Audio file can be found here. Listening along is encouraged.
“Ah... now this is the life.”
A lone figure sat in the darkened room, drinking in the blissful silence and the intoxicating smell of elm tea. “No noise, no distractions, and no crazy ponies to interrupt us.” He sighed, his gaze traveling wistfully over the dulled beige walls around him. “Oh Tillie, this is going to be a good day, I can tell.”
A thin smile crept onto his face. Leaning forward in his seat, he meticulously repositioned a thick stack of dusty old books in front of him, running his knobby hoof over the cover as a fine layer of dust coagulated on his fur. “Ooh, I haven’t looked at these ones in a while. I’ll bet it will really bring back those memories.”
The first page he turned to made him chuckle. The second made his eyes well up with a wave of barely restrained tears. The third brought his smile right back as if if had never left at all. Those emotions, amplified and channeled into his core by the books, all carried with them a familiar measure of comfort. He had seen these pages before, and he would see them again. He knew what to expect when he turned the page, and was more than happy to oblige the emotions that resonated from the old pages.
The impenetrable silence that normally shrouded the home was quickly broken by the rhythmic flipping of pages, interspersed with the occasional laugh or sigh. The shape reclining against the faded, time-worn cushions was so enraptured by the old tomes in front of him that he didn’t even notice the faint pitter-patter of hooves falling against the hardwood beyond his cozy little enclosure, plodding towards him and his books with practiced stealth.
Finally, the tiny sound materialized in the form of a pink blob, slowly separating from the oblong shadows that clung to the walls and sneaking slowly towards the distracted form like a shark stalking its unknowing prey.
Closer and closer to him the pink shape snaked, silently floating over the lacquered hardwood floors. Too late, he took notice of the bubblegum-pink shape lurking behind him and turned his head to face the intruder. “What in Equestria—”
An explosion of confetti and streamers erupted in his face, cutting off the rest of his sentence.
“Hey there mister Cranky Doodle Dandy Donkey! Or is it Cranky Doodle Donkey Dandy?” An all too familiar voice tore apart the sweet, serene silence and turned his carefully constructed comfort-zone into an obnoxiously candy-colored wasteland. Through the disorienting haze, he felt a pink face press up against his.
“I forgot how you like your name to be spoken, but that’s okay. So yeah, mister Cranky Doodle Whatever Your Name Is, it’s your best friend in the whole wide world here to invite you to your own birthday party, going on right now at Sugarcube corner!”
Cranky Doodle Donkey's heart skipped a beat as the crazed mare's sudden entrance barraged his dulled senses into a hollow numbness. “Oh Celestia, no no no. Not this, not now, not you.”
“Come on now, you silly filly—err, silly donkey! It's your birthday, be happy!" The pink menace pranced about the room innocently, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Your birthday isn't not gonna happen ever again. In fact," Pinkie stopped her manic skip in mid-air to deliver some choice words to her newest victim. "They happen once every year. For, like, ever! Isn't that great? It really gives depth to the phrase, 'party till you drop.'"
Indignantly, Cranky sputtered, "I never even said that I wanted a birthday party, thank you very much. If it's alright with you, I'd rather stay here and relax until I drop. I've seen what your little 'parties'," he spat the word out like it was poisonous, "consist of. Crazy dances, diabetes-inducing party favors, and," he shivered uncontrollably. "pop music."
Pinkie Pie, oblivious to the mule's pleas, locked a hoof around his and pulled with all her might, pink legs pumping like pistons as they tried to remove the crotchety old mule from his place of rest. "But Doodly Doodly Doobity Doo, you'll get to see all of your old friends, and maybe even meet some new ones along the way!"
She was too lost in her giggling glee to hear the ageing donkey mutter dejectedly, "All my friends are dead. Now, would you kindly leave me to my books? This old mule would like to spend today of all days alone."
"Spend your birthday, alone?" Suddenly concerned for her quarry's lack of enthusiasm about his special day, her tone sunk to a sweet, motherly coo. "But your birthday is a day to celebrate. It's the day you started existing, the day you started breathing air and being you. Most ponies—and donkeys—love birthdays! Without a birthday, you'd be all non-existent—or, at least I think you would. Wait, can a pony without a birthday exist? They wouldn't have been born, because otherwise they would have a birthday, but maybe if there was enough swiss cheese and radio waves involved..."
Cranky tuned out the crazy pony's ramble as soon as it started. Inching away from her on his tip-hooves so as not to disturb her monologue of randomness, he returned to his precious books' side and inspected them for hoof prints, lest they had been stepped on in Pinkie's dramatic entrance.
"No scrapes, no stomp-marks... looks like you're just fine, Tillie." He breathed a sigh of relief below Pinkie's continued babbling. "Just fine... You don't have to worry none, Tillie. I won't let anything—especially anypony—hurt you. That would probably tear me up more than it would you, heheh."
"...and that's why you can never trust a seapony, even if you put their collateral in a secure IRA and send out spies to watch them just to be sure they aren't up to any shady deals with ninjas." Pinkie took a sharp breath, finally finished with her long-winded rant.
Cranky simply looked back at her in disgust, placing his body between her and his books. "Please leave."
"No," she replied plainly. "You have a party to go to!"
"But I already told you, I don't want to go! I want to be left alone with my books, can't you accept that?" Cranky's voice rose as his quick temper flared.
"Uh-uh. It's my duty as Ponyville's Premiere Party Pony, or PPPP," she blew a raspberry as she attempted to sound out the acronym, sending a few drops of saliva flying perilously close to Cranky's old books, "to get all the ponies in town to smile and have a good time, even when they're all old, like you! The town wouldn't have given me that neat, alliterative title if it wasn't a super-important duty."
Her comment was nothing but innocent, but it still cut Doodle like a hot knife regardless of whether her intentions were pure or not. He grimaced, fighting back successive waves of anger and denial as he attempted to formulate a response. "There aren't any other old mules like me, Pinkie. If you hear one thing from this conversation, hear that."
The pink mare gasped exasperatedly, as if she had already been informed of that some time ago. "Well then, we'll need to make you some new friends that aren't grumpy old mules then! Come on, I'll bet my left leg that everypony's already at Party Central, waiting around for the guest of honor to arrive."
Without warning, he felt his legs sliding over the wax-polished wood under his hooves, out of his house—but more importantly, away from his books. "Tillie!" He gasped as Pinkie's surprisingly strong grasp carried him right out the door and into the streets of Ponyville. "No, not outside, please not outside—"
Cranky ground his teeth together as sunlight hit his skin for the first time in weeks. "Ow, ow—darn you, let me go this instant!" The last time the mule's hooves had touched ground—real dirt and grass and cobblestone, not the shining hardwood floor of his home—he had been forced out of the house in order to stock up on necessities that he could not make himself. That mistake would never happen again.
"But if I let you go, we'll be late to the party."
"Nyh—I don't want to go to your stupid party! I never did, and I never will! What will it take to get that through your thick little head?"
"You know, for somepony—somedonkey?—who loves parties so much, you're being very obstinate about not going."
Doodle once again gasped at the mare's inability to wrap her mind around his begging and pleading. "Pinkie Pie, you will stop dragging me around like a stone or so help me Celestia, I will send the Royal Guard after you for kidnapping!" His steadily escalating shouts drew stares from the nearby onlookers, who were obviously shocked to even see the resident hermit out of his abode, let alone being dragged around the streets by Pinkie Pie in some sort of bizarre parade.
"Nuh-uh!"
His anger only increased at the number of looks he received from passerby. "I am through arguing with you. If you do not let me go this instant, a prison sentence will be the least of your worries."
"Okay, here you go."
"That's it, you'll be hearing from my lawye—wait, what?" Cranky finally calmed down from his rage-induced high long enough to notice that he was no longer the centerpiece of the Pinkie Pie Traveling Circus. Said mare stood patiently beside him, smiling that same wide, innocent smile as if she hadn't just forcibly extradited him from his own house. "Oh... you stopped."
"Well, duh." A pink hoof swooped behind her. "We're here!"
"Here" happened to be Sugarcube Corner, the alleged best bakery shop in the world and home of most of Pinkie's insane parties. Cranky made a point to steer clear of the place at all times, lest the temptations of fresh sweets suck him into an inevitable confrontation from the pink pony and her entourage. He could already hear the muffled thump of bass and the noisy din that accompanied parties of Pinkie-scale bleeding through the walls.
"Why don't you just come on in with me? Your birthday party is right inside!" Like a chauffeur, she bowed gingerly and pointed her hoof to the front door. "There's cake, and cupcakes, and muffins, and a DJ, and—"
"No."
"And a 'no' too! Wait," the mare stumbled over her words. "We didn't have enough bits to hire a 'no' for the party. Oh—unless you want a 'no' there, then I'm sure I could get an advance on my paycheck and pull some bits out of my rainy day fund."
"Pinkie Pie, I'm not going to your party."
"But you're already here! Why not just take several steps ahead of you and join the fun?"
Cranky sighed. "Haven't you been listening, Pinkie? I don't want to go to my birthday party. I don't want to celebrate my birthday. I don't even want to acknowledge my birthday." A fiery, passionate stare burst to life in his dulled eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, my birthday is just another day that I have to put up with ponies like you."
Pinkie instantly wilted as an invisible barb embedded itself in her heart. "B-but I don't understand. Why would anypony not want to acknowledge their birthday?"
“Because, you oblivious foal, birthdays do nothing more than remind me of my old age.” He turned away, furiously jabbing at his wig in a fruitless attempt to straighten its permanent tilt. “I’ve had a lot of birthdays, kid. You can only stand so many of them before they lose their appeal.”
“W-when would they ever lose their appeal?”
Cranky scoffed. “When the invitations get redirected to next of kin.”
Before Pinkie could stop him, the agitated donkey turned slowly on his hooves, his knees quivering like branches caught in the breeze. “You’re young, kid. Go have fun, go have lots of parties, live in the ‘here and now’ and ‘carpe diem’ or whatever it is you say nowadays.” His wrinkled body forced itself into motion, beginning the slow walk back to his home. “Just leave an old mule alone so he can reminisce and wait for the inevitable in peace.”
Pinkie Pie shuffled forward slowly, the gears in her mind whirring on overdrive to find something, anything, positive to say that might comfort the ageing donkey. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, only a whimpering, guttural whine. With wide eyes she stood poised on the edge of nothing and watched helplessly as her quarry limped away with quick, furtive steps.
Finally, her speech returned. “Oh boy, Pinkie Pie sure messed this one up. I’m gonna need to go fix that.” Nodding in determination, she hopped up and started skipping towards the retreating donkey. “Ooh—wait!” She spun around in a gravity-defying one-eighty, scampering up to the door of Sugarcube Corner and poking her head inside.
The scene inside the shop was just about as boring as a Pinkie Party had ever been. Tens of ponies milled about awkwardly, clustered around the punch bowl and anypony bold enough to strike up a conversation. A disinterested DJ reclined among their speakers, nonchalantly flipping through a magazine as she waited for the cue to liven up the party. The dance floor below sat deserted, and a single tumbleweed drifted over the scuffed hardwood.
Huh, so that’s where my tumbleweed went, Pinkie thought. “Heya everypony, over here!”
The crowd turned its collective stare to the pink pony. “Thanks for being so patient, I promise that once this party stops, it’ll be a real racket!” The cluster of ponies just stared blankly at her, derailing her confidence like a train falling off of a bridge.
“I Pinkie Promise that you’ll just have to wait a little bit longer. Our guest of honor is having a little episode of ‘I’m too depressed to celebrate my birthday, so I’m just gonna be all mopey-itis’, so I’m gonna go get him out of his funk! Don’t move a muscle, the party shall be here shortly!”
Without so much as a second thought, she spun around and flew out of the shop at impressive speeds, leaving a crowd of thoroughly confused part-goers in her wake. Another wave of harsh, awkward silence fell over the room.
Finally, a pony in the back spoke up. “Could somepony please tell me what’s gotten into that mare this time?”
While Pinkie pie’s antics inspired spirited debate on the origins of her zaniness, Cranky trudged on back towards his home, the only place left to him that really mattered. His ears dragged low against the dirt, and his eyes refused to focus on anything but the ground in front of him.
“Woah, look—is that Cranky Doodle Donkey?”
His ears perked up at the hushed mention of his name.
“Yeah, that’s him. Gosh, I never thought I’d see him around town again,” a second voice chimed in.
Scanning the sidewalks for the source of the voices, Cranky found that the nearby pedestrians had begun to huddle together in packs, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially as they cast shocked glances in his direction.
“First time he’s been out of his house in Celestia knows how long.”
Their words weren’t meant to be heard by him, but they cut at his heart like tiny knives all the same.
“I haven’t seen him since his wife passed.”
He winced. Of all the things those dirty gossipers had to say, they just had to find the one thing that would hit him harder than any other. The odd looks, the demeaning stories recounting his own personal woes being spread throughout the entire town without a second though—he could live with that.
But nopony dared speak ill of Tillie.
The morose look on his face instantly morphed into one of reserved rage. “Fools, all of them. Ignorant, blithering fools with no respect for their elders,” he hissed indignantly. He continued to mutter obscenities at the gossipers, but thankfully they were too absorbed in their own stories to hear him.
By the time his house rose over the horizon, the old donkey was steaming. The veins on his neck throbbed with each new slur that he spat out, and his knees shook not with their normal feeble tremble but with a burning rage that begged to lash out and strike the first pony-shaped object that popped into his vision.
“Ponies... they’re all the same,” he mumbled. “You try and be nice to one, and then they walk all over you like you’re nothing the second you’re down.” He snorted heavily as he slowed to ascend the stairs leading to his porch. “I should have moved while I had the chance and gone to live with my kind.”
As he entered his abode, mechanical nature overtook him, and he immediately moved to the same room he always sat in, and the same books he always looked through. Even his tea from that morning still sat there next to the cushion, though it was undoubtedly cold by now. Finally taking notice of the searing ache in his joins, he eased himself into his pillow and clutched the dusty old book close to him.
“Those ignorant ponies may not understand, but you always will Tillie.” He closed his eyes tightly, willing his mind to sedate him with a memory of his beloved. “You always will.”
Without another word he sucked in a breath and opened the book to the fourth page. He figured he could use a good laugh to help clear his head of the whole debacle, and this was the page that made him laugh softly. That’s what he always did when he looked at this page.
But today, for some odd reason, he didn’t laugh as his eyes brushed over the page. He tried looking again, slower this time to drink in the detail, but it was all to no avail. He was as devoid of emotion as the page was.
A sound came from behind him. The front door creaked open, and the soft pitter-patter of hooves sounded against the floor. “Cranky Doodly Doodly Donkey?”
No no no, not her again. Can’t she take a hint? “Oh...” he wilted, head drooping and cheeks expanding in a long sigh. “it’s just you. Haven’t you ruined enough of my day as it is?” He repositioned his head so that his lips were barely brushing against the faded parchment below him. For a second, he tasted dust and ink. “Don’t worry Tillie, she won’t hurt you this time. She’s not harmful, just stupid.”
“Some of the ponies said that you were in here, and I tried knocking but nopony answered, so I just let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”
That’s funny. Cranky never heard any knocking.
“So yeah, I just came in because you didn’t look very happy about having your own birthday party, but everypony deserves to be happy on their birthday, so I came here to cheer you up!” She smiled. “I’m pretty good at cheering ponies up, you know.”
Cranky took one last, longing glance at the pages before forcing his gaze to meet hers. “Pinkie Pie, do you know how old I am?” Her eyes painted a look of confusion, but instead of asking she just shook her head.
“Fifty two.” He licked his lips, pausing to regain his wind. “Fifty two years old. That’s fifty two ‘Happy Birthday’ parties, fifty two times I’ve had ponies remind me that, surprise surprise, I’m getting another year older. Fifty two.”
His scowl intensified. “Do you know how long most donkeys live?” Again, Pinkie shook her head vigorously. “Forty six years.”
Oblivious as ever, Pinkie Pie just stared ahead like a deer caught in the harsh glow of a spotlight. “But my Mommy always told me that getting old is a good thing. With age comes wisdom, after all.”
“A good thing? A good thing?” Cranky laughed bitterly. “Your Mommy was wrong, kid. Sure, I’ve gotten wiser as I’ve gotten older. But what use is boundless wisdom if I have no one to share it with?”
Passion once again enraptured his heart and mind. He leaned closer to Pinkie, eyes brimming with fire. “Every birthday I celebrate is one year closer to my imminent demise. How am I supposed to enjoy a day that only reminds me of that?”
Pinkie opened her mouth to respond, but her obnoxiously high-pitched voice faltered. “B-but,” she sputtered indignantly, “birthdays are supposed to be happy.” At this point she was nothing more than a broken record, skipping back to that same line of evidence-less opinion. “Maybe... maybe you should try thinking of it as getting a year better, not a year older. “Sure, your knees are all wobbly and you're a little less quick on your hooves, but you still get a whole year's worth of amazing, fascinating wisdom that you can share with all your friends and family.”
She pointed down to the pages in front of Cranky. “Don’t you think that they would want you to be all alone and sad on such a happy day?”
Cranky followed her hoof down to the pages. There, cast in faded sepia-tone and coated by a thick, gleaming wax, rested pictures of several young donkeys smiling joyously into the camera. One in particular, a stout, bulky mule with a rich head of hair, stood with a silly grin plastered on his face as he leaned into a younger, female donkey. Their eyes were locked, and even through the black and white blurring it was clear that they had been locked like that for some time.
Cranky would have responded immediately, but he paused to give the pictures one last once-over, just in case he had missed some minute detail that he hadn’t seen the past hundred times he had looked at the picture. Finally, he tore his eyes away and turned his gaze to the pink pony in front of him.
“I know for a fact that they wouldn’t care,” he rasped. “Do you want to know why?” Pinkie made the mistake of nodding again. “Because they’re all dead!”
Cranky’s sudden shout startled a tiny yelp out of the mare, and she shirked away hastily from the donkey’s outcry. “Now, would you so kindly get out of my house, and leave me alone?”
Perhaps it was the severity of his shout that finally broke Pinkie Pie’s seemingly-steel resolve. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of it, or the dreaded d-word that never failed to put a damper on any party. Maybe it was just the look on Cranky’s face that had “crazy old donkey” emblazoned across it in neon lettering.
Regardless, the pink pony finally realized that the most she would ever do to this stallion was make his throat hoarse from shouting. “Do... do you really feel that way about all that stuff?” Her mane became a balloon, pieced by a needle and deflating fast.
“Yes. I do.”
Any bounce in her step completely died completely, just like her hair. “Oh... alright then. I’m sorry to hear that. Life sure is sad when you don’t have anything to smile about.”
Reaching behind her, she pulled a candyfloss-pink package, wrapped smoothly with the utmost of care and garnished with a thick bow on top the same color as her coat, out from somewhere within her tail. "Here. I was going to give this to you at the party, but I guess you didn’t really want one in the first place."
She placed it next to the photo albums, then took a few furtive steps back. Cranky’s mouth opened to spout an automatic ‘thank you’, but he snapped it shut just as quickly. With aching hooves, he dug into the package. The room filled with the soft sound of crinkling, tearing paper.
Finally through the outer layer, he found a deep purple box, smooth as velvet to the touch. Curious, he popped the single copper clasp and lifted the lid.
“Pinkie Pie...”
Inside the box, swaddled by blood-red lace, sat a gleaming silver pocket watch. Its outermost layer was engraved with dozens of intricately interweaving patterns all threading through the others in one perfectly symmetrical shape.
His hoof no longer trembled from anger, only awe in the workmanship that must have gone into it. Shakily, he popped the piece open, revealing a tiny marvel of sophisticated engineering. Bold, jet black numbers stood out against a background as white as snow. Hundreds of tiny cogs and gears whirred silently on the inside of the piece, moving in harmony to create a single, unchanging tick tick tick.
“This...” Cranky blinked several times, unbelieving that he would be deemed worthy of such a gift. “This is incredible.”
The giver of the gift smiled wearily. "I knew you would like it.”Turning, she shuffled towards the door with her mane dragging low on the floor. “Count the time you have left on that." Cranky didn’t hear her choke back a sniffle and exit the room on wavering hooves—he was too blinded by a snow storm of conflicting emotions to see anything but the old photographs and the gift.
For a split second, all he could hear was the ticking of the watch, its even strokes pounding at his temples like hammers. He saw Tillie, full of youthful exuberance, wearing a face of coy delight. Come on, Doodle, hurry up. We’re going to be late to the party.
Maybe I want to be late to the party.
Heehee...you know Doodle, we’re going to be old one day, and we won’t be able to go to parties like this without having to get wheeled around by a hospice nurse. Can’t we just savor the moment and have fun, or—what do the young folks say now, ‘carpe diem?’
Heh. In that case, I look forward to old age. Heck, I’ll embrace it with limp, saggy arms as long as it gets me out of these ridiculous dog and pony shows.
Oh no, we’re still going to go, no matter how old and senile we may be. We’re just going to look ridiculous with all of our formal attire getting squeezed into a wheelchair.
As long as I’m doing it with you, dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Pupils dilated and heart racing, Cranky stared disbelievingly at the watch. “She would have loved to go to Pinkie Pie’s party...”
Said pony was almost in the main foyer by the time Cranky realized that she had even left the room at all. “P-pinkie—wait.” The sound of her hoofsteps echoing through the empty house halted. “Eugh—gimme a second—Hyur—” Rocking back and forth on wobbling legs, Cranky planted his hooves underneath him and raised himself. Placing Pinkie’s gift gently next to his book, he waddled towards the distraught party pony.
“Matilda...” His milky eyes darted about, as if in a panic. “Matilda used to love parties.”
At the mention of the long-gone spouse, Pinkie’s ears perked up a little. “She loved the formality of the whole thing, dressing up and acting polite, even when she hated the ponies she was speaking to.Usually, she ended up dragging me along with her, whether I wanted to go or not.
“I hated every second of preparing for those awful things, but I always ended up having a great time when we actually got there.” He paused, lungs forcing in much-needed air. “All I had to do was stay by her side, and nothing bad would happen. I swear, it was like her own special brand of magic.”
Silence momentarily overtook the room. The walls blocked the sunlight from entering the room, turning its occupants into shadows. “After she passed, this house got cold... so cold. It used to feel so small, so cozy. It was filled with things—little things, big things, it didn’t matter—it was filled with us, and the things that defined us. Now, it's just as empty as I am. All I have are my photos, and even then, they’re nothing but memories.”
All the talking hurt his throat, and he coughed. “Pinkie, I’m tired of living off of old memories. I want to make new ones, with new people. I want to do things that are worthy of being photographed.”
Silence floated from the walls and overtook the two. After a long second of hesitation, Pinkie Pie mumbled cautiously, “So... what does that mean?”
“It means, Pinkie Pie, that maybe you were right about some things.” He tossed a furtive glance at the room behind him.
“I think that Tillie would like to go to your party, and I would be nothing if not a terrible husband if I didn’t escort her there.”
An explosion of poofy hair and confetti detonated in his face, and he found the mare responsible throwing her arms around him and giggling incoherently. “Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh that’s so awesome you’re gonna be so happy and smile-y it’s gonna be so much fun!” She louder Pinkie squee’d, the harder she squeezed the poor donkey trapped in her embrace.
“Ow—ow, Pinkie, don’t hug me to death, goodness.” He desperately attempted to straighten his wig.
“No time for dying!” The mare suddenly went rigid as her brain switched gears from ‘Grande sad supreme with depression sauce’ to ‘So happy she could explode from pure joy.’ “We have a party to go to!”
“Wait.” Cranky’s plea only barely registered over his companion’s party squeal. “I need to go get something real quick.” Hobbling back into the room as fast as his weakened knees could carry him, he reached down and delicately flipped to page twenty four. That was where he kept his favorite photo of himself and Tillie.
He took a second to admire the ponies as they stared happily back at him, their colorless outlines doing nothing to conceal the pure joy they radiated. One wore a stunning sterling-silver dress, trailing all the way out of the frame; the other, a sleek black tux with a bow tie to boot. They were the picture of happiness.
“Oh Tillie... we’re going to need more photo albums by the time this day is over.” He let the picture ingrain itself into the depths of his memory before reaching up and tucking it into the lining of his wig.
Lurching back into the foyer, he found Pinkie Pie still standing in the same spot, wiggling her hooves impatiently. “Finally,” she breathed. “The party awaits us!” She wasted no time grabbing the old donkey by the hoof and half dragging him towards the door.
“Just no loud music at the party, please,” the aged donkey pleaded. “It gives me terrible headaches.”
“But Doobity Doodle, it can’t be a party without kickin’ dance tun—” Pinkie hushed herself mid-monologue. “Actually, I don’t think a few slow tunes would put a damper on anypony’s party. I’ll be sure to tell the DJ to tone it down a bit.”
Laughter—real laughter—filled the air as the duo shut the creaky door behind them and charted a course for the town’s one-stop party destination.
“So...” Pinkie paused, wanting to keep the jovial atmosphere alive but hesitant to start another potentially dangerous conversation. “what are you gonna do with all those old photos you have stashed in that room or yours? I’m sure they’re real nice, but they’re kinda all, like, not-colored and stuff.”
Cranky rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m afraid that’s more technology’s fault than mine. And as for the photographs...” His eyes clouded in contemplation. “Maybe I’ll put them back in the closet. Maybe I’ll light them on fire then douse them with water.” That remark earned a beet-red blush from Pinkie Pie, still weary of her first encounter with the donkey’s photo albums.
“But really,” he said, sighing, “I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much.” His milky eyes traveled up towards the sky. For some reason, the blue veil above him just seemed a little more vibrant than before.
He smiled. “I think I’ll be making even better memories soon enough.”
Edited by Maskedferret and Dezi94.
Author's Note
Many thanks to the ever-fantastic url= [http://www.fimfiction.net/user/dezi94]Dezi94 for providing the audio file.
