The F-Teamby Silver-Spirits-and-AlesChaptersRaison d'êtreFriendship problemA miserable end to a miserable pony.Raison d'êtreManehattan, Eastern Equestria. As it did every night, the sun was setting on the big city. The ponies of Manehattan were all doing their thing, going home from work in these yellow taxi coaches, which seemed to be the only things to roam the streets at that time of day. From his vantage point, Silver Spirit could see all of the ponies. He was so far above them that he couldn't see their faces. But he didn't need to. The ponies of Manehattan were always all the same. Fedoras for the stallions, bonnets for the mares, and all of them were either making faces that showed an anger so hot you could iron your gown with them, or wearing a smile so fake and unnatural that even the plays at one of the Bridleway theaters would seem realistic in comparison. That was what disgusted Silver Spirit from the world. As evidenced by the different marks that decorated their flanks, every pony in Equestria was different. But they all seemed to be trying to mask that difference, by all dressing and behaving in a similar fashion. There were some exceptions to this flock of eternally similar ponies. This time, on the corner of the road, a cream-coated unicorn stallion was playing the trumpet. His horn was sticking out from under his flat cap, and the cutie mark that ornated his flank depicted a trumpet. On the other side of the road, a pegasus papercolt was selling newspapers, hovering over the crowd and hollering the name of the periodical: "The Manehattan Times". Silver Spirit smiled weakly as he saw the foal. It reminded him of all the odd-jobs that he had practiced throughout his life. In his early years, he had been a papercolt, just like the one at the corner of the road. From there onwards, he had gone through several others, never too far from a certain form of writing: bookseller, assistant librarian, and finally the personal typist of a renown journalist. Silver feebly turned his head around, and looked at his cutie mark: a white quill, and an open blank book. He liked books; they had often brought him solace, throughout his life. Either reading them, or trying to write them, books seemed to be his raison d'être. So there he was. Sitting at the edge of that ten-floor building. His usually silver fur had given way to a dull gray, and the white sclera around his turquoise Iris was now red, from a great deal of insomnia and crying. The blond mane atop his head had lost its shine, and it had become unkempt, greasy. Suddenly, the stallion got up, and went back inside. He wouldn't do it tonight. Silver Spirit went down one floor, and went down the hall to his apartment, at the very end of the corridor. The least expensive one. And, of course, the smallest. He pushed the door open with his right hoof, and entered. On the coat hook, next to the door, rested his work attire: a generic fedora and an even more generic suit. The apartment consisted of three rooms: a bedroom, through the door nearest to the entrance; a living room stood behind the second door; and of course, a toilet, at the end of the corridor. Silver Spirit didn't feel like doing anything. He never did. he just went to his room, lay down on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling, listening to the ticking of his bedside alarm clock. He didn't know how long he stayed there. It could have been minutes. Maybe hours. Suddenly deciding that he'd better do something, he got up, went into the hall, and made his way to the living room. A stove stood against the left-hand wall, while, four feet away, a desk with a typewriter on it was placed perpendicularly to the window. The sun was down, so Silver turned the light on. He went over to his desk, sat down on the cushion, and started typing on a blank sheet of paper, which had been sitting there for a long time. He typed a single line on it. "Nopony like me..." And then he stopped. He considered the three words for a moment, shook his head, ripped the paper from the machine, and tossed it into the waste paper basket. And after just a few minutes, the basket was already full to the brim. He poured himself a glass of cheap cider, and drank it down in one gulp. When the waste basket was finally submerged by a mass of paper about twice its size, and all of Silver's Bit-Store cider bottles were empty, the pony decided to go to bed. He drunkenly made his way to his room, and slumped down onto his bed, where he lay on his side, and tried to fall asleep. Silver Spirit couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had a good night's sleep. And that night was no exception. He looked at his alarm clock. It was already two o'clock. He gave out a huge sigh, and reminisced about his past. Silver remembered the day he'd gotten his cutie mark. It had been shortly after his sixth birthday (for which he'd received his cherished typewriter), when he'd announced his desire to his parents. "I wanna be a writer," he'd said to mister and missus Spirit. And just like that, with a flash of white light, the quill and the blank book had appeared on his flank. His parents had never really forgiven him. Silver had never apologized either. Wasn't everypony supposed to be the master of their own destiny, after all? Wasn't he? Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. It didn't matter to him, anymore. He knew how he would end. He knew where. The only thing left to know was when. Serene Quill's office, the following morning. "Silver," Serene Quill said, as she cantered into the room, waking Silver up from his trance. A stack of paper was levitating in front of her, with a bright blue aura around it, just like the one that shrouded her horn. "Yes?" Silver retorted, unemotionally. "I've got work for you." The Journalist dumped the paper onto her typist's desk, next to his hat. "Okay," Silver answered, picking up a blank sheet and executing the usual rigmarole of inserting it between the roller and the paper table; turning the roller knob anti-clockwise, and finally setting the carriage, before being able to type. As he reached out his hoof to get the first manuscript of the pile, Serene interrupted him. "Silver?" she asked. "Is there a problem?" the stallion answered, looking up. "Dexter Hoof called in sick, a few minutes ago. Would it be too much to ask you to work overtime?" "Whatever." Silver simply got the hand-written manuscript, and placed it in front of him. The stallion started typing away, regularly re-setting the typewriter's carriage every time he heard the 'ding'. "I knew I could count on you, Silver," the mare said, smiling at him before leaving the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Silver caught a glimpse of Serene's pale pink rump, before she left the office entirely. He simply typed away, trying not to fall asleep on his typewriter. After about three minutes, he had finished typing the first page. After ten, he'd finished the first article. Sixty minutes later, he'd typed five of them, and so on... Every page seemed to take longer and longer to type. And with every page, every letter, even, his hooves became number and number. The sun was finally down when the final messily-written page had been typed. Tired, lonely, hooves hurting worse than ever, Silver Spirit got up from behind his desk, put his hat on, turned off his desk lamp, and left the office, locking the door and placing the key in his saddlebag. Silver walked out into the street, and felt the cool night breeze caress his face, liberating him from the stuffy and lukewarm air of the building. He walked home, stopping by at a liquor store to pick up half a dozen bottles of mature cider, which together cost about as much as an entire day of work. Once home, he turned the light on in the living room, and sat down at his desk, just like he had done, the night before. He looked at the pile of paper that covered the bin, and decided he'd better not try, tonight. Instead, he decided to look at his old works, which were all neatly placed in a cardboard box, next to his desk. There was the collection of crime novellas he longed to publish: "Manehattan Noir". Seeing the blue cover brought a smile to his lips. But all of the editors he'd reached out to had refused it. So much so that Silver felt there was something fundamentally wrong with it himself. His smile slowly transformed into the sunken-eyed, soulless face he usually made. He threw the heavy five hundred page novel against the wall, in frustration. Then, to calm his nerves, he uncorked a bottle of cider, and took a huge swig. Deciding it would be best not to turn up at work hungover like he had done that morning, he went to bed in a huff, angry at the world and at himself. Friendship problemPonyville Fluttershy was tranquilly pruning her rosebush and humming a tune, without a care in the world. She had woken up just a few minutes before, in a very chipper mood. She had fed Angel the bunny, Harry the bear, and the rest of her little friends, before deciding to do a little gardening. Her pruning sheers were between her hooves, clipping away at the thorns. Once she'd finished, Fluttershy got her watering can, and started feeding her plants. She was watering her petunias when she heard a regular, yet small stamping noise from behind her. She knew what it was. "What is it, Angel bunny?" she asked the snow-white rabbit, who was standing behind her. Angel pointed towards the Pegasus's flank. Fluttershy turned around, and looked at her cutie mark. The three butterflies were glowing. She knew what that meant. Thanking Angel, she galloped over to Princess Twilight's castle. "I'm here!" the yellow pegasus gasped, bursting into the main room, before realizing that it was empty. She approached the cutie map, and realized that whatever the friendship problem was, it was important. All of the six friends' cutie marks were hovering over what seemed to be... "Manehattan?" Rarity gasped, as she entered the room. "I've been absolutely DYING to go back to the big city!" The five others filed into the room, chatting enthusiastically. All, except Fluttershy and Twilight. They looked at each other, and both of them instantly guessed what the other one was thinking. The Princess quite literally put her hoof down, and called for everypony's attention. "If you ladies could calm down!" she asserted. The room went quiet. "Thank you." Twilight Sparkle cleared her throat, and continued. "As you ladies can see, all six of us have been called over to Manehattan," lectured Twilight. "This means that whatever it is, this friendship problem is probably huge." Rainbow Dash grinned at the mention of the word 'huge'. A huge friendship problem was always synonymous with a great adventure. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she asked, excitedly jumping into the air and hovering over the others as she always did. "Alright, ladies, we'll pack and meet at the train station in an hour. Okay?" Twilight asked. AppleJack, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash and Rarity left the room, all chatting excitedly about what sort of friendship problem they'd be facing in Manehattan. "Erm... Twilight ? Do you have a moment ?" asked Fluttershy, a good thirty seconds after the other ponies had left the room. Twilight jumped in surprise. "Wha- you're still here, Fluttershy? I thought you left." Fluttershy's cheeks reddened, and she looked down at her hooves. If there was one thing she hated, it was being a nuisance to somepony else. Even if said somepony was a friend. "Oh, I'm sorry, Twi, I'll just go and pack my things." She turned towards the door, but Twilight teleported in front of her with a loud bang, stopping her dead in her tracks. "No, really," said Twilight, concerned. "What's up?" "It's just that I... I don't know how to..." Fluttershy took a deep breath. "What if it's a problem that's too big for any of us to solve?" Twilight reassured Fluttershy. "Fluttershy, I know why you're worried. That same fear gets to me all the time. But every time it does, I remember that my friends will always be there for me. Always. Okay?" Fluttershy smiled at her friend, and they both embraced. Roughly an hour later, the six friends were waiting on the platform for the next train to Manehattan. "Fillies and Gentlecolts, your attention please," went the loud speakers. "Train number One-Sixty-Five, inbound from Las Pegasus and heading to Manehattan will arrive at Ponyville station, platform one, in five minutes. "Well, this is it," said Spike, who had finished pushing Rarity's gargantuan suitcase to the edge of the platform. "Need any more help?" Rarity looked down at Spike with one of her trademark smiles. "That'll be all, Spikey-Wikey," she said, in her soothing voice. She gave the dragon a peck on the cheek, and he left, looking extremely pleased with himself. Eventually, the train arrived, and the small troop of ponies boarded. Some excited whispers could be heard as the Princess and her entourage entered the wagon, where two business ponies, sitting together at a table and wearing business suits, looked around to see what the fuss was about. "Is that..." a chestnut business pony asked. "Twilight Sparkle, the princess of friendship herself? It can't be!" said the other. "It's her! Look at her mark!" The two stallions bowed their heads in respect as Twilight and her friends walked by. After a while, the six friends found a free compartment, and they settled down. “Goodness, Twilight!" said Rarity as she sat down, and the train started moving. “You sure are popular around here!" Twilight blushed and smiled embarrassedly, looking down at her hooves. "Oh, please!" snorted Rainbow Dash. "She's popular everywhere! You know why? Cuz she's the best alicorn ever!" Rainbow Dash's unwarranted remarks always made Twilight feel uncomfortable, and this time was no exception. But every time that would happen, the Princess would realize what a great friend she had in Rainbow Dash. She'd always be loyal and supportive, whether you want it or not. And that's what mattered the most to Twilight. "Thanks, Dashie," answered Twilight, when she'd realized that, once again. The trip went as smoothly as was expected. The only soundtrack to the six fillies' journey was the chugging of the train, and the occasional hoofsteps of the conductor in the hall. Other ponies would have found this atmosphere relaxing. But for Twilight, it was all served only to intensify the already tense atmosphere. Sometimes, even, she was so lost in her thoughts that the train's whistle made her jump out of her skin at every stop of the train. For Fluttershy had said the exact thing that Twilight feared the most. "What if that problem is too big for any of us?" she thought. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and as with every Sunday, Silver Spirit was lying in his bed, unable or unwilling to get up. Or maybe both, for all the difference it made. Maybe his inability to get up was a result of his unwillingness to do so. He didn't know. Nor did he care, really. The doorbell rang. Silver difficultly pulled himself up from the bed, and took a short time to close his eyes, and breathe heavily for a few seconds. He didn't know why he always did that. It just helped him cope, somehow. He made his way to the door, breathed in, made a grimace that was akin to a primitive smile, and opened the door. "Hi," said Silver, blandly, not really taking notice of the pony looking back at him. "What's the matter?" But all of a sudden, a jet-black-maned chestnut pegasus colt found his way into Silver's arms and embraced him like a brother. "Hey, Silver! How's the colt, eh?" asked the newcomer colt. Silver scrunched up his face, and shook his head, as if he was trying to shake the hangover away. When he finally reopened his eyes, he recognized the broad smile and the green eyes in front of him. "CrackerJack?" asked Silver, a broad smile finding its way onto his face. "What are you doing here?" "Long story," answered CrackerJack, waltzing into the apartment. "I was on my way back to Trottingham, so I decided to stop by and say hello." The two friends went into the living room, and CrackerJack sat himself down on a cushion, while silver busied himself with the kettles and the pots. "Sorry about the mess," he said. "I've been meaning to tidy up." As he put the kettle on the fire, a nasty little voice wormed its way into Silver's head. "...for about three months, now," the voice said. Once the tea was ready, complete with a plate of crackers (Silver hadn't been shopping for a long time), silver brought the kettle over, and poured the hot tea into some cups. "I wish I had something else to give you apart from these plain old crackers," said Silver. "I don't entertain much." "It's quite alright, mate," said Cracker, smiling. The friends sat down, and started catching up on everything they'd missed. Silver and Cracker were very old friends. They had been friends ever since the day they'd met, back at pre-school, in their old village of Coltford-upon-Trottingham. They had subsequently been to school, secondary school, and college together. As it turned out, Providence had been more generous with CrackerJack than it had been with Silver. CJ was now an up-and-coming journalist, working for the Trottingham Gazette. At some point, the subject of Silver's book cropped up. "I can't wait for your book to hit the stands, Silver," said CrackerJack. Silver's expression fell. "What book?" he asked. "Well, you know, Manehattan Noir!" answered Cracker. "It's exciting; it's gritty; it's daring! But, as bleak as it can be, there's always a glimmer of hope!" "Oh, that book," said Silver. "I've had a few setbacks. But it's okay." CrackerJack glanced at the half-empty bottle of cider on the writing table. "You're sure you're alright, mate?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm sure." Silver looked at the floor. "It's okay." Cracker shrugged it off. Silver had always been somewhat binary with his emotions. The two friends spent the rest of the day talking about everything and nothing, politics, the newest Princess, and their old misadventures with fillies. But, like anything good in life, Crackerjack's visit came to an end. Silver saw him out, they hugged, and Cracker left. As soon as he found himself alone once again, Silver's normal expression resurfaced. His friend was gone, and Celestia knew he was miserable now. He went back to his desk, sat down on the cushion, and started typing. He typed and typed, until he had written the first two verses of a poem. The more he typed, the more his sadness seemed to ebb away. The poem wasn't the best one in the world, but at least it meant something to him. Nopony like me, Has a friend like CrackerJack. Nopony like him, Always has my back. If I were to die, and my world become black, At least I, Will have known Crackerjack. He smiled at the first two verses, and a tear made its way down his muzzle. Silver had cried many times before, so much so that nowadays, he couldn't find the strength to cry. He simply couldn't. But this tear was different. It wasn't a tear of joy, but it was something like that. Feeling more words coming to him, Silver continued typing. When I'm feeling down, And my heart goes out, CrackerJack comes along, and rekindles it right. There. It wasn't long; it was far from conventionally nice, but at least it said it all. Silver felt satisfied, so he ripped the piece of paper from the typewriter, and pinned the poem to his wall. He contemplated it for a little while, before emptying the bottle of cider, and went to bed. Being an earth pony, it would take more than a bottle of cider to make him drunk. But he nonetheless felt a warm sensation that seemed to pump happiness into his heart. He went to bed, tipsy, but content, and happy to be there. Which to him, was the whole point of it all. And he knew that this happiness was only temporary. But he didn't care about the future. He just enjoyed the moment. And then, came a knock on the door. A miserable end to a miserable pony.The following day, around twelve o'clock. Twilight, Fluttershy, Rarity, AppleJack, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie were walking down a street. They stopped at a corner, next to a unicorn stallion who was playing the trumpet. Rarity placed a gem in the stallion's case, and whispered in his ear. The musician winked at Rarity, and started playing My Favorite Things. It was as if the sound of the musician's trumpet seemed to create an entire zone of positivity all around it. This deluge of notes, so melancholic yet so nice to the ear, such a bittersweet melody that it made ponies all around shed tears of joy and smile some rare smiles. Twilight and her friends stayed and listened to the melody until the song's end, when the stallion lifted his cap, and bowed his head towards Rarity. "Oowee, if it ain't my Shawty, miss Rarity!" said the Jazzpony, in an impressively bass voice. He had a dark-brown coat, and an almost nonexistent mane, which was black. His neck was extremely beefy, just as the rest of his body. "How long's it been, huh?" He smiled, as Rarity did the same. "Ladies, may I present my good friend Strongarms Satchelmouth, my rising star!" said Rarity. The six fillies all smiled at the stallion and took turns shaking his hoof. "Rarrers and I go way back," narrated Strongarms. "I remember meetin' her on Bridleway. I was doin' mah thing, ya dig? Playin' mah songs and livin' mah life. And, ya know Bridleway, nopony gives you the time of day if you haven't at least been on stage or somethin'. And there comes Lady Rarity, who stops to listen to mah song, and gives me a big fat gem cuz' I was playin' good. She went on her way, and two minutes later, I see dem business pony folks hoofin' it over to me an' givin' me contracts to sign for shows all over Bridleway. Them told me that Rarrers'd put in a word for me." "So if you're all popular and all, why are you playing in the street?" asked Rainbow Dash, in such a way that Twilight rolled her eyes in embarrassment. To Twilight's surprise, however, Strongarms chuckled, and said "Well, after weeks of singin' and playin' in them crowded theaters every night, I had a hankerin' to play outside again, ya dig? Get some of that fresh air." "I went to see him play, once," said Rarity, proudly. "I can assure you, it was excellent." "You should come back see me sometime, Rarrers!" chuckled Strongarms. "It'll always be a free seat and unlimited cider for you and your friends." "It would be our pleasure," said AppleJack. "Tell me, Strongarms," said Rarity. "I don't mean to pry, but you do play on this street corner all day, don't you?" she asked. "That's it," answered the stallion. "Why d'you ask?" "Well, you see, we were summoned here to solve a friendship problem," interjected Twilight. "You wouldn't happen to know anypony who has one?" The musician frowned. "Not that I know of," answered Strongarms. "Well, there is one cat I can think of who can fit the bill, but I ain't so sure..." "By all means, tell us," said Twilight. "Nah, I don't think so. Forgive me, princess." he tipped his hat towards Twilight. "I do like to trail off once in a while." "Please, Strongarms," pleaded Twilight. "This is important." Rainbow Dash was waiting for the musician's answer with baited breath. "What's it gonna be this time?" she thought. "Monsters? Changelings? An evil queen?" "Alright," said Strongarms, somewhat reluctantly. "There's a cat who lives in that building there." Fluttershy beamed at the mention of the word 'cat', but Strongarms had obviously guessed what she was thinking of, and said "Not that type of cat," before continuing his narrative. "So there's this cat, called Silver Spirit, ya dig? He's a bit of a sad, lonely cat. He tried getting into music, once, but... well I'll just say that music didn't like him very much, see? Anyway, every night, I see him comin' home to his apartment, sad and miserable. He's one of them cats, a sad, lonely one. And, ya know, I see him on the roof of his building, sometimes. One hoof on the ledge, ready to go over the top, ya dig?" "I see," said Twilight, listening intently. "So I dunno if it qualifies as one of y'all's friendship problems, but ya know, I'm glad to help if ya-" "A-twitch-a-twitch! A twitch-a-twitch!" interjected Pinkie Pie. "Pinkie!" shouted Twilight to her friend. "Don't interrupt, Strongarms was..." But then, the Princess realized that Pinkie's tail was twitching. Everypony here (with the exception of Strongarms) knew what that meant. The six friends all looked up at the midday sky. Rainbow Dash eagerly scanned the horizon. Maybe an evil sovereign or a monster was about to fall from an invisible cloud. "Darling, I don't think that anything' about to-" started Rarity. But whatever she was about to say, she was cut off by Fluttershy, who let out a gasp. Rainbow Dash turned around, saw what Fluttershy was gasping at, and the two pegasi shot straight up. Last evening "Well, look what rolled in!" shouted a cream-coloured unicorn with a waistcoat and pince-museau on his muzzle, as Silver walked into the pub. The two other similarly-dressed ponies, a chestnut unicorn stallion and a light-gray pegasus stallion also looked up from their books, and saw the dull silver pony enter. "Hi, guys," said Silver, sitting down at the table with his erstwhile friends and lifting his fedora to greet them. "Dexter Hoof, Moonstone, Sky Chaser." "We were beginning to think you weren't going to show up," said the cream unicorn. "How've you been?" "The less said, the better," retorted Silver. "What about you guys?" "Quite alright, thanks," said Dexter, lifting the pince-nez off his face and stuffing them into his waistcoat. "I'm fine," said Moonstone, the chestnut unicorn. "Alright," said Sky Chaser. "Good evenin', gents," said the waiter, coming over to the four stallions' table. "What'll it be?" "A bottle of Dom Percheron '92 and four glasses, please," asked Dexter Hoof. "You gentlecolts celebrating something?" asked the waiter. "Yes!" answered Dexter, Moonstone, and Sky Chaser in unison. "Three glasses for them," corrected Silver. "A bottle of Vodka'll be fine for me. Stalliongrad, if you have it." "Comin' right up," said the bartender, before returning behind the counter. "Are we celebrating?" asked Silver. He hadn't been warned about any sort of celebration. "Yup!" said Dexter Hoof, in a smug tone. "I... wait for it," he took a deep breath. "... have just been hired by the Canterlot Mail!" In the tone he was using, he could very well have been announcing his promotion to supreme dictator of Equestria. "Good for you," said Silver Spirit, in a nonplussed tone. He didn't read the Mail, and there was a very good reason for that. The paper was elitist and generally pandered to the wealthy unicorns, and the subscription alone would have cost Silver at least an eighth of his wages. An eighth that could instead be spent on some good cider. Plus, it was so conservative that even Whinnston Chestnut himself would neigh when reading it. All in all, not really Silver's cup of tea. Or rather, not his glass of cider. After a few minutes, the waiter came back, with their drinks. He placed silver's bottle of vodka in front of him, and then proceeded to open the bottle of Percheron, and poured the fizzy and expensive wine into the glasses. As he did so, everypony looked around. Seeing somepony order a bottle of Percheron was pretty rare, especially in this sort of establishment. Silver Spirit, who knew Dexter Hoof pretty well, knew that the unicorn was just trying to rub his success and wealth into everypony's faces. He'd always been a show-off. Silver poured himself a shot of Stalliongrad Vodka, raised his glass, and recited a toast that his father always used to say. "May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be with Celestia half an hour before Nightmare Moon knows you’re asleep." He drank down the glass in one gulp. As if it wasn't already apparent enough, the way that Silver had downed a glass of cheap liquor just after reciting an old Griffish toast, while his three friends were sipping Dom Percheron was a clear sign that Silver was almost from a different world than that of his three friends. "So, erm..." said Silver Spirit. "Why d'you invite me?" he asked. "Well," said Dexter Hoof. "Now that I've been hired and that the Mail has given me a small loan to get started, I've bought an office." "And?" asked Silver. "So. I'd like you all to work for me," explained Silver. "Moonstone has already agreed to lend his knowledge of politics and sociology to my articles, and Cloud Chaser's already agreed to be my secretary. All I need is a typist." "I see," said Silver, pouring himself another glass. "And that would be me?" "Yes." Silver Spirit chuckled. "Funny how you only talk to me when you need something." Cloud Chaser gave Silver a meaningful look. Cloud Chaser was one of Silver's oldest friends, who had introduced him to Dexter Hoof, who had put in a word for Silver at Serene Quill's office. And judging by the look that Dexter gave Silver (when there was a look to be given) every time they met, he had reluctantly put that word in. But Cloud Chaser, who was oblivious to that, thought that Silver owed that much to Dexter. "Is that a no?" asked the cream unicorn. "Do you really want to continue being underpaid by the witch you work for?" And all of a sudden, it became clear that Dexter wasn't trying to recruit Silver out of the kindness of his heart. Typists were somewhat rare to come by, which was understandable, given the nature of the job, and Serene didn't know how to use a typewriter. Dexter was trying to weaken his old boss's position in the world of journalism. "I'm offering to pay you twice as much as she does." "No," retorted Silver, flatly. "Four times?" "No." "For Celestia's sake, Silver! Just take the money already!" urged Moonstone. That sort of annoyance that could be seen in Moonstone's eyes at that very moment was the sort of annoyance that made Silver want to continue irritating him. Yes, after all, Silver continually lived in a sphere of continuous depression and frustration, he could be forgiven for messing around with other ponies now and then. Especially if said pony wasn't exactly pleasant to begin with. "You disgust me, Dexter Hoof." Silver took a swig from the bottle, and placed it back down on the table. "You were in somepony's employ for what, three years? Somepony who gave you a fair salary, treated you like a friend, and whose talent you probably leeched off of to get your shoddy office and your position of 'head politics lunatic' at the 'Canterlot Brain Injury Mail? Did you even write a resignation letter? Of course you did, cuz' that's the law. But did you let her know that you were grateful for everything she's done for you? Of course you didn't, because you have no gratitude. And I'm sure you dumped your letter at the bottom of her work pile, just so she doesn't discover it until she's properly wasted her time looking for you! You didn't even tell her to her face, you- you two-faced coward!" He was spitting specks of vodka and spittle all over Dexter, who didn't seem to really appreciate the shower. "And the worse part of it is that you try and drag me into your foul scheme. I don't want a part in it!" In his fury, Silver hadn't noticed that every head in the pub had turned towards him. And as he finished his monologue, he became aware of the dead silence that had fallen on the room. he decided he'd better leave before he got carried away. He left a few bits on the table, and was about to add a few more as a tip, but he thought that for once, maybe Dexter or Moonstone could tip the barpony. Once that was done, Silver grabbed his half-empty bottle of vodka, stood up. "If you're that useless, Silver," said Dexter Hoof in a barely audible voice, prompting the Earth Pony to stop. "Maybe you should die. Know what I mean? You can't write, which is probably why no-one wants to publish your stupid book. You can't act, and that's why you didn't land the part at Bridleway. The only thing you are good at is getting drunk. You're a nuisance, Silver. You only know how to be loyal to someone who isn't even loyal to you. You're a sad clown, Silver, and it looks like you can't even amuse anypony now. Bring it all to an end. For both our sakes." "So, this is my note. That's what I'm supposed to do, aren't I? Leave a note. I don't really know what to say. Maybe I'll just say that all of this is my fault. No-one's to blame. Except me. So, to all of my friends, all of my family, and all those who care, I'm sorry. I just think it'll be better if I'm gone. Mum, Dad, I'm sorry I never did want to take over the family business. Maybe I'd have been happier if I had. Really, I'm sorry. If it's of any consolation, of all the gin and whisky I've ever tasted, yours were by far the best. So, here's my last toast. To the Spirit family distillery and brewery. Landlord, you'll find the month's rent on the table. I hope all of this doesn't bring the value of this place down. It wasn't very high to begin with, so here's hoping it all brings you some publicity. A pony can dream. Serene Quill. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. CrackerJack, get yourself some better friends. You deserve better than me. Don't be sad, CJ. All of my belongings, which isn't saying much, obviously go to my family. My work goes to the poor sod who wants to publish it, and the half-empty (most likely empty) bottle on the table goes to you, pony who finds this. All the best to everyone. Live a good life. Silver Spirit." Silver carefully extracted the note from his typewriter, signed it using a pen, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. Then, he finished his aforementioned bottle of cider, and picked up a second envelope, which was sitting on the table. Silver spent his last bits on a coach to his boss's office. He entered, went upstairs, and arrived in front of the oak door with a golden plaque on it that read "Dame Serene Quill, GCO. Journalist." Silver took a deep breath, lifted his hat, and entered. He went over to the door at the back of the room, which led to the office proper, and entered. "You're late, Silver," said Serene Quill, who was sitting behind a large stack of paper. "Good. You have an excuse to fire me." Silver approached the desk, and waited in front of it, expectantly. "Don't be silly," scoffed the journalist. "I'm serious." Serene's smile faded. "What?" "If you don't want to fire me, here's my letter. I'm resigning." He placed the letter on the desk. Serene looked bewildered. "But I- What do you- Why?" "It's for the best, boss," said Silver. "I can tell you that." "But I need you, Silver!" Serene pleaded. "Do you want a raise? Because I can do that. Please, Silver, please!" Silver would have chuckled, if he could remember how. "If only it were that simple, boss. I just... I just can't continue working. It's... let's just say it's... clinical." "Silver, I-" Silver shushed his boss, as if he was talking to a crying foal. "I'm sorry." As he was about to make for the door, the earth pony remembered something. He lifted the stack of paper, and found what he was looking for. From under the pile, he found a second letter. "And here's Dexter Hoof's resignation." And without any further ado, the stallion left. As it did at every middle of the day, the sun was shining down upon Manehattan. From the top of the building, Silver Spirit scanned the street for the very last time. He saw the trumpeter, who had just finished playing his song, and was now talking to a group of fillies. Tourists, most likely, if their rather rustic style was anything to go by. Definitely not city ponies, although the pearly white one did have the talk. But did she walk the walk? A purple mare of the group almost caught Silver's eye, because he'd had the fleeting impression that she had both a pair of wings and a horn. But he was too caught up in his own business to care. The papercolt was nowhere to be seen, because he usually worked after school hours. "Alright, then," said Silver to himself. He placed the note on the floor, and placed his front hooves at the edge of the building. He closed his eyes, and drank in the atmosphere, one last time. At that moment, Silver almost felt happy. He was about to be free. Free from pain. Free from suffering. Free from his problems. Free from the fake smiles and fake friends that always pushed him into the ground. Free at last. Silver took a small step back, and without further hesitation, he threw himself off the building. Eyes closed, wind brushing against his whole body, he could almost feel himself flying. He liked the sensation. But as he fell to the ground, he suddenly felt the wind freeze in place. It was as if he wasn't falling anymore. Was he dead?
Raison d'êtreManehattan, Eastern Equestria. As it did every night, the sun was setting on the big city. The ponies of Manehattan were all doing their thing, going home from work in these yellow taxi coaches, which seemed to be the only things to roam the streets at that time of day. From his vantage point, Silver Spirit could see all of the ponies. He was so far above them that he couldn't see their faces. But he didn't need to. The ponies of Manehattan were always all the same. Fedoras for the stallions, bonnets for the mares, and all of them were either making faces that showed an anger so hot you could iron your gown with them, or wearing a smile so fake and unnatural that even the plays at one of the Bridleway theaters would seem realistic in comparison. That was what disgusted Silver Spirit from the world. As evidenced by the different marks that decorated their flanks, every pony in Equestria was different. But they all seemed to be trying to mask that difference, by all dressing and behaving in a similar fashion. There were some exceptions to this flock of eternally similar ponies. This time, on the corner of the road, a cream-coated unicorn stallion was playing the trumpet. His horn was sticking out from under his flat cap, and the cutie mark that ornated his flank depicted a trumpet. On the other side of the road, a pegasus papercolt was selling newspapers, hovering over the crowd and hollering the name of the periodical: "The Manehattan Times". Silver Spirit smiled weakly as he saw the foal. It reminded him of all the odd-jobs that he had practiced throughout his life. In his early years, he had been a papercolt, just like the one at the corner of the road. From there onwards, he had gone through several others, never too far from a certain form of writing: bookseller, assistant librarian, and finally the personal typist of a renown journalist. Silver feebly turned his head around, and looked at his cutie mark: a white quill, and an open blank book. He liked books; they had often brought him solace, throughout his life. Either reading them, or trying to write them, books seemed to be his raison d'être. So there he was. Sitting at the edge of that ten-floor building. His usually silver fur had given way to a dull gray, and the white sclera around his turquoise Iris was now red, from a great deal of insomnia and crying. The blond mane atop his head had lost its shine, and it had become unkempt, greasy. Suddenly, the stallion got up, and went back inside. He wouldn't do it tonight. Silver Spirit went down one floor, and went down the hall to his apartment, at the very end of the corridor. The least expensive one. And, of course, the smallest. He pushed the door open with his right hoof, and entered. On the coat hook, next to the door, rested his work attire: a generic fedora and an even more generic suit. The apartment consisted of three rooms: a bedroom, through the door nearest to the entrance; a living room stood behind the second door; and of course, a toilet, at the end of the corridor. Silver Spirit didn't feel like doing anything. He never did. he just went to his room, lay down on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling, listening to the ticking of his bedside alarm clock. He didn't know how long he stayed there. It could have been minutes. Maybe hours. Suddenly deciding that he'd better do something, he got up, went into the hall, and made his way to the living room. A stove stood against the left-hand wall, while, four feet away, a desk with a typewriter on it was placed perpendicularly to the window. The sun was down, so Silver turned the light on. He went over to his desk, sat down on the cushion, and started typing on a blank sheet of paper, which had been sitting there for a long time. He typed a single line on it. "Nopony like me..." And then he stopped. He considered the three words for a moment, shook his head, ripped the paper from the machine, and tossed it into the waste paper basket. And after just a few minutes, the basket was already full to the brim. He poured himself a glass of cheap cider, and drank it down in one gulp. When the waste basket was finally submerged by a mass of paper about twice its size, and all of Silver's Bit-Store cider bottles were empty, the pony decided to go to bed. He drunkenly made his way to his room, and slumped down onto his bed, where he lay on his side, and tried to fall asleep. Silver Spirit couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had a good night's sleep. And that night was no exception. He looked at his alarm clock. It was already two o'clock. He gave out a huge sigh, and reminisced about his past. Silver remembered the day he'd gotten his cutie mark. It had been shortly after his sixth birthday (for which he'd received his cherished typewriter), when he'd announced his desire to his parents. "I wanna be a writer," he'd said to mister and missus Spirit. And just like that, with a flash of white light, the quill and the blank book had appeared on his flank. His parents had never really forgiven him. Silver had never apologized either. Wasn't everypony supposed to be the master of their own destiny, after all? Wasn't he? Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. It didn't matter to him, anymore. He knew how he would end. He knew where. The only thing left to know was when. Serene Quill's office, the following morning. "Silver," Serene Quill said, as she cantered into the room, waking Silver up from his trance. A stack of paper was levitating in front of her, with a bright blue aura around it, just like the one that shrouded her horn. "Yes?" Silver retorted, unemotionally. "I've got work for you." The Journalist dumped the paper onto her typist's desk, next to his hat. "Okay," Silver answered, picking up a blank sheet and executing the usual rigmarole of inserting it between the roller and the paper table; turning the roller knob anti-clockwise, and finally setting the carriage, before being able to type. As he reached out his hoof to get the first manuscript of the pile, Serene interrupted him. "Silver?" she asked. "Is there a problem?" the stallion answered, looking up. "Dexter Hoof called in sick, a few minutes ago. Would it be too much to ask you to work overtime?" "Whatever." Silver simply got the hand-written manuscript, and placed it in front of him. The stallion started typing away, regularly re-setting the typewriter's carriage every time he heard the 'ding'. "I knew I could count on you, Silver," the mare said, smiling at him before leaving the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Silver caught a glimpse of Serene's pale pink rump, before she left the office entirely. He simply typed away, trying not to fall asleep on his typewriter. After about three minutes, he had finished typing the first page. After ten, he'd finished the first article. Sixty minutes later, he'd typed five of them, and so on... Every page seemed to take longer and longer to type. And with every page, every letter, even, his hooves became number and number. The sun was finally down when the final messily-written page had been typed. Tired, lonely, hooves hurting worse than ever, Silver Spirit got up from behind his desk, put his hat on, turned off his desk lamp, and left the office, locking the door and placing the key in his saddlebag. Silver walked out into the street, and felt the cool night breeze caress his face, liberating him from the stuffy and lukewarm air of the building. He walked home, stopping by at a liquor store to pick up half a dozen bottles of mature cider, which together cost about as much as an entire day of work. Once home, he turned the light on in the living room, and sat down at his desk, just like he had done, the night before. He looked at the pile of paper that covered the bin, and decided he'd better not try, tonight. Instead, he decided to look at his old works, which were all neatly placed in a cardboard box, next to his desk. There was the collection of crime novellas he longed to publish: "Manehattan Noir". Seeing the blue cover brought a smile to his lips. But all of the editors he'd reached out to had refused it. So much so that Silver felt there was something fundamentally wrong with it himself. His smile slowly transformed into the sunken-eyed, soulless face he usually made. He threw the heavy five hundred page novel against the wall, in frustration. Then, to calm his nerves, he uncorked a bottle of cider, and took a huge swig. Deciding it would be best not to turn up at work hungover like he had done that morning, he went to bed in a huff, angry at the world and at himself.
Friendship problemPonyville Fluttershy was tranquilly pruning her rosebush and humming a tune, without a care in the world. She had woken up just a few minutes before, in a very chipper mood. She had fed Angel the bunny, Harry the bear, and the rest of her little friends, before deciding to do a little gardening. Her pruning sheers were between her hooves, clipping away at the thorns. Once she'd finished, Fluttershy got her watering can, and started feeding her plants. She was watering her petunias when she heard a regular, yet small stamping noise from behind her. She knew what it was. "What is it, Angel bunny?" she asked the snow-white rabbit, who was standing behind her. Angel pointed towards the Pegasus's flank. Fluttershy turned around, and looked at her cutie mark. The three butterflies were glowing. She knew what that meant. Thanking Angel, she galloped over to Princess Twilight's castle. "I'm here!" the yellow pegasus gasped, bursting into the main room, before realizing that it was empty. She approached the cutie map, and realized that whatever the friendship problem was, it was important. All of the six friends' cutie marks were hovering over what seemed to be... "Manehattan?" Rarity gasped, as she entered the room. "I've been absolutely DYING to go back to the big city!" The five others filed into the room, chatting enthusiastically. All, except Fluttershy and Twilight. They looked at each other, and both of them instantly guessed what the other one was thinking. The Princess quite literally put her hoof down, and called for everypony's attention. "If you ladies could calm down!" she asserted. The room went quiet. "Thank you." Twilight Sparkle cleared her throat, and continued. "As you ladies can see, all six of us have been called over to Manehattan," lectured Twilight. "This means that whatever it is, this friendship problem is probably huge." Rainbow Dash grinned at the mention of the word 'huge'. A huge friendship problem was always synonymous with a great adventure. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she asked, excitedly jumping into the air and hovering over the others as she always did. "Alright, ladies, we'll pack and meet at the train station in an hour. Okay?" Twilight asked. AppleJack, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash and Rarity left the room, all chatting excitedly about what sort of friendship problem they'd be facing in Manehattan. "Erm... Twilight ? Do you have a moment ?" asked Fluttershy, a good thirty seconds after the other ponies had left the room. Twilight jumped in surprise. "Wha- you're still here, Fluttershy? I thought you left." Fluttershy's cheeks reddened, and she looked down at her hooves. If there was one thing she hated, it was being a nuisance to somepony else. Even if said somepony was a friend. "Oh, I'm sorry, Twi, I'll just go and pack my things." She turned towards the door, but Twilight teleported in front of her with a loud bang, stopping her dead in her tracks. "No, really," said Twilight, concerned. "What's up?" "It's just that I... I don't know how to..." Fluttershy took a deep breath. "What if it's a problem that's too big for any of us to solve?" Twilight reassured Fluttershy. "Fluttershy, I know why you're worried. That same fear gets to me all the time. But every time it does, I remember that my friends will always be there for me. Always. Okay?" Fluttershy smiled at her friend, and they both embraced. Roughly an hour later, the six friends were waiting on the platform for the next train to Manehattan. "Fillies and Gentlecolts, your attention please," went the loud speakers. "Train number One-Sixty-Five, inbound from Las Pegasus and heading to Manehattan will arrive at Ponyville station, platform one, in five minutes. "Well, this is it," said Spike, who had finished pushing Rarity's gargantuan suitcase to the edge of the platform. "Need any more help?" Rarity looked down at Spike with one of her trademark smiles. "That'll be all, Spikey-Wikey," she said, in her soothing voice. She gave the dragon a peck on the cheek, and he left, looking extremely pleased with himself. Eventually, the train arrived, and the small troop of ponies boarded. Some excited whispers could be heard as the Princess and her entourage entered the wagon, where two business ponies, sitting together at a table and wearing business suits, looked around to see what the fuss was about. "Is that..." a chestnut business pony asked. "Twilight Sparkle, the princess of friendship herself? It can't be!" said the other. "It's her! Look at her mark!" The two stallions bowed their heads in respect as Twilight and her friends walked by. After a while, the six friends found a free compartment, and they settled down. “Goodness, Twilight!" said Rarity as she sat down, and the train started moving. “You sure are popular around here!" Twilight blushed and smiled embarrassedly, looking down at her hooves. "Oh, please!" snorted Rainbow Dash. "She's popular everywhere! You know why? Cuz she's the best alicorn ever!" Rainbow Dash's unwarranted remarks always made Twilight feel uncomfortable, and this time was no exception. But every time that would happen, the Princess would realize what a great friend she had in Rainbow Dash. She'd always be loyal and supportive, whether you want it or not. And that's what mattered the most to Twilight. "Thanks, Dashie," answered Twilight, when she'd realized that, once again. The trip went as smoothly as was expected. The only soundtrack to the six fillies' journey was the chugging of the train, and the occasional hoofsteps of the conductor in the hall. Other ponies would have found this atmosphere relaxing. But for Twilight, it was all served only to intensify the already tense atmosphere. Sometimes, even, she was so lost in her thoughts that the train's whistle made her jump out of her skin at every stop of the train. For Fluttershy had said the exact thing that Twilight feared the most. "What if that problem is too big for any of us?" she thought. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and as with every Sunday, Silver Spirit was lying in his bed, unable or unwilling to get up. Or maybe both, for all the difference it made. Maybe his inability to get up was a result of his unwillingness to do so. He didn't know. Nor did he care, really. The doorbell rang. Silver difficultly pulled himself up from the bed, and took a short time to close his eyes, and breathe heavily for a few seconds. He didn't know why he always did that. It just helped him cope, somehow. He made his way to the door, breathed in, made a grimace that was akin to a primitive smile, and opened the door. "Hi," said Silver, blandly, not really taking notice of the pony looking back at him. "What's the matter?" But all of a sudden, a jet-black-maned chestnut pegasus colt found his way into Silver's arms and embraced him like a brother. "Hey, Silver! How's the colt, eh?" asked the newcomer colt. Silver scrunched up his face, and shook his head, as if he was trying to shake the hangover away. When he finally reopened his eyes, he recognized the broad smile and the green eyes in front of him. "CrackerJack?" asked Silver, a broad smile finding its way onto his face. "What are you doing here?" "Long story," answered CrackerJack, waltzing into the apartment. "I was on my way back to Trottingham, so I decided to stop by and say hello." The two friends went into the living room, and CrackerJack sat himself down on a cushion, while silver busied himself with the kettles and the pots. "Sorry about the mess," he said. "I've been meaning to tidy up." As he put the kettle on the fire, a nasty little voice wormed its way into Silver's head. "...for about three months, now," the voice said. Once the tea was ready, complete with a plate of crackers (Silver hadn't been shopping for a long time), silver brought the kettle over, and poured the hot tea into some cups. "I wish I had something else to give you apart from these plain old crackers," said Silver. "I don't entertain much." "It's quite alright, mate," said Cracker, smiling. The friends sat down, and started catching up on everything they'd missed. Silver and Cracker were very old friends. They had been friends ever since the day they'd met, back at pre-school, in their old village of Coltford-upon-Trottingham. They had subsequently been to school, secondary school, and college together. As it turned out, Providence had been more generous with CrackerJack than it had been with Silver. CJ was now an up-and-coming journalist, working for the Trottingham Gazette. At some point, the subject of Silver's book cropped up. "I can't wait for your book to hit the stands, Silver," said CrackerJack. Silver's expression fell. "What book?" he asked. "Well, you know, Manehattan Noir!" answered Cracker. "It's exciting; it's gritty; it's daring! But, as bleak as it can be, there's always a glimmer of hope!" "Oh, that book," said Silver. "I've had a few setbacks. But it's okay." CrackerJack glanced at the half-empty bottle of cider on the writing table. "You're sure you're alright, mate?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm sure." Silver looked at the floor. "It's okay." Cracker shrugged it off. Silver had always been somewhat binary with his emotions. The two friends spent the rest of the day talking about everything and nothing, politics, the newest Princess, and their old misadventures with fillies. But, like anything good in life, Crackerjack's visit came to an end. Silver saw him out, they hugged, and Cracker left. As soon as he found himself alone once again, Silver's normal expression resurfaced. His friend was gone, and Celestia knew he was miserable now. He went back to his desk, sat down on the cushion, and started typing. He typed and typed, until he had written the first two verses of a poem. The more he typed, the more his sadness seemed to ebb away. The poem wasn't the best one in the world, but at least it meant something to him. Nopony like me, Has a friend like CrackerJack. Nopony like him, Always has my back. If I were to die, and my world become black, At least I, Will have known Crackerjack. He smiled at the first two verses, and a tear made its way down his muzzle. Silver had cried many times before, so much so that nowadays, he couldn't find the strength to cry. He simply couldn't. But this tear was different. It wasn't a tear of joy, but it was something like that. Feeling more words coming to him, Silver continued typing. When I'm feeling down, And my heart goes out, CrackerJack comes along, and rekindles it right. There. It wasn't long; it was far from conventionally nice, but at least it said it all. Silver felt satisfied, so he ripped the piece of paper from the typewriter, and pinned the poem to his wall. He contemplated it for a little while, before emptying the bottle of cider, and went to bed. Being an earth pony, it would take more than a bottle of cider to make him drunk. But he nonetheless felt a warm sensation that seemed to pump happiness into his heart. He went to bed, tipsy, but content, and happy to be there. Which to him, was the whole point of it all. And he knew that this happiness was only temporary. But he didn't care about the future. He just enjoyed the moment. And then, came a knock on the door.
A miserable end to a miserable pony.The following day, around twelve o'clock. Twilight, Fluttershy, Rarity, AppleJack, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie were walking down a street. They stopped at a corner, next to a unicorn stallion who was playing the trumpet. Rarity placed a gem in the stallion's case, and whispered in his ear. The musician winked at Rarity, and started playing My Favorite Things. It was as if the sound of the musician's trumpet seemed to create an entire zone of positivity all around it. This deluge of notes, so melancholic yet so nice to the ear, such a bittersweet melody that it made ponies all around shed tears of joy and smile some rare smiles. Twilight and her friends stayed and listened to the melody until the song's end, when the stallion lifted his cap, and bowed his head towards Rarity. "Oowee, if it ain't my Shawty, miss Rarity!" said the Jazzpony, in an impressively bass voice. He had a dark-brown coat, and an almost nonexistent mane, which was black. His neck was extremely beefy, just as the rest of his body. "How long's it been, huh?" He smiled, as Rarity did the same. "Ladies, may I present my good friend Strongarms Satchelmouth, my rising star!" said Rarity. The six fillies all smiled at the stallion and took turns shaking his hoof. "Rarrers and I go way back," narrated Strongarms. "I remember meetin' her on Bridleway. I was doin' mah thing, ya dig? Playin' mah songs and livin' mah life. And, ya know Bridleway, nopony gives you the time of day if you haven't at least been on stage or somethin'. And there comes Lady Rarity, who stops to listen to mah song, and gives me a big fat gem cuz' I was playin' good. She went on her way, and two minutes later, I see dem business pony folks hoofin' it over to me an' givin' me contracts to sign for shows all over Bridleway. Them told me that Rarrers'd put in a word for me." "So if you're all popular and all, why are you playing in the street?" asked Rainbow Dash, in such a way that Twilight rolled her eyes in embarrassment. To Twilight's surprise, however, Strongarms chuckled, and said "Well, after weeks of singin' and playin' in them crowded theaters every night, I had a hankerin' to play outside again, ya dig? Get some of that fresh air." "I went to see him play, once," said Rarity, proudly. "I can assure you, it was excellent." "You should come back see me sometime, Rarrers!" chuckled Strongarms. "It'll always be a free seat and unlimited cider for you and your friends." "It would be our pleasure," said AppleJack. "Tell me, Strongarms," said Rarity. "I don't mean to pry, but you do play on this street corner all day, don't you?" she asked. "That's it," answered the stallion. "Why d'you ask?" "Well, you see, we were summoned here to solve a friendship problem," interjected Twilight. "You wouldn't happen to know anypony who has one?" The musician frowned. "Not that I know of," answered Strongarms. "Well, there is one cat I can think of who can fit the bill, but I ain't so sure..." "By all means, tell us," said Twilight. "Nah, I don't think so. Forgive me, princess." he tipped his hat towards Twilight. "I do like to trail off once in a while." "Please, Strongarms," pleaded Twilight. "This is important." Rainbow Dash was waiting for the musician's answer with baited breath. "What's it gonna be this time?" she thought. "Monsters? Changelings? An evil queen?" "Alright," said Strongarms, somewhat reluctantly. "There's a cat who lives in that building there." Fluttershy beamed at the mention of the word 'cat', but Strongarms had obviously guessed what she was thinking of, and said "Not that type of cat," before continuing his narrative. "So there's this cat, called Silver Spirit, ya dig? He's a bit of a sad, lonely cat. He tried getting into music, once, but... well I'll just say that music didn't like him very much, see? Anyway, every night, I see him comin' home to his apartment, sad and miserable. He's one of them cats, a sad, lonely one. And, ya know, I see him on the roof of his building, sometimes. One hoof on the ledge, ready to go over the top, ya dig?" "I see," said Twilight, listening intently. "So I dunno if it qualifies as one of y'all's friendship problems, but ya know, I'm glad to help if ya-" "A-twitch-a-twitch! A twitch-a-twitch!" interjected Pinkie Pie. "Pinkie!" shouted Twilight to her friend. "Don't interrupt, Strongarms was..." But then, the Princess realized that Pinkie's tail was twitching. Everypony here (with the exception of Strongarms) knew what that meant. The six friends all looked up at the midday sky. Rainbow Dash eagerly scanned the horizon. Maybe an evil sovereign or a monster was about to fall from an invisible cloud. "Darling, I don't think that anything' about to-" started Rarity. But whatever she was about to say, she was cut off by Fluttershy, who let out a gasp. Rainbow Dash turned around, saw what Fluttershy was gasping at, and the two pegasi shot straight up. Last evening "Well, look what rolled in!" shouted a cream-coloured unicorn with a waistcoat and pince-museau on his muzzle, as Silver walked into the pub. The two other similarly-dressed ponies, a chestnut unicorn stallion and a light-gray pegasus stallion also looked up from their books, and saw the dull silver pony enter. "Hi, guys," said Silver, sitting down at the table with his erstwhile friends and lifting his fedora to greet them. "Dexter Hoof, Moonstone, Sky Chaser." "We were beginning to think you weren't going to show up," said the cream unicorn. "How've you been?" "The less said, the better," retorted Silver. "What about you guys?" "Quite alright, thanks," said Dexter, lifting the pince-nez off his face and stuffing them into his waistcoat. "I'm fine," said Moonstone, the chestnut unicorn. "Alright," said Sky Chaser. "Good evenin', gents," said the waiter, coming over to the four stallions' table. "What'll it be?" "A bottle of Dom Percheron '92 and four glasses, please," asked Dexter Hoof. "You gentlecolts celebrating something?" asked the waiter. "Yes!" answered Dexter, Moonstone, and Sky Chaser in unison. "Three glasses for them," corrected Silver. "A bottle of Vodka'll be fine for me. Stalliongrad, if you have it." "Comin' right up," said the bartender, before returning behind the counter. "Are we celebrating?" asked Silver. He hadn't been warned about any sort of celebration. "Yup!" said Dexter Hoof, in a smug tone. "I... wait for it," he took a deep breath. "... have just been hired by the Canterlot Mail!" In the tone he was using, he could very well have been announcing his promotion to supreme dictator of Equestria. "Good for you," said Silver Spirit, in a nonplussed tone. He didn't read the Mail, and there was a very good reason for that. The paper was elitist and generally pandered to the wealthy unicorns, and the subscription alone would have cost Silver at least an eighth of his wages. An eighth that could instead be spent on some good cider. Plus, it was so conservative that even Whinnston Chestnut himself would neigh when reading it. All in all, not really Silver's cup of tea. Or rather, not his glass of cider. After a few minutes, the waiter came back, with their drinks. He placed silver's bottle of vodka in front of him, and then proceeded to open the bottle of Percheron, and poured the fizzy and expensive wine into the glasses. As he did so, everypony looked around. Seeing somepony order a bottle of Percheron was pretty rare, especially in this sort of establishment. Silver Spirit, who knew Dexter Hoof pretty well, knew that the unicorn was just trying to rub his success and wealth into everypony's faces. He'd always been a show-off. Silver poured himself a shot of Stalliongrad Vodka, raised his glass, and recited a toast that his father always used to say. "May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be with Celestia half an hour before Nightmare Moon knows you’re asleep." He drank down the glass in one gulp. As if it wasn't already apparent enough, the way that Silver had downed a glass of cheap liquor just after reciting an old Griffish toast, while his three friends were sipping Dom Percheron was a clear sign that Silver was almost from a different world than that of his three friends. "So, erm..." said Silver Spirit. "Why d'you invite me?" he asked. "Well," said Dexter Hoof. "Now that I've been hired and that the Mail has given me a small loan to get started, I've bought an office." "And?" asked Silver. "So. I'd like you all to work for me," explained Silver. "Moonstone has already agreed to lend his knowledge of politics and sociology to my articles, and Cloud Chaser's already agreed to be my secretary. All I need is a typist." "I see," said Silver, pouring himself another glass. "And that would be me?" "Yes." Silver Spirit chuckled. "Funny how you only talk to me when you need something." Cloud Chaser gave Silver a meaningful look. Cloud Chaser was one of Silver's oldest friends, who had introduced him to Dexter Hoof, who had put in a word for Silver at Serene Quill's office. And judging by the look that Dexter gave Silver (when there was a look to be given) every time they met, he had reluctantly put that word in. But Cloud Chaser, who was oblivious to that, thought that Silver owed that much to Dexter. "Is that a no?" asked the cream unicorn. "Do you really want to continue being underpaid by the witch you work for?" And all of a sudden, it became clear that Dexter wasn't trying to recruit Silver out of the kindness of his heart. Typists were somewhat rare to come by, which was understandable, given the nature of the job, and Serene didn't know how to use a typewriter. Dexter was trying to weaken his old boss's position in the world of journalism. "I'm offering to pay you twice as much as she does." "No," retorted Silver, flatly. "Four times?" "No." "For Celestia's sake, Silver! Just take the money already!" urged Moonstone. That sort of annoyance that could be seen in Moonstone's eyes at that very moment was the sort of annoyance that made Silver want to continue irritating him. Yes, after all, Silver continually lived in a sphere of continuous depression and frustration, he could be forgiven for messing around with other ponies now and then. Especially if said pony wasn't exactly pleasant to begin with. "You disgust me, Dexter Hoof." Silver took a swig from the bottle, and placed it back down on the table. "You were in somepony's employ for what, three years? Somepony who gave you a fair salary, treated you like a friend, and whose talent you probably leeched off of to get your shoddy office and your position of 'head politics lunatic' at the 'Canterlot Brain Injury Mail? Did you even write a resignation letter? Of course you did, cuz' that's the law. But did you let her know that you were grateful for everything she's done for you? Of course you didn't, because you have no gratitude. And I'm sure you dumped your letter at the bottom of her work pile, just so she doesn't discover it until she's properly wasted her time looking for you! You didn't even tell her to her face, you- you two-faced coward!" He was spitting specks of vodka and spittle all over Dexter, who didn't seem to really appreciate the shower. "And the worse part of it is that you try and drag me into your foul scheme. I don't want a part in it!" In his fury, Silver hadn't noticed that every head in the pub had turned towards him. And as he finished his monologue, he became aware of the dead silence that had fallen on the room. he decided he'd better leave before he got carried away. He left a few bits on the table, and was about to add a few more as a tip, but he thought that for once, maybe Dexter or Moonstone could tip the barpony. Once that was done, Silver grabbed his half-empty bottle of vodka, stood up. "If you're that useless, Silver," said Dexter Hoof in a barely audible voice, prompting the Earth Pony to stop. "Maybe you should die. Know what I mean? You can't write, which is probably why no-one wants to publish your stupid book. You can't act, and that's why you didn't land the part at Bridleway. The only thing you are good at is getting drunk. You're a nuisance, Silver. You only know how to be loyal to someone who isn't even loyal to you. You're a sad clown, Silver, and it looks like you can't even amuse anypony now. Bring it all to an end. For both our sakes." "So, this is my note. That's what I'm supposed to do, aren't I? Leave a note. I don't really know what to say. Maybe I'll just say that all of this is my fault. No-one's to blame. Except me. So, to all of my friends, all of my family, and all those who care, I'm sorry. I just think it'll be better if I'm gone. Mum, Dad, I'm sorry I never did want to take over the family business. Maybe I'd have been happier if I had. Really, I'm sorry. If it's of any consolation, of all the gin and whisky I've ever tasted, yours were by far the best. So, here's my last toast. To the Spirit family distillery and brewery. Landlord, you'll find the month's rent on the table. I hope all of this doesn't bring the value of this place down. It wasn't very high to begin with, so here's hoping it all brings you some publicity. A pony can dream. Serene Quill. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. CrackerJack, get yourself some better friends. You deserve better than me. Don't be sad, CJ. All of my belongings, which isn't saying much, obviously go to my family. My work goes to the poor sod who wants to publish it, and the half-empty (most likely empty) bottle on the table goes to you, pony who finds this. All the best to everyone. Live a good life. Silver Spirit." Silver carefully extracted the note from his typewriter, signed it using a pen, folded it, and placed it in an envelope. Then, he finished his aforementioned bottle of cider, and picked up a second envelope, which was sitting on the table. Silver spent his last bits on a coach to his boss's office. He entered, went upstairs, and arrived in front of the oak door with a golden plaque on it that read "Dame Serene Quill, GCO. Journalist." Silver took a deep breath, lifted his hat, and entered. He went over to the door at the back of the room, which led to the office proper, and entered. "You're late, Silver," said Serene Quill, who was sitting behind a large stack of paper. "Good. You have an excuse to fire me." Silver approached the desk, and waited in front of it, expectantly. "Don't be silly," scoffed the journalist. "I'm serious." Serene's smile faded. "What?" "If you don't want to fire me, here's my letter. I'm resigning." He placed the letter on the desk. Serene looked bewildered. "But I- What do you- Why?" "It's for the best, boss," said Silver. "I can tell you that." "But I need you, Silver!" Serene pleaded. "Do you want a raise? Because I can do that. Please, Silver, please!" Silver would have chuckled, if he could remember how. "If only it were that simple, boss. I just... I just can't continue working. It's... let's just say it's... clinical." "Silver, I-" Silver shushed his boss, as if he was talking to a crying foal. "I'm sorry." As he was about to make for the door, the earth pony remembered something. He lifted the stack of paper, and found what he was looking for. From under the pile, he found a second letter. "And here's Dexter Hoof's resignation." And without any further ado, the stallion left. As it did at every middle of the day, the sun was shining down upon Manehattan. From the top of the building, Silver Spirit scanned the street for the very last time. He saw the trumpeter, who had just finished playing his song, and was now talking to a group of fillies. Tourists, most likely, if their rather rustic style was anything to go by. Definitely not city ponies, although the pearly white one did have the talk. But did she walk the walk? A purple mare of the group almost caught Silver's eye, because he'd had the fleeting impression that she had both a pair of wings and a horn. But he was too caught up in his own business to care. The papercolt was nowhere to be seen, because he usually worked after school hours. "Alright, then," said Silver to himself. He placed the note on the floor, and placed his front hooves at the edge of the building. He closed his eyes, and drank in the atmosphere, one last time. At that moment, Silver almost felt happy. He was about to be free. Free from pain. Free from suffering. Free from his problems. Free from the fake smiles and fake friends that always pushed him into the ground. Free at last. Silver took a small step back, and without further hesitation, he threw himself off the building. Eyes closed, wind brushing against his whole body, he could almost feel himself flying. He liked the sensation. But as he fell to the ground, he suddenly felt the wind freeze in place. It was as if he wasn't falling anymore. Was he dead?
