Mystery, by all accounts, lived up to his name perfectly.
When he was very small, so young in fact that he had no memory of any other time before that, an old washer pony by the name of Soapsuds had ben shambling along the old worn streets of Trottingham, old back bowed from years of hauling loads of laundry for the esteemed Duke Featherside and his wife Windyside, a rare pair of Pegusi upper crust.
The day had been exceptionally long, as the Duke and Duchess had recently birthed themselves a foal. A strapping young colt with pale blue pelt and chalky lavender and jade mane. He was the apple of his parents’ eyes but unfortunately, like all foals that age, he was also a messy one. Soapsuds had lost track of how many spit up, and other unfortunate stains she'd had to wash out of the lordly attire.
"Oh my pur ol' back!" the Earth pony groaned, and spying a nearby overturned barrel, shuffled over and sat, old leg joints popping in relief. As the old mare rubbed her knobby pale pink limbs, she heard the faintest of noises from inside the barrel.
Soapsuds frowned curiously at the opening to the barrel, and wondered if there was a sick cat or some such inside?
Soapsuds rather enjoyed felines, having a few of her own at home that were likely more then not waiting for her return to feed them, greedy things.
Sighing, she leant over the barrel, and peeked inside over the rim, her greyed pale blue bun dangling.
Inside her rummy yellow eyes beheld not a cat, or even a dog or a rat, but something much more startling.
"Great Celestia!" The old crone gasped, "is that..., why yes, I do believe my ol' eyes don't deceive me. that is a foal!"
Getting off the barrel and bending down in a symphony of snap! crackle! and pop! she grasped the edge of the dirty brown swaddling and pulled out a sniffling bundle in which a loosely bound foal, completely covered in filth, stared up at her with silvered grey eyes.
"Goodness! just look at you then?" She side, "what sort of pony leaves a foal all alone in this state? Well, no help for it then."
Taking the corners of the swaddling in between her false teeth, she picked up the cooing foal and meandered back home as fast as her old hooves could carry her.
Some time later, after she had filled the sink with warm and soapy water, she plunked her new houseguest into it and did what she did best, scrubbing. By the end, cats coming and going, rubbing impatiently at her legs for food, or jumping upon the counter to watch curiously at the strange new creature she had brought into their home, the final wave of dirty water had gone down the drain, the little foal who was now clean was tried and swaddled in a fluffy clean towel, and the cats were now fed.
Everyone was sitting by the fire to warm themselves, the orphan in a basket normally used for laundry, and Soapsuds in a bit of a quandary.
"Well, this be a bit of a situation then," she mused to her self, rocking contently in her favorite chair, "I'm an old mare long past her prime for such things as foal rearin'. Never did want'em, never cared for the stallions or mares to worry about appeasin' a special somepony in bein' in the family way. But I can't just toss you back outside, wouldn't be right."
She looked down at the foal, or colt as she had come to learn during the cleaning process, "could leave ya at an orphanage, but none of those around in these parts, we folk take care of our youngin's in these parts, take in foals when they lose their family for whatever reason. Could give you to someone else I suppose," she scratched her belly and belched lightly, "though I admit, i am gettin' a little old, can't do the laundry as well as I used to, have no family myself, could use younger hooves underfoot to help me out in my old age, and the lordships would not mind yer around me, yer a cute enough little thing, so their sensibilities won't be offended none."
It was true, the colt was rather adorable with a dark pale grey pelt and mane and tail a pale, almost whitish-purple mane.
He was an Earth Pony at least, so there wasn't any worry about keeping up with bouts of uncontrollable unicorn magic or fly away pegusi.
Soapsuds nodded to herself, why not?
ooo ooo ooo
Soapsuds may not have been the most loving of parental ponies, but she did come to care for the little colt she had found in in that barrel.
She'd taken him to work with her, held in an old foal harness strapped to her withers she'd obtained from a helpful neighbour.
The first day she brought him with her to work, the Butler, a heavy jowled orange stallion named Shoe Polish, had taken notice.
"My, what a strapping young colt you have there," Shoe Polish said approvingly over tea with the rest of the staff in the kitchens one evening, "Is he yours?"
"Found 'im on my way home, left in a barrel," she grunted, taking a sip of her tea.
"My goodness!" Chaise Lounge exclaimed, the maid resting a blue hoof over her chest, brown eyes wide under he unicorn horn that peeked out from under her uniform cap, "how absolutley dreadful! poor dear."
Soapsuds nodded in agreement, "Not partial to foals, but I need someone to help me out in my old age, and he needs a home apparently, so win win I suppose."
"Why Soapsuds! I'd never thought I'd see the day!" exclaimed Brown Bread, the stallion placing his two front hooves over his rounded vermillion cheeks, chef's had wobbling in amusement, "that you would ever admit to something as mortal as being old!"
Soapsuds shot him a grunt and a glare before returning to her drink.
"So what do you call him?" Chaise Lounge asked, the mare lifting the little colt currently crawling around under the table from the floor and floating him around with her magic. The colt let out a happy gurgle, waving his little hooves around.
Another grunt from Soapsuds, and a shrug of shoulders, "not rightly sure what to call 'im. Didn't have a name on him or anythin', a mystery really."
Chaise, who while a nice sort of mare, wasn't overly intelligent, exclaimed "Oooh! He's mystery! What a lovely and exciting name!" she danced the colt around happily.
Soapsuds was about to correct the misconception, when she paused, thought ot herself, 'wel, better then nothin' I suppose,' and instead grumbled, "I suppose it is then."
