Alastair Equus

Alastair was at that lovely, yet horrible moment, being mostly-asleep, yet knowing he was waking up.

Gah! No! He desperately scrambled for a purchase on his dream, trying to draw himself back into it. Five more minutes!

The world was conspiring against him, however, as he heard the swish of the blinds being drawn open. He grimaced, scrunching his eyes closed even tighter as a beam of sunlight fell straight onto his face.

Alrighty then, where am I? He knew two things for certain; that really hadn’t been some big, elaborate dream he’d had; he’d had some weird ones before, but they’d never contained dreams-within-dreams. Secondly, he wasn’t at the library; he was in a proper bed, not in his usual position on the couch. Alright, recap; Party yesterday, dressed up… everyone vanished. Drank. A lot. Fun times. Then-

Before he could get any further in his investigation, an absurdly chipper female voice broke through his thoughts. “Look who’s awake! Rise and shine!”

“Eeenh…” an unwilling groan was dragged out of the human, as the increasingly annoying voice carried on.

“Ooh, you had quite a nasty bump last night, yes you did! A good thing it was, yes indeed, a good thing that you have such caring friends who brought you here right away! It was nothing serious, mind you, but oh my you certainly looked terrible! It’s what comes from too much drink, I always say, too much indeed…”

Rolling over on his side, he tried to muffle the voice by pulling his pillow on top of his head, but quickly found it taken away-he remedied this by drawing the blankets over his head instead. “Now then deary, I know these beds seem comfortable and all, but the day is moving on! Time waits for no pony, after all! And as nice as it’s been, having such a unique visitor as yourself, we really must make room for other ponies who need taking care of, so up you get!”

“I’ll help!” Alastair had little time to register this new, familiarly brazen voice, before the bed was lifted up on one side, unceremoniously dumping him onto the floor. Finding the floor to be a suitable substitute, he proceeded to draw the blankets around himself tighter, but found them instead ripped away. “Up and at ‘em, lazy bones!”

Fortunately for Rainbow Dash (And, likely, the man himself), Alastair was still in the ‘I’d-rather-be-sleeping’ place, a place where everyone spoke in the archaic grumbling-snorting language, a language only understandable by others in the same state.

“Nonsense! Time to go!”

“Mhph enhd Ah geh ih heh hfpbble?” His language, while still mostly indecipherable, was slowly becoming more modern.

“Don’t you remember last night?” Rainbow Dash cocked her head to the side.

“…nmph. ‘ittle biph. ‘Rinken.”

“Yeah, managed to knock yourself out with a tree, too! Good going!”

Alastair nodded, wearily rubbing a hand over his face. His fingers paused in their journey just past his right eye, before quickly returning. That’s new…

“Oh, you got yourself a lovely little scar there, deary!” The overbearingly cheerful nurse noticed Alastair’s ministrations as she whisked off the old bed-sheets, preparing the vacated bed for a new occupant. “You’re right lucky at that; according to Miss Applejack, the stub that nicked your eye there could easily have taken it all together! Celestia be praised that wasn’t the case though…” She tutted off, leaving the room with her load of laundry, cheerful voice carrying on from down the hallway.

“Come on, you!” Dash grabbed him by an arm, pulling him bodily to his feet. “Twilight said she had some news for you!”

***

“…did I do something wrong?”

Apparently, whatever reaction Twilight was expecting from Alastair, that wasn’t it. “No! Why would you think that?” Her surprise was evident in both her tone, and her expression.

“Well, I’ve never been evicted for doing something right…” Never been evicted at all, actually…

Alastair had been considerably shocked when, upon arriving back at the library, he had essentially been greeted with ‘Welcome back, get out of my house.’ True, it hadn’t been worded quite like that, but as far as Alastair could tell, that’s what it boiled down to.

“But… you asked for it!”

“Why! What did I do?”

“No, you actually asked.”

“When?” He knew his memory was faulty at times, but he was fairly certain he’d remember a conversational as monumental as that!

“Yesterday morning, before Rarity brought over your suit!”

Alastair frantically searched his memory, eyes darting about the ceiling as he did so, but still he drew a blank. He expressed this with a rough shake of his head, followed by a “Nope.” A sudden thought struck him. “Waaait, when exactly did we talk about this?”

Twilight frowned, recalling the information as best she could. “Shortly after the first time I tried to wake you, telling you that breakfast was ready… is something wrong? Headache? …hangover?” Perhaps fearing that the human hadn’t quite fully recovered from the events of the night before, the purple unicorn understandably mistook the rueful human’s facepalm.

“No… I was still asleep.”

“No you weren’t! I was talking to you!”

“Asleep.”

“We talked about it for a good five minutes!”

“Asleep.”

“You were looking right at me the entire time!”

“I. Was. Asleep.” Seeing her unwilling to concede the point, Alastair hurried on before he could be interrupted. “It’s a wonderful habit I’ve developed over the years (completely unconsciously, too – no pun intended). First thing in the morning – (“Afternoon.” Twilight interjected, but Alastair chose to ignore the finer details) – right after someone wakes me, I’m not… necessarily awake. Can carry on conversations as though fully conscious, but nothing sticks. Handy for getting out of chores!” This last was delivered with a roguish grin. “So… yeah, sorry, wasn’t actually awake for that; in all honesty, it had only been a passing thought I’d had; I hate to be a moocher, just bumming off of your kindness.”

An inquisitive gleam entered Twilights eyes halfway through his speech. “Oh, it’s no problem… I’d love to study you sometime.”

Giving her an odd look at how she’d chosen to phrase that, Alastair quipped. “Kinda hard, seeing as how I’m apparently not sleeping here anymore… where is this new place of mine, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s right above Mr. Write’s bookstore! He even has a position available, if you’re interested.”

Alastair wasn’t sure what to say; he’d always imagined himself working in a bookstore one day, but… “Mr. Right? Really?”

“What’s wrong with Leftor’s name?” Twilight frowned.

Alastair could do nothing but facepalm once again. “There… there’s a man here… not only is he Mr. Right, but he’s Leftor Right?”

***

The man behind the desk didn’t look up from his book as the doorbell merrily jangled, signalling Alastair’s entry through the door. Seeing that he was the only other person in the store at the moment, Alastair assumed that the man was, in fact, Mr. Write.

The human took a few moments to examine his surroundings; it was a small store, with only three rooms that he could see, each at most the size of his bedroom back home. While it may have been small, the owner used every inch of it that he could; the walls were lined with shelves, all packed full of books, loosely labeled first under category, and then under the first letter of the authors last name. The floor space had been split into aisles, divided by shorter, waist-high shelves, which had more books, book-ends, and other knickknacks covering the tops. What parts of the wall that weren’t covered by the shelves where a faded blue, the slightly grimy colour demonstrating just how long the store had been in business. A quick glance at the floor showed it to be hardwood, although the majority was covered with worn, Persian-looking rugs; even with just this quick glance, Alastair already felt comfortable here, as he tended to when around books.

The cursory inspection of the room complete, Alastair turned his attention to the man behind the desk, who had still as of yet to look up from his book.

The horn spiraling from the man’s forehead clearly showed him to be a unicorn (Or at least, this places’ version of the creatures. Alastair still found it surprising from time to time how human these supposedly-equines looked). His hair, while thinning, was still mainly black, with only a few streaks of silver showing through, enough to give him a dignified look; it went well with the rest of his attire. His grey-furred body was covered by what Alastair had always assumed stuffy English university professors would wear; brown tweed pants, a white dress shirt, a brown-and-yellow plaid vest (Awfully clashing combination, a voice that sounded oddly like Rarity’s floated through Al’s head), all covered by a corduroy jacket, which even had those leather pads on the elbows.

Standing awkwardly in front of the desk for several minutes, Alastair eventually let out a forced cough. “Yes, I know you’re there…” the man before him murmured as he slowly flipped over the page. After several more seconds, he nodded slightly, slipping a bookmark into place before closing the book, and setting it carefully on the counter. Eyeing the human in turn, he finally gave Al a blank look. “So, you’re the new tenant?”

“Yes?” Alastair tentatively returned; he’d been expecting more of a ‘oh, you’re different!’ reaction, but then again, there had been a party in his favour the night before; maybe he’d be less of a shock to everyone here.

“Follow me.” His host edged his way out from behind the counter, making his way towards the front door. “Ever deal with books before?” He asked, flipping the stores’ sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’.

“Had a couple of bookshelves back home full of them…”

“Work related?”

“No,” Alastair replied, shaking his head. “Closest I got was delivering newspapers.” He’d applied at a couple of stores, but they hadn’t been hiring at the time; information he doubted Mr. Write would be interested in.

The shop owner pursed his lips, nodding as he made his way towards the back room. “Cashier experience?” He asked, not bothering to look behind him to see if Al was following.

Alastair nodded, then, realizing that the man in front of him couldn’t actually see that, replied verbally. “Yes; five years at a grocery store... and two months at a… coffee shop.” He had a sneaking suspicion as to where this conversation was headed, but-

“Interested in a job?” Ok, sneaking suspicion confirmed.

“Just like that?”

Mr. Write sighed as he stopped, hand resting on the backdoor knob. He spoke calmly and slowly, as though he were explaining something to a child. “I can’t very well ask for your work references, now can I? The previous tenant was also an employee; the room comes with the position. And when two of my best customers vouch for you, well…” He rolled a slow shrug, pushing the door open. “Doesn’t hurt that one of them is the Princess’s prized pupil, either.”

The question of the job being settled, Mr. Write gave Alastair the tour of his new home; up the back stairwell was the small apartment, built close so that any ne’er-do-wells would think twice about targeting the store. The apartment itself was relatively small, almost mirroring the layout of the premises below. The main room served as a combination entrance-hall/living-room, with a couch pushed up against one wall, a chair against another, small coffee-table in the middle, and a fireplace opposite the couch. A low wall served to provide a divider between this room and the kitchen; a window looking out over the front walkway lined most of the wall, providing a view for a person standing in front of either the sink, main counter, or stove. A fridge finished off the utilities of the room, with a couple of stools pushed up against the low wall; presumably, it was designed to be used in lieu of a proper kitchen table.

The last room (two, if the add-on bathroom was counted) was the bedroom; a rather simple fare, with only a single-person bed in a corner, a nightstand next to it, an empty closet next to a similarly empty bookshelf on the opposite wall, next to the doorway to the small washroom. The fourth wall was again dominated by a window; due to Mr. Write’s bookstore being close to the edge of town, the view was next to unobstructed, only a couple of single story buildings blocking the panoramic setting. Walking up to the desk in front of the window, Alastair looked out, seeing a large amount of grassland, with what was quite recognizably Sweet Apple Acres off in the distance. He felt an odd stirring inside him, almost as though there was a weight pulling him down; the view out this window was disturbingly similar to that out of the kitchen in his old-old house, the one his family had owned before they’d moved, almost a decade ago.

“’s perfect.” He managed to force out, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strained. “How much is rent?”

“Taken out of your paycheque.” Ah, that explains why he was so curious as to whether I’d take the job. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”

Alastair looked down, glancing at the bag Twilight had loaned him. In it, and on himself, were all his worldly possessions. Lots of settling to do.

Still, he made the best of his time. He placed his toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and deodorant (all courtesy of Rarity) next to the sink in the washroom, hung up his spare change of clothes in the closet, and placed his single book on the bookshelf, angled so that it wouldn’t fall over. Next, he tossed his IPod onto the bedside table (still at nearly three-quarter charge; he hadn’t used it at all since arriving in Equestria), while in one of the drawers of the table in front of the window he deposited his collapsible telescope, pencils, pen, and notebooks. Pausing pensively, he tucked the pen back into one of his inner pockets, while placing his larger, leather-bound notebook back into his largest inner pocket; it was always a tight squeeze, but it fit.

It was as he was putting his book back into his pocket that he froze; even though he knew he couldn’t see it without moving his head, his eyes slowly tracked to the left, towards the direction of the door. He could have sworn he heard a sound… almost like… someone raiding his fridge? Cautiously drawing his throwing knife from its make-shift sheath of his journal, Alastair balanced on the balls of his feet, silently spinning, staying as quiet as possible. He paused for several more seconds, but still heard nothing. As stealthily as he could, he made his way towards the doorway of his new room, cursing his ankle joints every few seconds as they insisted on cracking. Damn this body of mine, why is it always at its loudest when I want to be quiet? Warily edging his head out the doorway, he quickly scanned the rooms; thanks to the low wall, he could see easily into the kitchen, where there was nobody; the window above the sink, however, was open, the curtains blowing merrily in the breeze.

Alastair chuckled as the wind blew on the window again, causing the outward-swinging portion (What’s that part even called? He mused, before shrugging it off) to bang shut. Tucking the weapon back into its place, he strode over to the offending orifice, firmly latching it shut. Nerves already getting the better of me! He once again paused, pensive. Nodding, he made his way back to the bedroom, where he lifted the mattress with one hand, while with the other he once more withdrew his knife, depositing it beneath. Don’t want to be too trigger happy, now!

A faint pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since… well, he wasn’t entire too sure of what had happened at the hospital, but he’d eaten nothing since the party that he could remember; even then, it had mainly been small party-treats, nothing filling. Out of reflex, he headed towards the kitchen, and only as he was pulling open the fridge did he wonder if there would even be anything there.

What he saw shocked him immensely, however; had there been anything left from the previous tenant, he imagined it would likely be slim pickings, at most; perhaps a few apples and oranges, maybe an old head of lettuce on the verge of going bad… instead, the entire cavity was almost empty, shining a stark white from the light bulbs glare. The only item currently in the fridge was sitting proudly on a plate, in the middle of the top shelf, waiting for all of the world to see it.

A chicken leg.

Alastair just stood, staring at the offending object. How… what… but they… Cautiously, he reached out a finger, giving the item a quick poke. Yes, it’s definitely there, I’m NOT hallucinating… Curious, now, he picked it up. Immediately, he felt something was off about it; the texture was… definitely not chicken-like, but instead…

His face went blank as he realized what it was. A smirk drawing up the corner of his mouth, he gave the drumstick a light squeeze.

‘Ke-keeeeee…!’ the chew-toy squealed under the light pressure.

Nodding slowly, Alastair was about to put the item back on the plate, when he noticed a folded piece of paper that had been hiding under it. Curious, he picked it up, unfolding it with one hand.

‘Nice digs you got here, Al! Enjoy the food!

~R. D.’

He pursed his lips, slowly nodding once more. Should have known…

***

After a whirlwind tour of the shop (‘Fantasy books in this room, alphabetical by authors last name, fiction here, same deal, history, astronomy, science, magic, maps…’) and payment-system (‘Small paper back, buy for two bits, sell for three, large, buy for three, sell for five, hardcover, buy for…) Alastair soon found himself alone, in charge of the shop. He stood behind the counter for several long moments, eyes wide, darting about the shop. What the heck just happened?

***

One hour and no customers later found Alastair wandering slowly about the store, trying to orient himself more to the place, getting the specific sections burned into his memory; a task that would undoubtedly be for naught within five minutes of its completion.

He turned around excitedly at the sound of the stores bell jingling merrily. Finally, business! …crap, what do I do?!

***

Another hour and a quasi-customer later (Lyra had only made the smallest attempts of pretending to be looking for a book; she’d asked questions like “Where would I find a book on human cultures?” or “If I were interested in human politics, what book would you suggest?”, or his personal favourite, “Do you have any maps of the area where you used to live?”) found Alastair once more wandering about the shop, head tilted to side as he read the spines of the books, wondering if any would be of interest to him; he’d been through fantasy, his normal haunt back home, but found it to be what he was used to thinking of as fiction; instead, HIS fantasy was located in Ponyville’s bookstore’s fiction-and-non-fiction sections. Reminding himself of that was already giving him a headache.

***

A half-hour and a terrible kink in the neck later found Alastair once more sitting behind the front desk, idly twirling his pen amongst his fingers as he tried to think what else to write in his open journal before him. Can see what Twilight meant about not many people visiting the library…

***

Yet another hour and still no customers later found Alastair tilted back in a chair, his feet crossed on the desk, a book spread across his face. He vaguely remembered trying to read it, but found he couldn’t get into it. Odd, I normally love books… There had been several ‘browsers’, but none of them had actually bought anything, or stayed long, for that matter.

…There had been a couple more gawkers, as well.

His head shot up as the bell by the door once again jingled. Turning to look at the mirror he’d positioned on a nearby bookshelf, he smiled as he recognized the stores latest patron. Quickly picking the book back up from where it had fallen onto his lap, he placed it back on his face, resuming his ‘dozing’ posture.

He focussed on keeping his breathing regular; Deep breath in… and out… and in… and STOP SMILING! Alastair was very thankful for the book covering his traitorous cheeks.

Listening carefully, he heard Rainbow Dash’s muffled footsteps as they entered the store, slowly making their way around the bookshelves. “Al?”

He replied with a snort, before returning to his meditative breathing.

His grin spread wider as he heard muffled laughter. Aaaand… go! “Mmmm…” he let out a low moan, struggling not to laugh as he heard his friends own laughter increase. “Dashie, yes… don’t stop!…”
And then the room went silent.

Oh god, this is too much… He let out a small chuckle of his own as he let his head fall forward, once more depositing the book in his lap. “Gotcha!”

He burst out in a fit of laughter at the expression on the blue Pegasi’s face. “And you said I was easy to get!”
Giving her head a quick shake, she leveled a glare at the bemused human. “…nice one, did I interrupt your nap?” she begrudgingly retorted.

“Hey, ‘s payback for the chicken! And naw, just love the smell of old books.” Laughter wearing down, he ruefully shook his head, continuously ignoring the glare. “So, what can I do you for?”

“Sounds like something AJ would ask... anyway, got any new ‘Daring Doo’ books?”

“Who-dee-who?” Despite his earlier wanderings, Alastair had no clue where any book by that name (or author?) was located… or, for that matter, what section it would even be in.

“Aw, come on, man! You work here; you’ve got to have heard of her! The most awesome, most amazing, most adventurous explorer out there! Always finding hidden treasures, lost temples, ancient civilizations…”

“Really now? Sounds like the love-child of Indiana Jones and Tomb Raider… Famous characters… back home… movies, games… archaeologists…” His attempts to describe them petered out under Rainbows’ confused scrutiny. “ANYWAY! Where would she be, fiction or biography?”

***

Alastair hummed happily to himself as he flipped the stores sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Despite what most would have called the days ‘frustrating’ lack of customers, Alastair had actually enjoyed his first day on the job. He tended to prefer the slow lulls, as they gave him more time to sort out any and every thought he had.

Rainbow Dash had been the last (and only) customer in the store; after talking for a while, comparing adventurers’ stories, she’d finally purchased a book (“Awesome, first customer!” “Really?”), she’d departed, with a merry promise to get revenge.”

Shaking his head, he cautiously stepped out the front door, locking it behind himself. Although there was no-one on the street, he was still nervous of being out in public. Well mate, you gotta get out there sooner or later!

YOU! Where have you been? But alas, Slick once more went silent.

After trying to glare up into his skull, Alastair shot a quick glance at his watch. Quarter after 5… might as well have a quick walk about. Steeling himself, he headed towards the main square.

The closer he got to the main thoroughfare, the more citizens there were, milling about as most of the store shut down. Despite the humans worries, none of them seemed too perturbed by his appearance; true, there were a few stares, and aside from three women (sisters?) who looked like they were about to go into shock, no-one had yet to go running off screaming “Monster! The horror, the horror!”

On a whim, Alastair decided to go back to the site of the previous night’s party; the park.

As shocked as he had been to discover that his partying friend could whip up such an event in less than a day, he was even more shocked to find that there was little trace left of the village-wide soiree from the previous night; he’d been expecting perhaps clean-up crews, or the occasional dropped cup, but the only signs of the large-scale activities were the trampled grass and slushy, muddy puddles.

It was near one of these puddles that Alastair paused, head cocked to the side. That’s odd… either a giant mosquito, or a tiny motor boat…

A quick glance around was all that saved him from being driven over by a familiar orange Pegasus filly on a bright red scooter; however, it wasn’t enough to save him from being caught in the wave of mud thrown up by the scooters passing. “Sorry! Gotta run!” The little filly in question shouted over her shoulder, barely slowing as she sped down the path.

A soaking wet human was left, glowering after the retreating filly through a haze of mud. It was just an accident… just an accident… I’ve done worse to myself before… Fuming silently, he spun on his heel, doing his best not to so much storm back to his new apartment, as to get there in a dignified manner. As dignified as he could, covered in mud.

He paused upon returning to his abode, catching his first glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. ‘s not SO bad… it’s just mud, and she’s just a kid, after all… a’right, but just this once!

Nodding to his reflection as though he’d made a significant agreement with himself, he hastily stripped off his soiled clothes, washing them as best he could in the sink. Not as good as a proper washer and dryer, but it’ll do in a cinch!

Carefully poking his head out the bathroom doorway, he quickly streaked across his apartment, laying out his clothes on the still-sun-drenched kitchen counter before retreating back to the bathroom.

Alastair sighed as he in turn stepped under the warm spray of the shower, feeling most of his aches slough away the layers of mud; he idly stretched his neck over to the side, trying in vain to ease the last tension in his neck. Finding this unsuccessful, he nevertheless enjoyed soaking in the warmth of the water.

Once he felt himself thoroughly cleansed, Alastair reluctantly shut off the tap, cutting off the relaxing flow of water. After a brisk dry-off, the cinched his towel around his waist, once again exiting to the kitchen. He frowned when, upon pulling his jeans back on, he found the cuffs settling several inches above his ankles. They can’t have shrunk that much from my washing, could they? His concern was both alleviated and doubled when he attempted to get his slightly-damp shirt back on. What the…? He struggled with the sleeves for a couple more seconds before ceasing his attempts, realizing that that the ends were sewn shut. But who…? He facepalmed at even needing to think that question. Dashie.

***

“Coming!” Rarity sang from inside the Boutique. She gasped when, upon unlocking the door to her boutique, she saw her visitor. “Alastair, darling, whatever happened to you?”

“Long story.” The grumpy human grumbled. “Can you help?”

“Oh, most certainly, dear! Do come in!” Alastair acquiesced, and was soon standing awkwardly as Rarity tut-ed her way around him, eyeing the damage. “Dear dear dear, what have you been doing in these clothes? Who hemmed those pants? And your shirt! Did you take a hacksaw to it? We’ll have to get you out of it right away!”

Feeling more awkward than ever, he grudgingly unbuttoned his shirt, handing it over to the seamstress before quickly wrapping his arms around his middle. Despite what he’d told Applejack on his second day in Ponyville, he hadn’t actually played any sports in years; had their short run been any longer, she would undoubtedly have left him in the dust in short order. Years of an inactive lifestyle had left him more than a little self-conscious about his body image; despite what many people back home had said (such as calling him a ‘twig’, ‘stick’, and thin enough that a mere hug would give them a paper-cut), he was convinced he was developing a slight paunch.

None of this seemed apparent to Rarity, however, as she whisked away his garment, muttering to herself as she looked it over in closer detail. “Oh, and I’ll need your pants as well.”

“Yu-huh, not happening.”

“Oh, not out here, of course! Into the dressing room with you!”

Right, should have thought of that… Once in the semi-seclusion of the tiny room, he immediately felt more comfortable; all in all, it wasn’t too different from clothes shopping back home. In short order, his pants had also been whisked away, leaving him standing, only shivering slightly. “How long should this take?” He inquired, poking his head around the door.

“Oh, no longer than an hour or two!” The white unicorn flashed him a dazzling smile over her shoulder before turning back to the project in front of her.

“An-what?” Why didn’t I bring that suit, too? Alastair fumed at his short-sightedness. Well, hindsight is 20/20, as they say… “Well, do you have anything roughly my size that I could put on while I wait?”

“Oh, of course! Did I…? Oh, I didn’t, did I?” Wondering briefly what she was muttering about, Alastair noticed a glow appear around his friend’s horn, shortly followed by a rack of clothes clattering up next to the changing room. “Just a few ensembles I whipped up in my spare time for you, darling!”

Trying desperately to ignore the way she fluttered her eyes at him, he quickly grabbed the first set of clothes off the rack, disappearing once more into the fitting room.

He was doubly shocked when he regarded himself in the mirror, garbed in his new attire; firstly, how well they fit him; he wasn’t sure why he was surprised, for after all, this was Rarity’s work. Secondly, however, was how well it fit him; If only I had my bandana and a gold ‘Peace’ necklace, I’d look like I was right out of the 70’s! The decade of happiness, parties, and rock and roll were always one that he wished he’d been born in. The shirt had a nice smooth feel to it, with a wide collar; essentially impossible to fashionably wear a tie with it without looking ridiculous, let alone have all the buttons done up; a fact that Alastair was particularly happy about. The sleeves were loose but comfortable, making them easy to roll up, as he preferred. The jeans in particular he was pleased with; Bellbottoms! I’ve been looking for a pair like these EVERYWHERE! The only problem that he could find with the set was but a minor one; the shirt was pink. Not a colour I’m particularly fond of, but oh well! Still looks awesome!

After one final twirl in front of the mirror, he happily exited the confines of the changing room. “This looks amazing, Rarity! Thanks! How much’ll I owe you?”

“Oh, think nothing of it, darling!” Rarity turned away from her project (It’s just a simple stitching un-do-al, it shouldn’t take this long!) to give Alastair an examination. “Oh, I’m so glad it worked out as spectacularly as it did! You look absolutely smashing! And let us speak no more on expenses; think of it as a gift from your friends! This way, you’ll always have a bit of us to remember us by!”

“Well, I’m not planning on going anywhere just yet! …wa-ait a second… A bit of…?” Alastair slowly looked over his shoulder, eyeing the rack of clothes still resting by the fitting room door. A smile slowly crossed his face as he took in the array for the first time; including the one he was currently wearing, there were a total of six; his pink one from a party era, a decidedly orange-and-yellow plaid short-sleeved work shirt with a pair of sturdy jeans, as well as a predominantly light, sporty blue tank-top with red, orange, and yellow bordering, paired with a darker blue-and-purple pair of running shorts. Next to the sports gear rested a buttercup-yellow button-up shirt, a slightly similar style to his pink one, but more toned-down. A light-brown faux leather jacket rested on top of the shirt, oddly enough with pink butterfly’s for the buttons, both for the jacket and the outer pockets, paired off with a set of beige slacks. The final two articles were decidedly higher-fashioned than the rest; the first was a semi-casual ensemble, consisting of a light purple button-up shirt (one likely meant to be worn with a tie, to Alastair’s consternation), overlaid by a predominantly white, diamond-patterned sweater vest, the diamonds alternating between a light-ish pink, and a darker purple. The final piece was obviously the crown of the elaborate cloth-bound crown; a formal, jet-black three piece pinstripe suit, partially concealing a deep, royal purple button-up shirt, with a white tie draped around the neck; closer inspection showed the tie to be bearing a peculiar three diamond setting, the shapes in a light baby blue on the forefront of the piece.

Alastair nodded, admiring the collection in front of him. Always have a bit of them close to me, indeed! “Clever girl!” He winced, internally smacking himself about the head. Really?

“Why thank you! Now, honestly; whatever happened to your prior attire?”

“We-ell…”Alastair deliberated, thinking of a way to word it without condemning innocent parties. “I couldn’t say for certain, but I have my strong suspicions. It started with an accident in the park, where…“ Blast my infernal memory for names! He theatrically waved a hand through the air, as though the motions would stir it from his memory. “Little… filly, one of the Crusaders, orange, Pegasus…”

“Oh, Scootaloo? Yes, that little dear can be quite the trouble maker, can’t she? She takes after our dear Rainbow in that aspect, as well as many others…”

“Wait, she knows Dashie?” Another mental smack followed this question. Of course she does, EVERYONE knows Dash!

“Why of course, dear! Rainbow is her role model, after all! She even founded her fan club! She’d probably do anything Rainbow asked of her.”

“You don’t say…” Okay, less-than-innocent-parties, then! “Well, one way or another, she splashed me with a mud-puddle; I washed that out as best I could-“

“Not very well at that!” Alastair highly doubted that he was meant to hear that last muttered statement, so carried on as though he hadn’t. “And I’m assuming that our dear friend Dash did the stitching while I was in the shower.

At this point Rarity froze, slowly raising her eyes to stare right at Alastair. “Do you know this for certain?”

Bobbing his head from side to side for a moment, Alastair slowly nodded. “Almost positive.”

“In that case, I’ve changed my mind; you can pay me back for those clothes.” Alastair momentarily felt an eye twitch; Uh-oh… what did I do? How many weeks of pay will I need?

Not too many, as it would turn out; “Get her back. Get her back good.” She stomped her hoof to emphasize this last point before spinning around, turning back to Al’s ruined clothing, hissing under her breath. “Chimmy Cherry Changa’s indeed!”

Alastair felt a wry grin slowly grow across his face. I’ve got me an ally in this war! “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas, one of which could use a lady of your… skills.” He was particularly joyed to see a familiar gleam in the unicorns’ eye as she turned once more to look at him.