“Ugh I hate mondays.” I said to no one in particular as I swatted my alarm clock.
Rolling off my sturdy blue bed my hooves touched the floor with a musical clink. I never get tired of that noise. One of the best parts of having hooves I feel. The steady rhythm of each hoof as we trot along like some grand clockwork cuckoo clock.
Right then, enough dilly-dallying. Time to get back on schedule.
Entering the kitchen as I do every morning at exactly 8:15 I prepare breakfast for myself and...
Thump
Speak of discord and he shall appear.
“Son.” I called. “Hurry up and get down here for breakfast. You don't want to be late for your first day after all.”
After precisely 432 seconds Pipsqueak finally descended the stairs. Honestly I don't know who he gets his slack attitude from. Must be his mothers side.
“I'm coming Pops.” Pip calls as he trots down the stairs. “Cripes it's cold in here.”
Turning around to place his breakfast down for him I notice something amiss.
“Son” I begin pointing at his face “What in Celestia's Mane is that?”
“It's an eye-patch. Yarr you old sea dog, hoist the main sail and brace the ships cat you scurvy scoundrel.” He sported a grin that you almost saw on pirates. Right before they gutted you stem to stern. It was rather unsettling on somepony so ridiculously adorable.
“As much as I admire you historical accuracy, the craftsmanship is extraordinary, I cannot help but feel that you might make a better first impression at this new school if you went as yourself.” I attempted to remove the surprisingly well made eye-patch from his face but the little rapscallion ducked under my hooves and off towards the table, away from my grasp.
“But Dad. I am a pirate. I can feel it in my bones, in my sea hooves. I just need to earn my Cutie Mark in it and then I'll show you, you landlubber you.” he said in mock severity, shaking his hoof threateningly.
I rolled my eyes. I don't think even a rabbit would be afraid of Pip even if he was brandishing the elements of harmony at them.
“Pip, the day you get a pirate Cutie Mark I'll allow you to wear pantaloons, bandanas and a fetching tricorn hat. If you want you can wave cutlasses at any and all wenches and scallywags that take your fancy.”
“Really?” his eyes hopeful.
I nodded solemnly.
“Oh yes. I'll even make you a seafarers watch, that naval captains used to wear, to celebrate. But” I reached over and removed his eye-patch. “until then you're just going to have to dress like us landlubbers, me hearty.” I added in a gruff piratey voice.
“Aww” he said defeatedly walking back to his seat to eat his breakfast.
Wears his heart on his hooves that one. Just like his mother. Always dashing off with a fanciful notion of rescuing some amarezonian treasure or becoming the first pony to single-hoofedly cross all the seas. Adventuring was in her blood, and in his too it seems. She always did admire pirates and the freedom of the open sea.
Poor Mels.
No. Not today. Shaking my head a little in an attempt to dislodge some uncomfortable thoughts I notice the clock on the mantelpiece.
8:32. 8:32 A.M? Oh dear me.
“Eat up Pip or we're going to be late” I say as I dart about the house in a rush, trying to grab everything He'll need for school.
Pencil. He'll need that. Wouldn't be able to write anything down otherwise. Copy book? Yes that as well. What else would he write things down in. Vellum? Scrolls? Tie. Of course he'll need a tie. Can't show up without a suitably stylish yet informal clothing choice, now can he? Mhmm perhaps a Bow tie instead. Bow ties are cool. Oh I'm getting behind schedule.
“Dad!” Pipsqueak shouts.
“Hmm, yes son?” I asked not looking up from a pile of random objects I had managed to accumulate in my haste. Now then, a keyboard. Yes he'll definitely need one of those, perhaps two just in case. I don't want him to be lacking in all the correct educational tools.
“DAD” Pip shouted again this time appearing right in front of my face before bellowing it out. How on earth did he manage that so quickly?
“It was only 8:15” he says as he lifts my face away from the assorted junk strewn about my hooves. “That's out Trottingham clock. It hasn't been set right yet.”
Celestia, that was lucky. I nickered wheezily, half in amusement at my own silliness and half in sheer relief.
I lifted the clock in my hoof and kept laughing. Such a simple mistake, typical of myself. Should have corrected it already, very nearly had me behind schedule and Pip's first day as well. Least now we can finish our breakfasts, right on schedu-
“Course” Pip continued “ it was only 8:15. That was about forty minutes ago, before you started muttering about schedules and ties.
Oh round spherical objects.
[br]
Galloping down the muddy lane I can feel the dirt as my pounding hooves churn it up, causing stray clods of earth smack against my hooves and flanks as I thunder by.
For most my obsessive need to be on time might be but I know better. I know the true value of time, of every single solitary hour, second and moment of time and I know not to waste any of it. Keeping to my schedule makes sure I don't. That every jot of time is spent wisely and efficiently.
I'll never forget the value of time. Never again.
“Allonsy!” Pip crows from my back as we barrel in the direction of the schoolhouse, his forehooves carefully wrapped tight around my neck.
Allonsy? Well, it's better than 'Yeehaw' at any rate.
Somehow from our madcap dash from the house till now he's managed to get his kleptomaniacal hooves on his eye-patch again. He really is a pirate.
I chuckle. Least he kept the bow tie.
“Faster Dad, faster.” he screams excitedly.
Oh yes, just like his mother.
“Aye, Aye captain.” I say with an awful west canterry accent as I awkardly attempt a galloping salute.
My pace doubles now, as I charge towards the schoolhouse, kicking up all manner of turf with my reckless hooves.
I spy our destination just ahead of me and I change course slightly.
“Land ahoy Captain.” I chortle, still with that terrible accent.
“Well done first mate, now steer true and straighten up the mizzen mast my hearties.” Pip laughs. His whole body racking with laughter that vibrates through his hooves and shakes my head a little.
It's a sweet unrestrained sound that is music to my ears. The sound of an innocent colt just having fun. It's been a long time since he laughed like that, carefree and hearty, so long in fact that I honestly thought I'd never hear it again.
I'm so engaged in this sound, the sound of pure ecstasy, that I completely miss the large grey form plummeting towards me.
“Look out!” a yell warns.
My hooves lock up in a vain attempt to stop myself and my flanks slammed into the ground as my momentum carries us forward, dragging a groove behinds us towards... something as my face connects hard into wall of slate grey fur.
It's a beat. Or two.
For a few precious seconds I am totally knocked for six. Disorientation reigns in my head and it is king, before the glorious revolution of consciousness takes hold.
Blinking, bleary eyed, I struggle to see what's in front of me. Everything is all muddied to my vision but I can make out two golden orbs.
“Are you ok, sir?” A disembodied voice asks, sweet as honey with all the care of a frightened filly.
I can't answer.
Even before my eyesight can fully clear, I'm transfixed by those golden spheres. They're just a touch off kilter, seemingly dancing slowly and back again with each other in an endless waltz, so delicate and inexorable are their movements. Shimmering stars shining out of a pure white cosmos. Rather like-
“Eyes.” I say breathlessly, my voice strained but wistful.
My own eyes begin to clear during my outburst and I finally see who those bewitching gems belong to.
Before me sits a grey pegasus, around my age if not a bit younger. Her messy mane a blonde colour, complimenting her coat. She may not be as athletic or svelte as your usual pegasus but she's much healthier looking with (I'm embarrassed to note) curves in all the right places. Definitely a mare not some young filly. A lady.
A little ashamed of myself for my staring at her for so long (and for my thoughts.) I opened my mouth to apologise ,to make amends, for careening into her when I noticed something I really should have seen already.
Her wings are drooped, the tips of them touching the ground and she is avoiding my gaze, she's crying.
She mumbles what sounds like an apology before flapping off into the sky.
Was it something I said?
I must of hurt her when we crashed into each other. Celestia, I cannot stand to see a mare cry, especially when I might have caused it.
I'll have to find her, apologise straight away and-
“Dad, we're going to be late. “ Pip says into my ear from his perch around my neck.
Properly ashamed at how I've forgotten about, I quickly checked him over asking if he was okay, if he was hurt but thankfully he was fine.
“Come on Dad. We've got to go.” He said.
Looking off in the direction the grey mare I trundled off more carefully towards the schoolhouse, late for the first time in years.
I really do hate mondays.
Maybe it's my inner Trots-stallion but nothing raises my ire more than Mondays.
Well, that and pears. Honestly, such a pointless fruit. Take the noble apple, a glorious globe if ever there was one. A healthy snack, perfectly cultivated for our stomachs and rather tasty if I do say so myself.
But pears? Egads, what a deplorable food. It's like evil ponyified and sitting on your plate, just waiting till you are hungry enough to be taken in by its ploy. Not today, Pears!
Mondays are bad enough without you mucking it up.
Celestia, I'm bored.
Sitting behind the counter at my shop, my eyes lazily drift around taking in my meagre surroundings. The shop is a quaint affair, the odd furnishing decorating the desolate room with its own empty presence. The entire shop is going for an air of refinement, sophistication and rustic charm but it fails at all three. If ever a room could be described as lonely, this would be it.
It's nothing like my old shop back in Trottingham. That was all smooth lines, minimalism and pretentiousness. I actually kind of miss it. Weird since how little time I spent there, always dying to get away from the city and its demands. The hoofsters of my craft would always pop in at inconvenient times, trying to get my opinion on some silly clockwork toy they found. But it's a buck forest, germane original. Perhaps you haven't heard of there? I could almost hear them say everytime they walked in, so sure that they knew something I didn't, just because of who I am, because of my reputation in the field.
I'm always excited to learn new things, who wouldn't be? The two greatest statements in this world are “I don't know.” and “Let's find out.”. But they always annoyed me, those hoofsters. Satisfying curiosity is one thing, but trying to satiate the ego of some young pup who's arrogant enough to think that knowledge that's limited to but a few, while kept from others, is somehow worthier than anything is else is just beyond comprehension.
Still, it was fun to bleed a few egos every now and then.
Least they were better than the only other kind of pony that would frequent my establishment. Those morbid apologisers. You would think I wasn't running a business, instead I was some kind of one pony, live-in freak show. All I'd need is a Ringleader to announce me everytime I went to work.
Roll up, Roll up. Come gather around and see the amazing and terrifying Missing Pony! Isn't it a sight colts and fillies? This was a pony once but now his ocular cavities, that once leaked continuously when he thought nopony was looking, have dried up. His heart skips a beat, as if some part of him has vanished, yet he appears whole. Gaze on him and pity him, mares and stallions. Come on, roll up. No charge, no charge.
Damn nosey busy-bodies. Least here I'm free of them and their constant questions, pitying glances, and slow head shakes.
I don't need pity.
But I do need some customers. Is it always this empty in Ponyville? Even when I first started out fixing clockwork paraphernalia in that little shack in Bayfast I was busier than this. It's just so boring.
I don't know why I am even bothering to open a shop here. It's not like I need the bits, Mels saw to all that. I could stay home and... and be bored out of my mind. At least here I have the possibility of some equine interaction. Even if it is just a waitress when I go catch my morning tea at precisely 9:15.
No, the shop is necessary. It'll help me keep to my schedule and give young pip some structure to his life. It's been upturned enough at this point. A little stability will be just what the Doctor ordered. Plus I don't think I'd survive the shame of being a “house-husband.” Really, I hate bloody gender conformity.
Besides I could really do some good here for the community. Give something back and all that. Ponies must be in dire need of a clockwork specialist in a small town like this, mustn't they?
Glancing around the spartan room again it seems that I have my answer. My eyes flick to outside where my sign is proudly displayed, as it gently sways in the breeze.
It's a mahogany sign with my cutie mark upon it and a working clock embedded in the wood.
Quarter to Nine? It's only quarter to nine? Oh Celestia, strike me down. I can't take much more of this. I know I came here for some seclusion but this is ridiculous.
My sign jiggles a little as the wind picks up slightly. Looking at it again I read it just to give myself something to do.
Time Turner: If it's broke, I can fix it. I nicker a little at the sign. Time Turner. That's the name, don't wear it out. Time Turner from Trottingham. It sounds like a really bad poem. Far too much alliteration. Still, as long as the sign does it's job who am I to complain. Course, it's not really completing the task right now. Perhaps my sign is too ambiguous? Or maybe just not big enough? I'll have to see about putting an ad in the local paper or making myself available to the Mayor for Timekeeping at the town hall or something. I'll think of something.
As I sit there pondering what to do about my lack of customers I completely miss the arrival of my first one.
“Excuse me.” A polite but firm voice asks from behind my counter.
“Hmm? What?” I muddily reply from my self-induced stupor. “Who said that?”
“Down here!” The voice pipes up again. This time I can clearly hear it. A young voice with a almost undetectable lisp. I doubt anypony would notice but it helps in this job to have exceptional hearing. Comes in immensely handy when repairing clocks you know.
Leaning over the counter I look down at a little that couldn't be more than a year younger than my Pip. She's a young unicorn with a purplish coat and an odd hue to her mane. I can't place it but she seems oddly familiar.
“Ah what can I do for you young lady?” I ask, borderline patronising. If this was pony was any older, they'd probably be insulted.
“Please don't patronise me, sir.” Blast it. “I was wondering if you could fix a watch for me. I'm in rather a hurry.”
She lifts a golden pocket watch with a weak telekinetic grasp at places it shakily into my hoof. I'd recognise it anywhere. It's a genuine Luna original. Made by earth Ponies at the start of the diarchy. There cannot be more than thirty left in existence. The face is scratched and cracked, and the inscription on the back is fractured as well. 'To my darling' I think it says but the spiderweb of cracks make it hard to read with out my specs.
Placing it to my ear I can hear the ticking as the second hoof (it sounds like) struggles to make its way around the face. Probably another crack inside the inner workings of the piece then, along the main cog stopping the smooth meshing of cogs from taking place.
Oh thank you Luna for what I am about to receive, may I be truly thankful.
Finally something to do, and not just any something but an antique timepiece of unmistakable beauty and design. Function and form dancing in a Bacchanalian feast for the eyes.
I love this job.
“I can fix it but it could take a few hours. The inner workings seem damaged and the entire face will probably need replaced.” I say barely able to control my excitement.
“But I need it soon. I have to get to school and return it home before Miss Cheerilee gets suspicious as to my whereabouts.” She almost whines.
“I'm sorry but that's the quickest I can do.” As I look at her I see her weighing the options in her mind. About whether to just forget about it or risk the punishment for flunking her class.
Obviously I couldn't let the chance to work on a masterpiece like this slip through my hooves on the account of a nervous filly.
“I'll tell you what.” I began slyly “How about I deliver it? That way you can get to Miss Cheerilee and have the watch fixed. No charge.” I added as an afterthought. At this point I'd probably repair the thing for nix, just to have something to do.
Her eyes got a little wary at that, suspicious even.
“I don't know if that's a good idea.” She said slowly backing away.
“All right I'll fix it for free then. No charge whatsoever.” I felt the watch move in my hoof as she tugged at it with her magic. I really wasn't going to let this one go.
“Please.” My voice breaking a little. “ I'm just so bored. Please let me repair it. Something this beautiful shouldn't be broken.” Celestia, how true that was.
“It shouldn't.” I almost sobbed as I ducked my head into my hooves to hide myself.
I fix broken things. It's not really my talent but it may as well be for all the use that does. Any little gizmo or gadget that gets broken can easily be fixed with just the right tools and know-how. A little work here or there and everything's alright again. Spit-spot and ready to go, as if nothing had happened. I love fixing things and seeing ponies smile as what they thought was gone forever ticks and tocks, whirs and wobbles like it always did. A stalwart companion.
Why won't she let me. Why won't she let me fix it. I can do it.
You can't fix everything doc', 'specially not me. A memory of mels voice tickles me.
I just want to fix it. I just to fix it.
I feel the fur on my back bristle as it gets patted rather weakly. I look up to see that little filly is still here. I thought she would have run off. She must have been using her magic in an attempt to console me, as her horn is still glowing. Well, aren't I pathetic. Near crying over a watch and being comforted by a girl not even old enough to have a cutie mark yet.
“It's ok. You can fix it.” She said calmly. “Please don't cry.” she said her voice hushed to an almost imperceptible level. Pity I have such good hearing.
“Thank you.”
I'll fix it.
