Mask, Cape, and Cowl

1

Snow Storm’s eyelids fluttered open, disturbed by the gentle rays of the sun penetrating through thin curtains hanging in front of a nearby window. She sat up slowly, stretching her forelimbs with a silent yawn, delicately rubbing her eyes to cleanse the gook from them.

The earth pony rolled herself unceremoniously off of the mattress, making sure to tidy up the bed before sleepily trotting off into her apartment’s bathroom to commence her morning rituals.

After treating her teeth to a quick brushing, Snow Storm moved into her shower, revelling in the dissipation of tension from her muscles thanks to the warm water trickling down her smaller body and dampening her coat into an off-white color. Her spirits lifted with the steam of the warm water, and soon enough a bright grin had cemented itself on her face. She might have even sung a song, had she a voice to sing with. Unfortunately, a cruel twist of fate and the loss of her dear brother had stricken her mute years ago.

And what a day it was going to be - her class had a difficult test today, and she had to be prepared to face it. She smiled into the mirror as she fixed her mane into more manageable strands.

Afterward, with her saddlebag packed, Snow Storm trotted out of her apartment and eventually outside, heading toward her first stop of the day.

2

The bell sitting on the fruit stand rang out as a hoof gently touched it, notifying its owner that a customer had arrived. The not-quite-yellow stallion behind the stand snapped his eyes open. A lock of his lime-green mane fluttered down to in front of his eyes, which he quickly raked back with annoyance. A bright smile gradually lit Mosely Orange’s face as he completely brought his head up from his nap, carefully considering the pony standing before him.

“Good morning there, Lady Snow. I bet I know what you’re here for.” His grin turned cheeky as he brought up a nondescript paper bag. “A nice, plump, juicy orange. Right?”

Her smile never left her face as she shook her head in denial, giving the stallion an eyeroll for good measure. It was a game these two have had ever since she was knee-high to her brother - Mr. Orange had for the life of him tried to get her to eat one of his famous, and presumably delicious, oranges. But she had a singular taste for one thing from his fruit stand, and one thing only.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, her brother had told her countless times. She had clung to every word he uttered as she grew up with him, and that one simple rhyme had stuck to her mind. Besides, nothing beat a good, juicy apple for breakfast.

“Ah, I will have you in my orangey clutches one of these days, Snowy,” Mosely Orange declared as he removed the fruit from the bag, revealing it to be an apple all along. “You are fortunate my niece likes to send so many. You just may starve without these.” He gave her a small wink, accept the three bits she had procured. In return, she brought her hoof up to her mouth, gesturing her laughter for him.

“You best run along now, young lady,” he admonished playfully after finishing his own round of chortling. “I’m quite aware your class does not appreciate tardiness.” As she nodded and turned away to trot for the door, Mosely Orange ever-so-slyly dropped another apple into her saddlebag, satisfied the young mare had not noticed his action.

Snow Storm, however, grinned as she munched on her first apple, instantly feeling the slight shift in weight as another, this time free, apple had dropped into her right saddlebag. She would have turned around and given the older stallion a hug of gratitude, but he had been right.

Her class awaited.

3

Snow Storm’s heels clicked against the cobblestone street as she gaily trotted. All around her, ponies greeted her with a cheery ‘good morning’ or a bright smile - it was what she considered the ‘good part’ of Manehatten, the part where a colt always guided an elderly dam across the street; the part where that didn’t matter because the carriages would always stop and wait for any pedestrians to cross anyway; the part where, in short, everypony treated each other with dignity and kindness, and no one locked their doors at night.

Snow Storm only wished she could’ve responded with more than just a smile or a wave. She could recall a time, vaguely, when she did have a voice. But times had changed, and her voice had disappeared one terrible night.

She had given an honest effort to speaking again after she had lost her big brother, but no matter how hard she tried, no sound would come out. After a while, she found she stopped minding altogether - everypony became accustomed to her own body language, and she always kept a notepad and pencil in her saddlebags just in case. One of the many life skills Frost Storm had imparted unto her was the ability to write. He had taught her a lot of things; he had even been her primary caregiver and tutor. They were always too poor for proper schooling, so Frost Storm had taken it upon himself to teach her everything he possibly could.

That trail of thought slowly led to her parents, a trail that never failed to ignite a small spark of anger. They had abandoned her and Frost Storm when she was barely a month old, forcing the young colt to care for her by himself. She knew because Frosty had told her when she was old enough to comprehend it. At that time, she didn’t care. She only knew that Frosty was there and they weren’t, and that had been enough for her.

But the years went on, and she began to think on it more and more - especially after losing him. She would ask herself why somepony would do that, or how could they in the first place. A deep part of her even blamed them for Frosty’s death - if they had just been there, he wouldn’t be gone.

Snow Storm’s trot down the street was suddenly interrupted when it felt like she had run into a brick wall. At first, she didn’t realize she had collided with another pony until they had both sprawled to the ground. Snow Storm heard a disgruntled “Oof!” even as she toppled over on the side of her weighted saddlebag. She grasped the outstretched tan forelimb that was offered to her, allowing herself to be pulled up back onto her feet.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I just wasn’t paying attention,” the strange pegasus said, a worried frown creasing her face.

Snow Storm smiled sweetly up at the mare -- for the pegasus stood no less than half-a-foot taller -- and shrugged her shoulders with nonchalance. Snow Storm tilted her head quizzically and sat down on her haunches, first pointing a hoof at the pegasus and then sweeping her foreleg in the air, as if to encompass the whole city. All the while, her eyes sparkled with unspoken questions.

“Uhh...” Snow Storm saw the stranger’s ears flop in ashamed misunderstanding. “I’m sorry...?”

Snow Storm held a hoof up, telling the stranger to simply wait a moment. Then she proceeded to rummage through her saddlebag with practiced precision, instantly pulling out a notebook with only a few remaining sheets of paper left, and a brand new, perfectly sharpened pencil. Pencil in mouth, Snow Storm quickly scribbled a note onto the paper and twisted the notebook around for the mare to read.

“Are you new to Manehatten?”  the note asked.

“Oh, yes. Yes I am. Excuse me for being rude, but I take it you are...?”

As if reading the stranger’s mind, Snow Storm nodded and tapped her own throat, confirming that she was indeed completely mute.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The pegasus winced at her own choice of words, but Snow Storm merely gave her an amused silent giggle before writing on the notebook again.

“It is okay,” the pegasus read aloud after the note had been finished, “I am used to it. My name is Snow Storm, by the way.”

“Delilah,” the tan mare said, extending her hoof out to give Snow Storm a proper hoofshake. “You must be the ‘Master Storm’ that Aureate Leaf mentioned earlier.”

Snow Storm tried to hide her surprise upon hearing her student’s name. The Leafs, hrm? A lump had suddenly formed in her throat. Something felt... off. You are just being silly, Snowy. They are a prolific family, after all. Nevertheless, she quickly wrote onto her convenient notepad. “I must go. It was nice to meet you, Delilah.”

“You, too,” she heard Delilah say as she stood up and trotted away to her class.

4

Snow Storm wrote a simple ‘good afternoon’ on the chalkboard, turning around to favor each of her students with a bright smile.

“Good afternoon, Master Storm,” they replied, their voices melding into a single, cacophonous drone. Students from mere foal years up to adulthood had formed into their typical double-file line and stood at ten abreast, all of them comfortably in their training gear and eagerly awaiting the day’s test.

She beamed at them all, knowing this was a day they’ve been anticipating for some time. It had come to the point where her pupils could put all that they had learned to practical use.

In short, it was finally time to spar.

Some of the students had been in fights long before they ever attended Snow Storm’s Dojo, of course. One such example was the adolescent stallion everyone referred to as ‘Southpaw’. The mute teacher grinned impishly as she watched Southpaw automatically partner up with Aureate Leaf, remembering with some fondness how she had come across him only a couple of years ago.

Southpaw had challenged Snow Storm, declaring that he could easily take her down for being both a mare and physically petite. He had snarled when she merely mimicked laughing at his so-called threats, and he lunged when she had turned back to face the chalkboard. In a flash, she had stuck out a rear leg, landing the adolescent in the gut. Before he knew what was happening, she had flipped him over onto his stomach and sat squarely on his back, bowing as the class was first stunned and then applauded, themselves not quite believing in her abilities to teach them all self-defense until they saw the unplanned demonstration for themselves.

That was all it had taken to turn the youth from an aggressive punk into a fine, upstanding gentlecolt. Even better, Southpaw had met a mare in the Dojo, falling head-over-hooves for the lovely Aureate Leaf. She had been the final factor in determining his complete reversal into a true gentlecolt.

Snow Storm decided it was time for the test to begin. She cast a quick glance at the clock and smiled. Four o’clock, giving them two whole hours for her class to spar with themselves. Perfect.

“Alright, class,” she felt their eyes turn toward the chalkboard as she wrote upon it. “Gear up.”

During their collective ‘test’, Snow Storm walked around the room, closely observing the multiple pairs of students as they fought, first carefully and then with much more aggressively as their confidence built.

Snow Storm quietly moved over to watch one of her younger students, Side Swipe, noting with pride he didn’t at all seem phased by his instructor’s presence, and instead focused wholly on his opponent. He had partnered up with a copper-red, blonde maned farm-filly his own age named Haymaker. Their teacher smiled as she watched them trade blows, thinking about the mutual crush the foals had developed for each other.

With Haymaker living on a large farm just outside of Manehatten, and being homeschooled so she would have more time to help with the family’s alfalfa business, the only opportunity these two had to see each other freely was Snow Storm’s class.

Snow Storm blinked as she watched them closer. Haymaker had taken the offensive, swiping and jabbing at her opponent. Side Swipe ducked and wove, anticipating every attack. It was almost as if they were a couple entranced in a dance.

Side Swipe was agile, Snow Storm observed, but Haymaker was a smart fighter. The colt hopped aside from another of her attacks, seeing too late that it had just been a simple feint and was hit squarely in his vest, offering the filly a slight grunt from her surprisingly strong blow.

“Oh no, did I hurt you!?” Haymaker asked, sitting down for a moment and wiping what seemed like an ocean of sweat from her brow.

“Naw,” Side Swipe answered, doing the same as he smiled at her. “It was a good hit. You’re really strong,” he complimented, not knowing what else to say and just wanting to hear her squeaky voice.

“Yeah, it’s probably all that hay I help lift...” Haymaker twisted her hoof back and forth into the mat, focusing all of her will into not blushing. By that point, Snow Storm had drifted off to let the two foals live in their own little world, martial arts forgotten for only a moment as they both caught their second winds.

As the last hour marched on, some of the students decided to call it quits early, which was perfectly fine by their teacher. Everypony had their limits, and it was not the right time yet for her to push them beyond.

By class’s end, all of the students were coated with an extra layer of sweat, each huffing heavily in between fits of jovial laughter. A few even showed off the bruises they had acquired through a mistimed attack or dodging to the wrong place at the wrong time.

One by one they filed out of the Dojo, with Snow Storm exiting last. She took a deep breath of fresh air, and quietly suspected all of her students had done the same. By the end, the Dojo had reeked of sweat and hard work, and the students fulfilled their final duty of the day by cleaning out the room, giving it a pristine shine and preparing it for the next day’s lessons.

Mosely Orange’s stand was closed for the night as Snow Storm passed by it on her way back home. The pure-white mare trotted toward her home with the sun to her back, thinking about her students. She thought about how their day was complete and they could relax comfortably at home, spending precious quality time with their families and simply enjoying life.

And she thought about how her own day had only just begun.

5

Snow Storm shut the door to her apartment with her rear leg, breathing a deep sigh as she turned around to re-lock it. Despite living in the better part of Manehatten where one could sleep soundly at night, she would keep her living quarters locked whenever possible. After all, Snow Storm had a secret, and she couldn’t afford anypony learning of it.

She slipped out of her training clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin as she took a fast shower, washing away the day’s sweat and preparing for tonight’s. There was no cheery overtone in the shower this time, however. She barely noticed the warm water hitting her this time, simply staring at the wetted shower floor.

After a quick drying, Snow Storm’s heart pounded almost audibly against her chest as she made her way over to the large oak dresser she had placed across from her bed, opening the bottom drawer to reveal a seemingly-untidy mountain of clothes. She dug her hooves into the mess of unused clothes, and found both items that she had buried in the far corner of the drawer, as she had always done and always will do. If anypony were to discover what she had kept hidden, it would spell the end for her.

She stared down at the deep-blue mask she clutched in her forelimbs, seeing her reflection in the silver, expressionless eyes. Her legs shook harder with a combination of fear and anger the longer she held the soft, stretching fabric. It was another of her strange rituals she went through, and this one was unpleasant. Her breathing became heavy, her teeth grinding as she glanced over to her side, eyes falling upon her favorite picture she possessed of herself and Frost Storm.

That picture alone was enough to snap her out of her trance. She blinked at the mask, her hooves now trembling furiously as she fully remembered the why of what she did every single night. She did it so that no other foal would go through what she had gone through. So that no other foal would have to unnecessarily experience the unfathomable pain of loss; especially by the malicious hooves of a stupid thug.

She slipped into the costume, skin tingling as the stretching, breathable fabric contorted to her physique with the utmost comfort. She pulled at the front of the neck, kissing Frost Storm’s face on the picture before securely sliding it into her suit. One of the modifications she had made to the costume was a small pocket where she could keep the photo right above her heart, so that Frosty would always be there with her, always ready to protect her like he had done on that fateful night.

After that came the bad part. She scowled at the innocuous leather saddlebag sitting on her bed, like a foal would detest cold medicine even while being sick. But like the medicine, this was absolutely necessary. She’d have to wear the demonic bag across her body in order to keep that egg-shaped artifact safe. The worst part was she had to keep the bag strapped tight - she couldn’t afford it to come loose at the wrong moment and get lost.

Wincing, she pulled bag’s strap hard, wheezing as it momentarily cut off her breath. Her ribs already ached in protest, and she forced herself to silence the pain. She then drew one last deep breath of fresh air, sliding the mask down over her face and applying the finishing touches in the form of a large, flat-brimmed hat.

Snow Storm afforded one glance into her dresser mirror, seeing reflected back at her the costumed figure of the Mare Do Well.

6

Snow Storm once again perched in her favorite spot of the city, her blue eyes closed as her ears listened for any sign of disturbances. Manehatten wasn’t nearly as horrible as it had been when she returned those years ago, but it was still bad enough. Just the fact that the Mare Do Well existed in the first place proved that point.

A sudden shiver came over her shrouded body, though it wasn’t from the chilly air of the night. Her eyes snapped open, and she swept her gaze down the street below. Her search was ended just as quickly as she spotted something peculiar - it was the tan pegasus she had quite literally run into earlier that day.

Delilah... she thought, recalling the name from deep within her mind. Their eyes seemed to lock for a brief eternity - one pair ruby, the other silver. What is she doing out so late at night?

Whatever it was, Snow Storm hoped she wouldn’t have to find out the hard way. She brought her head back up, returning to her restful meditations, and tried with all of her willpower to ignore the desire to rip the Luna-forsaken saddlebag from her fidgeting body.