the noise of other students coming out from behind closed doors. Featherweight felt wistful as he walked down the hallway for what was likely the last time. He could easily imagine a time when the establishment was actually worthy of its name. A time when the carpet wasn’t in tatters or when the walls weren’t like sunburnt skin – peeling. Just before he reached the stairs, he came to stop before a particular door. He gave it a few tentative knocks, wondering if he would even get a response so early in the morning.

The reply was surprisingly prompt, the locks coming undone on the other side with audible haste, Featherweight cringing in anticipation of the elderly griffon’s incoming glare.

“What! What!” Calvino’s voice was fierce, as sharp as his beak.

“It’s me!” Featherweight answered, stepping back instinctively.

“Oh...” he replied, rubbing one of his perpetually tired looking eyes as his expression softened.

“I just thought that I’d say goodbye.”

“You’re leaving?” Calvino said. His voice sounded neither happy or sad, opened the door the rest of the way.

“Yeah. I just wanted to say goodbye… and thank you,” the colt said with sincerity, smiling up at the griffon’s milk-white eyes.

The griffon’s cheek tugged, his lip curling into a slight smile. “You have nothing to thank me for, pony. I only spoke. You acted. And acting in spite of fear is the bravest thing one can do.”

The griffon’s words stoked a warmth in the colt’s chest, and he nodded, even if the griffon couldn’t see it. “T-then I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing, young Featherweight. Go. Go smiling and knowing that the days ahead are happy and gay,” the griffon gave a smug grin.

Despite being blind, Featherweight knew that the griffon was aware of his success in burning a blush on his face.

“Goodbye Calvino.”

“Goodbye, Featherweight.”

With that exchange, Featherweight took off with a hasty gait as not to be late, hoping one day that he’d be able to see the sagely griffon again some day. Climbing down the stairs he saw the weary gathering of his classmates, a lot of them adorning funny looking hats no doubt purchased from their time spent at the fair. He glanced to see Cheerilee chatting with the bellhop, and he heard an amicable tone, but he didn’t open his ears to their conversation. Instead he scanned around for a singular pinto colt, the other voices background noise, smiling when he saw a familiar heart-framed visage smiling back at him.

He joined Pipsqueak, carrying his bag in tow, unsure of how to carry himself to publicly around the colt now. Pipsqueak on the other hoof seemed unchanged, which Featherweight counted as a blessing. To his own surprise his words left his gob uncluttered, flowing as they did prior to his love’s blooming. When Cheerilee began to chaperone them from the hotel onto the sun-soaked streets, Featherweight could scarcely offer his eyes to the near-new surroundings that graced him. Small puddles dotted the streets but apart from that, one would never guess the torrential downpour that was present only a day before. Ponies and citizens walked the streets lazily, whilst his fellow classmates could now finally survey the locale without the threat of a raindrop landing onto their perusing eye.

“What are your plans for the rest of summer?” Featherweight inquired.

Pipsqueak shrugged mid-step. “Haven’t really thought about it. Why, have you made any?”

“Not really. Although I wouldn’t mind spending it with you,” Featherweight told him directly, lip curled.

Pipsqueak smirked, slimming the space between them, just as the unmistakable sounds of a ship's horn sounded in the distance, seagulls cawing in the sky...

“I’d like that.”

Author's Note

I would not call this fic 'good,' and this isn't a fishing for compliments type thing. When I agreed to write it, the ideas I had were overly ambitious and beyond my capabilities as a writer at the time. The reason for why I wanted to make such a fic larger than it was is primarily due to the fact I actually agreed to write this shortly after finished chapter 3 of Snow and Sand. As a result, I had an idea for multiple plot threads, and a larger cast of involved characters. Unfortunately, the fic became a bastardised version of what I initially conceived. I believe this is due to several factors. One factor is that the fic would've had to become massively larger in word count, and that I am not yet a capable enough writer to do something of such a scope. One of the larger factors I think was that I completely lost all my notes and planning on the fic. I essentially lost the source code and was trying to create something from scratch about halfway through. If I disliked writing it so much, why didn't I just cancel it? Well, it was in large part that I felt obligated to a friend, and the large word count also dissuaded me. I was already three quarters done, so why not finish it? I was unable to make myself go onto other projects due to the fact I needed to finish this fic, and thus my writing slowed considerably. I wish I had gotten out a lot more fics, none of which I could go onto soley because of this. Fortunately, due to Rainbow Over Trottingham's completion, I can now go onto other things, as well as complete as of yet completed fics. Regardless of all this, I am thankful that you read all the way to the end. :ajsleepy:
Cut Things:
1. The entire hotel Regalia sub-plot was largely gutted. Initially, Calvino was a griffon tricked into staying, Dilap and the bellhop were charging him massive sums, which were enough alone to justify keeping the decrepit dump open.
2. Featherweight's realisation of love was to occur at the top of the ferris wheel instead of being outright told to Calvino. It was while writing this that I noted similarities to my other word 'Learning to Love,' I.E. the character learning what love was etcetera. This was an unfortunate accident, but thanks to the problems listed above the similarities dissipated.
3. Calvino original purpose was to shed light on the hotel and its staff. His reasons for staying there remained the same, however he wasn't the hotel's 'owner' as he was made in this essentially revised version.
4. Cheerilee was meant to have a greater role in the story. The console scene remained in the fic from the notes which I scarcely remember, but her main purpose was unfortunately lost.
5. Dandelion and Burdock. Probably the saddest victim of my notes being lost. The original purpose of these two is lost. I faintly recall a Flim Flam type role, with Calvino similarly being tricked into single handedly keeping the two afloat. I know I had a lot of fun writing up their part in planning, but I have no idea what I supposed to do with them. Remaining rigid to a story plan that I had no idea how to follow is the primary reason, in my opinion, why this fic ended up so subpar.
6. The Fair was initially meant to be something grand, with lots of flowery description, lots of fun and lots of cute/fluffy moments with Featherweight and Pipsqueak. However, due to loss of plans and running in fumes for this story, it was unfortunately rushed.
7. Featherweight's photograph was supposed to be of the class, hotel staff and Calvino. However, due to restructuring and the above 'cut' scenes, this never came to be.
8. Continuing photographs, Pipsqueak was supposed to take more than he did, however, much like the reason given in the fic, too much was going on.
There was meant to be more here, but without notes I don't know what else I'm missing.

Prologue: Rickety Rails

Author's Note

Prologue: Rickety Rails

Featherweight felt light... an irony that was not lost on him, yet the humour of that fact was. This was due to numerous factors. Everything from the particular ricketiness of the speeding train car to the subpar food served on board the train put a general dampener on his mood. Even the passing scenery, from the unending woods whose orange leaves made them look like fields of amber, to the twinkling of a great lake under the cloudless sky, did little to heighten his mood. However, the prime deterrent to his good mood, was the was the immense confusion he felt in his gut, which after several hours he became sure was not the egg-salad he had for lunch.

No, this miasma of uncertainty spiked within him only when he did a particular thing, something that he did fairly often as of late; the reason why lost to him. Every so often, for no reason at all, he found his eye involuntarily wondering from the outside as it whizzed behind him to the colt sitting in the adjacent seat. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t do this, but the opportunity wasn’t riper than now. He followed from the very end of his laid out hind hooves, following up his sprawled out sleeping form; stopping to trace the brown splotches on his white coat, watching his chest rise and fall briefly, before finishing the rest of his vision’s journey to land on the adjacent colt’s sleeping face.

Pipsqueak, he said the name aloud in his head, thinking that perhaps the mere mention of the name would add further fuel to his quandary, but it didn’t. The sight of his friend confused him because as of late the mere look of him would cause the photographer to become ill. The contents of his stomach felt like they were floating inside of him, he could hear and feel his heartbeat hasten, the air in his lungs would evacuate, and the heat in his cheeks would heighten to near burning levels. Yet every time he looked away, he had to force the action, like eating brussel sprouts or having a conversation with Diamond Tiara.

There was something particularly forlorn about thinking of his friendship with Pipsqueak. He had a nostalgia for the past when they weren’t yet teens, back then they seemed closer to one another. Pipsqueak was class president, Featherweight was head of the press, working side by side to push the former’s political agenda… Cheerilee always reacted strangely upon hearing the partnership. Regardless, the time saw plenty of late nights spent pressed against each other’s sides looking over the drafts of the school paper, then sharing a bed after a late night of joviality and fun.

Back when they were young, the smiles they shared were over genuine mirth, happiness in the simplicity of each other’s company, but now he wasn’t sure what it was. His own smiles became involuntary as if he couldn’t control his lips, his eyes too would wander to Pipsqueak at his own chagrin. Featherweight would push these thoughts to the side, and just be thankful he had such a good friend in the first place, although they would always linger in the background like an unwanted party guest.

It was after his friend began stirring awake that he blinked away the stupor he unwittingly fell into. Not realizing his eyes were still focused upon the brown mottled colt, his confusion increased abundantly upon recognizing the feeling of shame that grew in his stomach. “Are we nearly at Trottingham?” Pipsqueak asked him, stretching and turning onto his side, looking up at Feather with a groggy expression. Although the colt was something of a runt back in his youth, he had grown to somewhat enviable proportions for Feather, whose own lithe form had made him self-conscious ever since he was a little colt.

“I-I think so,” he stuttered, focusing on the passing outside. “We’re nearly at Manehattan, then we’ll-”

“Take a ferry rest of the way? It’s just like how I remember coming to Ponyville, but in reverse, and less time sleepin’,” the colt finished with an innocent smile, the last vestiges of accent coming at the end as a tuneful twang, before propping himself up in the seat he was sprawled across.

“Do you think it’ll be like you remember it?” Feather asked.

“After spending so long in Ponyville, I can’t say,” he shrugged, giving a slight toothless half-smile. “You’ll probably be relyin’ on a tour guide or a map more than me.”

Feather looked at Pipsqueak with a tight-lipped smile. “It’ll still be fun though,” Feather pointed out, “good weather, good food, lots of places to visit.”

Pipsqueak furrowed his brows in a look of incredulousness. “You… don’t know a lot ‘bout Trottingham do you?”

Feather pursed his lips. “Um… no, not really.”