The Poison of Passion

You don’t believe in love at first sight.

It’s one of those fairytale things. It’s impossible to look at any mare who happens across your path, and say to yourself, “Gee, I sure would like to live until my dying day with that lady who I’ve only just met, and don’t know the slightest thing about.”

See? Saying it out loud to yourself, it just sounds so stupid. So childish. You’re not childish! You’re a mature, responsible stallion! Your mother said so herself! Granted, you grew up and moved away from Cloudsdale years ago, so that’s not really a relevant point anymore. Hmph.

All the same, this ‘love at first sight’ thing is so absurd. Yet here you are, lying awake in your bed, counting the tiles on your bedroom ceiling with only one mare on your mind.

Oh, and here’s the kicker; she’s not a pony.

She’s a zebra. Slightly larger than the average pony, but only very slightly. An inch or so at most, if you’re being generous. Plus, they’ve got these stripes on them. At least the only zebra you know has stripes. You’ve not really looked into zebras much. For all you know, the other zebras could have polka-dots or chequered patterns or smiley faces on their coats or something. You should really ask her that when you see her tomorrow.

No, wait, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Let’s go back to the first time you spoke to her.

*******

It’s a great day to be mingling in the bustling and chattering crowds of Ponyville market. You’ve got a saddlebag full of bits from doing the usual weather-pegasus duties. The ringleader of your group, Rainbow Dash, sure has been… less fiery with orders during your workday, despite your usual tardiness. It’s like she’s got her mind somewhere else, especially when that new kid’s around. What does she keep calling him again? You can’t recall. You don’t care; she’s happy, meaning you’re let off easy.

Anyway, you’ve got your payment, and now’s the time to start stocking up on supplies as usual. First stop, the hay and veggie stalls. Then the seasoning stalls, because woe betide them running out of spices before you get there!

There’s a particularly long queue for the chilli pepper powder stall, you notice. It’s popular among those who are either used to shovelling pure heat down their throats every lunchtime, like you, or among the more daring members of Ponyville. You suppose you’d better get in line.

Little do you know, you settle in just behind a certain striped equine. She has a two-toned mane and tail that compliments her coat. Body adorned with outlandish rings and trinkets. A zebra, you remember her being called once.

You have no idea that what’s about to happen, right there in the line of a market stall, is going to change your life forever. Corny, I know, but true.

“What do you mean, ‘the price is three bits’?” the mysterious mare in front of you demands the stall-owner; a suspiciously scrawny and twitchy male pegasus, “The pony before me only paid two for his!”

“I, uh, I’m sure you heard wrong, ma’am,” the pegasus on the other side of the counter says, “It’s three bits per bag, always has been. I know I’ve not got a sign like most of the other stalls, but three bits is a fair price for something so sought-after.”

“But it’s not actually food, it’s merely a seasoning!” the striped mare argues back, “This ridiculous price raise is beyond your reasoning!”

“I’m sorry, but the price is three bits, take it or leave it.” the pegasus drawls, “There are plenty of other ponies in line willing to pay that if you won’t.”

The foreign customer throws a disapproving glare at the stall keeper, before dropping one, two, three bits on the counter. The pegasus scoops away the money, and allows the now-silent zebra to carry away the small bag of seasoning she had hoped to buy at the price of two bits.

After she trots away with a huff, it becomes your turn to buy one of the few bags left on the counter.

“So it’s three bits for this?” you say casually to the stall keeper, fishing a few coins from your saddlebag, “It’s a little bit much for some ground-up peppers, isn’t it?”

The weedy pegasus peeks toward the dejected zebra a short distance away, as if waiting for her to be out of earshot. A moment later, he leans over the counter and whispers; “Nah, it’s not three bits. Not for you, at least. Just one.”

“Huh?” You could’ve sworn it was three bits. You could’ve sworn you heard a whole argument confirming the price.

“You’re a pegasus, right?” the stall keeper seems to be taking on a shadier and shadier manner with each word he says, “Me too. Us pegasi have to look out for each other. It’s two bits for the earthies and unicorns, though.”

“And why was it three bits for the zebra in front of me?”

The merchant scoffs, “Pfft, because she’s not a pegasus, earth pony or unicorn! At least the other two are still ponies of some kind, she’s a zebra. Same goes for donkeys too. Anyway, it’s just the one bit for you to pay, buddy.”

“No thanks.” you tell him without a second’s hesitation. Looking at the way he does business, you really aren’t comfortable giving him a single penny of your fairly-earned bits, even if you would be getting a bargain from it.

“Whaddya mean, no tha- Hey!”

Too late. You don’t even give him the pleasure of letting him finish before you flex your wings and dart off into the sky.

“Get back here, I’m giving you a good deal! Whatever, you missed out on it, that’s your problem! Damned zebra’s probably gonna use that pepper to turn ponies into frogs somehow anyway. Considering the stories I‘ve heard…”

You’re already too far away to hear his ignorant ramblings. Hopping from one lazily drifting cloud to another, you scan the market, the park, anywhere, looking for the greyscale mare who had been ripped off. You could see nearly every colour of pony there, all except for the one you’re looking for. Maybe she went home? Perhaps you should check the rest of Ponyville to see if she’s on her way to a house there…

Just as you’re about to turn away, a glimmer catches your eye from below; the gleam of gold rings, necklaces and trinkets. It’s her. She seems to be heading away from Ponyville, which strikes you as strange. Even stranger, she’s making a beeline for the Everfree Forest in the opposite direction.

No time to think about that; you’ve found her, so you suppose it’s time to do your good deed for the day. Rearranging yourself in mid-flight, you make a zebra-bound dive.

You call out to her once you’re close enough to be in earshot, while she’s right at the edge of the forest. By the time she turns around, you level yourself off and make an acceptable landing right in front of her.

And that’s when it happens. The first time she had ever made direct eye contact with you. The feeling is akin to… getting whacked around the head with something very nice. Her turquoise irises, the unique shape, the inquisitive, cautious, yet courteous way she looks you up and down. As precise as a sewing needle in your mind, and they leave just as much of a mark.

“I recognise you from before,” she says with a careful eye, “what do you need my attention for?“

“I… uh… ah…”

Jump-starting your thoughts back on track, your reach into your saddlebag and pull out three of your own bits. You’ve never willingly given money to a stranger before, but the thought of someone as striking as her getting ripped off had made a chip on your shoulder, and there was only one way you could think of smoothing it out.

“A minor miscalculation at the pepper stall,” you tell a white lie, “this money’s yours, the store guy says he’s sorry for the mix-up.”

“I know the money you offer is your own,” the zebra flatly counteracts, “Just spare me your charity, and head off home. Being swindled is just another thing I’ve survived, but being in somepony’s debt? I can’t abide.”

Wow, she saw right through that. Perhaps you shouldn’t have taken the money out of your own saddlebag right in front of her. You aren’t the cleverest of ponies.

“I don’t want you to be in my debt,” you respond, “I just want to make it up to you for what happened back there. And if I can’t pay you back for what that jerk did to you, what can I do?”

The zebra thinks for a moment, a light- and dark-grey hoof scratching her chin. “It’s incredibly sweet that you’d want to atone,” she says, “Meet me back in the market tomorrow, and come alone. I have an idea in the back of my mind, to get back at that slimy merchant’s hide.”

She doesn’t say much else, apart from bidding you a farewell for now and turning towards the forest.

“Wait!” you call out. The zebra casts a glance back to you. “I never got your name.”

*******

Zecora. The name suits her well. Rolls off the tongue nicely too.

You wonder why she’d want you to meet her back in the market. Why she chooses to live in the dangerous forest hugging the outskirts of Ponyville. Why she even took an interest in your generosity at all.

Check the clock. Three in the morning, and you have work tomorrow. You make one last attempt to roll over in your bed, and let your mind rest. Three guesses on who you’re thinking of right before sleep takes you.