--**New Year's Peeve**--
Never in the history of Equestria and the history of the mechanical Clock had there ever been a pony who was happy to hear their morning alarm. And yet, here was a teenager - infamous for their lazing about and allergy to mornings - sitting up straight in their bed with a wide grin and the eyes of a madpony.
A paper-white hoof slammed down onto the ringing contraption, silencing the infamous bane of dreamers, and putting the unthinking and unfeeling device to rest. This action was then followed by the same hoof gently pushing on the freshly-struck alarm clock, just enough for the user to get a good look at the time that was on display.
“‘Eleven-Thirty’, alright!” Mirage then turned his attention away from the clock and to his window. Sunlight beamed in through his window, with the square of light landing directly on his bedsheet and providing a warmth to his exterior that matched the warmth and excitement that he felt on the inside. He had a feeling that today was going to be a good day.
However, as nice as the day was, it was going to be wasted if all he did was stay in his bed. He had to go out there, do what he wanted to do, and he was going to have a great time doing it.
A quartet of muted clips and clops sounded as the earth pony rolled himself out of bed and landed on his carpeted floor with the expertise of a cat. Satisfied with his display of “acrobatics”, the colt recovered his towel from his radiator, holding it securely in his teeth, before making his way to the bathroom for his morning ablutions. All he left behind were four hoofprints by his bedside, permanently pressed into the carpet from many years of landing on the same spot each and every morning.
In the span of 20 minutes, Mirage had gotten himself ready for the day with enough spare time to enjoy a light breakfast, and now stood by the front entrance of his home. He cast a glance upwards in thought as he brought to the forefront of his mind the plan he had devised for the day. It was simple and straightforward: He was going to go out, purchase some fireworks, show them off to his friends, spend the daylight hours with them, and top it all off by lighting the fireworks during the evening. One couldn’t make a simpler plan even if they tried.
Surely, one might ask, a young pony like Mirage couldn’t head out to buy fireworks on his own, and would require an adult to buy them instead?
Normally, around this time of year, the colt wouldn’t go out to buy fireworks as a result of one minor detail: He wasn’t old enough in previous years.
This year, however, Mirage had hit the big One-Six back in the summertime, and was finally old enough to get his hooves on a whole host of explosive ordnance. He had saved up so much pocket-change for this day, for today (Saturday) was the last day of 1006 ALB (After Lunar Banishment), and tomorrow would be a new year!
He felt a bright fire burning in his heart as his mind drowned in positive thoughts. The young stallion brought his eyes down and rested them on the mirror that hung near the front door. Once he determined that the stunningly-handsome, white-coated, obsidian-maned, young stallion was not an intruder - but merely a reflection of himself - he flicked his mane aside and gave himself a toothy grin. Now with nothing left at home to keep him inside, he pulled the door to the outside world open.
“Mom! Dad! I’m gonna hang out with my friends!” he called into the house, his voice echoing slightly between the walls of his home. He could barely make out the sound of his mother making some sound to signal her acknowledgement of his statement, and that was all he needed. “See you later!”
He had neglected to inform them of his intent to buy fireworks. He knew that they were going to answer with a flat “no” if he so much as hinted at getting them, or asked them to buy some. From what he was able to understand, they were content with just watching the fireworks show, and were less than interested in spending money on something they could watch for free.
After closing the front door, Mirage hopped down the small steps in front of his home and was now standing on the street. Above him, there was a blue sky, with nary a cloud in sight. The only things in the sky that he could see were a hoof-full of Pegasi flying about, and what Mirage assumed was Cloudsdale, which was around the size of a bean at its current distance.
Around him, at ground level, the patches of grass that were dotted around Ponyville shimmered as the morning frost began to melt under the sunlight. There were ponies here-and-there, going about their business for the day - whether it was actual business, or that they were just heading out for lunch, Mirage didn’t know. He wasn’t curious enough to even want to know.
The town of Ponyville is regarded as many things, and today one of them was ‘cheerful’. It seemed that almost everypony he saw was in an excellent mood that day, and Mirage was fairly confident that he knew just what they were happy about. He half-expected to see Pinkie Pie, Ponyville’s resident Party-pony, bouncing around, hyping up the town and getting them pumped for that very midnight. However, the Element of Laughter was nowhere to be seen.
As he walked, the colt would swivel his ears around, doing his best to listen in on passing ponies’ conversations, with each pony he passed confirming his suspicions that this whelming wave of joy came as a result of the highly anticipated New Year’s festivities that very night.
The positive energy that every stallion, mare, and foal radiated was infectious, and Mirage soon found himself trotting through town with a spring in his step. His saddlebags bounced up and down on his back, just waiting to be filled with boxes of spinners, sparklers, and rockets.
Today was a great day for Mirage, and nothing could possibly ruin it.
There he was.
His long and perilous trek through the chilly streets of Ponyville was at an end, for he had found it.
The colt practically glued his face to the cold glass of the shop window, his eyes darting around at all the wild and wonderful items that they had on display. Everything he could ever want, anything he ever needed for that night was right there in front of his eyes. If it went Bang, Boom, Whizz, or Pop, it was there for him to buy.
“Whistling Weasels?!” he gasped after his eyes landed on a small box of miniature rockets. His eyes then darted over to the other boxes on display. “Ranch o’ Demolition’s Volley Cannons?! I didn’t know those came back!” Every second he spent against the glass, the more excited he became. It took a great amount of effort and self-control for the colt to peel himself away from the window, and just as much effort went into controlling his breathing. The last thing he wanted was to be hospitalised on the night of his dreams.
However, as exciting as all of these were to him, the real treasure lay inside of the store itself. He had done his research in the months prior to this day, skimming through an endless assortment of magazines and newspapers, looking for any sign or any word about “it”. Rumour was that a new firework was released for sale, and any fireworks shop worth its matches would have a few in stock. However, after some time had passed, those rumours soon became confirmed.
Mirage pulled a newspaper out of his saddlebag and opened it up on a page he had bookmarked.
Page 21, Advert section. There it was. Half a page dedicated to one of the most exciting developments in non-magical pyrotechnics since the invention of the rocket! A revolution in fireworks technology! A picture of the item and the name that was bestowed upon it had been wildly circled with a red marker pen, an indication of just how thrilled Mirage had been at the time.
“It has to be available here,” he said as he delicately folded the newspaper and tucked it back into his bag. “For if it isn’t here, or if I cannot get my hooves on it, then I am no longer Mirage! You may call me- uhm.” He quickly looked around for something to call himself. He pretended not to notice a trash can, before resting his eyes on a bed of yellow flowers.
“You may call me Marigold!” He declared to nopony.
Having gotten the drama out of his system, Mirage brushed his mane out of his eyes and pushed his way past the glass doors of Pyro’s Firework Emporium.
The colt felt as though he had entered another world. After entering the shop and taking a few steps away from the door, he found himself surrounded by shelves upon shelves of pyrotechnics. It was as though he had died and had been launched into firework heaven.
The sights and smells were like kisses to his senses. He could almost taste the blackpowder in the air - which was a mild concern, seeing that loose blackpowder in a shop that was one match-stick away from ending up as a burning crater in the ground wasn’t good for one’s health.
“Hey there!” came a voice from behind. Mirage shook his head to clear his thoughts, before turning around to see who it was.
He came face-to-neck with a tall, dark grey unicorn. His body structure reminded Mirage of Mr Cake at Sugarcube Corner, and that was where the similarities ended. What stood out more than the lanky frame was the stallion’s lack of eyebrows, no doubt a result of having too much fun with things that go boom. In addition to this, the colt could see that the fur around the stallion’s eyes were lighter than the rest of his head and neck, matching the rest of his body. The goggles that were perched above his horn were likely the reason why this was so.
If one wasn’t familiar with Pyro Mane-iac’s day job and hobbies, he could have easily been mistaken for a natural-born Roan.
“How can I he-”
“I’m looking for this!!” Mirage interrupted, throwing his newspaper at the stallion’s face. Realising what he had done, the colt began to blush. “Oh…sorry, Mr Pyro.”
“Not a problem.” The newspaper was enveloped in a white glow, before being removed from the merchant/craftspony’s face. Pyro levitated the fishwrapper at his eye-level and flicked through to the bookmarked page. Upon landing on THE page, his one, good eye that could dilate did so. Pyro then set the newspaper down on the counter, beside the cash register, before going to the store entrance and locking it. “Wait here.” was all he offered as he flipped the sign on the door to ‘CLOSED’, before making his way into the back of the shop.
Marigold had the expression of a colt in a candy store. Or, y’know, a firework store.
‘It’s really happening!’ he thought, happily trotting in place and just barely managing to hold in an embarrassing squeal of delight. ‘I’m gonna be the first colt in Ponyville to ever buy one of these!’
Mirage had long since calmed down by the time Pyro came back. His horn was aglow and a box the size of the colt himself hovered above his back. The earth pony did his best to maintain an illusion of external calmness, but his anticipation and joy upon seeing the box made him shake like a weathervane in a storm.
The box was set down in between the pair, and for a few moments, there was silence.
A good three-quarters of the box was coated in a jet-black, matte finish, representing Princess Luna’s gorgeous night sky, with some sparkly white stars dotted around to complete the look. However, as artistic and beautifully simple as it was, all it did was add on to the comparatively ostentatious design that sat proudly on the front of the box.
“Captain Whizz-Bang’s Fantabulous Air Bursters…” was all Mirage could gasp out, reaching a shaky hoof out to touch the box art.
‘Look at that unsubtle pearl-white colouring. The distasteful madness of it. The crazy rainbow explosion of colour, as though the Cloudsdale Rainbow factory crashed into Sugarcube Corner. Oh my Celestia…’ he moved his head from side-to-side, entranced by the way the cartoon rocket seemed to change hues with every little movement. ‘It even has an iridescent coating…’
He let his hoof slide down the face of the box, before looking up at the salespony.
“I need this.”
“Yeah, I could tell you really liked it. You’ve been standing there for five minutes.”
“I need this.” Mirage repeats.
“Right…” Pyro Mane-iac brought the box over to the counter, plopping it next to the newspaper. The colt made his way to the front of the checkout, reaching into his bag to retrieve his bits. “So, you finally turned 18, eh?”
What was that he said?
“E-e-eighteen?” Mirage stammered, completely caught off guard. That couldn’t have been right. “But, I thought…what?” He suddenly found himself with a face-full of newspaper, and Pyro’s hoof helpfully pointed out the second half of the page. The portion that Mirage paid no mind to.
Below the flashy, eye-catcher of an advert for “Captain Whizz-Bang’s Fantabulous Air Bursters” was something far more serious and pressing. How he had missed it, despite having gushed over that particular page for many nights, was baffling to him. It was a word about safety.
Safety Warning
Following the events of an accident in Manehattan, the age for purchasing Fireworks and Pyrotechnics involving the use of Explosive powders has been raised to EIGHTEEN (18) Years of Age, effective immediately.
Merchants found to be selling the listed items may receive a FINE or face IMPRISONMENT.
This Announcement was brought to you by the Canterlot board of Safe Handling of Incendiary Items and Thermodynamics (Name change pending)
The colt lowered the newspaper to the floor, doing the same with his eyes. It was as though his world had collapsed around him. They had bumped it up by two years, and he didn’t even know. His head then found its way to the floor, and would rhythmically thump against it.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” He’d mutter over and over to himself. Pyro pursed his lips as he leaned over the counter to look at the disheartened child.
“So…I’m guessing you’re not 18 then. If that’s the case. Then I can’t sell it to you. Or much of anything in here, really.” Despite Pyro Mane-iac merely stating the obvious, the colt felt as though a knife had been twisted in his gut. Mirage finally brought his head up off of the floor and looked up at the stallion with sad eyes.
“But…it only prohibits me from selling you things with explosive powder. Could I perhaps interest you in some sparklers? Or unscented candles?” The unicorn lifts several of the mentioned items in his magic with a sheepish smile.
He soon left the shop with his head low, throwing the newspaper into the trash can he had spotted earlier.
Marigold trotted away from Pyro’s Firework Emporium a defeated pony, with his saddlebags full of cheap sparklers.
And some candles to bring home to his mother.
Author's Note
Yeah, nah.
I totally rushed through this.
It's 4 hours past midnight here, but in the US, it isn't the New Year yet, so yay!
