Take What You've Got and Make It Your Own
When Party Favor first saw the big rodeo clown stallion's cutie mark, he thought: it would look right at home, stored in Starlight's vault. An upside down horseshoe—a skin-deep brand of ill-fortune. How he never ambled down Our Town's thoroughfare to have it stripped from him was anypony's guess.
That vexing cutie mark had been revealed meaninglessly, the result of just another pratfall in the clown’s routine. Chasing after a fellow performer who had splattered his face with pie filling, the clown’s suspender snagged on the rough rim of a barrel, yanking his baggy trousers down around his fetlocks and smearing his sticky face with a layer of mud as he crashed to the ground. Laughter erupted, and Party Favor was startled from his reverie.
Licking his cotton candy cloyed teeth, he clapped along with the crowd, perched on the craggy wood of the Appleloosan amphitheater. That plodding sound made his coat prickle, all too similar to marching in time with his neighbors, keeping tempo under Starlight’s voice.
Party Favor lost count of the miles he traveled since he first set out from Our Town. That distance hadn’t yet seemed to matter.
Not when the march was still in his hooves.
—
The clown was scrubbing his face clean as Party Favor approached after the rodeo. Up close and rid of his costume, he was imposing. A stallion’s stallion, humbled only by a sun-bleached stetson that looked small on his broad head. Party Favor avoided standing in his shadow.
They exchanged introductions and his sonorous drawl was at home in his barrel chest. Troubleshoes Clyde, he called himself. A name to match the misfortune of his mark; a little blip in the otherwise perfectly built idea of him.
“Pleasure to meet you, Party Favor,” he said. “I’d offer to shake your hoof, but the last time I tried, I darn near punched the feller’s light’s out.”
Party Favor laughed, an octave too high. “Better not risk it, then. And, thanks for your time. I was wondering—do you have any need for another member in your troupe? I can make some pretty impressive balloon animals!”
“Oh. Reckon you must think I need the help, given these clumsy hooves a’mine'd probably pop the poor things.”
Party Favor winced. “I didn’t mean to imply that!”
Toubleshoes snorted. “Joking. You’ll have to get used to my sense of humor if you wanna work with me.” His droopy eyes searched Party’s face. “What brings you to Appleloosa anyhow? More folks pass through than settle down here.”
“Just looking for work. A fresh start, I guess. My old hometown has some bad memories attached to it.” Party Favor’s ears drooped, the coils of his mane wilting in tandem. “Have you heard of a place called… Our Town?”
Its emancipation by Princess Twilight had headlined across Equestrian news outlets the following month. Party Favor first read the article on his first train ride out into the desert. It featured a photo of himself, Double Diamond, Night Glider, and Sugar Belle, hailed for their instrumental role in Starlight’s defeat. Smiling next to Double Diamond, their coats bright and manes no longer clipped into the same, uniform style, the differences between him and Party Favor were pronounced once more.
The story had evidently reached Appleloosa, for Troubleshoes nodded solemnly. “Glad you were freed from that place. Just thinkin’ about it gives me the willies. Cursed cutie marks that take away your talent? Downright awful.”
Party Favor swallowed. “Yeah. That’s how I think of it now. But… it wasn’t all awful. None of us went there without having our reasons.” He couldn’t deter his wandering eyes from landing on Troubleshoes’ flank. “I mean—have you ever felt that there was some part of you that… didn’t belong?”
Troubleshoes' whiskered lips rose into a smile. “I can see you lookin’ at this here cutie mark. There surely was a time when I felt just as cursed as you actually were. Good thing I had some kindly fillies to talk some sense into this thick head a’mine. Turns out it wasn’t the mark that didn’t belong, but my way’a thinkin’ about it.”
He lifted one heavy forehoof, gesturing to Party’s hindquarters. “So what was it about that little balloon animal that didn’t seem to belong to ya?”
Party Favor’s heart thudded. Discussing one’s mark in any context had been an explicit taboo in Our Town. His friends had been ecstatic to exchange stories of earning their marks and practice their talents in their newfound liberation. They cheered Party on as he twisted squeaking balloons into hats and animals, and he was happy—when he was creating. But as the sun set, and he held his last little balloon equine under the flickering lantern light, it looked a lot like him. A mimicry of a real animal.
“It wasn’t my mark.”
In a moment of honesty that could only be offered to strangers, Party admitted, “It was the idea that ponies could be equal there. That… I could look like every other stallion. And I did. For a while.”
Toubleshoes blinked. “Ya still do.”
“Thanks.” Party let out a raspy laugh. “I try. But, I wasn’t born one.”
Toubleshoes chuckled and said, “Is anypony? I was born a foal. Then I grew into a colt. And then I just kept growing.”
Party smiled, warmed to his soul. “I like that way of looking at it.”
Troubleshoes squinted at him with his sleepy, perceptive eyes. “You’re not really here for work are ya?”
“I was. Honest.”
Troubleshoes grinned. “What’re you looking for, truly?”
Party Favor sighed, all his walls coming down in that long breath. “Home, I guess. I don’t know if home is Our Town. But my friends are there, trying so hard to make it their own.”
“Well, if you ask me,” Troubleshoes said, “if anypony can take what he’s got and make it his own, it’s you.”
—
On the train ride home, Party Favor made a balloon animal. It looked a lot like him.
