Friendship - Instructions not included
-10 years ago-
“Mr Pie?”
“That’s me. Now I’ll go ahead and head ye off, we’re not needin’ any trinkets or knick knacks or fancy dohickeys or anything of the sort.” He straightened his neck out, his careful eyes clearly measuring me.
I swallowed a breath I’d been holding, “This isn’t a sales call, Mr Pie; or at the very least, I’m not trying to sell you anything.”
He raised an eyebrow skeptically and craned to look around me toward my cart as I heard the sharp sounds of several sets of small hooves striking on wood from within. I met him with an easy smile; or at least I hoped it was easy and not the heart-pounding nervous tension screaming at me under the scrutiny of those worldly-wise amber eyes. I literally mean under, he’s about half a hand taller than me and built tight like a whipcord, he’s everything Final Offer told me a rock farmer would be like. This is not a stallion to upset.
The soft rumbling of thunder from above was icing on that multi-layered awkward cake.
His chin slid forward and his lower lip raised the wheat stalk in his lips up and off ot the side. He continued regarding me from above.
“I’m listening.” He didn’t budge. I guessed if it was going to happen, it’d have to happen right here on his doorstep, under the threat of rain.
I should’ve waited when I saw the pegasi at work but I didn’t; fool that I am. I could almost *hear* Final Order sighing at me with the same form he always showed. Eyes closed, head gently swiveling back and forth as he breathed out through his nose. I think he’d have had his hoof to his forehead as well.
“Mr. Pie; First, I would be remiss if I didn’t introduce myself- The name is Tinker Trader, and it’s my pleasure to offer you a brand new way of doing business-” And I launched back into semi-familiar territory. Final had this fantastic approach he used when courting new sources that I’d tried to mimic as much as possible. It was business to a T.
If Final could charm artisans all over Manehatten with it, I could certainly win over a rock farmer.
-3 minutes later-
“-And that’s why I’m here. There’s no need for you to waste your time at the markets, in fact, you can benefit from wider exposure and better sales! If I distribute your rocks; handling the sales and transport for you; you get both more time and more money.” I smile
That is... I *should have* been able to. He wasn’t moving... Not even nodding!
“It’s good for you, good for your family, good for your friends... It’s a win all around!”
‘-is his lower eyelid twitching...? Quick, Tinker, think... There must be something....Anything! He’s definitely going to kill this.. Alright, the direct approach it is-’ I was scrambling something fierce.
I turned my head to the left, closing my eyes and raising a hoof in a placating measure, “I’ll get straight to the point then. I-”
There was a flash and an almost immediate crack of thunder. My eyes flicked off to the right, my head following behind. Sadly, I’d been in the middle of flapping my gums... and the sudden change of path left my tongue lagging a bit for momentum... and I bit it... hard.
“Augh! Ow... Ach. Ahm sowwy I jus bid mah dun-” I turned my head off and raised a hoof to obscure my mouth as I stretched my mouth and tongue out, trying to regain some semblance of order to my speech again. “Ow...” There was a telltale copper taste in my mouth. I’d drawn blood.
He was still staring down at me. Sweet Celestia, he hadn’t moved at all!
*pteh* I spat a little off to the side in the dirt and scuff some dirt over it as the rain started to lightly percuss around us. Spots of dark all over the ground, just like my spittle, peppering the ground and the rocks and matched by the tinny ringing of the light shower starting on the silo. Yup. I’d blown it.
“Mr Pie. I’b sorry wasded youw dime.”
-Present Day-
It never fails. There’s a small stretch of the road from Canterlot to Ponyville where I can see the Pie rock farm. And then I remember that night.
I’m tempted to think silly things like ‘Oh, look how far I’ve come!’ and ‘What a fool I was!’ every time. And in a metacogitative way I guess I am, since I’m thinking about thinking them, but I digress.
Metacogitate.. where did I ever hear or think up that one.. I guess because I was thinking about archaic words the other week... and one of those was excogitate. No, I’m not some towering intellectual. I consider myself pretty normal in most ways.
Normal house, not that I’m there much, but check all the same, normal smarts, sure, normal looks, I guess? Moderately successful, check. I owe that to the Pies too, I’d wager.
-10 Years ago-
‘Boil me down for glue that was terrible!’
My head felt heavy, it was hard to hold up as I trodded away from the door. I faintly recognized his words as I’d turned-
“Best of luck to you plying your trade elsewhere, Mr Trader.”
With my tongue still throbbing, I sloshed some spittle around and spat it out casually to the side again as I thought over the encounter. Well... I would have if I could’ve remembered of anything but those eyes staring down at me from under that gray fedora of his. If I’d needed to get used to rejection to do business well... there were far worse ways to go.
I shivered a bit as a gust took me from the side, brusquely shoving me half a step over. The rain picked up, it was definitely a full on shower now, but I was almost to my cart.. and with it, shelter.
I shoved a retaining latch on the front of my cart up as I propped myself up against the right shaft to take a bite of tarp. I tied off the tarp to the shafts while the front edge of the wagon fell freely. When it laid even with the floor of the cart it stopped with a loud *thunk*
“Maybe I should have moved off their property... Hopefully they won’t mind me hunkering down until the rain passes.”
It wasn’t perfect. The wind still buffeted me from nearly all angles and my ‘blanket’ was coarse, threadbare burlap, but it’d gotten me this far, and it’d get me through much more. I’d already been drifting off as the rain and wind whipped around, making a tiny little stampede running roughshod all over the tarp.
-Present Day-
Alright. I’ve stopped long enough. I’ve got accounts in Manehatten, Canterlot, and Whinnyapolis riding on this little bet I’m making.
My cart doesn’t even resemble itself from back then. A capacity overhaul increasing it to 2 axles and the extendable bonnet for keeping the rain and wind off both me and my trade. Barely a board remains of the original though, so I suppose it isn’t the same cart at all. Meh.. semantics.
I hitch up and start pulling. I’m mostly empty, save for some pouches of peppercorns, salts, mustard seeds... spices are practically better than money for the travelling trader. Lightweight, and easy to sell, they’re like money you put on your food. I can’t imagine bits ever tasting that good either.
-10 Years ago-
Okay.. I’d *been* drifting off... but with my stomach protesting like this... I swear, I couldn’t tell if I was hungry or going to be sick, and I wasn’t about to find out with that rain going on either... I’ve got nothing packed but the dwindling remains of my ‘emergency fund’, there was nothing even close to grazing land here.. I’d have been stripping bark from their trees. I had to simply bear it.
And gnaw on my burlap... Which tasted like my bloody tongue...
Gurgling sensations and spasmic clenching rocked my abdomen as time wore on... I was dead awake for sure after that kicked in and I’m pretty sure if anyone had been nearby they’d have thought I was in pain too... I cautiously lifted my head to look toward the Pie farmhouse... The lights were on and there were clearly signs of activity both upstairs and down. Still, there was no way they could see me without going outside. Not unless they’d looked from upstairs. The skinny wing of the house had a view that shot straight through the scraggly canopy and over the rocky field. Someone there would’ve seen me without any pro-
*Knock knock knock*
“BWAA?!” I startled so much I think I yanked one of my tarp anchors off... Not to mention.. yup. I nailed my tongue again. “ooowwwww....”
A tiny little filly, no more than 8 or 9 was staring at me, mouth closed and neutral, just like her Father’s, eyes partially closed and scrutinizing, just like her Father’s... and all colored a dull, rain-matted pink. Her straight main clung to the sides of her head and neck, water running from it in tiny never ceasing streams to the ground. The poor thing was soaked... but why was she out here? I’d seen a flash of that color hiding behind her father’s flanks while I was at the door. I’d barely had time to finish the painful reprise of Molarzilla vs Tonguera going on in my mouth when she spoke.
“Mr. Trader sir? Daddy says you should come in out of the rain.” Her face never left that neutral expression.
“I’m not about to turn down some shelter, but are you sure he wants me to come...” She’d already turned about and was galloping away toward her house, “in...?”
Not one to look a gift-giving horse in the mouth, I snatched my pouch of bits, slammed the front of my cart back in place, securing the retaining latch, and galloped off after.
No sooner did I enter their door than I was greeted with a swat of Mr. Pie’s hat.
“Durn fool. What do you take me for? Now dry off, soup’s almost done.” He set his hat back on a rack by the door and trotted off, grumbling. “Durn fool city ponies don’t even know the value a’ neighbors. I won’t have no pony sleepin’ out in the rain on my land.” His tone had grown as he walked off.. He clearly wanted me to hear him. “Speaks poorly a’ my house fer not takin’ him in, and a’ him for tryin’ it in the first place!”
I had no options but to stand there shamed. I was given a towel and I quietly dried off as best as I could with a little pink filly staring at me with those same half-closed eyes from behind a couch.
Maybe I was sick. To this day I don’t understand what happened that night. I remember the events, and most of the details too. They’d treated me to dinner in their home, conversed about small things.. and I got lectured on the virtues of asking in times of need at every opportunity.
But through it all there was that little pink filly, Pinkamena Diane Pie. She’d stared at me, unrelentingly through the whole evening until her parents had chased her up to bed.
-Present Day-
“I wonder if Diane even remembers me?”