Spaghetti

by jebinnam

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle
Length: 4278

The year 943, in a small coastal town of Equestria, a small foal runs from home, and meets an adult running from her "past".

It is the year 943, in a small town in Coastal Equestria. In the home of some of the wealthiest ponies in the land, a small middle-class foal runs from home. Yet her path will tie with the long journey of an old mare, if just for one warm summer night.

This is my first fimfiction story, and part of a really large storyworld I have been working on. This is me testing the waters. If you likey, lemme know what plz. If you don't, PLZ say why.
Or just enjoy reading it. (And visit my page for some of my favorite if ur stuck)

Published 2018-03-06 15:40:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-03-06 15:40:06 UTC

Stars and Lantern Light

Silver moonlight cast a beautiful sheen on her hair. And she could only imagine the lovely clicking sound her hooves would make on cobblestone – if she hadn’t muted them. Instead, a thin veneer of magic like socks covered her entire fetlocks and below.

Yet the loud clacks of many hooves and jangle of heavy armor doggedly pursued her. She knew she could outlast her burdened pursuers, but they knew these streets better than her.

Eventually she was forced up a hill, where she knew there were more dead-ends due to her own policy of avoiding main roads. No need for polizia to get involved.

Sounds of hooves to her left told her they were working on flanking her. Too bad they hadn’t reached her right yet. A quick turn and...

She had hit a main road.

Oops.

Well, she had known it could come down to this. With a flicker of her horn, a long staff appeared at her side. She quickly backtracked to the corner, bo ready, and...

STAB

The young filly twirled her spaghetti slowly on her fork, leveling a math-class tier boredom look at it.

The spaghetti did not burst into flames. Nor did it decide to turn into candy. She allowed herself a long sigh. The math equations didn’t either.

Rumpled Frock sighed again, long and loud. She usually liked spaghetti, but her current company made it taste sour.

She glanced across the table, between the candles, to the sour-er of her favorite dish. Her sister coo-ed and giggled as her two adoring parents bent over her. Mom’s eyes filled with pink bubbles and Dad’s were proud as her sister got marinara sauce all over her front.

“Ble blah blah… geheeheehee!” It was like the parrot at the pet shop: all high and shrieky.

How does one eat spaghetti while listening to that?

“Frock, eat your food!” Her father’s warm brown eyes were cold as they settled on her, and the pride was gone. Only judging and anger for her.

She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t even want spaghetti!

...Maybe they wouldn’t even notice if she left.

Out of nowhere, Frock had a theory to test.

Dad was back to paying attention to the now-crying need-it-all. She climbed out of her seat, and walked across the adjacent living room. She waited expectantly for the yell, but instead heard a plate shattering.

She instinctively jumped behind the sofa that faced the front door. After a moment, she heard her mother and father placating the trouble maker. Dumb foal.

After a moment, she heard the sounds of porcelain sliding along the floor, propelled by a broom. Now or never.

She went over to the imposing walnut-wood door. Usually the source of freedom, it now sat as an imposing boundary to the open night sky.

She would have none of it.

With a final resolve, and the memory of her father’s eyes, she reached up with barely enough height to flip the tiny iron latch on the door, and pulled at the rung with her mouth.

The door swung open. Dark night softly turned to silver cobblestone streets.

The mare swung left, swung right, and ducked. Easy. They looked imposing in their silver armor, yet somehow fighting had de-evolved down to lumbering greatswords and extremely thick armor.

One hard tap and they were off to sleep. With a headache and ringing in their ears.

Sure, the armor helped against the latest magic weapon, but she didn’t have that weapon, and it would soon be outlawed by Celestia.

Then she saw a pony pull out a long hollow pole with two V’s on either end.

Oh. They had one.

Right. Not illegal yet. But she took the time to doubt that these ponies would stop using it, even as the orange pony leveled it at her.

These weren’t the good guys, after all.

The stars were like lanterns.

Pretty.

Frock watched the stars, feeling the blue bow tugging at her brown mane, and her blue dress rippling along her pollen-yellow body. The wind was warm though, and did little to stop her journey or her rambling thoughts.

Stars didn’t work. Or they did but they didn’t try. They just sat there, singing. Or she thought they sang. The stallion at the big obsergerdry… obsergatry?

The stallion at the giant-telescope tower said the star were really far away.

Did the stars care about her-

BANG.

“Eep!”

Rumpled Frock looked around, heart racing.

Just normal streets. Well, this street was climbing a hill, and overlooked the city that glowed gold with the oil lanterns hitting the yellow walls… huh, it looked sorta pretty. She needed to remember this.

No. Wait. The lightning…

She looked up at the sky, but didn’t see any clouds. Just a big white moon with the Mare staring back.

In the stillness of her listening, she heard a constant clanging, like someone was banging a bunch of pots with forks. So she followed her ears. Maybe someone had broken their bike, or maybe someone lit a firework while having a metal… drumming… party?

As she trotted along, her thoughts quieted as the sounds grew louder. There were sounds of ponies grunting, the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, and metal hitting metal.

A lone lantern sat on the crest of the street overlooking the town. Halfway to that lantern, outside of the golden light, there was a very loud alley.

A small voice in her heart began to murmur worried thoughts as it began to put the sounds together into a picture, but her hooves kept going.

She approached the strangely noisy and very foreboding alley, slowing to a crawl.

Her nose passed around the corner into the dark.

And the clanging stopped.

In the alley, a dark hood stood over the still form of many knights. In it’s magic it held a pebble and a large metal stick. With a flick of it’s cowl, it looked straight at her.

“Eep!”

Her hooves were in motion before her mind was. The alley quickly receded behind her.

No cloaks, no night, no spaghetti. Just straight home and under her covers.

Her brilliant plan was suddenly interrupted by a boop on her tail end.

“Tag, you’re it!”

She screamed, and nearly looked back, but decided to keep running and… and…

She slowed. She was “it”?

Coming to a stop, she looked over her shoulder.

For a split second, she just saw a dark shadow, but then her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and she saw the rest of the pony. It was a unicorn, tall, with a violet body and a dark purple mane. A single stripe of pink ran through her man and tail. And she was smiling.

This was the pony that had attacked those knights? What? Why? How?

She looked for an offending stick or pebble, but saw neither.

The purple pony slowly approached, stepping into golden lantern light, before plonking her tail to the floor, her soft smile slowing Frock’s shuddering heart.

And there was silence, giving Frock a moment to catch her breath. After a few seconds, the night returned to its normal starry self.

Frock studied the strange unicorn. She looked taller than her dad, and really fit like, well… a picture of a messenger pony she saw once. She also had eyes… eyes like...

Frock noticed the pony’s ears flick up, and the strange pony’s gaze flicked to something behind Frock.

Frock looked too but saw nothing. Then, in the distance, there grew the sound of distant clacking hooves and angry voices.

Uh oh.

Calm as the breeze, the purple pony stood and walked down the road towards the clacking.

Frock watched, wondering where the pony was going. The cloaked stranger look back over her shoulder as she walked, raising an eyebrow and smirking. Her eyes looked warm.

It took a second, but suddenly Frock felt stupid for just sitting there, and she hurried to catch up, her own tiny hooves making loud clicks on the pavement as she corrected the distance.

She knew not to follow strange ponies, but this one seemed familiar, in a safer way.

Why?

The unicorn turned into a small restaurant where lots of older ponies hung out this late at night. But it was a Tuesday night, and so Frock knew there wouldn’t be as many ponies.

The pony took a seat at one of the outside tables, and Frock climbed across, trying to figure out why this pony made her feel so safe.

The purple pony opened up a menu from the table and began to look slowly through the contents.

A quick glance up from the purple pony made Frock realize that her eyes were like dark purple seas, if the seas were made of good dreams and long walks in summer nights.

Hmmm, that one was going in Frock’s Amazing Stuff journal.

Also, the pony’s cloak was brown, with a hood that currently rested behind her. The cloak reminded her of a really warm, good-smelling blanket. Like the ones she had rested under with her mother during the winter.

A pegasus waiter came out and gave a soft respectful nod of his head to the strange pony while he waited for her order. Frock wasn’t sure why. The unicorn didn’t look old, yet she didn’t quite look young either. In fact, it reminded Frock of a picture in her old school books.

A strong breeze interfered with her recall of the exact memory, and she had to scowl and try and flatten her wild mane as the wind suddenly picked up for a second.

Satisfied that the wind had left and her hair would remain civil for the next five minutes, Frock returned her attention to the pony across from her. The purple unicorn was looking straight at her with a soft smile.

This pony looked at her like her mother did. It was almost creepy.

A polite cough from the side made them both realize the waiter was still there.

“Oh, right,” said the unicorn, obviously a bit flustered.

Frock accidentally giggled. It brought another soft smile from the unicorn as she scanned the menu.

“Ummm, a coffee please.”

The waiter, fine with such an boring request, turned to Frock, waiting just as patiently.

“Do you have ice cream?” Frock loved the rare treat, and only had it once before during a fancy dinner.

The waiter made a pinched face like he was about to sneeze, and Frock wondered if either she had said something wrong or she should duck. Instead, his sneeze-face disappeared, and he nodded to himself.

“I think we still have some on ice in the back.” He then looked at the unicorn for confirmation.

The unicorn smiled and nodded, and the waiter trotted away.

Suddenly, Frock felt bad. Due to how old the cloak looked, and how it definitely wasn’t like the dresses mother wore to the street dances, this pony might not have had much money.

“It’s alright,” said the unicorn. “I don’t mind.”

Could this unicorn read thoughts? Quickly, Frock placed her hooves over her head to try and stop further reading.

All she got was a confused look.

Maybe the unicorn had seen it on Frock’s face. That made more sense. She lowered her hooves and continued to study the pony.

They sat in silence as the breeze carried the salt of the ocean from over the hills. Frock made sure to take a deep breath from her nose, but also noted that the purple unicorn did the same. Frock tilted her head.

This pony had taken out ten knights? Twenty?

After more staring and thinking of being not sure of what to think, another breeze sprung up. This time, Frock noticed how the unicorn’s hair seemed to flow in the air, and how slowly it lowered back into gravity’s embrace.

That was strange. But Frock hadn’t met many unicorns. Maybe all unicorns were like that.

Then ice cream appeared under her nose.

Thoughts were irrelevant as spoon was found and the sweet cold sweetness was dug into.

It lasted a heaven’s length and then not long enough as the glass chalice was emptied.

The purple unicorn pulled out four silver lire coin, and Frock’s eyes widened. Four lire could buy a farmer’s cart.

The waiter took them in his wing, then frowned. “Siñora, it was only 2 lire, fifty centesimi.”

The hooded pony nodded happily. The waiter’s eyes widened, and he performed a deep bow, which seemed to fluster the purple pony, before trotting quickly off.

Frock wanted to know who this pony was. Maybe she would get more ice cream or free lire.

“Umm, excuse me?”

The gaze leveled at her, though kind, made her feel tiny. Yet she pressed bravely on.

“What’s your name?”

The pony smiled. “I’m the Hooded Mare. What’s yours?”

“Frock,” she quickly responded. Then her thoughts of cleverly endearing herself were derailed.

Frock frowned in puzzlement. She had never met a mare with the word “Mare” in her name. Was she related to the Mare in the Moon? Was she some epic hero?

The next question wasn’t supposed to come out, but it did.

“Why did you beat up those knights?”

The pony blinked, then took a sip of her coffee. Frock waited, knowing she was going to get a half-answer after such a long wait.

Then a key floated out from the unicorn’s mane, wrapped in the her lavender magic.

“They were stealing from some archives. I locked them out, and they chased me.”

It was better than Frock expected, but she needed more. “But…”

A look from the Mare silenced her.

She could do the Mom-look too?

“When I realized they would keep following me all the way to the Frozen North, I met them with a firm tap to the head. Or two.”

Then the pony closed her eyes and took a deep sip of coffee, like she had just explained the real truth behind why math class was even taught.

Yet Frock knew better. It was definitely more than two hits. So she quoted her mother.

“Mares and gentle-fillies aren’t supposed to hit. They let colts and gentle-stallions do it for them.”

The unicorn only smiled. After a second, she said heavily, quietly, “You know, I know of so many wars where fillies stood beside colts on the day of battle.”

Frock could only stare back. That wasn’t a story-time voice. It most definitely sounded like grandma’s “in my day” voice. The Hooded Mare didn’t look that old, but she sounded old when she said it.

Very quickly, Frock put her keen mind to the issue.

So the Hooded Mare was really old like in fairy tales. They were still pretty, but old. Or she was a princess.

Then Frock saw it. The Mare was looking over her head, and in her eyes Frock saw more than lullabies and summer nights. She saw age, and pain, like when her really old neighbor told stories of the Zebra War to her and her friends. And the Zebra War had been real… so that meant...

“You’re a princess?!”

Frock would forever remember the face of surprise mashed with confusion on the Mare’s face. After a second, the pony took a breath, then straightened a hoof out in front of her, before breathing out and lowering her hoof. Then she opened her mouth to say something, but Frock was already dismounting the chair and galloping to the brown cloak.

With a grand flip of her hoof, she beheld… a normal unicorn coat. No wings.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

But the unicorn thought for a moment, then smiled conspiratorially. “Can you keep a secret?”

Frock nodded quickly. She knew she could. Her parents didn’t know of half the broken plates.

The Hooded Mare returned the cloak back over her coat (having gotten flipped onto her other side in Frock’s haste). Then, she pulled back again.

And in that space a violet wing was nestled against her side.

Frock gasped, before softly reaching forward. Then she remembered her father’s words the first time she had seen a pegasus wing.

So she turned to ask for permission, but the mare only nodded.

So she slowly reached forward and touched the soft feathers. It was a real wing. She was touching a real princess. She was actually touching a princess’s wings.

A squeal was building in Frock’s throat, but it was suddenly quelled by a thought.

There was only one Princess.

So she asked the obvious question.

“Are you a secret princess?”

The violet mare giggled and nodded. “Sort of. It’s better to say I was once a princess, but hide my wings inside my cloak unless I need them.”

Another thing didn’t make sense now. “But why would you hide them? You’re a princess. Can’t you get your own castle? And have servants and ice cream?”

A violet hoof came to her lips, and the Hooded Mare shook her head. “I hide them because…”

Then the Hooded Mare looked away, through the buildings, as if she could see to the very ocean. That look came back, and a little bit of the pain. After a long moment, where Frock watched many memories fly through the princess’s eyes, the Mare turned back and smiled.

“Because, once upon a time, there was a princess in a kingdom that loved her a lot. But she was a little sad, because… well, because she just had a lot to think about. And she missed her friends, who had gone on a long journey. So, while she waited… well… while she waited, she snuck into a magical book, a magical history book, that took her to a new world. A world with only one princess that everypony loved. A world with lots to see and do. And distract.”

The secret princess looked down for a moment, but then breathed in and looked at Frock

“And so she put her wings inside a cloak, and walked, and looked, and walked, and looked. And many other things.”

“Like attacking knights?” It was rude to interrupt, but Frock wanted more details.

“Yes… attacking bad ponies was part of it. It still is.”

She looked out across the city again. “My home is very far away. And, like here, a pony with both wings and a horn is a princess. But there are more princesses there, and only one here.” The Hooded Mare glanced up to the sky for a second, but then continued. “And she didn’t want to cause a flutter-” A flash of a smile “-so she hides them.”

The kind smile grew on the princess’s face. “But good little fillies can see the wings if they try.”

Frock smiled for a second, before her face fell. “But I’m not a good little filly. I ran away from home because my parents… they like my sister more than me.”

A violet hoof dipped below her chin, and pulled her face up to see a much closer Mare. Her horn was alight as she moved the chair and lowered herself to Frock’s level. “I think you are a good filly. And your parents love you very much. You just don’t know it.”

“How do you know that?” Frock mumbled skeptically.

With that, the purple secret princess took off at a trot. Frock galloped to follow, and found them winding down some very familiar streets, then straight past her house.

“Wait!”

The princess slowed down, but didn’t stop. Frock caught up, and pointed back behind them for three hoof-steps. “My house is that way.”

Yet the violet mare smiled. “We aren’t going to your house. We’re going this way.”

Frock frowned, and opened her mouth to question, when she heard her name carried over the wind.

“Frooock!”

That was her Dad. Then she heard it again.

“Frooock, dear, where are you?”

That was her neighbor. They were looking for her.

“Frock!”

That was her other meaner neighbor. He was searching for her too?

“Frooock!”

Her mom.

Suddenly, big tears were piling up in her eyes. Yet before her little hooves could carry her towards the noise, a violet wing dipped beneath her belly and flicked her onto a brown cloak. Then strong beats took her into the air, and she gasped as the familiar ground leaped away, and she was brought up to the stars.

She hugged tightly to the long neck in front of her, the violet mane now whipping around in her face and glowing silver in the night sky. She dared herself to look out to the town, and saw the winding streets punctuated with golden glows. And she saw, far off, the ocean, dark blue in the night.

It looked like all the world was small, and Frock was a big pony, riding on the back of a giant princess.

And she looked up, and saw the stars and moon. The moon seemed bigger than it ever was. She felt like she could jump up and grab it, and wrap it in her hooves.

And then they were descending, and with a clatter, the hidden princess landed on the cobblestone streets. Like one of the fancy griffon taxis in the rich-pony area, the princess lowered to let Frock climb down.

She put her feet on solid stone, but suddenly felt dizzy.

Two warm navy hooves stabilized her as she was wrapped in an embrace, and a wet muzzle buried into her mane.

“Frock! Honey, you’re alright,” said her father.

Then the big tears came back, and Frock nodded while sniffling, barely getting out an, “Uh-huh.”

Suddenly the muzzle excavated itself and gave a warning glare to Frock. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Frock nodded ashamedly.

Then her Papa looked up at the Princess. The Princess who had just flown her over her town of Canternia. With her wings out.

In front of her Papa.

She gasped, and looked up at the princess… to find her horn strangely absent.

In response, the Mare gave a conspiratorial wink.

Frock was trying to get her thoughts to thaw. It was strangely hard for such a warm night.

“Thank you so much! How can I ever repay you?”

The Hooded Mare shook her head, smile fading. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should have known a lonely filly out this late was probably avoiding something.” The smile returned, directed at Frock. “But we had a lovely conversation. She’s a very bright filly.”

Papa shook his head. “A very troublesome young filly as well. One who will be finishing her spaghetti then going straight to bed.”

Frock moaned. “But Papa! I’m full!” She wouldn’t confess to being tired either.

“Hmph. Running around all night and accosting strangers, who are probably very busy.” He directed the last part to the Hooded Mare with an apologetic smile.

Again, she shook her head. “It’s no problem. Just enjoying Canternia nights.”

At this, he looked up. “Yes, they are truly beautiful this time of year.” Then he seemed to remember himself. “Oh, please, stay at our home tonight! It is cheaper than the inn, and we have plenty of spaghetti.”

The Mare smiled, but looked to the side. “I really shouldn’t…”

Frock immediately broke from her father’s forehooves and ran up to the Hooded Mare. “Oh, please, oh, please, oh please stay with us!”

A princess in her own home. That would be amazing.

The Mare gave a tired but relenting smile. “I… I guess.”

Her father smiled grandly, and together they walked home, flagging down neighbors as they went.

Frock waited until the sound of adult conversation had ceased, then snuck over to the door. The candles in the living room had been extinguished, and she had waited long enough for her parents to stop moving around upstairs.

As quiet as a mouse, she crept over to the couch, and circled around to its front. There lay the Princess, eyes closed, hooves tucked under her, tail lying off the couch.

Frock quickly corrected the tail, knowing how uncomfortable she got when her own tail hung off the bed, then nosed under the covers and snuggled in next to the big princess.

She peaked an eye open, and saw the Mare’s eyes were still closed, but a soft smile had lit upon the Mare’s face.

Okay, so she had been awake, but she hadn’t minded. Perfect. Now, to stay awake long enough to enjoy…

Twilight Sparkle listened as the little filly’s breathing turned into small snores. Slowly, softly, she pulled a wing out and laid it over the filly’s back, tucking her wingtip around the small barrel.

Yes, she was indulging in some reminiscing of similar times, but that was becoming less scary as time went on. She sighed as memories trickled over her thoughts.

Other small faces she had seen, some far more familiar, some in pain. But even while she ran from being a princess, she would never not have time for her little subjects. And she had a lot of time left, and a lot of mistakes to mend.

Tomorrow would be another long day.

So she let her mind rest, and slowed her breathing. Ears pointed towards the door.

Author's Note

Tis hopefully the start of a glorious new storyworld! :yay:

Or at least a good lesson.

Lots of implied storyworld stuff in here. Please let me know if you approved or disapproved of the storyworld and why, or if it was hard to read (and why).

Thanks for reading! (plz fimfiction giv us Luna "hurrah" emote) ...should I write a blog about this? idk.