It was when he could see the faded silhouette of his house that Dorian had let his clumsy sprint slow to a lagging trot. His sides were slick with sweat, his fur matted from exertion and adrenaline as he jumped onto the uneven porch, the rotting wood creaking underneath his chipped hooves. His long mane plastered itself against his damp pelt, unyielding even as he pressed open the door.
"Dorian? Is that you?" Millie yelled from the kitchen. A plume of smoke was wafting from the open door, its misty tendrils sweeping against the tattered remains of the hallway rug. It was easy enough to tell that she had been cooking for some time now. Despite only having two other mouths to feed apart from her own, the mare had always taken a liking to cooking. Whatever she or her family didn't eat was promptly thrown out, as wasteful as the practice was.
"I'm home." Dorian replied, raising his voice to rough mutter as to be heard over the haphazard jangling and banging of utensils against pots and pans.
"Good day?" Millie yelled over her own ruckus, her tone impatient as if she merely wanted to race through the pleasantries.
"Somewhat..." The foal shrugged, despite having no witness to his actions. "Do you know if we have any paint?" he asked suddenly, walking over to the kitchen door. He stood just outside of the room, wisely. He didn't want to be run into by his mother's frantic traveling to and fro from the counters and back.
"What?" Millie whipped her head around to face her son, her mouth stuffed with an assortment of carrots. Her voice was slightly garbled as she spoke. "You're the only one here that would use it, why ask me?" she cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have homework to do now?" she tapped her hoof.
Dorian shuffled from side to side. "Uh, it is for my homework..." he mumbled. "It's for show and tell tomorrow... Can I put my saddlebags on the table?" he gestured. The straps had begun to chafe through his thin coat, biting down into his tough hide.
"Sure, sure..." Millie turned back to her cooking, waving her tail in dismissal.
Sighing in relief, the colt shook violently from side to side before the sacks toppled to the ground, enabling him to slip his head from underneath.
"What are planning on making?" Millie asked. She was peering over the edge of their massive iron kettle, her nostrils flaring at the strong odor of boiling cabbage.
Dorian leaned his neck down forward to stretch his back, holding his position till he heard a satisfying crack from his aching spine. "Oh... nothing too big." he dismissed. "A wood carving... do we have any sandpaper left?" he suddenly asked.
Millie rolled her eyes in impatience. "If we do, it's either in your toolbox or in the shed." she muttered. To her, there had never been a need for idle chit-chat. Simple conversations were never particularly fruitful, she would often say.
Seeing how the mare no longer wished for company (if she had to be begin with), Dorian slipped away from the arch-way to his room.
Upon opening the door the foal was immediately pacified by the comforting scent of wood shavings and freshly washed fabric. The dim light that bled through his little window offered just the right amount of illumination, and it filled Dorian with such a sense of homeliness that his embarrassing experience at school was quickly forgotten, if only for a moment.
For a long while, Dorian surveyed his tiny kingdom of loose materials and tools with a serene sense of pride. His long ears ticked away in little circles as he gathered his thoughts on what was to be done.
Indeed, for a plan of action of action had formed in the foal's mind on the way home from school. It was a project that would likely consume the majority of the evening, if not the entire night. It was all the same to Dorian. He had already established himself as a bit of a night owl, and it was easy to tell from the saggy bags that formed underneath his eyelids.
An idea occurred to him, and he turned to the messy pile of 'creations' that was lodged next to the door. Perhaps he could find a crude base to manipulate, such a finding would shave off a good portion of his time if he could.
With that in mind, Dorian crept over to the chin-high pile and gently lifted a hoof to dig through it. Stuffed animals and woven blankets were firmly shoved aside, making way for the solid pile of finished and failed wood carvings underneath.
Eventually, Dorian was able to fish out a few of his more early carvings from a few months back. The rest in the pile had already been splattered with paint and subtle details that made them unusable. Still, what he was left to work with could be tampered with well enough, he hoped.
Gingerly, the foal took up the three wooden sculptures in his maw, careful as to not let his saliva stain the jagged finish as he dropped them on his mattress to a get a closer look in the light.
One figure was a half-finished representation of a plain, feature-less donkey. The shape was still rather lumpy and in need of a massive touch-up to make it distinguishable. Another one was nearly finished in the same basic shape, though the end tip of one of the forelegs had broken off due to a slip of the hoof. The last wasn't even a donkey at all, but the bare beginnings of a pony. It's short, stubby ears were already fully formed, its muzzle short and stout to fit a pony's usual facial structure.
Annoyed, Dorian pushed the pony model aside, leaving it for another time. For the creation he was planning, it certainly wouldn't do.
His attention turned back to the two remaining choices, a deep frown settling on his weary face. Both sculptures were either incomplete or flawed in some fashion, so the idea of saving time would have to be scrapped, at least on the massive scale that Dorian was hoping for.
Determined, Dorian looked at the model with the chipped foreleg. It would be a shame to let so many of hours go to waste because of such a simple blemish. However, fixing it would no doubt be a challenge.
The foal walked over to the left side of his mattress where he kept his decently sized toolbox. It was an old, shabby thing, rusted at the edges and nearly fallen apart. Dorian cherished it all the same though, if only because he knew how much trouble his father had gone through to get it for him as a Hearth's Warming Eve present. Over the years it had served as his ever-faithful companion,locking away the essential tools for his 'experiments' from prying eyes.
Plopping down to the ground, Dorian reached out to gently undo the latch in the front, its steel finish lightly crusted with browning rust. Many would have considered the old thing unsightly, but Dorian looked at it more as a piece of art than anything else. The scars and wear and tear gave the case a sense of character, a personality that had established itself over the long years of its existence.
A loud screech sounded as Dorian slowly lifted up the cover, the metal hinges squeaking loudly in protest. He was prepared for the noise though, for his ears had already firmly pressed themselves against his scalp.
Inside the box was nothing more than a small compartment, filled to the gills with a plethora of various tools and oddities. There was no organization in their placement. Indeed, it looked as though the colt had needlessly tossed the objects in a messy pile. It was just how he worked. Whenever dear Millie would try and tell him to pick up his room, he'd do so, but the organization would be short-lived. Dorian simply could not help but operate on disorganization.
There was no hesitation as he reached downwards and plucked a dulled butter knife from the tray, wincing as the taste of cold metal ran over his tongue. With the obstruction of the knife gone, he could see that there was a small leaf of used sandpaper settled in the box's base. Sitting on top of it were a few canisters of paint; Dorian had completely forgotten about them, even if they weren't the colors he necessarily needed.
And so, gathering up all the needed tools upon his withered mattress, Dorian began with his work. A low hum resonated from the well of his throat, offering white noise to block out the exasperated arguing of his parents that had started up some minutes earlier. Their voices were muffled from the obstruction of the closed door, but with the inclusion of the foal's flat tune the offending sounds were nearly obliterated.
He worked diligently, pressing the sharp tip of the knife gently against the jagged edges of the carving. He kept the statue balanced with the tip of his hoof against the bare ground, contorting his neck in such a way that he had to take frequent breaks.
Eventually, the light faded, leaving Dorian with nothing more than a few choice specks of candle light to guide him along his work. The soothing chirping of crickets from outside were welcomed. At least they provided more riveting conversation than the arguing of his distracted parents.
Millie and Earnest's outbursts had long since fazed the foal over the last few months. As a young colt, he had been terrified by the oppressive atmosphere that they both seemed to hold. Both burros would always find a reason to bicker and fight, as much as it had pained Dorian to watch.
Now, however, he had been long since desensitized to it. Their quarrels had become a natural part of his life.
As soon as his plan had been perfected in his head, Dorian slipped into his own little world of productivity. He had always shown efficiency when it came to completing tasks that he set his mind to. To him, it was almost as if the entire world ceased to be, if only for a moment. There was simply nothing else in existence, nothing but him and the curious figure that he molded within his small hooves. The only time that he had ever stopped work was to light his candles once the sun had completely gone down, and even then he moved as if in a trance. His pupils were dilated, every small detail seemed to beg for perfection.
He didn't even notice the rising crest of dawn, the Princess's sun gently lapping downwards over the pale dullness of the suburbs. There was no spot that Celestia left untouched with her grace, and yet even Dorian was completely oblivious to her arrival.
His eyes had become lined with the red of his veins, his skin seeming to sag with exhaustion as he dipped the tip of his paint brush into the small vat of black. He didn't even feel fatigue, at least not yet. He ran purely on adrenaline, his wide, grey eyes unblinking as he made final touches.
With a final dab of black on the mended hoof, it was done. Dorian placed the soiled brush onto a stained rag, his tongue licking his lips in relief as he surveyed his handiwork. It wasn't the best to him, but hadn't he always been his own worst critic?
Fatigue slowly began to creep up the foal's spine as he took a glance out the window. By the position of the sun, it was probably about seven AM or so. A small groan escaped his lips. There would be no sleep tonight, it seemed.
"Dorian! Get up!"
Right on cue, Millie's voice pierced though his quiet atmosphere like an unpleasant siren. Still, he supposed that it couldn't be helped. Judging by the handiwork he had accomplished, it was worth it.
Dorian yawned, the hinges of his jawbone cracking painfully as he shoved the bedroom door open with his drooping head. Finished carving or not, it was going to be a pretty terrible day. So much for keeping his promise that he'd try and get a good night's sleep for Madame Mackenzie. Hopefully his work would be adequate enough to offer a little excuse.
As soon as he entered the hallway, he could smell the wafting aroma of grits, and his mouth watered. Finally he'd have a chance to have some, at least there was something to look forward to today.
"Morning, Dor." Millie chirped as the foal lumbered into the room, though her eyes were kept squarely on the steaming pan laid in front of her. "How'd you sleep?" she asked.
"Okay..." Dorian muttered, suppressing a cynical smile. Surely she knew him better than that.
Earnest was sitting at the table, mulling over a cup of lukewarm coffee and a copy of the Hoofington Post sprawled in front of him. He only briefly glanced up at his son before turning back to his reading, offering a dull grunt of acknowledgment. "Morning Son." he didn't seem fazed by Dorian's ravaged appearance at all. Then again, he had never been that good looking of a burro to begin with. Maybe his son had finally inherited his genes after all.
Rolling back his shoulders, Dorian reared back and placed his front hooves on the base of his chair. He was still small, so pulling himself up had always been a challenge. Eventually, his scrambling efforts were rewarded as his mother placed a heaping plate of snow-white grits on his place mat.
"You alright, Dor? You look pretty terrible." Millie raised an eyebrow at her son, though didn't seem too surprised, or concerned for that matter.
Dorian's head snapped up to her, and he forced a tiny smile. "Oh, I'm okay. I just had to get some stuff done last night for today..." he reassured her in that quiet voice of his. He hunched over his plate of food with an expectant smile on his face, his shoulders bunched up in giddiness.
If his mother hadn't done her part in controlling his portions, Dorian would have very likely turned into a glutton. He adored food, as picky as he was with what he liked and didn't like. Opening his mouth, he slowly began eating at a savoring pace, his snout scrunching up in delight as flecks of mashed corn plastered themselves onto his lips.
His trance was broken as Earnest lifted himself from the table, absentmindedly folding up his newspaper as he did so. "M'workin' late tonight." he announced, swirling himself around to push in his chair. "Iron Hammer wants me to help with widening an opening we found." he elaborated, as if there were nothing special about it.
Millie glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't say anything about that last night..." she ventured.
"Wasn't a need to." Earnest merely replied as he walked out of the kitchen, taking the time to flick the end of his tail against his son as he did so. With that, he was gone.
Dorian didn't go back to his eating until he could hear the click of the front door opening and closing. The warmth of the food was enough to break up his fatigue, though he winced at the thought of likely falling asleep in class again.
His plate clean, the foal hopped down from his chair and crossed over to one of the many wooden cabinets that lay against the walls. Pondering over the numerous doors for a quick second, he reached out to grab the brass knob of one of the lower cabinets. Inside were a few bottles of cleaning fluid along with a roll of paper towels. Grabbing the latter, Dorian hurried off back to his room to check on his newly finished creation.
Leaning his face close to it, he was happy to find that the paint had been quick in drying. That was probably due to the dryness of the wood itself sucking in the paint's moisture. It made for coloring rather easy despite the brittleness of the wood itself. Carefully, the foal packed a modest cushion of paper around the small figure, folding up the corners so that it didn't jostle.
As he finished tucking in the final corner, he heard a knock on the door.
"Dorian!" Millie called. There was a touch of irritation in her voice. "Can you go get that?!" she yelled over the harsh scream of the tea kettle.
Bending down to pick up his packaged statue, Dorian quickly stumbled out of his door and made his way to the kitchen. Fortunately the cacophony of the pots and pans was so loud that his mother remained unaware of him taking a side-trip to deposit the object into a pocket on his saddlebags.
The knocking grew insistent, quickening its pace as Dorian rushed down the hallway. "Coming!" he called. Whoever was at the door was certainly in an impatient mood, which seemed a little suspicious. Not many strangers ever bothered to visit Dorian's family after all, save for the occasional mailmare with a package or three.
An uneasy feeling welled up in foal's belly as he slowly cracked open the front door, only to find two unexpected faces peering back at him. For a short moment, his rattled brain couldn't identify who they were, though it wasn't long before the one with the buck teeth spoke.
"Hi Dorian!" Eloise smiled back at him, her huge front tooth a shining ivory. Next to her stood the ever-chubby Cornelius. Dorian could faintly remember he being the one that Madame Mackenzie had first called roll for. The two foals were carrying their saddlebags across their backs, occasionally fidgeting and adjusting the straps as they stood from their weight.
The filly continued on. "We wanted to stay after class and ask you how you were feelin' since you fell asleep and all. You didn't look so good..." she explained. Cornelius nodded in agreement, his heavy jowls flopping to and fro.
"Yeah!" he piped up. "One of the colts tried to throw a paper ball at you, but you didn't even wake up. I would'a socked him for you..." he huffed, lifting a hoof to scratch it against the ground.
During this entire introduction, Dorian shifted back and forth on his hooves, a touch of confusion settled on his face. Honestly, he didn't really know what to think of his two classmates suddenly showing up at his door. They didn't even know him much at all. "Ah, how do you know where I live?" he asked. He was unable to hide the slight paranoid tone in his voice.
Eloise didn't seem to notice. "Oh, we just asked around on the way home from school." she answered easily. Her eyes darted to and fro across Dorian's slouching form, and her smile faded to a concerned frown. "Hey, are you okay? You look kinda rough..." she murmured.
"Yeah..." Cornelius piped up. "Your eyes are all red." he observed, cocking his head to the side.
Dorian shook his head to rid himself of the fatigue that had crept it's way over him. His face felt numb, tingling from a lack of sleep. "Oh, well... I was just working on something last night." he replied hesitantly. "It's for show and tell."
"Whoa, you made something?" Cornelius gaped, before turning to his own saddlebags with a cocky grin. "My father made me what I'm bringing in." he confided, leaning his muzzle forward as if to tell some great secret.
"Really?" Dorian's curiosity was piqued, and he found himself leaning in forward as well. "What is it?" he asked, tail swishing in eagerness.
"He's not gonna tell you." Eloise sighed, raising an eyebrow as Cornelius stuck his chin up with a satisfied giggle. "He wouldn't show me either, if it makes you feel better." she added, shrugging her shoulders in a helpless gesture.
"Well then, I just won't show mine either." Dorian smiled. What did it matter, anyway? Everything would be revealed when they got to school. Another half hour of anticipation wouldn't kill him.
Cornelius turned around to eye the road and turned back to Dorian with a wide grin. "You wanna walk to school with us?" he offered. "We'll wait for you out here to get your bow on and your bags." he added in, noting the foal's bare neck.
Well, what harm was there in a proposition like that? Dorian didn't really need to mull it over. He immediately nodded and turned tail to scuttle back to the kitchen.
"See? I told you he was nice." he could hear Eloise mumble from behind.
After getting his mother to tie on his pretty blue bow and help with his saddlebags, Dorian headed back to the door, checking once to make sure that his statue was firmly secured in his pocket. "Okay, ready." he closed the door behind him and took a position between the two foals as they collectively made their way down the street.
It was a nice feeling to not walk alone, though Dorian still couldn't understand why he had been singled out from the rest of the group as someone worthy of company. As his house slowly crept out of view, he turned to the two foals. "Why'd you guys want to walk with me?" he managed to ask, though quietly.
Cornelius shrugged. "In case you couldn't already tell, there's a lot of jerks in our class. You and Eloise seemed nice enough, so I figured 'why not?'" he explained easily. The filly on the other side nodded in agreement.
"He's right. We talked a little bit after school, and we were gonna wait for you, but this group of bullies kept us from staying around." she grumbled. "One of them was about to throw a rock at me before somepony made him go away..."
Dorian nearly stopped in his tracks. "A pony helped you? Really?" he was baffled. Ponies usually never really associated themselves with other donkeys. They were just too different from each other.
Eloise hesitated, though was interrupted by Cornelius before she could open her mouth to speak. "It was just a filly, actually, but she looked a little older than us on account of the fact that she had a cutie mark." he grunted in annoyance as one of his hooves became stuck in the dampened mud. The other two foals stopped to wait for him.
"And they listened to her?" Dorian could believe it. Ponies were usually not creatures to mess around with, particularly because they were the ones who had the higher connections. "What was her name?"
"She said her name was... um... 'Twilight Sparkle'." Eloise fumbled, giggling in amusement upon getting the name right.
"Pony names are so weird." Cornelius rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion.
"I think they're interesting." Dorian chimed in, only to earn a weird stare from the other two, but he didn't notice. "Especially the unicorns. Have you guys ever wondered how their magic worked?" he rambled on, stopping only when the two other foals weren't offering any comments.
The little schoolhouse had come into sight. It was already surrounded with little foals waiting for Madame Mackenzie's inevitable arrival. Several heads turned as the three walked near the porch. Some of them pointed their hooves at Dorian and snickered, turning back to their little knots of groups to gossip.
For now, the pony discussion was dropped. Dorian let his head lower, his long strands of hair running over his muzzle to act as a shield. Cornelius and Eloise just shot glares at the other groups.
"Jerks..." Eloise huffed, turning to Dorian with a toothy smile. "Hey Dorian, do you wanna see what I'm bringing to show and tell while we wait for the teacher?" she asked pleasantly.
Dorian looked up at her sheepishly. In truth, he was a little annoyed that she suddenly thought it fit to treat him as if he were younger than her. He could take the insults well enough, after all. Still, he wasn't about to take away the opportunity to have a sneak peek at what she brought. "Sure." he replied, lifting his head up defiantly, as if to show his own courage.
Cornelius seemed taken aback, his ears revolving back to press against his skull. "What? If you're gonna show him yours that easily then why didn't you show me when I asked you?" he grumbled, kicking a hoof against a pebble on the ground.
Eloise merely ignored him as she craned her neck around to her left saddlebag. Her mouth fumbled with the latch for a few seconds before she pulled out, to Dorian's surprise, a snow globe.
She held it by the bottom rim, as to let both Dorian and Cornelius have a clear view of the inner contents. It was a lovely piece, the base of the interior coated with flakes of fake snow. The main centerpiece of it all was a small figure of two lone buildings pressed together in the center, their brown sidings coated in flakes.
There was a plaque pasted against the base engraved with the word, "Manehattan".
"Manehattan?" Dorian questioned. He stared at the globe with transfixed fascination, eyes wide. "Isn't that a city?"
"Yup!" Eloise chirped, turning about to drop her treasure in her saddlebag. "My mother got the snow globe there as a souvenir when she went to visit once." she nodded proudly.
"I guess it's nice..." Cornelius mumbled. "Why'd you decide to take it though? You know what you want to do when you grow up?" he asked.
"Not really." Eloise admitted easily. "I figure I'll figure that out once I get older, you know?"
Dorian was impressed at how accepting the other filly was about her predicament, yet he couldn't help but feel bad for her. He remembered how confused he had been in his babyhood regarding cutie marks and the like. Now that he knew that there was a job pool available for what he enjoyed, he couldn't help but wonder about her.
Cornelius broke his train of thought as he reached into his own bag. "Well, I know what I'm gonna do. Take a gander at this..." he seemed to forget his own need for secrecy a he brought out a single paint brush, an object that was probably the last thing that Dorian would have expected. If anything he had inwardly thought that it would be a cookbook or something related to food on account of the foal's girth.
"You paint? Really?" Eloise seemed impressed, and Cornelius beamed.
"Uh-huh. All sorts of things. It's kinda my hobby... I was gonna ask Madame Mackenzie if I could use it for a job when I graduate." he smiled.
Before he knew it, Dorian had already fished into his own saddle pockets, his mouth gently enveloping the paper covered figure. The two other foals caught on to what he was doing, and watched with blatant interest as he ceremoniously unwrapped the mystery that lay inside on the ground.
Soon, the statue was displayed on its side, for all to see. The three stared at it in reverent silence.
It was a representation of Madame Mackenzie. Dorian had mended the chipped front hoof with some difficulty, but the end result turned out much less clumsily than he had expected it to. The wood was freshly sanded, giving off a clean look that seemed to shine in the growing sunlight. The tips of the hooves and the rims of the long, narrow ears were painted with a black dark as peppercorn. A yellowish cream color had been used to messily dab out a series of circles around the statues neck, simulating the heavy pearl necklace that Madame Mackenzie had worn before.
Cornelius was the first to speak.
"The other kids are gonna think that you're a teacher's pet. You know that, right?" he raised his brow. "Good work though, but your paint job is kinda messy." he critiqued.
"Yeah, did you really do that all in one night?" Eloise marveled, leaning down to take a closer look.
"I just hope that she likes it." Dorian mumbled. He hadn't even thought about the possibility of being mocked for it, but there was no going back now, not after all the work he had put into it.
It would all work out in the end, he had hoped.