Life changes for Frill Spike and Marsh Olive in the Manehatten winter.
Winter has come to Manehatten, and while the Hearth's-Warming spirit is rearing its head, the cold yearns for the attention of all. It has been two years after the invasion on Canterlot. Since then, changelings have been flocking to Equestria for a better chance at survival after their crushing defeat--and a better life.
One of them is Frill Spike, a mail carrier that has been determined to earn enough bits buy a place of his own. Until then, he works hard to earn his keep. One day, an opportunity arises for him to earn extra pay by taking on another route. This route, however, will present a new challenge that he will have to deal with on a physical level and a mental one.
This route also includes the apartment building where Marsh Olive, an earthpony colt, lives in. He lives a repetitive, almost secluded life under the over protective eye of his father, who has been distraught ever since the Canterlot invasion that took his wife from him. Paranoid of the world and the changelings in them, he goes to the extreme when it comes to the security of his son. Marsh, however, wants security from the isolation such safety measures bring.
These two individuals have never met each other before. No one time in their lives have their paths crossed. However, the coming days will bring them together as they begin to fight against their personal issues. The question is whether or not they will be able to succeed in their battles, all the while the cold snare of Winter blankets itself on the city.
A flake of snow wavered its way through the company of its brethren and landed against the transparent surface of a window pane. It made company with the frost that had etched itself onto the clear surface, forming at the edges and slowly amassing toward the center. The biting cold was pounding against window, making an attempt to breach the glass and seep into the area inside, pushing out the warmth that already lingered inside.
Fortunately, for the tall building the window was built into, the insulation served as one of the many protective barriers to keep the intruding presence from getting in, although there were some cracks and nooks that the cold managed to slip through. Still, it was hard for the warmth to be pushed out of its territory, making the building a safe haven from the weather outside that would bite at any surface it could cling onto.
At the base of the building a set of double doors had open, allowing the cold to swarm around a mare exiting the building. She gave a slight shiver but quickly dismissed it as she tightened the scarf she wore. She allowed the other winter wear that she was currently wearing to protect her from the weather as she continued onto the busy sidewalk. Winter in Manehatten was not at a temperature that was any different than the amount of cold any other cities had, but the constant flow and liveliness of the city had ponies out longer—and as a result, colder. Still, ponies managed to endure the freezing weather if just to make sure their daily business was attended to.
A unicorn stallion,who was amongst a crowd trotting down a sidewalk, was heading for his place of business. He had an aversion for the cold and only wished that the winds helping speed it along would die down, if just for a few brief moments to allow him a moment of peace. He winced as the wind blew another good chunk of it at him, his face being the part of his body that he wished the cold did not affect so much. If only biology would cooperate with that wish. Thankfully a street vendor was coming into view which would most likely be serving some hot cocoa during this time of year.
He stepped up to it, the assortment of other products—such as newspapers, snacks, and the like—being visibly on display, as well as their prices. The vendor had been reading a newspaper, holding it in his green aura of magic. He only set it down once the unicorn giving a short cough signaled that he had a customer. The paper was set down on the counter, revealing a set of peering blue eyes, void of pupils, staring back at him. The changeling manning the vendor looked at the stallion and then smiled, asking the unicorn for what he wanted. The stallion in return asked for a cup of hot cocoa and a newspaper, now interested in seeing how the weather was going to pan out. The changeling nodded, using his magic to levitate an empty cup from below the counter and taking it to a small machine behind him. As he did this, the unicorn lifted the number of bits needed for the products from his saddle bag and placed them on the counter, taking one of the newspapers from the rack it was on. The changeling returned with the cup, the fluctuating vapors rising from it indicated how hot the liquid inside was. The stallion gave the changeling a smile, taking the cup into his own field of magic as the changeling counted the bits and put them into the register.
The stallion opened the paper and looked to the weather section. He gave a tired sigh as he saw what he had feared. A cold front was scheduled for tomorrow, bringing more of the frightful weather into the city. He took a sip of the cocoa, hoping for the warm liquid to mend his dampened mood as it warmed what it could in his body. The changeling noticed the weary emotions the unicorn emitted and looked to him with concern. The unicorn took note of the concern on his face, but gave him a reassuring smile, though he knew that he couldn’t hide his true feelings from the creature. Still, the changeling smiled back, offering his visual sympathy. They both went back to their routines soon after.
On the opposite side of the street, the sidewalk was busy with ponies and changelings alike. All of them were going about their routines, trotting to where they needed to be or wanted to be. At each crosswalk would be the occasional stop of the crowd as they waited for taxi carriages to drive on by. Some carriages were driven by common ponies while others were driven by changelings who have also become just as common. It had been some time since their attempted invasion on Caterlot. In the short-term it was a great shock. It was not just some disaster that was felt across Equestria but a direct attack on their capitol. It gave the ponies something to fear and they wonder.
In the long-term, it just became another distant nightmare that once plagued on their minds. The terror of it all continued to diminish as news went on about some type of peace talks that went on between some changeling affiliates and the princesses themselves. Something having to do with being cut off from their leader and questions as to the invasion actually being a good idea eventually drove them to desiring a truce. During that time, their integration into pony society was slow, made slower with the small pockets of resentment that both parties had for each other. Old feelings—fear, anger, indifference and such—tend to diminish at a snail’s pace. But overtime the population began to accept its new residents. Positive feelings and emotions being given willingly and freely turned out to be a much better alternative than taking it by force. Soon the changelings became another simple part of society. An image of them being public enemy number one was now erased from the majority of minds. Although some carried their grudges, they did not hold enough relevance in public to cause any kind of major disturbance.
Despite such a change, it do not keep the city where everypony—everyone—looked-out-for-themselves from being as cold as ever during the winter. In the end, though, the weather only managed to be a minor annoyance to those who did not allow it to get to their heads. Winter kept bringing down the biting teeth of cold, trying to gnaw at the passersby, tempting them to accept the force as something they cannot defend against. This season, then next season, and the next, it always came. It tested them each year, seeing which denizen would finally crack under the pressure of its freezing weight.
The snow was beating against Frill Spike’s face as he flew his way through the city, his pointed frill fluttering as he did. The goggles assured that the tiny balls of fluff kept away from his eyes, but they did not keep his face—scrunched in a determined snare—safe from the chill. Never-the-less, he shook the sensation. The constant pelting across his carapace only served to make him fly with more effort than he needed. His membranes were beginning to tire from beating his wings at a fast rate, but the changeling was not going to relieve the pressure.
The carrier bag that he carried was strapped firmly to his side, assuring that none of its contents fell out. They were important for what he was doing. In fact, he made it his mantra to make sure that nothing that he carried in the bag was ever damaged. For him, each object he transported made an important, sovereign reason for him to not let them go unaccounted for.
He turned as the face of a building came up to him and he continued down the street, getting closer to his destination. As he drew closer, he scanned the streets below to look for a landing zone. The streets were bustling, as per-usual, but that never stopped him from trying for a spot as close as possible to where he was supposed to be. Fortunately, he found a part of the sidewalk with enough space for him to make a landing. He slowed himself down, and then began a slightly fast vertical descent. He slowed down once the ground came close enough that he needed to do so. With a fluent motion, he planted his hooves down onto the concrete and then made a brisk trot forward until he was at the entrance of an apartment building.
He checked the names on the roster outside and found the one he was looking for. He then entered and began the trot upstairs. He was panting from the exertion he was putting into the trot, but he kept going to despite of that. The whole world could have been falling apart at that moment and it would not keep him from making this delivery or any other. He made it to the correct floor and made his way through the hall, checking the apartment numbers as he did. He finally came to the one he was looking for.
Still not slowing down, he rapped his hoof on the door whilst pulling out a package from his carrier bag with his magic. He waited, now trying to control his breath if just to speak once the pony living there came to the door and opened it. Finally, the door creaked open to reveal an earthpony, who stared back at the changeling who wore a mail courier’s hat and jacket. Frill Spike brought the package close enough to the pony so that it was now in his reach.
“Package for you sir,” Frill Spike managed keep his voice on level as he presented the package.
The pony smiled as he took the package into his hooves. “Ah, thank you.”
Frill Spike nodded, adopting an almost triumphant pose, but kept it well controlled as to not make it apparent. “Just doing my job.”
With that, he quickly turned back the way he came and began another brisk trot, all the way back to the entrance of the building. He looked to the next package he had to deliver and scanned the address it was meant to go to. He exited the building, looking to the sky. With a buzz of his wings, he was aloft again, pushing past the falling snow.
The post office was active with ponies, all needing to pick up, mail, or package something. A line formed at the counter, three clerks calling forward the next available pony to see what they needed. One of them, a sky-blue mare with a brown mane pulled back in a bun, was answering inquires about some delayed deliveries. She was explaining what the situation for that was, though the pony listening did not seem to enjoy the explanation. She reassured him that the office would take care of it. The pony gave a sigh and went on his way, leaving the mare to close her yellow eyes and to allow her head to fall into her hooves.
“If I have to hear another complaint about that route,” She said in an exasperated sigh.
She heard the bell by the door ring as a familiar changeling walked in, clothing almost covered in snow.
“Oh, thank Celestia,” The proclamation of relief was almost at a blissful shout. “Frill Spike, you’re here.”
The changeling gave a slight chuckle at her weariness. “That’s an obvious observation, Parcel.”
She gave a slight and amused snort at the attempt of a joke. “Well it’s a very welcoming observation because I have a problem I need your help with.”
She motioned for him to follow her to the back of the office, telling the two clerks to take over the line for a bit. She and Frill Spike entered into the back room, a map of Manehatten with colored lines showing routes hung from the wall. Next to the routes were names posted to each one. The one she pointed a hoof at had no name assigned to it.
“Here’s the problem,” she began. “One of mail carriers I had assigned to this route had to call in sick for the whole week because of a cold.”
“Well that’s serious,” Frill Spike said flatly.
Parcel gave a sly smirk. “This coming from the changeling criticized me for being obvious?”
Frill returned the smirk. “You were saying, boss?”
She continued. “Well, obviously we’re a little short-handed at the moment and I can’t think of anypony who’s willing to go out through this frightful weather. But, I do know someone who’s been begging for some overtime and is more than willing to bear with the cold.” She gave another smirk to Frill, who looked liked he was almost ready to bounce with excitement.
“I have to warn you though,” she continued, a sense of concern being felt by Frill. “The route includes stops in the rich part of town, and you know what those old, stuck up ponies’ feelings are when it comes to changelings.” She nervously placed her hoof down, waiting for his response. “So, what do you say?”
Despite the warning, Frill knew the answer before he even gave it. “You had me at hello, boss.”
Parcel smiled, totting over to him and gave him a pat on the back, a wave of relief and happiness coming from her. “Thanks, Frill.”
The changeling gave a happy nod.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, walking over to a locked cabinet in the room. She took a key into her mouth and unlocked it, opening it to reveal several small bags of bits inside. She took six of them and set them on the table in the middle of the room. “Keep up the good work,” she said, closing and locking the cabinet again then trotted back to the front.
Frill Spike looked to the bags with joy, taking off the mail bag he had and hanging it on a rack on the wall. From the same rack, he took his travel bag and floated the bits into it, strapping it on afterwards. He punched-out at the clock at the side of the door and walked back outside, giving a wave to Parcel as he left. Once he exited the post office, he sat on his haunches and pumped of his hooves in delight. He looked through the window of the office to see Parcel giving a small chuckle at his enjoyment. He rolled his eyes with a smirk before spreading his wings and taking back off into the cold Manehatten skyline.
The winds kept bearing down on him but Frills Spike did not let that get to him. How could he when he had finally gotten the opportunity he was looking for? He had flown higher than usual just to make swaying glides side-to-side in a symphony of happiness. He would have done some loops about, but he did not want to delay his flight. He wanted to get home as soon as possible. He needed to account for how far he has gotten, and how much further it was until he reached his ultimate goal. He already had a good idea about it, but he just wanted to make sure. A double-check on his status would insure how good he was doing and, admittedly, whet the appetite of his ego.
He decided to make a quick detour before truly heading home. He flew in a joyous flight, going about the sky in graceful motions, turning about the corners of buildings. In his happy flight, he made sure to keep his eye to the buildings he flew by, making sure he did not pass by where he was going to. His destination came up and he stopped his aerial performance and set down in front of a tenant building. There was basement window to the side of a staircase that he looked into. He smiled at what he saw inside.
It was fairly dark, the only light coming from the window he was peering through, but he could see what was inside. There was a small space with a motif of some dull green carpeting. The continuous color stopped at a small space of white tiles that made up the area of the kitchen, along with a counter. Somewhere to the side was sliding door into a bathroom that held a shower in place of a bathtub. The white walls were bare. The faintest fading of its pure color could be seen. In short, it was a small, dull studio which painted an almost depressing picture.
It was perfect.
At least, the rent was. It was not his first choice but for his current position, it was such a hopeful goal. Something for him to take some pride in, to show how well he was off. A place that shows that he had some meaning to his life, a purpose to work towards and achieve. More importantly, something to show how capable he is. It was not the greatest place to have to his name, but it still meant something. All he had to do was obtain it and he would feel accomplished. He was sure of it.
Until then he had to get the bits to buy it. Especially since he offered the landlord the first year’s rent if he held it for him. With his new mailing route, that would come much quicker.
He stepped back from the window, almost having to force himself away from it. Taking one look back at it, he flapped his wings into a buzz, taking flight for home.
The sun was beginning to set as Frill Spike followed the alley below to a spacious opening between five buildings. It was used mainly for practical uses. It offered back doors into buildings, dumpsters and garbage cans lined against a wall of a building, and anything else that needed the space.
There was one object that seemed out of place though. Around the center was a large concrete cylinder, most likely left behind after some type of construction job. Whatever reason it was left behind—either because it had a small hole on the side or the construction just did not bother to take it—did not matter to him. What was inside of it is what he was concerned over. He floated down to one of the openings on either side of it and entered.
Inside, the small hole served to shed whatever light was left in the sky to reveal some sheets covers, a blanket, and a pillow. To the side were three large plastic bags that contained other bags of bits, all counted with their amounts written on the small, leather pouches. He gave a comforting sigh at the sight of it.
Home, sweet home.
He trotted over the blanket and plopped down onto it. He began to levitate the bags of bits he earned today opened the larger, plastic ones. With much glee, he began to lift each bag and set them in front of him. Putting them in a bank may have been preferable, but he always preferred keeping track of his own belongings. He had done this many times, but there was just too much joy in it. He began to look at the written amounts on each bag and tallied up the entire count. Bags with 20’s, 100’s, even 200’s, he counted them all until he reached a sum.
“And that makes about 18,200 bits,” he placed the last bag into the plastic one and sealed it back, all the bits inside jingling as he did. He then levitated a quill and some parchment from under the covers. There were calculations written about it and he was now adding in more. Some previous ones were lost on another parchment so he had to run through the basic parts of the math again.
“Okay, so I get five bits per hour and each work day is eight hours,” he began as he performed a bit of long multiplication, mentally thanking Parcel for teaching him a bit about basic math. “That’s 280 bits a week. I’ve been working for probably almost a year and a half, I think,” he stopped to think about what day it is. “It’s already been a week this month, so…840 bits to go, I think.” He took a moment to remember the rent for the studio. “1700 bits, multiply that by 12 months…20,400 for a year. 20,400 minus 18,200…,” he performed the subtraction problem and came up with a very reasonable number. “I’ll have to earn 2200 bits before I actually rent it. Then all I have to is focus on making enough for some savings and to buy some furniture and food.”
He set down the parchment and quill, beaming with delight. This was perfect. Almost two full years of working hard, pushing himself to whatever limits he came across, and it was going to pay off. He could probably go buy the studio the first chance he got but…no. He wanted to make sure he had just a little more just in case. He made it this far, so he can make it just a bit longer.
He gave a great yawn, looking out to the snow that fell outside. It would get cold at night, but he always managed to bear it. Tonight would be no different. Besides, with how close he was to his ultimate goal, it would be worth it for a few more nights of freezing. He began to draw his sheets and rest his head against the pillow. He took a look outside the hole, the waning light of the sun allowing him for a somewhat blissful sleep. He closed his eyes and began to nod off.
Before the few hours of the day waned to allow for a wintery night, there was a group of fillies having a playful snow fight. The young ponies were a mix of all types. Unicorns lifted clumps of snow with their magic, forming them into balls and tossing them to whoever was trying to avoid the flying projectiles. Earthponies had to put more effort into molding the snow with their hooves, but they were managing just as well. Some of the pegasi had a large advantage, being able to fly and let down a surprise ball of snow onto unsuspecting fillies. This all happened with cooperation. Two teams were in this snowy battle, each team offering their members tactical advice and strategies. It was a fairly well-thought competition, one that made the game look like an athletic sport. Despite that, an air of good feeling and friendship was in the present, making an exciting and joyous snow ball fight.
On the third storey window of an apartment building that was in front of the courtyard the fillies were playing in, a pair of large blue eyes with natural dark circles below observed the game. An olive earthpony colt pushed his face against the glass, heat leaving his cheeks as the cold surface met him. He gave a faint smile at the sight. It looked like a lot fun to play in the snow like that. He could imagine himself rushing to get some snow into his hooves, then taking his snow ball and trying to throw it at another pony. This thought put some slight movement in his hooves, making some subtle motions as if he was actually down there, playing with the others.
The smile weakened back to a neutral position. He turned his head to look at his bedroom door. His eyes swept across the room, lit with a lantern that sat at his little nightstand. The bed was set at the corner of the wall, a toy chest sitting on the floor against it. He followed the tan walls to the bathroom door, then finally over to his bedroom door.
The colt got off his haunches and trotted to the wooden barrier that kept him from the rest of the apartment. He came up to the door and reached up for the handle, having to stand on his hind legs and placing a hoof on the door for support. The free hoof found the handle and made an attempt to push it down.
It was locked, as usual.
The colt sat back down on the beige carpet, his head drooping a bit in disappointment. It seemed liked a pointless idea from the beginning. The repetitive process seemed to be constant in his life, but he still needed to try to open the door. He still wanted to see if the cycle could be broken, even for just one day. Either out of a strongly grasped glimmer of hope or out of desperation, he just wanted to see if the door wasn’t locked for once. Maybe if it was open this time, things would be different. Maybe it will never be locked again and he can just roam around whenever he wanted. Maybe there would be some way to safely get down from the window to the ground below. Maybe he could finally go outside without needing to be watched constantly. Maybe he could play with those fillies outside. Maybe he would actually start feeling happy instead of just having the faintest glimpse of that feeling. Maybe, if only the door was not locked like that for once, things would be better.
But it was locked.
He sighed, getting back up and trotting back over to the window to watch the fillies play their game while the day still permitted it.
He then perked up, only the slightest bit, at the sight of an auburn earthpony turning the corner of the street and heading towards the apartment building, his maroon mane blowing slightly in the wind. The stallion carried saddle bags and looked somewhat tired. He looked up with his rust-colored eyes to meet the pair of blue ones staring back at him from the third story window. He smiled, continuing his trot towards the building.
The colt went back to the door and sat patiently. This was the best part of any day, when he could take a moment to leave the tanned room and enjoy the rest of the apartment, for what little joy it still brought. He waited, his brown unkempt tail swishing back and forth at the sound of the front door opening. The sound of hooves clopping against the carpet made him stand up in anticipation. Finally, there was the sound of a key turning in a lock and a click as the door opened.
Standing at the door was the colt’s father, who looked back at his son with a bright smile.
“Dad,” the olive colt excitedly said as he trotted over to his father.
The auburn stallion sat on his haunches, spreading his hooves open as the colt came. “Marsh Olive,” he exclaimed as his son jumped into his embrace.
They hugged, a great air of happiness radiating from both of them. They ended the warm welcoming, the stallion continuing to talk.
“Ready for dinner, buddy,” he asked, rubbing a hoof on his son’s unkempt mane.
Marsh Olive nodded vigorously at the prospect, the fork of his mane that stopped just above his eyes bobbing as he did. He followed his father down the short hallway, the continuous motif of tan still lining the walls. The living room seemed to change that fact with what could be considered décor in the drab apartment. A single couch sat in front of a coffee table. One of the walls had some framed family photos with a repeating pattern of a sage colored mare with a light yellow, prim and proper mane showing up in some of them. Towards the corner of the living room was a dining table with three chairs.
The only other difference to the brown color palette was the kitchen area, separated from the rest of the apartment by the adjacent hallway wall. The stallion trotted over to one of the kitchen counters and began to unload the supplies from his saddlebags. He took out two pre-packaged frozen meals and read the cooking instructions on them. As he did this, Marsh took a seat at the dining table. The colt looked at the empty chair to his side. He regarded it for a moment, a small frown beginning to form on his lips. He looked to his father who placed the frozen meals in an oven, cooking them. The stallion looked back at his son, giving him a smile. Marsh smiled as well, although weakly.
The stallion came up to the dining table, balancing one meal in his hoof and holding onto two forks in his mouth. He set Marsh’s dinner in front of him and then went back to get his. He came back and sat down across from the colt. They both began to eat their dinner, as per the routine.
It was always quiet, the only sound being that of silverware and the occasional question from Marsh’s father. He asked his son about how he was doing, what he did today, the same questions at every meal of the day, which Marsh would always give positive, normal answers to. The only difference in the monotonous cycle would be when the discussion of the holidays came up, and even then, those conversations came with their own pre-written scripts with blank spaces for variation that may come up in the discussion.
Rinse, lather, repeat.
For the past two years it was always the same. However, this time Marsh felt like putting a little more variety into the discussion. He looked to the empty chair again, taking a moment to think out the question before finally asking.
“Dad,” he began with a hesitant and small voice.
The stallion looked to him, showing concern to his sudden shyness. “Yeah, buddy?”
Marsh paused before finally asking the question. “Can we talk about mom?”
His father raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. He looked down to his hooves on the table, shuffling them nervously. “I, uh, thought we talked about this before, Marsh.”
The colt almost took the answer as a defeat, but continued to persist, albeit with a small voice. “But, I wanna talk about her.”
His father sighed, a look of weariness and discomfort in his eyes. He looked back up to Marsh, who gave him an innocent, begging look. At this, he gave a slight smile. “You definitely have her persistence.”
Marsh did not know what that word meant, but still he smiled, happy to see his father’s mood lighting up.
“Well then,” the stallion began. “What is it about your mother you want to talk about?”
Marsh took the question in for a bit, looking lost. “I don’t know.”
His father gave chuckle at his son’s bluntness. “Well, I think a good place to start is from the beginning.”
Marsh sat a little straighter, happy to hear about this story again.
“Let’s see,” his father began. “It was six years ago, a really long time. There was a stallion, named Bull True, who was running through the rain. He forgot to bring his rain coat to work and had to get home to dry off. While he was running, he was yelling for a taxi to stop so he can be picked up and get home quicker.”
“One taxi saw him waving and stopped next to him. He put his hoof on the steps and was about to get on when he saw another hoof next to his. Both his hoof and the other got off the step, and he looked to see a mare next to him. They both looked surprised and confused, but then they got a little angry at each other and started yelling about which one of them would use the taxi. They kept yelling, trying to yell louder than the other, when they looked and saw the taxi start to leave. While they were yelling the taxi puller got nervous and ran away from them. The stallion looked at the mare, getting ready to yell again.”
“But then the mare started to laugh a lot.”
“She kept laughing and laughing in the most beautiful voice the stallion ever heard of. The stallion was just really confused because he thought she would be mad like him. She tried to talk while laughing at the same time. She said that she and he were both pretty stupid for getting so angry at each other that they scared away the taxi. The stallion didn’t get why she was laughing at that. But then he started laughing too because he knew she was right.”
“So now they were both laughing for little awhile until they started to get a little tired of it. She then said that she and he should go into one of buildings next to them to wait for the rain to stop, and the stallion thought that was a good idea. So they both went into a building and started to wait. They looked at each other and saw how wet they were from the rain. Her mane was drenched over her face like his and they thought they looked so silly that they laughed a little more.”
“That’s when the stallion asked her what her name was. She looked at him, with her beautiful blue eyes and said in that beautiful voice that her name was Clover Pride.”
Bull True looked to his son, a happy expression on his face and his tail swishing back and forth.
He smiled at this, continuing. “And do you know who that stallion and mare were?”
Marsh practically leapt as he exclaimed the answer. “You and Mom!”
Bull gave a happy chuckle at that. “Exactly, very good.”
“What happened next,” Marsh asked with glee.
Bull continued. “Well, after a long while, I and your mom moved in together. And then a little while longer we got married. And after that, she and I had ourselves a little colt named Marsh Olive: the cutest and greatest colt anyone could ever ask for. And we were the happiest family any pony has ever seen.”
Marsh was giddy at the last statement. He and his father smiled with the utmost joy at the story told. It served to bring the mood up from the boring routine they went through almost every day.
Then the smile wavered a bit. Those words resounded in Marsh’s head.
“The happiest family…”
He looked to the empty chair next to him, ears beginning to droop. Bull saw this, but did not question why. He already knew the answer.
Marsh will always remember that story about how his father and mother met. He just wished that it would not remind of him of that other memory. But it was etched into his mind and he remembered every single detail of it all.
That one day when they planned to have a family vacation to Canterlot. When their lives continued normally as they saved up the funds for the trip. When they approached the city by train and he gazed up at the strange purple dome that surrounded it. He remembered them walking down the street to a restaurant they made a planned a family meal at. He remembered the smile on her face when she saw her two-year-old son still gazing in awe at the city roof tops. He remembered her and dad laughing as he made a quip at his son’s astonishment. He remembered hearing the sound of something pelting against glass. He remembered him and his parents looking up to see small black dots in the purple, translucent sky. He remembered the sound of banging against the dome until it shattered and the mass of black creatures came crashing down to the city.
Why did he have to remember the fear he felt when he and his parents ran through the streets? Why did he have to remember realizing that mom was lagging behind him and dad? Why did he have to remember one of those monsters landing between her and them? Why did more of those things begin to show up? Why did her mother yell at them to run, that they’ll meet each other after the mess? Why did she not meet them like she said she would?
Then he had to remember dad saying that mommy was hurt really bad and that they were going to the hospital to see if she was alright. He had to remember the dagger-sharp words of dad as he said that the doctors did all they could. He had to remember the funeral and painful minutes that felt like hours as the casket was lowered down. But worst of all, he had to remember all the agonizing mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights when she wasn’t there with them, and that her smiling face could now only be seen in the photos that line the wall.
Marsh was so wrapped up in the memory that he had not noticed his father wrap his hooves around him in comfort. Nor had he noticed the tears that trickled down his own face or the tears of Bull. Once that reality met him, he buried his head into his father’s chest, sobbing in his embrace.
“The happiest family…”
Bull rubbed a hoof against his son’s back in comfort, trying to ease the pain they both felt. There were no immediate words of solace from him, just the gentle rubbing his hoof to give some relief.
They stayed like this for a period, letting their sobs be the only noise to fill the air. Eventually, Marsh began to calm down, his breathing coming back to normal. He sniffed a few more times before it finally felt like enough crying was done. They loosened their embrace, letting their forelegs loose from each other’s shoulders.
Bull then looked Marsh in the eye, determination beginning to form in his voice.
“Listen, Marsh,” he began. “You remember those black things, right?”
Marsh nodded, though wishing he did not remember.
“That’s why I always lock the doors when I’m gone, because I don’t want them getting in here to hurt you.” The determination in Bull’s voice began grow greater. “Ever since that day, the world has gotten dangerous, especially now those monsters are walking on the streets now. That’s why I always have to be there with you whenever you go outside.”
“No matter what happens, no matter how I do it, I will keep you safe.” He paused, keeping a stern but protective look in his eyes as Marsh stared back. “Do you understand?”
All Marsh could do at that point was nod and let his farther hug him one more time in a protective embrace. He just allowed it to happen, not moving his forelegs in return, too tired to dwell on the thought.
“Hey,” Bull began as he looked down at Marsh who looked back at him. “The welfare approval scroll comes in the mail this week. Do want go to the bank with me when I cash it in?”
Marsh, despite the lingering sadness he felt, gave a weak smile and nod at the prospect of going outside. He received another pat on the head from Bull as they ended the hug for good this time.
Bull then looked at the clock that hung from the wall, becoming startled at the time. “It’s almost your bedtime.” He looked back to Marsh. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you cleaned up.”
The bath, another part of the routine, went as usual. Bull ran the bath then allowed Marsh to step in as he began to scrub at his fur. He then dried him and led him back to his room, key in his mouth.
Marsh looked up to Bull before he went in. “Dad, do you still have to lock the door?”
Bull looked down to him, a sad expression in his eyes. “It’s for your own safety, Marsh.”
The colt sighed, stepping into his bedroom, getting into bed as his father came in and turned off the lantern on his nightstand. He then gave Marsh a nuzzle and wished him good night before heading back to the door.
Marsh turned his body onto his side, waiting for the door to close and the sound of the tumblers in the lock turning until they stopped. The sound of his father’s hoof steps could be heard as he entered his own room and closed the door. He waited a few moments before getting off his bed again and headed for the bedroom door. He stood up, got a hold of the handle, and pulled.
Still locked.
Marsh made no audible protest, nor did he even mentally think of one. He just wanted to sleep away the night now. His movements were automatic, no thoughts about it what-so-ever as he crawled back into bed and curled up, allowing sleep to overcome him. In the morning he will wake up to the sound of the bedroom door opening, with his father standing in the doorway and announcing it was time for breakfast.
It was morning when Frill Spike exited the post office, another bag of mail strapped to his flank along with the one he usually carried. Today was the start of his new double-route shift, and he was eager to get started. The added weight would slow down him down a bit, but he was sure it would be worth it in the end. He shifted the bags, adapting to the new weight, then buzzed his wings and began to take off.
The weather was no different today and it would be sometime before it changed. The cold kept ponies wrapped in their winter clothing, while other kept to the warmth inside buildings. The low temperature coupled with the snow would make pegasi and changelings stick to the ground, if there was not anything to keep them in the sky.
Frill Spike, however, had dealt with these flying conditions before. Even before his mail carrier job, he practiced flying in different seasons, testing his limits and adjusting his wing speed for optimal flight. He heard about how mail carriers would be tasked to deliver mail under different weather conditions and he wanted to make sure he could face such natural obstacles.
As for the job itself, it seemed perfect for him. Most changelings took on jobs that allowed for social interactions. After all, their essential food source is emotion. While being a mail carrier was not a social job, there were still the ponies at the reception desks of apartment buildings to give a warm smile and a wave when ever Frill walked in. That and the occasional pony he met that was happy for receiving their package at the door.
Other than that, he enjoyed the independent feel of it. It fell to him to make sure the mail arrived and it would be on his head if he failed. Independence was one of the aspects about pony society he admired. That somehow an individual could be able achieve success on his own. The ability to take full control of his own life and guide it to something he wanted. Frill Spike had this mind set ever since the botched invasion on Canterlot. When the news reached the changelings that were not part of the attack, his reliability on others began to dwindle bit by bit. After all, if an entire invasion force—led by the Queen herself—could not take over a city in a surprise attack, what good was it to rely on others to get what you need?
Integrating himself into pony society finally convinced him of that philosophy. He adopted that idea and learned about what best symbolized it. One of those symbols was Manehatten. The city seemed to embody that philosophy the best. The other was personal success, and what best symbolized that were two things: A job and a home. While he called the concrete cylinder his “home,” he knew it wasn’t passable for the ideal. That is when he heard about the studio apartment and the bits he needed to get it.
As for a job, it took him a while before he found out about openings at the post office. Parcel was very surprised during the interview when Frill volunteered to do laps around the block to show her his flight speed. That eagerness is what won her over and she was more than happy to give him the job.
Since then, Frill Spike had contributed all his effort into his career. The changeling braved any weather condition, memorized his routes, and improved on his ability to carry heavy loads. He continued to demonstrate those skills that day, navigating the route path and the snow that fell. The extra weight did present a complication in speed, but he managed it, making it to his stops. It was the usual and comfortable routine. The apartments on his usual route almost all had different systems for delivering mail. Some he just had to drop off for the apartment staff to sort out while others had him go to a room behind mail box units built into the wall to put the appropriate deliveries in. Sometimes he had to deliver a package to a recipient or leave a notice of attempted delivery if he or she wasn’t home. Either way it was handled, he made sure to bring the mail appropriately and efficiently. This was his element, what he excelled at and was good for. If anything, it was his true purpose, and he would be sure to keep up the good work.
The winds were picking up a bit as Frill Spike finally began his new route. It was a little ways off from the usual, common part of the city. In fact, the high class neighborhood of lofts and suburban homes did not look like it was supposed to be part of Manehatten. The sidewalks were laid with tan-colored cobblestone instead of concrete. The building gave a much more high class feel than the more urban areas, and there was minimal activity on the streets than there was in the city. Yet, it was there, situated on the northern edge of Manehatten.
Frill Spike had to land and sit on his haunches in order to let the difference sink in. He remembered hearing about this place. How during the city’s expansion, the nobles wanted to keep this more “pleasant” part of life intact and allow renovations to improve upon the community. How the street lanterns were made of silver, and how fences and railings were crafted with fine designs. How ponies would go about in a sophisticated trot and their clothes were tailored for a fine, almost regal look.
But all of that was only what he heard of. The description could not prepare him for the sudden environmental whiplash. It was so different from the urban city that he had to take the moment to gawk. It was no wonder it was so aptly named the “Manehatten Noble District.”
His awareness then came back to him as he shook his head vigorously, annoyed at himself. This wasn’t the time to be the awestruck tourist. He had a job to do and he wasn’t going to let a stark difference occupy his thoughts. Quickly getting back to the air, he continued down the street to get to his stops. The wind kept blowing against him, but he did not let up. He looked down to the first set of apartment lofts. These had mail box units set outside of the loft, made out of bronze with designs carved into them and a slot for dropping letters in. He checked for which letters needed to go where and dropped them into the correct slots. With that settled, he took off to the next set of buildings.
It was not until the third set of buildings--when the wind suddenly blew stronger for a--moment that he began to feel it. That heavy blanket of emotions that he could sense. The number of feelings that left a bitter sensation when they were taken in. Around him, he could see the rich and noble ponies giving off the emotions. Some made it apparent, with a bored but indifferent impression. Others tried to hide it, continuing on in their elegant trot or looking the other way when he glanced over at them. Either way, those emotions could not be hidden from him.
Annoyance, contempt, disgust, all directed towards Frill Spike. The changeling.
He shook it off, trying to get his mind bet back to the current situation. So what if they didn’t think highly of him? That didn’t matter a thing when he had a job to do. Besides, he was expecting something like this to happen. The way these ponies held themselves high above the social order, it’s no wonder they would have these kinds of thoughts to ponies lower than them. That included changelings.
He ignored the prejudgment feelings and focused on the deliveries. He wasn’t going to let them keep him down or interfere with his job. If they didn’t like him, they would have to deal with it because he was the one delivering their mail. He held to that determination, the winds now beginning to calm.
There was a relieving change of pace once the route had taken him out of the Noble district. Just the thought of leaving that place for the more comfortable urban Manehatten made him feel better. More so that his last stop was just an average apartment complex. A courtyard facing three apartment buildings, each turned slightly to face it back, was the only form of excessive decoration. No bronze, no silver, no abstract designs were visible at all. The only part that could be considered décor was the few small trees planted about the courtyard. Such a simple sight could not have made Frill Spike any happier.
Since it was a complex, each building had its own mail unit. Fortunately, the mailing system was one handled by the staff. The center held the main reception desk where he went to drop the mail off with the desk clerk. The pony at the desk was a little surprised to see a changeling being the one to deliver the mail, but thankfully it ended at just that. In fact, the surprise was more pleasant than it was unexpected.
Definitely much better than the Noble district.
Frill Spike was about to go back outside when he felt something. It felt like a startled realization, which then turned into a sudden confusion, and then finally, a tense fear. He feigned lowering his head, only letting out an exasperated sigh. Fear was not even the worse feeling a changeling could sense, but that didn’t mean it had no effect on his mood. Especially since that fear was directed towards him. He couldn’t help but look at what the source was.
An auburn earthpony was staring at Frill Spike with wide eyes, completely stiff. His mouth was agape in shock at the sight of the changeling. Next to him was an olive-colored colt that looked to be four years of age. Despite the strong fear coming from the stallion, Frill could feel a nervous anxiousness coming from the child. Never the less, they continued to stare at him, unmoving and frozen.
Frill began to turn and leave, to allow the two some peace of mind. Then he stopped for a moment. The noble ponies had no care for him and that was definitely a weight for the changeling to bear, but these two displayed fear. That was something Frill Spike did not want hanging over him. Hate was one thing, but someone stopping everything because he was afraid of the changeling was completely different.
He turned back to the two ponies, and despite the stallion’s sudden flinch at the slow turn, he began to speak.
“Look, I know it’s probably scary having me around here all of a sudden. I can understand why, I really do. But, I can assure you that I don’t mean to cause any trouble.” The fear was still there, but he continued none the less. “I’m just here to deliver mail and that’s it. Just for a little while. You don’t have to worry about it being permanent. Once the regular mailpony is back, I’ll be out of your mane for good.”
As far as Frill Spike could tell, the fear was still there, only diminished the slightest bit. He figured that was the best he could do and didn’t bother waiting for any other sensation. He was at the entrance when he wanted to say something, any kind of parting words just to let it sink into those two ponies that they did not need to be afraid. Sheepishly, he looked back at them and spoke once more.
“I’m sorry.”
With that, he trotted out the door, back into the cold. The winds had picked up again, making the weather frightful. He lifted himself back into the air and made the flight back to the office. As if the job could get anymore dreadful, winter just had to shower him with more cold.
He could not wait for the week to be over.
Bull True could barely stop shaking. He had to place both hooves on the reception desk just to keep calm. The fact was still taking time to sink in, but each time it sank further, it shed another shiver up his spine. One of those nightmares was here. It saw him and his son. It knows who they are. The truth just kept cutting deeper into his mind as he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He only noticed his frightened state when the clerk called him back to attention with his mail.
He took a moment to compose himself before taking the mail. He had to keep calm and take control of his feeling. That’s how they would get to them. They would focus on his feelings, see a weakness to exploit, and then strike when he was least suspecting. Then, they would suck him dry of all the love he had, and once they were done with him…they’d move on to Marsh. No, he was not going to let that happen to him or his son. If anything, keeping him safe will drive the stallion to resist any tricks they have.
Bull looked to Marsh, looking for any sign that he had a spell cast on him or anything that might be out of the ordinary.
“Are you okay, Marsh?” He lowered his head to meet the colt on eye level. “Do you feel anything different or strange?”
Marsh Olive looked confused for a bit, looking over his self as if a visual inspection might come up with an answer.
“I don’t think so,” he finally said.
Bull gave a sigh, though he could not decide whether he felt relieved by the answer or scared by it.
“Okay. Just making sure that you’re okay.”
Marsh gave a slight nod.
“Don’t worry about the monsters. If anything happens, daddy will be right here to keep you safe.” Bull felt himself nodding, as if trying to convince himself that he could live up to that statement. “Okay?”
Another slight nod was all Marsh could do in response.
“Good.” Bull looked at the entrance, readying himself for any other “surprises” that might be out there. He looked to Marsh who was at his side, waiting for his command. “Okay, let’s go. We’ll be at the bank and back home in no time. Just stay close to daddy until then.”
With that, the two walked out into the snow. Marsh shivered a bit, not being so use to the cold. But, he was happy to be out. At least his winter wear was keeping him as warm as possible. He kept close to his father, both because of what he said and because he didn’t want to get lost as he thought.
Marsh remembered everything his father told him about changelings. That they were monsters who didn’t care about him and only wanted him for food. How they would hurt anypony just to get him and evertypony else for food. They would make themselves look like his friends and family to get close enough to him. Everything he was taught about them was always about how bad they were.
The one he saw did scare him, but he didn’t try to hurt him or his father. He even said that they didn’t have to be scared of him. He also looked sad about something, but the colt didn’t know why.
“What’s wrong, Marsh?”
Marsh did not even notice he stopped in his tracks as he pondered. The colt looked at his father and thought that now was the best time to ask.
“Dad, why did the changeling say he was sorry?”
Bull True response came immediately. “Because it was trying to trick us, Marsh. It was trying to get us to trust him. But we’re smarter than that monster is. Just don’t believe anything it says and you’ll be fine. Okay?”
Marsh Olive gave only a brief pause before outwardly nodding and continuing the trot with his father.
Inwardly, his feelings on the subject were conflicted.
The post office door opened with Frill Spike stepping in. The action was done with a tired effort, his movements motivated only by the fact that the new route was done with. Of course, he would have to get back to it one more time. He gave a sigh at the thought.
It was the first time he felt truly tired after work. Other times before, he only experienced a physical exhaustion. In fact, just like the bigotry he felt in the Noble district, he had expected that exhaustion to come with the job. Yet, the day’s events still managed to linger in his mind. He criticized himself for being so depressed by the situation.
Why was he so emotionally down? As far as he could tell, every changeling that came to Equestria had to face the same prejudices that he just faced. In fact, he had to deal with it himself when he first settled in Manehatten. Even then, he came to cope with it, and it even became a rare occurrence as time went on.
So why was he being so bleak about it?
Frill Spike thought about this as he made his way to the back room, a weary scowl keeping itself on his face. He placed the extra carrier bag on the rack below the Manehatten map. The two route lines, with his name posted to both, stared back at him. The one he took on top of his usual one stared back with more intensity than the other.
He glared back, giving it a determined nod.
“Frill Spike,” a familiar voice called out, startling the changeling.
He did not notice Parcel was in the room as well, working on something at the table. She just noticed him staring at the map.
“Everything all right,” she asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” he quickly responded. “Just reviewing the new route.”
Parcel gave a smile, though he could sense some concern coming from her. “So the new route wasn’t problem?”
Frill Spike gave himself only a small moment to think over that question. “No not really. The extra weight may be a little bearing, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You’re positive about that?” The concern was still present, but it was also mixed with suspicion at the statement.
“Well, the rich part of the neighborhood wasn’t really happy to see a changeling flying around, but it didn’t slow me down.”
She took a moment to consider the accuracy of what he said. “So you’re absolutely certain you can handle this route.”
“Parcel, I can handle it just find,” Frill Spike returned, a little too quickly and defensively than he meant. “Besides,” he continued in an attempt lighten the mood. “I can’t complain over some good old fashioned, hard work.” The sentence was finished off with a smile and a hoof bump to his chest.
She gave a chuckle to the sudden show of bravado. “So, you’re completely cool with it then?”
“Is that a serious question, or are you just making a pun about cold outside,” he asked with a smirk.
All the sky blue earthpony could do was smile, a sense of relief coming from her at the same time. “Glad to hear it, ‘cause I need you on that route for little while longer.”
Frill Spike’s ears twitched in confusion at the statement. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the pony that called in sick? Turns out it’s something a little more prolonged than a cold, so he’s gonna be off for awhile.”
“Exactly how long?”
“He told me his doctor said it was going to be for at least another couple of weeks.”
There was a short pause in the conversation.
“That’s, uh, unfortunate,” Frill Spike commented, trying to hide his worry.
Parcel gave a nod. “So, you’re absolutely sure you can continue with this route for awhile?”
Frill Spike kept his determinism. “I’m sure.”
She gave a smile upon hearing the assurance in that statement. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“And I’ll be sure to not make the weight overbearing.”
Parcel could not help but give him a look of genuine confusion before giving a slight giggle. “What?”
“You know,” he began with a smile. “You’re holding me to it, so it’s like you’re holding me literally, and—ah, never mind.”
The mood had lightened, considerably.
“Well,” he continued. “I still got a few hours left in the day. Anything else need delivering?”
“Just one or two packages. Let me get them out for you.” She got up from the table to get the packages.
Once he had his new load and stepped outside, Frill Spike gave a large sigh. He was relieved that he managed to gain her trust in his abilities. If only he gave her the full truth instead of half of it. It was bad enough that he was practically lying to his boss, and friend for that matter, but he was also lying to himself.
His hoof gave a stomp on the side walk. This was completely foalish. He was getting gloomy over a couple of pretentious, insulting ponies thinking badly of him. This was not a popularity contest, he had a job to do. And he was doing a pathetic one at that. Letting some hurtful thoughts get to him was a completely moronic thing to do. How could he be so amateur? It was not as if he needed the approval of those nobles, he just needed to deliver their damn mail. They could go get themselves thrown in a dungeon and banished to the moon at the same time for all he cared. As long he could still get extra bits for just delivering their stupid mail, in their stupid decorative mail boxes, in their stupid neighborhood, that’s all he could care about, because at the end of the day, it was about him and nothing else.
Frill Spike caught the worry of some strangers trotting by. He just realized that he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with an angry glare. If his carapace would allow it, a visible blush of embarrassment would have been seen. Clearing his throat and making a quick apology in the general direction of worried onlookers, he quickly set his self aloft and got straight to work on delivering the packages.
He had to stop acting like this.
Frill Spike gave a tired sigh at the sight of the house with a simple chain link fence and plain grass lawn. The last package took him to an average neighborhood, one he had been to on a couple of occasions. There was nothing wrong with the community itself. It was only the unicorn that lived here—that he delivered packages to on many of those occasions—that bothered him.
At this point, it was another routine. First came trotting up the walkway to the house door, where he knocked on it. As expected, an aged voice came forth with a suspicious undertone.
“Are you alone?”
“If you mean I didn’t come here with anypony else, then yes, I’m alone,” Frill Spike responded automatically.
The next step of the cycle was the tumbling and turning of several mechanisms housed inside locks. After a brief pause in the noise, the door was slowly opened and hoof beckoned the changeling inside.
He would have asked why he could not just leave the package at the door, but the last time he did that, the unicorn would not bother coming to the door for weeks.
With a great unenthusiastic nature, Frill Spike trotted inside the house. There was a musty smell as always, but the house seemed to be free of any kind of dirt particles or dust. He could only guesses it came from the objects in the home.
The interior was neither a depressing sight, nor a bright one either. The plain brown color of one of the walls was visible only through the small spaces where the various newspapers, photos, and maps—all connected by a complicated system of strings—did not obscure it. Another wall had a column, labeled “Current events.” Below the title were several clippings from the day’s paper that, the changeling guessed, would possibly find a way onto the mess of strings on the previous wall. On the third wall was a hanging chalk board, filled with scribbles of possible theories and hypotheses. About the home, books and papers on various topics of history, research, and ominous fiction were piled atop each other in helter-skelter stacks. There was couch situated in front of a table that had paper littered with notes and circled words. Each word made reference to some kind of underlining meaning and questions to what it was. That was all this mess was about: Trying to look for something that was not there.
He turned to the grey unicorn that had a frazzled mane and tale, and a cutie mark that depicted the point of view of a pair of binoculars that observed a hulking, shadowy figure. The unicorn looked back at the changeling, a pair of thin reading glasses hanging from his neck. He carried an air of suspicion that was not new to Frill Spike.
The unicorn closed the door as he approached the changeling. “What is this about,” he asked directly.
Frill Spike rolled his eyes at the next step of this procedure. “I have a package that is meant to be delivered to you.” He then levitated said package in front of the unicorn and waited.
The unicorn in turn levitated his glasses to examine the square box. He made sure to note every detail, right down to the corners. “Did anypony else came in contact with this?”
Frill Spike held off on sighing. “I’m only aware that my boss had touched this box. I cannot say if anypony else did the same.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“Crackpot, I’ve had long day,” Frill Spike suddenly snapped back. “Can you just take my word for it and take the box?”
It was then that he realized too late the error of his words as the unicorn, named Crackpot, immediately heightened his suspicion. “Why so defensive all of sudden?”
Frill Spike gave annoyed grunt. “I wasn’t getting ‘defensive.’ I was just saying that I really don’t feel like going through this today.”
With that, the unicorn took the package with his own field of magic. “Well, if that’s the case, we’ll just have to see if you really had a ‘long day.’” He trotted over to one side of the couch, setting the box on the opposite end. “Don’t move until I can assure that there is nothing wrong here.”
Knowing that trying to make an argument would only prolong the situation, Frill Spike rolled his eyes and sat down on his haunches. He watched as the unicorn positioned his self so that the arm of the chair was covering his face. Crackpot proceeded to take off the protective seal on the box, slowly, and opened it with a very cautious nature. He then slowly took out what the box held inside.
A globe was pulled out of the mess of foamed peanuts. The unicorn brought it ever so carefully to his face and inspected it with great detail. His hoof spun the sphere, his ever watchful eyes examining each hemisphere with an observational guise.
Frill Spike could barely keep himself awake through the process.
Crackpot finally placed the globe down. “Well,” he began. “I suppose there are no enchantments on this object that would allow some individual to spy on me. But, I’ll only come to that conclusion once I perform further inspections.”
Frill Spike would have laughed at that statement if he did not know he was being serious. “I’m glad you’re approaching it with caution,” he deadpanned. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get going.”
He was about to open the door when Crackpot stopped him. “Wait a moment. There’s still the matter of your odd behavior.”
If there was not any kind of law against assault, Frill Spike would have happily bucked the unicorn right in the face. He gave out a sigh. “Like I said, Crackpot, it’s been a long day for me.”
“Yes, but what was ‘it?’”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what was this ‘it’ that caused the day to be long? Unless…” Crackpot brought a hoof to his chin and squint his eyes into an intent state of pondering. “No, no. The Celestia bringing eternal day theory already proved to be invalid.”
Frill Spike rolled his eyes. “Look, if you really need to know,” he began. “I took on some extra work on top of my usual one and it made me tired. Does that answer your question?”
Crackpot continued the pondering look. “Why does it tire you then?”
“That should be obvious,” Frill Spike shot back. He let out another sigh when he saw that his answer only served to raise the unicorn’s eyebrow. “Because, I have to carry more mail.” He gave Crackpot an annoyed glare. “Am I clear of any wild suspicion now?”
“Is that the truth?”
Frill Spike continued the glare, the pause serving to keep the unicorn’s brow raised. The staring match continued until the changeling gave his answer.
“Yeah.”
Another short silence.
“In that case, I’m done with my questions,” Crackpot said, signaling with his hoof that Frill Spike could leave.
The changeling followed the gesture and opened the door. After he left, and the door closed, Crackpot fiddled with the myriad of locks and tumblers on it before he had secured the door once again. He returned to the globe giving it another spin with his hoof.
“Very strange.”
Frill Spike had trotted to the end of the walkway leading to Crackpot’s house. His head hung low during the small journey before taking a look at the pole that held the unicorn’s mailbox. The simple object stood at the fence, absent of any excessive security measures. It was the one thing about Crackpot’s property that did not look protected. He looked at it, then back at the house, and then back at the box.
The pole received a feeble kick from his foreleg. That was the only ounce of revenge he could muster. He let out sigh as he began to fly. The only plan for him that day was to go back to the office, end the work day by clocking out, and then return home for some rest. Trying to forget about the day’s events would be the next step once he curled up into his sheets and slept.
Foalish.
Marsh Olive tapped a hoof against his bedroom window, looking out to the growing night outside. After the scroll was cashed in at the bank, it was a simple journey back home. Being outside for that moment was comforting, and his mood had brightened, taking in whatever rays of Celestia’s sun that managed to pierce the cloudy sky. Viewing that glowing orb while actually being under it was nothing compared to seeing it through a glass pane. Yet that mid-afternoon’s event still managed to linger in his mind.
A normal colt would write off any unexpected surprises like that, focusing their attention back to things that they enjoyed. In Marsh’s case, however, he had many opportunities to explore the concept of contemplation. Though he would not recognize himself doing so, he still meditated on past events. With the way he lived, he had certainly earned that right.
At the moment, he was thinking about changelings. It was a little strange of a subject for him to think on considering his past, but today warranted it. His first thoughts were of changelings that lived in Manehatten. Whenever he and his father went out of the apartment, they would see some going by. Some of them flew, others trotted, and a number worked. His father would always remind him to keep close to him and to make sure to avoid their gaze. But the curiousness of a colt cannot be diminished so easily and he would always sneak a quick glance at them. Each time he did so he would see them going on with their business, paying no mind to the foal. If anything, they were more concerned with their own problems than looking for prey to feed on.
He began to think of more instances where changelings did not act like the monsters his father had always told him of. There was a time when he saw one just leisurely sitting on a bench. Then he thought of another time when he had caught sight of one talking to a pony. With each dissection deeper into his memories, more of these contradictory instances were retrieved. Each mundane happening that he gave no second thought towards now began to stand out.
Once he saw one traveling with a group of ponies and Marsh could swear he saw all of them laughing with each other. One time he saw one giving a pony some directions. Another time, he saw one helping a pony move supplies into a house.
Then there was that changeling that made the strange apology that afternoon.
Marsh stepped away from the window and went over to his winter clothing sprawled on the floor. He put them on and trotted back to the window, undoing the clamps that held it shut and opened it. With the only means of locking the bedroom window being on the inside, Bull True did not think it necessary to put any additional security measures there. The cold was made colder by the absence of the sun, and the icy grasp surrounded the colt. He shuddered but shook it off. He was not planning on going outside just yet, but instead needed to look at the tree that was to the side.
The tree was just tall enough that one of its branches was able to reach the height of the third floor window. The distance between the branch and the tree was short, but it was possible to make a hop from the sill to the branch.
Of course, this would require some bravery. Many times, Marsh had thought making that jump to the branch, but each time he would try to position himself on the sill he would stop. His gaze would look down to the steep drop below and his breath would suddenly catch in his throat. Then he would climb back down and shut the window, trying to place the tree out of memory so would not think of the jump again.
Yet there he was, looking at the same tree, with the same short distance to the branch, the same drop below. It would not have to be today, but maybe one day he could build up the courage to go through with it. And when he did…he did not know what he would do. But it would be a start.
One day.
For now, he shut the window closed, undressed, and crawled into his bed. Moments later, sleep began to take over and all conscious thought slipped from the grasp of his mind. One of those thoughts—that would certainly not come across his mind again―was the question of why it was that day’s meditation that made him think of the tree again.
The white ceiling looked the same as ever. The absence of color made it as mundane of a structure as ever. There would not be any real reason to look up at it.
But Bull always found himself looking at it. Whenever the day was done and there was nothing more to do but to crawl into an empty bed, he would stare at it. He would not know how long it would take before sleep graced him after staring up for so long. Even when sleep did come, his dreams would always wake him back up more than once before finally letting him have a dreamless sleep.
That was the best part about his sleep. When there was a window of complete blackness that he would not realize he was staring at before waking up the next day. That small chance of a clean escape from life.
Of course, he would still have to wait and stare up before he could have even an attempt at that kind of sleep.
Sometimes he wondered why he would worry about sleeping at all. If Marsh ever needed anything and Bull was asleep, he would only need to knock on the bathroom wall that ran opposite to his father’s bedroom and the stallion would rush to see what the problem was. Also, it was not as if the stallion was expected to be somewhere on time.
For one matter, he had no job to worry over. The anxiety from the Canterlot incident made it difficult to hold on to his job before, and each one he found after that suffered the same fate. Inevitably, the debilitations began to outweigh the performance. There were times when he could barely get a foot away from his door step and others when he fell far too deep into a depressive state to show up for work.
But out of all those debilitating influences, there were two that were the crux of his job troubles.
The first was the growing number of changelings in the work force. Whatever job it may be, Bull’s fear and underlying hate towards them was too much in order to work somewhere that employed. He did not even have to be working alongside the changeling employee. Just the thought of one being there was too bearing.
The other was looking after Marsh. The thought of being away for long hours on a continuous basis while the colt was alone and vulnerable to anything was something Bull could not handle.
In the end, the only remedy to these problems was registering for unemployment benefits. For him, this was the best solution. He retained his ability to watch after Marsh and provide the basic necessities for living. It was as good of a life he could make for his son.
Marsh Olive.
Though he would not show it, he worried about how the colt viewed the world around him. He made sure to teach him the right values and what to be careful of. Speaking of teaching, he was going to turn five sometime in the summer and that meant he would now be eligible to attend school. If anything, Bull wanted his son to go to school and have an education. At the same time, however, that meant having him be on his own for a good six hours of each day of school. The thought made him shudder. The supervision of a teacher alone could not keep the colt safe from the dangers of the world. But it was inevitable, and he had no idea what he would do when that day came.
Bull hated not knowing what to do. He always needed to have a set plan of action, and whenever he did not, he would just fall apart. He would have no idea how to advance or who to turn to.
Except, there was one pony he thought of that could help him at a time like that.
Clover Pride.
That was another point he thought about when it came to rest. What was the point of going to bed if no pony was there waiting for him? Why bother to sit and maybe talk or read together if she was not there? There was no mare for him to hold close on a depressing day, or snuggle with, or just kiss.
She was the one pony for him. No contender could match that magnificent mare with her soothing voice and her bright smile. A clone of her would not even suffice to replace the original. No pony—no creature—could ever match their selves to her level. The most beautiful of models could not even come close to being better than her. No personality could be similar enough for him. Celestia’s own image and kindness could scarcely hold a match her, even if that match was the sun itself. There could never be any mare he could love and be happy with but her and her alone.
And she was gone.
Bull turned his head over to the night stand. There sat a bottle of cider. Some nights, when he felt particular void of feeling, he would have a glass. Or two. Or three. But he knew he could not have too much, lest he would be two muddled to help Marsh if he needed anything. Besides, after the times he did let impulse take control and down glasses of the drink, he built tolerance for it. All it could do was slow down the stallion’s mind long enough for sleep take him in.
In any event, he made a grab for the bottle. The half-hearted attempt served to knock the bottle over and it landed on the carpet with a thud. Bull retracted his hoof and stared back at the ceiling. He was aware that he felt something warm run down his cheek but he paid no mind. He turned his head again to the side, letting his pillow act as an absorbent for the tears, and finally went to sleep.
The snow poured out of the clouded skies that still hung over Manehatten. The temperature would inevitably lower again, bringing even more cold to the already chilled city. It was going to continue as such for a few more weeks, much to the disappointment of the populace. It would be an act of luck if the temperature got a degree warmer.
Frill Spike kept the cold off his mind as he stared into the window of the studio. It was still untouched and ripe for the taking. Right there behind a centimeter of glass. His ultimate goal stared back at him, just a few inches out of reach. It was so close that he could almost feel the room temperature past the frost that held itself to the window. He was almost there.
He stood up from his crouched position and stepped back. The brief chill that blew through the winds was enough to bring him back to reality, a reminder that he still had a ways to go. That trophy of a home was just about to be his. He just needed to keep up the work to afford it.
That was at least one reason he had to visit this place. Today would be his second run on this new route, another obstacle for him to surmount. Although he felt embarrassed for doing so, he thought visiting the apartment would raise his spirits more. Reminding himself of what he was working toward should be more than enough for him to continue with this work. He felt that the quicker he can get the studio, the better it will be for him.
For now, he had work to do, and he was wasting some good time by taking this brief detour.
Another gust of wind blew through city, shivering the spines of any and all. The persistent current of filled the air with harsh gusts that would be more than able to send most anything aloft off course. Most individuals would think it insane to try and fly in the weather’s current state. Most would think it problematic.
Frill Spike felt it was perfect. Less air traffic meant more room for him to maneuver. The only aspect he could think problematic at a time like this was time, and while he still had good amount, he still felt like he wasted too much.
Without further delay, the changeling readied his wings and took back into the wind-swept skies.
The Noble district looked the same as it had been since Frill Spike first visited. He silently deadpanned about how that did not seem to be a surprise. With how these noble ponies stuck to their old ways, he would be surprised if they knew the Moon Princess was back. They held themselves with such high perceptions about themselves that anything below them would not make so much as a whimper in their minds. Their dominant hoof falls echoed on the surface of the side walk. Their demeanor carried a prodigious amount of self-affection. They prided themselves with such high class privileges like communal cleanliness, elegant cuisine, and expensive possessions. In the social class food chain, they were at the very top.
Frill Spike hated it. Just looking at these rich bigwigs flaunt about their status filled him with this sudden disgust. How they could be able go about their lives without a thought or care about those below them escaped his reasoning. It was also a mystery as how they could live in a country that exhibited such a welcoming atmosphere. Whatever their reasons for acting the way they did, Frill did not care for. There could not be any reason good enough to convince him of their views. Besides, it was doubtful that they would even try to explain themselves to him.
Their egotism will only fall on deaf ears, and their hate toward him would not even register in his mind as something that existed. He pushed them out of his mind, focusing only on his flight and stops. If anything, their insulting emotions would only push him to get out their manes as quickly as possible. That would be better for both parties.
The temperature had begun to drop further as Frill made it to another one of the bronze mail units. He took mail out of his bag was about to place them in the boxes when he bumped into something. His stance almost faltered, but he quickly corrected himself as he looked at the stallion he had bumped into. The earthpony was inspecting his self after the unexpected contact, straightening out his intricately designed jacket and scarf.
The stallion let out an annoyed sigh. “Well, I suppose I should have expected to be so ‘lucky’ to bump into our new guest sooner or later.”
The comment oozed sarcasm, but Frill ignored it. He was more concerned with retrieving the mail he dropped. His magic quickly wrapped around each envelope and held them in a straightened out pile. He was lucky to pick them up quick enough before the any winds blew them away. As he was placing the mail into its appropriate boxes, the stallion looking on with a seeping air of annoyance. To this, Frill ignored and continued with his business. It was until the stallion gave an apparent groan that he decided to confront him about it.
“Look, I’m sorry if you’re waiting for me finish here, but believe me: I’m working as fast as I can.”
“Oh, I assure you,” the stallion began, “The prospect of you wrapping up your business here would be music to the senses.”
Frill rolled his eyes, still ignoring the bitter attitude. The sudden impatient tapping of the stallion’s hoof served to only to agitate him further. Once he slipped the final envelope into the slot, he entertained the idea of making a sarcastic, mocked regal bow to the stallion, but he brushed the idea off. He was happier with the idea of getting away from the annoyingly smug noble than making fun of him.
“Good,” the stallion instigated longer, “now maybe my day can go on with some peace away you.”
Every fiber of Frill Spike’s being told him how stupid of an idea it was to linger with the conversation further, but his patience had already lowered because of the stallion’s callous manner and it had now just about ran out.
He turned towards the noble as he was getting his mail. “Why are you being mean to me?” He knew how pointless the question was, but he wanted to challenge him.
“What,” the stallion responded in a flat tone.
“I asked why you’re being such a jerk when I haven’t done anything.”
“Is there some rule stating that I have to explain my actions to you?” The flat tone had not left the stallion’s voice.
“No, but ponies don’t usually go around being complete jerks to other just out of nowhere,” Frill countered.
This elicited a laugh from the stallion. “So what is it that I should be doing? Am I supposed to just give all unwavering respect to any random pony I see?”
“I’m not saying that you have to be nice to them, but you really didn’t have any reason to be so rude to me a while ago.” Frill knew this conversation was not going nowhere but he could care less. At that point, he wanted this argument to pan out. He wanted to find some chink in the armor of asperity that this pony held so he could point out just how narrow minded he was.
“I don’t require a reason to act however I want to you,” the stallion returned sharply. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’ve wasted enough of my time.”
The stallion was beginning to trot away, but Frill was not finished. His mind was screaming for him to drop the situation, but his feelings got a hold of him. “It’s because I’m changeling, isn’t it?”
The stallion stopped in his tracks. His scarf blew in the now present winds, making the area much colder. It was beginning to make Frill uncomfortable but he stood firm against it.
The stallion turned, still wearing the same flat expression and tone on his face, despite the freezing weather. “So what if it is?”
Frill glared at him, a bubble of rage beginning to build in his gut. He was about to say something else, something spiteful towards the arrogant, stuck-up, bigot of a ‘noble’ he saw in front of him. He wanted proclaim how blindly stuck up he was to the entire world, to yell and slander this stallion. This was the part of the conversation he was hoping to reach so that he could finally counter this pony’s scorn for him with his own. It was the part where he wanted to make his dramatic finish and fly off, leaving him there with skewed outlook of his original perfect society.
But try as he might he could not. His voice refused to utter a word, his mind betrayed itself at finding some colorful vocabulary to project. Seconds passed and he could not find any way to continue the confrontation.
They both stood there staring at each other, the wind continuing to pick up. Almost half a minute has gone by and still nothing.
“Are you done,” the stallion questioned.
The changeling remained silent.
“Good.” With that, he walked off to continue his own business.
Frill Spike stood where he was, looking down to the blank snow that built up around his hole-ridden hooves. He wanted to stomp on the ground, but he had done that too many times already, and the results proved to be unsatisfactory. Whatever meaningless point he was trying to make, he missed his chance at making it. All he could do now was continue with his job as he should have been doing instead of stopping to get into an useless strife.
So much for not caring.
“Marsh, I’m going out to buy some things. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Okay?”
“Okay dad.”
Marsh Olive confirmed that he heard his father through the bedroom door. The colt listened as his father’s hoof steps faded off into the living room, followed by the sound of the front door opening and then closing again.
Another moment of solitude had come to him.
Marsh sat on the floor, surrounded by a small but scattered assortment of toys. It included a myriad of wooden blocks carved into shapes of all kinds of things. Some were carved into simple geometric shapes used for building whatever the imagination could come up with. Others were more intricately molded to take the shape of ponies of different races. The collection was nothing to be astonished over, but it was his, and that was more than enough for him.
Besides all of them being wooden, the one motif that ran throughout the assortment was figures of pegasi. Some stood on their own while two of them were each tied to a short stick by string. This was so that foals could wave the small figures to and fro as if the figure were actually flying.
Marsh had no aspirations of flying, nor did he long to be a pegasus. He just simply enjoyed them. The prospect of having them fly about through the small obstacles that he made from the building blocks was just an activity he found enjoyment from. There were no limits to where he could make them go because it made sense that they could just move thought the air at will. This idea is what made him like the figures in particular.
He had set up another little obstacle course consisting several parallel pillars and mock buildings for one of the stringed figurines to fly through. Both hooves grasped around the stick and he swung the little figure back forth for practice. A smile crossed his face as he got into position.
The pegasus shot off, racing for the first set of pillars. He sped past them, then the next, and the next after that. The skills with which he went through each pair pillars were earned through good practice. Once he had cleared the pillars, it was time to move onto the small erected buildings. He dove and weaved pass the structures as if he was flying through simple air. It was as if physical matter bowed to him as he touched not even the slightest corner of a structure. He went by in such a speed that he went through the city twice and now he was on his way to make a third round.
Then the string snapped.
Marsh watched with surprised eyes as the figurine slipped from its place and flew off. It landed just under the bedroom window. Marsh quickly rose to his hooves and made his way to where the figure lay. His ears pined back as he picked up the small figurine, part of the string still attached to it. He looked back to the stick that still held the other half of the string. Placing the figure on the window sill, he went to the stick and grasped it in his mouth. He trotted back to the figure that still lay, placing the stick on the sill as well. He brought both pieces of string close to each other and attempted to tie them together. Unfortunately, the string was too small for his hooves to handle. No matter how many times he tried, he could not get the two ends into a loop to tie them. After more attempts at it he eventually gave up on the procedure. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked out the foggy window.
There was something heading for his complex. It looked to be black and flying through the wind-swept air. This object soon began to grow in size as it drew near before descending onto the ground. Marsh rubbed his hoof against the glass to clear up the fog from the window and peered through the clear area he had made.
Approaching his building was a changeling wearing a postal uniform and carrying two bags.
Marsh pushed his face against the window just to be sure he was not being tricked by his mind. Despite the snowfall outside, he could clearly see the changeling heading in his direction. There was no doubt in Marsh’s mind that this was the same changeling from before. That must mean he was heading for the lobby to drop off mail.
And he was locked in his room.
Marsh left the window and looked about the room for his winter wear. After putting on his clothes, he went back to the window and opened it. The wind that came in blew the pegasus figure off the sill, but Marsh was too focused on his plan to notice. He looked to the branch that was just a hop away from the sill. The fall below was still a high as ever and it was still apparent in his mind. But there was a desire in him that proved to overshadow any fear that he a may have conceived. The small colt positioned himself just right so that he could help propel himself off the sill and onto the branch in one leap. His breath held and his nerves steeled.
And then he took the leap.
Many things occurred in that brief moment in air. All thoughts that ran through his mind stopped and all conscious awareness left him. The winter air that surrounded him seemed only to be a distant whisper that barely made a significant presence. Any sound that could be heard fell dead silent upon his ears. Even his pounding heart and stifled breath did not register in his mind as the only factor that remained in his thoughts was the motion of grabbing onto that branch.
Every aspect of life made itself mute in that one instant.
Then he finally made contact with the branch, his fore legs automatically wrapping around it. It was then that it all came back to him. His breath suddenly found itself as it rasped in a panic. The sound of the wind came back and that cold that accompanied it grasped him in a chilly embrace. His eyes were wide as he looked about frantically. He looked back to his window but something did not feel right. It looked as if it was further away from the branch than anticipated. Not only that, the distance to the ground seemed longer too. His stomach churned, his head spun, and even breathing became an effort in his new position. Everything looked and felt wrong from up there.
He wanted to climb down, or jump back, or just do anything to leave the branch behind and find some purchase where he would feel safe. But the more he tried to find a way down or back, the more the world seemed to blur. He had completely forgotten why he made this jump in this first place as the horror of the situation encompassed him further.
With no other conceivable option, he opted to close his eyes shut and hang on for dear life.
Frill Spike dropped off the last of the mail with the front desk clerk with weary motion. The recent conversation he had with the Noble district resident proved to sour his mood and left him with a bitter approach to his surroundings. If events like that continued, he would have to end his shift earlier than usual just to have the energy to get up in the morning. It was starting to increasingly annoy him at how verbal abuse and insults were starting to make him physically exhausted. Maybe it was because he could actually sense the bitterness that carried itself with those cruel words that made him so drained. Negative emotions tended to be the changeling equivalent of spoiled food. But that was only if a changeling fed on it, and Frill Spike did not. Yet the very idea of the negativity that the Nobles directed towards him made him want to bury his head under a pile of sheets and pretend the world did not exist. He wanted to throw another insult as his own stupidity, but he figured that if it had not worked the several times he had done so, it would not be much of improvement to try it again.
He almost entertained the idea of just changing into pony form and delivering the mail as such. It certainly would make the job easier and it was not as if he had forgotten his inborn ability. A quick duck into an alley, a flash of green flame, and before he knew it, he would come out looking like any other pony. Anybody--whether they were a changeling or not--would find that the most practical thing to do.
Frill thought it the coward's way out. They could came after him with pitch forks and torches and still he would not conceal who he was to those idiots, even if it made the job easier. He was too proud to hide from their disgust. Whatever they may throw at him, he told himself that he would not stoop that low to just run away from the threat. If anything, not changing would be a silent protest that showed how much he could care less about their words.
Of course, he would have to actually start not caring about them.
He gave a heavy sigh and exited to the cold rush of winter. It was time for him to head back to the office, and maybe tell Parcel that he was not feeling well enough to do anymore deliveries today.
He was about to take off when he gave a sudden flinch. The changeling kept from groaning as he recognized the emotion of fear being emitted. But something about it was different. The feeling was intense, as if somepony threw a complete cluster of terror at his direction. It was not directed towards him, however, but it still managed to gripe at his sense just by its sheer power. He looked about for the source in order to find out just what in the world was causing this sudden emotion of distress.
It did not take him long as it was actually just above him. His mouth became agape at what he saw. He could make out the shape of foal hugging to a branch with what looked to be all his might.
Whatever feelings of fatigue Frill Spike had were instantly swept away, replace by heightened urgency. The changeling dropped both if his bags and immediately took flight towards the branch. In less than a few seconds he found himself at level with the cowering olive-colored foal. The sense of fear kept biting at him but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. His first option was to grab the foal right there and bring him back down to safety, but such a quick action might have frightened him further. He decided to handle this gently.
He approached carefully and spoke. “Hey,” he spoke softly as if to assure the colt that he would be alright.
Marsh Olive was so wrapped up in his terror that he could scarcely register the sound of a voice in front of him. Building up enough courage to do so, he looked up to the source.
Hovering in front of him was the changeling he saw before. Noticing that he gained Marsh’s attention, the changeling continued to speak. “Are you alright?”
Frill Spike thought himself a moron for the obvious question. Of course this foal wasn’t alright. The frail colt was completely gripped with fear. Despite his own objection to the inquiry, the colt gave quick shake of the head, indicating that he was not doing so well.
Marsh's spirit was already a small spark that barely illuminated the frightening darkness, but he managed to squeak out his response. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Frill acknowledged the colt’s feelings. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you down from here.” He then took notice of the open window behind him. “Is that the window behind you to your room?”
Marsh had returned to keeping his eyes shut and his head hugged against the branch, but he managed to nod in confirmation.
Frill felt sympathy for the colt. The poor thing was too scared to even look at him, let alone lift his head from the branch. He devised what to say next carefully. “Okay,” he began, “I know you’re really scared right now, but you need to trust me and do what I say.” He felt a little afraid that the instruction sounded too demanding. “Okay?”
At that moment, Marsh could care less what the changeling was saying as long as he was promising to get him down from that branch. He nodded.
Frill began. “I’m going to need you to let go of the branch and grab a hold of me so I can get you back to your room.”
Marsh tensed up. The idea of letting go that branch seemed all too terrifying for him to even comply with an order that would ensure his safety.
Frill felt the sudden spike in fear and he knew why. He slowly placed his hoof on the colts back in reassuring manner.
Marsh gave another flinch at the sudden feeling of a hardened, holey hoof on his back. He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, but the hoof did not leave his back. After awhile, it began to feel actually comforting. It was a simple reassurance that there was someone else there with him during this dark moment. He opened his eyes again and met the gaze of the changeling’s pupil-less blue eyes gazing back at him.
Frill hoped that he was able to convey comfort with his featureless eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” he said to drive the point home. It seemed to work as the colt slowed his shivering and gave another, more affirmative nod. “Okay,” he began as he neared closer to the colt, positioning his body parallel to his. “Now just grab hold of me. Don’t worry, I’ll be holding onto you.”
Marsh felt the changelings hoof hold firmly against his side. Feeling a bit more secure now, he moved his leg from the branch and wrapped it around the changeling’s neck.
“Alright,” Frill continued, “Now I’m going to hover up a little bit so you can get your other hoof off the branch and grab onto my free one. Okay?”
Marsh nodded, hoping for this to end already. He felt himself be lifted a bit and held on tighter to the changeling.
“Okay,” Frill said, “Now grab my hoof and I’ll pull you towards me so you can hang on.”
Marsh took a deep breath and quickly grabbed hold of the changelings hoof. He felt a pull as he was brought closer to the changeling and he quickly wrapped his hoof around him as he felt the branch disappear.
They were both hanging onto each other now, hovering in the air. Marsh kept a firm grip and dug his muzzle into the smooth, solid neck of the changeling. Frill thanked whatever created him for giving him a carapace because the colt was certainly holding on with such a might that could choke any pony. Now that he had him secure, he hovered towards the window and into the room. Once inside, he looked to the bed and thought it best to set him down there. He hovered over to it, the colt still hanging on.
Marsh eyes were still closed shut, dreading the worse. He still heard the buzzing of the changeling’s wings and he was sure that meant that they were still in the air. “Okay,” the changeling chimed in. “We’re in your room now. I’m gonna set you down on your bed.” He opened his eyes slowly but soon made out the familiar surroundings of his room. Now feeling safe, Marsh loosened his grip on the changeling as he was set on the bed.
Frill let go of the frightened colt and sat down on the carpet floor.
The colt was safe now.
And now they stood there, staring at each other in the tanned room.
Marsh felt his legs suddenly shake and give out under him as the adrenaline from the fright subsided. He slumped down, eyes dropping and head wavering.
Frill grew worried. “What’s wrong, lil’ guy?”
Marsh looked up to the changeling who expressed the concern for him. This was the colt’s golden opportunity. In front of him was the very changeling that sparked his curiosity for his kind. Not only that, he just practically saved him from falling to his death. There were so many questions to ask and so many answers he wanted to hear. Whatever it was he could think of, he wanted to ask it.
Instead, all he found himself doing was burying his face into his bed and suddenly bursting into a fit of sobs.
Frill was caught off guard by this sudden mood change. “Hey, don’t cry,” he tried to insist, albeit weakly. “You’re safe. Everything’s alright.”
But Marsh kept weeping. The whole impact of the situation was finally bearing down on him and it was leaving him in shock.
Frill felt awkward at that moment. He tried to read the colt’s emotions in some hope of finding a basis to mend this problem, but his feelings were all over the place. Fear, disbelief, and confusion all mashed up into an amorphous blob of muddled emotion that he could comprehend. It was actually beginning to make him a little sad too. But he shook it off, trying to find some way to make the colt feel better. It took some time, but he found an idea that might work.
“You were brave back there, you know?”
Marsh lifted his head from his covers, sniffling and having tears running down his cheeks. However, he was now intent to hear what the changeling had to say.
“I mean, the way you let go of that branch, even though it was really scary for to do,” Frill continued, “That’s really brave thing of you to do.”
Marsh’s sniffling eventually stopped and he began sit up.
Frill smiled, seeing that his pep talk seemed to be working. “You really did handle yourself pretty well, um…” He stopped, realizing that he had no idea what the colt’s name was. “Sorry, what was your name?” He then quickly added, realizing that he was still just a random stranger to the colt. “I mean, you don’t have to say your name if you don’t feel comfortable about it.”
The colt sniffed once more before answering. “Marsh Olive.”
“Marsh Olive,” the changeling repeated the name. “I’m Frill Spike.”
Marsh Olive nodded to Frill Spike who returned the nod.
"Are you going to be alright from here on," he asked. Marsh gave him a nod to which Frill was relieved to see. "I don't know what you were doing up in that branch, but just try not to climb any more trees, okay." He finished the statement with a nervous chuckle. . “Well,” Frill continued, “it was good to meet you, Marsh Olive."
He began to climb out the window when Marsh called out. “Wait!”
Frill stopped, looking to the colt, wondering what he had to say. Marsh Olive looked conflicted and he could certainly sense it. His curiosity seemed to be at conflict with his sudden fatigue. It took a bit for Marsh to come up with something.
“Thank you,” was all he managed to squeak out.
Frill nodded. “No problem. And stay safe.” With that, he took flight and descended back to the ground floor.
Marsh wearily went over to the window to close it. He then took off his winter gear and lethargically went back to his bed. The fear from hanging onto the branch and the sobbing that occurred after served to leave the young colt drained of energy. All he could think of now was taking a rest. Marsh rested his head against his pillow and began to let his heavy eyes close, all the while remembering the name of that curious changeling.
Frill Spike.
Frill Spike found his bags and strapped the both of them back on. He still felt exhausted, but it was different this time. It was the kind of weariness he felt when he had done a hard day’s work. It was something he enjoyed having. He would have to reconsider his previous thought of ending the day early.
There was something that gnawed at the back if his mind though. That frightened colt seemed all too familiar. He could not quite place his hoof on it but he swore he had seen him somewhere before. It did not matter now though, as he had to get back to the office. Besides, he had seen enough faces on his job for him to mix them up in his head.
Still, he’ll have to remember that face when he finally remembers who that colt is. Until then, all he had was his name.
Bull stepped inside the store and was greeted with welcome change of temperature, the warmth inside giving him a great comfort. The cold outside was fierce to the point that he practically slammed against the door to get in. He let out a sigh of relief, his breath no longer visible from the temperature outside. A smile formed across his lips as he stepped further in, admiring the Hearth’s-Warming decorations that were set up. Whether it was the small dioramas or the oversized plastic décor, there was something about them that made him feel content, especially here. Even in the harshest of weather, this store still managed to make him feel happy.
The store was like any other convenience store in Manehatten. It had a wide variety of items for most any need. Shelves and bins were stocked, employees were at their stations, and customers were bustling about. The structure of the store was nothing extravagant. There was a checkout aisle with three registers set up and five aisles of shelves held the products the store had to offer, along with shelves toward the back. Also in the back, obviously separated from the public part of the store, was the storage area and office behind a set of doors that read “employee’s only.”
If it was any other pony, it would have been just another typical store. However, it was a different situation for Bull. Today was also different, since he was not here just to buy some things.
He looked around the store a bit before finding a pony stocking some items onto shelves. The pony in question stopped what he was doing once he caught sight of his friend. He greeted him with a smile. “How are ya today, Bull?”
Bull returned the greeting. “Fine, more-or-less. You?”
“Besides getting the store, the employees, and myself ready for the big holiday shopping rush,” he jokingly added, “I’m doing just dandy.”
Bull chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll live through it, Biz.”
“I know I will,” Biz began. “But I think it’s my mane that’s gonna have trouble bearing it.” He made note of how his mane had receded from the front of his head, which now only held a few strands of the hair.
The two shared another good chuckle.
“Anyway,” Biz continued, “I’m assuming you’re here to pick it up.”
“That and a few other things,” Bull responded.
Biz nodded. “Follow me. It’s in the back.”
The two proceeded to walk down the aisle, heading for the back of the store.
“So,” Bull began, starting up a conversation. “How’s business been?”
“Better than it was when I started,” Biz responded. “Honestly, if you tell me three years that I would actually turn a profit with the place, I would have said you were full of it.”
“No doubt about that,” Bull said. He still remembered when the store when the store was just starting out. Biz was not able to afford a sign to be put up, let alone keep the place running. He was one of the few customers Biz managed to get, mainly because the store was the closest to his home. Soon enough, he and his family became regular customers of the upstart stallion. Biz being the only employee at the time, this allowed for a friendship to start between him and Bull. “You certainly made this place better than it was before,” Bull commented on the store’s success.
“Well I got you to thank in part of that,” Biz replied. “You shop here so often, the place might as well be a second home to you.”
They made it to the end of the aisle and turned to trot towards the storage entrance. Bull stopped for a moment and Biz along with him. Stocking the shelves on the wall was changeling dressed in the store’s employee uniform.
A sigh escaped Bull’s lips, his mood now dulled. “Almost a second home.”
Biz held back his own sigh. He completely understood his friend’s problem with changelings, but that did not make it any less exhausting to deal with. Race or species was not an issue with Biz when someone was looking to work for him. So when one capable changeling saw the “Help Wanted” in the window, Biz wasn’t complaining. But whenever Bull came around and would wait outside an aisle until the changeling left it, or stumble back into a stack on cans whenever he came by, it was always embarrassing to watch. One episode involved Bull asking Biz to get something from a shelf on the other side of the aisle simply because the changeling was on that side.
“Could we try going around the other side,” Bull suggested, not taking his eyes off the changeling.
This time Biz let out his sigh. “Bull, the entrance is right there,” he pointed a hoof to the door not two meters away from them.
Bull gave him a stern expression, letting him know he wasn’t convinced.
A headache was something Biz did not want right now. “Look, how ‘bout this: I’ll walk on the side closest to him and you can walk along mine. Will that getchya to move?”
The suggestion—and the exasperated tone that came with it—gave enough merit for Bull to consider it. “I guess we can do that,” he said a bit hesitantly.
Both rearranged themselves so that they were now parallel to each other, with Biz being closest to the side with the changeling, and trotted.
“So,” Biz began, changing the subject, “what ‘bout you, Bull? How’s life been treating ya?”
Bull, kept his eyes fixed on the storage entrance. “Well, it hasn’t kicked me in the gut lately, so I guess it’s treating me good.”
This gave Biz an amused smile. “Marsh doing okay?”
Bull thought about the recent week’s events. “He’s doing good. I’m keeping a close eye on him.”
“I haven’t seen him around the shop for awhile. He seemed happy all the times he’s been here.”
“Yeah, I guess he’s just feeling under the weather today.” Bull’s ears drooped a little. Biz did not know about his safety measures.
The two eventually made it to the door and went in. Biz led Bull to the back office where a large package waited inside. The large object looked like a tree that was wrapped with brown parcel paper and tied tight with string. Biz trotted up the object and patted it with a hoof.
“One Heath’s-Warming tree on the house.” Biz knowing about Bull’s financial state, and believing that no Hearth’s-Warming can be complete without a Hearth’s-Warming tree, he decided to give his friend one of the best in stock free of charge.
Bull admired the size of the tree. It looked tall enough to reach his apartment’s ceiling, but still left enough room for a top piece. He already had all the decorations he needed for it. The tree was the only component missing. He was sure that Marsh and he would have a good time decorating it for Hearth’s-Warming day.
“You know,” Biz began as Bull continued examining the tree. “I still have one opening for ya if you’re interested.”
Bull kept his ears open and did not look towards Biz. “I figured you gave that to someone else already.”
“I’ve kinda been keeping it reserved for you.”
There was a pause before Bull chuckled nervously. “Isn’t that a little counterproductive?”
“Only if it makes me lose money, which it doesn’t.”
Bull kept looking at the tree, not really examining it anymore. “Well, I mean,” he began, trying to find a convincing counter statement, “you always give some money whenever I need it, I don’t know why…”
“It’s not about money,” Biz interrupted him so as to keep his argument strong. “It’s just, you’re always nervous around changelings and ya never get out much because of it” he continued, keeping is voice sincere. “I figured giving you a job would help ya get out more, help ya not be so panicky.”
Bull kept his gaze fixed. “You’re really worried about me.”
“Well, yeah,” Biz responded, implying the fact to be obvious. “I’m your friend, and it’s hard seeing ya freak out at the sight of a changeling a mile away.” There was a short silence in the conversation. “Look, I’m asking ‘cause I’m honestly worried about my friend. Do you want the job?”
Bull was lost in thought, thinking about all his fears: of changelings, of the difference of the world, and his fear for Marsh. He thought of how he lived day-by-day and how it affected both him and his son. He even managed to think back to that day in Canterlot and how it changed everything. He would have kept on thinking, if he wasn’t sure of his answer.
Bull hoisted the tree onto his back and gave Biz the most sincere smile he could manage. “Thanks for the tree, Biz.” Then he walked out of the office.
Biz sighed. “You’re welcome,” he said to a friend out of ear shot and out of rationality.