Electric Sunshine

by Cataclysmian

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random, Slice of Life, Adventure
Length: 11830

In our world, electricity is science and magic is fable; so in a world where magic is science...

Magic is scientific fact in the land of Equestria, and yet some nuts still believe in the old myths of the mysterious force called 'electricity.' This is the story of Helios Cogs, a pony whose aimless life changes forever when he meets some friends and makes a discovery.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-02-14 07:20:38 UTC

Scattered Thoughts

'It has been but a fortnight since my initial incursion into the vast realm of electrical technology, and yet I already posses a grand feeling of mastery, the sort one might experience when he tames a wild beast or discovers a new planet; to suddenly have such control over a powerful force the very existence of which is widely unknown, even my expansive vocabulary lacks the proper words to express the sensation.

It is a bizarre field to say the least, and the sane few to whom I have expounded its intricacies have assured me that I am quite mad; but who can blame them?  It is always the mind's instinctual reaction to immediately reject any concept of such great magnitude that it warps the viewer's perspective of reality.

Looking past the shock of its existence, imagine my astonishment upon realizing the applications of the technology: self-propelled carriages, near-instantaneous long-distance communication, and even arithmetical engines capable of calculating larger, more complex functions than today's prototypical models at speeds that would put them to shame; all without magic!  And then looking farther, past all forms of science and intruding upon the realm of philosophy: if this, widely accepted as myth, was indeed true, then how many other facts and historical truths have been allowed to drift in uncertainty long enough to become the stuff of legend?

This brings an end to today's entry, as my mental faculties are thoroughly exhausted and my stamina is completely drained.

So, to the poor soul bored enough to resort to reading this, good night.

Sincerely,

-Helios Cogs'

Having signed off in his usual pessimistic manner, Cogs stowed his journal in the nearest jacket pocket and retired to his makeshift bed; a ratty thing, composed of castoff blankets and crumpled notepaper, but it was the softest spot in the basement-turned-laboratory.  And so, trying his best to get comfortable, he drifted off to sleep.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

A little over two weeks previously

The morning came as an awkward relief, staving off the nightmare that had been pursuing Cogs, while bringing upon him once again the desperate desire to enter a dormant state.  Caught between the two urges, he decided to compromise and wallow in self-pity.  He continued in this for a few minutes before leaping to his feet in reaction to the loud buzzer going off inches away from his ear.  His eyes lit up as he realized what day it was: the day he would finally start to fend for himself; the day he would set off into the wide, wonderful world; the day he would finally escape the pain and suffering of the orphanage.

His troubles had started the moment his name was decided upon, for while he had always been told that his name represented sunlight and hope, to a young one, a name is only worth as much or little attention it gets you.  Helios had had more than his fair share of beatings from the stronger residents of the orphanage, who in their boredom had found the oppression of the weak to be an enjoyable pastime, and had decided with their simple minds to pick on the one already hated by the rest due to his name.

Growing up, Cogs never had the opportunity nor need for socialization; and so, when the time came, he set out into the world alone.  He straggled the streets of the slums and soon found himself on the open road, a lonely place, devoid of life save for the occasional traveling magician.  Those so-called magicians were usually individuals who had learned some basic magic and a few parlor tricks before flunking out, and yet, despite all reason, Cogs admired them; they had no useful skills, no talents, and no work ethic, and yet they soldiered on in the face of their own worthlessness.

Cogs' fledgling train of thought derailed when he realized that it was beginning to pour.  Having led an uneducated life in an orphanage on the ground, he had rarely flown and didn't even know about Pegasi's ability to control weather, so he followed instinct and sought cover beneath a nearby tree.  Cogs noticed that the tree was alone on the road, just like him, and began to ponder the life cycle of an average tree.  Helios' thinking was once again disrupted, however, as a bolt of lightning descended and, with one quick flash, struck clean through the tree and connected with his skull.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Helios bolted upright, the jolt of the lightning still fresh in his mind.  His attentions soon shifted, however, when he noticed an intense pain along his spine.  Being careful not to exacerbate any injuries, he looked back slowly, only to be met with a thick layer of blood-drenched bandages over what now barely resembled wings.  The sight that had greeted him was less informative than he'd hoped, but still uplifting, since he now knew that his wings had taken the brunt of the damage, leaving his spine unharmed.  He smiled in relief, only to have a dull pain from a large burn on his forehead force his expression back to neutrality.

Having ascertained the extent of his injuries, Cogs glanced around at the room he was being kept in.  It didn't look a thing like the hospital ward he had once visited, but neither did it resemble the cramped bedrooms of the orphanage.  Try as he might, he couldn't think of anything else to compare it to, save for the library he had visited a few times, but he couldn't remember what the place looked like on the inside.

Just as he was about to call out, he heard a sound from the next room, a sound so wondrous that he was sure it could rival the angelic choirs of heaven itself.

There had never been enough money for instruments at the orphanage, but that hadn't stopped Cogs from studying them whenever the orphans had trips to the library, or thinking about what they might sound like, and now it was as if all his fantasies were suddenly coming true.  The gentle strum of the lyre, the fierce vivacity of the cello, the smooth sound of the saxophone, and even the awkward stuttering of the turntable, they were all so much greater than he had imagined.

Suddenly, the music was gone, replaced by a faint chattering and the noise of approaching steps.  The two who entered the room next could only be described, in Cogs' eyes, as dazzling, though to a normal member of society they might have looked perfectly normal.  The reason for this odd discrepancy was quite simple: the two newcomers were both female.

Helios had only talked to three members of the fairer sex throughout his life: the wife of the old tyrant who ran the orphanage (practically a mother to Cogs,) a kind soul who had been merciful enough to help him walk home after he had gashed his leg one time, and finally, the egotistical traveling magician he had met on the road, the annoying sort who always speaks in the third person and prefixes their name with a title, (in this case,  'The Great and Powerful.')

Due to his social awkwardness and reclusive nature, trying to feign normal conversation with the newcomers seemed a fruitless purpose, and as the tension in his mind increased, his subconscious provided him with the simplest means of escape: fainting.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Upon regaining consciousness, Cogs could have sworn that he had died and gone to hell, for the horned visage with blood-red eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul could hardly have belonged to any but a demon.

"He's awake!"

The voice was hardly that of a demon, but neither was it angelic, an observation by which Cogs concluded that he was still quite alive.  Though his thoughts were muddled (probably the fault of the lightning, he deduced) he still had the presence of mind to ask for the most basic information, though perhaps not enough to properly restrain his panic.

"WHO ARE YOU?  WHERE AM I?  WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?"

"Now calm it and we'll explai-"

"WHY AM I ALIVE? I TOOK A BOLT OF LIGHTNING TO THE FA-"

The yelling ceased when a hoof descended upon his burned forehead.

"Chill dude, sheesh."

Those fearsome red eyes once again stared him down as he looked to the irate albino speaking.  After the eyes, her hair was the first thing Cogs noticed, as it was dyed in duotone electric blue and gelled into a high arc over her forehead, which enthroned a pair of brilliant purple shades.

"Yeah, your head took a lightning bolt, but that doesn't give you the right to lose it."

"Excellent wordplay, Scratch"

The first words from the more somber of the two came with a great air of refinement, a stark contrast to the rather aloof attitude of the pale ruffian

"Huh?  Watcha on about, Octy?"

She sighed at her friend's cluelessness.

"Never mind.  Anyway," she turned to Cogs, "as you appear to already be aware, you have indeed been struck with a bolt of lightning, but furthermore you have also been crushed by a tree; an incident that has left your wings badly damaged.  As for your other queries, you are in the entertainers' lounge of an establishment called Spectrum, where Scratch and myself work; I'm Octavia Philharmonica by the way."

Cogs examined Octavia, noting her dark-grey mane and pink bow tie, good complements to her coat and eyes.  After he had finished staring, he let his gaze wander down to his back hooves where it stayed for a few moments, during which the gap in conversation morphed into an awkward silence.

"In polite society, one telling you their name is generally understood as a prompt for you telling them yours."

His face reddened when he realized that he had just been impolite.

"Oh, sorry about that; I'm Cogs."

"Hey Coggles, I'm Scratch!"

Octavia shot her a look.

"I mean, um, hello Mister Cogs!  I'm Vinyl Scratch, but you can just call me Scratch."

Octavia nodded in approval before continuing the conversation:

"So, Cogs, what's your last name?  Or if that is your last name, what is your first?"

"Yeah, it's my last name, my first is Helios."

The sentence escaped his lips just as a third entertainer entered the room, who immediately winked to the space in front him.

"Did you say your name is Helios?  That's such an awesome name!  Did you know that Helios is the name of the ancient Greek god who raised the sun and guided it across the sky every day?  He's a character from human mythology so it's really weird to see a pony with his name.  You know, I think that-"

Her rambling was brought to a halt when Scratch clamped her jaw shut.

"Yeah, Lyra, it's a really cool name, and it's the name that belongs to the dude lying on our couch, injured."

She stressed the last word, with enough emphasis to clearly communicate her intentions even to the one-track-minded Lyra.

Cogs hadn't been paying much attention to the speech of those around him, and had instead been examining the newcomer.  She was probably the oddest of the group, with jagged mint green hair striped with white, and amber eyes.  As soon as she realized he was staring at her, rather than feel uncomfortable, she returned the gaze with a the kind of stare one sees in nightmares.

Cogs' discomfort was once again heightening, but he was spared when the final member of the entertainers' quartet entered the room.  Cogs once again shifted his focus, practically dissecting the fourth stranger with his eyes.  In addition to his noticeably thick indigo hair, he possessed a rather depressed look, much like the one Cogs wore from time to time, except in the former's case it appeared to have been indelibly etched into his face.

"C'mon all, he needs his rest so leave him alone already."

Octavia spoke up in response:

"Just because your first instinct is to shun all interaction with anything animate does not mean that the same goes for all members of your sex, Noteworthy."

"Actually, I think we should leave him alone, Octy.  He does look pretty beat."

She looked back to Cogs, who was practically cowering at the end of the couch.

"Upon closer examination of the issue, I do believe you're right, Scratch; and once again brilliant wordplay with the double meaning there."

Scratch rolled her eyes.

"Still got no idea what you're talkin' about, Octy."

With that, the entertainers left the room, leaving Cogs to ponder the events of the day, the most fascinating of which, in his opinion, had been the sensation of the lightning coursing through his body and diffusing into the ground.  He made a mental note that as soon as he got better, he should try to demystify exactly what lightning was.

Mended Dreams

Cogs awoke at six-thirty on the dot, as was his routine. Scrambling into a standing position, he started a quick trot towards the kitchen, and ran headlong into a wall.

"Who put a wall here?" he said groggily, looking around the room and stopping to focus on a blue figure near the doorway.

"And here I thought I'd have to wake you, but I come in to find you wide awake and hitting your face against the wall; first standing under a tree in the middle of storm and now this?  There are better ways to go if you've got a death wish, you know."

Cogs dismissed the jibe as part of Noteworthy's gloomy personality.

"Yeah, I'm suicidal.  When's breakfast?"

"It's almost ready; and speaking of death wishes, it's Vinyl's turn to make the grub this morning, so don't expect much."

"It can't possibly be that bad."

Noteworthy merely shrugged, then left the room.  Cogs lifted himself back to his hooves gingerly, taking special care not to worsen his injuries.  He trotted at a leisurely pace, taking in his environment as well as his tired mind would allow, but froze suddenly when he spied a pair of amber eyes staring at him.  At first he thought it was the mint-green entertainer from the previous day, but when he looked closer, the eyes were the only thing two had in common.  The latest stranger was a stallion with a light grey coat and shaggy brown hair.

The two held the fixed gaze for what felt like several minutes before Cogs dared to step forward.  The stranger also stepped forward.  He then realized that it was his own reflection he was seeing.  He had read about mirrors before, but never actually seen one.

Cogs ran his hoof lightly along the mirror's surface, then tried moving it around to catch different angles, stopping from time to time when he caught an especially interesting sight.  With the ninth adjustment however, he found himself staring down a long curving hallway filled with countless pairs of those amber eyes.  He looked back and saw another mirror behind him, then turned back to first.

Suddenly, half the eyes started moving shiftily.  Cogs thought, but couldn't figure out what possibly caused this, and decided to turn back to the second mirror.

"Boo!"

He recoiled in shock from Lyra, whose face had been an inch away just moments ago.  She let out a small chuckle.

"Sorry, couldn't resist.  Anyway what's so interesting; never seen a mirror before?"

Cogs recovered his senses and made a mental note to steel himself for any of her future antics.

"Actually I haven't."

"Well I suppose it's not that unusual; the mirror was a fairly late discovery in human culture, so it would only make sense that there are still some remote areas of Equestria not familiar with it.  I wonder what other things we have that you won't recognize.  Oh, and speaking of things you can't recognize, Scratch's breakfast should be ready by now, so you'd best get it while it's hot."

She trotted off, leaving Cogs alone with the mirrors.

He sighed.

"It's going to be a long stay."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

In stark contrast to the dilapidated mess-hall of Cogs' old residence, the kitchen was warm and inviting; with rosewood fixtures and red pinstriped walls.

He entered and sat in the only unoccupied chair, which was shoved into a corner of the square table.

"So, whaddya want for breakfast Coggles? We've got hay-strudel, apple-strudel, and cherry-strudel."

It was then he understood the others' negative remarks about her cooking, apparently she only knew how to make this one item.

"What's strudel?"

His simple question seemed to horrify the DJ.

"How can live without knowing what strudel is?"

He was hungry and didn't have time to play culture-catchup, so he dismissed her reaction, deciding instead to reply to the original question.

"I like apples.  I'll have the apple strudel."

What he was served next resembled nothing he had ever seen or read about before, so he gave up on trying to determine what it was and started eating.

It was much sweeter than he had expected, and lacked the fresh taste that had belonged to the home-grown food served at the orphanage.  He swallowed and took another bite; this time chewing slowly, trying to identify what types of vegetables had been used in creating the food.  Nothing.  There wasn't a hint of anything green.  'In hindsight,' he thought; 'that would explain why it tastes more like a dessert than a breakfast item'.  Not wanting to be rude, he refrained from asking for vegetables that He knew Scratch couldn't cook, and decided that he would go eat some grass outside later.

As he shoveled the final portion into his mouth, he noticed that a pair of amber eyes was once again staring at him, though this time they were not his own.  He swallowed and turned to face Lyra, intending to ask what she found so interesting about him, but he hesitated when he saw the way she was sitting.  Rather than leaning forward with her back hooves on the chair, she was slouching against the back of the its back.  Her posture struck Cogs as odd, but after thinking about it for a second, he decided that it made sense based in the design of the chair.  He tried it.  Weird as he felt, practically lying down on the chair, it was more relaxing than he had anticipated.  He rested contentedly for a few moments, sipping from his glass, before realizing that the other three had joined Lyra in staring at him.

He suddenly felt the urge to defend his actions.

"What?  It's actually quite comfortable."

The others ceased their staring and resumed with their breakfasts; all except for Octavia, who looked blankly into space with an expression halfway between anger and quizzicality.  Cogs excused himself and started to make his way back to the lounge by an alternate route, stopping when he noticed a third mirror, this one affixed to the wall across from a window.  He stood for several minutes, all other tasks set aside as he thought about how the mirrors worked.

He determined that they reflected light, which in turn traveled to the eye.  He looked at the mirror once again, moving his head to catch different views; one of which was the sunlight pouring through the open window.  His vision went dark as as the light hit his eyes, and he flashed back to the sight of the lightning bolt hitting him.

'That's it!' thought Cogs; 'Lighting is light of such high intensity that it's powerful enough to shock and burn anything it touches.  But lightning behaves differently than light.  I must be missing something.'

Cogs wandered through the halls puzzling over the matter, and it was too late by the time he noticed he was lost.  The room be had just entered was unusual to say the least, the main piece of furniture being a cross between a couch and a bed, and the white walls covered with framed drawings of odd bipedal creatures.  The upper rows of the bookshelf on the far wall were full of books with nonsensical titles, such as 'Iliad', 'Aeneid', and 'Odyssey'; the lower rows, meanwhile, contained an assortment of books with names like 'A Comprehensive Guide to Sign Language' and 'The Life and Legacy of Nikola Tesla'.

"I've already entered the room, I'm sure no one would mind if were to have a quick glance at some of these books." Cogs said to himself.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

"Helios."

Cogs heard a distant voice calling to him.

"It's impolite to barge into somebody else's room and act like your at home."

At this, his knowledge-induced trance shattered; he shot upright and started apologizing.

"I'm so very sorry, I didn't mean to be rude.  I merely-"

"Just kidding!"

Lyra had once again baffled Cogs with her odd behavior.

"I would normally complain, but this is the first time I've met somebody else who is interested in my books."

"I don't quite understand the setting, but some of the theory discussed is quite amazing.  I find it odd though, that such information could go unnoticed for so long."

"It's 'cause these books were at the back of the mythology section.  Few have ever read them, and even fewer have considered what they say."

"Mythology, huh?  That would certainly explain it.  Would you mind terribly if I borrowed some of these?"

"Nope!  Just leave the sign language book, I need the diagrams for an experiment."

With that he grabbed the Tesla book in his mouth and retraced his steps to the lounge; upon resuming that odd slouching position upon the couch, he opened back up to the page he had been reading.

"'Chapter Two: the Voltaic Pile to the Tesla Coil', this should be interesting."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

"Oi Coggles!"

"Yes?"

"I'm takin' ya to see the doc, c'mon!"

Helios trotted Scratch's side.

"Good, I had been wondering when I might ascertain the extent of the damage done to my wings.  Shall we go?"

She eyed him with confusion for a second before slipping on her shades.

"Off we go."

He chatted with her throughout the journey, learning particulars, such as that he was in a town called Ponyville where she was (according to her) the most popular DJ; he even learned more nebulous facts of which he was unaware, like how the ruling monarch supposedly controlled the sun and the moon as they made their courses across the sky.

At last they arrived at hospital; or rather the urgent care, seeing as how the town lacked an actual hospital.

"Well here we are, let's-- what are you doing?"

"Opening the door for you; isn't it customary for colts to open doors for mares?"

"Well yeah, it was, like a hundred years ago; it's pretty old fashioned."

"Well pardon me, but it is my personal opinion that chivalry never ages."

'It's like being with Octy but worse.' Scratch thought to herself as she entered the urgent care.

The nurse came when she rang the assistance bell.

"Hello Vinyl, what's the problem?"

"This guy next to me, got crushed under a tree; we cleaned and wrapped him up, and now we're here to see how bad it is."

The nurse turned to Cogs,

"The doctor will be with you momentarily, in the meantime please fill out this form."

She put down a clipboard in front of him, then walked away.  On the clipboard was a single sheet of paper with a few simple questions and a diagram asking him to label where it hurt and how much.  He breezed through it until he came to the question 'How often do you use the affected area?'.  Even greater than the pain of his injury was the pain that he felt when he realized, he had almost never used his wings, and now he might never use them again.  After hesitating, he checked the box that said 'Rarely.'

He completed the rest of the form with relative ease, and with perfect timing, Nurse Redheart entered just he put down the pencil.

"The doctor will see you now."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Cogs galloped out of the ward, finally free of the bandages, and with a bounding leap, he took to the air with his set of powerful, perfectly fine wings.  He soared so freely, until he felt them being cut away; he turned to see a scalpel acting of its own accord, sawing off first his left wing, then the right.  He let out a scream as he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

Cogs awoke from the dream; mind reeling as he tried to figure out where he was now.  He was lying on a white bed against the wall of a white room, from the ceiling of which hung a white orb glowing with magically distilled light.  Suddenly, Cogs found that he didn't care where he was, or why he couldn't feel his wings, or whether or not he was dreaming; all he could think about was that orb.

'This country's great economy depends so much upon magic,' he thought; 'unicorns obviously have their raw magical powers, and we pegasi have our ability to control weather, (something that still amazes me, seeing as how I only learned it earlier this morning,) what do the earths have?  The land we live on must have some kind of innate power within it, I just know it! The land, the earth, earth, dirt, soil, minerals, metals-- wait, I remember reading something about certain kinds of metal, copper and zinc I think it was?  Lyra might not be as crazy as I first thought; those books might actually have some virtue.'

His thinking finished right as the door to the room opened, and in walked Scratch.

"Heya Coggles, how're ya doin'?"

"Well there's no pain anymore, but I can't feel my wings; so I'm assuming they were amputated."

Cogs' cold and straightforward attitude shocked both Vinyl and himself.

"Yeah; you kinda freaked out when the doctor told ya 'bout it, so I hit you on the head like I did last time, except I think I must've hit a little too hard this time, seeing how you were knocked out 'n' all."

"I thank you for that.  Now to wait for the reality of it all to sink in and for me to freak out a third time."

He gave a small smile that Scratch returned.

"Ah well, you did say on the way over that ya never did fly much, so it's not like you're losing anything that important to you."

"On the contrary, Scratch, I have always wanted to fly, but I never had many chances, and when I did have one I procrastinated.  Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.  And so now, though I have lost my wings, I will not give up; because on the off chance that there is a possibility of flying in the near future, what an utter waste it would be to miss it."

Flat and Board

"Wow, I feel... weird."

Cogs staggered over the threshold of the urgent care and into the street, nearly falling sideways as Scratch caught him.

"Yeah, that's prolly the painkillers finally kicking in; I was starting to wonder why you seemed so sober back there."

"So... where, um, where to now?  I..."

Scratch paused, waiting for ending to his sentence; none came.

"Well, when the doc was prepping ya, I took a little stroll outside and met Derpy, an' I asked her to send a message to Rarity about making you a custom jacket.  She came back with an OK, so now it's off to Rarity's!"

"Cu... custom jacket?  What for?"

"Well, you'd get a lot of stares walkin' down the street with those wing stubs on your back 'n' all.  Anyways, ya know what you said earlier about never giving up?"

"Yup!  Pretty deep, huh?"

"Yeah, but I actually wanted to ask you about a particular word you used in that little lecture; I think it was 'people'."

"Beats me what it is; I actually stole most of what I said from one of Lyra's books.  Pretty clever, right?"

A stupid grin hung on the right side of Cogs' face as the two approached the boutique.  He opened the door for Vinyl, who concluded (correctly) that this was the last conscious action he would make for a while.  The bell rung as the door closed.

"I'll be with you in just a minute, darling!"

From what Cogs could tell, there was fabric in every direction as far as the eye could see, stretching out in such disproportionate ways as to cause trying to make sense of it all induce a headache.

"So, I um... where are we again?"

"Rarity's shop.  Just stay still and shut up, 'Kay?"

Cogs gave a weak salute, barely catching himself as he fell without the support of his fourth leg.

"Oh Vinyl, It's good to see you again!  About that jacket, I'd be more than happy to help; is this the subject here?"

"Yeah, an' the doc gave him pain meds, so he's pretty out of it."

"Oh, the poor thing!  Ah well, let's get started, shall we?"

Rarity led Cogs to the center of the room and had him stand perfectly still while she took his measurements, an action taking several minutes; when she was finished, she shooed him out of the way while she sewed the jacket.

As Cogs began to regain his proper state of mind, he thought about how much custom-tailored outfits usually cost.

"Scratch, I just realized: who's paying for this?"

"Finally sobered up, have ya?  But seriously, don't worry, Rarity said it was free."

"Free?  I'm no fashion expert, but it looks to me like she's using some of the highest-grade materials on the market."

"And that's Rarity for ya.  No rhyme, no reason; just generosity and an impeccable taste for fashion."

There was a moment's silence.

"I'm shocked."

"She is pretty amazing."

"Well yes, there's that; but I was referring to the fact that you just used a five-syllable word.  I never thought I'd hear anything that sizable from your mouth."

Scratch elbowed him in the gut.

"What happened to all that fancy chivalry talk from earlier, huh?"

"Well, chivalry is so old fashioned, I'd say it's practically dead."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Cogs donned the long, pitch-black coat with pride.

"How do I look?"

The quartet's reactions were mixed.

"Fine."

"Like my grandpa."

"Sophisticated."

"Like a member of the S.S."

The last opinion would have drawn more attention, but the others had long since learned to grin and bear Lyra's eccentricities.

"Well I think Rarity did an amazing job, and free to boot!"

It struck him that the coat was not the only free thing he had received.

"So I was wondering, is there anything that I could to for you guys?  I mean you've been giving me free room and board, so it's only fitting that I do something for you."

"Well, now that you mention it, I remember Octy sayin' that we should hire a backup."

"A backup what?"

"Everything, but then I don't s'pose you know how to play the cello, lyre, saxophone, and work a turntable, do ya?"

"I'm afraid not, but I've always been interested in playing guitar, you wouldn't happen to have one of those around, would you?"

"I think Octy's got one, but it's autographed by some fancy-shmancy guitar player so she prolly wouldn't let ya use it."

Octavia interjected.

"Of course I wouldn't let him play it!  But he can use my flat-board if he wants, that old thing's barely worth the wood it's made of."

"What's a flat-board?"

"Follow and learn."

Octavia's room was as different from the rest of the place as she was from her fellow entertainers.  The walls were grey but not dull, the books on the shelves were arranged by height and lacked even a trace of dust, and on the walls hung various string instruments, almost all of which were autographed.  Upon closing the door, she trotted quickly to a little closet in the corner, out of which she pulled the well-used flat-board.

If one had been looking at silhouettes it would've been indistinguishable from a guitar, but in the light, it resembled more closely driftwood.  It was an inferior cut of wood, shaped like a guitar but lacking the deep, hollow body that was so essential; it also sported several dents and a crudely attached strap.  The only things it could boast were its pristine strings, but even those looked like they would require several minutes of cranking before they produced anything remotely musical.

"Not to sound rude, but this is an instrument?"

"Quite frankly, no, it's merely a device for practicing guitar chords.  Nopony knows exactly what it's origins are, but it's doubtless a very old tradition and as such it should be kept.  I don't play guitar anymore, so you can have this; after all, you don't want to go wasting bits on an instrument that you don't even know you can play."

Cogs thanked her and left the room.  He had originally set off to fend for himself, and yet almost immediately he had fallen into the care of another.  'Well no more of it!' he thought; 'It's time for me to finally stand up for myself.'.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The others had understood his wishes, and before the day was out he had bid goodbye to them and set off towards the inn at the edge of town, where he would stay his last night (hopefully) as an unemployed pony.  His saddlebags, a gift from Noteworthy, were weighed down with the others' farewell presents: the flat-board with a chord book, a few encyclopedias of ancient equestrian myth, and a pair of fogged sunglasses.  Cogs thought it odd to receive farewell presents after a one-night stay, but accepted them anyway, knowing that a little extra help should always be appreciated.

As he trotted leisurely, he fancied that he felt a pair of eyes on him; three pairs to be precise.

"I know your following me!  Show yourself!"

He had expected a gang of lowlifes, bullies, or even homeless, but not even for a second did he expect three little fillies to pop out of the bushes.

"Did you see it? Did you see it? Right as he turned around his cloak whipped up; you saw it, right?  He doesn't have one!"

"Um, who are you three?"

"Well ah'm glad ya asked, because we are-"

The three took a deep breath and shouted in unison:

"-THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS!"

"She's Sweetie Belle, that's Applebloom, and I'm Scootaloo, and we're here to ask you about your cutie mark!"

"But I don't have one."

"Exactly! So that's why, uh..."

They turned and huddled.

"What were we gonna ask him about, again?"

"Beats me, I jus' remember you rushin' off all willy-nilly when Sweetie told us she saw her big sis fittin' a coat for somepony with no cutie mark."

"Yeah, Scoot, if he doesn't already have his then he probably knows even less about cutie marks than we do!"

They broke the huddle.

"So mister, why don' ya have yer mark yet?"

"Oh, that?  I guess I just never found any one thing that caught my interest or that I was particularly good at.  But it's kind of fun, actually; I know that at any second when I'm trying something new, I might suddenly find my true calling."

"It sure sounds nice when ya put it tha' way, mister."

"But since you seem to be trying a more direct approach, let me leave you with this piece of advice: if at first you don't succeed, try again, and again after that, and again after that; and though you may not succeed after ten-thousand tries, you have not failed: you have just found ten-thousand ways that don't work."

Scootaloo turned to the crusaders.

"He's right, so c'mon guys!  We're missing out on our chance at party crashing cutie marks!"

"YEA!"

With that they galloped off toward the heart of town, leaving Cogs in a fit of laughter.

"I tried searching for my mark once, but I never made it far enough to start doing things that obscure."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Cogs knew it was late, he knew that he had to rise early the next morning, and yet his mind soldiered on, ceaseless in its quest to unravel all mysteries in heaven and on earth.  He couldn't help but feel that nothing he learned added up; lights, for instance.  When they were independent, the earth ponies used fire, and now that the land was united, everyone used the magically distilled light provided by the unicorns.  So where did the design of the lightbulb come from?  There was no conceivable explanation for the filament inside, no explanation except that it was a remnant from when lightbulbs were used by humans with electricity; but that was ridiculous!  I mean, humans? Really!?  They were just myths created by those who longed for the fantastical.

But then again, was it really that impossible?  Was there really no chance that humans had ever existed?  He recalled one of Lyra's arguments, which said something to the effect of 'so many separate accounts line up perfectly, how could it be made up?'.  He began to think of other devices, like party buzzers and sparkler coils; they stored simple magic for screwing with ambient electrical forces, nothing too fancy or powerful.  'Come to think of it,' Cogs mused; 'that's the most advanced spell I know of regarding lightning, or rather, electricity.'

He felt tired; too tired, in fact, to fall asleep.  His thoughts wandered for a while before settling on the flat-board; he rose from his bed and strode to the corner where he had offloaded his luggage, rummaging around to find the chord book that Octavia had given him.  What he saw inside baffled him.

The various diagrams of dots and lines were nothing unexpected, but what had surprised Cogs was the complexity of the diagrams; many required more than four separate points along the stem to be held.  He suddenly realized why Octavia took such pride in her playing; which amazing as it had been, was all the more incredible because she had done it without magic.  But instruments with plucked strings were difficult to use even with magic, why would anypony design such an instrument?

He pulled out the flat-board, slinging the strap over his neck and gripping the stem with his left hoof.  'This position is perfectly easy to maintain, but to perform chords I would need some sort of wraparound extension from my hoof.' Cogs contemplated exactly what the most fitting extension would look like:

"Well obviously I'd need opposable digits to grip the stem, and then a few more on the bottom to curl around as a whole; probably with three joints apiece."

The image that began to form in his mind was shockingly familiar.

"I guess I know who I'll be spending my free time with for the next few days."

He placed the instrument back into the saddlebags and blew out the candle next to his bed, trying not think of tomorrow's daunting task of job-hunting as he fell asleep.

Wings and Springs

Lightning streaked past Cogs as he wended his way through an array of strange and fantastical contraptions, each one bearing some similitude to devices he was familiar with; an iron carriage with black panels on its roof, an open book with buttons on one page and a back-lit picture frame on the other, and an oven with a completely flat surface.  These foreign objects varied greatly, but they all shared one definitive characteristic: they had cords attached to them running towards the center of the room, where the more antiquated items were.  The cords all connected to a massive pillar, made of alternating layers of orange and silver metal, balanced by glass beams that rose beyond its top and connected with the high roof.  Cogs cautiously cantered to the tower, and noticed something leaking from between the layers; he put his hoof out and, shutting his eyes tightly, he touched it.

There was no pain, only a tickle accompanied by a faint sizzling sound; he opened his eyes and saw that the surface of his hoof was dissolving.  The liquid was acid.  In an instant, the small leaks had become flowing streams; Cogs discarded his jacket and ran, barely outpacing the oncoming wave.  It was gaining and he was exhausted, there was but one option left; he coiled the muscles in his hind legs and jumped, gaining enough thrust to begin flying, but as he tried to unfurl his wings, he yet again felt the odd tickling sensation, and plunged headlong into the raging sea of acid below, gasping for breath as he simultaneously drowned and dissolved.

Cogs awoke with his face buried in a pillow, struggling to breathe.  He lazily propped himself up on one foreleg, surveying his lodgings; he noticed the conspicuous absence of a clock, one of the few luxuries he had lived his entire life with.  After sitting for an indeterminate amount of time caught in the twilight zone between waking and sleeping, he arose and trudged down the seven flights of stairs that displaced his complimentary room from the ground floor.

"Good morning!  How did you sleep?"

Cogs struggled to focus on the face of the Inn manager, a rather skinny colt whose name he couldn't remember.

"I slept..."

He paused and searched for the exact words to describe how well he had actually slept; unable to come up with any, he decided to fall back on the traditional answer:

"I slept well; and you?"

"Divinely."

Cogs noticed yet another conspicuous absence.

"Where are the rest of the guests?"

"Probably still asleep, it's only five-thirty after all; generally I'm the only one up this early."

Five-thirty?  He never slept in, but rarely did Cogs rise so early; he owed it to the unfamiliar bed.

"So, what do you want for breakfast?  We've got dandelion sandwiches, hay biscuits, and strudel of every flavor."

After brief consideration, Cogs asked for the simple dandelion sandwich, recalling all to well the sickly sweet taste of strudel.  As the manager left, the train of thought that had halted for sleep the previous night started its engines back up: 'What kind of jobs could I get here?  Something mechanical would be preferable, or maybe a courier, that would give me plenty of time to think, or perhaps a waiter, that would be much less strenuous.  I think I'll just apply at the first establishment whose name clearly states what it offers; the last kind of ponies I want to work with are the romantics who can never speak anything straight, but always adjust what they say to sound more poetic, often losing the meaning in the process.'

The manager returned and placed the meal before Cogs, then started to trot away.

"Excuse me, do you know if there are any watch shops around here?"

He stopped and turned to Cogs.

"Just a few buildings away, actually, Sepia's place."

"Thank you."

The manager nodded and resumed his previous course, disappearing through a door to the kitchen.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Since he was first capable of rational thought, Cogs had been a pessimist, always expecting the worst and never glad for the best, because he knew it was merely a transitory stage between two great misfortunes; this attitude had been shaken, however, when he met the quartet.  He saw himself reflected in Noteworthy and realized just how unpleasant his negativity was for others; Scratch and Octavia were perfect examples of taking certain personality traits too far to either end of the spectrum; and last of all Lyra, she had shown him what it was to persevere towards one's goals.

Though it had been less than a day since he'd seen them, Cogs already felt a tinge of nostalgia, which clouded his brain and impaired his attempts to fully wake himself.  As he plodded along the lane, he noticed one building which stood out from the rest, as it was perfectly symmetrical with a very no-nonsense look about it; the sign in front of it was clear and straightforward, reading 'Sepia Tock's Clock Shop'.  He quickened his pace and stopped inches away from the polished display window, behind which lay masterpieces of fine-tuned mechanics.

The shop's proprietor, a blue-eyed, brown-haired stallion with a chestnut coat, had noticed his interest and gone outside, walking right up next to Cogs and joining him in his silent wonderment.  Several minutes passed without either moving anything save for their eyes.

"Real beauties, aren't they?"

Cogs' focus shifted to the foreground as he gazed at Tock's reflection.

"Indeed they are, I'm quite fascinated by them."

"That much is obvious.  Anyway, as you might have already guessed, I'm Sepia Tock; is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well actually, I'm looking for a job at the moment and was wondering if you have any open positions."

Tock stared at him, dumbfounded, then regained his composure and let out a small chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"It's as if you were sent by Chronos himself!  My assistant Colgate just left on a two-week vacation last night, so there is an open position, which I'll consider giving to you after a sort of practical job interview."

Just as Cogs was about to reply, a large crash rung out, prompting them both to turn and determine its source; they heard several subsequent crashes, each closer than the last, before they saw the culprit: a storm cloud-riding yellow-haired pegasus, around whose back leg was a long rope knotted to a trash can.

"Doctor, Doctor!  Help!  The Daleks are chasing me!"

"Ditzy, stop!"

It was too late.  The trash can caught on a sign, dragging it's victim earthward; the storm cloud, however, continued to zoom towards Sepia, who froze with fear.  Cogs leapt and leaned all of his weight forward, catching the cloud right before the unusual altitude caused the contained lightning to arc out and contact the ground, creating a small dust explosion.

Ditzy looked on with horror; she didn't know what had just happened, but she knew it was her fault.  As the dust began to clear, she saw the silhouettes of Cogs and Sepia, the former on his hind legs with his front ones stretched out to either side, shielding the shocked but perfectly healthy Tock.

"You do not want to get hit by one of those, trust me."

Sepia stared dumbfounded for a few seconds, then asked the simple yet essential question:

"How... how did you do that?"

"Painfully, if you're asking about taking the brunt of that explosion."

"No, not that; how did you catch the cloud?"

Several lies formed in Cogs' mind, but were discarded when he decided that telling the truth would be the most convenient route.

"I'm a pegasus."

He lifted his coat to reveal what was left of his wings.  He then watched as the clockmaker's expression shifted from shock to horror, from horror to pity, and from pity to neutrality.

"I suppose that makes sense.  Back on the subject of what we were just discussing, go inside and I'll be right there to test you."

As Cogs entered the shop, he overheard Sepia talking to Ditzy, but could only make out one thing:

"...and for the last time, I am not the bloody doctor!"

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

"Well, you obviously have a gift for understanding complex mechanical concepts, but it seems you know absolutely nothing about watchmaking, so I won't hire you, but I will accept you as a paid apprentice; you'll be under my careful guidance every step of the way."

Sepia raised his hoof for a shake, which Cogs misinterpreted completely, bumping his own hoof against it in a short, quick motion; Tock looked puzzled, but thought it better to not ask what had just transpired.

There was much Cogs had to learn about watchmaking, but fortunately it all came with an amazing degree of ease.  His first task was to effect repairs on customers' timepieces, it was a task of low difficulty, ranging anywhere from fixing misaligned gears to simply recoiling springs.  During his lunch break, he watched Tock spin molten sand for the hourglass bulbs, often melting down and re-spinning the same piece several times until he was satisfied with it; Cogs tried his hoof at it, but what he created looked less like a proper hourglass and more like one from a Dali painting, causing him to switch back to dealing with watches.  At five-thirty, he was given the day's salary and sent on his way; this process was intended to continue like clockwork for the next two weeks.

The clouds were thickening as Cogs left the clock shop, he could see the forms of pegasi soaring overhead, gathering the scattered bits of fluff into one massive thunderhead.  By the time he reached Spectrum he was soaked and shivering, in addition to being singed and sore from the dust explosion earlier.

This was the first time he had used the front entrance; the club wasn't in full swing yet and there were only a few guests, and they were the calmer ones, not the party animals that would swarm the joint whenever a big, open event was held there.  Cogs made his way to the back, entering into the familiar lounge where he spied Scratch, sprawled on her back with her eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration as she spastically twitched her forelegs; he assumed that she was practicing mixing, but as he nothing of the subject he couldn't be sure.

He tried sneaking past her, hoping that years of dubstep had dampened her bass hearing; no such luck.

"That rhythm... either Lyra's walking funny again or it's..."

She opened her eyes and sat up.

"...Coggles!"

"Hello, Vinyl."

"Hey!  Watcha doin' back here so soon?"

"I came to talk with Lyra about a few things and ask Octavia about guitar chords."

She looked disappointed.

"That's it?  You just came to talk?  If you've got time afterwards, you should totally drop in and taste the night life; then you'll get to see my awesome mixing skills!"

"I'll consider it."

Scratch lay back down as Cogs moved to the hallway, trying to remember which direction it was to Lyra's quarters; he decided to leave it to chance and made a left turn.  Luck was in his side, it would seem, for he had barely rounded the bend when his ears were greeted with the sweet melody of the lyre.  He pushed open the door and saw Lyra reclining on that odd piece of furniture, her instrument levitating before her.

"Anybody ever tell you it's impolite to not knock?"

"Very funny, but please no more jokes; I'm here on urgent business."

"How urgent?"

"I'm trying to re-invent an instrument and I need your help, that's how urgent.  More specifically, I'm here to steal some books on music history."

"Re-invent?  That means..."

Lyra's face lit up with joy as she realized what his statement entailed.

"Take my books, take them all if you want!"

"Uh, thanks?"

Cogs was a little disturbed by her response, but thankful nonetheless.  As she resumed her playing, he cantered off to find Octavia.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

"No, no, no!  You have to curl your hoof like so."

Octavia twined her foreleg around the imaginary guitar's neck, trying to demonstrate proper technique to Cogs.

"See?"

"How can you even do that?  I can barely bend my joints half that distance!"

"Stretching and practice, though mainly practice."

Cogs once again attempted the stance, but succeeded only in spraining his left shoulder.  He winced and moved his foreleg down gingerly.

"Thank you, but I guess still need a lot more practice."

"As long as you don't give up, you'll do splendidly."

He exited her room, finally feeling the strain and monotony of the day beginning to set in.

"If I don't get to sleep soon I'm going to be in trouble tomorrow morning."

He yawned widely as he pushed open the lounge exit, completely forgetting what was to be expected past the door.

"Yeah it's me, DJ PON-3; I'll be layin' down beats all night through the heat, so dance strong and dance long.  First up on the deck, some Sapphire Shores, mixed fresh to death!"

Vinyl's little intro amused Cogs, but the following noise assaulted his eardrums.  He thought that as long as he was exposed, he might as well go to the source and chat with her.  As he stepped onto the podium, the volume dropped abruptly; for the first time he noticed the ethereal dome covering Scratch and now him.

"Huh, I took you to be the kind who would blast their hearing into oblivion, 'savoring' the loudness."

"Nah, love my ears to much to do that to 'em; but acting like a stereotypical, beat-crazed DJ has worked out pretty well for me so far.  So, what'd you come here to say?  Not a lecture I hope."

"No, but I did want to ask you about a certain something that has been puzzling me all day."

"Shoot."

"Okay, what exactly is all this 'Doctor Whooves' business I keep hearing about?"

"That?  That's just some weird rumor about the local clockmaker that got blown way out of proportion, probably 'cause of Derpy telling everyone about it."

"Derpy?"

"The town's mailmare; her name's Ditzy Doo but everyone calls her Derpy."

Cogs recalled the clumsy, cloud-riding pegasus.

"Ah, now it makes sense; thank you, I'll be going now."

"Wait! The music jus-"

He stepped outside the dome, forgetting about the insane bass he was exposing himself to, which at that moment had reached its loudest point.

"Aargh!"

He screamed and galloped to the exit, turning the few heads that were not entranced by the noise.

Basic Colors

It was late, or early, rather, when Cogs finished his clock, complete with a date ticker and alarm, set for six in the morning.  He once again felt too tired to sleep, and began to read through his latest volume of musical history, trying to find deeper meaning in every phrase and sentence; failing at that, he switched back to the electrician's biography.  On a page near the front he found a diagram, one that gave him an odd sense of deja-vu, illustrating a tower of alternating discs of zinc and copper, separated by sheets of gauze soaked in acid. 'Acid; a caustic substance whose characteristics are the opposite of more strongly basic substances.' Cogs rattled off the definition in his head; 'Knowing what it is won't help me get my hands on any.'

He shut the book, moving to the windowsill and gazing over the nearby clouds towards the towards Luna's former prison.

"Fly me to the moon..."

He began to sing a song as his eyelids drooped; he knew not its meaning nor tune, nor even where he knew it from, and yet there was something about the lyrics that seemed to transcend reality, demonstrating perfectly that sort of magic music weaves into the soul.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

The faux reality of the comatose world shattered at the alarm bell's shrill ringing; Cogs came to, raising himself at just the right angle so that he fell out of the window.  Time seemed to slow as the dizzying fall kicked him awake, jolting his senses from stand-by to the hyper-aware mode that engages when one panics; in reality, the fall was only ten or twelve feet, and the landing pad a soft cloud.  A strong gale of wind jolted the cloud forward and he dropped, wrapping his legs around the semi-solid mist lest he fall; after a minute or so, Cogs turned back to look at the inn, which by then was a good fifty feet away.

"Hey slowpoke, get a move on!  We've got a forecast to make come true and your stalling ain't helping!"

Cogs looked through up through his blurry eyes to see a rainbow and a pair of disembodied rose-colored eyes floating in the bright, clear sky.  He moved his hooves to his own eyes and rubbed vigorously, then looked back to the unknown entity before him.  It was a  sky-blue pegasus mare with a rather disheveled, six-colored mane.

"Wait a sec, I don't know you; are you new in town?"

"Um, yes.  I'm Cogs, Helios Cogs; I just got to town a few days ago."

"Well then hey!  I'm Rainbow Dash, captain of the local weather team and the fastest flier in all of Equestria!  In fact, I'm such a great flier that-"

She stopped when she noticed that he was shaking.

"What's the matter, cold?"

"Bit more complicated than that..."

"Then say it!  Well c'mon, speak up!"

Cogs thought it would be a bit less awkward if he warped the truth; he'd rather deal with condescension than pity.

"I'm on a cloud seven stories up and I can't fly."

"Oh, want me to lend you a hoof?"

He was a bit taken aback; he had been expecting at least some note of disapproval in her voice, but found nothing.  His faith in society a bit improved, he gladly accepted the offer.

"Thanks!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

It suddenly occurred to Cogs that Dash had been able to feel his wing stubs when flying him down.  He found a it a little ironic: honesty had been suiting him well so far, and the moment he altered the truth a little he found himself in yet another awkward situation.

"Well it's not exactly like I lied, and it'd have been less awkward to have you look down on me than feel sorry for me."

She continued to glare at him.  He swallowed his pride and said what was going through his mind.

"Though regardless of convenience, it was wrong of me to not be completely honest."

Cogs didn't know what to expect, maybe a lecture or a pat on the head, but of the possibilities that formed in his mind, what came next was most definitely not accounted for.

"It's okay, I do it myself sometimes; just be glad it wasn't Applejack that caught you, or you'd have had to listen to half-hour sermon on lying."

The second alarm sounded on his patchwork clock, reminding him that time soldiered on regardless of his situation.

"I've got to eat breakfast and head to work, so..."

He had never been very adept at ending conversations, though thankfully Rainbow was.

"Okay then, bye!"

She zoomed away, leaving Cogs by himself for a second before he entered the Inn, surprising the owner who had been sitting in a chair facing the stairs, awaiting the early riser.

In Volta's Hoofsteps

Cogs went about his business as usual; besides his fall, nothing noteworthy had occurred throughout the day.  He went to bed early, seeking the soft respite of sleep.  The dream world was odder than usual that night, nothing but blackness as far as the eye could see; the only source of light was Cogs himself, his coat glowing a brilliant white with just a hint of warm blue, like one sees at the base of a flame.  In addition to the color differences, he found that the very matter of his being was fluctuating.  There was no better way to describe it: his form rippled, unsure of its exact position in space.  He zoomed through the blackness at speeds that would have been physically impossible had there been air resistance; he passed a speck of light every once in a while, probably an entity in the exact same situation by his estimation.  Suddenly, the blackness was washed away by light; not the gentle pale gold of the sun, nor the brilliant white he himself radiated, it was a harsh light, more mustard-colored than anything.  Along with the light had come a change of scenery; Cogs was now surrounded by hundreds of other shining ponies, each galloping along the wire that some strange gravitational force drew them towards.  The galloping came to a halt as they vaulted from the tip of the first wire to that of the second, their arcing trail giving off that same harsh yellow light.

Cogs, his sight broadened by the newfound light source, decided to have a look around.  He was in a glass bulb, beyond which was the towering, acid-leaking pillar from his previous nightmare; though it seemed less like a looming death trap this time and more like a wonder of the world.  Cogs began to examine its finer details when a mad buzzing from beyond dredged his thoughts up from the dream world.  His little clock continued in its buzzing, stopping only after he had slammed his hoof on the general vicinity of the reset button.

Another day, another sandwich, and another conversation with the innkeeper, who was shocked when Cogs said quite matter-of-factly that he had fallen out of the seventh-story window the previous day; his shock was alleviated, however, when Cogs further explained the event.  He payed for the meal and the night's lodgings, then set off to work, his mind still obsessing over the mysterious pillar.

He arrived at the clock shop expecting to be shuffled off to the back room to work on pocket watches or something of that sort, and as such was pleasantly surprised when Sepia told him to deliver a small but particularly expensive timepiece to a customer.

"It's not something I can trust just anypony with, especially that ditz of a mailmare; and since you're my apprentice, I feel like I can trust you more easily.  Good luck!"

"Thank you."

Cogs didn't have much to say, as his mental faculties were otherwise occupied with thoughts of metal and acid.  The road to the customer's residence was long and winding, even arcing over a high hill at one point; it culminated at a large vineyard with a little shack he could only assume to be the right house.

The sun was almost a quarter-way across the sky when he reached the place and proceeded to knock on the door.

"Hello?"

It swung out abruptly, as if the one who opened it had improper control of their muscles; the speech that came next was slurred, and difficult to understand.

"Whoserre?"

"Delivery from Tock's Clock Shop for a miss Berry Punch."

"Thassme."

Berry reached out and clumsily grabbed at the clock, nearly knocking it to the ground on the first attempt, but successfully getting secure purchase on it on the third.

"It says here you already paid when you sent the unit in, so all you have to do is sign here."

She stepped forward, grabbing the pencil in her mouth and drawing a determined "X" on the line; after she finished, she turned to Cogs, saying almost in a defensive tone:

"I'ssannoying, ya know?  Work nigh's an' all-a-sudd'n ev'rypony thinks yer a drunk."

She groggily backpedaled into the house, closing the door as she did so; Cogs assumed that she misjudged how much room she had, though, as he heard a cacophonous crash from within.  'She's right,' he thought; 'alcohol was indeed my first thought when I saw her behavior.  But that's silly now that I consider it, after all I heard that the selling of alcoholic beverages is illegal in this region.'

Cogs froze.

'Selling is illegal, but production and possession are perfectly fine; so that probably means...'.  He moved back towards the building and knocked furiously, being met with another clumsy door-opening.

"Whoserre now?"

"Sorry about this miss Punch, but I need to ask you a quick question: does this vineyard produce wine?"

"Um..."

She stared past Cogs into space, face contorted with concentration.

"Miss Punch?"

"Well we don' sell here, but we do fermenting in the cellar, so yesh."

"Okay, one more question: do you make vinegar?"

"I think sho, but I really dunno; you can go 'round ta the back an' check if ya want.  If ya find anything ya want jus' take it; thanksh for the clock."

"Alright, thank you for your time."

She nodded sleepily and once again retreated into her shack.  Cogs meandered among the tangled grape trellises and fig trees, leaves crunching underhoof; he proceeded to check the storehouse, where, sure enough, he found a rack of vinegar bottles, one of which he loaded into his bags, an awkward task given the size of the wide, flat container.  He marched back up the lane, trying to remember what other supplies he needed for the project he had in mind.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Back at the clock shop, Sepia was tinkering with a small windup toy he had cobbled together from spare parts; not a single customer had visited the shop all day, so it was with great excitement that he rushed to the door, opening it in response to a knock.  He jubilant  expression shifted to a crestfallen one, however, when he realized that it was just his apprentice returning from making a delivery.

"How was it?  She didn't challenge you to a drunken brawl now, did she?"

Cogs displayed a small grin.

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Well good, 'cause I've been hearing rumors."

The two went back to work, or rather, Sepia once again began tinkering with his toys while Cogs went back and forth evaluating and comparing Tock's one-hundred-seventy-nine hourglasses.

The day had ended without a single customer, much to Tock's disappointment.

"You know, I may have to close down the shop soon."

Cogs sputtered in surprise:

"Huh? B-b-but why?"

"A competitor opened up a shop closer to the heart of town; his clocks are inferior, but cheaper and closer nearby to most of the folk."

Sepia looked depressed, noticing this, Cogs decided to change the subject.

"So, do you know of any salt vendors around here?"

"Salt vendors?"

"Yes."

"A caravan comes through a few times a year and there might be a few shops that sell it, but I think that's about it."

"Okay, thank you."

They parted ways, Sepia heading to his apartment while Cogs proceeded towards the inn.  He had never noticed before, but the inn was not very far from the town's apple orchards. 'Sweet Apple Acres I think I heard somepony call it, I wonder what sort of workers are employed there; it's a huge plot of land, so maybe ten employees?'

He looked around, wondering what other noteworthy establishment were located nearby.

"General Store."

He muttered the nearest shop's name.

"I wonder if they have anything useful."

He headed inside, calculating how many spare bits he had as he did so.  The interior of the building was quite plain, just a register stand and a few unadorned wood shelves bearing everything from sunglasses to hair gel.  He performed a cursory search which proved fruitful, as he found a cheap hourglass, three glass rods, a substantial wad of gauze, a small bottle of salt, and some old zinc and copper washers, all within his budget.  Cogs moved the items one by one to the register stand, where a particularly bored and scrawny-looking pony sat, eyes glazed over as his mind explored regions far more interesting than anything his bland surroundings could have afforded; he only snapped back to reality when Cogs' grip on the bag of washers slipped and it came crashing down on the wood before him.

"Hello-and-welcome-to-the-Ponyville-general-store-my-name's-Comet-how-may-I-help-you?"

His mouth had made the statement automatically while his eyes struggled to open fully.

"I'd like to buy these items."

Comet surveyed the strange assortment before him.  While to the unobservant onlooker me might have seemed to have drifted back into day dreaming, in actuality his brain was working furiously, calculating the exact price of the purchase; a value which he then relayed to Cogs, who payed and finalized the business transaction.

Cogs stepped back into the evening sun and began a slow trot, but stopped when a flash of light passed directly in front of his face, leaving a small black mark in the road beneath his hooves.

"Did I getcha?"

He looked up and identified the source of the commotion: it was that rainbow-maned pegasus from the day before, sitting atop a small storm cloud.

"Whoa you're good, didn't even flinch."

He glared decisively at Rainbow Dash, trying to think of something adequate to say, but to no avail, so he went for guilting instead.

"You know, it was because of a lightning bolt that I lost my wings.  It was extremely painful, and I feel a comparable pain every time I'm reminded about it."

Dash's joking expression faded, becoming one of guilt as she slowly flapped away while using the cloud to hide from sight.  Cogs continued towards the inn.

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Salt and vinegar mixed in jar to make acid, gauze discs soaked in acid, placed in between alternating pieces of zinc and copper in a tower supported by three glass rods connected to the base of what used to be an hourglass, all connected to two long copper wires; the acid was already corroding the metal and polished wood base, the glass rods had cracked a little under the strain of so much weight leaning against them, and the wires jutted out at precarious angles.  All-in-all it looked terrible, but Cogs knew of the vast potential hiding behind its crude appearance, and saw it as a masterpiece.

It had taken him a whole hour to construct, and he was eager to test it out.  He removed an older style light bulb from his saddlebags, the kind that still had a big, gnarly filament in the middle; it was glowing slightly, its magical charge yet to be completely depleted.  Cogs slowly but deliberately strapped the copper wires to it. A bright, artificial light flooded the room, dazzling him.

Cogs tried to think of what it most reminded him of, and grinned slightly as he muttered it to himself:

"It's sunshine; electric sunshine."

The light suddenly dimmed, however, as a loud fizzling came from the bulb.  He put his face up to it, seeing the electricity within wrestle with the haywire magic.

"Mental note: magic and electricity do not interact well."

The activity died down.  Cogs moved his face even closer and prodded the lightbulb with his left hoof; it began to swell, glowing with an eerie sparkling effect.  Cogs raised his head and backpedaled a little.  The swell and sparkle effect spread up the wires to the voltaic cell, which began to whine and spew acid before exploding.

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Cogs awoke in shock, feeling a dull pain from his left fore-hoof; looking down at it, he saw that the skin was completely gone, showing muscle and even a little bone.  He slunk over to the table, on which sat the corroded remains of his science experiment, and grabbed the wad of gauze.  Looking around for a water source but finding none, Cogs reached out the window, watering his wound in a nearby cloud and thanking Celestia that he had decided against installing safety bars.  He saw the sun beginning to peek over the horizon and looked to the clock, which read six o'clock.  He drew back his hoof and began to wind the gauze around it.

He hobbled down the stairs, walking rather awkwardly on three legs.  As he arrived at the first floor, he gave the innkeeper a little wave, which was not returned but met with a look of disbelief from the innkeeper.  Cogs thought for a second about what might be so shocking, then realized that he had forgotten his jacket; he turned and looked at he stubs on his back, but was equally shocked when he noticed what else adorned his backside: a large symbol of the sun with a six-toothed gear in the center.  He tried to recall where else he had seen a similar symbol before, then it struck him. 'This is the insignia of this country's ruler;' he thought to himself, unsure of what to feel. 'Is this cause for rejoicing? Concern? Panic?'.

He turned back to the innkeeper, who had fainted while Cogs reveled in the splendor of his newly acquired mark.  He grabbed the half-sandwich off of the innkeeper's plate before retreating up the stairs, a painful but necessary task, as he would hate to be subject to the many eyes that would doubtless plague him if he ventured out in public without his jacket.