Two bits for her donut. Two bits for his donut. And six bits for Donut Joe keeping quiet about famed author A. K. Yearling being in his shop right now.
Sometimes, fame stunk.
Joe gave Yearling her donuts and five bits back. Yearling nodded her thanks and took the bag to a table outside, over in one of the emptier corners. Partly because she was going to discuss some personal matters, but mostly because she wanted to keep away from the crowds.
She glanced at a clock. 8:58. They were due to meet at 9. He was new to Canterlot; how much time should she give him? 9:30. No, 9:45. …10, with his donut becoming hers at 9:45. And she wouldn’t try eating her own donut until 9:30. Until 9:15. She pulled out a book of crossword puzzles and settled in to wait.
A few moons ago, the historical world had been rocked by the reappearance of Star Swirl the Bearded and the other Pillars of Equestria, still alive and well after more than a millennium thanks to magical shenanigans. Princess Twilight Sparkle, being Princess Twilight Sparkle, had promptly bonded with all of them tighter than superglue. Including a pony who had kind of attempted to destroy the world, named Stygian. Given the princess’s track record, Yearling was inclined to believe her when she said that Stygian had been possessed by a demon, so she didn’t lose any sleep over that. The whole incident would’ve been just another increasingly-common quirk in Equestrian history had Princess Twilight not written Yearling a letter asking for help. Stygian wanted to write, Princess Twilight had said, so would you be willing to help him get into it, pretty please? No, he doesn’t know you’re Daring Do. (In fact, he barely knows who Daring Do is.) Just show him the modern-day ropes.
In all honesty, Yearling wasn’t sure she was the best pony for the job. Her plots and characters were, for the most part, already written, so it was entirely possible her creativity was lacking. But then again, she had to make reality fit into a fast-paced adventure novel each time, and had done so often, so she couldn’t be that bad, could she? In spite of that, what really tipped her into helping was one fact: Stygian was a primary source for life over a thousand years ago and the only one she’d be likely to get to talk to. She could help him start writing, then ask him questions about the Pre-Classical Era. Easy.
And exploitative? Maybe, Yearling had to admit. But c’mon, millenium-old primary source. How many of those were running around? (Ten. At least.)
Yearling spotted him at 9:06, constantly looking between the street signs and a map. Stygian looked like the description she’d been given, but more than that, it was the slightly disoriented way he walked. Not lost; Daring Do knew quite well that the key part in being lost was losing hope in finding your destination. He walked slowly, like he didn’t exactly know where he was, but the way he kept quickly glancing up and down between his map and the rest of the world meant he had a vague gist of it.
Stygian spotted the sign for Donut Joe’s, nodded, and put his map away. He looked over the crowd outside; once he was looking in her direction, Yearling flared her wings and waved a hoof. He spotted her and quickly made his way over.
The description she’d gotten had been accurate, but Yearling was struck by just how young Stygian looked. He was… almost gangly, with his disproportionately long, skinny legs and neck. His cheeks still had a tiny bit of baby fat, assuming that wasn’t just her imagination. The untidy mop of a mane on top made him look like he was in his early twenties at the latest. And although he’d let himself be consumed by jealousy and taken over by some sort of demon mere moons before, he was still up and about? Many ponies twice his age would still be reduced to a sobbing wreck after that.
“Hello,” Stygian said, bobbing his head. “I apologize for being late.” He took a seat.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” said Yearling, waving a hoof dismissively. “Elysium knows I’ve gotten turned around plenty of times in new cities.” And other places. Although most of those places didn’t have up-to-date maps. Or maps at all, for that matter.
Stygian bobbed his head again. “Thank you. I suppose we should, ah, introduce ourselves personally, make this all a little less distant?”
“Sure.” Yearling extended a hoof. “A. K. Yearling.”
Stygian’s eyes didn’t light up with recognition, he didn’t twitch in surprise, and he didn’t gasp. Yearling missed those reactions the same way she missed a boil. It was always the same questions, the same responses (even Rainbow Dash had trouble keeping her fanfillying down), and it was dull. Anonymity had its perks. “Stygian,” he replied, meeting her hoof with his own.
“Pleased to meet you. Now that that’s out of the way, donut?” Yearling pulled the donuts from the bag, put them on napkins, and pushed one towards Stygian. They were plain glazed, the kind everyone loved. Maybe she was just being unreasonably paranoid, but she didn’t want to freak Stygian out with some custard-filled monstrosity topped with strawberry frosting, chocolate chips, and sprinkles. Besides, Joe was out of custard today.
Stygian looked at the donut as if it were some strange artifact, picking it up delicately and turning it over. After a second, he took a bite. His ears went up and he took another. “This is delicious,” he said once he’d licked some of the glaze from his lips. “What is this… spread, I suppose, on the bread?”
“It’s called glaze, and…” As she thought, Yearling flicked her tail and frowned. “Huh. I’m not sure what it’s made of. I’d guess sugar and… something else.”
“Whatever it is, thank you for it.” Chomp.
Yearling grinned, quickly hiding it behind a bite of her own donut. Fame meant it was easy to miss ponies being ponies. “Now, Twilight said you were interested in writing when she set this meeting up, but that was about it. Any reason why?”
“I have always been interested in tales and folklore,” Stygian said, “and I think the time has come for me to add to them.” Pause. “It… will also keep me from lingering on… past events.”
Inwardly, Yearling flinched. After the Pony of Shadows, Stygian might not want to talk about the past. But he might. She just needed to ask him. After he got into writing. After. “Yep. Do you want to write anything in particular, or just write?”
Stygian nibbled at some glaze as he thought. “At the moment, just write, I think. I need to figure out how I feel about writing… anything.”
“Right.” No pun intended. “Personally, I write the sorts of stories I want to read, so what do you want to read?”
“Yes. As for what I want to read the most…” Stygian took a big bite of donut and chewed. “Either fairy tales or stories of wandering heroes doing heroic deeds. I am quite fond of the stylings of the former. And the latter because of… ah…” He folded his ears back and stared at the table.
“Escapism?” Yearling suggested. Being a wandering hero was what he’d always wanted before the Pony of Shadows, at least according to Twilight. She hoped she wasn’t dealing him a slap in the face.
“Yes,” Stygian said quietly. “I…” He swallowed and tried to say something.
“If you’re worried about sounding out-of-touch with reality or something,” said Yearling, “don’t. Seriously, when you’re writing for entertainment, escapism’s sort of the point.”
Stygian looked up. One of his ears twitched. “Even if I am writing, rather than reading?”
“Sure,” Yearling replied, nodding. “Why would writing to experience an adventure be different from reading to experience an adventure? You…” She rustled her wings beneath her dress and coughed. “…went through a big change recently. Several. You’re still getting your hooves under you. Don’t worry about what anypony thinks and just write. It’s not like you won’t have a support network if something goes wrong.” Whatever that is.
After a moment’s thought, Stygian nodded hesitantly. “Very well. And if… the main character was essentially me-”
“If you’re publishing what you write, you might want to be a bit more careful with that,” Yearling said. “Critics might call you out on wish fulfillment if you’re too powerful and vanquish monsters too easily. But if you make yourself fallible, get the snot kicked out of you a few times, you should be fine. Heck, when I was making Daring Do, I started with myself as a base.” -is both technically accurate and incredibly misleading. “And I’m, well, I’m doing alright for myself.” Although, truth be told, she was mostly guessing. She didn’t really know how often authors put (characters representing) themselves in their work and that accusation had never been thrown her way.
“Making myself fallible will certainly be easy,” said Stygian. He didn’t sound nearly as bitter as Yearling thought he would. “Is it… too early to discuss the content of the story? The narrative itself?”
“I dunno,” said Yearling. “Do you have any ideas beyond ‘adventure’?” Because if he wanted to write a romance, she had very little experience with that, in more ways than one.
“Not especially.” Donut munch. “I am… unsure of how it should be… constructed. Put together.”
“Well, one of the best ways to learn that is to read others’ writing. How many books do you have?”
“I have access to all of the Canterlot Library.”
“…Meaning you’re spoiled for choice and don’t know where to start?”
Stygian’s ears twitched. “…Quite. I have never seen so many books in one place in my entire life.”
“Alright. Why don’t we head over to the library? Right now. You tell me the kind of books you’re looking for, I’ll recommend you some.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Stygian polished off his donut and stood up. “Although I don’t suppose we could get something to drink first? That donut has piqued my thirst.”
Yearling didn’t know much personally about Princess Twilight, but she knew the mare loved books. Not for the first time, she wondered if any near-draconian laws had been laid down preserving the sanctity of libraries, like actual fines imposed for speaking too loudly. Probably not; Princess Twilight wouldn’t want to chain them with too many rules. And if everypony treated libraries like Stygian did, she wouldn’t need to.
Every step Stygian took was deliberate, reverent. He stared at the shelves like they held priceless treasures. Which, okay, maybe that was true of books more than a thousand years ago, but still. He’d been back for, what, half a moon? You’d think the commonplace nature of books would be something he’d adjust to. Yearling glanced at the shelf they were passing. “Those are foal’s picture books,” she said.
“Precisely!” Stygian whispered loudly. “Books can be made so efficiently and cheaply that ordinary ponies can buy them for infants! One expects a dramatic saga of legendary heroes to be immortalized as literature, but-” He popped a book from the shelf. “-Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm? It is- so-” His breath hitched and he put the book back. “Forgive me. Books are one of the few commonalities between my time and yours, and so the difference is all the more striking.”
Seizing on the opportunity, Yearling asked, “What are some of the others?”
“Food,” Stygian said immediately. “I remain shocked by restaurants. To think that anypony, if they have the money, could go and eat like a queen if they so desire for one night…” He shook his head. “And one can personally select their food and have it ready in an hour. Even queens would have to have food prepared far in advance of that.”
Well. Food wasn’t what Yearling was hoping for, but it was something. Maybe Stygian could tell her something she didn’t know. “What about the food itself? How different is that?”
“Staggeringly. I never imagined sugar, of all things, would be so cheap. And that Bitalian dish — I believe the term is… pasta? — I have never had anything like it. It is…”
While Yearling didn’t learn anything new as they talked and walked, she did gain a new perspective on what it felt like to eat old-timey food and how it compared to modern food. Maybe she could work that into a Daring Do book somehow. And if she couldn’t, oh well. Stygian had to have plenty more things to tell her.
A bag bumped at Yearling’s side, a cheap one they’d stopped at a sports store to pick up so Stygian could carry his books. It’d been a while since she’d been in the fiction sections of the Canterlot Library, but she could remember them well enough. She beelined straight for the fantasy section. Once they were among the stacks, Yearling asked, “I’m guessing you don’t know your modern-day genre names?”
“Not beyond the broad ones.” Stygian was glancing over the books. “If it were otherwise, I would have told you.” He pulled a golden-colored book from the shelf and read the title. “Ardennais Fowl. By…” He made a confused face that was all too familiar to Yearling as he reread the author’s name. “Ee-oyn Coltfer?”
“It’s pronounced ‘Owen’,” said Yearling. “He’s Neighrish. It’s about a colt genius kidnapping a fairy to ransom her for a pile of gold.”
“Not a good idea on the best of days,” Stygian muttered.
What were legends of fairies like hundreds of years ago? Yearling stopped herself from asking. This was about Stygian and his books. “Also the fae are like a hundred times more technologically advanced than us with nuclear-powered lasers. It’s like stealing honey from a rabid, poisonous bear.”
Stygian looked up at Yearling and blinked once. “And he… gets away with it?” He began leafing through the book.
Yearling grinned. “C’mon. Spoilers. But it’s pretty good. It’s meant for a younger audience, which in this case mostly means it doesn’t have any pointless deaths or gratuitous violence. Not the kind of story you were interested in, but it’s a fun read.”
Stygian kept flipping pages. He stopped on one at random, read a few lines, and frowned. “Why does he care so much that he does not like lollipops?”
“Again, spoilers.” And Stygian was at quite a spoiler-y part of the book, too. Yearling held out her bag to him and raised an eyebrow. He flipped through a few more pages before dropping the book in.
“Now,” said Yearling, “the genres you’re looking for are probably high fantasy and heroic fantasy. High fantasy is broader in scope, bigger in scale, more… epic.” She cringed inside at using a word as overused and misused as that, but it couldn’t be helped. At least Stygian wouldn’t know the watered-down definition. “Save-the-world type adventures where they vanquish dark lords across continents. That usually stretch over like six or seven books because the authors could use some lessons in pacing.” Pacing was probably the lesson most forced on her by reality. Nopony wanted to read about all five days it took for the airship to head south, so she needed to know what was important and focus that part of the story on that. “Heroic fantasy is smaller, more episodic. It’s the problems of individual ponies or groups of ponies, not the whole world. Kinda like a game of Ogres &-” She paused. “Actually, let’s cut out the middlemare and just get you some Ogres & Oubliettes books. What were those ones by Maregaret Whinnies called, again? Although those were high fantasy…”
After getting copies of all of the Koboldlance Chronicles trilogy (“It’s kinda cliched nowadays, but it’s a good intro to the genre and it’s aged well enough.”) and the Koboldlance Legends trilogy (“Very character-driven, and the plots are deep. It’s a lot better than the first three.”), Yearling noticed a bulky Ponan the Barbarian omnibus and grabbed that, too (“All the stories are more-or-less standalone, so you don’t need to worry about playing catchup. And Ponan walks the earth, so you get something new every time.”). She glanced into the bag. “Think that’ll be enough books? Or do you want some more?”
Stygian wasn’t listening. He was slowly walking down the aisle, dragging his hoof across book after book, looking at each title.
“You want some more,” Yearling said, grinning to herself. The itch caused by the reading bug was quite painful, as she knew well.
Every now and then, Stygian would pull out a book, read the title and author aloud, examine it for a while, then usually put it back. Yearling offered her own suggestions if she recognized the title, which usually led to him putting the book in the bag. Eventually, he got to, “The Hexer: The Last Wish, by…” He blinked at the author’s name and looked like he’d been smacked. “I feel if I mispronounce that, I shall summon some dark god.” He held the book out for Yearling.
“Angrzywa Sapkoński,” Yearling said flawlessly. “He’s from Polskugiel. Outside Equestria, way far to the north and east.”
“I believe I have heard of Polskugiel. It was not much in my time.”
“Right.” Don’t ask what it was like, don’t ask what it was like- “Those books are about a monster hunter, but they can get pretty dark. The world’s in a pretty grim place, pretty much everyone’s hostile to each other, the end of the world’s getting closer by the day-”
“What?” Stygian breathed. “Why do ponies read something like that?”
Yearling shrugged. “Reading is safe. It lets us feel emotions and have experiences we might not want to otherwise at no real threat to us. It’s… You want the rush of running for your life from a monster through a dark cave without actually doing the running.” Something she knew from experience, obviously. “Since you’re not in any danger, it lets you enjoy the terror. Or the soul-crushing despair, in that case.” She pointed at the book Stygian was holding. “It’s especially true if we connect with the characters and feel what they feel. Empathy’s strong in ponies, or else friendship wouldn’t mean jack squat. Reading reminds us, sometimes very intensely, that we’re still alive.”
“…There is certainly something to be said for that.” Stygian looked at the book for a moment more, then dropped it in the bag. “If you are correct, then perhaps I can learn something from reading this. If not, what do I lose but time?”
“But if you want something that isn’t nearly as heavy, let’s get you some Coltkien…” How had she forgotten the true classics?
Stygian had almost two dozen books in his bag once they checked out. Outside the library, he pawed through them, like he was looking for one to start on. After settling on the Ponan omnibus, he said, “So what now? I have the books, so…”
“Wanna just meet back at the donut shop in, I don’t know, two weeks?” asked Yearling. “Same place, same time, same day of the week? You can read the books, figure out what you want to do, and we can go from there.”
“Two weeks sounds like sufficient time to read…” Stygian glanced at his bag again. “…a large part of these. And I am not disrupting anything of yours?”
“Nope. Not at the moment, anyway. I’ll write you a letter in case something comes up.” Because adventure had a tendency to come calling at the worst possible time. “Do you need any help getting back to the castle?”
“I am hardly that clueless about Canterlot.” Stygian opened up the Ponan book, turned to the first few pages, then closed it again and looked at Yearling. “I shall be seeing you,” he said, inclining his head. “Thank you for your assistance thus far.”
“Anytime,” said Yearling. “Be seeing you.”
Stygian’s muzzle was buried in his book before he’d gone two steps. Yearling watched him go, knowing she could just go, Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about before… and then he’d be hers for… a while. But she kept her mouth shut. He needed some time to unwind before (a pang shot through Yearling’s chest) being grilled about a home he’d never be able to return to.
Besides, maybe helping him write could actually be fun.
Stygian squinted at his donut. Or, to be more precise, the multicolored capsules on top of it.
“They’re called sprinkles,” said Yearling. “And the frosting is chocolate.”
“Ah.” Stygian took a small bite. Then he took a big bite.
Yearling ate some of her own caramel-drizzled donut and asked, “So how’s the writing going?” Part of her was dreading this, had been for the past two weeks; what if he asked a question she couldn’t answer because of her own sort-of-based-on-a-true-story-but-I’m-saying-it’s-fiction style? It wasn’t that her being Daring getting out was bad, but she didn’t want to let Stygian down. (Or Princess Twilight, for that matter.) But the question had to be asked eventually, so she might as well ask it.
“I have read many of the books we checked out,” said Stygian. “I have plenty of leisure time.” He took a sip of coffee, made a face, and put it back down. “Tell me, does the taste of coffee wake you up in the same manner as smelling salts? Because I would not want to rouse myself with… something that tastes like that.”
“It’s an… acquired taste,” admitted Yearling.
“Is it acquired through peer pressure?”
Yearling shuffled a little on her chair. “Probably.”
After another chomp of donut, Stygian continued, “I think I know the type of story I wish to write. To get some experience with writing, I wrote a brief scene…” He pulled out a small bundle of papers. “…and I would like your opinion on it.”
“Ooh, nice,” said Yearling. “Sure.” Critique was easy and she could be nice and constructive. Stygian passed the papers over. It was hornwritten, with very small, precise lettering. There wasn’t any title, but Yearling hadn’t been expecting one. She started reading.
The arches of the tomb stretched above Atgeir like a ribcage. The light of his horn was the only thing keeping him from being swallowed up by darkness. He swallowed and moved on. His hooves echoed loudly and ghoulishly in the vast space. Yet he could still hear his own heartbeat.
“Not a bad start,” Yearling said as she kept reading. “Give me a sec.” Atgeir seemed to be a reluctant tomb raider; the delving could’ve been standard fare for one of her novels, except that Stygian seemed to be leaning more into the horror aspect of it. The emptiness, the possibility of the tomb collapsing, the fear that you weren’t alone… No wonder Atgeir was hating every moment of it. Did it have something to do with tombs in his time? From what she knew, magic was dramatically less well-understood back then; something that would only take a modern cursebreaker a few hours to clean up could wreak havoc in Stygian’s time. But thoughts of the past slipped away as Yearling was drawn into the scene.
When she was on the third page, Yearling said, “It could still use some work, mostly in the sentence structure, but it’s a solid first draft.” Still she kept reading; she was a sucker for adventures, even if she wasn’t literally experiencing them as Daring. “It could be a good starting point for a story.”
“How so?” asked Stygian. Not in a sardonic, skeptical way, but a genuinely curious one. “I merely thought it an interesting scene. It has no context.”
Yearling grinned and took a leap of faith. “Adding context is pretty much writing fiction in a nutshell. It’s the fun part.” The few times she… embellished Daring’s stories and briefly set herself free from the shackles of reality had taught her that much. Her own cup of coffee empty, Yearling snagged Stygian’s abandoned cup. “Let’s say this is part of a larger whole. Ask yourself: why is Atgeir in there at all? It sounds like he doesn’t want to be.” Long sip.
“Because-” Stygian snapped his mouth shut. He drummed his hoof on the table and looked into the distance. After a moment, he said, “He needs to be. He is… looking for… an artifact of some kind. He… wants to sell it to pay off some debts.”
“Perfect.” And something Daring experienced often, which meant Yearling was covering familiar ground when she continued, “So what does the artifact do? Does he know? What happens if he gets it?”
A long pause from Stygian. “He knows not what it does. He… simply knows it is powerful and ponies would pay a great deal of money for it. And when he gets it, he… unleashes…” He bit his lip. “…some sort of… dark power.” The enthusiasm slowly drained from his voice. “How creative,” he mumbled, his ears drooping.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re brainstorming! Not every idea you come up with is going to be a good one.” Yearling took a sip of coffee and pushed the bitter taste away with some donut. “And even unoriginal ideas can be good. Cliches become cliches for a reason. So…” She cycled through a few quick ideas before settling on- “How about this? Darkness spreads across the land, Atgeir feels guilty and tries to enlist some help in defeating it, and there’s your adventuring party.”
Stygian’s ears went back up, one at a time. “Yes,” he said, nodding, “that could most certainly work.” He clicked his tongue. “A weatherpony friend of his with a talent for lightning, helping out of loyalty. A mage kicked out of various magic schools for her aggressive behavior who is merely looking for an excuse to crack some skulls. One of the soldiers from the barracks who deserts upon hearing Atgeir’s pleas to assist him. And… And-”
“And the loan shark Atgeir was going to sell the artifact to,” Yearling said in a flash of inspiration. “She still wants the thing, but it’s no good to her while the world’s crawling with monsters.” Making something from scratch was a lot more fun than rewriting something that’d already been set.
The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, then Stygian grinned. “Most unorthodox. I like it. Perhaps she wants to control the force it unleashed.”
“Should we make one last team member? Then we’ll have six, and six is a nice number for this kind of thing.”
“…A bard.”
“A bard?”
“She’s an optimist who assumes Atgeir will win and wishes to experience history being made.” Stygian put on a faux-dramatic voice as he said, “And woe betide any who break her manedolin.”
Yearling barely held back her giggle. “Yeah, a bard’s nice.”
“Excellent.” Stygian tapped the tabletop a few times. “If you do not mind me asking, what is the best way to introduce characters in a story such as this? None of the books I read were particularly consistent about that, and I do not wish to leave readers with a poor first impression of my story.”
“Opening with Atgeir in the middle of the delve is best, I think.” Yearling ruffled the stack of papers. “It’s called in medias res, ‘into the middle of things’, and it’s a nice way to get readers hooked quickly.” Which was why more than a few Daring Do books started out like that. “End the first chapter with him getting the artifact and something bad happening, then start writing about his time before going down into the tomb.”
Stygian shook his head. “That is not quite what I meant. Even if I begin the story in such a manner, I still need to write about a portion of his time before the delve for the reader to know him and his relationships.”
“Hmm. Right.” One of the benefits of writing an ongoing series: you didn’t need to spend much time with character intros in later series, because the readers most likely already knew who they were, which meant Yearling hadn’t needed to write proper character intros in a long time. “Well, what kind of personality does he have? How did he get into debt in the first place? Does he have a gambling problem? Or maybe…”
Something in the back of Yearling’s head reminded her she had something she needed to ask Stygian. She shoved it back down as their brainstorm expanded.
