Grandpa Baccy's Pipe Smoke

Chapters

Step One - Allow the pipe to cool
Step Two - Stir up any ash or dottle
Step Three - Empty the bowl out completely
Step Four - Lightly fill the your pipe with tobacco
Step Five - Test draw for perfect flow of air

Step One - Allow the pipe to cool

An elderly man is nestled into his rocking chair, gently rocking back and forth. His cane gently hanging onto the arm of the chair, lightly dragging against the floor occasionally. In his hands is a small block of wood, deftly being shaped into art by the work of a knife, held in his other hand.

Around his old fashioned chair is an array of wood chips, some small, some large. Some of them are cut straight, while others twirl into spirals and loops. The occasional gust of wind would blow some away, fluttering off the gentleman’s poorch.

Each slow gust of wind, the man’s voice would quake for a bit. He would stop his whittling momentarily to pull the blanket covering his legs tighter, and snuggle deeper into the blanket covering his back.

Beside him sat a log table. Three pegs connected three legs to the table, with the three legs combining to hold the tabletop up. Nothing more than a simple wooden table, but the knicks and burns upon its surface held many stories, most simple and boring, but the occasional knick would be just long enough and in an odd enough shape to make one wonder who would ruin such a masterpiece.

On the old pine table sat a series of knives, some had blades a little less an inch long with a fine tip. Others were longer and curved forward. Some of them weren’t blades at all, rather, they were sheets of metal with barbs on them, used for smoothing the wood to avoid splinters.

Beside all of these stood one of his prized possessions. A long pipe, foreign letters, symbols, and runes cleanly swept across its frame. Its rich, dark brown swirls captivated any that looked at it. Combine that with the wafts of smoke that came from the open top, as well as the whiskers of the user, made for a enticing and almost illusionary appearance.

When one looked into the smoke, they could almost see the stories in the smoke. Every word and detail outlined in the grey plumbs of air. Hypnotic would be the best choice of words to describe it.

Moving onto the man behind the pipe. Behind the bushy facial hair was a gentle smile that would calm even the most defiant of children. Wrinkles framed his face, around his eyes and around his smile. A long beard hid them away, and his bushy eyebrows almost his even his eyes.

The two blankets he had contrasted each other. The one on his legs, while covered in flakes of wood, also had numerous patches with different pictures and images stitched into them. “Each patch holds a different story, and each hole that was patched is its own story.” He would say. The one on his shoulders were thick and adorned with many rigid symbols on the outline in a golden thread. In the middle of the thick blanket was a large tree with branches splayed across it. Of all the blankets he owned, these two were his favorite, always referring to them as his ‘storytime blankets’.

His clothes were also interesting. Not interesting as in looking fantastic or outstanding, but more so lived in and used. Every day he covered his short, frazzled hair with a dark brown cabby cap. On hot days he would wear a thin sleeveless shirt that tucked into his grey shorts, which were usually still hidden by the blanket, even in the hot weather. In the colder weather he would wear an old, green button up dress shirt. The cuffs were frayed and the buttons were missing, but he didn’t care. He was always happy.

Despite his excitement when telling stories, he wasn’t a very active man. Barely able to get around, he would hobble around with his cane, waving to any who greeted him.

This man was loved by many. From across the world, they would come to listen to him tell a story and whittle them something interesting. He would try to give his arts away for free, but they would refuse and force bits upon him. He supported himself easily with these funds, but never found a need for money. He preferred the company.

He had seen everything in his long life, and he was happy to share his stories. In his youth he had traveled all across his world, and here, he had traversed his land as well. Two worlds of rich stories and adventures to tell.

Having been across such expanses of lands leads to him learning many skills. His work with a knife was next to none, his story telling beating even the unicorns of old, and his pipe packing beating a satyr easily. Hell, back in his day, he could even outdrink a minotaur.

But today, he say alone. Whittling away at the block of wood and whistling a soft tune to himself. The mid winter day kept him a comfortably chilly and the sun warmed his tired legs through his blanket.

Setting his knife down, as well as the half carved statuette, his bones creak and crack as he reaches for the old whittled pipe. After giving it a light tap upside down onto the table, he reaches for an older box kept hidden under the blanket and in a wooden pocket on the back of his rocking chair.

Setting the pipe down on his lap, he brings the box up and looks at it. The same symbols on the pipe could be found on the ornately shaped box. The box barely fit in his hand, easily covering up his withered fingers with its larger frame.

Setting that down on his lap as well, he opens it and stares down at the contents happily. Crushed brown leaves fill the inside of the box, giving off a sweet, almost hickory scent. He pinched out a bit from the box and placed it into the pipe, followed by a smaller pinch, and then another.

Carefully and deliberately packing the pipe, he brings the long handle up to his lips and takes a small puff to see how well he had done. Clearly satisfied with his work, he pulls out a small box of matches from his chest pocket and lights the pipe.

Finally satisfied with the pipe, he places the wooden artifact in his mouth and puts everything away. Then, leaning back in his chair, he rocks back and forth. Looking into the fields around his cabin, he lazily smokes his pipe while enjoying the sights. The occasionally animal would run past, some curious of the creaking chair and coming to investigate.

As he sits and waits, he hears a faint ‘mew’ and looks down to see his little companion sitting at his feet. Little, being more of a ironic joke, the cat was quite large. Looking down at it one would assume they were being attacked by an orange bush.

“Come up here little one, there is always room for you.” The old man says, patting his lap and wiping the dust and wood chips off in an attempt at enticing the cat to join him.

With a ‘mrow’ and a couple tries, the man lets out a sign and leans forward, picking the cat up around its midsection and setting it on his lap.

“You’re getting up there in the years, aren’t you Jazz?”

The cat merely lets out an indignant meow and curls up tighter, causing the man to coo at his little buddy and bunch he blankets up around him.

With both himself and his cat nestled in nice and cozy, he goes back to rocking and puffing on his pipe, letting hours pass as he lets his arms and fingers rest.

As he smokes longer and longer, his eyes grow weary, the lids becoming heavier and heavier. He shuffles the blanket off his shoulders and takes his hat off, setting it on the table. He rubs his hands through his hair, or what was left of it, and wipes his eyes. The cold already setting into his old bones.

With that quick wake up he sets his cap back onto his head and starts rocking again, this time focusing on petting his seldom companion. Looking out into the clearing he notices the sun having gone down considerably since before.

“Ahh, my favorite time of day. You going to stay here and watch with me jazz?” He says, petting the ginger cat and giving it a soft kiss on the head, getting a soft bat on the nose as an answer.

“Good, good. Everything's better with a friend.” He says, giving a few quick puffs to make sure his pipe was still burning.

“Quite, would you care for another companion?” Comes from his side, accompanied by the flutter of wings.

“Of course Luna, you know you and Tia are always welcome here.” He says, picking his cane up off of the arm of the chair, hooking it around the leg of a nearby chair, and pulling it up beside him.

“Why thank you, what a gentlestallion.” The Alicorn princess says, bowing and sitting onto the chair

“Of course Luna, anything for a princess.” He says, hooking his can back onto his rocking chair.

The two of them sit on the porch, enjoying the nippy air and the sun falling past the horizon.

“You know, I had this porch built like this just so I could look at the sun every night.” The elderly man says pointing the mouthpiece of the pipe out and waving it around.

“I do know, you happen to tell me that everytime I visit you.” The princess of the night says, covering her face with a hoof and giggling to herself.

“Yeah, well I’m just making sure you don’t forget!” He says popping the lip back into his mouth.

They return to silence, letting the whistling of the wind and rustling of the branches fill their ears with the music nature.

“I hate this song, would you mind turning the gramophone on with your magic, Lulu?”

“Of course not, is it still in the same place?”

“Always is, I don’t like moving things, you know.”

“I know old man, I know.” The princess says, her horn lighting up.

From inside the cabin the sound of a banjo, guitar, and piano fill the cabin, flowing out from the opened windows and cracked door.

A smile pushes the whiskers on his face up and he begins tapping his foot to the beat of the music.

“Did I ever tell you where this song came from?” He asks, his fingers rapping against the armrests. Even the cat appears to be engrossed in the tune, its tail waving side to side with the rhythm.

“No Grandpa Baccy, I don’t believe you have,” The princess says with a knowing smile, “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Well, it started back in 1913, in my world that is, a man that went by the name of Dick Burnett wrote a song called ‘Farewell Song’...” The old man says, lightly waving his hand about while stringing together the tale of an old song whos days had long passed.

Author's Note

Bet y'all didn't expect this, did ya? Three stories? Damn right! I must be a masochistic at this point.

As usual, like, comment, dislike, send me death threats, I don't care.

I still got a discord, check it out.

Step Two - Stir up any ash or dottle

The old rocking chair was creaking in the wind of the midday.

While the cold air from outside was blocked by the well made structure of the cabin, that didn’t stop it from giving out a whispery whistle in an attempt to entice the man out of his dwelling.

Unfortunately for the wind, this old man had plenty of wood for the fireplace, and he was quite happy inside his hovel for the day. Besides, no one visits him on Sundays.

He sad inside his cabin, occasionally moving around and making sure everything was in check. Despite his old age, he still liked making sure everything was spic and span.

His old wooden dolls were set sitting up. “Proper sitting position keeps your back straight little ones.” He would say as he took each one down, wiped it free of dust, and set it back.

Stuffed animals, given to him as gifts from his many listeners. Picking them up, one by one, and fluffing them. Brush being swept on the ones that needed it.

Everything in his room was always taken care of. One corner, however, was always kept meticulous. His tinkering table.

Any who looked would immediately know it was special. A table sat against the corner. Above it was a simple light with a chain switch connecting it and allowing the old man to turn it on and off. Instead of a light bulb, however, there was a very special crystal. It functioned similarly, but it wouldn’t break like a normal bulb.

On either side of the table were cabinets and drawers and hooks, all covered in various tools, symbols, runes, and pictures. If any were to ask, the elderly man would go on a tirade about what each symbol meant and what was in each drawer. From simple screwdrivers, to tiny pliers for intricate work.

That corner was always kept meticulous, when it was too cold to whittle outside, he would tinker instead.

Watches were relatively new to this world, and very hard to come by. It would be even harder to find a less expensive person to fix such artifacts and so precisely.

His deft fingers, despite showing their age, would twirl around almost mystically. Light tinks, clicks, and ticks would become rhythmic. A quiet tune being made with the simple tools of an elderly man.

“Fingers are quite useful for things like these. I remember back when my own grandfather taught me about watches. He had an old Drevins Equestrian Pocket watch.” He would say every time someone brought him one to repair. He would always laugh at that, finding it ironic.

“18K gold from the 1800s or so he’d say. Sure woulda fetched a pretty penny too.” He would follow up, getting distracted and searching through the cabinets to the tinkering desk.

“Ah-ha!” He would proclaim. Like he was finding the answer to life every time he found the old watch.

He would hold it out for his guest, letting them look it over in their palms, claws, or magic.

It had a slight ding on the cover, causing the family name to be unreadable. On the back was an intricately detailed alicorn.

“My great, great grandfather was the one to make this too, he always had a knack for these things I was told.” He would say, rubbing his fingers tenderly across the surface.

Opening the watch showed a series of intricate gears, all working in tangent. Soft ticks emanating from the glass surface that protected the gears and clock hands from being damaged or dirtied.

He would tell many stories about this watch, remembering every dink or scratch on its surface.

Currently on his desk was a rather complex puzzle. While most of the watches the he has worked on were only missing a screw, an outspan spring, or a chipped gear, this one had no discernable problems.

The golden watch he was working on was ornately shaped, having an octagonal casing instead of the usual circular shape most watches have. The back of it had a male and a female griffon embroidered onto it.

On a spare chair beside the fire sat the griffon. Brown feathers glowing in the light of the fire. He looked barely old enough to leave on his own. From what he said, his family was visiting a nearby town. His late father gave him that watch before he passed. It broke some time later, and no one has been able to fix it.

The young griffon looked close to tears, staring into the fire. The tinkerer sat a cup of hot chocolate in front of the young boy who took it in his claws, lightly blew on it, and took a small sip. Next he set down a small bag of marshmallows on the table for him, letting him enjoy the drink.

Pipe in hand, the lonesome human stared down at the watch. After a moment of studying it, he set the pipe onto the table. Looking over him shoulder to see if young griffon was still distracted.

His feathered guest was still transfixed by the fire, so he reached into the pocket of the ragtag pants he was wearing and pulled out a key. It was a simple brass key, no special markings to indicate any importance.

On the bottom of the table was a drawer. It, just as the key, had no special markings. When he put the key into the keyhole it let out a light click and opened. The old man kept the things most important to him here.

Inside; a ring, pictures, a knife, and a box. He pulled the ring out and looked at it. Shaking his head and quickly wiping his eyes he put the ring back. His eyes skipped over the pictures and he swept them aside as well as the knife. Pulling the box out and closing the desk, he looked over the small box.

In contrast to the key and drawer, the box was covered in more ornate lines, much like the pipe on the desk. Inside the box held one of his most private secrets. The inside was filled with black plants, all crushed up. Lookin at them, one could see the edges of the leaves had an iridescent rainbow pattern that was constantly swirling.

With a pinch he packed the bowl of his pipe, put everything away, and flicked a match across the surface of the iridescent, black plant in the pipe. The smoke coming out started off grey, like the usual tobacco, but as it burned the color of the smoke began to change.

Both from the end of the pipe, as well as out of his mouth, the color was iridescent, just like the leaves. If one was to look closer, they would notice something else. As the smoke wafted down over his hands, it would surround them and follow his movements, like a second pair of hands hovering over his.

As he tinkered with the watch, he would occasionally let out a puff of smoke, joining the rest that surrounded his hands. As he worked, he began to whistle a tune. Starting off slowly, only to gain speed and become more complex the more he worked. Almost as if he was not the only one whistling.

As he worked, his hands would go slower, and slower, to the point where the ethereal hands were the only ones moving.

With a last few puffs, the pipe was empty. With the pipe, the hands faded away, leaving no traces besides the hint of cinnamon in the air.

Shaky hands place the empty pipe down. The elderly man gets out of his chair, having trouble standing. His hands weakly grab the watch, while the other grabs his cane. With a slow hobble, he makes his way over to the young griffon.

“It’s getting late, young master. Could you tell me the time?” He asks as he sets the watch down onto the table.

Claws wrap around the frame of the golden watch. He stares at it for a second, clicks the button to open it, and his eyes glow with excitement. The clock ticks and tocks, gears deftly moving and hands still. All but the second hand, which would click upon every movement.

“I-I dont… Its… I just…” He says, fondling the watch.

After a few moments of the young bird trying to find the words and failing, the elderly man puts a withered hand onto his feathery shoulder. He has a hard time kneeling, but eventually is able to get down to eye level with the young bird.

“Young master, the time?”

The griffon stops, looks at the watch and gasps. “It's already this late?! I’m sorry to have kept you so long sir! How much do I owe you?” He then says, reaching into his side bags for some coins.

The old man takes his tired hand off the griffon’s shoulder and places it on his head, ruffling his feathers.

“Nothing at all young man, you just have to do me a favor.”

“What is it sir? Anything!”

“As I did you a favor, you must do a favor for someone else. It doesn’t have to be now, but you must help someone else without expecting anything in return.”

“Of course! Gladly! I’ve gotta go show Ma!”

And out the door the griffon ran, leaving the tired old man alone in his cabin.

Cane met wood floor as the lone inhabitant of the cabin rose to his feet. Hobbling over to the mirror and sink in the main room, he inspects himself.

He looks worse for wear. The wrinkles around his face have become even more pronounced. The bags under his eyes have gotten deeper. His face, pale.

“You did it again, didn’t you Grandpa?”

“I’m an adult Celestia, its my choice what I do with what is left of my time.”

Standing in the doorway was none other than the princess of the day herself, Princess Celestia.

“Just because you have time left, doesn’t mean you need to waste it over trivial matters.” She says, approaching him.

“I’ll be fine little one, I’ve got a plot of land for my grave anyway. The crown shant pay a penny for my funeral.” He said, trying to pet her mane, only to lack the strength to raise his hands.

With a bit of magic, the princess surrounds the elderly man and lays him onto his back into the bed. Without saying a word, she begins preparing tea, going through his cabinets with practiced experience.

“Come now Tia, I’m not that old. I’m just feeling a bit weak is all. Let me help with the tea.” He says, trying to get up, only to have magic push him back into the bed.

The silence resumes as Celestia works around Baccy’s cabin.

After a few minutes, Celestia brings over a tray with two cups of tea on it. She sits down beside the bed and offers a cup to the man.

He accepts the cup and sips it, taking his time.

An awkward silence fills the room as the two sit beside each other drinking tea.

“It has been a long time since we have done this, Tia.”

“That it has, Grandpa.”

The silence continues.

The elderly man’s sips grow more and more slow until he leans back and slumps ever so slightly.

With a small bit of magic, Celestia grabs his cup from his hands, takes the dishes to the sink, cleans them, and sets them onto the counter.

As she goes to leave the cabin, she takes one final look at the him.

“Goodnight, Grandpa.”

Author's Note

I actually like this kind of story better than my others. While its not as popular, I find it will be much more refreshing. Instead of slice of life, it will turn into an old man telling stories.

Step Three - Empty the bowl out completely

“So, Mr.Grandpa. We have to ask you to come to the castle.”

The elderly man sat on the porch, staring down at two guardsponies. Both of which were trying to usher the man into a flying carriage.

“Of course, of course. Let me just get prepared. Can’t leave without my hat, can I?” he says, turning around and walking into the house.

Both ponies followed him inside the small cabin that functioned as his home. While these two guards were all too familiar with the insides of the cabin, they never found it dull.

“Alright, just have to grab my bag…” Grandpa Baccy says, crouching down to grab a burlap messenger bag.

“Can’t forget my supplies, might need those…” He mumbles to himself, opening several different drawers, pulling out little packets full of small tools.

Both guards walked around, admiring the surroundings. Walking over to the rows of shelves, they looked over the various dolls on display. Some shaped like ponies, some like griffons, and some that looked similar to the old man they were sent to retrieve.

While the guards were looking around the room, he quickly slipped the familiar key out of his pocket, into the lock, and opened the drawer. With hands too nimble for their own good, he pulled the small box out and placed it in his pocket before closing the drawer, locking it, and tossing the key in his other pocket.

With his bag full, he grabbed a long overcoat from a nearby hook on the wall, before grabbing a hat off a mannequin that was situated in the corner. Taking a second to wipe his hand across the top, wiping off dust and wood chippings, he took a long look at his tweed cap. Faded plaid adorned the outdated cap. Three pins adorned the soft donegal. A shining sun and a cool moon were the two most recognizable ones. The last one was faded, leaving the pin much to the imagination, but he would always remember that pin.

He brushed his fingers over it, thinking back to when he first got it. He doesn’t remember their faces, but he remembers when he got it. It was his Forty-fifth birthday present from his daughter.

“Oh my love, how much longer must I go without you two?” He quietly asked himself, rubbing his thumb against the faded surface. As he wiped away any dust, he could faintly see the black lines that formed a triquetra, a celtic knot. The old hat was placed on his head, in its rightful place.

“So, boys, can I get you a drink before we go?” Grandpa Baccy asked, clearing his throat to keep his voice steady.

Both guards jumped to attention, having completely forgetting their entire reason for being there in the first place.

“Uhhh, no sir. The Princess’ requested we bring you immediately.” One says.

“But Shamrock, surely we can have a quick drink? His coffee is amazing the other guards say.” The other asks.

“I’m sorry Clover, but we’ve got a job to do.” The one named Shamrock replied, before turning to Grandpa Baccy. “Maybe on our return trip, we could grace you with a cup of our own coffee? It's not as good as yours I’m sure, but it's still pretty decent.”

Fingers lacing through his beard, he let out a hum before responding. “I’ve never been one for denying a good cup, I’ll hold you to it.”

“Good!” Clover ecstatically replied. “But first, let's get you to the castle. Are you ready?”

“I am, thank you for asking.” Grandpa Baccy said, patting his bag causing the contents to klink together.

“Alright, let's head out.”

All three exited the house, with the elderly man stopping only to close the door and lock it. Taking his time on the steps, being careful to not trip, the creaking of the wood reminded him that he was leaving his familiar domain. He took one last look at the small cabin, before steeling himself for the trip.

The two drivers of the flying carriage huffed as guards and human approached.

“Took long enough you two, and goodmorning to you Grandpa.”

With a tip of his hat he replied with his own greeting before hopping inside the carriage.

The guards who guided him to the carriage took a minute to speak with the two pegasi. While they were doing this, Grandpa Baccy took a moment to go through his bag and take inventory to ensure he wasn’t forgetting anything.

“Screwdrivers… check. Files and carving tools… check. Spare wood… check. Pipe and tobacco… check. Rosary beads… checkerino.”

With everything in order, he nestled inside his coat in an attempt to warm himself up.

After a couple minutes the guardsponies opened the door and hopped in, sitting across from him.

“So, Grandpa, you ready to go?”

“As ever as I could be, do you mind if I pack my pipe and tell a story while we travel?”

The pony names Shamrock knocked on the window dividing the party from the pegasi outside, signalling to lift off. The one named Clover chose to respond in his brother’s steed.

“Of course, let me just do something real quick…” Clover said, turning a crank that was situated under one of the windows. As he turned it, the window started to lower, only to stop at halfway down.

“There, now what story are you telling today?”

“One moment, let me just pack this.”

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small jar with crushed up tobacco leaves. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out his pipe and began to fill it

“Good thing I cleaned this already, now, let me tell you about the time I first met with the dragons…”

-=- -=- -=-

“The road goes on, ever ever on~”

“That's quite a song Grandpa, where did you learn it?”

“Just something I picked up back home. Its from a rather lengthy saga about a hobbit and his friends traveling. Aptly named ‘traveling song’.”

“You’ll have to teach me some time.”

“Of course Celestia, but I think it's best you focus on more important matters. If the dragons here are anything like the stories in my world, then I’d rather not get on their bad side.”

“I’m not sure what those are like, but the ones here are usually quite understanding. It's the young ones and the outliers you have to watch out for.”

“Well then, I’ll keep an eye out as much as I can, but I fear my eyesight has been failing as of recent.”

“When we return I’ll set up an appointment to have your eyes checked, we may just have to get you some spectacles to see through.”

The traveling pair continued to ramble on, mostly talking about inconsequential matters. Due to his age, the elderly human was unable to walk for too long. To remedy this, Celestia allowed him to ride on her back. An act that looked quite strange to outsiders, but had been familiar between the pair.

Usually they traveled by flying carriage, but Celestia assured her guards she would be fine on her own and politely declined the carriage.

After several hours of traveling, both by ground and by flight, they arrived outside the home of the dragons. In sharp contrast to Canterlot’s elegant halls and elaborate castle, this place was more of a lair. It consisted entirely of an oversized volcano with the top cut off and rock solidified over the lava, allowing the dragons to walk safely without having to wade through lava.

“You know, Celestia, I would much rather not turn to ash. I understand that dragons are able to withstand lava and magma, but are you sure that the ground will hold?”

“The dragons can all walk across it, so I’m sure someone as light as you can be just fine, but if you’re still nervous you can stay on my back.” Celestia said in an attempt to reassure him.

“No, I must refuse. These weary legs of mine need stretching or else I’ll never be able to walk.”

“If you insist.” The alabaster alicorn said, kneeling down to let the human hop off.

After a bit of finagling, and more than enough luck, Grandpa Baccy was able to dismount his loyal steed and stand on his own two feet.

“That’ll do Tia, that’ll do.” He said, patting her side.

They both stood at the ledge overlooking the crater. Dragons of various colors, sizes, and makes were dotted across the scene. Some guarding large piles of gems and gold. Some wrestling and some swimming in the lava. If he didn’t know better, he would assume they were all kids, but the vast size of them was a clear indicator they weren’t.

He pulled out a pipe and began to smoke. “Hey, Celestia, if I smoke, do you think they’ll be more accepting?”

She looked down at him and gave a lazy chuckle, “I don’t know Grandpa, but it's worth a shot.”

Passing over the lip of the crater, they made their way down. Most of the dragons paid no attention to the new intruders, the ones that did gave curious glances and scooped their treasure in closer.

“Well, they haven’t outright attacked us. That's a positive to me.” He said, letting out a small smoke circle.

“You probably shouldn’t do that Grandpa, someone might think you’re trying to seduce them.” The princess said with a giggle.

“Nonsense Tia, I’m too old to flirt. But I’ll refrain from doing that just in case.” The human replied, waving the smoke away.

“So, Princess Celestia, I see you’ve brought a friend today.”

With a silence that was unfitting of a dragon, a scaled monstrosity towered over the human. Graying blue scaled covered the mountain of a dragon, horns growing out of the back of his head, curving around to the front, orange wings and spikes functioning as accents to his body. On his left horn was a finely crafted ring with an obsidian outline and gold layered middle section.

“Yes Dragon Lord Torch. This is Grandpa Baccy. He’s never had the opportunity to meet a dragon before, so I figured I would invite him along. I hope that is alright with you.”

“No, it is not. He is to leave immediately.” The Dragon Lord said. “It's already a stretch to let a -pony- in our home.”

“If I may intervene, I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I whipped together a little something special.” The human said, rummaging through his bag. “Ah! Here we are!”

In his outstretched hand was a finely carved statuette of a dragon. What was most outstanding about the figurine wasn’t the talented craftsmanship of it, rather, it was the wood that it was made of. Instead of the expected brown grain that most wood arts resemble, this was instead a shining glass blue color.

“Grandpa, where did you get that wood?”

“Don’t worry about it Tia, just some tree in that forest by my cottage. It had some spare branches on the ground that it wouldn’t miss.”

The Dragon Lord scooped up the human with one hand, taking the shining wood statue with his other clawed hand.

“It does look rather nice, albeit a bit small. What use is this to me?”

“Well, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but I happen to be the most skilled craftsman of my trade. I am the renown ‘Baccy’!”

“Well I haven’t heard of you.”

“Well you also don’t deal with magical wood too much, do you?”

The Dragon Lord looks down at his new treasure. Eyeing it over and inspecting every nook and cranny. The statuette was of a dragon, wielding an ornate staff in one hand. The staff head was spread out, like a vine wrapping around a tree, with a polished orb in the middle. On the dragon’s chest was a multicolor metallic disk.

“No, I suppose not. I do not recognize this dragon, nor the staff it holds. Is there a meaning, or is it just artistic creativity?”

“I’m glad you ask! You see, the dragon’s name is Io, the chief deity of dragons and the god of dragonkind. While I doubt it holds much merit here, Io was believed to be the creator of all things to dragons, and represented balance and peace.”

“Io is not a name that I recognize. We don’t have a dragon deity here, but the sentiment is appreciated. And the staff?”

“Yes, the staff! The Staff of Domination! It's a mythical item that is said to cast Dominate Monster, Demand, Mass Charm Monster, and Geas. It's not a real item, fortunentally, but I felt it would work well with a being of peace.”

“Interesting. Do you think you could carve a larger image? Perhaps in my likeage?

“My good sir, it would be an honor!”

-=- -=- -=-

“You carve a statue for THE Dragon Lord? That's preposterous.” Clover interrupted.

“It’s true. Took me a good month of my life away to carve that piece of art. It's not actual size, mind you, so it's technically still a statuette. A statue would be life size, or atleast close to it.”

“Still, that's amazing. I figured he would have turned you to ash as soon as he saw you, but he actually hired you. What happened after that.”

“Well I figured I could tell you over a cup of coffee, we’re almost in Canterlot after all.”

Both ponies looked out the windows, seeing the expansive castle encompass the majority of their view. The familiar towers and shops filling in rest of the scenery.

“Well then, I suppose we’ll do that.”

As the carriage made its descent, racking itself against the ground, the two guards and one traveller made their preparations to exit their flying transportation.

“Hey, Grandpa, what's that dragon god thing from? I thought you said you’ve never seen a dragon before?”

“Yeah, what was that about?”

“When I was younger, there was a game called Dungeons and Dragons, I played it all the time. Io happened to be one that I faintly remember. Came out in 1992 I believe, which has no correlation here.”

“Oh, kinda on the nose, dontcha think?” Shamrock asked.

“Kinda, but it was fun nonetheless.”

The three exited the carriage and made their way towards the castle. Shamrock and Clover lagged behind and began whispering to each other.

“Clover, what was going on with his story? Did you see the same thing I saw?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The smoke from his pipe, was it weird at all to you?”

They both thought back to the carriage ride. As Grandpa was telling his story, he would waft his hands around in the smoke. What was supposed to be smoke from the pipe, transformed into colorless images before dissipating, giving almost snapshots of story.

“I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, you’re telling me you saw it too?” Clover asked.

“Yeah, do you think he actually DOES have magic?”

They both turned to look at the elderly man, slightly hunched over and shuffling to the castle. Turning to look at each other, they thought for a moment.

…

“Nahhhhhhh.” They said in unison.

Author's Note

Not dead yet!

Step Four - Lightly fill the your pipe with tobacco

The two guardsponies caught up to the old man. Side by side they led him through the entryway to the castle, stopping only to speak with the guards at the entrance.

Once inside the castle, everything became a blur of activity to the old man. Maids and soldiers trotting past, the talking of ponies echoing through the halls, and the shiny reflections from the almost too clean floors.

The occasional maid would stop to greet the old man, as well as several of the guards.

“Good to see you again Grandpa.”

“Evening Sauerkraut.”

“Morn’ Pappy, glad to see you’re still kickin.”

“Same to you Spearhead.”

“Good afternoon Grandpa Baccy, it's a pleasure to see you again.”

“Of course, and the same to you Feather Duster.”

As the elderly man continued to greet and speak with every pony that passed by, Shamrock and Clover talked between themselves.

“So, where are we supposed to be bringing him again?”

“Wait, I thought you knew where to bring him?”

“Really? I’ve been following you all this time!”

They both looked towards the frail human leading the way.

“Well, he seems to know what he’s doing. Lets just follow him and see what happens.”

-=- -=- -=-

After a bit of walking, the guardsponies found themselves at the entrance to the large cafeteria.

“Uhh, Mr. Grandpa, I’m not sure this is where we’re supposed to go. The Princess’ wanted to see you as soon as possible.” Clover spoke up.

“Of course, and you know it's about lunch time. I could use with a light snack, and you know who else could do with a snack? Both of the princess’.”

Inside the large cafeteria was an assortment of guards and royals, all enjoying a peaceful lunch. The main attraction was the larger table with two equally large chairs at each end.

“Ah, Baccy, glad to have you join us.”

In each chair sat an alicorn, one alabaster and the other a midnight blue.

“Tia, Luna, the pleasures mine.”

Both guards stood there awkwardly, waiting to be dismissed, until the human spoke up, pulling two chairs out.

“You two, come sit down and join us. I’m sure the two won’t mind a couple more.”

“But Sir, it’s improper!”

“Aw phoey, come help an old man into a seat and take a load off.”

The ‘old man’ pulled his seat out and sat down, waving at one of the waiters lining the outside of the room. To which a finely dressed stallion in a suit and apron trotted up.

“Good evening Sir Baccy, how may we help you this evening?”

“Well I’ll be fluffed and flustered, Gullwing, is that you? Heavens have you grown. I remember back when you were just a foal. You tore through the kitchen trying to get orders through, just like your pa.”

The stallion rubbed the back of his head and shied away. “Baccy, how can you remember stuff like that. Don’t go embarrassing me in front of the Princess’.”

Replying with a laugh and a tossle of the ponies mane, the old man responded. “Ah you know I’m just teasin’. Your pa was the same as you, you know. He never had a knack for waitin’ tho, always stayed in the kitchen, he still here by chance?”

“Yessir! Still refuses to retire!”

“Thatta boy! Tell him ‘the old man’ is here, he’ll know what to get. What about you two guardies?”

The two guard ponies looked to the Princess’ for confirmation, receiving a nod, and ordered themselves. The waiter took their orders and left.

“So, Princess’ sorry for taking hold of the conversation before you two could respond, how are you two doing?”

“Grandpa, don’t you think we should ask you the same thing?”

“Oi!” He said, pointing a finger at them. “No harassing at the dinner table, you both know I’m still alive, that's all there is to it.”

“Yes, we know, right sister?” Celestia said, looking to Luna.

“Yes, we could never forget ‘Baccy’s Seven Rules to Dinner’.” She said, raising her hoofs and making quotation marks in the air as she said it.

“And what was rule three?”

“No harassin’ at the table.” They both said, attempting an older man’s voice and failing.

“Exactly, now how's your day been? I’m surprised to see Luna still up at this time.”

“She stayed up specifically to see you, you know.” Celestia said, causing her sister to blush.

“Sister! I’m just worried about him after all!”

“Yes, enough to stay awake I see, you’re barely holdin on too, after we eat you get some rest, take a nap and I’ll have ‘Tia wake you up before we talk.”

She looked disappointed, but nodded, knowing she couldn’t argue with the elderly gentleman.

“If it helps, I’ll tell you a bedtime story, for old times sake.”

“Prithee?” She asked, suddenly enthusiastic.

“Aye, but only if you’re a good girl for the rest of the day.”

“Yes!”

Both guards looked between themselves, shocked to see such a change in the Princess’ they are used to protecting.

At that point, the waiter came up with several plates, all with a different assortment of foods for the human and two guards. The Princess’ themselves already ordered their food earlier and were eating.

“Thanks Gull, just how I like it.”

On the plate was a pile of mashed potatoes, with broccoli and what looked like a burger. To which the human took a bite.

“Hmmmm, its a vegan alternative, but tastes good enough. Tell your pa I said thanks.”

“Of course grandpa, let us know if you need anything.”

“Oh, actually, could you bring me a coffee? Black with a packet of sugar and a cup of milk.”

“Certainly.” The stallion said, returning to the kitchen.

“Now, you two never told me how you were doing. Don’t go trying to dodge the question, and no half truths, you know I’ll know.”

Both Princess’ huffed, and Celestia spoke first.

“It has been a long day, to be frank.”

“And who is Frank?” The old man spoke up.

“...”

Only to be greeted by silence from the princess while one of the guards almost laughed before coughing on his food.

“Alright, it wasn’t funny a couple centuries ago, and it wasn’t funny now, I get it.”

“Tis true, however, if I was more awake I may have laughed.”

“Anyway, Tia, continue?”

“As I was saying. Today has been quite long. Since this morning I’ve had to deal with several nonsensical requests from the nobles about Canterlot and various other cities.”

“And as for me, as you may have noticed I’ve been practicing my common! I’m close to speaking like a common pony.”

“I have noticed! And I’m so proud of you for it Luna, it's honestly quite impressive! I know it's probably hard on you to change how you speak, but it’ll help you fit in better.”

“Thank you kindly!”

“Of course my little Lulu, I’m so proud. Now, let's commence the lunch, I’ve been starving since I smelled it.”

-=- -=- -=-

After lunch both guards were dismissed and given the rest of the day off.

“Alright Tia, I’ll come sit through court with you for the rest of the day after Lulu falls asleep. That work for you?”

“That does, sleep well sister.”

“And good luck to you too sister.”

The old man walked the younger Princess to her room. Through halls and stairs, they found themselves in front of a long, spiral staircase.

“Hoof, I always hated these stairs. Mind helping an old man up the stairs?”

“Does thou wish for me to carry you?”

“Language, and no, just lemme lean on you for now. I can probably make it up thanks to my cane, but I doubt my strength and its once we get halfway.”

“Of course.”

What felt like hours later, they reached the top and met a long hallway with a double door at the end with two guards standing in front.

“Whew, just… just lemme catch my breath…” The older man huffed, sitting down onto the ground.

“Of course, just take a break.”

They sat there for a bit. Letting the older man catch his breath.

“Hey, Lulu, did I ever tell you the story of my grandson?”

“I didn’t realize I was to sleep out here on the cold floor.”

“Ah, you know I’m just messing with you, trying to remember everything I’ve told you though, it's been a long time since I’ve come up with bedtime stories.”

“You told me of him, yes… you told me of the first time he got a black eye… when he lost his first tooth… oh! And about the time he was dead-set on joining the army after his father deployed.”

“Good, I saved the best for last, I’ll tell you about how I realized he would be like me when he grew up.”

“A grumpy old man who smokes constantly?”

“Close, very, very close. Now help me up.”

The Princess leaned down and held a hoof out, allowing the old man to grab hold and pull himself up.

“Ah, thank you kindly. Now to your room?”

“Yes.”

They both walked down the hall and greeted the two guards, who saluted. Opening the doors, they both walked in. Inside was a large, circular room with the windows covered in blankets.

“Not a fan of sunlight, huh? Wait, is that my blanket?”

The Princess quickly magiced up a large afgan blanket off the bed and threw it into an adjacent closet.

“...no?”

“...I must be mistaken then, my apologies.” He said, before laughing along with the princess.

The Princess used her magic to clear away a lot of the clutter in the room, setting a chair beside the window for old man and making a divet in the blankets for her to lay in.

Grandpa Baccy sat down in the chair and rummaged through his bag, pulling out his pipe and tobacco, and setting it up. The Princess snuggle down into her pile and threw some blankets over herself before laying her head down on the pillow.

“Grandpa, tell me a story about yourself.”

“Huh? But I wanted to tell you about my grandson. He was quite the ladies man too, you probably woulda liked him.”

“Yes, but I want to hear about you! You don’t tell a lot of stories about yourself after all. And I mean BEFORE you came here.”

“That's not true! I told you about the love of my life. Oh Merith, you were such a doll.”

“Exactly! That's not about yourself at all!”

“Boo, I’m the storyteller!”

The Princess looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Are you seriously trying the puppy dog eyes on me?”

“Yes, is it working?”

“Of course it is, now lets see… childhood, adulthood, or my senile elderlyhood?”

The Princess giggled. “You wish you were senile, you’re still more spry and lively than Celestia and I combined!”

“Now YOU wish, did you see how much work it was going up those stairs? And I said I was senile, not old you little miscreant!”

The Princess continued to giggle. “Sure, sure. I wanna hear about your adulthood!”

“Alright, easy enough…”

The old man lit up his pipe, sucked in, and blew out a large plumb of smoke which hung in the air. He waved his hand around and pushed some of it away, causing the image of a human to stand in the air.

“I love it when you do that.”

“Yup, I’ve spent years practicing my smoke tricks, woulda made me popular at parties, but I find it best for story tellin. Now lets see…”

He pulled in again, and blew out, blowing the figure away and replacing it with another plumb of smoke.

“Let's tell you about the first time I went camping…”

Author's Note

Part two of your Christmas Present!

Bet you didn't expect that, did ya?

As before, I wish all of you a Merry Christmas, and expect a New Years present as well. If I can bring myself to stop being lazy and procrastinating another chapter that is.

Step Five - Test draw for perfect flow of air

Luna slept soundly on her massive bed of blankets and pillows. I picked up a large wool blanket, the threads of which were falling apart with the occasional tear or missing thread. I draped it over her as she slept, causing her to stir for a second, before rolling over and mumbling in her sleep.

“I’m glad you kept this old rag, but you need to throw it out eventually…”

She responded with mumbled words.

Quietly tiptoeing out, I slowly shut the large wooden door and looked at the two guards standing beside the door. Both had their heads leaning against the door and were softly snoring. I tapped the first one, and whispered good mornings to him as he rose. Before he could speak, I held a finger up to my mouth and shushed him.

He saluted, woke his partner up, and thanked me.

I left the door and made my way back to the stairs, dreading the slow climb down.

Each step was hell on my back, and my knees weren’t faring much better. After another good ten or twenty minutes, I reached the bottom and had to take a breather.

“One day… there has to be an elevator or something. Us old timers can’t keep doing this…”

After regaining my bearings, and grabbing the pipe out of my bag, I wandered through the castle looking for the courtroom. I had been in this castle several times, having been here since it was first built, but that didn’t change the fact that exploring it was always fun. There was a feeling of mystery to it, a sudden pull in my stomach like going down a hill too fast every time I wandered through the quiet halls. Only the sound of flames flickering on the candles filling the silence.

I stop and look out the window, it's the middle of the day, so the sun bears down onto the castle. The garden is just below me, a couple floors down, and I see ponies tending to it. I open the large glass window and lean over, breathing in. My pipe clatters against the stone archway around the window, reminding me to fill it up, so I do. I set my cane up against the wall.

I follow the same process every time. My old and practiced hands following a pattern that I’ve memorized. The method being so ingrained in me, that whenever I lose my sight, I’ll still be able to fill a pipe perfectly.

With the pipe filled, next came the light. Without missing a beat, and without looking away from the scenery, the pipe fit perfectly into my mouth. Clenching the mouthpiece between my teeth, a small box of matches found their way into my hand. Pushing open the small box and taking a single match out, I struck the red head against the starter and it burst into life. The burning smell reminded me of old times, and as the flames covered the opening on the end of the pipe causing the tobacco to burn, I pulled in. The flames drew closer to my fingers, so I shook the match causing it to go out. I tossed the dead match into a small metal tube I kept my spent matches in and took the pipe out of my mouth.

Every puff of smoke out of my mouth formed into a perfect ring, floating off and disappearing into the air as the gentle breeze blew through the opened window.

“Sir? Are you Grandfather Baccy?”

A female guardspony walked up to me, almost silently due to how hard I was focusing on the scene outside.

“Ah, yes. You can call me Baccy, or Grandpa, whichever you prefer.”

The scenery outside still demanded my attention. Ponies outside continued to work. The bird continued to sing. The animals of the small garden continued to scatter whenever a pony drew near. Some of the braver ones would stand strong, only to endure the incessant love the pony would bring in the form of small pets and nudges away from their work.

“The Princess requested your presence in the courtroom. Follow me.”

I stood still as she started to walk away.

“Sir?”

“Come here, the Princess isn’t getting much older by waiting a couple minutes. The beauty of nature is all around us, wouldn’t it be a shame to not enjoy it? Even for a sole second?”

“Sir, the Princess requested-”

“Oh I know what that young lady requests is always important. But I’m older, does that not mean my wishes are more important? I may not be royalty, but I heard ponies are taught to respect their elders.”

She huffed and walked over beside me. She brought her front hooves over the ledge and looked out, breathing in.

“Smell that? Thats time. That's nature itself growing, dying, and renewing itself. The wind itself is a force unstoppable. Nature is a true force.”

“Ponies have worked to work against that force. Pegasi can control the wind in some cases. Unicorns have magic to control wind. Earth ponies can harness and use nature.”

“Aye, that they can. But can any of them truly call THEMSELVES nature? To be a force so eternal, so elaborate, that scholars can write stories about even a single gust of wind.”

Puff after puff of smoke wafted from the pipe in my mouth as I leaned out. The guardspony beside me muttered something about ‘senile ponies’. I ignored it, for the most part.

I leaned back and motioned for her to step back as well. Closing the window, grabbed my cane, and took my pipe and checked it. A solid ten minutes or so of tobacco left in it. I looked around the still empty hall, besides the lonesome guardspony, there wasn’t a single other living soul in the way.

“Well, I suppose we’ve spent enough time enjoying the world as it is. It's not going anywhere after all. Maybe we should see what the Princess wants after all.”

“Yes, let us make haste. I feel we have wasted enough time as is.”

“Time spent enjoying life is not time spent wasted. It is when your tasks are filled with malice, that that time is wasted.”

“What are you, a seer?” She asked, looking over her shoulder as she began to walk away.

“To some, I may be. To others, I’m just an old coot!”

“I can see why some would think that…” She muttered.

“I’ve also noticed you’ve yet to introduce yourself. Truly a grown mare should know some manners?”

She began to seethe, being called out on her un-guardly mannerisms.

“My name is Sure Shine.”

“Sure Shine… Granddaughter of General Shoe Shine?”

She stopped her quick pace to look at me, “You knew my grandfather?”

I stopped as well, trying not to step on her back hooves. “Yes, I knew almost every guard in this castle. My memory may not be what it once was, but I try to never forget a cutiemark. Where I come from, it's more reasonable to say ‘never forget a face’ but I find you ponies almost always have similar cutiemarks compared to faces. Especially with your guards' outfits having enchantments to conceal your normal looks.”

She took off her helmet, causing her blue mane and white coat to suddenly shift to a dark brown mane and dark orange. The regulated blue eyes shift to light green.
“Yes, you look just like your grandfather, though your mane is a bit darker than his was.”

Looking down at the helmet in her hooves, she put it back on. The enchantment almost instantly shifts it back to the regulated look.

“I’m glad my grandfather made that much of an impression on you… And I’ve been told my mane is darker than my forefathers.”

“That it is, not a bad thing however. Now, let us make haste as you said.”

-=- -=- -=-

We made the rest of the way in silence, only stopping occasionally to let myself catch my breath. Every stairway we climbed down, and every long stretch of hall taking its toll on my old and withering body. This, of course, was not used as an excuse to clean out my pipe and fill it back up. I did this at every stop, much to the guardpony’s chagrin at being forced to wait on an elderly man.

“You know, I’m sure you wouldn’t be out of breath if you didn’t smoke so much.”

“I assure you, young lady, my smoking is no hindrance in this. If I didn’t smoke, I wouldn’t have made it halfway as fast as I am now.”

“Doesn’t that stuff hurt you more than it helps you?”

I looked down at my pipe. Almost as old and withered as I was. There were clear fingerprints at where I had held it over the years. It was hand carved, having been sanded down to a clean and almost soft finish. There were carvings all along the handle, the names of generations. From my oldest relative in family history, Sir Danield Evergreen. My some odd great-great-great grandfather. He had come to the United States back when it was still the colonies. Calling him only my four times over great grandfather was an understatement. There were over a dozen names carved onto the handle of the pipe.

The last name was of my grandson. A name I had almost forgotten as time went on. I rubbed my fingers over the name. He picked up the moniker “Mister Clean” after he had a fondness for cleaning. While not the most professional of jobs, I was happy he had found himself a suitable passtime. This nickname was carved over his name, one I had felt too fond to fix. I would remember his name in my heart and in my mind. He had carved his nickname himself into my pipe, who was I to fix that?

The pipe itself was wood, but the main centerpiece was of a feather tied to the head by a grey thread. A friend of my grandson had given the feather to me, after I had shown him my collection of pipes. He suddenly grew a fondness of pipes himself, even after a long attempt at persuading him not to start smoking, he had started anyway. I kept the feather and cloth as a keepsake. A friend of my grandson’s might have as well been family at that point.

“We’re here.”

I stopped my inspection of the pipe, taking a single puff of it in response. We stood in front of a large stone door, a line of ponies standing outside of it. Two more guardsponies stood beside the door, regulating who could come in and who had to stay and wait. The one who led me there saluted and let me in.

Entering the large courtroom, there was a single pony standing in front of a podium. In the centerhead of the room was Princess Celestia, sitting on a large stone throne. Not as regal as her normal throne, but made to be impressive and daunting for any other pony to sit on.

“Ah, Grandpa Baccy, glad to have you join us!” She called out, causing the pony at the podium to grow quiet.

“Ah, yes. I do hope I’m not interrupting too much. I’ll be quick in taking my seat.” I said, shuffling into the room and finding my place beside the Princess.

“Yes, we were in the middle of a small discussion. Would you care to listen in? Perhaps throw your own two bits in?”

“Don’t mind if I do actually, let me just get situated first. Go ahead and repeat the important stuff young man, I’m listening.”

The pony at the podium was fairly regular. A pegasus, with a blue coat and darker blue mane.

“Ah yes, alright. So, basically, the idea is I want funding for a pegasi show.”

I grabbed a couple cushions from behind the throne and set them on the ground. My cane sat against my legs, leaning on me just so I could grab it if I needed to stand.

“You’re part of the Wonderbolts, correct?”

“Ah, yeah! I’m Soarin. Our leader, Spitfire, is busy dealing with other matters, so they sent me in.”

“Alright, and by funding, how much exactly do you need for a show like that? I’ve seen your work, you must pull in a bunch of money from merchandising?”

“Merchandising?”

“Yes, as in producing your own memorabilia and selling it to the massing, procuring the funds you need to continue making the shows you are so famous for.”

“Well…”

“Well?”

“We usually let our fans do that.”

“Alright, let's work on the money first, then we can talk about that. How much do you need?”

“We were thinking a good… 10,000 bits would work?”

I nearly coughed on the smoke from my pipe as I breathed in too hard.

“What in the sam hill would you need that much money for? Your entire theater is just a bunch of clouds?”

“Well, for advertisements!”

I sat there quietly, wondering if the pegasus was being serious.

He sat there quietly, waiting for a response.

“Celestia, I think 100 bits to pay for several copies of fliers would suffice. As for you, I would say make your own official merchandise for ponies to buy, and have viewers pay for express seats. Seats that you would specifically fly closer to, so ponies could get a… ‘front row seat’ as it is.”

“I think that would work too, what do you say Soarin?”

He looked confused for a moment. “But what about advertisements?”

“How many competitors do you have to deal with, that you would have to out-advertise against?”

“Well, we’re the only ones that-”

“Exactly. You could probably get by with just word of mouth to pull in a large haul of viewers. Just take the 100 bits and be done. How much did Spitfire tell you to ask for?”

“Well, she didn’t necessarily. She asked that I go and tell Princess Celestia and ask that she appear.”

“And you thought asking for 10,000 bits is what she meant?”

“Well, I dunno…”

“Exactly. Celestia, do you think you’ll be able to make it to their show?”

She stopped and thought for a second, calling for a pony to come up with a ledger.

“It depends when I’ll be free… I should be good in two months to attend any show that comes up.”

“That works perfectly! Our next show is in literally two months and five days!”

I clapped my hands together, nearly dropping my pipe. The cane clattered against the ground as it slipped off my leg.

“Oop, sorry. But yeah, that makes everything perfect then! What's say we wrap this one up.”

“Oh, I think that's a perfect ending to this little charade you call a court hearing!” came a voice, echoing through the room.

The pegasi stopped before he could say anything and looked around.

Celestia, for being a nice shade alabaster, appeared to pale even more in comparison.

Suddenly, in the middle of the room appeared a mismatch of creatures. Every limb was a different animal, griffon claws, lion paws, horse hoof and dragon leg. Two different wings, two different horns, and what looked like a donkey’s mane. This creature stood easily taller than Celestia, Luna, and I combined. In his mouth was a single fang, like a snaggle tooth.

“Oh, it is so fun being free from that stone prison you trapped me in, but I think it's time I caused some true mischief, wouldn’t you say ‘Tia?”

Author's Note

Good evening, my grandchildren.

Your grandfather is still quite alive, and still telling stories for you to enjoy.

So take a seat, enjoy a nice drink, maybe even a smoke, both of which if you are of the appropriate age, and enjoy a continuation of our little tale.