An Average Milkmare

by Heart Spirit

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Profanity, Slice of Life
Length: 3483

The sole milkmare in Ponyville must put up with a lot in order to do business.

The decent pay for this job has led this pony to be shrewd and unwilling to change. She often has much to say about her customers, yet refrains from doing so to continue her profits. The balanced nature between her and the customer has led business to soar, causing a time of prosperity and hope. Although her clients may be difficult at times, all that matters is if the bits aren't counterfeit.

Unless, some rumours were to arise, questioning the validity of her entire operation. Then there might be an issue.

This is the first story I am willing to publish. I wrote this whilst in the midst of writing a more serious work, and in the planning of another. I would appreciate any sort of criticism.

Published 2019-02-27 20:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-02-27 20:20:01 UTC

The Early Morning with an Uneasy Delivery

Everyday is the same; go to the doors of my paying customers and drop off their milk, that’s all this mare has to do. My payment of bits were sufficient to fund my farm to keep this going, and that’s all that mattered when you thought about it. It was a job that I found pride in, as no other pony would do it. Being the sole milkmare in Ponyville really helps business, I can tell you that.

I started today the same way I did my last, by waking up before the sight of the sun and getting my wagon prepared for today’s shipments. I grab the cartons of milk jugs with my teeth and toss them into the wagon, slowing down and becoming increasingly deliberate in my moves when the wagon is near overflowing. The several moons of using building blocks in my foalhood prove useful once again as I hear the last crate sound with a controlled clatter of glass. I quietly cheer to myself while I put on the saddle and go into town.

As I entered Ponyville, it was only beginning to stir with activity. The sun slowly rose in the distance and so did the ponies with their own jobs. The light was on in Sugarcube Corner, the smell of chocolate and lemon zest wafted into the road and I was near knocked down by the incredible scent. I squinted down the path and saw the Library still lit from last night. It seems Twilight is really studying for something, or she forgot to turn off those bright lights. My eyes looked at the other surrounding buildings and houses, trying to find a route that I can take to maximize efficiency during this early morning light. I stopped at my first customer of the day, Lyra Heartstrings.

Her abode is alike to the rest, a simple design with a quaint color of beige covering the outer walls with their crossed paint strokes. A house like this is so common here in the main roads of this town, they must have been all built in the same time frame. I began to imagine what this town must have looked when these houses were being planned out. I could see patches of grass being covered by building materials while long gone technology surrounded the workers. My very important thought process of Ponyville’s previous architecture projects had to be broken so I could get back to my current task; getting this delivery done. I scanned my subscription list to find Heartstrings and saw it nestled within my scribbles.

“Lyra Heartstrings, 61 Songbird Ave. III S Bottles for every seven days X 8. n1. has requested for ‘huemane’(?) milk several times, please ignore.”

I removed my saddle to get her delivery, and knocked at the door with my right hoof. Once, twice, thrice.

Lyra was usually up at these hours, being very dedicated to practicing her lyre. Before she signed up to receive my milk, I would hear serenades boom out of the open windows, with them being abruptly hushed by the cascade of several hooves stomping from the nearby neighbors. According to her, she did not understand why the ponies around her would get so mad at the playing, as it was not that loud or disrupting. The honest truth that I could not bring myself to tell Lyra, (probably because I would lose her as a customer) was that she was absolute shit with the lyre, something that Octavia told me enough times to where I had begun to tally each time she would mention her lack of skills to me. 37 since last week, was the current amount.

The sound of my careful knocks caused the door to be swung open by a pale marigold glow gripping the handle, disrupting the harmony of the various knick knacks that donned the west wall by slamming against them. There Lyra was, standing sly on her hind legs, poorly, if I would add. She leaned on this wooden chair I had never seen before with several dents on the back of it while an extremely smug grin was spelled across her face; for what reason, I didn’t want to know. Lyra fetched three bits from the kitchen counter and popped them on my open hoof. I soon realized that magic was still coming out of her horn despite there being no visible object that was being acted upon. I cocked my head to this and she immediately noticed the change in my demeanor, despite my face remaining still and deadpan. Lyra's smile grew wobbly from the river of drywall pieces that slowly dropped on her fac- wait, drywall? I looked up to confirm my suspicion and found a massive hole was in the ceiling, cracks slowly starting to arise coming from where it was created. The slow whirr of magic was still in the air, and I tried to find a reason to get out of here as soon as I could. Her lyre was nowhere to be seen, and sheets of music were spread wildly on the floor. I had to ask, it was the one thing I knew Lyra for.

“Um… where’s your lyre? I don’t see it around her-”

“It was an honest mistake, I swear! I didn’t know how light it would be!”

With those words, the lyre dropped down from the heavens, and onto the ground with an uncharismatic thud, dampened only by the several scrolls of parchment that sat where it fell. All but one of the strings were gone, and an array of dents were in it. I could only infer that she had banged up that chair with a couple of strong swings, and had thrown it up in the air during a tough practice session. I must have caught her right when this happened, and she had held it mid flight to keep this transaction as normal as possible. Like it helped.

Lyra grabbed her bottles of milk and turned around as though nothing had changed. The blush below her eyes drew a bright scarlet, and she was murmuring under breath something about buying new strings tomorrow. I couldn’t handle the situation anymore, so I wrote the receipt, left it on the nearest table I found, and dashed out of the open door for my next customer.

A Rumour?

“Rarity, 37th Rose Bloque (Carousel Boutique) III S, 1 M Bottles for every ten days X 16. n1. wrap bottles with ribbon and/or bow, will refuse if knot is lopsided or bad color scheme.”

I uttered a small groan with this next on my list. I was a quarter of the way done with my route, most of them being standard procedures besides… her. I still wondered how much potential Lyra’s magic has if it can shatter a ceiling with only a small lyre. Whatever, like it matters when I have to go hoof to hoof with one of the most anal ponies (both ways, of course) in Ponyville. I trotted down to Carousel Boutique, hoping Rarity did not find me through the several overbearing and oblong windows that covered that den of dresses. The sun was coming up, shown by my shadow stretching across the ground with great length. Before I could enter, I had to do a redundant ritual which came with each of her orders.

I took out the bottles she had asked for, and laid down a ways away from her. Out of my front shirt pocket came out four ribbons, all different colors and patterns. I laid them all out, looking at the varieties I had brought for today; Solid Cyan, Black and White Polka Dots, Candy Cane, and Yellow Stars peppered on a Black background. Now came the hard part, trying to make small knots as an earth pony. Rarity was very staunch about this part, and would often lament for minutes at a time at her door about the lack of care and quality in my prose mid-delivery. How could I improve? I didn’t possess magic and I was never very skilled in the minute, I always looked at the big picture in my life. Rarity had been one of longest lasting customers, and she was always thinking of new ways to torture me with rules like these. Even this new stipulation didn’t come with it’s own catches. Once, I brought her a bottle with the same color of ribbon from the previous delivery, and she remembered! How could somepony manage to do that?

While I worked, I found this doing was similar to the past seven times I have done this. The first three would go alright, yet the last one would always go awry and quickly spiral into absolute pandemonium. Cyan, the bane of my existence. Finally, I had finished and knocked on her door. Klock, Klock.

I was greeted by a Rarity with a disheveled mane and a fresh robe and slippers, a slightly strained look in her eyes, which drafted to the grandfather clock in the hallway every other minute. Her appearance suggested she might as well have stayed in bed. Maybe she was up late working on something, you never know with Rarity. I put on my best salesmare face and held up her order in my hooves.

“Morning, Rarity! What a beautiful day we have here, don’t we? I’m here to give you your order of milk for you and Opal. Could I have the 5 bits for this order?”

I could see the gears turning in her head as she realized what was going on. How much sleep did she get, or, how little did she get?

“Ah! Yes, I seem to have forgotten that today was that day. Give me a minute, let me locate my purse.” Her voice was cloaked in this hazy glamour, a futile attempt at keeping her holier-than-thou demeanor intact in this conversation. She turned around and went down the hallway, the violet and ivory robe swaying with each step. I stood there, waiting for her return with these bottles of milk in my right hoof, the several ribbons becoming transparent in response to the rising sun. She arrived shortly after with a hoofful of coins and the same glazed look in her eyes.

“I apologise for my dreadful appearance this morning, I’ve had a lot on my mind as of late. You know how it is running a business, don’t you?”

“Why… of course I do. Well, delivering milk to only one town like Ponyville and making dresses for clients all over Equestria are very different, you know. I don’t work as hardly as you do!” My attempt to flatter her seemed to land as she began to adjust her mane and dust off the imaginary dust that sat on their right sleeve. I found that Rarity half asleep is much different from her during the day. She lets her guard down more, and she can often do things that seem almost rude.

“Well, of course. What I’m trying to say is that we work so hard and we often do not get our time to simply relax and let ourselves to breath and enjoy the day on our own pace. I think you should come to the spa with me later today, I think it would work amazing for your overworked body.”

“Ahh... I would love to, but these deliveries will probably take me until the late hours of the morning. Maybe another time?”

“No, no, no, I insist! Listen, instead of going to the spa, how about a simple break with me at the boutique? We can chat about being successful entrepreneurs in this town, and the tribulations we have had to endure. I’ll make you breakfast as well. I want to know, do you enjoy omelettes?”

This offer was getting too grand to ignore. Getting more close to one of my already best paying customers? A free meal? I am no stickler or Maneiavelli, but this is a good deal to not take advantage of. The good of a pony’s heart is none of mine to decide, but what I do with it is my own. Damn, the element of Generosity really does use it liberally.

“Okay, I’ll come inside.”

My wagon was left outside at the back of the Boutique, no way Rarity would allow my dirty wheels to tread on her delicate floors. I could have sworn that I once saw her lick off an off-color spot on a futon. I sat at a chair while her intricate use of magic dashed across the dining room.The metronome-like rhythm of the pan flipping my hay and apple omelette was the only sound that was in the room. My order was a bit morbid, yes, but I have never had one of these before. I guess Rarity’s face of absolute disgust when I told her what I wanted should have been a clear fucking hint that I had messed up, but I was too focused on the quality of my bow making that I didn’t really notice. Speaking about her order, all of the bottles were in the fridge, already being chilled for a new cake or to feed Opalescence. The chatterthon was already beginning to be prepared, I could feel it in the air.

“So, I have heard that business is going well?” and with that, we have started.

“Yes it has. More orders are coming in and my current customers are happy with my services. Mr. and Mrs. Cake have been talking to me about adding in recipes that involve milk with all of my orders. They said that it would benefit us both, as it would all be their own recipes, but I declined. I’m a one trick pony, and I don’t want to infringe on what other ponies already do better.”

“I guess other ponies are different, because I would have accepted that without any hesitation. Helping out the ponies in your local community is critical to lay the foundation of a strong and reliable service provider. Also, may I ask if you still have any of the recipes that they were going to send out? I would love to hear about them.”

“Yeah, Horsechata, Manies and Cheese, you name it, I probably have it now. They’re stuffed in this gigantic book with a broken spine, all hoofwritten on yellowing pages that are falling apart. It must have been passed down from generation to generation, a little odd they would give it to me of all mares, and they still haven’t asked for it back.”

“Yes, a bit peculiar indeed. Still, a close business partner is always handy to have in a tight market like ours. Aren’t they on your route this morning? You should talk to them about this, set the situation straight. From what you have told me about this book, it seems special to them. Being in a perpetual state of debt to somepony is no way to operate a business, I can tell you from experience.” I didn’t want to know how she got into that situation. “Oh, it’s finished. Here you go, fellow buisnessmare.” I knew she was only teasing, but I still winced at that statement.

Rarity used her magic to send the omelette from the pan to the sleek porcelain plate in front of me. The oriental design on it made me think how gracious Rarity is, that she would bring out these nice plates for only a quick meal. She propped up the surrounding utensils and added a garnish to my breakfast dish. I awkwardly gripped a fork and knife to take my first bite, resulting in me stabbing a piece with the fork several times before I could bring it to my mouth. The taste was great, it was well prepared, and I was content with the choice I had made. Rarity took the opposite seat from mine, putting a hoof to her face. She glanced at me, issuing a silent smile while her teacup dangled above the ground via magic.

“Well, are you going to humour me?”

“Humor you?”

“Yes, tell me the business, all of the allegories of sin that have sprung from owning your operation. I have heard quite a lot in the last couple of days.”

I stopped eating, and perked my ears up. “You have?”

“Yes, mostly petty rumours that have sprung up due to possible competition on the rise, it has happened to me several times. They were concentrated during my early days, ranging from me being part of a grand bit embezzling operation to some being about my connection to the mafia in Manehattan! How dreadful it was to deal with those ponies who would constantly ask me if those were true, and even more to the crowd who still do it to this day. I think the ones I have heard about you were in the same vein.”

“I haven’t heard any rumors recently, I don’t really talk to the other mares in this town, so I wouldn’t know the gossip that makes the rounds. I hope it’s not that bad.”

Rarity looked over both of her shoulders, despite one of them being next to a wall. She came closer and whispered, “Darling, how do I put this… hmph. I suppose I will have to ask you directly. Do you make your own milk?”

I put down my fork and looked at her with a concentrated stare. Is she kidding with me right now? That question can go several ways, and I am not ready to hear more information about this one.

“Well… I get my milk from a undisclosed source, and I am not at liberty to simply give it out to the public. Rarity, you are a customer, and thus, you belong to the public. However, I do consider you to be one of my closest friends in this town, and I feel that you can keep your secrets in check.”

Rarity eased in even closer towards my face, with a smile growing into a flashing set of bright white teeth. It could have been the same color as her coat and I wouldn’t have noticed. She was anticipating my answer something fierce, shown by the now shaking and spilling cup of tea, being held upright by a wispy blue thread. The pressure in the room had become too much, and I blurted out my answer in choppy chatters.

“I get my milk from a farm outside of this town, owned by a stallion named Rough Saddles. He has 73 cows, 42 chickens, and a filly of his own. Her name is Lilac Fields, and she has not gotten her Cutie Mark yet. I don’t tell other ponies about this because, like I have mentioned before, this is private information.” I held my breath for her response. It was so quiet, I could hear the steps of the ponies outside the boutique. She simply sighed and put her head down, as if that answer was disappointing. For what I had told her, she seemed awfully disinterested in it. Frustration grew inside me in response to her aloft manner. I sat up on both of my hind legs and leaned over the table, positioning my front hooves on each side.

“Why are you like that? First of all, why would a rumor like that circulate in the first place? Such a lame one, too. Why couldn’t it have been me that was speculated to be a mafioso? Instead, I get my confidential information about my provider fished out of me to one of my customers!” I now stood over her, watching as she picked her head up to look at me. She was taken aback, afraid at my new inflamed stance.

“Dear, I did not mean to offend you with that question. I was simply trying to defer some of the pressure that was building on me. Ponies in this town know of our close business connection, and they were pestering me or even threatening blackmail to get more information and a follow up to one of the biggest rumours that had been going around. It was starting to negatively affect my business operations, so I wished to get an answer to quell them. You know that I mean well.” I could predict that she might weep to this, shown by how she has acted in the past. A pony full of passion, she is.

It did sound heartfelt, and I did need to leave soon, so I accepted her apology with swift effort and left without a misstep. When I closed her door, I took a long, deep exhale.

“Phew, I managed to escape that one? Why, I’m getting better by each trip.”

I grinned as I picked up my wagon and left for the next delivery.