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.