A Story Worth Telling

by Elkia Deerling

The art of crusading

“Happy birthday, brother,” Sweet Mélange said. “Are you going somewhere?”

The fact that I was packing was obvious, as clothes lay anywhere and everywhere in my room. The closet was open, all the drawers were open, and, because I’m so dumb, I left the door open. “My birthday was yesterday.”

“Whoops, heh. I’m sorry I don’t have a present for you, but—“ he let out a chuckle—“I was busy working. Work is work, you know.”

“Yes. Work is work.” I didn’t look up to him.

I heard him shuffle on his hooves. “Hey, are you coming down to have breakfast? I don’t know what you’re doing, but you don’t want to be late for work now, would you?”

I grabbed my spare scarf and hat and put them in my saddlebags. “I won’t be late for work because I am not going to go to work.”

“Uh-oh.” Sweet Mélange stepped towards me until he was bent over my saddlebags too, searching for my eyes. “I’m afraid I will have to make an official report out of that. That’s strike two out of three, Sweet Tooth. One more and you will be fired.”

My own brother was going to fire me in my own house. My desire to leave this place only increased because of his words.

“But still, where are you going? It’s too cold to make long journeys now. I reckon traveling in this awful season would be most… uncomfortable.” Suddenly, he let out a gasp. “You’re not going to quit your job now, are you?”

Finally I looked up. The first thing I saw was his cutie mark; a cup of tea with two sugar cubes above it. I met his eyes. “I am. I’m going on a crusade to find my destiny.”

“WHAT?!” Sweet Mélange said with a jump. “You can’t do that! You’ll leave your future behind!”

Even my brother lied to me about my ‘future.’ It sickened me. “You and I both know that neither you nor my parents will ever grant me a position even closely like yours—especially not in the family business.” I moved to my little piggy bank and put it in my saddlebags, making sure to wrap it in some clothes. How thankful I was that I had always been an adept saver.

My brother clopped his hoof on the carpet. “You’re too smart for your own good, brother. I’m sure that thinking head of yours will lead to your doom.”

“At least I’ll go down authentically. I’m going anyway, Sweet Mélange. There’s no false promise which will keep me here.”

“FINE!” Mélange shouted. “Leave, if you want. Leave everything behind. Your father, your mother, your brother. You’re the most unfaithful twin brother I have ever had. Please do be a dear and take all of your stupid newspaper clippings with you!”

His face vanished, and I heard a heart-breaking rip. My head snapped around. I wanted to say something, but before the words left my mouth, Sweet Mélange was already out of sight, leaving a trail of ripped paper behind.

Luckily he hadn’t destroyed my favorite one; the one from the coronation of Princess Twilight Sparkle. I turned around and gazed at my wall, at my collection of newspaper clippings of Princess Twilight and her friends. For years I had collected every single article regarding the six mares from Ponyville. From the moment I heard about them—shortly after the defeat of Nightmare Moon—I had been hooked on their every adventure. They were my heroes, and I knew why, even though they contradicted my cutie mark theory. All of them had cutie marks which laid out their destiny and their path. It showed their virtues; loyalty, honesty, kindness, laughter, generosity, and magic. They had a mission in this world. They were the guardians of the Elements of Harmony and heralds of the magic of friendship. For them it was so clear what they were meant to do.

Looking over the many, many articles—and the giant rip that Sweet Mélange had created—a warmth spread through my heart. These mares were the closest friends I had, even though they had never seen me. I didn’t even feel jealous because their destinies were so clear and mine wasn’t. I felt… admiration. Admiration about how they had used their special talents and interpreted their cutie marks. They were the perfect example for me. They were authentic and self-aware, and that’s what I wanted to be.

A sudden sadness sprang into my heart as I realized I couldn’t possibly take all of the cutouts with me. Maybe I could salvage the ones that were undamaged and roll them up, but they would still weigh a lot. And besides, it was time for my own journey, and I should quit following the journey of the mane six like a creepy stalker. It was ridiculous anyway, if you think about it. But still… It was my life’s work. Very carefully, I took one of them off the wall—the one with a picture of Twilight Sparkle just after her coronation—folded it two times, and stuck it in my saddlebags. I knew the rest would be destroyed as soon as I closed the front door, but at least I had one now; the most valuable one.

I slung my saddlebags on my back and walked down the stairs. I couldn’t see anypony. I heard my brother shuffling about, making his breakfast. I wasn’t going to join him. I didn’t even try to be subtle as I opened the door and closed it again.

For the last time.

I made my way out of the rich neighborhoods as quickly as I could. As the familiar brick houses came into view, I considered walking past the Buckingham Bar to say goodbye to Stomping Grounds. Maybe I wouldn’t see him again. Maybe I wouldn’t even return to Baltimare anymore. Now that I think of it, I was probably planning to never return anyway. To be honest, I didn’t really feel like saying goodbye after all. To Stomping Grounds I was just another customer. He wouldn’t miss me.

Skipping the bar, I walked past the harbor once more. As I gazed at the ships unloading and loading and sailing off to far destinations, I realized I didn’t even know how or where to start my journey. I knew I wanted the get as far away from Baltimare as I could. By boat maybe? I watched as an enormous cargo ship slowly backed out of the harbor and set sail. By boat could be an option; it wouldn’t even matter where I went. But by boat was expensive, especially if I took one of those new steam-powered boats. Maybe I could offer myself as a deckhand on one of the trawlers, but then I would once again do a job which had nothing to do with my cutie mark. No, that would be a recipe for disaster, and it wouldn’t get me one step further on my cutie mark crusade.

Why not let the money decide for me? I took out my piggy bank, careful enough not to drop it in my stiff and frozen hooves. I wrapped it in a blanket, grabbed a rock, and slaughtered it. When I looked what lay in the towel, I wasn’t satisfied. This would never get me aboard a steamship. Never ever.

So how could I get out of Baltimare? I walked onwards as I pondered over that question. I hadn’t been out of town many times. There was one time when I went to Ponyville, but that was also the only time. I was not the traveling kind, and look at me now.

Was it fate? Memory? Both? Eventually, my hooves took me where I wanted to go; to the train station. I asked somepony for the ticket price, and discovered that I had more than enough money to buy a ticket to Canterlot.

Canterlot…

I sat down on the bench and waited for the train. If there was one city where I could find opportunities, it was be Canterlot, the shiny capital of Equestria. I was smart enough to ration my money as I was waiting. Who knew what unexpected costs might arise?

Hissing and puffing like the sugar press at my (former) job, the train rolled into the station. “All aboard for Canterlot!” the conductor shouted, as the doors opened.

I stepped onboard, but I felt strange. I couldn’t suppress an unpleasant feeling in my stomach. I was anxious. Would I really be able to sustain myself? What if I failed to get a job? Or, even worse, what if I would end up doing once again things that I didn’t care about? What if my money ran out? There were so many doubts. I tried to smother the anxiety with the comfort of my ride. At least this train would carry me all the way, because if I would have had to walk, I knew that I wouldn’t have had guts to go on such a long journey. Was I that weak?

I chose a seat next to the window, closing my eyes. And so the first leg of my journey began.

* *

As the train exited the tunnel and sunlight once again fell upon my face, it revealed the capital city and set it ablaze in a haze of golden light. I let out a gasp as I took in the magnificence of Canterlot. The white marble of the towers looked so pure and unstained, as if the city were built only yesterday. Even the snow couldn’t stain it; instead, it only made the whiteness whiter. Golden rooftops topped the houses and towers, spiraling upwards and reaching for the sun, which reflected off their shiny surfaces between gaps in their snowy covers. I was awestruck, and almost forgot to breathe. I could feel it. This was where my destiny would be.

“Final destination, Canterlot,” the conductor announced, but I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the wrongness of that. For me, Canterlot wasn’t the final destination, but the beginning of my journey.

As the train came to a halt, I stepped out. Immediately, I was greeted by the sun on my face, and I felt a strange sensation. It was as if the sun shone even brighter here in Canterlot, as if its power was even greater as it was closer to Princess Celestia herself. I didn’t know if that was true, but I didn’t care. It felt good.

Leaving the train station behind, I headed straight down the main street of the city. Beautiful houses treated my eyes with their brilliance and architectural design. My eyes didn’t stop glancing in every direction, trying to take it all in, and I bumped into somepony more than once. As I walked on, I thought about how much Canterlot looked like Baltimare and how much it didn’t. The houses were all very luxurious and gorgeous, just like the rich district in Baltimare. But I could also spot… character in the houses. Somehow, these buildings weren’t soulless at all, but had a certain class, a certain style. And furthermore, every house in Canterlot looked this way. They were all made of marble or white bricks, and with gold-rimmed windows. They didn’t look all the same, of course; every single one was unique. And yet there was harmony. These buildings belonged in this city, just like the ponies who inhabited them.

The Canterlot ponies were all dressed in beautiful garments. Dresses, polo shirts, saddles, with flowers in their hair and jewels in their brooches. Yes, they were rich, but they didn’t seem cold. They greeted each other on the street and were polite to waiters. Calmly and silently they spoke, not at all like the rich industrialists of Baltimare, who knew that time was money, and the less they could say in the least amount of time, the better.

I couldn’t spot a single chimney, and therefore concluded that industry was not at all important in this city. No, there was beauty and style everywhere, and not at all room for an ugly industrial district with high smokestacks and grey concrete walls.

I passed by many different art boutiques. Or, actually, I simply couldn’t pass them by without taking a peek at every display. There were paintings, drawings, sculptures, and many more forms of art which I hadn’t even heard of. One particularly pretty display, belonging to a large cultural building with galleries and theatres, showed many different portraits of ponies. I gazed in awe at them; they were so detailed. The shadow, the composition, everything was in the right proportions. My face was glued to that window.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but it must have been pretty long; long enough for the gallery’s owner to spot me.

“Greetings, young man,” a friendly mare’s voice said to me. “I see you take an interest in the arts?”

I jolted at the sound of the voice, even though it was friendly and curious. My head jerked around. “Eh… y-y-yes. Yes I do. I love art, even though I have just discovered it.”

The mare took off her beret and gave me a smile. “Ah! I know that look in a stallion’s eyes. It is love. Love for the beautiful things in life. What is your name, little pony?”

“Sweet Tooth,” I said. “To be honest, it isn’t only the art. I think this whole city is simply gorgeous.”

“Why thank you,” the mare said. “My name is Purple Palette and I teach arts, painting in particular. Would you like to participate in a little painting workshop? The first course is for free, and will begin shortly.”

Does coincidence exist? Or did my destiny cry out for me? This was perfect.

“And it matches your cutie mark,” Purple Palette said. “It is a piece of canvas, isn’t it?”

I gasped. That could be true! Taking a peek at my cutie mark, I could see it before my mind’s eye; Sweet Tooth the painter. This was it. This was what I was meant to do.

“I would love to take your painting course, Miss Palette,” I said.

Purple Palette turned around. “Very well. Let us begin then.”

I followed her inside.

We passed a few doors of theater halls and ateliers before we reached Purple Palette’s own place. There were six other ponies inside, and only one stool left. Coincidence? I sat down and stared at the canvas before my eyes. An empty white sheet. Square and white, just like my cutie mark.

“Welcome everypony,” Purple Palette said, stepping on a small platform in the middle of the hall. “Our first course is about painting ponies in a realistic way, true to nature.” She clicked on a lamp. “Pay attention to shadow and coloring, and look where the source of the light is. But above all”—she twirled around and jumped off the little platform—“have fun and be creative.”

Shouldn’t be too hard; it was my destiny, after all.

Purple Palette threw her gaze to all of us. “May I present to you, the model, Miss Tree Hugger!”

And right at that moment, a beautiful mare stepped inside. Beautiful in her uniqueness. I could tell by her mane that she wasn’t from Canterlot at all. She had red dreadlocks, neatly bound in a knot underneath a daisy-covered bandana. She wore a beautiful, airy dress, bringing out her eyes and accentuating her apple green color. Her cutie mark was that of a tree in the shape of a heart.

She didn’t say anything, but flashed us a friendly smile before taking a pose on top of the plateau.

“Enjoy your art,” Purple Palette said, before grabbing a piece of paper herself and sitting down. As soon as she got to work, so did we.

I decided to work from top to bottom. I hadn’t drawn that much before, except when I was a little colt. Maybe my talent had ripened during the time I hadn’t drawn anything. Maybe my skills would be spot on by now. Tree Hugger’s dreadlocks were quite difficult, but I think they turned out alright on my canvas. The graceful curves of her body required a steady mouth, so I did my best not to quiver too much of the excitement of finally doing what I was meant to do. Slowly, Tree Hugger appeared on my canvas. Her tail was tricky too, as she wore it in dreadlocks just like her mane. Finally came her hind hooves, resting on the platform with a shadow cast over it. I used different colors to bring out the accents and create perspective. That way, Tree Hugger wouldn’t be just a cardboard cutout, but would inhabit my canvas as if it were her home.

After an hour or so, I was done, and laid down my brush. I saw that I was the last pony to finish. As soon as I let go of my brush, Tree Hugger stepped off the platform and walked over to my work, followed by Purple Palette. “Let’s see how you’ve done, little Sweet Tooth,” she said, as she gave my work a glance.

I knew that the moment she said it was good, I would know what my cutie mark meant. I wasn’t arrogant, but I was hopefully waiting for praise. Time to become a painter.

Tree Hugger did no effort to hide her laughter. A smile appeared on her face and she chuckled. “Wow, nice work. I like the way you used those alternative colors to bring out my chakras. I get some pretty good vibes out of it.”

Alternative colors? They were supposed to be realistic. I looked at Purple Palette.

“It’s… eh… interesting how you used shadow. It’s like… like there is more than one lamp shining on her. More than one lamp and more than one sun.”

It was bad. Miss Palette had no idea what to say. I felt my heart sink.

“Now, let’s take a look at the others, shall we?” Miss Palette said. From the tone of her voice I could hear that she wanted to leave my painting behind as soon as possible. I blushed. The awkwardness and shame was unbearable, and it only grew worse as I saw the other paintings.

They were gorgeous. Each and every one of them looked as if they could be swapped out with the paintings in the display without anypony noticing it. They could well be hanging in my living room, admired by Mother’s and Father’s cold, hard gazes. I couldn’t help but keep comparing their work with mine, torturing my mind. I had to stop and look at something else. Then, I looked at their cutie marks. Bad idea.

Each pony had a cutie mark resembling something used in painting. One stallion had a couple of paintbrushes. A mare bore crayons. There was one stallion with a strange moustache who had a picture of a melted watch as a cutie mark, no doubt resembling his favorite painting style.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be in the atelier anymore. No painter wanted to look at my painting. Not because they were too proud of their own paintings, but simply because they were filled up with embarrassment once they took a peek. If paintings express emotion, then mine expressed awkwardness.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Miss Palette,” I said, as I slung my bags on my back. “I learned a lot. You can give my painting to Tree Hugger, because she liked it so much. Goodbye.”

And with that, I trotted out of the room.

I felt tears burning in my eyes, eager to spill. I know it sounds ridiculous, but the feeling of defeat was as big as a tidal wave, washing over my heart and dashing it to pieces on a cliff. I felt as if I lost something in there. I lost a dream. I was so sure painting would be my special talent, and that my cutie mark resembled a painter’s canvas. But now I knew it was not so. It felt so bad to fail; so terribly, terribly bad. Every single drop of resilience flowed away from my mind. My crusade wasn’t over yet, but I had lost all the strength to continue.

My head hung low to the ground as I shuffled through the hallway. With every step I took, it became harder to beat the negative thoughts back to the dark corners of my mind. I had to think positive, but I just couldn’t—just as I couldn’t paint. I was ready to give up there and then. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and slumped down, sitting with my back against the wall. I was completely empty of thoughts, and I closed my eyes for a minute or two.

It was then that I heard a very peculiar sound coming from the doorway next to me. It was like a rattle, but rhythmic, as if the rattle was dancing on music. I forced myself to listen to it, to distract myself from my own gloomy thoughts. It kept going and going in a rhythmic cadence, flowing along with the music. Suddenly, it stopped, and an applause rolled through the slit of the door. It was a performance.

I let out a sigh, then got to my hooves. My curiosity beat the darkness in my mind, and I opened the door a little more. Just in time, because the music started playing again.

There was a stage on which an orange coated filly with a combed back, purple mane was dancing. His hooves tapped and trotted over the stage faster than the eye could follow. They were what created the ticking, rhythmic sound. The little pony was dancing to a cheerful piece of music with a rapid violin solo. But nothing was as rapid as his hoofsteps.

He danced and he danced as I watched in amazement. I wiped a tear away with my hoof to be able to watch the colt better. Before I knew it, his performance was over, and he once again received a thundering applause from the crowd. The little pony walked over to the microphone, a bit hesitantly it seemed, and grabbed it.

“Thank you all so much for coming. See you next time.”

A bit short and simple after such a spectacular performance, but the crowd didn’t seem to care. As the colt bowed, the crowd gave him one more applause. The colt walked offstage, and everypony else started grabbing coats and scarves. Apparently, the performance was over.

I had spotted the colt’s cutie mark; a top hat with the beam of a spotlight on it. I had to speak to that colt. He seemed so sure onstage. Sure about his cutie mark, about his destiny which was plain and clear. His destiny was to be a performer, a dancer. I compared him with the mane six who had found out who they were in accordance with their cutie mark, just like this colt. And besides that, I just wanted to compliment him on his performance.

I waited until most of the ponies were gone, all the while keeping a close eye on the little colt. Then I stepped inside, walked towards him, and greeted him. “Hi there. I saw your performance. It was really good.”

The colt let out a nervous chuckle. “Heh, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Why did he look so shy? On stage he seemed so confident and able, but now he seemed… bashful? “You’re really talented, you know? You don’t have to be ashamed. You should only be ashamed when you fail something like… like a painting.”

Ouch. I hurt myself with that little simile. I couldn’t find a better one.

He looked down. “Yeah, I know. I just have to get used to standing onstage. This is only my third performance. The first was in Ponyville and, well, I am still a bit nervous performing in the big city.” He looked up. “But maybe my stage fright will lessen with every performance I do. My teacher says that will probably happen. Or maybe I’ll visit the Cutie Mark Crusaders once more; they’re so good at helping other ponies.”

Crusaders? I was on a crusade. At the words ‘cutie mark’ and ‘crusaders,’ my curiosity spiked. “Who, may I ask, are the Cutie Mark Crusaders?”

“They are Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo and live in Ponyville,” the colt said. “They help other ponies find their cutie marks or solve problems related to cutie marks. They helped me deal with my stage fright. Thanks to them, I could perform and earn my cutie mark.” He stepped aside to show me his.

“That’s wonderful,” I said. Suddenly, I felt new hope well up after the tsunami of negativity. It was as if somepony had lifted the dark curtain to reveal a bright and sunny day, full of opportunities. I decided to be honest with this colt. “I’m looking for the meaning of my cutie mark.” We both regarded my flank, seeing the white square.

The colt eyed it and bit his lip. I knew he was thinking ‘you’re right,’ but I appreciated him not saying that. “Well, then the best place to start is at the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I believe their clubhouse is on Applejack’s farm.”

I knew where that was! I had seen a picture of it in an article about the mane six. The article had been about the private lives of the mane six, so naturally Applejack’s farm and her family had been in it. It’s just a shame that the article would probably be destroyed by now.

“Thank you so much for your advice,” I said, reaching out for a hoofshake. “My name is Sweet Tooth, by the way.”

“Tender Taps,” the orange colt said.

I smiled. “I’ll remember that name, Tender Taps. You know, when you will be famous someday, I can say that I have talked to the one and only.”

Tender Taps’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, please. I’m still a long way from that.”

“But you’ll get there, Tender Taps. I’m sure of it.”

I left the theatre behind and trotted out of the cultural building. The sun was still shining, making the snow even whiter. My crusade wasn’t over; I hadn’t failed yet. I had lost the battle, but I could still win the war. Fresh hope flowed like a spring breeze in winter through my mind. I knew what to do next. I walked to the Canterlot train station and bought a ticket to Ponyville. The train was already there.

As the conductor shouted, “All aboard for Ponyville,” I kept wondering whether all that had happened to me was truly just coincidence. eX�"�S