C'est La Vie

C’est la vie. Such is life. The philosophy of the downtrodden and unlucky. Padlock found himself mulling over this ideal quite often throughout his life, and he found it to be most apt. It was the only thing he knew that truly made sense to him. No parents? C’est la vie. No home? C’est la vie. No food? C’est la vie.

It was a constant truth that made itself apparent as often as possible, and though it often caused him pain or misfortune, he knew that it was what it was. Such is life.

Presently, life had brought him away from Baltimare due to a “disagreement” over a game of cards. He believed he had won a sum of money, and the others believed he had cheated them. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong in this case, only who was faster. This time it was Padlock, but he knew it wouldn’t always be that way. Rather than press his luck he took his winnings, a measly hundred bits, and returned to the rails in search of a new place to live.

Life on the streets wasn’t as bad as most seem to think it is, you just have to keep on your feet. It takes luck or smarts to survive like this, and what Padlock lacked in luck, he more than made up for in smarts. He paid attention to details most would look past without a second though. He would watch the alley behind restaurants to learn what times they took out the garbage, or test the insulation capabilities of various types of cardboard. Sure, he could have gotten a real job and all the trappings that come with it, but where’s the fun in that?

“Looks like my stop.” He said as the train began to slow. Before it reached the platform he quickly grabbed his meager possessions and hopped off. Looking around he found himself in a small village, fields and orchards surrounding the area.

“Well, it’s not the city, but it’ll do.”

Wandering around the small town, he began to scope out potential food sources and places to sleep. There were a few small restaurants here and there, but no alleyways tucked out of view. He stopped outside of a bakery, sitting down near the entrance.

“Hello!” called a voice from behind. A bright pink pony was poking her head out of a nearby window.

“G’morning, miss.” Padlock replied, tilting his battered hat to her.

“Hold on a sec! Wait right there!”

Padlock felt a twinge of paranoia, wondering if he owed anyone in town money, but decided to stay where he was. Within seconds the perky pink pony had opened the front door of the bakery and rushed outside to meet him.

“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie! You’re new in town, right?!” She said excitedly bouncing up and down.

“Well hello, ma’am. Name’s Padlock, and yes I’m new. Just rolled in this morning.”

Something seemed strange to him, as if this Pinkie character was planning something. Before he could ask, she disappeared back into the building, returning with a large cart.

“Um, what is that?” he asked, his paranoia growing.

“Oh, don’t worry! I do this for everyone!” She replied, pushing a small button on the top of the box.

The lid flipped open to reveal a calliope which began tootling its tune jauntily, confetti blowing from the pipes as it whistled away.

Padlock’s jaw went slack as the overly energetic mare began to sing a welcome to the tune of “Old Mac Donald”. When she had finished, she stood before him looking expectantly, a huge grin on her face.

“Well… Folk around here certainly are… Inviting.” He said after a moment.

“Yup! We’re all friends here! Sooo…?”

“So what?” Padlock said, his eyes narrowed.

“So are we friends now?” She replied, still beaming.

“Umm… Sure. Why not?”

“Great! Wait here, I’ve got more fun stuff inside!” She yelled as she ran back into the building.

Before she could return, Padlock quietly made his exit. If there was anyone here he owed money, they knew he was here now… And yet, none of the other townsponies seemed phased by the spur of the moment song and dance that had taken place. If he had been back in Baltimare or Manehattan they would’ve taken her to the funny farm after the first stanza, but out here apparently that was the norm.

“Best not to introduce myself to anyone else, lest the put on a musical for me next…” He thought to himself. Still, there was the immediate problem of living quarters at hand. He needed to find a safe place to bed down before it got too dark.

He walked up and down the open streets searching for some nook or cranny that was out of the way, with little chance of being stumbled upon. It seemed that the folk in this town didn’t much care for nooks or crannies.

“No matter. I’m sure I can find someplace outside of town. It’ll be like camping” He said to himself.

Talking to himself had become a bit of a bad habit, but it was one he didn’t intend on breaking anytime soon. Living on the streets, he had little time nor want for friends, as they tended to represent competition more than anything. So, rather than finding others to talk to, he spoke to himself. He often carried on deep philosophical conversations with himself long into the night. Not only did it keep his mind sharp, but nobody wants to bother the guy who’s talking to himself.

He walked along one of the main roads leading out of town when he noticed a small cave. It seemed to be just taller than him, and went back a good five feet. It was perfect. He sauntered in and set down his things before leaning back against a wall and falling asleep.