In which we spend a day in the city
Worker walked through the palace’s empty audience hall and towards the great doors leading outside. Now that the sun had begun its march skyward, they were closed, but not locked. He leaned against one, stepped outside, and nodded politely to the two guards outside.
“Good morning,” he began, and then froze in place as a yawn overtook him, locking his face into a half-bray. He fumbled to cover his muzzle, and then set his hoof down. “My apologies,” he continued, his cheeks reddening. “It has been a long night.”
The guards passed a glance to one another, and then nodded in unison. “Good morning, Worker,” replied the guard on the left. Her voice was familiar but Worker couldn’t place it. “Do have a safe trip home.”
“Thank you, kindly,” he said, stepping down the stairs into the gardens.
Past the doors of Luna’s palace — the Court of the Moon — was a large garden and green, and across from that was the Court of the Sun, where Celestia had once summoned him so many years ago. His gaze lingered on the open doors and the distant guards, and he briefly imagined he could see the throne and dais from his first visit. The memory quickly turned sour, and he broke from his reverie, shaking out his mane to clear his head.
“I need a coffee. Or three,” he muttered.
“Two blocks down, on your left,” replied the guard, making him jump. He had forgotten she was there.
He turned and mumbled a thank you, then plodded towards the shop and, eventually, his bed.
Snowdrop’s bedlinens lay in a pile on the floor. Atop them were strewn several sets of clothing that had been considered, then discarded, for being too showy, or too fragile, or too tight… or all three.
Snowdrop grunted, peeled off the leggings, and decided on a minimalist approach at last. She draped a crimson cape lined with golden silk over her withers, fastened a small pouch about her neck, and secured her cornflower mane with a golden hairpin studded with garnets.
(It wasn’t technically her hairpin, but she had found it - abandoned! - in her bedside table and she thought it deserved some quality attention.)
Her ensemble chosen, she steeled herself for the mission ahead. A deep breath, a silent request to the princesses to watch over her, and she concentrated on her horn. She focused on the door leading from her chambers into the hall. A soft silvery light pulsed at the door’s knob, and with a faint click, it opened outward into the dark beyond.
The hall’s marble floors and tasteful decor did little to dissuade her passage. Its embroidered tapestries and objets d’art, each worth several large houses in her home town, did not distract. Its vaulted ceilings vanished into a gloom which stood fast against the early dawn that filtered through high windows.
Her hoofsteps sounded far too loud against the silence, but she carried on. Her goal was the door that waited at the end of the hall, and the chamber that lay beyond, but her mind wandered. The day’s plans had kept her from a good night’s sleep, and despite the adrenaline that coursed through her veins, she felt fatigue dragging at her.
Worker stepped out of the elevator, absentmindedly discarded his empty cup in a nearby bin, and quietly opened the door to the suite. He didn’t want to wake his wife or his daughter, if they still slept. His wife had been less than pleased with his repeated absences, and his daughter wanted to explore the city on their last full day. Worker, on the other hoof, wanted to crawl into bed, black out, and not wake again until it was time to leave for home.
He entered the hall running between rooms and noticed Snowdrop, bedecked in what looked like a cape and crown, creeping towards his bedroom door. He grinned and, stifling another yawn, crept up behind her, being careful not to make a sound.
Snowdrop approached the door to the chamber and began to focus her magic once more, but decided against it. The added light from her horn might reveal her presence too soon. With the slightest tremble in her outstretched hoof, she reached for the silver-chased lever. As she touched it, the door swung silently inwards, and her heart caught in her throat. It was already open.
She froze, silhouetted in the empty door frame, and gazed within. A large bed lay just within view, a moonbeam falling across a single mound on one side that rose and fell in slumber...
There should have been two. Her target was not here.
If not here, though, where?
She took a step backwards, and froze, as she was unable to proceed. Someone, or something, blocked her exit.
“Looking for me?” rumbled a low voice.
Snowdrop screamed and bolted for the bed on the far side of the room. She vaulted atop it and was halfway under the sheets before she recognized the voice. Half terrified, half delighted, she giggled and poked her head back out…
...and found the face of a very irritated mare staring daggers at her.
“EEP!” she squeaked, windmilling her forelimbs.
“Out,” Skyshine growled.
“But, Mommy, I—”
“Out!” she repeated, her voice darkening. She then turned to her husband silhouetted at the door. “You too! I was up late enough when you didn’t come back, and I think I deserve some sleep!”
“Of course dear,” Worker acquiesced. “We’ll just start early.” He motioned to his daughter to join him.
Snowdrop untangled herself from the sheets, then leaned in and hugged her mother. “Have a good rest, Mommy,” she murmured, then tiptoed—perhaps a little too dramatically—to her waiting father.
Her mother flopped back on the bed and covered her head with a pillow.
“Nd dn ft rm sss!” she commanded.
“Don’t forget room service,” Worker replied in confirmation. “I’ll tell them to wait an hour before bringing it up.”
He rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn, and then ushered the little pony out, closing the door behind them.
Two intrepid adventurers strode down the hallways in the early dawn. The clamor of their hooves on the tile and Snowdrop’s giggles would have disturbed any guests at the hotel, had they not been given the penthouse suite, and Worker mused on whether Luna had made a similar calculus in the housing arrangements.
They reached the lift, and a weary-eyed but sharply-dressed young colt slid the gate open. Worker nudged his daughter inside, nodded a greeting to the operator, and waited in silence as the gate was closed and they prepared to descend.
He never had been comfortable talking in elevators. His daughter, on the other hoof, preferred a direct and thorough investigation of all things new.
“Hi! I’m Snowdrop,” she informed the operator. He smiled and nodded.
“What’s your name?” Before he had a chance to answer, she continued, “...and why do you work in the elevator? Is this always your job? Do you like your job?”
Or semi-new.
She glanced at his flank, but in his uniform his cutie-mark was obscured. “Is your cutie-mark an elevator? I haven’t gotten mine yet. That’s why I’m going to the museum!”
Or familiar.
“I haven’t been to the museum yet. I hear it’s got stuff from all of the Crusaders! Like, their cloaks and everything!”
Or, for that matter, old hat.
“Do you know about the Crusaders? Who’s your favorite?”
The elevator reached the ground floor and Worker ushered his little detective out with an apologetic smile over his shoulder. He was somewhat surprised to see the colt fighting back laughter. Worker arched an inquisitive brow.
“I have a little sister back home, sir,” he replied with a stoic expression. The corners of his eyes crinkled despite his best attempts. “It’s like she’s here.”
Worker shook his head and guided the filly, still rambling about Crusaders and their achievements and their favorite types of tea, towards the front desk and then out to Canterlot at large.
Just inside the museum, the ‘CMC4U’ shop was a celebration of all things Cutie Mark Crusader. That is, if ‘celebrate’ meant ‘package in as many ways for retail consumption as possible’. The storefront bore an oversized sign meant to resemble a treehouse, and the interior design hinted at bare wood walls, slightly off-kilter shelves, and lots and lots of packaged toys at the eye-level of your average colt or filly.
The shop was arranged in a circle. A few nooks and sitting areas were scattered about, but all paths led to the large counter near the entrance of the shop. Behind the counter, two ponies - a pale purple pegasus and light pink unicorn - deftly managed the never-ending line of eager ponies with their purchases. With the registers, the chimes on the door, and the exclamations of the guests, it was nearly impossible to hear anything clearly.
The pegasus behind the counter bore three things: A green ‘shark-fin’ hairdo that stood unnaturally tall, a nametag proclaiming him as both ‘Tor’ and ‘#1 Sweetie Belle Fan’, and a smile of measured sympathy as treasure after treasure found its way atop the pile before Worker.
After the stack of coloring books came stickers bearing the Crusaders’ own marks, a box of figurines ostensibly displaying residents of Ponyville and friends of Snowdrop’s heroes, brooches and buttons with trim in the colors of each pony, and, of course, books.
Sweetie Belle’s “Finding Your Spark” was soon joined by a carpentry book by Apple Bloom - Worker couldn’t make out the title from this angle - and a new copy of the Cutie Mark Crusader Handbook.
“Now, Snowdrop, you already have a copy of that one,” he reminded her. In the back of his head, he had long given up on keeping track of the bill, but he knew the trip had already passed ‘absurd’ and was quickly approaching ‘ridiculous’.
“I know, Daddy. This is so I can give one to the library back home.”
“The library has two copies as well, dear.”
“Oh.” Snowdrop levitated the book away and replaced it with “On Dragons,” a thick, heavy tome that bore a pink six-pointed star on its spine. Intrigued, Worker picked it up and flipped through the first few pages. The sum in his head danced upon the ruins of ‘ridiculous’, and his inner accountant packed up in frustration and left.
“Er…” The clerk coughed and reached for the book. “That one shouldn’t be on the shelf. It’s not one we carry, and it’s definitely not intended for a younger audience. Probably just a mistake on the order.”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Worker replied, absentmindedly shooing the salescolt’s outstretched hoof away. “I’ve been meaning to pick something up from Princess Sparkle, and I’d not had a chance to visit the Canterlot library yet.”
“Ah, er…” the colt hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Alright.” He fought away a tight-lipped grimace, then ran his hoof through his mane. “I don’t know what it’ll cost, though. We really shouldn’t have it at all.”
“That’s fine. I can leave my address and you can send me an amended bill.”
“Speaking of, sir? Your total…”
“Oh, yes. What is it?”
The inner accountant sent a letter of resignation from Calabria.
Ensconced in a booth, over the remains of dinner, Snowdrop acted out a minor drama with her figurines atop Mount Mashed Potatoes while Worker sat absorbed in his new book. His forgotten coffee and pie cooled at his side.
“But we can’t go yet, Spike,” Snowdrop squeaked in an affected voice. “We have to rescue Sweetie Belle!”
Worker lifted his head and peered over the top of the book, watching the scene play out. Several tiny, brightly-colored toy fillies were arrayed atop the starchy precipice.
“Oh, Sweetie Belle,” declared the tiny dragon figure in a gruff, totally-not-a-seven-year-old voice. It rocked back and forth in Snowdrop’s spell. “I will rescue you!”
The potato mountain became a potato cave, into which a tiny white pony figure floated. The purple figure floated behind, but by this time Snowdrop had run out of dialogue and replaced the heartfelt appreciation of rescue with ‘blah blah blah’ in varying voices.
Worker realized he had been zoning out. He shook out his mane and, returning to his book, turned the page. “Hm,” he muttered, frowning, and then set the book down.
“What is it, Daddy?”
“This is a used book. Look, here, there’s writing — in quill and ink no less — by the margin.”
“But, you’ve got a lot of used books at home, right?”
“Yes, but I bought them used, knowingly. This was supposed to be new. Some of these notes are quite extensive. For example, this one says, ‘I don’t think we talked about this. Where did you learn about the family structure?’ There’s even a dedication on the title page.”
“Oh.” Snowdrop put aside her figures and shoveled the remaining potatoes into her mouth. Worker picked up a paper napkin and placed it between the pages, then closed the book.
“Wh' d' th' pge say?”
Worker lifted the book to put it in his saddlebags. “What was that?”
Snowdrop swallowed the last bite of potatoes and tried again. “You said there was a dedi… dedication? On the front page?”
Worker blinked, then re-opened the book. “You know, I didn’t try to make out the writing. Here, let’s look.” He put the book in the center of the table and spun it about, then moved to join his daughter on the other side.
“Ooh, fancy ink,” Snowdrop declared. “All purple and shimmery.” It was at that.
“I think it says, ‘To…’ Hm. This word might be ‘pointed’ or ‘nail’, it’s too ornate to make out. But the rest says, ‘Thank you for everything over the years. Love, ‘ - and then there’s Princess Sparkle’s emblem.”
“Princess Sparkle wrote it, right?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe the notes are to her?”
“In a copy of the book? Who would do that? It’s not like Princess Sparkle would know to look in it, or even be able to see it, unless…” He drifted off into thought, and absentmindedly levitated the mug of cold coffee towards himself.
“Unless what?”
Worker took a swig of the coffee, grimaced, and set it back down. Refocusing, he smiled at his daughter. “Unless it’s a review copy? That’s something that an author writes and then has someone else check so they can write an advertisement for it. Still, the name…”
He looked at the remaining dregs, shrugged, and finished them. “Nah. It couldn’t be. Could it? Sweetheart, that dragon figure you have. Can I see it?”
“Sure!” Snowdrop proudly levitated it into view, traces of potato on its claws.
“Do you know if this is accurate?”
“Huh?”
“The colors, and the shape. This was the dragon back in Ponyville, right? Do you know if he actually looked like this?”
Snowdrop tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “I… I mean, there are pictures of him in the, um, windows at the palace, and they look like this, so…”
“No, that’s okay, hon. That’s fine. I think I’m going to return this book after we get you back home tonight. I’m beginning to think the salescolt really shouldn’t have sold it, after all. Are you done with your potatoes?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Alright. Go ahead and pack up, and I’ll pay the bill. Don’t budge from this spot.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
As Snowdrop busied herself with collecting her treasures, the little dragon figurine casually drifted into Worker’s pocket.
Worker’s and Skyshine’s room, albeit small, was luxuriously appointed with tapestries and rugs to keep the chill at bay. A large fireplace occupied one wall if those were not enough. The floor was gold-flecked marble, the walls deftly-woven stone, and the ceiling bore an arched dome. A reading nook took up much of the room before the fire, and a large bed occupied most of the rest of the room. Between them was a tall, arched window.
Skyshine sat in bed, a book forgotten in the covers, and frowned at her husband. “You’re joking. Again? Another late night? After you’ve been gone all day, and the night before?” Her tone was practiced, cool, and to Worker’s experienced ear, a hair’s breadth from fury.
Worker sat at the edge of the bed, and rested a reassuring hoof on his wife’s lap. It couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t fair to her, but he had to fix this. “No, dear. Not another late night. I’ll be back well before ‘late’, by any definition. But I think this book belonged to the salescolt, and I’d like to return it to him. As we’re getting an early start tomorrow, before the shop opens, I’d have to leave it in someone else’s care. This way I can get it into his hooves before the shop closes in an hour. That is, if I hurry.”
“An hour.” The words were flat but the query hung in the air.
“Two, to get there and back.”
“Fine. Two.” She sighed, resigned to his absence, then shifted to swing her legs from under the covers. “I’ll put Snowdrop to bed. And then you and I need to chat about your gallivanting.”
“Of course, dear.”
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, O Royal Engineer.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Skyshine.” He pecked her on the forehead and, book floating behind him, stepped out the door. At the last moment, he looked over his shoulder, and commented, “I rather like being your catch.”
Skyshine’s expression did not change.
With a shrug and a bemused sigh, Worker closed the door.
“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, finding a houserobe. “Maybe the smartest pony in Equestria, and he can't get the hint. That… that… mule.” She grimaced. Some of her neighbors were mules, and they were all wonderful folk. “Just… ugh!”
The shop was nearly empty upon Worker’s arrival. He slipped inside as a family left, then strolled quietly down a row of short bookcases towards a collection of hats, scarves, and other adornments in increasingly gaudy colors. Across the central checkout area, on the far end of the shop, he could see the salescolt pushing a cart as he busied himself with the unglamorous work of restocking shelves, rehoming wandering books, and wiping up the occasional spill.
Worker took the opportunity to look through the shop in relative peace. He browsed the aisles, made note of some of the marketing approaches, and nearly laughed aloud when he noticed a few of his own toys — randomly colored wind-up ponies — being sold at a considerable markup from within a glass case. He stifled a yawn and realized his attention was wandering once more.
Returning to the task at hand, he scanned the store, found the colt, and made his way to him. As he approached, he levitated the book out of his bag and called out in greeting. “Brought back your book!”
The colt spun about, fluttering his wings to keep his balance. This scattered the books atop his cart. He scrambled to catch them, but knocked over the broom instead, at which point he lost control of his charges entirely - depositing books, broom, and hindquarters to the floor.
Worker hurried closer and offered a hoof up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The pony clambered to his feet, dusted himself off, and smiled sheepishly at Worker. “Thanks, um. I’m sorry. Did you say you had my book?”
Worker tilted his head in the direction of the floating tome. “Yes. I should have listened to you when you tried to dissuade me. This must be precious to you.” He floated it towards the salescolt, who took it gingerly from the air.
“I… well, thank you,” he replied, regaining some measure of composure. He gazed at the book fondly, and then set it on his cart, and began picking up the rest of the books. “I have another copy, but this one has some notes I’d rather not lose.”
Worker nodded, “Those notes are why I brought it back. Here, let me help.” He focused for a moment and collected the remainder of the books, levitating them to the cart. As he set the last one in place, he continued, “I realized it must be personal when I saw them.”
A chime sounded. Worker glanced over his shoulder and watched the last family leave. A light pink unicorn waved from the counter at an extremely bouncy filly.
“So, how long have you known the author?”
His eyes went wide once more. “Oh, uh, Princess Sparkle? Why, I don’t know her at all. I was just scribbling my thoughts.”
“Ah. And the dedication to ‘Spike’, then, in your book?”
“Well, maybe I bought it used. I don’t remember...” A few moments passed. The salescolt gestured haphazardly and his words faded into a mumble.
Worker watched him for a moment. “Ah, maybe you did. It’d be silly, after all, for Princess Sparkle’s faithful right-hand dragon to spend time in a bookshop, so far from her castle. It’d be an alien environment, I’d wager.”
“It’s not much different from the library, ac-” His mouth snapped shut.
Worker caught himself smiling and forced it away. “So, Tor, there’s your book. No need to amend my bill after all.”
“Right,” he replied, gesturing with a forehoof. “Right, nooo amending.”
Worker fastened the strap on his empty saddlebag, stretched his neck out, and turned to go. He took a step, then paused and added, “Say, I notice you have a few of my toys in your case. If you think the museum would be interested, have them reach out to me. I can arrange some wholesale agreements.”
“Your toys?” Tor tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“The wind-up ponies. I made those, in my shop in Pasofino. You’re selling them at a considerable markup, so I can only assume you bought them at full price.”
“Worker’s toy shop?” He nearly squeaked. “You’re Worker?”
It was Worker’s turn for surprise. “I am. You’ve heard of me?”
“Oh, of course! I’ve been meaning to get to your toy shop for years. We order a few ponies every now and then,” he gushed, “but I want to get an owl for, um...”
“A friend?” Worker suggested.
“Yes. Yes, a friend.” An uncomfortable silence fell, and Tor reached for the broom.
“Well, if you do want to talk about ponies for the shop, or that book, or mechanical owls, please write to — or stop by — the address I gave you earlier. We’d love to see you in Pasofino.”
He looked at his broom and then set it atop his cart. “I… might do that.”
Worker gestured towards the door. “I’m going to hurry back now. I promised my wife I wouldn’t be gone too long, and I’ve already spent far too much time browsing.”
He managed a smile. “Okay. Yes. Good luck.”
Worker made a beeline outside. The pink unicorn followed behind, locking the door after he’d left. She watched him stroll out of the museum proper and down the street for a moment, then called over her shoulder, “Who was that, Tor?”
“Just someone returning a book, Galena. He thought he knew me from somewhere.”
Galena nodded, and walked back to count the till. “Did he?”
“It’s a long story, G,” he replied, rubbing his head. “Maybe I’ll figure it out.” He set his book atop the pile, and returned to cleaning up.
Worker opened the door to his suite and smiled at Skyshine, who sat by the fireplace with a book open in front of her. “One hour, thirty-seven minutes,” he said by way of greeting. “All managed.”
Skyshine arched a brow. She knew her husband well. “No loose threads? No unfinished business? No strange adventures in the making?”
“Ah,” Worker hesitated. He couldn’t tell if she bore a faint smile or not. “I can’t swear to that, no, but even if that’s the case, you’re more important. I’ve been wrapped up in a new puzzle, missing sleep, and most importantly, I’ve been neglecting to listen to you. I mean really listen, and I wanted to apologize.” He strolled to her side and kissed her head. “Do you forgive me?”
Skyshine set her book down and patted Worker’s shoulder. “I do. Thank you. That means a lot. Sit for a bit? With all you’ve been up to, lately, we’ve not spent much time just being together.”
“Of course,” he replied, and settled next to her, floating a few blankets over for comfort.
The two rested in silence, then, watching the fire and leaning on one another. As the flames began to die, Worker broke the silence.
“You’ve been trying to tell me something, dear. You’ve been frustrated about my repeated absences - and rightfully so. What’s going on?”
Skyshine shifted, then leaned into Worker. A moment passed, then she replied. “Remember how you talked about having another, back in Pasofino?”
“Another wh-? Ano-” Worker bolted upright. “Oh, by the stars! Are we expecting?”
Skyshine laughed, and patted the blanket next to her. “Come. Sit. And yes, we are. I figured it out a few days ago, and I spoke with a physician today. Now I’m sure.”
Worker snuggled back in. “That’s wonderful! How far along?”
Skyshine rested her chin on Worker’s shoulder. “Not very. By winter, I think.”
He reeled. “Wow. Another foal. That’s… that’s just wonderful!”
They both gazed into the embers a while longer, and Worker began to drift to sleep.
“Worker?”
“Yes, love?”
“If it's a filly, what do you think of the name ‘Foxglove’?”
Despite the fire, the blankets, and his lovely mare, Worker suddenly felt very cold.
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I'd say this is like watching a Zombie come to life, but honestly after so long it more of an reanimated skeleton. Still...
8691083
TwilightSnarkle:
Seriously, though, always awesome to be able to take a story off my "monitoring for lifesigns, but probably not coming back" shelf.
I had to remind myself what this story was, but after checking what it was a sequel to, I'm really really happy to see activity on this one. This series is one of my favorite video game crossovers on the site.
I can't believe it's been six years and I had no trouble getting back into this story. @_@
Why isn't there an anthology tag?
10289673
That's largely thanks to the help of a certain pony *holds up a mirror to show you* who helped me realize I was assuming the prior reader would remember the older story points.
If only you could bottle the feeling you get when you see a long dormant story update again...
I did not see this coming, welp time to reread the stories again.
preview.redd.it/3ah6k9okldoy.jpg?width=608&auto=webp&s=0e9cd4907b270f26d458649c744068b879709ead
Fortunate that I re-read this series recently and could jump straight back into this, otherwise I probably wouldn't have caught what "Foxglove" signified.