The Olden World

by Czar_Yoshi

Mistsong's Story

The old stallion's foyer was clean and evenly lit, with lovingly-crafted wood trim and a fan that spun lazily from the low ceiling. Everything was painted in hues of primary colors, faded only slightly from age, making Maple feel as if she had stepped into some kind of art exhibit instead of a house. The full-wall mural of a pegasus across from her compounded that effect.

"Hmmph. You came." The stallion stood in a corner at a polite distance, a deep-set weariness in his eyes. His mane looked naturally gray, with several lighter streaks that heralded the onset of age, and Maple didn't doubt that his legs still held all the power necessary to carry crates and operate heavy machinery... though she couldn't imagine he had done that for a long time.

"Where am I?" she asked, hesitant to put too much distance between herself and the door just in case. "And can you help me? I really do have somewhere I'm trying to go."

"Where you are is far from home," the stallion said. "And of course you do. Nopony wants to be here in today's Copsewood. What's a Stone District lass like yourself doing wandering alone this far down the mountain?"

Maple had to catch herself before she could tell him she wasn't from the Stone District. If he wanted to believe that, she could correct him when it became a problem. "I'm... looking for two friends," she answered. "They told me to meet them at..." Something in her mind clicked. "Coldstone! They were with Constable Coldstone."

"That's a funny place to schedule a meetup." The stallion looked at her sideways, but made no further comment. "Anyway. I'm Bertram." Maple couldn't help but notice he omitted pleased to meet you.

She gulped. Was he going to tell her the directions? "I'm Maple."

"Maple, huh?" Bertram turned away, settling into a chair in an adjacent room connected by an open wall. "Come closer, my hearing's not what it used to be."

Warily, Maple obliged, still fervently wishing for Valey's cutie mark. So far, the old stallion didn't seem deceitful or hostile. Just... tired.

"Let me guess," he said as she stopped where the wood floor transitioned to carpet. "You asked some young hooligan what the way was, and he told you to do a bunch of silly stuff before winding up at my place, didn't you?"

"Well... yes..." Maple hung her head. "If you tell me where to go, Sir, I can get going."

Bertram laughed and shook his head, sounding as if he had dust in his lungs. "I'm in no hurry. They'll be evacuating ponies all day. And I'll tell you once you've heard me out, because you're clueless and are just going to get hurt or embarrassed if you don't learn your lesson the easy way."

Maple's ears folded in worry.

"I don't know what they teach you in the upper districts these days about Sosans," Bertram growled, a hint of wheezing in his voice. "Probably that we lot have nothing to live for. Sad wrecks of ponies who refuse to join progress and move on from the past. That's what I get from all the other confused tourists those rapscallions send my way. Some of them think they have compassion for us, but don't get it. Others are scared of us. And in truth, they aren't wrong. Being beaten down and told you're no longer good for what your family's been doing for generations isn't good for a pony's soul."

He coughed, then went on. "And we know it, too. You look down from your mountain loft and think, 'Wow, I'm sure glad I don't live in a society that messed up,' don't you? Wondering if we even know what's going on with ourselves, wishing there was some way to reveal to us that the world had moved on and it was time to change? Ponies will come here to try to open our eyes and convert us to their worldview, like they think their fancy rich-pony ideals up in the Stone District are all we need to do better. Like it's our fault for not getting with the times. Is that what you came here to do, Maple? Help us to see your new economic theory to 'save us' like all the mountain gossip says?"

"No!" Maple took a step back, head lowered but still meeting his eyes. "I... I know what it's like down here, and I don't care about anyone's economic theory."

"Oh?" Bertram cocked an eyebrow. "If you're such an expert, what were you doing thinking it would be smart to wander around on your lonesome without a map on this of all days?"

Maple gritted her teeth. "Look, whatever it is, I'm sorry. You're making me really uncomfortable here, and all I want is to find my friends! Can you please help me?"

Bertram took a moment to size her up, then ignored her and continued with his story. "We know we've fallen, Mountain Mare, and you're the ones who are blind if you think it's that easy to just discard centuries of pride in and sacrifices for our work and fall in like gears to your new economy."

"I never said that," Maple countered, resisting the urge to stomp a hoof.

"But you were thinking it," Bertram sighed. "All upper-district ponies do. They see all their new wealth and importance and think it's just progress making the whole world better, and can't wrap their pampered minds around how much the old order meant to us. 'Times have changed,' they say. 'We're sorry, but this is how things are now.' Well, you can afford to be sorry. Hooray for you. Turns out it's a lot easier to walk in and tell someone to abandon their lifestyle for yours than it is to give up yours for theirs. Memories can never be abandoned."

"Please stop?" Maple cringed. "Sir... what even is your point? It feels like you're just trying to make this awkward, rather than helping me. And I'm not trying to project any ideals on the Earth District!"

Bertram grumbled. "Hmmm... Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. You try not doing that after years and years of the same thing. I'm sure some of the folks up in the Stone District really do want to care, even if they have no clue what it means."

Silently, Maple waited.

"You know what ponies do when they lose what defines them as a group?" Bertram raised an eyebrow, changing the subject. "They think of something else they can stick to. Family values, for instance. Some will stick to it like their souls depend on it. Others do it because it's convenient, or suits their interests. Some will openly defy it out of a need to feel individual. And then those who really don't get it will harass an old stallion for his insistence on staying single by taking every naive, clueless mare who wanders into this city and throwing her at his front door, just to mock him."

"Oh!" Maple took a step back, ears folded.

Bertram shook his head. "It's about me, not you. No need to take it personally that they were messing with you. Or do, since they're cretins and would deserve it. Sometimes, I wonder if you Stone District ponies should really be feeling sorry for us at all."

"But... why?" Maple's thoughts flicked back to the toothpick-chewing colt. Did he really see her as nothing more than a prank to play on an old stallion?

"Why stay single?" Bertram sighed, then looked up at the pegasus mural covering the foyer wall. "Because I still love her. That's why."

Maple blinked in surprise. She had meant why would they do that, and was caught off guard by the stallion's response. She stumbled back, looking again at the wall. The pegasus was young, in the prime of her life, colored in the hues of the sky with a look of unabashed joy on her face as she soared above a line of treetops. She could have been singing.

"What happened to her?" Maple whispered.

"We were both aviation scientists," Bertram said, voice completely monotone. "She died in the Project Aslan crash. I was in the control room miles away, and could do nothing but watch it happen."

Maple's heart froze.

Bertram continued talking. "You think I wanted to turn my back on the work she gave her life for? You think I'm going to throw away her legacy by embracing this new economy of yours, with its airships that weren't even made by Sosa? You think you'll make me happy by convincing me that the new way is better, and Mistsong died in vain? Then you know nothing."

After a minute of silence, he added, "Turn right and go three blocks. You can't miss it."

Maple was gone.

Comments

[Mini-Joe]

[sploopy slooder]

what is the point of this?!

[Far-Eastern_Ponyfag]

This is fucking genius, even Shakespear in his prime wouldn't be able to write such tragic story.