Ostinato was sure his life would change completely if he went to live in Colton-on-Sea. He certainly wasn't wrong there...
Ostinato was sure he could change his life, working for his uncle as a corner shop delivery colt, if he went to study and live in Colton-on-Sea. What he didn't account on was how much his mother's old friend, her stocky husband and the daughter of an upper class family would turn his world upside down...
Arkwrong was a well known stallion on the street that he lived on. Owning the corner shop at the end of a row of red brick terrace houses, he was notorious amongst the locals for trying to force slightly damaged goods upon them at ridiculous prices whilst being incredibly tight with his own money. He’d normally be seen skulking around, stood on the shop doorstep, bending his bushy white moustache into different positions with his upper lip as he slicked back his grey mane, looking up and down the joining streets for anything that he could use as an excuse to get his money transferred to a stronger safe.
This morning however, he had other matters to attend to. Making his way through the house above the shop, he knocked on a door to one of the rooms that looked out onto the road outside.
“Come in” a voice called from the other side.
Arkwrong opened the door to find his nephew, Ostinato, packing a battered old suitcase that he’d left open on his bed. Ostinato, or Ostin as he was more commonly known, was noticeably different from other stallions his age. His grey coat covered a body build far more suited to mare than a stallion, and as a result he was far weaker than he should have been. His slim build also meant that he felt the cold air more easily, so to combat this he’d always be seen wearing a knitted sweater vest covering a white flannel shirt, which was quite an oddity for a stallion, especially of his age. Even though he was far from being a tiny, young colt, he'd still yet to gain a cutie mark on his flank.
As arkwrong walked into the room Ostin had finished buttoning up a white shirt and was in the process of pulling a brown tank top with green and red diamond pattern round the waist over the top.
“I still don’t s-s-s-see why you have to go to this fancy University, Ostin” “Please uncle” Ostin popped his head and blonde mane through the appropriate hole of the top, popping his forelegs through their respective openings shortly afterwards “It’s not fancy, and I only have to study at the University one day a week, the rest I spend in the orchestra pit at the local theatre” “Well, there you are then, if it’s not f-f-f-fancy, and you only plan on doing local work what’s the point in going all the way to Colton-on-Sea. It’d be just the same if you s-s-s-stopped here” Ostin rolled his shirt sleeves to halfway up his forelegs “Whilst it isn’t fancy, it offers me a gateway into the career in music I’ve always wanted” Arkwrong rolled his eyes “You’re starting to sound just like your mother, do you know that? She had plans of making it big, living it up in place like Canterlot…” “Oh yeah? What happened?” “Well, eleven months later you arrived on the scene!”
Ostin’s eyebrows dropped in annoyance as he went back to packing his suitcase whilst his uncle left the room. He always did know how to kill the mood quickly. As much as Ostin had grown to accept that this was unfortunately how his life had turned out, the thought of not having any memories of his mother and her not knowing who his father was still felt like an emotional stab to the chest. Looking round his now bare box room, Ostin walked over to his windowsill where his most prised possession sat, an old, tatty, faded, but well loved lobster soft toy.
“Come on Lobster, we’re getting out of here!”
He carefully placed the lobster in his suitcase, slammed the lid shut, picked the case up in his mouth and trotted out of the room and down the stairs.
Ostin was in no doubt that he was looking forward to making a new start for himself; in fact he was so happy that he felt as if his stomach was doing summersaults inside his small belly. There was only one factor that was causing him to worry now as he and Arkwrong entered the large, airy railway station building. Due to how rushed he’d been with trying to work whilst also setting up for his move to Colton-on-Sea, he’d had to leave sorting out where he was going to live to his uncle. As he’d discovered, this was probably one of his greatest mistakes.
“I wish you’d allowed me to actually speak to this pony my mother knew before I travelled though” Ostin said through clenched teeth “I’ve still no idea who I’m meant to ask for at this address you’ve given me or even what they look like” “Trust me Ostin, you’ll know them when you see them” Akrwrong had a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. “And even then, you’d made all your arrangements for what you were g-g-going to be doing there by the time I got a letter back from them. You should be thankful they didn’t t-t-turn you down. Now, don’t s-s-speak with your mouth full”
Stopping a moment to think back on it, Ostin did have to admit he’d been pretty lucky on that part. Shaking his head free from his thoughts, he looked ahead to see Arkwrong in his long trench coat and hat, moaning at the timetable board in the centre of the station. He trotted over to him and put his suitcase down on the ground, allowing him to speak freely.
“What’s wrong uncle?” “Colton-on-Sea isn’t on there. I though you said you knew the timetable for this train!” Arkwrong moaned.
With a heavy clatter all the boards displaying the place names and times of the train flipped round, showing a different set of trains.
Arkwrong’s nuzzle wrinkled in disgust “Oh, ruddy heck. It’s one of those s-s-stupid mechanical things” “Uncle, it’s been like that for a good few years now” Ostin sighed “I think it shows how long it was since you actually made a delivery out of town” “Why can’t they just have everything written down on a paper timetable against the wall?” “They tried that uncle, and from what I hear, you decided to steal the said timetable!” “I d-d-didn’t s-s-steal it, no, I merely took it home with me since the company refused to print out hoof sized timetables for the common traveller to check the train times”
With another loud rattle, the destination boards on the timetable charter all changed again, displaying yet another set of station names.
“There it is!” Ostin pointed towards the board with ‘Colton-on-Sea’ scribbled on it faintly with chalk, clearly it was one of the name boards that the railway company were in no hurry to replace.
“Yes, well” Arkwrong mumbled “You’re just extremely lucky it is running, otherwise you’d have to find a hotel to stay in” Ostin rolled his eyes “That’s right uncle, always the sympathetic one” “Sympathetic? I’m always full of sympathy and compassion, look!”
Before Ostin could react, Arkwrong had drawn him in for a tight hug, forcing all the air from his lungs as his chest was squashed tightly.
Arkwrong whispered in his ear “Whatever happens Ostin, know this. There’ll always be a place for you above the shop should things not work out as you planned. I always need an errand boy”
In all the years he’d lived with his uncle, Ostin had never seen him display any affection like this before, except towards his personal savings, even if it had been completely undermined by his little adlib at the end. He would have felt overjoyed, if it wasn’t for the sharp pain of something underneath his uncle’s coat jabbing into him. He pulled back sharply.
“What?” Arkwrong’s look of fear was plainly obvious to Ostin. “You’re wearing that damn money belt again, aren’t you?” Ostin glared at him. “What? I’ve got to keep an eye on my takings, you never know who could be lurking round the shop in the time we’ve been gone” Arkwrong started to unbutton his coat. “Uncle, please don’t show me, you’ll get yourself arrested again!” “Hey, I thought we agreed not to speak about that” Arkwrong began buttoning up his coat again “That nurse always was one for dropping me in it!” Ostin rolled his eyes, shaking his head “Goodbye uncle” “Goodbye Ostin” Arkwrong replied, extending a hoof. Returning the hoof shake and picking up his suitcase, Ostin gave him a final nod before setting off for the platform.
The big clock suspended from the roof chimed loudly, signalling that Ostin only had five minutes till his train was to leave. He trotted through the bustling crowds towards the right platform. Having travelled on this train frequently to the next stop along the line to make a weekly delivery he knew that it was always stationed at the same platform.
Presenting his ticket to the inspector at the platform he quickened his pace to the train. It was fairly obvious why it was always loaded up at this platform, out of the way, as it was made up of a mish mash of different rolling stock from separate parts of the Equestrian Railway system, all in different stages of disrepair. The brake van’s faded light grey colour scheme with dull black wheel frames was the standard colour for ones used by the West Equestrian Railway Company, and the faded initials W.E.R could just be made out on the main body where they had been hurriedly rubbed out in order to disown it from that region. Ostin stopped outside the box van coupled in front of it in order to drop off his suitcase.
The box van itself was actually an old cattle wagon, and like its companion was also well past its retirement age, but had been pressed into service regardless. The brown paint was peeling off of its body, revealing patches of rust and rotten wood underneath, but it seemed sound enough. Since two small baggage trolleys on the platform had yet to be loaded on board, Ostin was able to put his small suitcase in the van himself, out of the way of where the two trollies were due to go. The last thing he wanted was for his suitcase to get mixed up and left behind with some other luggage at an earlier stop. He wrinkled his nose slightly on the way out, there was certainly still a faint smell of cows that was clinging to the floorboards.
With a great whoosh the engine at the front of the train noisily let off steam, causing a few small colts who had been admiring it to jump back suddenly. The engine was a small tank engine that clearly hadn’t been cleaned in several months as the different types of grime on its body had hidden away its natural colour scheme. Given how dirty it was Ostin had always assumed the engine had been painted black to save on cleaning, but at times he had spotted hints of a dark, rich green underneath, along with some brass work starting to shine through on top of the boiler. The engine didn’t have the usual staples of an Equestrian train, such as a cowcatcher and spark arresting chimney, which clearly gave away the fact that it was not meant to leave the sidings in which it had probably been employed, but due to a bizarre twist of fate, this is where it had ended up, working a regular passenger service from one small town in the countryside to another by the sea, all due to the fact that it was the only engine light enough to cross the bridges on the route, which the railway board had deemed as not being cost effective to strengthen.
The single passenger carriage in the train was clearly the one part of the consist that certainly looked out of place. Having initially been built for a tramway in Northern Equestria it had verandas at each end instead of doors in the side of the carriage. It was also built extremely low in order to clear the low bridges of the line it originally worked on. Amusingly though, it was the only piece of the train that had clearly been maintained by how the deep maroon paint that adorned it was highly glossed and gleamed in the sunshine coming through the station’s canopy roof.
The back half of the carriage that Ostin stepped into had been converted at some point in the carriages long history. Gone was the bench style seating that lined the other half of the carriage, and in its place was a small bar with bar stools. There were very few good decisions that the Railway Board had made, but this was arguably their best, even if it was initially for their own advantage at the fact that there was no restriction on hours that cider could be served on a train. Now however, the travelling bar had gained something of a reputation, with ponies from all over Equestria travelling on the train just to experience such a novelty, with it often becoming so busy in the carriage that Ostin had had to travel out on the open veranda with some of his past deliveries.
Clearly today was one of those days as Ostin found himself confronted by a large crowd as he stepped on to the veranda at the end of the coach and tried to make his way inside. Edging his way round the carriage he tried to aim to be in his usual place at the bar, nestled in a small corner between the compartment partition and the cider barrel on the bar, but when he eventually got there he found his space occupied by a rather large, cider drinking stallion, and judging by his Hawaiian shirt, straw hat and camera hanging from his neck, he clearly wasn’t from around here either.
Ostin began having a conversation with himself in his head “There’s someone in my spot?! But I’ve always sat there, always. Should I say something? No, no Ostin, that’s a bad idea…it’s just a spot…there must be another space more suited to you on this train”
He glanced round himself, awkwardly looking through the crowd “Nope. Not a sausage. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to mention it…yes, mention it! New life, new rules Ostin! No one takes your spot at the bar!”
Ostin finally plucked up courage “Excuse me, but I believe you’re in my spot” “You think you own the train or something?” The stallion lifted his glass to take another sip.
Thud. Two great hooves landed on the bar in front of the tourist, who looked up to find himself staring into the glaring eyes of the bar maid. She was an incredibly stocky mare, with muscles that were on the verge of rivalling those of the average stallion, which seemed at odds with her pastel pink coat and white curly mane.
“He may not own the train” She stated flatly “But he’s certainly more supportive of it than you’ve been in the five minutes I’ve known you! Is there anything else that isn't to your tastes, you majesty, that is besides the smoke, the steam, the crowds, the prices?” She complained in an overly sarcastic way.
The tourist gulped. Saying nothing he slipped off the bar stool and squeezed his way to the other side of the carriage with his cider, trying to mix in with the crowd to save himself the embarrassment of being publicly shamed. Ostin climbed up onto the barstool as the bar maid pumped out a pint glass of apple juice for him, his usual drink.
“So Ostin, are you finally out of here then?” She asked. “Yep, finally” He pulled out a couple of bits he’d prepared from his shirt pocket beneath his sweater vest. Resting the glass on the bar, the maid pushed the bits back towards him “Have this one on me, you’ve unintentionally done me favour, giving me a good excuse to get rid of ‘old groaner’ over there”
Over the commotion of the busy railway station outside the shrill sound of the guard’s whistle sounded, being responded to by the equally high pitched whistle of the steam engine. Ostin covered his glass with his hoof; he knew what was coming next. With a mighty lurch the train started to move, showing which ponies had never taken this route before and were subsequently unprepared for how the force from the sudden movement would throw them along the carriage. Removing his hoof from the glass, Ostin wiped it on one of the bar towels as he watched the town he’d grown up in glide away from him through the carriage window. The long queue of ponies at the booking office, the ones who were frantically looking at the timetables for another train to catch after missing the one they wanted, the frantic porters all running towards the centre platform ready to assist with the unloading of the express from Canterlot that was pulling in.
Some things never changed…
With a loud thump, Ostin put his suitcase down on the platform, bemused by his new surroundings. The mental image he’d built up of the station he was to disembark at was of a small, rickety wooden platform with no shelter and an out of date timetable pinned to a fence, instead he was greeted by a large, two platform station that was smartly decorated with glossed tiles. Frosted windows on the station buildings on both of the platforms displayed the different services available to passengers, such as ‘Telegraph Office’ and ‘First Class Waiting Room’. The canopies over the platforms were held together with a complex system of steel rods and beams, framed round the edges with wooden slats which, apart from the few specks of soot from the passing and stopping steam engines, had clearly just been repainted for the end of the summer season.
Arguably, the most impressive feature of the station was the booking hall. Built from terracotta bricks and four storeys tall including its roof, the whole building was suspended across the railway lines by heavy metal girders, acting as a bridge between the two platforms whilst also joining the two sides of the cutting in which the station was built. Having taken a brief moment to admire it in all its glory, he picked up his suitcase and headed up the steps to the exit.
Colton-on-Sea was a strange place to Ostin. Living with his Uncle Arkwrong he’d grown accustomed to the sight of simple, two story, red brick terrace houses framed against mills, factories, chimneys and a few hills on the horizon. This was a world away from the architecture of his new surroundings. Whilst the terrace layout was still the same, the houses here were obviously much narrower, though this seemed to have been compensated by them being three storeys high, and from the fact every house had a set of railings in front of them with stairs leading down behind, Ostin was quickly able to guess that all of them must have basements. The array of pastel colours that they had all been painted was a great contrast to the dull brick work he was used to, and every doorstep he passed had a personalised mosaic tile pattern before it on the floor.
Having obtained directions from a cab driver at the station he was now trotting at a leisurely pace towards his destination, his suitcase handle clutched between his teeth. The cleaner coastal air was already starting to have an affect on him as he soon found himself almost bouncing with each step along the pavement. The sound of ocean waves and a fairground organ being faintly audible over the sounds of the street told him that he wasn’t that far from the promenade. He was half tempted to go towards the hypnotising sounds and take the scenic route due to the glorious sunshine, but he eventually talked himself out of it, deciding instead it would be better to wander round after having found his lodgings.
Ostin looked down at the notes he’d made on a scrap of paper “No. 24, Cresent Row” he said to himself.
Looking up at the street sign ahead he suddenly found himself staring at the actual sign for the said road. He was sure he still had a good few roads to walk past yet recalling the cab driver’s directions, but it seemed he’d been so wound up in his daydreaming as he’d walked along that he’d lost track of just how quickly he was travelling. He started walking down the side of the street that he was on, noting the house numbers as he passed them.
“…31…30…29…”
Rows of apple trees lined the edges of the pavement, casting a cool shadow on the ground to protect ponies from the baking midday sun. Looking upwards momentarily, the sunlight glistening through the leaves created a warming stained glass effect.
“…28…27…”
Taking a glancing look down at the ground underfoot, it suddenly occurred to Ostin how perfectly maintained the pavement was compared to those around where he lived with his uncle. Back there the pavements were full of lumps and bumps due to the amount of subsidence that was ever present.
“…26…25…24…”
Ostin wiped away some sweat beads from his forehead caused by a mixture of the rising temperature and nervousness about meeting the pony he was about to live with. For all he knew they could be a prim, upper class shut-in who had to have everything just so. Stepping onto the tiled porch of the house he placed his suitcase down on the ground, taking a strain off of his jaw. It surprised him that with how much he had to pick things up with his mouth, being and earth pony, that his jaw hadn’t become accustomed to lifting certain weights.
Not knowing anything about the pony he had been arranged to live with other than what little his uncle had told him, the worst thoughts of how they could be kept filling Ostin’s head. He was half tempted to not ring the doorbell and get the next train back home. Then his thoughts turned to that of his uncle ridiculing him if he returned. He didn’t want that. Inhaling deeply, he outstretched a hoof and rang the doorbell, making a faint high pitched ringing audible for a moment.
Ostin slicked his blonde mane back with his hooves, letting it spring back into its natural style. Listening carefully he could hear the sound of heavy hoof steps approaching the other side of the door, followed by the sound of the door handle being opened. He decided it would be easier for him to talk if he closed his eyes as he said his first few words.
“Hello, I…” Ostin trailed off as he realised a great shadow was now casting over him.
Opening his eyes and slowly raising his head up he found himself faced with a great stallion. The stallion’s huge build cast a large shadow on the ground beneath him as he towered over Ostin, being roughly twice his size. He didn’t say anything, but he just stared down at Ostin, who was now considering whether to attempt to hide underneath his suitcase rather than face the ochre coloured pony with the shaggy coat and dark brown mane that he’d have to share a house with for the next few years. For a short moment the two were in deadlock together, one in fear and one with no expression at all.
“Tonnage, will you move your great fat posterior out of the way, PLEASE!!!” a feminine voice called from behind the stallion.
Sheepishly, the stallion moved aside, allowing a unicorn mare who was more appropriately sized to Ostin to squeeze past the great stallion with quite a bit of effort, her pale green coat and long, flowing golden hair becoming visible as she edged her way around him, a pair of thin, wire framed glasses sitting on the end of her nuzzle. A cutie mark of a thick, leather-bound book adorned her flank.
“You must be Ostin then” The mare smiled, readjusting her hair that had become messed in her struggle. “Y-Yes…” Ostin stuttered, almost like his uncle, still fixated on the giant stallion in front of him. “Oh, ignore Tonnage, Dear” The mare looked towards the giant stallion “He may look he’ll knock your lights out but he’s a big softie at heart”
Tonnage snorted, before turning round and walking back inside. It was only when he was walking back into the house that Ostin finally caught a glimpse of two gigantic wings folded neatly against his back.
“S-So, you’re…” Ostin looked back to the name he'd discovered during his journey on the piece of paper he had in his hoof, but due to how much he’d sweated with fear at the sight of Tonnage the ink had all run, obscuring his uncle's writing. “Sandy Novel” The mare outstretched a hoof. “That’s a bit of an odd name, isn’t it?” Ostin asked as he returned the hoof. “Well technically it should be pronounced ‘noh-vel’ but that always sounded silly to me. You probably don’t remember me but we actually met when you were only a year old, but look at the handsome young stallion you’ve turned into” She ruffled his hair with her hoof “Your mother and I were good friends. Oh, the stories I could tell you from what we got up to as kids!”
Ostin smiled. Maybe now he’d find out more about his mother than he’d never heard about from his rather narrow minded uncle. His thoughts were interrupted as the rumbling of his stomach took over. It seemed Sandy heard it too.
“Tell me Ostin. What did you have for breakfast?” She asked. Ostin froze as he tried to backtrack his memory “Well, I um….err….kind of….forgot, I guess” “Forgot?!” Sandy almost shrieked “Showing you your room and letting you unpack your things can wait till later, for now, we eat!”
She slapped him across his back, causing Ostin to spring from sitting into a bolt upright position.
She used her magic to carry his suitcase into the house. Ostin was now tugging at his coat and craning his neck round to try and look at his back. He new he didn’t have a mark there, but there was now something nagging in his mind about that area since it turned out he had actually genetically inherited one of his mother’s habits, almost as if now there was a big ‘slap here’ sticker on his back. He didn’t get to finish his paranoid search though, as he soon found himself caught up in Sandy’s magic aura as she forcibly carried him into the house.
“And this will be your room” Sandy looked back after stepping into the room to find that she was talking to no one “Ostin?”
With all his remaining energy Ostin dragged himself over the final step to the attic room of the house. There was no doubt in his mind that Sandy was certainly an excellent cook, but with how much she’d started to fatten him up over the past half hour he felt like his body weight had tripled, along with the ever so painful feeling like his gut was going to explode.
Sandy picked him up again with her magic and lifted him up onto his hooves “Clearly somepony’s not accustomed to Colton sized food portions. Why else do you think Tonnage is so large?”
Ostin rolled his eyes as he stepped into the small room. It was a small box room, with a sloped roof taking up most of the space, starting from where the edge of the thin, yet plush single bed met the wall and ending three quarters of the way across the room. Whilst it prevented the tall, weathered oak wardrobe from being moved, the big square sky light that had been built into the slope helped the golden sunshine from the outside to pour into the room and smother the bed sheets with warmth whilst also allowing a beautiful view of the clouds passing by above.
Feeling rather uneasy, Ostin hoisted himself up onto the bed and sat down on the thick, home made quilt that covered the mattress as Sandy placed his suitcase at the foot of the bed.
“Is the bed comfortable?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Ostin nodded “Much more comfortable than I’m used to” “Well then, I’ll leave you to settle in, if there’s anything you need feel free to ask”
Sandy walked out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her.
Ostin looked around the room, opposite him was a small wooden desk and chair. Whilst highly varnished, with how much the wood had been worn down on its top surface it had clearly been well used in the past, along with the chair, which was clearly showing signs that the seat cushion had been sat on for prolonged periods of time. Next to this was the large wardrobe, big enough to stand in, clearly the room was only just big enough to accommodate it. Against the wall opposite the door was a large, free standing mirror, which Ostin soon found he’d been staring at his own reflection in for far longer than he first realised.
He stuck out his belly, trying to estimate with his hooves if his belly had actually begun to bulge since his lunch. He jabbed it with a hoof before clutching at his stomach due to the slight pain that followed. The pain inside him began to move. He could feel it ever so slowly and painfully making its way from his stomach to his chest, then to his throat…
An almighty belch escaped from Ostin’s mouth, causing his gums to flap wildly for a few seconds as the rush of stomach gas escaped his body. Ostin froze with terror, expecting the almighty stuttering voice of his uncle to roar through the building and question his manners, which would no doubt lead to a half hour hypocritical lecture on etiquette that his Uncle would fail to notice that he lacked.
But nothing happened. No yells of anger, no heavy hoof steps coming towards his room. It took a few minutes for this to sink in to his mind.
Ostin sniggered, and then he chuckled. Before he knew it he was laying back on the bed in a fit of laughter at being able to get away with something that, now that he thought about it, seemed completely trivial. He began thinking about what he’d experienced since his arrival. Sandy, Tonnage, the luncheon feast, the more than comfortable (If awkwardly built) room he now occupied. He stopped laughing and stared up into the clouds through the skylight.
He was pretty sure he was going to like this new life.
Time seemed to pass quickly in Colton-on-Sea that afternoon. Soon the constant sound of the gulls squawking to each other had died out and the clear blue sky had faded to the mix of purple and deep rich navy blue of the night.
Letting his body go limp, Ostin sank back into the plush mattress and pillows on his bed, pulling the hoof stitched bed covers up to underneath his chin. Given how much travelling and unpacking he’d done that day he was completely tired out, and a great sense of relief came over him as he took all of the weight off of his hooves.
He’d left the blind up on skylight in the sloped roof above the bed, through which he could now see out to the clear night sky high above. It was only now that he realised this was his first proper chance at seeing the stars twinkling overhead. Back when he was living with Arkwrong there was no chance of that due to the heavy industrial nature of the town. The clear night sky there was always choked with the thick smog emitting from the mills and factories, mixed with the ever constant glow of the furnaces that produced the smoke, making it look like the whole area was ablaze with a dull orange light.
The beauty of the spectacle amazed Ostin. Eventually though, the hypnotising notion of the stars twinkling began to take its toll on him. His eyes lids gradually became heavier, and he soon found himself unable to keep his tongue from lolling out of his mouth. With one more desperate attempt to find some energy to stay awake with, Ostin’s head turned to its side and hit the soft pillow with a barely audible thump. And not soon after, the heavy sound of a young stallion snoring deeply filled the room.
“Ostin?” Sandy’s voice echoed through the house “Ostin?”
Ostin’s eyes shot open and he threw a glance at the clock hanging up on the wall. It was quarter to ten. A sense of panic suddenly overcoming him, he shot out of his bed like a rocket and quickly pulled on a new shirt along with a purple tank top, flinging open the door to his room afterwards. He bolted down the first flight of stairs as quickly as he could, trying his best not to trip over himself, and running up the wall slightly as he turned the sharp corner at the bottom to turn back down the corridor. Suddenly he stumbled on the thick, spongy carpet, sending him into a forward roll. Summersaulting down the second and final flight of stairs, he landed with a loud thump in a sitting position on the bottom step.
It was only then, as he looked up to see Tonnage walking past him towards the back of the house, shaking his head in a sympathetic fashion whilst carrying that morning’s post that Ostin suddenly realised, he didn’t live with his uncle anymore, and this wasn’t the house he’d grown up in. To his knowledge, there was no shop to keep which meant that there was no need to be able to rush downstairs in ten seconds flat unless there was fire.
“Oh, I thought you were still sleeping” Ostin turned his head to the right to find Sandy looking at him, wearing a rather tightly fitting red apron, tied back with a big black cord round the waist, almost looking like a karate black belt. She picked up a comb that was resting on a dresser in the narrow corridor with her magic and glided it over to Ostin, neatly styling his hair into a comb over. “Anyhow, what’s say I cook up some breakfast to help those cute little muscles of yours grown big and strong?”
Resting the comb back on the dresser she trotted off back to the kitchen as Ostin shook his mane back to its natural style. Given the feast he’d sat through the day before, he wasn’t all to keen to see the size of a regular Colton-on-Sea style breakfast. Before he had any time to dwell on it though he felt a faint aura tingling him from the back of his tank top collar as Sandy gently picked him up. Letting his body droop in the air, Ostin found himself being carried towards the kitchen at the back of the house. He had a feeling that this was going to become a habit to Sandy.
The kitchen was rather at odds with the rest of the house. Given how the house itself wasn’t very wide, all of the rooms tended to be built lengthways to maximise the space, however this one was the only room to be built width ways, making it seems much wider than it actually was. A large pantry took up all of the room space on the right hand side of the room that ran under the stairs, and the rest of the room was bordered with a light oak wood surfaced kitchen worktop, matching the large traditional wooden table and chairs in the centre of the room where Tonnage was now sat, reading that mornings paper in a silence that Ostin had now grown somewhat accustomed to.
Drifting Ostin towards the table Sandy used her magic to pull out a chair for him and placed him down on it, using her magic to tuck his chair in. Underneath him a shiny black and white patchwork lino covered the floor. The small pieces of wall that were visible amongst the many white kitchen cupboards were painted a pale duck egg blue. On the back wall of the kitchen two large windows let the morning sunshine flood into the room, and the opened door let the fresh clean costal air sweep away all the imaginary cobwebs in Ostin’s groggy head. Out through the door Ostin could see a lush green lawn stretching out towards a single mighty oak tree at the bottom of the garden, a dark red and cream coloured sun lounger hanging from one of its thick branches swinging gently in the breeze. The whole garden itself was framed with terracotta plant pots of different shapes and sizes adorned with many flowers of different colours and patterns.
“So, how did you sleep?” Sandy asked, busying herself at the cooker. “Well, it was comfortable” Ostin began, stumbling “But, um…it was rather cold”
Stopping what she was doing, Sandy craned her head round and glared at Tonnage, who promptly tried to bury his head back into his newspaper. Ostin was quite sure he wasn’t meant to have seen that.
“Well, let’s not worry about that just now” Sandy clearly seemed to be bottling up some frustration “First, we eat”
Ostin’s eyes bulged in their sockets and his ears folded back in fear as Sandy promptly plated up a tall tower of pancakes, almost swimming in syrup, and used her magic to place them down on the table in front of him. He stared down at his belly, then back at the pancakes, quickly realising that the tower was probably more than twice the size of his stomach. He gulped. Just how many of Sandy’s mammoth sized pancakes could he get through before he’d have to be rushed to A&E in an ambulance to have his stomach pumped?
“So, Ostin” Sandy turned off the stove and put the frying pan in the sink “Your uncle said that you don’t start working till tomorrow, right?”
Ostin had always been taught not to talk during eating, and as such was unprepared for speaking; causing him to choke on the pancake he was trying to wolf down. Tonnage leant over and gave him a quick but heavy pat on the back with one of his forehooves, ceasing his choking instantly.
“Yes” Ostin finally replied, taken by surprise at how Tonnage hadn’t snapped his spine like a twig. “So, what did you have planned for today, your last day of freedom?” “I don’t know” Ostin pondered “Probably go into the town, take a look at some of the scenery, maybe go down to the beach…” “That sounds nice…” Sandy put her own plate of pancakes down on the table “But tell me Ostin, do you actually know the direction to the town centre?” Ostin raised his hoof to speak, but quickly realised “N-No…” “Well then” Sandy sat down at the table “I’m heading into town this morning as well. So you can come along with me, I’ll show you around the place, and then I can also get you some nice pyjamas for you to wear to bed” “PYJAMAS!” Ostin was quite taken aback by the word “Why?” “Well, I know that your room isn’t going to get any warmer” Sandy took a bite of her pancakes “Isn’t that right, Tonnage?” Tonnage buried his head in his newspaper once again. “I don’t quite follow…” Ostin trailed off. “Well Ostin” Sandy flicked her mane back “A month ago we had the house inspected, where it was revealed that the insulation in the loft room needed replacing. Tonnage here was quite certain he could do just as good of a job as any insulation company. I told him we should have hired out somepony, but he assured me he’d done a perfect job, it seems not” Again, Tonnage dared to reveal his face. “So, because he won’t be able to correct it for quite some time, I think it’d be best to get you some nice pyjamas to keep out the cold” “But…” Ostin started. “No buts Ostin!” Sandy was quite firm “You’re coming shopping with me whether you like it or not”
Having finished her own share of breakfast and quickly realising that Ostin clearly wasn’t going to be able to eat any more than just under a quarter of the pancakes she’d given him, Sandy grabbed him by the scruff of his tank top collar with her magic once again, lifting him up and out of his chair and carrying him towards the front door.
Ostin was quite surprised to find that at the bottom of the street where Sandy and Tonnage lived was a tram stop. Even more surprising to him was the fact that the trams that ran on it were one hundred year old double decker tramcars. He’d seen photographs of the similar tramway that used to run outside his uncle’s shop, but that system had been ripped up several years ago due to how congested the streets became at times, so it was quite odd to see something that he had only ever seen in history books working in the flesh. He and Sandy took seats on the upper deck of the tramcar, allowing Ostin to take a rather scenic view of the streets they coasted down as they went further towards the centre of Colton-on-Sea.
“So” Ostin began, striking up a conversation “Just how much has my uncle told you about me?” “Enough for me to know that it’s not just Tonnage’s shabby handy work that’s causing you to feel the cold so much at night” Sandy flicked back part of her mane that had fallen across her face “He also told me how nervous you get because of it. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about Ostin, Tonnage used to catch the cold easily when I first met him” “Really?” Ostin’s ears perked up a bit, surprised that such a great stallion could have the same problem as him “How did he overcome it?” “Oh, well that was easy; I’d take hold of his great muscly body with both my hooves, feel his body pressed against mine and…” Sandy trailed off as she suddenly realised that what she was about to say probably wasn’t the best thing to declare in the middle of a packed tramcar. She looked back at Ostin, who was still looking at her with wide eyes, oblivious as to the turn that the conversation could have just taken “…and…err, made him wear his pyjamas that I brought him” Sandy lied through her teeth. “…Oh…” Ostin resumed looking at the scenery passing by his window as an awkward silence ensued “Tonnage doesn’t talk much, does he?” “No” Sandy pushed her wire framed glasses back up her nuzzle “He may seem tough because of it, but he’s a big soppy softy at heart”
Ostin rolled his eyes; he was still finding this hard to believe.
With two rings of the old fashioned bell, the tramcar lurched forward and went off down the road, leaving Sandy and Ostin on the pavement. The faint musty smell of static electricity sparks from the pickup on top of the tram touching the electricity cables still lingered in the air for a good few seconds after it had left.
“And this Ostin…” Sandy put a hoof round his neck whilst outstretching her over forehoof to point forward “…is Colton-on-Sea”
Looking around him, Ostin was quite surprised at how much the scenery had changed given they’d only travelled for ten minutes. Gone were the tall, pastel coloured buildings and tiled mosaic floors from where his new home was, and instead all the buildings were now built from sandstone, which over the course of time had become aged and weathered, adding much character.
They were both stood in the middle of a large town square. The ground underneath was cobblestone, save for the tram tracks cutting through it, that had been clearly worn down over hundreds of years since it was first laid down. In the centre of the square was a large fountain, the centrepiece of which was a large bronze statue of an earth pony in a full suit of armour, standing proudly atop of a large, jagged slab of rock, holding a lance with the banner of the celestial flag attached to it tightly against their body. Behind the fountain were the large steps leading up towards the town hall. Its tall columns rose high into the air supporting the vast roof, decorated with carvings of ponies of every lifestyle and class coming together to form one large group. One top of the hall itself was the great clock tower, again ornately carved from sandstone rock with sweeping curves and patterns. With an almighty low chime the bell inside signalled 11AM.
To their left was a row of houses, built in the signature style of Colton-on-Sea, being incredibly slim, but with an extra floor below ground and in the attic space to compensate for the width space lost, though this batch were built in sandstone to match the surrounding architecture. On the right were the great iron railings that surrounded the public park. Though it was bordered with great oak trees behind the railings, obscuring most of the view, Ostin could just make out an old fashioned boating lake beyond the park entrance way, again ornately fashioned in black painted steel bars.
Sandy turned round to look behind “…and this Ostin, is where you’re going to be working”
Ostin turned round to follow Sandy’s gaze, but there was no real need to with how big the building was. His jaw dropped. When he’d applied as an intern for the music department of the theatre he’d expected a rather small, run down theatre that was falling to bits. Instead, before him was a rather large box shaped building, decorated with columns, sandstone brickwork, a great window archway halfway up the building that lead onto a small balcony, and a giant stone celestial crest built onto the front of the roof. Either side of the building were two imposing towers, both topped with giant domes fashioned from lead sheet, making them look sleek and smooth. At the front of the building a stained glass façade offered shelter to theatre goers, whilst also directing them to the appropriate parts of the theatres that their tickets corresponded to. Private box tickets were signposted for the right hand side, ponies for the cheaply priced upper circle entered through the left and those who were to sit in the stalls and dress circle entered through a great set of mighty oak doors in the middle. What shocked Ostin most off all was the great golden letters affixed to the top of the building just below the crest, letters that read ‘Opera House’. If it had been possible, Ostin’s jaw would have probably dropped further when he realised that he wasn’t seeing things.
“I-I-I…” Ostin stuttered, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “Well…” Sandy was anticipating his reaction. “I didn’t realise it was an Opera House!” “Oh Ostin, there hasn’t been an opera performed here in years” Sandy shook her head “They just keep the ‘Opera House’ sign up there to make it more appealing to the tourists” “Huh” Ostin finally found he was able to look away from the awe inspiring building “Do you go to the theatre with Tonnage often?” “Oh gosh, no” Sandy replied “Tonnage often gets complained about for being so tall when he sits down, and he finds it impossible to see from the back” she chuckled to herself “He refuses to use the opera glasses they supply as he feels they make him look feminine!”
Ostin looked back at the building; the thought of Tonnage sitting amongst the tiny figures of high society ponies amused him greatly.
“But anyway” Sandy brought him out of his day dream “It’s time for us to go shopping!”
Ostin wasn’t looking forward to this…
Sandy’s main port of call for her shopping was a grand department store located a couple of streets away from the square. Gone was the sandstone brickwork that seemed to be a staple for this area of the town, and instead was a modern looking building stretching down the entire street. Above the ground floor was much more antiquated structure constructed from black wooden beams and white plastered walls, stretching over the edge of the ground floor and offering a large shady veranda for the pavement outside, edged with large columns made from Sandstone blocks. Having walked past the giant glass windows that lined the store’s exterior Ostin had been given a glimpse of the variety of wares available inside. There were silks from Saddle Arabia, the latest fashions from Manehattan, Strawberry Jam from the Westbeach coast and wines and cheeses from Trottingham but to name a few.
Everything that happened in the first half hour from when Ostin stepped through the great entrance doors was pretty much a blur. He’d never been exposed to such an array of rich colours, items and appliances. Amongst all of this though certain things did imprint themselves in his memory, such as the silk smoking jacket and cap in a shop display, the brass plating and iron grate styled doors inside the elevators and the lobster isle in the food court.
It was then that Ostin suddenly snapped out of his beautiful, kaleidoscope style daydream to find himself in the stallions clothing section of the department store. Gone were the wild and varied colours, and instead the walls of the room were painted a bright matt white, with tiles on the floor and ceiling to match. He quickly became aware of a great weight pulling down on his bottom jaw and looked down to find he was holding a shopping basket handle with his teeth, the basket itself being loaded up with pens, paper and other writing supplies.
Sandy picked out a tartan styled set of pyjamas and held it up to Ostin’s chest, briefly admiring it against him “No, no that doesn’t look right”
She put them back and then took out another set fashioned with a brown, ochre and black patchwork pattern, admiring them against him for what felt like an eternity before replacing them. Ostin was sure she was dragging this out as long as she could.
“Oh, these look perfect” Sandy took another pair from the rail with her magic.
Ostin let out a heavy sigh, looking down to find a white pair of pyjamas with blue stripes being held against his chest. “They actually do look quite nice” He held up a sleeve and looked at it closer.
“They’re a little large I’ll admit” Sandy went on, still in a total world of her own where she was a fashion expert “However I’m sure I can pin back the sleeves and legs to fit you, and then I can let them out when you get some big muscles like Tonnage”
Ostin’s eyebrows dropped, he knew he could never achieve that. Content with her days work, Sandy neatly folded the pyjamas into the shopping basket and taking it out of Ostin’s mouth with her magic she trotted over towards the counter for the department. She was clearly making sure she brought them before Ostin could take back his words. Ostin just shook his head as he saw her full of happiness.
Once again, the sound of the seagulls had stopped for the day and the great sky above Colton-on-Sea had faded to night. Ostin was in his room in the attic, sat on his haunches in front of the full length mirror in his room as he finished buttoning up the shirt of his pyjamas. The blind for the skylight was once again left up, displaying the constellations of the Equestrian sky, tonight illuminated further by the new moon cycle that had emerged. Popping the last button through its appropriate hole, he smoothed out the shirt with his hooves before casting his eyes upwards at his reflection.
Sandy had been true to her word and shortened the sleeves and legs as soon as they had gotten home, with almost too much enthusiasm for both Ostin and Tonnage’s liking, the outcome had been one that was very smart with the extra stitching blending in perfectly. Ostin wondered whether or not she had ever considered becoming a seamstress at some point in her life. He gave a gentle pull on his tail, making sure that it was comfortably through the hole at the back of the top of the pyjama bottoms. He had to admit that, they did actually look very fitting for him, and the thick felt like material they were made out of made them incredibly warm.
Walking over to the other side of the room he opened the door and made his way downstairs to the living room.
The living room was a small box room at the front of the house, and like all the other rooms apart from Ostin’s it had ceilings much higher than a normal house. Deep green wallpaper hung from the walls; edged with white skirting boards save for the wall of the room that faced the street outside, where a big bay window took up almost all of the wall space. Tonnage was sat with his back to the long velvet curtains that now hung in front of the window whilst reading a newspaper, making a black two pony sofa look like an armchair. Sandy was sat on the larger, three pony sofa across from him, wearing some different glasses with thick black frames and prism style lenses, sat on her haunches and using the armrest as a desk, scribbling down notes on scraps of paper that she kept in a small wooden box on a shelf besides the chimney breast which stuck out of the wall opposite the door. A small coal fire was burning behind the metal matt black grill of the fireplace, keeping the room comfortably warm.
With a faint click of the door handle, Ostin pushed the door open and walked into the room, stopping with every other step and pulling the forehoof sleeves up due to Sandy not stitching them back far enough.
Sandy looked up from her writing “Well, come on Ostin, give us a twirl”
Letting out a sigh, Ostin walked round on the spot on the thick Persian carpet that lay on the floor.
“Aww” Sandy pulled him back onto the sofa for a hug and ruffled his mane “You look just like a cute little teddy bear, don’t you agree Tonnage?”
Tonnage didn’t say a word. He just cast his eyes upwards for a split second, let out a heavy sigh and went back to reading his newspaper.
For a short while, the room was plunged into silence as Ostin still sat there on the sofa as Sandy continued to hug him, gently stroking the back of his mane of his mane as she did so. He didn’t make any attempt to move. He’d never experienced something like this before when he lived with his uncle, and as simple as it was it felt…nice, reassuring. It was actually starting to make him slightly sleepy. There was only one question going through Ostin’s mind now.
“Sandy?” He asked “Why are you doing all of this for me?” Sandy paused for a short moment, glancing up at a small photograph of a young stallion in armour of the royal guard, before continuing to stroke his blonde mane “My little colt flew the nest a good few years back…quite literally” She chuckled slightly at that thought, looking over at Tonnage and silently cursing the fact that his Pegasus genes had been more prominent between them both “And I want you to have the best possible time whilst you stay here with us”
Ostin wasn’t sure just how long Sandy continued to stroke his mane after that, though he had a feeling that he must have been in her hooves for at least fifteen minutes. His eyelids began to feel much heavier with every second that went by. He began focusing on the sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway ticking rather loudly against the sound of the fire crackling. He felt sleepy, very sleepy.
“Well” Sandy stopped stroking Ostin’s mane and put her put her pen and paper scraps back in their box with her magic aura, yawning “I think it’s time that we were all going to bed”
As if on cue, Ostin’s head drooped and lolled against Sandy’s mane as he dropped off to sleep, snoring ever so faintly as his breathing blew a few strands of hair out place. Feeling his weight gradually increasing as he drifted further into the land of nod, Sandy realised she had to move quickly. She gently used her magic to pick up Ostin (she was becoming more skilled at this than she wanted to admit at it now) and began to smoothly float him out of the door to the living room and towards the stairs. She walked over to Tonnage, pulling down his newspaper with one forehoof and using the other to raise herself up so her head up to just level with his.
“Don’t be too long Tonnage, or I’ll take up all the covers” She gently rubbed her nuzzle against his as they both chuckled to each other, Tonnage letting slip a rare smile.
Throughout the night thick, dark clouds descended over Colton-on-Sea, bringing with them an endless rainfall that started in the early morning. It was now, as a new rumble of thunder signalled the downpour was getting heavier, that a single black box like carriage pulled into the square in front of the Colton-on-Sea opera house. Being pulled by a single unicorn, the carriage body itself was incredibly tall and thin, which amusingly was a description that also fitted two of the three ponies travelling inside it. The two ponies themselves would have scowled at such a remark.
From inside the carriage, Lord Spyglass stared straight ahead, a stoic expression on his blue face. He used his unicorn magic to remove a small cylindrical object from inside his suit jacket pocket, extending it in a telescopic manner to become his walking stick, an object with which he’d become well known for. Beside him sat his wife, Lady Jewel, a pale brown earth pony with curly greying hair. Her love for rare stones wasn’t just noticeable from the green gemstone cutie mark that adorned her flank, but also from the large sapphire that was set in the gold necklace she wore. The two of them stared ahead at the pony sat opposite them in the carriage. She was a smaller, but stockier, pony with a light grey coat and charcoal black hair that curled on top at the ends closest to her ears, her mane flowing down her back, ending near her flank, which had yet to gain its cutie mark. A burgundy coloured bow was tied into her mane, tucked just behind her left ear. Her name was Mixed Media.
Mixed Media, or Mixy as she preferred to known when her parents weren’t around, was a quiet pony. This was mainly due to the strict upbringing she’d had throughout her life so far. She silently suffered over the years as her parents had laid down rule after rule, curfew after curfew, limiting her freedom to almost nothing. Given how much of a reputation the family held in Colton-on-Sea they’d seen it fit for her not to mix with the local residents unless absolutely necessary, and even then, she was never allowed to talk to anyone unless she spoken to. The result was that she felt an almost endless loneliness as she spent her days walking round the cavernous rooms of her parent’s house on the outskirts of the town, as if she was trapped in a bubble. Yet in all of this isolation she had found one stroke of happiness. She had taken a keen interest in art, defying her parent’s wishes numerous times for the sake of being creative. It was due to this career path she had chosen that they were now in the carriage in the Opera House square. Her art studies had lead Mixy to take an Art course at the local university, and with it came many trips to art galleries and exhibitions, all of which her parents had stopped her from attending due to their concerns about the lower classes. Today however was different as the arranged trip was to the Opera House, a building which her parents had visited numerous times, so they felt that the environment would be suitable for their daughter.
Lord Spyglass spoke first “Now remember Mixed Media, there are most likely going to be many members of the lower classes around you whilst inside the Opera House. But they should only be confined to the backstage areas I imagine”
The rain pelted down on to the carriage roof, rising to such a crescendo he had to almost shout to make himself heard.
Spyglass continued “Just remember, no matter how nice and charming they may come across, you’re far better off than they could ever be. Mixing with them would only corrupt you”
Mixy remained silent in her seat. She actually wanted to punch her father for such a remark. She daren’t tell him, but she actually envied those of a less prestigious background than hers. At least they had more freedom. She had heard much of this prejudice over the years, and it annoyed her greatly, mainly from how the outside world had been shut out her, seeming more like a land of fantasy than a land of misery.
The sound of the carriage door to her right clicking open brought her out of her thoughts, though she knew better from previous experiences than to simply rush out of the door. All three of them sat briefly in silence before Spyglass lifted his stick and tapped the carriage floor with it. Mixy had been taught that this was a clear signal that she could leave their sight. But it didn’t stop one final remark escaping her Mother’s mouth.
“Behave yourself today Mixed Media. The family’s reputation depends on it” Jewel’s lower lip seemed to stick out slightly when it returned to it natural state.
Mixy was trying with all her might to stop herself from bursting out into a rage at her parents. She gave herself a few seconds before responding in order to bottle up her emotions “Goodbye Mother, Goodbye Father” with a final flick of her flowing hair she headed out the carriage door.
Jewel stared out of one of the tiny carriage windows as she watched her daughter walk off “I never really like that name. Mixed Media” She almost spat her name this time. “Personally, I never did either dear. Alas, in order to keep our prestigious family image up to date in this dreary seaside town we had to adopt this awful new naming fashion that seems to have cropped up over the past thirty years”
Parker, Lord Spyglass’ personal butler and chauffer, was a faded brown unicorn with a light grey mane. As young as he looked, sounded and acted, small silver strands of hair were already becoming prominent in his mane and tail, hinting at his true age. He was stood immediately outside the carriage door holding up an umbrella for Mixy to shelter her from the rain. A thick black cloak covered his body, sheltering his purplish grey uniform from the rain whilst a chauffer’s cap was perched on his head, covering what little of his mane that it could in vain.
He outstretched one of his forehooves towards Mixy “A helping hoof, M’ lady?” Mixy thankfully accepted “Thank you Parker”
Helping her down the carriage step and shutting the door behind her, Parker continued to carry the umbrella with his magic above her as they both walked through the rain towards the glass canopy at the front of the opera house. The two conversed as they walked.
“Parker, do you believe the colour of a ponies coat can affect their mood and outlook on life?” Parker was stunned, he’d never considered such a prospect “And what would make you think that, M’ lady?” “It’s just…” Mixy paused as she looked skywards, obviously trying to think of how best to put her thoughts into words “…I look out of the carriage window every time I take a ride, and I always see lots of happy ponies going about their daily lives, and they’re always such a varied hue of colours, red, yellow, purple. I sort of envy the ones who seem to have inherited some of their parent’s colours, unlike me” “I wouldn’t say that M’ Lady. Personally, I think you should be thankful that you don’t have any colours that could link you to your mother and father” He winked at her. Mixy managed a small chuckle “All the same. I sometimes think the reason why I have these dreary colours for my coat and mane is due to the restrictive upbringing I’ve had” “M’ lady” Parker took down the umbrella and shook off the droplets of rain that clung to the canvas as they both stood under the glass canopy at the front of the opera house “There are plenty of grey ponies out there who live happy lives. I myself know of two ponies who are regular drinkers at the Fishmonger’s Arms whose coats and manes make them look like they’ve just been washed up on the beach. But it’s never affected who they are on the inside. I’m sure someday you’ll come across a pony with colours similar to yours and you’ll realise how mistaken you’ve been” “I’d hardly think so Parker. The only ones I’ve encountered so far just want to marry into the family for the profit” There was a brief moment of silence, with only the constant sound of rain providing any noise. “Chin up, M’Lady” Parker broke the silence “You never know, the key to rest of your life could be just on the other side of those doors” He gestured with a hoof to the oak doors of the Foyer, where Mixy could just make out a small group of art students from her class had already gathered beyond the frosted glass set in the door frames “I’ll be back to pick you up this evening madam” “Will you be alone?” Mixy asked far too quickly for Parker’s liking. Parker sighed, smiling “Yes, I’ll be alone. And I’ll even take a couple of diversions to give you some more time alone from your parents” “You always did treat me well Parker” Mixy smiled as Parker used his magic to slot the umbrella into the holder on Mixy’s saddlebag. “You’d best be going M’Lady” Parker checked his pocket watch “They’ll be starting your tour soon” “Goodbye Parker” “Goodbye M’Lady”
Mixy walked up the stairs to the Foyer, heaving the heavy door open with of the gigantic brass handles as Parker ventured back out into the rain. With a faint clink of metal hardly audible over the rain, he reattached himself to the front of the carriage. Two loud thumps hammered against the front wall of the carriage from the inside. Parker had grown accustomed to this. Two thumps from his lordship on his cane meant only one thing, to head for home. With a heavy sigh he gave a great heave on the drawbars, thinking of eating hot buttered toast by the fireside in his small room in the servant’s quarters back at the house.
Ostin was in the office of the music director in the backstage area of the Opera House, wrapped in a thick towel as he sat in front of the glowing hot fire place, his white shirt and a green tank top were hanging from a shelf above the fireplace, still dripping with small amounts of rain water. Of all the mornings on which the trams could choose not to run, it had to be this one! Truthfully though, it wasn’t entirely the fault of the trams that he was soaking wet. Due to a mixture of Sandy and Tonnage leaving early that morning to do their shopping and Ostin forgetting to set his alarm clock and oversleeping, he’d rushed to get ready for the day and almost sprinted from the house to the Opera House through the rain, forgetting to take an umbrella in the process.
The office itself was contained deep in the underbelly of the Opera House. Whilst this resulted in there being no windows, this had the advantage that there was hardly anywhere for the heat from the fire to escape the room. The room was extremely low down, only just big enough for a full sized pony to stand up in, with exposed oak beams running across its width. The dark green paint that adorned the walls helped to create a warm cosy feeling in the glow of the fireplace and the single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, which was covered in a lampshade of a scale model of the chandelier that hung in the Opera House’s Auditorium.
Quaver, the music director, was sat beside him on the stone slab in front of the fireplace with his back to the warmth. He was a Pegasus pony of average build with a creamy yellow coat and an untidy mane of golden hair. A set of glasses with thick top rims rested on his nuzzle and a black tie and white shirt colour was tied loosely around his neck.
“So, I see you haven’t gotten used to the Colton weather yet, young Ostinato?” Quaver chuckled. “N-N-No” Ostin sneezed, still shivering slightly in the aftermath. “Ah, you’ll soon get used to it” Quaver continued “Scorching heat in the summer and almost continuous storms in the winter”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Quaver shouted from where he was sat, outstretching one of his wings to pick up another log for the fire and throw it into the flames.
Ostin was quite surprised at how loud Quaver could bellow, but given that he would have to shout over an orchestra at times, he soon realised it made more sense than he first though. A plump, slightly overweight, peach coloured unicorn with chestnut colour hair walked through the door, a seamstress’ apron tied around her waist. In her magic aura she was carrying what looked like a bundle of dark red silk.
“Well Quaver, I’ve worked through most of the night to make the alterations to this gown for tonight” She seemed to be in a world of her own, her eyes closed as she trotted towards Quaver’s ornately carved wooden desk and rested the bundle down “I personally don’t see what the problem was with the gown being slightly to tight. Surely if I’d made it tighter the lead singer might have actually been able to hit all those high notes he misses so badly…”
It was only then that she noticed Quaver sat on the edge of the fireplace with Ostin sat beside him with wide eyes. The mares eyes seemed to go even wider in delight as a big smile spread across her face.
“Quaver, you never told me that your little intern arrived today!” she bolted over to them both, rustling Ostin’s damp mane with one of her forehooves, much to Ostin’s annoyance. “And this Ostin…” Quaver gave a small sigh “…is Madame Tailor, the head costume organiser and seamstress here at the Opera House” Tailor was too busy pinching Ostin's cheeks to notice Quaver's annoyance “And will the young Ostinato here be eventually singing in any of the productions?” “And what makes you think Tailor?” “Well, he looks about the same size as the current lead singer” She narrowed her eyes slightly and raised a forehoof to her chin, she was clearly thinking about something “I wonder…”
Before Ostin could object he found himself being dressed in a thick, silk dressing gown by Madame Tailor. The gown itself was a rich dark red, with thick black felt round the ends of the sleeves and the neck. A finely embroidered golden dragon adorned the back, which swept down over his back and hind legs; the gown was clearly far too big for him. Despite all of this, he had to admit that it did make him feel warmer.
Tailor pulled him forward from where he was sat, squeezing him in a hug that had a vice like grip “Oh, you look like such a handsome young stallion now. And it’s almost a perfect fit if I do say so myself” Tailor pondered for a few moments as she released her grip slightly “Would it be possible for me to borrow him…” “No” was Quaver’s blunt reply, cutting her off. “Not even for a few costumes…” “No” “But he’d look so adorable in…” “My, my, just look at the time Ostin. We should have been in the orchestra pit almost ten minutes ago!” Ostin was taken by surprise “Should we?” Quaver snatched Ostin back with one of his wings, picking him up with it and carrying him along as he made his way towards the door “Yes, I was going to show you…you know, the stuff that’s in there. Music, I think it's called...”
He darted out the door to his office, leaving Tailor to slowly shake her head in disapproving manner, realising only a few minutes later that she’d let Quaver run off with Ostin whilst he was still wearing the dressing gown for tonight’s opera.
“QUAVER!!!”
“Now, Fillies and Gentlecolts, if you will look up to the ceiling you will notice the intricate plasterwork that was put in to it to create the sweeping curves by hoof”
From her seat in the auditorium amongst the other students Mixy cast her eyes upwards, almost rolling them in annoyance. She’d seen the plaster work inside the opera house several times when she’d been forced to sit through several performances by her parents. None of the plotlines of which had particularly captured her imagination, though the musical scores for a few of them still resonated in her ears.
“Now” continued her lecturer, a pony who was far to excited by her job for her students’ liking “The plaster work may seem symmetrical, but due to every curve being made by hoof, when they restored the plasterwork a few years ago the workers had to create individual casts for single every piece of sculpture work!”
Mixy went back to scribbling little doodles in her sketchpad. As much as was happy to be out of the house and amongst normal ponies, she couldn’t help but realise that this was going to be a long day.
Quaver and Ostin had successfully given Tailor the slip, and were now large in the Orchestra pit below the stage. To Ostin’s surprise, the pit itself was completely empty, save for one instrument in the area underneath the front of the stage.
“And this Ostin” Quaver outstretched a hoof “Is my pride and joy”
Ostin gazed in wonder at the organ console unit before him. It was made from solid ivory, ornately carved with small cherub like figures of pegasus, unicorns and earth ponies on its sides and frames, highlighted in places with accents of gold leaf. The console itself was highly imposing, being roughly the size of a small tomb from a churchyard. In front of the small, yet well carved organist’s stool were five sets of keyboards, one on top of the other, swarmed by a sea of nobs, buttons, levers and switches to adjust and distort the sounds of the instrument. On the upright section of the built in music stand, large letters were emblemized in a striking, large gold font: Wurlitzer.
Quaver took his place up on the stool “As you can see Ostin, it’s quite an intricate bit of kit. But it’s far simpler than most ponies think” he patted the space on the stool next to him, indicating for Ostin to take a seat, which he promptly accepted “I shan’t bore you with the details of its workings though. Judging from you initial application to work here you seem to already have researched this instrument quite a lot” Quaver flicked one of the switches on the console, resulting in a series of lights built into the console illuminating the keys from behind. Ostin was impressed, but still puzzled “There’s one thing I could never work out though in all the research I made about this organ though. It’s true that it’s one of the loudest in Equestria, yet there seems to be no photographic evidence of anywhere I looked of the actual organ pipes. They'd have to be out in the open in order to make as much noise as they’re reputed to, yet I can’t even see them in sight here. Where are they?” “Ah, that’s simple. Have you ever seen any of the publicity photographs from the production of ‘The Pony of the Opera’ that was staged a few years back?” “No, I haven’t” “I’ll show you them when we get back to my office. During the opening scene in the Auction you’ll notice the back wall of the set is covered with pipes dripping with cobwebs and rags. They’re the organ pipes themselves, they’re built into the back wall of the stage! It created a beautiful effect of all the dust blowing away when that overture rang out, even if half of the cast member’s did get lost in the subsequent dust smog!” Ostin chuckled at the thought “But there’s still one thing I don’t understand though” “And what would that be Ostin?” “Well, in some photographs I’ve seen of this organ the console unit appears to be actually on the stage. How do you get it up there? The door to this room is far to small, and it would require a unicorn with some seriously powerful magic to get it up there that way” “Ah, that’s one of the simple secrets Ostin. If you feel under the bottom keyboard you’ll notice a small round button at about knee height, with a simple gentle kick the two trap doors in the roof above us will swing downwards, and the section of floor that we and the organ console are sat on will rise up gently on hydraulics to fill the gap. It’s quite simple really”
Ostin was seriously impressed as he turned back to look at the carvings on the console.
Quaver flicked through a folder of sheet music that was sat on top the console “Hmm, it would appear the music I need isn’t here. I’ve probably left it back in the office, I’ll be back in a minute” Quaver hopped down from the organ stool “Oh, feel free to have a play of the Organ if you wish, it’ll warm it up by the time I get back”
Ostin simply stared at the great console as Quaver left the orchestra pit. Only a week ago he’d still been a simple delivery pony for his uncle, cycling about the steeply graded cobbled streets with the customer’s orders crammed into the wicker basket fastened to the front of his bike. And now here he was, a simple ordinary pony being offered the chance of playing one of the most famous instruments in Equestrian theatre history for fun!
He may not have gotten his cutie mark yet, which was rather off for a stallion of his age, but Ostin had already taken a keen interest in music and knew it was his destiny. He’d quickly learnt how to read music, and decided to leaf through the sheet music on the music stand to see if there was any piece that took his fancy, eventually settling on a tune that from his first glance seemed to have lots of short but powerful notes, perfect for warming the organ pipes. From the amount of hoof scribbled notes on the paper, Ostin gathered that this was one of Quaver’s personal compositions, though he could clearly see that it was based on an earlier piece: 'Toccata in Equestria'.
Putting his hooves together and rubbing them against each other, Ostin prepared to see how he could handle the great organ.
Mixy was now sat on the far left hand side of the stage of the opera house. Looking around, it seemed that most of the other students from her class had lost interest in the artworks and carvings that decorated the auditorium. A few minutes previously her lecturer had pointed out the sculpt of Celestia defeating Nightmare Moon that adorned the top of the stage arch, and was now too busy giving a rather detailed account of how Celestia had banished her sister too the moon to notice that her obviously rehearsed speech was all in vain.
Mixy thought back to her conversation with Parker that morning. She was trying to convince herself that she should enjoy being away from her parents, even if it wasn’t in the most exciting manner, because she knew she’d soon find herself back in the carriage being taken to their house on the outskirts of Colton-on-Sea.
A massive punch of noise interrupted her thoughts and startled her, along with everyone else, many of the ponies clutching their ears at how loud the noise was. It then seemed to change pitch, gradually getting higher and higher before turning into a full melodic tune. The music was coming from the back of the stage, hidden behind a red velvet curtain that seemed to blow outwards slightly with every note.
One of the students tried to edge forward to see what it was exactly that was producing the music, but as he approached the music gradually became louder, forcing him to make a hasty retreat to his friends and pray that the torture would end soon.
Down below in the orchestra pit, Ostin was totally lost in the music he was playing. He closed his eyes, imagining being on the stage during a packed performance at the opera house, all the spotlight focusing on him alone. He knew the piece that Quaver had clearly being trying to put a notation copy together of, so the notes flowed naturally from his hooves. He didn’t even need to look at the keys.
Unfortunately, Ostin was far to wrapped up in himself to realised he’d accidently kicked the switch that controlled the position of the organ console. Slowly, gently, the trap doors above opened and the floor started to rise…
Thankfully, none of the students were on top of the trapdoor when it began to open. All of them had their forehooves pressed tightly over their ears, Mixy included. Being so close to the pipes of the organ as it was being played was having a deafening affect on her ears. She looked around. Her lecturer was trying to shout several things to the students, but the music being played totally drowned out her voice.
And then, Ostin slowly rose up from out of the hole in the stage, his eyes still closed as he was lost in his daydreaming.
Mixy clapped eyes on him almost instantly, she was at a loss for words as she felt her heart seem to skip a beat. Suddenly the noise from the organ didn’t seem so deafening. She slowly took her forehooves down from covering her ears, never taking her eyes off of Ostin. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, a grey pony, being perfectly happy with who they were, with no hint of depression at all. As Ostin flicked his head backwards as he played, Mixy seemed to see his mane swish backwards, almost in slow motion. The silk dressing gown he was wearing suggested to her that he was from a rather well to do family in the area of Colton-on-Sea, though she couldn’t think of a reason why her parents would never have mentioned him before. After all, he did look awfully young, probably about the same age as her.
Rising to a great crescendo, Ostin finished the piece of music. The silence was tremendous. Nopony dared to make a move.
Nervously, slowly, Mixy crept up on tiptoes behind him, gently tapping Ostin with her hoof “Excuse me?”
Ostin snapped back into reality, screaming as he suddenly felt an unknown hoof touching him. Flailing his hooves around as he suddenly realised where he was and what must have happened he stumbled off the stool and tried to run off, slightly embarrassed at how he appeared to be the centre of attention. Luck however, was not on Ostin’s side at this moment in time. He’d almost made it to the stage wings when one of his hind hooves slipped on the red silk dressing gown as it drooped down onto the floor underneath his legs. He stumbled forward.
Everything went black as he face planted the stage in a spectacular fashion.
Slowly, the darkness began to fade away.
Voices began to register in Ostin’s ears. There was one voice very close to him that he recognised as Sandy’s, but the other one was alien to him. It was clearly the voice of a stallion, but it was of a low grumbling tone that he didn’t recognise, though whoever it was left the room with an audible click of the door. He was trying to think as to whom it could be, but then the feeling of pins and needles told him his sense of touch was begining to creep back into his forehooves. Although his bones ached, he moved them ever so slightly, trying to work out where he was. The soft plushness and the fact he was on his back suggested to him that he was in bed. He slowly opened his eyes, above him he could see thick fluffy white clouds passing by. At this point he did wonder whether he’d died and gone to heaven…
“Ostin…Ostin…”
…then Sandy brought him back down to Equestria as he rolled his head sideways to notice she was sat on a chair beside his bed, and that the clouds he’d seen were through the open skylight. He was indeed in bed as he’d first thought, his own bed to be precise.
“There’s my brave little soldier!” Sandy gently used her magic to pull Ostin up into a sitting position, repositioning his pillows to suit and then letting him lean back on them to sit up in bed “How’s that cute little nose of yours doing?” Sandy touched the end of his muzzle lightly, it was only now as Ostin tried to look at it whilst trying to not go cross eyed that he realised it was wrapped in a thick bandage, suddenly reminding him that he had indeed fallen face first onto the stage floor of the opera house.
“My nose…” Speaking two words led Ostin to realise that having the bandage on his nose made his voice sounds rather nasally “…it isn’t broken, is it?” “No” Sandy ruffled his mane “You had a very lucky escape there Ostin, one of the medic ponies who works at the opera house was able to determine that you haven’t broken a single bone, though she said you may feel a little sore. I decided to bandage it up just in case. It’s not too tight is it?”
Ostin shook his head. As much of a lie as this was, he’d never had this sort of care when he’d lived with his uncle.
With a click of the door handle, Tonnage walked into the room, pulling back the covers at the bottom of the bed and placing a hot water bottle near Ostin’s hind hooves before pulling back the bed covers and tucking them in. The heat radiating from the bottle gradually brought the feeling back in to Ostin’s hind hooves, and he sank back further into his pillows as he relaxed in its warmth.
“You’re under orders to just rest yourself” Sandy smiled “I’ve already arranged for you to have a few days off from the Opera House” “But-” Ostin leaned forward. “No buts Ostin” Sandy gave him a gentle push back towards the pillows “It’s all been sorted. Just relax and try to get some sleep. If there’s anything you need just shout for me or Tonnage”
Leaning over to give Ostin a final kiss on the forehead, Sandy left the room, Tonnage following afterwards, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in a patronising manner at the sight of Ostin being practically swamped in a series of blankets and pillows.
Alone, Ostin sank back into the pillows and stared out into several thoughts about his current situation began to cross Ostin’s mind, but there was one that kept recurring. He couldn’t get the mental image of a grey earth pony with a charcoal black mane out of his mind…
Later that afternoon Parker was alone in the Butler's Pantry. It was nothing really compared to an ordinary room in the upstairs part of the grand house in which the family lived in. The walls were thickly painted with a faded, thick yellow paint bordered with brown and the floor was made up of worn down floorboards, save for the Persian rug that was laid out in the centre of the room which he had rescued fro the rubbish tip when it no longer suited his lordship’s tastes. Three pointed arch style windows with lattice style ironwork offered him a view of the front lawn down towards the lake. Having just returned from collecting Mixy from the opera house, he made himself a large pot of tea and was settling down have a well deserved rest before he was due to help with the dinner service.
Setting the tea tray down on a coffee table and sinking back into his favourite well loved armchair Parker let out a sigh of relief as he rested his aching hooves, lifting his hind legs up to rest on a tatty pouffe. Letting his forehooves droop over the arms of the chair, Parker’s eyelids began to feel heavy, combined with the heat coming from the small black stove he started to slowly but surely drift into a drowsy state.
A knock at the door instantly snapped him out of this state.
“Come in!” Parker shouted from his chair. In the servant’s quarters of the house nopony minded if everyone wasn’t always strictly formal.
Slowly, the door handle clicked as it was turned by hoof and the door itself slowly creaked open, allowing Mixy to walk nervously into the room.
“M’Lady?” Parker was quite surprised “I didn’t expect you to come down here”
It was true that Mixy had indeed visited Parker’s room in the servant’s quarters before, mainly for advice from somepony that wasn’t going to end in a dispute about the social classes. Parker had always been a great source of information and insight to Mixy.
“Parker” Mixy seemed quite nervous, as if she was having trouble getting the words out of her throat “I need your advice on something” “M’Lady?” He levitated another tea cup from his kitchen counter over to the tea tray, resting it besides his own and then using his magic to prepare to cups of tea. “Parker, please, you can stop calling me ‘M’Lady’. You know I don’t like it” “Beg Pardon…Mixy…now, what was this advice you seek?” “Well” Mixy felt rather nervous “Being totally hypothetical…” “…of course…” Parker smiled a knowing smile. He was well aware every time Mixy had asked him a hypothetical question it was usually something she was actually having problems with, mostly trivial things. “…well, say that you happened to have a chance encounter with a stallion…or a mare in your case…” Mixy seemed quite panicked about what she’d just said “What would you do if just from seeing them you felt that you…” “….you?” “…you know” Mixy seemed almost unable to get the words from her mouth “Like them”
Parker was about to talk, when the speaking tube beside his plush armchair started to emit a whistling sound. The system itself was very much like one that would have been seen in a lighthouse somewhere down by the seafront. Instantly Mixy knew it was her father on the other end of the line, the tube was a direct link between his gallery and Parker’s room so he could contact him quickly if need be.
Parker took hold of the speaking tube with one hoof and removed the whistle cap with the other “Yes, M’Lord?”
Lifting the tube up to his ear to listen, the low grumbling tones of Mixy’s father’s voice were quite audible.
“No M’Lord, I haven’t seen your daughter for a good couple of hours, though it may have been more” He winked at Mixy “I do recall earlier though she said she may take a walk to the prospect tower”
More grumbling was heard.
“Yes M’Lord, I’m aware it’s as far away from the house as you can get on the estate. I believe the young mare wanted some time alone to think”
The grumbling was less erratic this time, punctuated every now and then with large pauses.
“Goodbye M’Lord” He replaced the cap on the speaking tube and slotted it back into its wall mounted socket “Now then, since your father and mother will now be looking for you at the ruined mill I think that gives us a good couple of hours to talk” Parker took an incredibly unrefined slurp of his tea “So, tell me about this pony you so admire…”
Following his incident at the opera house the previous week, Ostin had found himself confined to the house by Sandy. As much as he did find her sense of care for him a nice change from the attitude his uncle would have taken to the nasty bump on the nose he’d gained, he did feel like she was taking this a tad too far, especially since the only indication that he’d hurt himself was the tiniest of red marks on the end of his nuzzle.
Ostin gingerly made his way down the first flight of stairs from his bedroom. Dressed in his blue striped pyjamas, he’d taken extra care to tie the cord of the fluffy brown dressing gown he wore over the top of them, making sure that there was nothing that could trip or slip him up as he made his descent. Stepping off of the final step and onto the carpet that lined the hallway, he made his way towards the next flight of stairs at the back of the house.
There were two doors on his left along the corridor. The nearest one towards the front of the house was the modestly sized bathroom, a novelty sign attached to the door declaring so, accompanied with a cartoon illustration of a rubber duck. The other door, further along, Ostin had been told was the entrance to Sandy’s study, where she went when she was wished to be able to type away a few paragraphs at her typewriter in peace. A large metal sign was affixed to the door at head height. It read “Keep quiet, or you’ll end up in my novel!” Ostin could only guess that this was directed towards Tonnage.
Looking at the grandfather clock that stood at the end of the hallway, he could see the time as half past ten. Sandy was normally in her study by this time. He gently knocked on the door, to which a frustrated sigh came as an initial reply. Ostin knew what kind of mood Sandy was in. She usually wrote a small half page narrative for the local Sunday newspaper every week, though this particular week she seemed to be having a severe case of writer’s block, and how much stress the situation was having on her was becoming more and more apparent.
“Come in” Sandy called out, sounding almost as if she was saying it through gritted teeth.
Opening the door to the study, Ostin could see Sandy hunched over her desk, violently tearing a sheet of paper out from the roller of her typewriter and scrunching it up, throwing it into a pile of rejected ideas that were overflowing from her waste paper bin. The study was not that much bigger than the smallest of walk in wardrobes, with no windows to let in any natural light, all the light in the room being supplied by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Shelves lined as much of the wall space as possible, crammed with as many books, magazines and papers as they could hold.
“Oh, it’s you Ostin” Sandy rubbed her eyes as she yawned, trying to hide the obvious dark patches that showed she hadn’t slept “What do you want dear?” “Well…” Ostin seemed quite nervous; though this was mainly caused he’d seen how Sandy had reacted when Tonnage interrupted her two days previously “…I was just wondering whether it would be possible to go out into town today. There’s so much of Colton-on-Sea that I’ve yet to explore. And technically, this is my day off from the Opera House” Sandy yawned again “I still think it’d be best if you gave that bump of yours at least one day to go down. There’s still a little bit of redness to it” “It’s just that I’m…” Ostin paused as he tried to think of the best words to use “…I’m just a bit sick and tired of being cooped up indoors actually…” “You’re sick and tired?!” Sandy’s voice rose sharply, though she quickly stopped herself as she saw Ostin’s ears fold back in fear. She sighed “I’m sorry Ostin, it’s just I’m a little stressed out from my work. Come here”
Ostin walked towards Sandy as she slid off of her office chair, outstretching her forehooves and untying the cord on Ostin’s dressing gown before pulling it off, revealing his blue striped pyjamas underneath.
“Forehooves up” she said, to which Ostin complied.
She pulled his pyjama top off in one go over his head.
“Tonnage!” sandy bellowed as she grabbed Ostin with her forehooves, cradling him as she used her magic to pull off his pyjama bottoms from his hind legs.
With a loud clatter of hooves, Tonnage appeared outside the doorway to the study. How quickly he appeared made it obvious he was trying to get back into Sandy’s good books for how he’d annoyed her the other day by interrupting her whilst she was trying to write. His imposing figure blocked out nearly all of the natural light shining in from the corridor into the tiny study.
“Here!” Sandy tossed Ostin with her magic towards Tonnage, who surprisingly caught him with his own forehooves and clung to Ostin rather tightly. Sandy continued, a forced smile indicating she was almost at her wits end “Now I’ve got far too much work to do, so you two will have to find some way to entertain yourselves for today. And if either one of you dares to disturb me…”
Sandy slammed the door to the study shut, the metal warning sign hanging on the front rattling slightly as it settled back into place.
A few seconds of silence elapsed as both Ostin and Tonnage were stunned into shock. Tonnage suddenly came to realise just how tightly he was cradling Ostin in his forehooves, so he let go, letting him drop into a heap on the floor with a thump. Ostin picked himself up off of the floor as Tonnage walked to the staircase and started to make his way downstairs. Quickly, he began to walk after Tonnage, trying to keep up with the strides that the giant Pegasus seemed to be taking.
Now at the bottom of the stairs, Tonnage picked up that morning’s post that had just come through the letter box with his teeth.
“So…” Ostin perched his flank on a step three quarters of the way down the staircase “…do you have any plans for today?”
Turning round, Tonnage just looked upwards towards the roof, then back down to towards him. Ostin gathered that this was a signal to go back upstairs, and even if it wasn’t, Sandy had taken his pyjamas, so he had to get dressed before the cold morning air started to get to him.
Squirming and wriggling, Ostin managed to squeeze his head through the collar of a dark red tank top before rolling up his white shirt sleeves so that they came to just above his elbows. Taking another look into the mirror in his room he swished his mane over to the left side of his head, realising that he’d probably need to have it trimmed soon. One mighty knock came from behind the door to his bedroom.
“Come in” Ostin called.
The door flung open, revealing Tonnage stood on the small landing outside the door. He strode into the room. A small, battered tweed flat cap sat atop of his head, small portions of the top of his scrappy brown mane poking out from underneath, and a satchel that was clearly far to small for him hung from its shoulder strap around his neck, the edges of a small cylindrical container being visible from underneath the canvas it was made out of. To Ostin, all of Tonnage’s imposing nature seemed to have disappeared with his different attire. He found it too comical to contain himself. He burst out laughing, clutching his stomach and wiping the tears from his eyes at how funny he looked. It was only when he regained his composure that he saw Tonnage climbing out of the skylight above his bed onto the roof of the house!
“Err…Tonnage?” Ostin called after him, slightly concerned the window frame would break under his weight.
Ostin jumped onto his bed and stood on his hind legs, placing his forehooves on the bottom edge of the window frame. He craned his neck to look backwards at Tonnage, who was now halfway climbing up the roof slates towards the top. Tonnage simply looked back at Ostin, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
“Tonnage? Where are you going?” Ostin struggled, but eventually pulled himself up and over the window framed and out onto the roof tiles.
He froze in fear. It was only now that he was actually out on the roof that he realised how close the edge he was. Beyond the black drainpipes that skirted the roof he could see the patio in the back garden two floors down. The more he looked down at it, the more it seemed to stretch and appear further away. He felt like he was going to be sick. Tonnage leaned in and grabbed the scuff of Ostin’s tank top collar with his teeth, pulling him backwards and throwing him up and over onto his back. Instinctively, Ostin threw his forehooves around Tonnage’s neck, holding on tightly. After a few deep breaths and focusing on the roof tiles beneath Tonnage’s hooves, he regained his composure.
“Tonnage? What are you doing?” he asked.
Tonnage said nothing, but continued climbing till he was stood with his hooves straddling the roof of the house. Tonnage’s wings shot out to their full extent on both sides as he tensed in muscles, he seemed fixated on the chimney pots that belonged to the house at the end of the terrace.
Ostin suddenly realised what was going to happen “Oh no..”
With a smirk Tonnage launched into a sprint along the rooftops to towards the end of the terrace; gaining speed with every hoof step on every roofing slate. Ostin was now clinging on for dear life, Tonnage’s running motion being enough to almost shake him off and throw him from the roof. The end of the terrace approached nearer and nearer. Ostin had never experienced flying before; given how he’d never had a head for heights, his heart began to race. He couldn’t watch. He closed his eyes tight, buried his face into the back of Tonnage’s mane and clung on for dear life, trying not to focus on the sound of Tonnage galloping on the roof slates.
And then there was silence. Save for the sound of the wind whistling gently past Ostin’s ears.
Ostin still clung onto Tonnages neck, not daring to open his eyes. After a few moments however, the silence seemed almost unbearable, he wanted to know why the normal sounds of the Colton-on-Sea had died away so quickly. He opened his eyes, then shut them just as quickly. From the small glimpse he had taken, he’d gathered that Tonnage must be flying at least two hundred feet high in the air.
“Um…Tonnage, there’s something I should tell you” Ostin gulped, his eyes still shut tight “It’s just… I-I-I never did have a head for heights!”
Tonnage smirked, changing his angle of flight so that he nosedived downwards towards the roofs of the houses below. Ostin let out a scream of panic as they zoomed downwards, causing a couple of ponies in the street below to look up, though they were only just in time to see Tonnage levelling out and hovering in the air, along with Ostin’s scream subsiding. The reason why Tonnage had levelled out though was due to how tightly Ostin was now clinging to him. His forehooves that he had wrapped around Tonnage’s neck were constricting on his windpipe. Thankfully, stopping the dive meant that Ostin relaxed his tensed muscles.
“M-M-Maybe w-w-we could t-t-take things a l-little slower?” Although Ostin’s grip had slackened on Tonnage’s neck, he was clearly shaking with fear at the notion of being up in the air.
Tonnage swooped down lower, with a much gentler descent this time, turning back on himself to fly back down the street where he and Sandy lived. Gathering speed he whooshed through the tree lined street, the leaves rustling in the slip stream from his wings. He banked left sharply as they came to the end of the street, following the route of the tramway through the almost continuous streets of houses towards the town centre. Tonnage looked back over his shoulder, as much as he could tell he wouldn’t admit it, he could clearly see from the calm expression on Ostin’s face that he was starting to enjoy his first experience of flight.
Ostin’s eyes suddenly bulged in their sockets “TONNAGE, LOOK OUT!!!”
Tonnage looked back ahead of himself to see a double decker tramcar heading straight towards them. Taking evasive manoeuvres he quickly performed a barrel roll to the right, narrowly missing clipping his wing on the lower deck of the tramcar as he flew by, the angry ranting of the conductor on the back platform being quite audible as they went by. Tonnage looked back over his shoulder again at Ostin, who was now clinging tighter than ever to him, clearly terrified at their narrow escape, no matter how casually Tonnage was able to shrug it off.
Tonnage decided to gain more height, lifting him and Ostin out of the narrow streets and above the electricity cables that powered the trams. Most of Colton-on-Sea was visible below them now from way above the rooftops, from the bustling town centre outside the Opera House to the quiet, peaceful streets full of houses on the outskirts. Right up on the top of the hillside, overlooking the town, Ostin could just make out the shape of a large manor house, with many ornate towers and chimney pots sticking up from its vast roof in many places. The great, imposing, tall glass window of the central part of the house glistening in the sun.
Taking a right hand turn Tonnage started heading towards the promenade, following the tramlines that ran along the cobbled street lining the seafront. A wide variety of shops and stalls that were painted every colour of the rainbow passed by them on the left hand side, the majority of them were tourist shops selling novelty gifts and sticks of rock themed to Colton-on-Sea. On their opposite side, a beach of pure golden sand lead down to the deep blue sea that stretched off far into the horizon till it became one with the sky.
Coming closer towards them from the distance was the main pier that stretched out from the promenade into the sea. Two mighty pavilions stood atop its impressive structure of steel legs, one being used as the entrance to the pier, whilst the other was at the very end out at sea. An open walkway lined down the middle with benches connected the two. Gliding over the top of the pavilion out at sea both of them could just make out the light, cheery tones of organ music coming from inside the building.
With the sounds of the music quickly fading behind him, Ostin could now see the place Tonnage was heading to. Just a few yards down the coast next to the pier was another one, though this one had clearly been long abandoned in favour of the other one. Most of the pier itself had collapsed into the sea and been claimed as salvage, though the remains of the pavilion out at sea were still standing tall above the waves. The building itself was heavily boarded up, but the deck area around it was still accessible, though only to ponies with the ability of flight like Tonnage had.
Tonnage circled above the old pavilion to loose height before coming in to land. His hooves hitting the decking hard, he ran along to pier to gradually slow himself down. Ostin closed his eyes as he saw the unguarded end of the pier loom closer. He opened them as he felt Tonnage come to a halt to find that he’d stopped just inches from the end of the pier. Still slightly shaken from his first experience of flight, Ostin climbed down off of Tonnage’s back and practically hugged the floorboards beneath his hooves. He could have kissed them, but he felt that was going a little too far.
Taking a seat on the edge of the pier and letting his hind legs dangle over the edge, Tonnage took the satchel off from around neck and placed it down on the floor boards between him and Ostin, who was now taking up a position similar to his own. Using his giant wings he unclipped the cover flap of the bag and pulled it back, taking out a silver thermos flask contained within along with two large tin mugs. He unscrewed the lid of the flask, pouring its contents into the two mugs, the steam from the hot tea instantly rising into the cold morning sea air. Tonnage took his mug in his front hooves, staring out over the waves at the town back inland, not saying a word, but clearly deep in thought.
Ostin was quite surprised. Since he’d arrived in Colton-on-Sea he had quickly gotten the impression that Tonnage was a brute of a stallion who kept himself to himself, despite Sandy’s ramblings that he was just a big softie at heart. Here however, sat on the end of the ruined pier looking back towards land, he silently admitted that he had to agree with her. There was more to Tonnage than the impression he gave at first glance.
Ostin took the remaining mug and took a big slurp of the tea. Even though he’d only been drinking tea himself for a few months now, he was still able to taste the difference between tea that had been prepared in a cup and tea that had been prepared in a flask. Out of the two choices though, there was no doubt to Ostin that tea in a cup certainly had more taste to it. Rather than complaining though, he simply joined Tonnage in staring out from the pier back to land. The scene being totally silent, save for the sound of the waves crashing against metal pillars of the pier structure below.
Ostin yawned. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed since he and Tonnage had initially sat down at the end of the pier, but he was able to gather that it must have been a good few hours. Normally, he would have been tired long ago by staring at the same scene for hour upon hour, but there was something different about this place. There was always something new to spot in the distance, and the scene was ever changing with the bustle of ponies walking up and down the promenade.
Looking down towards the metal mug in his hooves, Ostin took a final slurp of the little tea that remained at the bottom, spitting away the little leftover tea leaves that unfortunately came with it. Seeing that Tonnage had outstretched a hoof towards him, he handed the mug back to him so that it could go back into the satchel, which Tonnage then went to hang round his neck by the strap again.
Seeing this as a sign that it was time that they were going, Ostin rose to his feet, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it of all of the fresh sea air he’d inhaled over the past few hours. He climbed back up onto to Tonnage’s back, once again throwing his forehooves around his neck and burying his head in his mane so he didn’t have to watch the ground steadily getting further and further away during take off.
Although Tonnage had intended just to take off with a running jump as before, he decided to try something a little different this time. He took a very long walk off of the end of the short pier, flapping his wings to gain height just seconds before he was going to hit the water. Not for the first time today, Ostin’s screaming could be heard from quite a distance away.
Ostin climbed back down through the skylight back into his bedroom, Tonnage following shortly after, trying to be as quiet as possible so that Sandy wouldn’t know they’d both left the house. Looking in his full length mirror, Ostin could now see the wind rushing through his mane had made it rather puffy, as if he’d been using a hair dryer on it. He shook his head from side to side rapidly, resulting in his mane taking on its usual shape. Tonnage had taken off his flat cap and satchel, hanging them up on a coat hook behind the door of Ostin’s room. There was no doubt in his mind that if Sandy caught him wearing them she’d be able to put two and two together quite quickly.
Tonnage then grabbed Ostin with one of his wings, tucking him underneath it and carrying him down the stairs so that if any noise was made, it would only be one set of hoofsteps, not two. He put him down when reached the bottom of the stairs, walking over to the door of Sandy’s study. Curiously, Tonnage put one of his ears to the door, straining to hear if there was any sound of typing coming from behind it. Very quietly and gently, he took his ear away from the door and began to slowly turn the door handle open, pulling the door to the study open inch by inch.
And there was Sandy, fast asleep at her writing desk from fatigue, with her hoof still on her finished story that had clearly been thrust into the ‘out’ tray on her desk. Tonnage walked over to her, tapping her on the shoulder ever so lightly. Despite using hardly any force Sandy woke with a start, though she was still clearly groggy.
With a mighty yawn she stretched her forehooves out in front of herself “What time is it?”
Tonnage opened his mouth to speak, but Sandy answered her own question by picking up a small alarm clock in her hooves before he could speak. It was half past three.
Sandy leaned over in her chair to rest her tired head in Tonnage’s mane “So what have you two been up too whilst I’ve been cooped up in here?”
Stepping off of the tram, Ostin found himself looking at the University of Colton. The complex seemed to be a mixture of different building styles and periods, clearly showing in what time frames certain parts of the university had been expanded or renovated. The section that seemed to overpower the rest of the architecture though was the gigantic dome shaped building that formed the central building of the university, standing tall over the other buildings like a giant upturned cereal bowl.
The rest of the passengers from the tram rushed past him, heading straight into the building that acted as a corridor of sorts to the dome, clearly labelled ‘Chancellor’s Mall’ above the pair of antiquated oak doors the formed the entrance to the building. Looking towards the main entrance doors he spied a sign reading ‘enrolment’ framed within a large novelty arrow pinned to one of them. He began to make his way into the building, trying to fish out his documents from his saddlebag as he walked along.
Mixy was lost deep in concentration. Ever since she’d spied the young stallion with the grey coat and a yellow blonde mane she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she was going to have to admit that she was lovestruck sooner or later, as it was starting to have a negative affect on her art course at the local university. She began to drift off into her thoughts again, imagining the stallion playing on the organ at the opera house once more in the flowing silk dressing gown he’d worn…
“Miss Media, whilst I have no doubt you have a brilliant sense of detail as an artist, I’m sorry to have to point out to you that the model posing before you and the stallion you’ve drawn are completely different!”
Mixy snapped out of her day dream to suddenly remember she was still in the middle of her life drawing class, her lecturer at the side of her admiring the rough drawing she had made on the paper set up on her easel through her thick lensed glasses. Instead of drawing the slightly chubby green earth pony that’d draped himself over a chaise longue in front of her, she’d subconsciously drawn the portrait of a young grey earth pony with scruffy yellow hair in a silk crimson dressing gown. A few of her fellow class mates sniggered, causing Mixy’s face to turn a deep shade of red with embarrassment, matching the red paint splatters on her artists smock quite nicely.
“Don’t let it happen again Miss Media” the lecturer promptly pushed her glasses up her nuzzle and moved on to examine the next students work.
Taking down the drawing from the easel, Mixy carefully folded it up and slipped it into her saddlebag, not wanting to waste a good drawing. Returning to her easel, she was now faced with the view of the model staring back at her with a rather annoyed expression. She knew immediately this lesson was going to drag on now.
Ostin was clutching his enrolment papers tightly in one of his forhooves, regretting his decision to not buy a cup of tea before he’d joined the queue. Still, he’d managed to overcome the tediously long wait and was now stood waiting at the front of the queue. A small box at the front of the queue had been calling out the numbers of the counters that were vacant in a monotone fashion to each student, emphasising the point by display the number in a digital fashion.
“Desk-num-ber-eight-please” The box chanted, showing a red digital number eight.
Ostin trotted off in the direction of desk eight, still clutching his papers.
“Hello” Ostin smiled at the administration mare behind her desk.
The blank stare he received back from behind the thick black frames of the glasses she wore said it all. She was clearly done with attempting to be happy and cheery to every individual pony that came before her desk that day “Papers please”
Ostin decided it was better just to hand his student papers over and refrain from trying to make conversation.
The mare leafed through the papers, stopping on a page in the middle and copying a few words and numbers into the file system on her computer, then putting the papers into a file in her desk draw “Stare into the camera please” She pointed at the small camera mounted on top of her computer screen.
Ostin wiped a few stray crumbs from his breakfast that morning that were still clinging to his tank top, along with ruffling the front of his mane to make it look more natural.
The administration mare still stared blankly at him through her glasses “Are you ready?” clearly she had had to try her patience most of the day with students who had been taking an eternity to make sure they looked right for their I.D. photos.
Ostin nodded.
“3…”
Suddenly, Ostin found he had a rather strong urge to sneeze.
“2…”
He was trying to stop himself from twitching at the tingly feeling in his nose. The last thing he wanted was an awkward looking photograph.
“1…” The administrator pressed down on the shutter button. “ACHOO!!!”
Ostin sneezed so loudly that a few ponies around him turned to look straight at him. His face turning a shade of red from embarrassment, he tried to hide it behind the white collars of the shirt he was wearing.
The administration mare remained stoic throughout the whole event. She was now fixated on the rather battered and beaten printer behind her desk, which was now in the process of churning out Ostin’s photo I.D. Lifting up the flap that contained the card, she picked up the freshly stamped card with a forehoof and placed it down on the desk in front of Ostin.
Ostin was less than satisfied. All the details about him on the card were correct, but the photograph of him was less than flattering. The shutter had caught him mid sneeze. One of his eyes was half closed, his eyeballs looked as if they were rolling back into his head and his forehooves were partly in shot, having raised them both subconsciously to try and ‘catch’ the cold.
“Err, can I have another picture for my photocard please?” Ostin asked, less than pleased with how the current on had turned out. “No retakes” The administration mare pressed the button on her desk, indicating to the queue that she was now finished with Ostin and that her desk was vacant. Ostin picked it up with a forehoof “Yes, but this clearly isn’t…” “No retakes, no exceptions”
Rather than waste his time arguing, Ostin got off of the chair and started to make his way out of the registration office, all the while staring at the freeze frame of him sneezing on his new I.D. card. There was only one think that could make him feel better in a situation like this. Tea, and lots of it.
Stepping off of the final step, Mixy walked out onto the ground floor of the university. She could see the long line of ponies all queuing up to have their enrolment papers checked. It was a sight she was used to, having seen it before the previous year. Nothing seemed to have changed over the course of that year in her mind. She still seemed as trapped and depressed with how her life was turning out for her, with only her art providing her with some form of escape from reality.
She hung her head low, staring down at the patterned tiles on the floor as she walked along, her Student I.D hanging from a lanyard round her neck interrupting her view as it swung from her neck.
Having seen that the queue for a cup of tea was almost, if not longer, than the enrolment queue, Ostin had quickly given up on his search for tea, deciding instead that it would probably be best just till wait till he got home. He set off in the direction of the entrance to the university, still taking in his surroundings as he walked. He found it quite amusing how modern the entrance was compared to the
All the while, he remained completely unaware that he was heading straight into the path of Mixy, who was also totally unware that she was about to encounter Ostin again as she was preoccupied with the tiled floor.
THUMP.
The two of them were thrown backwards slightly by the force of which they hit each other, landing on the polished marble floor. Ostin lost his grip on his I.D. card as he landed, whilst Mixy’s card came unclipped from the flimsy clip on the end of the lanyard hanging from her neck. A few of the ponies bustling by looked towards the two of them, but none of them stopped to check or help. This was mainly due to the fact that they all recognised Mixy as lord Spyglass’ daughter, and most of them knew his thoughts on the lower classes.
Mixy shook her head from side to side, trying to regain her composure. It came as quite a shock when, after she had regained a steady sight, that she found herself face to face with the very stallion she had been trying to track down. She admitted that he did look rather different from when she’d first seen him, most notably the fact that instead of a silk dressing gown he was now wearing a rather worn red tank top over the top of a white shirt, but his face was still as Mixy had remembered it. Her jaw dropped in disbelief.
Ostin on the other hand wasn’t paying any attention to Mixy at all. Instead he was desperately clutching at his nuzzle, praying for the love of Celestia that he hadn’t broken it when they collided whilst trying not to scream in pain. He bit his bottom lip and took a few deep breaths, trying to think of any way to relieve the pain. It was only after a few seconds that he noticed Mixy was sat before him, and although he somewhat remembered her face, he couldn’t quite seem to place where he’d seen her before.
“I’m so sorry” Ostin blurted out, almost sounding as if he was speaking through his nose.
Mixy just remained sat there, jaw still agape.
Ostin rubbed the end of his nuzzle, which was still tingling from the impact “I haven’t hurt you, have I?” “I…bu…wha?” Was all Mixy could get past her lips. “Hmm, you haven’t bit your tongue have you? You might want to get that seen to” Ostin picked up the I.D. card that was closest to him off of the floor, tucking it into his saddlebag.
The clock suspended from the middle of the ceiling in the great dome struck the hour.
Ostin became somewhat panicked by this “Oh, um, excuse me. I’m running rather late for the tram!” He took a few slightly awkward shuffled steps to the right before running off into the crowd towards the entrance.
Mixy remained there for a few moments, completely still and with her mouth still agape in shock. A few ponies passing by assumed she was trying to be a living statue, and tossed a couple of stray low value copper bits at the floor in front of her. She finally snapped out of her shock, shaking her head from side to side and staring into the crowd in the same way that the grey stallion had disappeared. She couldn’t be sure just how short or long it had been since he’d actually left her, but if there was ever a chance to try and properly meet him, this was it.
She quickly gathered her belongings and ran off into the crowd in the same direction as Ostin, stuffing them in her saddlebag.
Parker was sat down on the warm tarmac in the carriage park at the front of the university, leaning back against the front right wheel of the small black carriage. He’d had a tiring day pulling Lady Jewel and her high society friends around most of Colton-on-Sea on a shopping excursion, so he was indulging his spare time waiting for Mixy by rolling up the sleeves on his jacket, taking off his chauffeurs cap and catching a few brief minutes of sleep. He quickly became aware of Mixy running straight towards the carriage in rather a hurry.
“Trouble M’Lady?” Parker raised an eyebrow at her apparent hurry.
Mixy didn’t say anything; she flung open the carriage door and practically leaped inside, discarding her saddlebag on the rear seats. She opened up the hidden compartment underneath the hoof-rest of the seat where her mother usually sat to reveal a pair of diamond encrusted opera glasses, silently thanking her mother for not taking them back into the house like she normally would after a visit to the opera. Glasses in hoof, Mixy wound down the blacked out window at the front of the carriage and looked out, raising the miniature binoculars to her eyes.
Just off in the distance, Mixy could see a crowd of ponies gathered at the tram stop in front of the university, all of them trying to squeeze themselves onto the upper deck of the tramcar. Narrowing her eyes, she could just make out Ostin’s red tank top out amongst the ponies shuffling up the narrow spiral stairway.
Mixy knew she’d have to act quickly “Parker, where are you?”
Looking downwards, Parker’s face filled the lenses due to the magnification, allowing Mixy a brief look at the dark patches that were beginning to show underneath his eyes from his stressful day.
“Yes M’Lady”
Mixy took down the binoculars from her eyes to see Parker had already fastened himself into the carriages’ harness, ready to move off.
“Follow that Tram!” Parker looked round to see the tram in question moving off “M’Lady, your father’s instructions were that I was to take you straight home. May I remind you that he is having a gala dinner tonight and has requested your attendance?” “Parker” Mixy started to put on her puppy dog eyes “Would you do this for me, please? I’m sure we can both put together a good enough excuse to satisfy my father as to why we’d be slightly late back home” A small smile came to Parker’s face “The ‘Blood and Custard’ tram you say, number 60?” “That’s the one” “Right. Hold tight M’Lady”
Parker gave a great heave on the carriage, though it certainly wasn’t enough to give Mixy any need to cling on for dear life. Slowly however, they began to gather speed as they went out onto the cobbled streets, sticking as close to the tram lines as possible in order to stand a chance of catching up to the tram.
“So” Parker wheezed slightly as he tried to accelerate even more “If you don’t mind me asking M’lady, why is this tramcar so important to you M’Lady?” “Do you remember that stallion I told you about roughly a week and a half ago?” “You mean the one at the opera house whom you want to get better acquainted with?” “Yes, well, he’s on that tram. Even if I don’t meet him again today, it might give me an idea as to where I might find him, even if I will have to think up several excuses to leave the house”
Looking ahead, Mixy could see the tram had just stopped to drop off some passengers and was now starting to slowly move off again “Now’s your chance to catch up Parker! Hurry!”
Parker pressed on even harder, gaining on the tram. He was almost within reach of being able to distinguish the fine details of the individual ponies sat on the wooden seats when a grocer’s heavily laden cart pulled out from a side street and straight across their path. Parker tried to dig his forehooves into the cobbles to try and bring the carriage to a stop, sending a shower of sparks from his horseshoes in an outwards direction from his body. Unfortunately it was all in vain. With a great crash Parker hit the grocer’s cart, his head embedding itself into a slightly unripe pumpkin and his horn protruding from the other side. The harness from the carriage came loose with the impact, causing the carriage to shoot forward and trap Parker between it and the grocer’s cart.
Mixy, who had been leaning through the open front window, was catapulted forward in the crash right into the produce being transported on top of the cart, causing plums, tomatoes, oranges, lemons and limes to be squashed under the force of her body hitting them and for their juices to start sticking to her coat. The only blessing being that the fruit did offer a soft landing of sorts.
The grocer, a jet black stallion with brilliant white hair, unsaddled himself from his cart’s harness and was about to rant and rave at both of them, even if the accident was technically his fault. Though he stopped as soon as he noticed just whose carriage had ran in him and fled the scene, terrified that Lord Spyglass and his wife might have been inside the carriage.
Using all of the force he could muster after just having the wind knocked out of him, Parker eventually managed to pop the pumpkin off of his head so that he could look at Mixy “He appears to have given us the slip, M’Lady”
Mixy wrinkled her nose as she removed the remnants of a squashed banana and its skin from atop her head; once again she’d just missed out on meeting this illusive grey stallion.
Totally unaware of the events that had unfolded behind him, Ostin had left the tram at the stop at the end of the street and began trotting down the tree lined streets outside Sandy and Tonnage’s house, jumping up the steps to the house with an obvious spring in his step. He gave the front door a hard shove with his forehooves, allowing him to step into the narrow hallway and unclip his saddlebag, leaving it on the floor besides four oversized and worn out boots that clearly belonged to Tonnage. Taking a moment to stretch his limbs after what to him was a hard day’s work, he made his way out to the back of the house.
Sandy and Tonnage were out in the back garden, sat on two ornate metal garden chairs at a matching table, having afternoon tea and cake. Tonnage was very gently picking up the teapot with his forehooves and pouring two cups, clearly love struck and giving Sandy his biggest puppy dog eyes as she ruffled the strands of fur under his chin, though he immediately stopped and tried to regain his manly composure when he noticed Ostin walking out into the garden towards them.
“You’re back early Ostin” Sandy remarked, lifting her cup with her magic aura and taking a big mouthful of tea. “So I see” Ostin smirked slightly at Tonnage, who was simply trying his hardest not to break his stoic expression. “So, how did your enrolment go?” Sandy lifted the tiny china teacup up to her ips.
Ostin handed his new I.D. card to her, beaming with pride. Sandy picked up the card in one of her forehooves, holding it between herself and Tonnage so that he could also see it. They both exchanged a nervous glance. Tonnage was now struggling to hold back a chuckle.
“Ostin” Sandy asked “You have looked at this, haven’t you?” Ostin sighed “Yes, I know my face is messed up, I sneezed and they wouldn’t retake it” “No, no it’s not that” Sandy picked up the teapot in her magic aura and refilled her cup to the brim again “I just don’t remember you being a mare” “What?!” Ostin snatched the I.D. card back from Sandy. There, staring back at him on the thin bit of plastic was the face of Mixed Media.
With an annoyed groan Ostin heavily face-planted the cast iron table in frustration, the pain causing him to instantly regretting his decision to do so afterwards.
Parker was slowly using all his might to pull the carriage with Mixed Media inside it up the hill to his Lordship’s manor on the ground. He kept reminding himself not to complain, as thanks to Mixy’s weight it was no way near as heavy and tiring as trying to pull his lordship and his wife up the hill. Mixy was still leaning out of the front window of the carriage, looking ahead.
“I’m sorry about earlier M’Lady” Parker wheased, stopping a minute to wipe the sweat from his brow “I’m not as fast as I used to be” he chuckled “And I’m certainly not as good at stopping either” Mixy sighed “Its ok Parker. Don’t blame yourself. I’m just thankful that we could both get the carriage cleaned and that it wasn’t damaged”
Parker’s knowledge of the streets of Colton-on-Sea had proved invaluable after the crash. Having freed himself from between the carriage and the grocer’s cart, they had both gone to the one of the nearby water mains located under the pavements. Parker had then proceeded to take out a pump that was stored underneath the body of the carriage and attach it to the mains, giving him a means of hosing down some of the remains of the fruit and vegetables off of the carriage. Mixy had also taken the opportunity to clean most of the mess off of herself, washing away any hint of the incident that her parents might have been able to pick up on.
Looking ahead now, she could see her parent’s estate. To most ponies, it was a grand home that they envied, but to her it just seemed like a prison where she was held hostage by her mother and father. Turning round and sitting herself down on the plush seats inside the carriage, Mixy started to try and bring her day to an end, realising her life would practically end when she stepped through the front doors of the house. She reached into her mane and pulled out her I.D. card, deciding to get one last look at it. She was quite surprised however that instead of her face on the card, there was a young stallion with a scruffy yellow mane looking back. The very stallion she’d been trying to follow earlier that day.
Her eyes darted to the name beside the photo – Ostinato Melody.
Even though it was 9:30 in the morning on a work day, Ostin was still in his pyjamas. Standing up on his hind legs on top of his bed, he leant out of the open skylight in the roof, taking in the view of the rooftops of the other buildings in Colton-on-Sea that lay beyond the bottom of the garden, framed rather smartly by the railway viaduct that ran over the tops of the houses further back. The mist that had rolled in from the sea the night before was slowly beginning to burn away in the morning sunshine, causing most of the buildings to look like they were emerging from a sea of white. The smell of smoke from coal fires in the other houses in the street lingered in the air, signalling that almost everypony in the street was up and trying to burn away the morning chill.
Ostin twiddled Mixy’s I.D. card in his forehooves, casually whistling a little tune as he did so. He’d spent the previous night trying to work out just how he could have come to having it in his possession, quickly realising that it must have happened when he collided with her shortly after enrolling.
“Ostin!” Sandy called up two flights of stairs to his room in the roof space “Breakfast!” “Coming!” Ostin shouted back, before returning his gaze to the small picture of Mixy.
She looked…pretty.
He continued to look at her picture, focusing on the small crimson bow tucked partially behind her ear. If he was ever going to find her and return the card to her, then he felt that was most likely going to be the object that would define her in a crowd.
“Ostin!” Sandy burst into the room, the grease stains on the apron she was wearing and the stray hairs of her mane that was tied back showed that cooking had been something of a challenge that morning.
Ostin turned round from where he stood to see her, quickly tucking the card into his mane so Sandy wouldn’t know he’d been looking at it. The thought of anypony finding out he’d been looking at a picture of mare was far to embarrassing for him.
Sandy pushed her glasses up her nuzzle “It’s been five minutes since I called you. What have you been doing?” “I…um…err…” Ostin stared. Sandy smiled “You’re not the first young stallion I’ve had to repeatedly shout for breakfast in this house. Now come on, or you’ll be late for your tram”
Ostin was about to step down off the bed, but he didn’t get a chance. Before he could even make a move Sandy approached him and grabbed his yellow tail with her teeth, yanking on it and pulling him down to the floor. All Ostin could do was pout as she dragged him down stairs to the kitchen.
To say that Lord Spyglass was annoyed was an understatement.
Sitting at the head of the large oak table in the centre of the cavernous dining room, he stared straight down to the other end where Mixy was sat, framed by the morning sunshine streaming through the large bay window. His eyes narrowed and fixated on her as she slowly, calmly and very politely finished the last few pieces of her breakfast. Setting her cereal spoon down inside the now empty bowl, Mixy casually picked up the serviette on the table and dabbed it against her lips, wiping away the last of the milk.
Spyglass simply cracked the joints in his forehooves, exhaling deeply “You may take the used crockery and cutlery, Parker”
Parker had been standing in the corner nearest the door to room, just in the blind spot of Spyglass’ field of vision underneath the minstrel's gallery. Not in his chauffer’s jacket, he was now in his normal butler’s attire, consisting of a black jacket, white shirt and tie. He stepped forward, not saying a word and began stacking up the bowls and plates on the table. Anyone would have thought he was an entirely different pony from the way he acted when in the presence of Lord Spygass.
Spyglass inhaled deeply “I’m very disappointed in you Mixed Media…”
Mixy said nothing, save for a slightly inaudible gulp, she’d learnt over the years that it was easier just to look straight at her father and not say a word.
“You turn up late for the gala dinner last night, embarrassing me and your mother in front of most of the crème de la crème of Colton-on-Sea, you don’t offer a single explanation as to where you been, you take no interest in the conversations of others, you seem rather fazed by the whole situation, and to top it all off for some reason you smelt of oranges and lemons!” “Most ponies seemed to be complimenting me on that last part”
Spyglass slammed a hoof down on the table, sending the room into silence. Mixy froze in her seat. She hadn’t meant to blurt out what she said, but there were times when she really did want to just speak her mind. Parker too, was also unsure as how to act at his Lordship’s sudden burst of anger.
Spyglass gritted his teeth “You may leave the room Parker. Have the carriage ready and waiting for my daughter, will you”
Parker took one final look towards Mixy. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to help, possibly even give Spyglass a piece of his mind about how he treated his daughter, but he was pretty much powerless to do so. He gently placed the silver coffee pot he was holding down on the dining table and left the room, not daring to say a word.
And then followed the silence. It was only for a few seconds, but to Mixy it seemed almost like an eternity. With a screech that pierced the silence like a dagger, Spyglass pushed his ornate dining chair back on the polished wood floor.
“I know at times I may come across as arrogant Mixed Media, but I think you should know that it’s only because your mother and I have your best interests at heart…”
Mixy chomped her teeth shut together behind her lips, trying to conceal her anger at that statement.
“And all we’re trying to do is to make what we think will be the best possible future life for you” Spyglass continued, stepping down onto all four hooves and walking down to Mixy’s end of the table “Yet it always seems like everything we arrange casually passes you by. Why is that? Tell me, why?”
Mixy brushed her long, flowing charcoal black mane behind her head with a forehoof, trying to remain as calm as possible “I guess I’m just not interested in living a life that constantly involves fancy dinner parties, galas, croquet, a vast wardrobe of hoof tailored suits and dresses and laughing at the lower classes”
Mixy picked up her teacup with one of her forehooves, looking to take a sip from it.
“NOT INTERESTED!!!” Spyglass’ voice almost rose to a shriek.
He rose up onto his hind legs, slamming his forehooves down on the table infront of Mixy, causing her to jump in her seat, dropping her teacup onto its saucer and almost spilling the last of its contents over the neatly pressed tablecloth.
“How dare you!” His voice became gruffer as he began to shout at the top of his lungs “I’ll have you know that all of the young stallions at the dinner last night had been carefully selected by your mother and I in the hopes that one of them would eventually become your suitor” Spyglass leant in closer “And I’ll be damned if this families’ noble future is going to be tainted because of you and your lack of care for your status!”
Spyglass suddenly became stoic as the door to the room clicked open, and Lady Jewel stepped into the room, the biggest emerald in her collection hanging from her neck on a dainty golden chain round her neck.
“I heard shouting, is something troubling either of you?” Despite asking, the blank look on her face gave away that she knew exactly just what had occurred.
“It was nothing, we’re finished” Mixy excused herself from the table and walked over to the doorway.
Spyglass didn’t bother looking after her “And remember to take an umbrella with you; it’s due to rain later”
Mixy wasn’t listening. She just left the room, seething with rage.
Sat alone in the kitchen, Tonnage was silently reading through the morning’s paper, nodding to himself at certain articles that he agreed with and managing a smirk at that day’s satire cartoon, as usual poking fun at Lord Spyglass, not that he would ever read anything less than The Times.
Thump.
Tonnage stopped reading, his ears standing to attention at the sound.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The noise was getting louder and nearer, but Tonnage couldn’t quite put his hoof on what it was, though the thump was clearly coming from somewhere inside the house as he could tell whatever it was was landing on the soft carpet. Tonnage gulped. He knew that he’d somewhat annoyed Sandy by stumbling in from the pub late the previous night and demanding to snuggle her in his slightly tipsy state, but she hadn’t quite made it clear if this was affecting her mood this morning. His brain began to work overtime. She had been clearly quite annoyed when she went to go and see what had become of Ostin, and it had gone mysteriously quite since she went upstairs.
She hadn’t…killed him, had she?
“SANDY!!!” Ostin’s cry quickly disproved that theory from his mind, with Tonnage also realising how ridiculous it sounded in his head.
The thumping noise ceased, only to be replaced with a noise that sounded somewhat like pyjamas being dragged along the carpeted hallway. Struggling and squirming in his blue striped pyjamas, Ostin was dragged into the kitchen by Sandy. She let go of her bite on his tail and reached for him with her forehooves, slipping them under his arms and picking him up, much like a small foal and carrying him to the chair at the kitchen table, using her magic to tuck his chair under the table. Ostin’s pouting and crossed forehooves made it clear he was unimpressed at being treated in such a manner.
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Tonnage returned to his paper. Business as usual.
Time passed rather quickly that day in Colton-on-Sea, with the light grey clouds that had hovered over the town in the morning slowly giving way to much darker storm clouds. They came from out beyond the horizon out at sea and slowly encircled the town, the local weather ponies trying their best to try and keep the storm at bay for as long as possible, but they eventually had to admit defeat, allowing the storm to blanket the town, plunging it into semi-darkness, almost making it seem like night time.
Mixy pressed herself against the sandstone wall of the University, anticipating a rainfall, staring out into the empty carriage park. Parker was never late, or at the most only by a few minutes due to traffic, so the fact that he was nowhere to be seen was quite surprising to Mixy. She’d had a crummy day at university to say the least. The conversation she’d had with her father that morning had been playing on her mind, his words repeating over and over in her subconscious. It had affected her concentration on her artwork, and as a result almost all of the drawings she had produced ended up as crumpled scraps of paper in a bin.
She didn’t actually want to return home, but she knew that it wouldn’t bode well with her parents if she didn’t return. Her lack of knowledge of the world outside her house and the fact that her father had several contacts in Colton-on-Sea meant that she would probably be tracked down and returned to the house in a matter of hours. Mixy tried to calm herself by telling herself that at least there was no way the day could get worse.
A rather convenient thunder cloud proved her wrong.
Mixy cursed not bringing an umbrella with her to university.
Parker was in the drawing room of Lord Spyglass’ home, pouring tea for both his Lordship and his wife. Finishing pouring, he placed the china teapot back on the serving tray with his magic, looking out of the large glass windows at the rain that was beginning to hammer down on the lawn outside, waterlogging the grass and creating small pools of water.
“Excuse me, M’Lord” He turned to look at him “The young Mixed Media will have finished at the University for the day by now. Should I take the carriage to pick her up?” “No” was Lord Spyglass’ blunt reply “Mixed Media wants to try and be independent, she can make her own way home”
Parker was shocked.
“That will be all Parker” Spyglass waved him away “You may go”
Parker wanted to speak out, but he also didn’t want to loose his job. Regaining his composure, he used a quick burst of magic to make the flames on the coal fire before them burn slightly hotter, then he silently left the room, closing the door after himself.
Lady Jewel turned to her husband “Do you really think it’s wise, making Mixed Media walk home through the pouring rain?” “I think so” he replied “Hopefully it will make her come to appreciate everything we do for her by the time she eventually gets back” “I suppose” Jewel went back to reading the her magazine “According to this report from earlier today this heavy rain is meant to last till some time tomorrow morning…”
Spyglass said nothing; he just stared deep into the flames of the fire.
Mixy had given up on waiting for the carriage at the University and had begun to wander alone in the streets. Lost amongst the tall three storey houses that lined the streets of Colton-on-Sea she had lost all sense of her bearings, no longer being able to tell which way lead to the hills above the town and which way lead down to the promenade. As she walked along she began to stare down at the puddles forming on the pavement beneath her feet, catching glimpses of her reflection as she passed over them. The face she would briefly see staring back at her was far different from the one she would normally see. The falling rain had caused her coat and mane to become drenched, resulting in almost all of the work she had done to make her mane curl near the tops of her ears to be washed away. The crimson bow that she wore just behind her left ear was also starting to become sodden and drooped down.
Crossing the cobbled road at the end of the street she was on, Mixy continued walking in the same direction, hoping that it was taking her closer to home. Presently she found herself in the square where the opera house resided. Although she knew the place itself very well from the amount of times she had visited it, she mentally couldn’t place where it was in relation to her parent’s house. One blessing though was the glass canopy at the front of the opera house. Although she knew full well that if the wind began to blow underneath it that there was a good chance it would offer her no protection against the rain, for the time being she knew that it would help to keep the worst of the rain off of her. She crossed over the square to stand underneath it.
With the rain no longer pouring down on her, she pulled her soaked mane out of the way of her eyes. She sat down on the cold stone steps that led up to the foyer entrance, leaning back against the stone wall and thinking about how the day had turned out. She began to think about the conversation she’d had with her father at breakfast. As much as she knew she should try and support her family, she knew that it wasn’t right that she should have no control over her life. She just wished that she had some means of breaking free from that lifestyle.
Hugging her knees against her chest, she began to cry.
Inside the Opera House in Quaver’s tiny office, Ostin was warming his hooves in front of the fire. Despite the building being constructed in an age when central heating wasn’t deemed an essential, it was surprising how warm and inviting the building was just from the small individual fireplaces and stoves located in the vast sea of offices and dressing rooms inside the building. Quaver was sat at his ornately carved desk, scribbling away with quill and ink at sheets of paper from a music score.
Quaver looked up “Ostin, could you file these music sheets for me please”
Ostin trotted over, clutching the papers with his teeth and taking them towards the large wooden bookcase on one wall of the office. They’d been working on the same project for the entire day, rewriting almost an entire score of music to a lower key to suit the lead singer, who it turned out was having far more trouble singing in tune than Quaver would have liked. Taking out one of the box files on the bottom shelf, Ostin opened up the heavy container and placed the score inside, taking extra care not to smudge the freshly scribed ink as he did so.
Setting down his quill, Quaver stretched his for aching forehooves and yawned as he sank back into his well worn office chair “Well Ostin, I think that was a good days work. Hopefully there should be no more complaints that the score is impossible to sing from the lead actor now” Ostin replaced the box file on the shelf “I wouldn’t be too sure…” “Don’t jinx it Ostin” Quaver chuckled “The last thing I want to do is to have to go back and rewrite all of that again!” He yawned again, clearly worn out “Well, I think it’s about time we were both heading off home. You can head off now if you want to, it shouldn’t take me too long to put out the fire and lock up the office”
Ostin started to make his way over to the hat stand by the door.
“But whatever you do, make sure Madame Tailor doesn’t catch you on your way out, you’ll never leave here otherwise” Quaver winked.
Ostin chuckled, slipping his saddlebag over the head and fastening the belt tight around the outside of his dark green sweater vest. Taylor seemed to have had her eyes on him all day, with Quaver joking earlier in the day that no doubt she would kidnap Ostin when he wasn’t looking and use him as a model for her costume making.
“Don’t worry” he replied, opening the door “I’ve got a tram to catch, I can’t be late” “You’d best be going then. Goodnight Ostin” “Goodnight”
Ostin closed the door behind himself as he left the room, taking a quick moment to let out a small sigh and shake some feeling back into his forehooves, they’d become slightly numb with being stood up for the majority of the day.
“Ostin!”
Ostin froze, closing his eyes tightly he prayed that the voice behind him didn’t belong to Tailor. Turning round and opening his eyelids to look, his worst fear was realised as he saw Madame Tailor walking towards him, busying herself as she tried to stick three pins into a small pincushion with her teeth before gently tucking it back into the apron that she wore.
“I haven’t seen you since you had your wittle accident on the stage” Tailor pinched his cheeks, much to Ostin’s annoyance “How is that little nose of yours?” “Fine, thank you” Ostin was finding it pretty hard to speak without being able to move his cheek muscles “Can you let go of me please, I was just on my way home” “But in this stormy weather?!” Tailor was being highly dramatic about the situation, letting go of Ostin’s cheeks and instead holding him tightly against her chest. He was quite surprised that she was a seamstress and not an actress “We can’t have that, you need an umbrella!” “But I don’t have an umbrella” Ostin protested “And I’ve got to catch the last tram back home!” “Nonsense” Taylor had clearly already made up her mind “There are plenty of umbrellas in the prop department that you can borrow on a night like this. As for the trams, I’ve never know them run on time!”
Ostin sighed heavily as he admitted defeat, with Tailor clutching him tightly under her foreleg as she took him to the prop store.
Down in the Servants quarters of Lord Spyglass’ house, Parker had just finished buttoning up his chauffer’s jacket and was in the process of tying his thickly layered cape round his neck with his forehooves. He grabbed his umbrella from his hat stand with his magic aura and brought it towards him, holding it in the air till he had a hoof free to grab it with. Having opened up one of the windows in the Butler's Pantry, he'd tied together a few spare bedsheets he'd borrowed from the laundry cupboard to make a rope, which he was now using as a means to climb down into the dry moat outside. He prepared to sneak out into the rain, suddenly becoming aware of the door knob to his room rattling behind him as someone fumbled with it. He began to panic, praying for the love of Celestia that his Lordship hadn't decided to make a rare trip to the downstairs sections of the house and burst in on his rescue attempt.
Parker froze in terror as the door opened. His career as a butler flashing before his eyes…
In walked the chef of the house, rather appropriately named Cook. Being roughly the same age as Parker, the main difference between herself and Parker was that whilst he still looked rather youthful, age had not been to kind to her. Her body was rather thin, with her elbow and knee joints being slightly more prominent under her pale ghostly blue coat. Her mane, once a brilliant chestnut colour, now featured several grey streaks from when the colour had already begun to fade away.
She stepped further into the room, her eyes closed as she talked away “Parker I was just wondering…” She stopped as soon as she saw him sitting legs astride the windowsill “Parker! Just what are you doing?!!” Not wanting anyone in the rooms up above to hear, parker put a hoof to his lips “Shhh” Cook crept closer, her voice lowered to almost a whisper “But what are you doing half out the window?” Parker climbed back inside, pulling the window to to silence the rain “His Lordship has ordered that I’m not to pick his daughter up from the university. They had a bit of an argument this morning and I think this is his way of trying to get his point across” Cook gasped “That poor young mare…” “I know” Parker continued “And both you and I know that given how she’s always cooped up in this house she’d never be able to find way back here from the other side of town” “But what’s this got to do with you piling up your furniture like this” Cook pointed at it, just to emphasise her point. “I can’t be seen to be disobeying his Lordship’s orders, it’d get me fired! However, if I sneak out of the house this way, I can sneak along the bottom of the moat, climb out round the back of the house, attempt vault the fence and go and find the young Mixed Media and bring her back here, all under the nose of his Lordship, and anyone else who might see me if I was to simply walk out the tradesman's entrance” Cook sighed “You always were one for adventure, weren’t you Parker” “Yes, I suppose I was…” Parker stroked his chin “Maybe I should have taken a career as a pirate!” Cook just facehoofed at that remark “Just be back in time for dinner” “What are you cooking?” “Stewed apples” “Mmm” Parker was clearly visualising a plateful before him “My favourite”
Turning to look outside, Parker opened the thin window again and squeezed his way through out into the pouring rain, taking care not to forget to take his umbrella with him. All Cook could do was just shake her head as she made her way back to the kitchen. Taking one final look into his room before dropping down, Parker slid the bolt on the door closed. He wasn't taking any chances at anyone finding he wasn't home.
Ostin burst out of the stage doors at the side of the opera house, kicking off a white sock back into the building that was hanging loosely from one of his hind hooves. Tailor had certainly gotten carried away, trying to convince Ostin to at least try out one outfit that she was sure he would look the part in. Ostin had only just managed to get out of there, making a run for it when her back was turned.
He looked down the street towards the tram stop, just in time to see the ticket inspector stepping onto the rear platform and ringing the bell for the driver to set off. Of all the nights they could have chosen to actually run on time, it had to be this night! He knew there was no chance he would be able to catch up if he ran after it and silently cursed Madame Taylor for being the reason he missed it. However, he did have a rather large black umbrella thanks to her, so he was at least thankful that he wasn’t going to get drenched as he walked home in the pouring rain as he popped it open and held it up with a forehoof. He walked towards the front of the opera house, intending on finding where the tram tracks were amongst the mass of puddles in the cobbled street and simply following them back home, the streets were deserted enough for it in this weather.
Walking out onto the cobbled road, Ostin quickly found the tracks amongst rainwater, the light from the streetlights reflecting off of them and making them look like two parallel silver ribbons that stretched off into the distance. Not knowing how long it would take to walk home, Ostin put his free forehoof forward first, determined to get there as quickly as possible. His hoof splashed down into a puddle on the ground.
Then he stopped.
Very faintly, against the ambiance of the falling rain and thunder, he could hear something. It was hardly audible, but there was certainly something there, he just couldn’t pin point exactly where it was. It almost sounded like a mare sobbing. Ostin scanned his surroundings from underneath the umbrella, trying to pinpoint just who, or what, was the cause of the noise. It was very hard to make out what most things were behind the streaky lines of the falling rain. Then he saw her, huddled against the wall of the opera house underneath the glass canopy with her sadlebag, tucked up into a ball. He did wonder whether or not she was simply a homeless pony, trying to find the best means of shelter in such a heavy downpour, but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t see any danger in at least asking if there was anything he could do.
Mixy wasn’t sure just how long she had been huddled in a ball crying,
“Hello?”
Mixy stopped sobbing, her hooves still covering her eyes. She remained quite still, silently hoping that whoever it was that was trying to make conversation with her would just go away, she didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.
“Hello?” the voice came again, this time accompanied with a hoof that rocked her slightly.
Mixy still didn’t want to talk. Just from her listening she could tell it was a stallion trying to talk to her, and a rather young one at that given how his voice was slightly higher pitched than an older stallion. She then a slight thump on the ground in front of her, which she assumed was the stallion sitting down on the ground. It seemed pretty clear to her that this stallion wasn’t going to leave her alone until she answered him. She lifted her head up from her knees. She didn’t care how she looked; she just wanted him to go away.
“Will you please just…” she stopped talking instantly.
There, sat before her for the second time that week, was Ostin. His trademark style of wearing a slightly unfashionable sweater vest and shirt combination was unmistakable, along with his grey coat and neatly combed yellow hair.
Mixy’s jaw dropped once again. Ten seconds ago she had wanted to punch him round the face for disturbing her, now she wasn’t sure how to react. She slowly leaned forward, squinting her eyes slightly to make sure she it wasn’t just her eyesight playing tricks on her. She waved a forehoof from side to side in front of Ostin’s face, slightly convinced that he was just a hallucination that would blow away in the breeze. It was only when Ostin reached out with one of his forehooves and grabbed hers to stop he waving so closely to his face that she became convinced that he was actually real.
“I believe we’ve already met?” Ostin asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t be too sure given how the rain had messed up her coat, but he was fairly certain it was the same mare.
Mixy just nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“Do you need any help?” “I’m trying to head towards the hills just outside the town, though I’m not to sure where I’m heading though” She wiped away the tears from her eyes. “Well, you certainly picked the worst night for it” Ostin laughed.
Mixy just stared at him from her sitting position. Cearly Ostin didn’t actually know who she was. That didn’t bother her though; she quite liked somepony who didn’t judge her just because of what the rest of her family was like.
Ostin slowed down his laughing as he came to an awkward stop; clearly his sense of humour was still pretty awful “I can take you as far as the house I live at, it’s not that far from the edge of the town. You could stay there until the storm has passed over if you like?” Mixy didn’t normally make a habit of going home with stallions only minutes after being properly introduced, but given that anything was better than her current situation, she was willing to make an exception “That would be nice”
Ostin extended a hoof, helping Mixy up onto all four before standing up himself. This took her quite by surprise, even all the upper class stallions her parents had introduced her too had never been this courteous, and he was even holding the umbrella for her.
“Are you ready?” Ostin asked “I might be quite a trek there”
Mixy just nodded. Despite hardly knowing Ostin, she felt safe with him. Walking side by side, with their bodies pretty much pressed up against each other side by side, they walked off into the rain.
Ostin looked towards Mixy “So you’re Mixed Media then, I take it?” Mixy nodded “And you’re Ostinato, I take it?” Ostin extended the forehoof he was using to hold up the umbrella towards Mixy, shaking the hoof that she lifted in return.
The two of them needn’t have worried about the walk back to Sandy and Tonnage’s house taking a long time, since it gave them both a chance to get their proper introductions to each other out of the way. Mixy seemed to be fascinated with Ostin recounting his life so far to the point when he moved to Colton-on-Sea, listening intently as Ostin talked away, finding the lifestyle of not having too much money and taking whatever he had for granted fascinating. The two were so engrossed in their life stories, laughing and joking with each other that they almost forgot to watch where the tramlines were heading along the road.
The highlight though of their journey for Mixy was when Ostin tried to demonstrate to her his love for music and how it could sometimes be more powerful than words, which came to a climax when he tried to copy a stunt from the musical ‘Neighing in the Rain’, swinging round on a lamppost by one of his forehooves whilst still holding the umbrella with his other forehoof. Unfortunately, he was forgetting just how slippery a metal lamppost could be in the rain, and ended up slipping right off it and into a deep puddle in the gutter. Despite making a total fool of himself, Ostin couldn’t stop laughing at the thought of how he must have looked to Mixy, who suddenly found herself uncontrollably laughing as well. Continuing on their way, the two of them found themselves unable to stop laughing, not just at Ostin, but also at previous times they’d come so close to meeting eachother, and the tiny little things that had stopped them from properly getting aquainted, such as Ostin falling flat on his face and the two of them mixing up their University I.D. cards, which they promptly swapped back with one another, Mixy finding Ostin’s technique of storing the card in his mane quite surprising. She’d never seen something like that before.
Soon though, their journey came to an end. Ostin stopped outside Sandy and Tonnage’s house, taking a deep breath to try and recompose himself. He hadn’t laughed that much in quite a long time.
“Well, this is it” he pointed up at the tall, slim terrace house. “It’s…nice” were the only words that came to Mixy’s mind. She was trying to get around the fact that three ponies could live together in a house so small. “Oh, it’s nothing compared to what you’re used to I expect” “No, it’s nice” Mixy said “I’d more likely live in a small house that feels full than live in a big house with several empty rooms like I currently do” “Well, maybe someday…” Ostin trailed off, suddenly realising he was thinking out loud. Mixy looked straight at him “Go on…” “No, it’s silly…” Ostin looked straight back at her.
An awkward silence ensued as the two of them stared straight at each other, save for the sound of the falling rain. A silence that seemed to last forever.
“Mixed Media?!” A rather familiar voice shouted from the end of the street, causing Mixy’s ears to stand to attention.
She craned her head round to see who it was shouting her name from behind her to see Parker stood at the end of the road, his cape dripping with rainwater given how long he had been walking around for. Mixy was happy to see him
“Who’s that?” Ostin asked “Your dad?” Mixy gave him a playful shove “Pfft! Hardly, that’s his butler”
Secretly Ostin was impressed, assuming that Mixy’s family must be posh if they sent their butler out to look for their daughter, not knowing that Parker had come at his own accord.
“Well” Ostin paused “I guess this is it then, you’ve found a way back” Mixy nodded slowly “I suppose so” “Well, goodbye…Mixy” “Goodbye… Ostin”
Mixy ran off towards Parker, the splashes she made in the puddles on the pavement flying out into the road given how much strength she was using to run along. She practically threw her forehooves around Parker.
“Good evening, M’Lady” “How did you find me?” “Well M’Lady, being from what your father would call the ‘lower classes’, I know a few ponies through the town. All I had to do was simply make a few enquiries till I could work out the general direction you were heading in. And with the streets being almost empty tonight it made it easier for other ponies to spot you” Parker looked behind Mixy, spying Ostin still stood out in the street under his umbrella “And who’s that, if you don’t mind me asking?” “You remember that stallion I told you about a while back? That’s him” “I see” Parker unfastened his cape from around his neck with his magic, levitating it round to Mixy and fastening the cords round her neck “And is he all you imagined?” Mixy looked back at Ostin “Oh Parker, he’s such a sweet little stallion. He’s got far more manners than any colt my parents have introduced me to. I just feel like we said goodbye in a rather awkward way” Parker sighed “M’Lady, forgive me for being so bold, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard you talk about somepony like this before, and it seems clear to me that you are starting to physically show certain…affections for this young stallion” He whispered in her ear “Go back to him and have a proper goodbye. I’ll wait, a few more minutes in the rain won’t exactly hurt me”
Mixy drew back, looking deep into Parker’s eyes. There was a small twinkle in them.
“You do have a soft soppy side to you, don’t you Parker?”
Parker just smiled.
Ostin couldn’t hear what was going on at the end of the road, but he could see both Mixy and Parker talking to each other. After a couple of minutes though, he decided that was most probably the end of his adventures for the day. He turned to walk up the steps to the front door of the house.
“Ostin!”
Ostin turned back around to see Mixy trotting towards him, a big beam on her face.
“Thank you. Seriously” Mixy smiled “You’ve made what was a terrible day end on a high note”
She leant in closer towards Ostin, with him moving his head backwards, unsure what to expect. On a totally random impulse she put a forehoof round the back of his neck and pulled Ostin back towards her, planting a kiss on the cheek, causing the young stallion to become very still, but with his cheeks turning a noticeable shade of red.
“Perhaps we could meet up again next time you’re at the University?” Mixy asked, untying the crimson bow from behind her ear. “I…bu…wha?” Ostin was still in shock from being kissed, struggling to get the words out of his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes” Mixy smiled, throwing the untied strip of fabric behind Ostin’s neck, before tying the bow back up round Ostin’s neck, making sure it was tucked underneath his shirt collar, before turning round and heading back towards Parker “Good Night, Ostin!”
Ostin just stood there, frozen on the spot, watching continuously as Mixy trotted back towards Parker and bot of them walked off into the night. He did manage to wave goodbye slightly though with the forehoof he was using to hold up his umbrella, though it wasn’t very animated. As soon as they’d rounded the corner at the bottom of the street though he instantly found a spring in his step, leaping up the steps to the front door of the house three at a time and pretty much flinging himself through the doorway. He immediately folded up his umbrella and left it by the coat hanger at the doorway, shedding his saddlebag from his back as well. Noticing the doorway to the living room left open, he made his way inside.
Sandy was leant back against the cushions on the sofa, her glasses lying on a shelf at the side indicating that she’d been taking a short nap. Tonnage was sat on his usual two seat sofa reading the evening paper, once again making the large piece of furniture look like a regular sized armchair.
Stretching her limbs whilst remaining sat down, Sandy let out a rather unrefined yawn “And how was your day, Ostin?”
Ostin still couldn’t speak a single sentence, instead producing a stifled laughter as he climbed to sit on the sofa beside Sandy, a goofy smiling stretching across his face.
Tonnage looked across at Ostin, a quizzical look on his face, then at Sandy, finding no explanation there, he looked back at Ostin briefly before returning to his paper.
“Ostin?” Sandy leant forward, sniffing the air in front of him “Are you drunk?”
Again, all Ostin could do was make a vague sort of laughing noise.
Sandy pulled him closer to herself on the sofa, replacing her glasses upon the end of her nose and using them to inspect the soaked crimson bowtie that was now tied around the neck of his shirt, along with what looked like a faint lipstick mark on his cheek.
“Do you know Tonnage” She said “I believe our young Ostin is in love”
All Ostin could do was produce a series of indistinguishable gurgling noises in his lovesick state as Sandy gently stroked his mane.
As much as he tried to hide his age, Parker was already starting to accept that he wasn’t as young as he once was. His knees and ankles creaked and groaned as he ascended the cramped, spiral staircase in the heart of Lord Spyglass’s house. His butler’s jacket that was once only just big enough to contain his figure now began to hang loosely round his thinning body and forelegs.
Reaching the first 'upstairs' level of the staircase, opening out into what was known as the Octagon Lobby, Parker set down the large copper kettle that he had been carrying with his magic aura onto the hoof stitched Saddle-Arabian carpet in order to catch his breath. The steam rising from both the spout and under the small gaps in the lid indicating the kettle was full of piping hot water, straight from the kitchen. Even his magic was growing weaker, a few years ago he would have been able to bound up the stairs two at a time without even a thought of spilling the hot water or losing his balance, but now he was having to take short breaks every now and again when lifting things. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d almost dropped the bowl of sprouts into Lady Jewel’s lap at the dinner table.
Hearing one of the doors to the dining room to his left click open, Parker inhaled deeply and plucked the kettle from the carpet as quickly as he could with his teeth. If his lordship caught him taking a quick breather, there was no doubt in Parker’s mind that Spyglass would look into a younger replacement for him without hesitation. Turning his head to look he was relieved to see that it was in fact the young maid that his lordship had recently employed, roughly the same age as Mixed Media, trying to make her rounds of dusting the vast array of antiques that her employers owned whilst not being seen. They both exchanged a silent nod with each other, before parting their separate ways amongst the house, the maids soft hoofsteps on the carpet being the only noise throughout the lobby as she made her way through the room to the east entrance of the house.
Parker made his way further up the spiral staircase till he reached the next floor, swapping from carrying the kettle with his teeth to using his magic again. The small, lattice framed windows and the dark oak panelling that lined the walls made it seem darker than it actually was, the tiny lamps that lined the corridor flickering in the semi-darkness. Coming to a stop outside one of the doors, Parker set down the copper kettle on the floor once again, raising one of his forehooves and giving three shot, sharp knocks on the door, just above a small brass plaque that simply read ‘Mixed Media’.
“Come in!” Mixy replied from the other side.
Picking up the kettle with his magic again, Parker raised a fore-hoof and opened the door to the room, slowly letting himself in. He had to squint his eyes slightly as he entered the bedroom, as it was totally at odds with the corridor he’d just been stood in. The thin, tall ceilinged, cramped, dark oak panelling gave way to a bright and airy room, painted in a shade of pale yellow that only helped to enhance the morning sunshine that was flooding into the room through three rectangle large windows on the opposite side of the room, set in a bay pattern. Ever the modest pony Mixy was, a changing screen stood unfolded just beyond the end of the bed, the steam from her morning bath rising from behind, allowing her a view of the coast as she bathed.
Parker walked up to the screen “I’ve brought the extra water you required to wash your mane with, M’Lady”
Parker floated the kettle round to the other side of the side of the screen, gently lowering it down to ground level before letting go. The relief he felt from letting go of the weight washing over him instantly.
“Thank you Parker” Mixy replied.
Parker busied himself looking around from where he sat whilst he waited for the empty kettle. A tall four poster bed stretched out into the room from the wall that backed onto the corridor, the plush violet quilt dropping off of the sides of the mattress and sweeping down to the floor, matching the curtains. Despite being slept in the bed was neatly made, almost with military precision. In-between two large plumped pillows sat the tiny figure of a rag doll pony, clearly worn, but also clearly loved. Parker and Cook had both cobbled together to buy the doll when Mixy was a tiny filly for her birthday, much to the annoyance of Lord Spyglass and Lady Jewel, who were both of the mindset that young ponies shouldn’t own such things and grow up as quickly as possible. Despite numerous attempts by them both to try and dispose of the doll, both Parker and Cook always took the time to stitch up any tears that would mysteriously appear or return it to Mixy’s room if either of them happened to come across it in a far off part of the house or gardens. On the left hand side of the room a large white wardrobe stretched upwards, Parker using his magic to lift down a folded towel that had been placed on top of it.
The sound of water splashing indicated to Parker that Mixy was climbing out of the large tub.
“I may never really be all that keen on having ponies doing everything for me Parker, but there’s one thing I can’t deny, you’ve certainly mastered the art of making the perfect bath” “My father was a pit pony, M’Lady. The amount of soap suds and skill required to get the vast amount of coal dust out of his coat, mane and tail on a daily basis was incredible!”
One of Mixy’s forehooves poked round from behind the screen. Parker handed her the towel.
“Yes” Parker continued, reminiscing “I’d have to spend at least one night a week after school with a grater turning bars of soap into fine shavings, just so that the our weekly soap budget would hopefully last longer. I’ve probably still got some small flakes of lavender stuck in these hooves somewhere” He inspected one of his forehooves, almost expecting a small light purple flake to suddenly become prominent.
Mixy stepped out from behind the screen, the towel hung round her neck, trying to clear out the small amount of bath water still left in her ears.
“What an interesting life you’ve had Parker” “Oh, I’d hardly say that M’Lady” Mixy quickly changed the subject “I was wondering, when you’re taking me to the university, if we could possibly-“
A high pitched whistling sound could be heard emanating from the corridor, indicating that either Lord Spyglass or Lady Jewel were using the speaking tube system that ran like veins through the house to contact try and Parker.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you later” Mixy lifted the towel over her head and started to use it to hoof dry her mane again “You’d better see what my parents want” Parker picked up the empty kettle in his magic again “I’ll have the carriage waiting, M’Lady”
In the bathroom of the his and Sandy’s small terrace house, Tonnage’s head and forehooves rested on the rim of the enormously deep bathtub, just above the steaming hot water. His recently washed mane, still smelling strongly of a mix of citrus fruits, was tied up behind his head in a large towel to match his size. A small radio on a shelf at the side of the bath gently played out jovial classical music, which Tonnage quietly hummed along to as he leafed through one of Sandy’s magazines that she always left on the stand beside the bath. Relaxing even more in the hot water, his eyelids began to feel heavier and heavier…
“AAARRRGGGHHH!!!”
The scream of a young stallion went straight through the house, causing Tonnage to bolt upright in surprise.
“Ostin! I told you the suds wouldn’t get in your eyes and ears if you just stayed still!” Sandy’s shouting almost rivalled Ostin’s screaming.
With a smug grin starting to stretch across his face, Tonnage laid back down in his bath and went back to reading about how to convert a pair of old curtains into pillowcases. It was times like this he was happy he was too large to fit in the old tin bath.
In the small green living room downstairs, Sandy was struggling to keep Ostin from escaping from the small tin bath which she had set up in front of the black metal fireplace. Ostin was certainly unhappy with the current situation.
“Sandy, I’m…” Ostin briefly stopped struggling as a jug of bathwater was poured over his head to try and wash away the soap suds, his mane washing down over his eyes “…I’m perfectly capable of washing myself!”
“That’s as maybe, but I know you young stallions, you can somehow have a wash without even getting your mane, tail, or even the soap wet!” Sandy began rubbing a bar of soap in Ostin’s yellow hair, lathering it up “And you want to look nice for your first day of classes, don’t you?”
“It’s a university! It’s hardly-” Ostin stopped as Sandy used her magic to pour another pot of the bathwater over him “It’s hardly the Ritz of Canterlot!”
Sandy didn’t listen though as she grabbed a giant scrubbing brush with her magic aura. Given how the brush head was almost as big as his own, Ostin could immediately tell it belonged to Tonnage. He winced slightly as Sandy began using it to scrub behind the back of his ears.
“So” Sandy continued, changing the subject “Who is this mystery mare of yours that you’re so reluctant to talk about?”
Ostin groaned and submerged his mouth below the water line, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
“Come on, a clue perhaps? Tonnage and I might know them” Sandy stopped scrubbing for a brief moment “It isn’t the one who’s I.D. card you got mixed up with is it? Now, what was that name again…”
Ostin’s eyebrows dropped further down his face in annoyance.
“…anyway” Sandy said, brushing with some force again “You can’t be silent about it forever Ostin!” She finally stopped brushing, pouring a final large cup of water over Ostin before plucking him from the tin bath, setting him down on soft towels on the floor beside it “Everyone’s bound to find out sooner or later”
Ostin still refused to talk about Mixy as he sat there, the remnants of the bath water dripping off of him and onto the towels. He picked up a spare hoof towel at the side of him and began rubbing his mane dry.
“No need to hoof dry yourself, Ostin” Sandy said.
Ostin pulled the towel away from his face, but before he had time to react he was confronted with the full force of a hairdryer. He could feel his gums and eyelids being forced back by the strength of the hot air, briefly stopping when Sandy progressed the dryer along his coat and tail, before returning to his mane. It took him a few seconds to recover when Sandy finally turned it off. Blinking his eyelids several times, he regained his focus to find Sandy trying to stifle a laugh.
“What is it?” Ostin tilted his head slightly sideways.
Sandy moved a fore hoof to cover her mouth “…nothing…”
Gingerly, Ostin raised one of his forehooves to feel the front of his mane. He pressed down, taking his hoof away and feeling his mane brush against his hoof as it sprang back into place.
Sandy’s lips quivered, and her left eyelid started to flinch behind her glasses.
Ostin bolted from the living room and tore through the house as he raced up to his room in the attic, slamming open the bedroom door and running over to the full length mirror. As he stood there his worst fears were confirmed before his eyes. His coat, mane and tail has becoming incredibly fluffy, the top of his mane springing up from the top of his head. He tried to flatten it down again with a hoof, only to find that it sprung up again just as quickly.
Accepting his fluffy state, he let out a heavy sigh as he walked over to the wardrobe to pick out a sweater vest for the day.
A few minutes later, with a highly audible clunk, Tonnage slid the bolt on the bathroom door open. Pulling open the door he whistled a piece of music that he’d heard on the radio during his long, drawn out bath. He stopped himself just in time before he trod on Ostin, waiting outside the door, with one of giant hooves. Looking down at the small, fluffy stallion, Tonnage struggled to contain his laughter as much as Sandy.
Ostin glared back at him “You say one word…”
Like always, Tonnage said nothing, but his smug smile on the other hand spoke a thousand words.
Having been summoned by his lordship, Parker stepped into the gallery. Of all the rooms in the manor this one was probably his least favourite, mainly due to the ever lingering smell of cigar smoke. Despite a large oak panelled billiards table being the centrepiece of the room, his lordship hardly ever played billiards, mainly using the room as a means to show off his wealth to his guests. But when he was simply playing the game by himself, as he was now, Parker knew it could only mean one thing, he was deeply annoyed about something. Spyglass was at the opposite end of the table carefully trying to line up a simple straight shot, attempting to pocket a single red ball.
“Tell me Parker, how is my daughter this morning” “She’s well M’Lord” Parker replied “Your lesson of making her thankful for what you provide to her seems to have been well learned yesterday evening”
Parker lied through his teeth. His lordship still didn’t know that he’d actually gone out and found Mixy during the rain storm the previous night. After sneaking back through the tiny window into his room downstairs when they returned to the manor, he’d also helped her further by supplying Mixy with enough hot water bottles and blankets to help keep a possible case of pneumonia away.
“Interesting” Spyglass squinted his eyes as he took aim. He reached into his smoking jacket pocket and removed a slip of paper “Do you know what this is” “It appears to be a telegraph messaging slip, M’Lord” “It came from a friend of mine in the town. They were walking home last night during the rain, when they passed a pony walking in the middle of the tramway who they’re certain was my daughter” “It sounds like your daughter shows initiative, M’Lord. The tram terminus is quite close to the hill leading up to the house” “Be that as it may, they…” he studied his shot again “…they also mentioned that she was with a stallion” Parker froze. silently praying that he hadn’t been identified “A-A stallion, M’Lord?” “Yes…” Spyglass took his shot, failing to pocket the red ball miserably “A young grey one apparently, offering her shelter and directions from under a large umbrella”
Parker sighed with relief internally, realising that it was Ostin who she’d been seen with.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my daughter and a young stallion, would you?” Spyglass asked, looking down his nose at Parker. “No M’Lord” Not for the first time that morning, Parker lied through his teeth to his employer in good faith.
Setting down his cue on the table, Spyglass slowly walked the whole 11ft of the tables’ length towards Parker, coming to a stop dead in front of him and staring straight into his eyes, their noses almost touching. A few beads of sweat started to form on Parker’s brow.
“If you hear anything at all, either from my daughter or from anyone else, tell me. I’ll not have my daughter associating with a member of the lower classes” Spyglass headed towards the door that joined the room to the west wing, opening it “I know the class of people you associate with in the town are always gossiping about us Parker. Something might turn up. I want to nip this in the bud before it gets out of hoof”
He left the room, shutting the door behind himself.
A few moments passed before Parker dared to let out a heavy sigh of relief, face planting the green baize of the billiards table.
Shortly, on the outskirts of the town, Parker was waiting at a set of traffic lights, letting out a yawn and shivering slightly in the cold morning breeze. Mixy, as per normal, was stood on her hind legs on the front seats of the carriage, looking out ahead from the open front window.
“Are you quite sure this is what you want to do M’Lady?” “Of course. It’s only polite to return the favour Parker” “But what if your father finds out? I told you how he suspects that something might be up”” “Leave that to me. As long as I add a fancy made up title to Ostin’s name, father won’t care one bit!”
Parker chuckled to himself. That certainly did sound like something that his Lordship wouldn’t give a second thought about. Giving another heave as the light turned green, Parker pulled the carriage further into the suburbs of Colton-on-Sea.
Ostin wasn’t happy.
He slammed the front door to the house shut and stomped down the stone steps onto the tree lined pavement, his fuzzy mane bobbing up and down with every hoofstep. Walking down the street to the tram stop, once again he tried to use one of his forehooves to flatten down his springy, fluffy mane in vain. He grumbled to himself as he carried on his way, hearing the tell-tale sound of scraping metal that indicated a tram was approaching the stop. He didn’t hurry though, the track from the stop heading towards the university climbed steeply and curved along the cobbled street, so there was always the option of simply jumping on the slow moving tram if it happened to set off beforehand.
Caught up in his thoughts and staring dead ahead at the cream and red double decker tram parked at the stop across the road, he walked straight off the end of the curb and into the road without looking.
A high pitched whiney instantly caught his attention.
Ostin looked to his right to see a horse and carriage heading straight for him. Realising the situation he was now in his ears immediately flicked backwards and his pupils shrunk to tiny dots. He could have run out of the way to the safety of the pavement, but instead he did the most noble thing any stallion would have done. He curled himself into a ball, covered his eyes with his forehooves and screamed as he waited for the inevitable.
The carriage swerved to the right at the last moment, coming to a sharp stop alongside Ostin, its front wheels barely missing his nose. A loud thump could be heard as something flung forward inside the carriage, followed by the door flinging open, revealing Mixy, her eyes still spinning round and round in their sockets. She swayed slightly as she tried to steady herself, a swift knock of her head against the door frame seemed to do the trick.
“Mixy?!” Ostin asked, slightly puzzled “What are you doing here?” “Ostin, you never told me you had a twin!” Mixy’s dizziness was troubling her vision.
Parker, who by now had unfastened himself from the carriage after the sudden stop, walked up alongside, looking rather concerned for Mixy’s condition.
“But I…” Ostin decided to approach the carriage doorway, cautiously “How many hooves am I holding up?” Ostin held up a single fore hoof in front of Mixy’s face. “Five!” Mix exclaimed, a little too loudly “…how are you doing that?” “Ok, I think you need to sit down for a bit” “Nonsense” Mixy closed her eyes and lifted her nose in retaliation “I’m fine”
She raised a hoof to take a step down from the carriage, promptly missing her footing by a long shot and landing in a heap on top of Ostin.
Parker shook his head sympathetically “A helping hoof, M’lady?” He reached down with one of his forehooves, lifting up one of Mixy’s in return and helping to guide her back up and into the carriage.
“So” Ostin turned to Parker “Not to sound rude, but what are you two doing here?” “The young lady thought it best to return the favour after you helped guide her last night and offer you a trip back into the town in the carriage for your trouble” Parker used his magic to remove Ostin’s saddlebags and lifted them into the carriage “I take it you’re heading to the university today as well?” “Yes” Ostin climbed up the metal steps and into the carriage. Parker started to shut the door, then stopped “Oh, there’s an empty ice bucket in the compartment under the back seats should travelling along the cobbled streets prove…nauseating…” “But I don’t get travel sick” Ostin stated, almost instantly realising what Parker meant, turning his head to look at Mixy, who was now sat hunched over in her seat with her head in her hooves “…oh…”
The majority of the dizziness in Mixy’s head soon vanished as they traveled along, the carriage rocking gently to and fro having a calming effect, though she still found it easier to keep her hooves over her eyes. Ostin however, was mainly focused on making sure she kept sitting upright in her seat. He kept feeling somewhat nervous every time she unintentionally started to lean against his body as a support. She eventually slid down onto her side from her sitting position and rested her head in his lap, causing Ostin to panic somewhat.
Mixy pulled her hooves back from her eyes slightly, revealing her blue irises “What’s wrong?” “N-Nothing!” Ostin tried to put on a convincing smile, but failed miserably. “Anypony would think you’ve never been near a mare before”
Ostin just stared ahead blankly, just letting it sink in in his mind that, indeed, this was actually the first time he’d been close a mare of his age. Mixy let out a small chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” “Nothing, it’s just” Mixy tried to contain a giggle “Having only properly seen you in the pouring rain, I had no idea your coat and mane could be this fluffy naturally” “It is not this fluffy naturally!” Ostin crossed his fore-hooves in annoyance, pouting “It’s just the results of excessive soap suds, that’s all” “Sure it is!” Mix rolled her eyes in a sarcastic fashion, shaking her head slightly. “So” Ostin looked around the well styled and plush interior of the carriage “I suppose this must have cost quite a few bits. Is your family really posh or something?”
Mixy froze slightly. So far she hadn’t mentioned anything about her parents or her background to Ostin, and she felt like he was actually treating her just like a regular pony because he didn't know. If he found out, would his attitude suddenly change? Would he suddenly become like one of the many suitors her parents had chosen, simply being in her company for the chance of possibly obtaining some of their wealth? Or would he become like some of the staff at the university, whom knowing her background would tremble in fear in her presence, treating her like royalty and feeling as if any mistake they made could result in them being sacked on the spot? Panicking slightly, she tried to think of a convenient explanation.
“It’s a taxi carriage” Mixy blurted out. “Really?” Ostin seemed surprised “Taxi’s must be far posher in this region of Equestria than from where I’m from. That, and judging from the lack of signage on the outside, far more inconspicuous” “Yes…” Mixy’s voice nervously trailed off, unsure as to whether he believed her or not.
She could only hope.
Having been dropped off in the carriage park next to the university’s tram stop, both of them walked into the spacious dome in the heart of the university. To say it was still early in the morning it was fairly busy, mainly due to the majority of the classes and lectures taking place early in the day to avoid the heat of the midday sun making the building’s internal temperature soar.
“So…tea?” Ostin tilted his head to gesture towards the circular cafe counter in the centre of the dome. “Do you know if they have gunpowder tea?” Mixy asked. Ostin stopped dead in his tracks “Gunwhatnowtea?” Mixy sucked her lips in, if Ostin found out what gunpowder tea was, and more importantly how refined and expensive it could be, the chances are he’d suddenly realise how posh her family background actually was. Ostin stared at the large blackboard at the start of the queue “It simply says ‘Tea’. I can ask-“ “NO!” Mixy quickly lifted up a forehoof as Ostin turned his head back to look at her, unfortunately wedging it firmly in his mouth, taking him by surprise “Um, I mean, why go to all that trouble. Tea’s tea after all” She shrugged, averting her gaze. She looked back at Ostin, hoping her words, and her slightly unintentional hoof, were enough to pacify his curiosity “Is something wrong?” Ostin pulled her forehoof from his mouth “You’re hoof polish tastes awful!”
Mixy stood by one of the tall potted trees in the dome, patiently waiting as she watched Ostin ordering tea for two from the crowded, circular counter. Occasionally she would see him scratching at his tongue, still trying to get the taste of her hoof polish out of his mouth, raising a few concerned eyebrows from the counter staff.
Relaxing slightly, she began to let her mind wander as she looked up the stained glass and iron girder structure of the dome, focusing on the lead lining that joined all the individuals pieces of coloured glass together, how it all linked together like a giant metal spiderweb suspended in the sky. As the sun started to creep higher into the sky she then started to focus on the different hues being cast onto the speckled white marble floor, the shadows cast the branches and leaves from the potted trees creating a weird assortment of shapes like shadow puppets. Already the artist inside of her was putting together the idea for a new piece. But how to produce it? Oil paints, watercolours…
“Mixy?”
Mixy snapped out of her day dream to find Ostin stood in front of her. He handed her a simple takeaway style cup.
“What’s this?” Mixy was surprised. “…tea” Ostin replied, rather bluntly.
Mixy sat down on the polished marble floor, fiddling with the flimsy plastic lid with a forehoof. She was expecting a china teacup, or at the very least a large mug. She was fairly certain thats what regular ponies drank their tea out of. Prising it off, she was in fact quite surprised to find that it was indeed filled with tea. Quite a strong brew at that.
“Is something wrong” Ostin asked, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow.
Mixy suddenly became aware of how odd she must be appearing to him.
She let out a nervous laugh as she slammed the lid back on the cup “Nope, nothing at all. Totally normal. Let’s try find a table!”
She trotted off, a rather awkward smile stretched across her face. Ostin lingered behind for a few seconds. Perhaps that knock to the head had done more damage than he thought. He gingerly followed after her.
Finding an empty table for two next to a shady potted tree on the edge of circular cafe, Mixy set down her tea.
Ostin joined her as she pulled up her chair “You’re sure you’re ok?” “Never better” Mixy nervously lied, resting her head in her forehooves as she stared at Ostin. “Ok, if you’re sure…” Ostin still had his doubts, taking a big slurp from his cup in one last effort to wash away the last of the hoof polish taste from his mouth, slightly burning his tongue in the process.
Mixy continued to stare at him rather blankly at he as he almost threw his cup down on the table, frantically scratching at his tongue in a comic fashion to try and get rid of the sandpaper effect. She started to think things over in her mind. She was fairly certain that Ostin was going to find out about her background sooner or later, no matter how many times she tried to simply brush it over. Perhaps it would be better to simply place all her cards on the table as she’d heard her father say a few times before in a business sense. From the little amount of time she’d spent with Ostin she was fairly certain the news wouldn't affect their relationship...hardly, anyway.
“Ostin, there’s-“ “Oh no” Ostin’s pupils shrunk slightly as he stopped scratching his tongue. “What is it?” “Over there, the stallion walking this way” Mixy looked amongst the ponies pottering about the entrance to the dome “You mean the cream coloured one with the golden mane in the white scarf? What about him?” Ostin quickly looked round, reaching into a leaflet stand for the student run clinic and plucking out the first one that came to hoof “Maybe he won’t notice if we don’t make eye contact”
It was unfortunate for Ostin that Mixy happened to know the pony in question as well.
Quaver started to unfasten his scarf as he walked right up to them both “Good morning, Miss Media. I’d didn’t realise you knew young Ostin here” he looked towards Ostin “I trust you’ve no silk robes to slip up on on your first day of university like you did in the opera house?” he chuckled slightly at his own joke.
Ostin’s eyebrows dropped in annoyance, though Mixy was trying not to giggle from behind one of her forehooves.
Quaver turned back to look at her “I trust your parents are well?” “They’re as well as can be, thank you” Mixy replied, politely. “You can inform your father that the redecoration to his private box in the auditorium has been finished, just this morning actually” Mixy winced, noticing Ostin’s ears prick up at this piece of information, hoping he wouldn’t question it “I’ll…tell him. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with the managers” Quaver checked his wristwatch “Nice to see you’re quite punctual Ostin. Wouldn’t want to be late for your first lecture from me, would you?” “Your lecture?” Ostin looked up as he was about to take another sip from his cup. “Yes Ostin, I’m the lecturer for music history in the department here. Just because you’re spending one day away from the opera house doesn’t mean that I won’t know what you’re getting up to”
The tiny cogs in Ostin’s brain slowly began to whir into place as he realised his one day off from the theatre wasn’t really a day off after all.
Quaver started to move off, but suddenly stalled “Oh, I know I shouldn’t really be passing on my own judgement, given that I’m your tutor in the eyes of the law, but don’t worry about it, it can happen to anypony” he jabbed at the front of the leaflet with a forehoof “See you in the lecture hall, Ostin”
And with that, Quaver trotted away. Ostin looked at the cover, it read ‘So you think you’re incontinent’ in large, friendly letters on the cover. Mixy just gave him a smug smile in return, turning into laughter as Ostin hurriedly tried to stuff the leaflet back into its holder whilst failing at trying to do it unnoticed.
“So” Ostin changed the subject as he rubbed his forehooves down his sweater vest, as if wiping away some germs he’d picked up from the leaflet “How do your parents know Quaver?” “Oh, you know how it is” Mixy was trying to think of an excuse that wouldn’t reveal how upper class her parents were as her cheeks began to turn red “Old ponies all knowing each other…” “Yeah…” Ostin trailed off as he reminisced slightly at the thought of how his uncle seemed to know every pony in their small town and how to exploit them, and likewise how they all knew him and tried to avoid him like the plague.
For a brief moment they sat in silence together.
The giant clock suspended in the centre of the dome chimed the hour with a low, resonating ‘bong’, shattering the moment. Mixy almost sprang into life at the sound, leaping up onto all four hooves from the table.
“Well, I’d best be off” The awkward looking smile appeared on her face again as she snatched up her three quarter full cup of tea sharply, causing Ostin to flinch back slightly “Mustn’t be late for life drawing, the models hate it when you arrive late!”
Widening her awkward smile to a nightmare haunting point one last time, she trotted away from the table, breaking out into a gallop as she left the cafe.
“…I…ok…” Ostin sat there dumbfounded for a few minutes, before also making his way to his lecture in another part of the university, but at a slightly slower pace.
As she galloped through the narrow maze of corridors that formed the art department, Mixy ran through what she could remember of the morning’s events over in her head one last time. She hadn’t managed to tell Ostin about the exact details of her background as she’d initially hoped, but the more she thought about, the more it seemed like better idea not to tell him.
Though truthfully, deep down, she knew it would come out sooner or later. She just had to wait till the time was right to tell him.
Once again, the giant clock suspended at the top of the dome chimed the hour, signalling midday to the inhabitants of the university. At the edge of the dome, nearest the long corridor that lead to the main entrance stood Mixy, now on a short tea break. She rocked back and forth on her hooves as she waited…and waited. Then, amongst the ponies milling around to and fro, she spotted him.
“Ostin!”
Amongst the ponies walking towards her, Ostin’s ears clearly pricked up at the sound of his name above the rest.
He trotted over to Mixy “I didn’t expect to see you again before I left" “Tea break” Mixy explained. “Ah…” Ostin trailed off, looking away. “What is it?” “Well, there’s one thing that’s been nagging me all morning” “And that is?” Mixy tilted her head slightly. “You said earlier that we were in a taxi carriage” “…Yes…” Mixy didn’t like the sound of where this was going. “Then how come your father’s butler was pulling it?”
Mixy began to panic, trying to think of any way to shut Ostin up as the endless spew of words began to pour out of his mouth.
“Seems a little odd that a taxi company wouldn’t send one of its own drivers to-“
Thinking fast she simply kissed him on the cheek, leaving a very faint lipstick mark.
Instantly Ostin stopped talking, becoming still.
“I’ll see you soon” Smiling at him one last time, Mixy trotted off back into one of the many corridors that branched off from the dome.
A few seconds later, just like the last time she kissed him, a stupid goofy smile began to spread across Ostin’s face as his stomach felt like it was doing continuous somersaults.
He practically skipped all the way to the tram stop.
Ostin practically leaped through the door of the narrow terrace house, discarding his saddlebag by the door as he bounced down the hallway towards the rear of the house. Springing into the kitchen, he found Sandy sat at the table with a small sewing box, almost going crosseyed as she attempted to thread a needle. Tonnage, as per usual, was quietly reading through one of his seemingly endless supply of newspapers, a gigantic two pint sized mug in one of his forehooves.
Sandy looked up from her needle threading “You’ve got a spring in your step this evening”
Ostin just snickered slightly in his giddy state, sitting down at the table and pulling the teapot towards himself, preparing to pour himself a cupful.
“Honestly Ostin” Sandy levitated a damp cloth from the kitchen sink and started to scrub away the lipstick mark on his cheek “For how much of a fuss you made this morning, you’re doing a terrible job of keeping this mystery mare of yours a secret!”
Ostin’s eyebrows dropped down as he almost instantly snapped out of his lovesick state. He hated this conversation, although he knew it was an inevitable subject. He just wished he could put it off for a while longer.
“Actually, perhaps it would be better if I went and sorted out my notes…” Ostin pushed the teapot away and started to make a move back towards the hallway” “Oh no, Ostin” Ostin suddenly felt Sandy grabbing his tail with her magic and pulling him back along the slippy tiled kitchen floor, back into the chair at the table “We’re getting this sorted, right now”
Ostin face planted the table, letting out an annoyed groan.
Sandy continued trying to thread the needle, succeeding in just one go “Now, I promise you, whoever’s name it is it won’t leave my lips outside the four walls of this house. And it’s not as if Tonnage is likely to say anything, he’s hardly the most talkative pony there is!”
Tonnage briefly looked up from behind his paper disapprovingly.
“So, what’s her name then?” Sandy pressed Ostin, pouring him a cup of tea herself.
Ostin faintly mumbled something, his face still firmly planted on the table.
“What was that? You’re not going anywhere until I hear a name” Sandy gently tugged on his tail with her magic through the bars at the back of the chair, just to emphasise this. Ostin let out a heavy sigh as he lifted his head “Mixed Media”
Tonnage spat out his tea violently.
“Tonnage, please!” throwing down her needle and thread Sandy stood on her hind hooves on her chair, bringing herself up to his eye level so she could attempt to try and bear down on him “Do you know how long I spent mopping this floor this morning!”
Tonnage simply handed her the paper, folding it shut so that she could read the front page.
Almost snatching it from him, Sandy’s eyes quickly scanned it as she sat back down. She readjusted the horn-rimmed glasses on the end of her nose “What? What am I supposed to be looking at?”
Tonnage jabbed with his hoof at something on the page, which Sandy then focused on, suddenly drawing back and going as wide eyed as Tonnage. They both exchanged a nervous look with each other.
“What?” Ostin asked innocently.
Sandy looked back at Tonnage worryingly, he silently nodded at her. She sent the paper gliding along the table towards Ostin with a simple flick of her wrist. It landed perfectly square in front of him. There, in the bottom right hand quarter of the front was a small black and white photograph, accompanied with a caption. He didn’t bother to read it, skimming over the words.
Two tall and incredibly thin ponies dominated the photograph. The stallion, wearing a highly tailored suit, a silk cumber band, bowtie and top hat stared down his nose towards the camera, a look of disgust plastered across his face. A large glass of brandy appeared to be firmly rooted in one of his forehooves. The mare beside him wasn’t looking at the camera, almost as if in an attempt to try to hide and signs of age her face may show. A slight blur in the photograph showed that she would have been flicking her curled mane at the moment it was taken. A giant jewel, roughly a quarter of the size of a fully grown ponies head hung from around her neck on a chain, some of the loops also having containing smaller gems within them. A smaller, slightly plumper pony sat beside them in a silk dress, and ornate dragon pattern stretching down the back. The top of her black mane curled back round towards her grey coated ears. The expression on her face showed she had been caught off guard, clearly in conversation with another pony behind the other two. She was clearly being polite by trying to enjoy the occasion, but couldn’t quite hide an underlying discomfort at the situation.
It was Mixy.
He quickly looked back at the caption: ‘EXCLUSIVE: Photographs from the gala event at Spyglass Manor. Family members in attendance!’
Like most mornings, Sandy was lying awake in bed in the basement bedroom of the thin terrace house. To most ponies who’d never lived in a house on the coast, it would seem most peculiar having the master bedroom in the lowest room of the building, but Sandy could testify to the horrible squawking the seagulls made on the rooftops in the early hours of the mornings during high summer. At least being slightly below ground meant there was absolutely no chance of them roosting down there and giving her a rude awakening.
Even without the seagulls to wake her, Sandy had never been much of a sleeping in kind of pony. It was both a blessing and a curse that her ideas for her writing tended to manifest in the early hours of the mornings. Most mornings, like this one, the idea seemed to vanish the moment she opened her eyes, leaving her lying awake for hours on end trying to grasp at whatever strands of a dream she had left and scribble them down into a small notepad that she kept in the drawer of her bedside table. She hadn’t picked up her glasses from bedside her lamp yet, so all she could make out was a series of fuzzy and blurry shapes that made up the furnishings of the room, and the big blurry lump beside her in bed that was Tonnage.
Tonnage was laid to her right hand side with his back towards her, hogging most of the bedsheets and snoring away like the foghorn down at the harbour. He rolled over in his sleep to face her, with one of his giant forehooves swinging out as he shifted his body, flying down through the air towards her and swatting Sandy in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her slightly. His heavy foghorn like snoring continued, blowing her scruffy mane out of place more and more with each continuous breath, the smell of wine and cheese from supper the previous evening still lingering on his breath.
Taking a few moments to regain her breath, Sandy used all of her strength to heave Tonnage’s foreleg off of herself with all four of her hooves, throwing it over the other side of his body. Throwing the bedsheets alongside as well, she slipped down off the mattress and into her slippers, levitating her dressing gown over from the hook on the back of the door and stepping her forehooves through the sleeves like she did every morning, tying the cord round her waist snugly. Levitating her glasses from the bedside table and perching them on the end of her nose, she opened the door and slowly walked up the staircase to the ground floor of the house.
Sandy stepped out in the back garden, inhaling deeply through her nose, breathing in the fresh, cold, morning coastal air, accented with a hint of smoke from the railway viaduct visible beyond the bottom of the garden.
Being this early in the morning, she had no fear for any pony else seeing her in her scruffy state. Even if they did, she didn’t care, very few of the neighbours in the street were quick to judge. She used her magic to pick up a slightly battered metal watering can sitting on the ground by the back door, filling it from the rusty tap on the back wall. She set to work watering the flowerbeds that lined the edges of the garden. Despite the onset of winter gradually creeping in, her plants seemed to be putting up a good fight against the cold. Peering down her nose through the lenses of her glasses, she set down the watering can, instead using her magic to prise a lone slug from amongst the flower stems. Taking another quick look over the fences either side of the garden to make sure no pony was around, she flung it over the fence into next door’s garden. The stuck up mare next door had been boasting about her tulips too much for her liking during the summer anyway.
The piercing screech of a whistle from a steam train interrupted her moment of amateur botany, the rhythmic clanging and banging of the empty trucks from one of the returning overnight fish trains it was pulling back to the station crossing the joints in the rails on the viaduct providing a continuous soundtrack as Sandy turned back to the house. She looked up at the chimney, smirking at the two gulls that were roosting on the rim of the chimney pot. In a matter of minutes they’d be flying off with singed tail feathers once she’d lit the fire with her magic in the small living room.
Then she stopped.
Looking up at the back roof of the house again she could that the skylight for Ostin’s attic room was open wide. She tilted her head slightly as she thought about this some more. It’d been raining heavily in the middle of the previous night, so there was no chance of him having accidentally fallen asleep with it open.
She stepped back into the house, shutting the door behind her, Slowly, she made her way up to Ostin’s room, stopping briefly to take a detour by the tin kettle on the cooker hob.
Having climbed to the top of the stairs, Sandy stood outside the door to Ostin’s room. She couldn’t hear anything coming from the other side. She pressed one of her ears up against the door, just to make sure. No, Ostin didn’t sound like he was awake, perhaps he had fallen asleep with the window open after all. Extending a hoof, she pushed the doorknob as gently as she could, trying to create as little noise as possible. There was a load creak. Sandy bit her lip.
“I know you’re there, Sandy” Ostin yawned from behind the door.
Sandy pushed the door open, walking in to find Ostin sitting up in bed, with only his head, chest and forelegs sticking out from underneath the thick, plush quilt.
Have you been awake all night again?” Sandy asked.
Ostin nodded silently. He yawned as his eyelids closed and his head lolled downwards, startling himself awake as his chin made contact with his chest. The dark patches under his eyes certainly confirmed this.
As much as Ostin thought he’d done a good job of hiding it, both Sandy and Tonnage couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t been his normal, happy self for the past two days. He’d been far slower, almost plodding round the house, half dragging his hooves on the carpet. He’d spent many hours sat at he kitchen table, his head resting on top as his forehooves dangled in the air between it and his chair.
“You’re still thinking about her?” Sandy jumped up on the end of the bed and laid back, resting her back against the wall the side of the bed was put up against. She gently rubbed one of Ostin’s hind legs, which was tucked snuggly under the covers.
“It’s just..” Ostin struggled to find the words “…I don’t understand why wouldn’t she tell me about her family background. She seemed pretty interested in mine!” “…Ostin…” Sandy sighed as she brushed a few stray strands of hair out of eyes “Besides that photograph in the newspaper” Sandy pointed at the article in question, pinned up on the wall she was resting against near Ostin’s headboard “how much do you know about Mixed Media’s background?” “Well…nothing…” Ostin mumbled sleepily, staring at her picture again.
Sandy took a moment to take a big drink from her mug, draining half the mug in the process.
“Let me bring you up to speed a bit” Sandy suggested.
Ostin’s ears pricked up slightly at this.
Sandy started to continue “As you no doubt gathered from the photo, she’s the daughter of the two most ‘well off’ ponies in the town. She-” “Mixy” “What?” “She prefers to be called ‘Mixy’” Osin corrected her, raising a hoof in a ‘matter of fact’ kind of way, his eyes still half closed. “Yes, well…” Sandy started again “…Mixy’s…parents both hail from very…” She struggled to find the words after being interrupted from her train of thought “…upper class families. We’re talking the upper crust of Canterlot here. Because of this it’s well known that her parents detest regular ponies like you, me and Tonnage. In fact, they hate what they’d call ‘commoner ponies’” she made air quotes with her hooves “so much that allegedly they don’t allow Mixy out of the grounds of their manor unless they’re attending the opera or she’s going to the university, or so the papers claim anyway. Tonnage certainly scoffed at the articles stating that they were meticulously looking through the records of her potential classmates before even considering letting her attend her art course”
Ostin rested his head back, rolling his eyes. Tonnage still hadn’t spoken since he’d first met him. He was still wondering whether he could speak.
“Have you ever thought that the reason she may not have told you, is because she thought you may start to judge her?” Sandy took another big sip from her mug “And perhaps the reason why she’s been so interested in your life is because she’s never known anything like it herself?”
Ostin nodded silently, his tiredness causing him to repeatedly bob his head up and down like a nodding dog.
“But that’s just my opinion” Sandy shrugged as she stared back into her quickly emptying mug “Perhaps you should just talk to her about it?”
A loud snore interrupted her. She looked up to find Ostin was now fast asleep, albeit in a rather uncomfortable looking slumped position. Putting her mug down and slipping off of the bed, she gently pulled Ostin down his bed, retaking him under the covers and plumping his pillows. There was certainly no chance of him waking up now. Using her magic again, she pulled the open window closed. The last thing she wanted was a stray gull flying in and disturbing him.
Taking a brief moment to shut Ostin’s agape mouth, she turned her attention to the desk on the opposite side of the room from the bed, pulling open the bottom draw of the the stack on its right hand side to revealing a large amount of paper and an assortment of odd pens within. She began frantically scribbling away at the paper, taking a moment every now and again to look back over at Ostin snoring away. Her work finished, she sealed the letter into a matching envelope and scribbling an address on the front:
‘THE CONDUCTOR, THE OPERA HOUSE, COLTON-ON-SEA’
Her horn glowed as she used an old spell of hers, in fact, one of the first ones she ever learned. In a flash, the letter disappeared, now en-route to its destination. Casting a final glance at Ostin sleeping, she silently headed back downstairs.
Mixy walked slowly down the sweeping stone steps outside the large oak front doors of the armoury to the family house. The carriage was parked square at the bottom of the final stair, with Parker sat beside it holding the door open.The two of them exchanged a silent nod as Mixy climbed aboard, ready to face the stoic silence as she she would stare blankly at her parents the whole length of the journey into the town.
The carriage door closing, the three of them jerked slightly as Parker heaved the carriage down the driveway of the estate. The constant clip clop of his hooves providing an almost hypnotic soundtrack.
“I’ll not have you embarrassing us with this…reckless…attitude that you seem to have taken on as of late, Mixed Media”
Mixy clenched her teeth behind her closed lips. She also tensed her hoof muscles, still remaining quite stoic and emotionless, unintentionally causing her joints to click loudly.
“Just do as your father says dear” Lady Jewel wasn’t paying any attention, instead focusing it all on making sure the giant emerald that hug from round her neck was as shiny as possible, even if it did physically weigh her down and cause her to stoop somewhat.
Mixy angrily breathed deeply, zoning out and focusing on the sound of Parker’s hooves on the cobbled roadway, staring straight past her parents and through the tiny window in the back of the carriage.
Ostin was laying down on the polished wood floor of the stage, one forehoof drooping over the edge of the opened trapdoor hole that accessed the innards of the big pipe organ, the other propping his head as he stared out into the cavernous auditorium. Despite rolling his sleeves up his forelegs as much as he could, he’d still managed to get himself covered in a good few splashes of black oil and grease, along with his mane, coat and tail. He could only image how berserk Sandy would go when he stepped through the door of her house later that evening.
Quaver was busy tinkering away in the gloom below stage, almost constantly banging metal against metal as he tried to disassemble part of the pipes that led to the flues. He was certain due to the recent noise distortion when playing the instrument that one of the percussionists had tried shoving party blowers down one of the pipes again. The main problem was finding out which pipe it was from the great mass.
One of his forehooves reached into the air in front of Ostin from the dark abyss “Spanner”
There came no response.
“Spanner!” he shouted a little louder this time.
Still there was no response. Scrambling around in the darkness briefly he poked his head out from the hole to find Ostin still laying there, but asleep, his head still resting on his forehoof.
Quaver gently and silently removed the spanner from his toolbox, raising it up before bringing it down quickly against the stage floor, making a bang loud enough to wake the dead, and giving Ostin a rather sudden, startled awakening.
“Do you need a mare to send me another note telling me you’ll be in later because you’re too tired?” Queer chuckled, a smug smile on his face. “No!” Ostin shouted back as Quaver ducked down into his hole once again.
Ostin sulked as he went back to keeping an eye on Quaver’s toolbox once more. He silently cursed Sandy for sending that note, he’d been the butt of most of Quaver’s jokes all morning because of it.
“Ostin!”
Ostin’s ears pricked up as he looked round to see Tailor trotting out from the stage wings, a small wicker tray of laundry levitating at her side in her magic aura.
She set her basket down on the boards “Is Quaver about?”
Ostin simply pointed down the hole.
“Oh, Quaver!” she sang, leaning down into the pit, the final note going slightly flat.
A muffled clang was the response, followed by some rather quiet cursing through gritted teeth, the kind of sound made by a pony who’d just hit their head on a large metal pipe. A couple of seconds later Quaver’s head rose up from the depths, sporting a new red lump on his forehead.
“What?” whilst his lips moved, his teeth still stayed firmly shut. “I thought you’d just like to know I’ve finished laundering your vast collection of bowties” she dropped the small tray to stage floor, allowing Ostin to see that there was indeed a whole array of differently style bow ties, every colour of the rainbow, there even was a rainbow coloured on amongst them all.
“Just put them in my office” Quaver grumbled and returned to the gloom of fixing the pipes for the organ.
“Quaver’s very fussy about his bowties” Tailor winked at Ostin.
Ostin looked again at the large collection of bows in the basket, questioning how a single stallion could own so many bowties. He silently told himself not to end up like this himself.
It was only then, looking back at Ostin that Tailor noticed just how much grease and oil splashes he was covered in. Tutting, she removed a handkerchief from the front pocket of her apron, spitting on it before vigorously scrubbing away at a couple of small marks on Ostin’s face, much to his disapproval.
“Honestly Quaver!” Tailor shouted down the trap door hole “How did you allow Ostin to become this filthy?”
Quaver stuck his head and hooves out from the trapdoor hole, revealing in the short space of time he had now managed to become covered in just as much oil, grease and muck as Ostin.
Tailor shook her head disapprovingly as Quaver ducked down once again “Well, there’s a surprise, tinkering away at that organ of yours” She turned back to look at Ostin and extended a forehoof, waiting for him to place his sweater vest and shirt into the palm of her hoof. “Now if you want those washed I’ll have them now, I’ve got the dolly tub of hot water set up in the costume storeroom” “What?!” Ostin voice unintentionally rose up an octave. Tailor leaned in, clearly not taking no for an answer “Give me your clothes”
The two owners of the opera house couldn’t have been more different from each other.
The older of the two, Soprano, was a squat, small, rather round deep blue pony with a shocked white tail. Totally bald on his head, he seemed to have compensated for this with a pair of large bushy eyebrows, which along with a number of wrinkles on his forehead hung down low over his black, Beatle like eyes, almost covering them completely. A white moustache stuck out from his nose, styled almost in a manor similar to Equestrian military captains of old, which bustled about every time he spoke.
The other, more younger pony, Agitato, was the polar opposite. Although the same height as an average pony, being taller and considerably thinner than his business partner made him almost look like a giraffe when stood alongside him. His eyes were big and wide, almost like giant saucers, which along with his nervous shaking did nothing to hide the fact that he worried almost constantly. Frantically, he pulled out a comb from his suit jacket pocket and combed the front of his mane into place again for the umpteenth time, frantically trying to see his reflection in one of the highly polished marble columns in the foyer.
“How do you reckon his lordship will react? Badly?” Soprano remained quite still and calm “You worry too much” “Well, wouldn’t you?” Agitato’s voice rose in pitch as his unintentionally speech sped up in panic “Spyglass is coming to inspect the redecoration of his private box, you remember what happened last time he wasn’t happy with the results, he went berserk!” “He only tore down one roll of the wallpaper and told us to start again” “One role?! That cost us 100 bits to import from Saddle-Arabia!!!”
“AHEM!”
The two of them turned their heads to find Spyglass standing rather imposingly in front of one of the now closing entrance doors, Lady Jewel and Mixy flanking him on either side, the latter staring blankly at her reflection on the floor.
“Lord Spyglass! we didn’t hear you come in!” Agitato nervously smiled, clapping his hooves together. “Clearly” Spyglass inhaled deeply through his nose ”Shall we, Gentlecolts?” With that he brushed past them, ascending the red carpet stairs at the back of the foyer up to the row of private boxes on the Upper Circle floor, Jewel and Mixy following behind without saying a word.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey, M’Lord?” Soprano stalled for time outside the private box as Agitato fumbled with a large ring full of keys in his hooves. “As well as can be expected, given the terrible state of the roads” Spyglass blankly replied.
The truth was that the roads around Colton-on-Sea were actually in fairly good condition. Spyglass had simply refused to have his carriage serviced in a good number of years, it’s ill maintained chassis being the cause of many a rough journey.
Agitato’s panic vanished in an instant as with a highly audible click, he found the correct key to the box.
He gently turned the knob of the door and pushed it open “If you please, M’Lord”
Spyglass walked silently past, his nose still high in the air. He didn’t say a word as he looked round the small room. The walls were papered a dark green with small intricate details picked out in a dark gold leaf. A pair of deep red velvet curtains hung at either side of the balcony edge, Spyglass took a few moments to see how quickly they could be drawn across on their runners. He detested other ponies being able to see him when the house lights were on before and after a performance.
Just behind the balcony edge, facing the stage, were the only furnishings in the box. In the centre was a rather ornate, carved wooden throne, complete with highly sprung cushions adorning the seat and backrest, borderd with rows of solid brass button heads. To the left of this was another throne, in the space that would normally be occupied by Lady Jewel, this throne was far less detailed in design, and lacking armrests like the former chair. On the right hand side, were Mixy would normally sit, was a sole, plush, velvet cushion.
“Well, M’Lord?” Soprano asked, the wrinkles on his forehead bending into a quizzical manner.
A loud scream from a young stallion below echoed through the auditorium.
All five of them turned to look out over the edge of the box, gazing upon the scene of Tailor pinning Ostin down to the stage floor with her forehooves and attempting to pull his grease and oil stained shirt and sweater vest off of him with her magic. Mixy’s cheeks turned bright red at the sight of Ostin on stage, and even more so at his present situation.
Spyglass snorted, turning back to look at the theatre owners “It will do” There was a hint of disgust in his voice that seemed impossible to hide.
Exchanging a glance with him, Lady Jewel nodded silently at his side.
“YES!!!”
Again, all five looked down towards the stage, just in time to see Tailor slam dunk Ostin’s clothes into her wash basket, whilst using her magic to pull a spare thick brown sweater from a clothes rail offstage and pull it over his head, his hooves almost popping out through the sleeves in a cartoon fashion.
Spyglass rolled his eyes and shook his head as he and Lady Jewel their exit from the box “That will be all Gentlecolts” he turned to look back at the two owners “I’ll send my thoughts to you on paper in due course”
Sticking his nose high into the air almost in perfect synchronisation with his wife, the both left the room. Mixy, politely curtsying to the two stallions, nervously followed after them.
Soprano moped his brow, feeling the sweat running down his back. A few seconds passed before Agitato fainted into Lord Spyglass's chair in an overly dramatic fashion.
Lord Spyglass and Lady Jewel walked elegantly down the red carpeted stairs, both seemingly walking forwards with their eyes closed, but perfectly in sync.
“Come along, Mixed Media” Jewel’s voice sounded slightly more snooty when she was in public “Don’t dawdle”
Mixy paused at the top of the stairs, coughing politely to get their attention. The two of them stopped, halfway down the stairs. They craned their necks round slowly in annoyance to look at her.
“…I was thinking…” Mixy began “…perhaps I could stay here for a couple of hours to do some sketching. I have everything I need” She pointed at her Saddlebag with her hoof “I won’t leave the building either. You can ask the owners to keep tabs on me”
Spyglass and Jewel shared an unamused look with each other. Not saying a word, they both continued walking down the stairs in total silence. Mixy wasn’t sure what their answer was.
“Parker will be back in two hours. Be ready” were Spyglass’s last words before he exited the foyer, the heavy oak and glass door closing quickly behind him and lady Jewel.
Mixy took a few seconds to experience the awesome silence.
She trotted away into the depths of the opera house.
Ostin startled himself awake for the umpteenth time as his head slipped off of the fore-hoof it was resting on, his nose making contact with the stage floor boards. Groggily looking around to try and get his bearings, he quickly became aware that the sound of Quaver working down the hole trap door had ceased and the trap door was now closed, a quickly scribed note now lying on top of it. Ostin brought it up to his eyes, still fuzzing into focus:
Gone to lunch. Unless you want to end up wearing a frilly tutu I suggest you make yourself scarce. Ballet practice starts soon and I hear Tailor is readjusting any costumes that need alterations.
Oh, and seriously, get some sleep!
Quaver
Ostin lazily hauled himself up onto his hooves, yawning loudly in the still empty auditorium. His ears pricked up as the emptiness only helped to amplify the sound of one of the doors opening to the upper circle seating nearest the left hand side of the stage. Ostin waited to see who it was was to see Mixy poking her head round to door and looking at the rows of empty seats. He almost shouted out to her, but quickly stopped himself by shoving a hoof in his mouth. He wanted to speak to her about what he’d seen in the paper, but he was worried that she’d flee. There’d be no way of catching up to her if he had to run through the labyrinth of the backstage area first. He pondered as he tried to think of a way to get to the upper circle fast enough to stop her from running off.
Then he saw his answer.
Mixy anxiously looked at the row upon row of empty seats. Aside from the times she’d visited the opera house with the university and sat in the stalls seats, she’d never ventured from the private box that her parents owned. Seeing the stage from the perspective that other ponies normally did was fascinating to her. She had butterflies in her stomach, as if at any moment her father would creep up behind her and demand to know why she was in this part of the auditorium.
She walked through the door, stopping on the other side and jumping in fright slightly as the self closing door gave her a slight bump to her rear. She made her way down to the front row, knowing that she’d have a perfect view from here. She set down her saddlebag the the side of one of the seats and unfastened the buckle, taking out a large drawing pad and pencil and holding them in her teeth.
Looking at the seat, she was rather surprised to find the actual seat cushion folded up, she pulled it down with a hoof and let go, about to sit down when she was surprised to see it fold back up by itself. She pulled it down again and let go, again, the seat folded back up. She thought about this for a moment, hitting upon the idea of standing on her hind legs with her back to the seat, then attempting to pull the cushion down with her forehooves between her legs, attempting to jump onto the cushion. Unfortunately, no sooner had she jumped sharply backwards and let go, the cushion spring back up, causing her to fall in a heap on the well trodden carpet floor. She wasn’t giving up that easily though. She glared at the seat, trying to work out its weakness.
Annoyed, and muttering several unladylike words through gritted teeth, she walked round the back of the chair, climbing over the back of the seat and placing all four of her hooves onto the armrests of the chair. Taking a moment to take a deep breath, she lifted up her two forehooves and stomped them down onto the seat cushion, unfolding it. She then quickly dropped her highly raised rear down onto the seat, keeping it permanently unfolded. Satisfied at having conquered the folding chair, she took the pencil and paper from her mouth and made herself comfortable to start sketching Ostin on the stage, knowing that she’d be able to get a good view from here.
Looking up from her paper towards the stage, she was even more annoyed to find Ostin had vanished from the stage completely. She checked a small pocket watch she kept in her bag. She hadn’t been struggling with the chair for that long, had she? She leaned forward, looking over the edge of the balcony and trying to see if he wasn’t on a part of the stage that would obscure him from her view.
“Mixy!!!” Ostin flew up in the air on the other side of the balcony, inches from Mixy’s nose, dropping down again just as quickly.
Screaming, Mixy slid off of the chair in surprise, the seat folding back up into place. Her heart raced as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Once again, Ostin briefly jumped into view beyond the box’s edge “Mixy!” “Ostin?”
Ostin flew into the air again, flailing his hooves as he unintentionally did a forward roll mid air, dropping back down towards the stalls.
“How are you doing that?” “Trampoline!” Ostin managed to quickly shout on the next bounce, followed by “It’s part of the set for this show!” on the next one.
Mixy pulled herself up from the floor, looking down over the edge of the balcony. At the edge of the stage there was indeed a small circus trampoline, giving Ostin a generous amount of lift each time he landed in its highly sprung net.
“I need to talk to you” Ostin cartwheeled as he bounced up to Mixy’s eye level once more, “I know about your parents!” He blurted out the next time.
Mixy panicked, she hurriedly stuffed her drawing materials back in her saddlebag, hoping to make a quick exit.
“Wait!” Ostin shouted desperately.
Mixy stopped, looking back to the balcony for Ostin to fly up in front of her once again.
He promptly reappeared “I think we should talk”
Mixy’s panicked breathing slowed as Ostin bounced up again. And again. And again, though rear first this time. Mixy gave a disapproving look. This was getting ridiculous.
She leaned over the edge of the balcony “Ostin, stop fooling around and get off that trampoline if we’re going to talk properly!” “I would” Ostin summersaulted again “But there’s one problem” “What’s that?” “I can’t stop!” Ostin flailed his hooves in desperation, almost trying to grab on to the ornate carvings that decorated the outside of the upper circle in vain as he flew up again “HELP!!!”
Having become acquainted with almost every area of the opera house in his short time there already, Ostin knew where the quietest place in the building would be on a lazy Monday afternoon. He and Mixy were now both sat together up in the crossover gallery amongst the set flies, made up from planks of wood suspended by thick ropes, hanging high above the stage below, where the dancers were rehearsing their part for a new show that was due to start in two weeks time, Madame Tailor looking on beside the dance instructor and seeing how the costumes fitted against them.
Mixy leant up against Ostin, causing his cheeks to turn bright red again from embarrassment, not that she could see them as she stared down at the timy figures below.
“So...how did you find out?” “The local newspaper” Ostin started, still unsure as to whether it would be acceptable to put a hoof round Mixy’s waist. “There was an article about a fancy party held at your parents manor a while ago” There was a brief moment of silence. “Was there,” Mixy started “Anything about me written in it?” “No” Ostin quickly replied.
Mixy let out a sigh.
“You looked quite pretty in that silk red dress though!” Ostin quickly added in a panic, assuming Mixy had been fishing for compliments. “Ostin, please” Mixy gave him a playful shove “I’m happy there was nothing about me written in it” “Why? Most ponies I know would be starstruck at having themselves written about in the paper” “Yes, but ponies are also quick to judge” Mixy explained “Everypony who knows who my parents are, but have never met me properly, assume that I’m just like them. Rude, stubborn, flaunting their wealth and with a hatred for anyone who doesn’t sit in the same level of society as they do”
Ostin nodded silently, staring off into the mass of ropes, planks and scenery flies that hug above them.
“That was why I didn’t want to tell you about them” Mixy continued “I was afraid you’d start to judge me” “Judge you? If anything I was surprised you didn’t judge me! Having worked in a tiny corner shop for all of my life so far is hardly glamorous” Mixy let out a giggle. “In that case I take it we’ll cross the metaphorical bridge about your parents finding out about you and me knowing each other when we get to it” Mixy smiled, leaning against Ostin again and closing her eyes, just as he did to her, she quite liked the idea of not having to tell her parents yet. Though she knew they’d probably become suspicious.
A moment of silence passed between the two, save for the sound of the piano used during dance practice playing out a tune below.
“No more secrets?” Ostin asked, his eyes still closed. Mixy shook her head “None”
Another small moment of silence passed as they both leaned against each other, listening to the sounds of the piano and the faint pitter patter of hooves clad in ballet shoes coming from down below as they both swung ever so slightly back and forth gently on the gantry.
“So” Mixy started “Since you now know about my relatives, what are yours like” “Oh, my uncle’s the last pony you want to meet!”
Opening his eyes slightly, Parker found himself blinded by the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the gothic windows into his room. He started to make a move, finding himself pinned down to where he sat by some dead weight. Groggily, he opened his eyes to find himself laying back in the comfy chair in his room, Cook was partially laid on top of him on his lefthand side, still sleeping heavily. Parker spent a few minutes looking at her, contemplating how much younger she looked out of her work apron and without her horn rimmed glasses stuck on the end of her nose, along with her hair not being tied back in it’s slightly frizzy state.
One thing that started to trouble Parker was his lack of memory from the night before. He could vaguely remember the two of them starting their evening with a hot meal in one of the many pubs down on the Harbourside. He was fairly certain it had been in The Black Lion, though it could have easily been The Ten Bells. From then onwards his memory was a bit patchy, he was fairly certain he could remember his gramophone being involved somehow, along with the two of them drinking tea together late into the night in a civilised fashion. What he couldn’t understand, was why he couldn’t remember any of the evening from then onwards.
Coming out of his trance as he found himself twiddling a few strands of Cook’s greying chestnut coloured mane with a hoof, he found his answer. Sitting on the tea tray atop the small coffee table was the old gloss brown teapot and cups from the previous night, sitting beside a bottle of whiskey and Cook’s folded glasses. The memories suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. It had indeed been fairly cold when they’d returned last night. Being ponies of an older, poorer generation, he and Cook both enjoyed a slick of Whiskey in their tea before bed to keep out the chill of the night, such was the lack of heating in both their homes in their youths.
Cook began to stir, slowly fluttering her old eyes open “Good morning…”
She scratched Parker beneath his chin, which after years of experience she knew he enjoyed. His right leg began to twitch in a kicking fashion, but unlike normal he didn’t arch his head back and sink further back. This troubled her.
She raised her head as she stopped scratching “What’s wrong?” “Did we start in The Ten Bells or The Black Lion, last night?” Cook’s eyebrows dropped in annoyance as she rested her head back on his chest “Traffers, we started in Traffers” Parker nodded as the murky memories suddenly became clearer. He remembered how sticky the table was from spilt ales, ciders, beers and stouts quite vividly now.
A small silence followed, punctuated only by Cook’s heavy breathing and the broken chimes of the battered old grandfather clock in the corridor outside. Seven o’clock.
Parker yawned, cheekily patting Cook’s flank with his forehoof “We’d better make a move. Those ‘up above’ will be starting to-“ Cook put her left fore hoof to his mouth, silencing him “No, just five more minutes. For once my joints aren’t aching…” She inhaled deeply “…and it’s bliss”
Parker held her closer with his left fore hoof as she dosed again, resting his head on hers. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Cook. The two of them had had plans together years ago, leaving behind their life of service for Lord Spyglass and owning a tiny terrace house down near the harbour, spending their retiring years there and possibly letting out a spare room as a B&B during the summer months.
Even though they’d brought the house, albeit in a dilapidated condition, their plans had changed with Cook’s poor health. As much as she tried, she couldn’t hide her aching bones from Parker, he knew her too well. Many times he would walk into the kitchen to find her struggling to lift a heavy crock pot with her forehooves. Although she was always grateful for his help, particularly when she’d had to give backseat cookery lessons in order to save the families’ dinner, Cook hated the sensation the intense pain created in her bones. She felt as if she was loosing control of her body, and there was nothing she could do about it. Parker had spent many an evening cradling her in his forehooves in the kitchen when her anger at herself had boiled over and resulted in broken crockery, followed by an overwhelming sense of sadness that only seemed to end when Cook exhausted herself and fell asleep in his arms.
Parker nuzzled her “I suppose five more minutes wouldn’t hurt”
Parker let out a long, loud yawn as he stood with the carriage in a long queue of traffic. Rush hour didn’t normally cause too much hassle for local residents of Colton-on-Sea, but this morning it was chaos. One merchant with a heavily laden wagon had turned too sharply at the junction in the town centre, toppling the cart and spilling its load of crates all over the junction, a few of them splitting open revealing them to be full of live crabs, headed from the early morning fish market at the harbour to one of the local fish mongers shops.
In the process of falling the cart had clipped another one turning in the opposite direction, a rather rickety hay wagon, causing it to crumble and spill its load as well, adding to the chaos. The two haulage ponies had been in an argument for quite some time as to who was to blame, at one point almost breaking out into fisticuffs, this all stopped however as soon as one of the local police ponies interrupted them with the bell of his bicycle. Now it was simply a case of waiting for the road to be cleared enough to allow a single lane of traffic through the junction.
Mixy was leaning out of the front window of the carriage as normal “You don’t seem yourself this morning Parker?” “Me?” Parker tried to open his eyes wider to look fully awake, but they quickly reverted to being little more than tiny slits “I’m fine” Mixy put a hoof to her lip, thinking “Is Cook feeling ok? You wouldn’t happened to know why breakfast was a little…” she tried to pick her words carefully “…burnt, this morning, would you?”
It turned out that five minutes more sleep could hurt a lot, especially when it unintentionally turned into one more hours sleep. The result being that Parker and Cook had both had to rush to try and get the house’s breakfast out only a few minutes late. He could have simply explained this to Mixy now that they were alone, but the more memories of the previous night that kept coming back to him like the feeling of being hit over the head with a brick, the more he realised the things he and Cook had got up to shouldn’t be recounted to a young lady.
“I couldn’t say, M’Lady” Parker drooped his head as, not for the first time whilst being stood in traffic that morning, he unintentionally fell asleep whilst stood up.
Using her mother’s opera glasses to look further down the road, Mixy was afforded a better view of the cleanup operation at the junction. There were a good number of ponies still trying to round up the crabs that were making a bid for freedom, using any means possible. Buckets, brooms and spades were just a few of the items being used to try and herd them into the crates that weren’t damaged from the accident. Others were starting to pile what hay they could back onto the cart, coming across the odd escaped crab or two hiding amongst the many strands.
Mixy began looking at the ponies surrounding this spectacle. Many of the locals were simply going about there daily business, blissfully unaware. A few tourists were recoiling in horror at the very sight of the crabs, having never encountered the creatures before. The few local shop keepers were stood in the doorways to their premises, shaking their heads in a patronising sort of way as the lone police pony tried in vain bring some sense of order to the spectacle, blowing his tin whistle till his cheeks turned red and waving his white gloved forehooves to no avail. On the other side of the junction Mixy could see the large, green, metal facade of a small newsagents stand, purposely placed to make good of the traffic it would receive from ponies waiting at the crossing lights. Amongst the large crown of ponies gathered in front of the stand, a rather familiar young grey stallion with a yellow mane and tail wearing a slightly unfashionable purple and blue diamond coloured sweater vest with a flannel shirt turned round to face the traffic, a rolled up copy of ‘Creative Writing Monthly’ held in his mouth.
Recognising Ostin instantly, Mixy took a few seconds to see what his next move would be. Like so many of the ponies around him, he now seemed transfixed at watching the accident cleanup in front of him. Not wasting any time she quickly replaced the opera glasses in the small compartment and grabbed her saddlebag, fastening the strap round her waist before quickly stepping down from the carriage to the pavement. Nervously, she almost crept round the front of the carriage, giving Parker the most gentle tap possible with one of her forehooves.
Parker woke with a start, causing the carriage to lurch back slightly “N-No Cook, I haven’t been using your horn-rims to read the paper with again!” He suddenly remembered where he was, letting out another big yawn “M’Lady, what are you doing?” “I can see Ostin over the other side of the junction, so it’d be quicker to get to the university if I walked over to him, today is his one day a week there after all”
Parker simply nodded in silence. He generally understood what Mixy had just said, but most of the words unintentionally just went in one ear and out the other.
She carefully watched her step as she crossed the road, making a point of not getting anywhere near the escaped crabs. Until that morning she had no idea that they were kept alive right up until the point at which they were to be cooked, slightly unnerving her as she watched them snap and scuttle along the cobbled streets surrounding the junction.
Noticing Mixy as she approached, Ostin spoke first, genuinely surprised “Mixy? What are you doing here by yourself?” “Parker’s stuck in traffic” Mixy gestured with a tilt of her head “Spotting you here I’m assuming it’d be quicker to what to the university at this rate?” “The University? It’s closed today” He produced a letter from his saddlebag, swapping the magazine over for it “A burst pipe or some sort of problem with the plumbing apparently. Either way, according to this letter that arrived via dragon flame this morning, the whole of the dome is like a sinking ship, with all the tables and chairs from the cafe floating around. You did get this letter?” Mixy didn’t look surprised “My parents have a ban forbidding mail being delivered by magic to the house. Having it delivered by a pegasus postal worker allows them to track just exactly where and who it’s come from. As you can imagine, not being too popular they tend to get quite a few…unpleasant letters. It also means it arrives later in the day”
Ostin simply nodded.
Mixy seemed slightly disappointed “If that’s the case though, I’d probably best get Parker to run me home then” “You won’t get far, look” Ostin pointed.
Mixy swung her head round just in time to see Parker galloping away from them down the street, having pulled a quick U-turn in the road, almost as if he’d been given a sudden boost of energy at the prospect of more sleep in his comfy chair. Mixy scrunched her face in a disapproving way.
“So, since your obviously not getting home in a hurry, and since as far as your parents are concerned you’re at the university,” Ostin started to sit down on the pavement “Where do you want to gAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”
Ostin shot up high into the air, grabbing his rear end with his forehooves and screaming in pain as his eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. A few of the ponies stood around the newsagents immediately looked at where the screaming had come from, their gaze following Ostin as he rocketed up into the air. Mixy looked down at where he’d previously been to see the burnt red, spider like shape of crab looking back at her with its beady black eyes. Ostin clearly hadn’t been watching where he was putting his rear end before he made his move.
Noticing the ponies around her starting to look downwards as the sound of Ostin’s screaming getting louder told her he was returning to earth, she looked upwards. She shuffled backwards slightly on her hind legs and instinctively held her forehooves out and upwards. Ostin landed in them perfectly on his stomach.
“I’m thinking we should go somewhere with less marine life” he sighed in annoyance. “Me to”
Mixy couldn’t help but notice the tiniest patch of his grey coat on his rear end seemed to have had a close shave.
There were numerous cafes in Colton-on-Sea. The majority of them, down towards the seafront, were cramped, dingy, greasy, overpriced and mainly frequented by tourists who didn’t know better. Local ponies however knew that the best cafes were further inland, tucked away in little side streets and back alleys in the town, totally hidden unless you were specifically looking for them. It was in one of the latter that Ostin and Mixy now found themselves.
Looking out of the window, Ostin could see the small courtyard which the cafe sat at the back of, the entrance to the area being through a rather small arcade lit by tiny oil lamps. The place had many of it’s original features still in place, such as the well worn cobbles that lined the ground, radiating outwards front an antique street light in the middle of the square. A large selection of shrubs and flowers lined the edges of the courtyard, helping to bring some colour to a rather bland coloured area. Inside the cafe, just like outside, most of the original features were still in place. All the furnishings were fashioned from a dark coloured oak, matching the low beams that ran along the ceiling. The few walls not clad in oak were a slightly off white colour, betraying the fact that they hadn’t been whitewashed in a number of years. The uneven plaster work also did nothing to hide the age of the building.
Mixy and Ostin were sat in a booth in a corner of the small cafe, up against the bay window which afforded a view of the scene outside.
Having taken some time looking outside, Ostin turned back to look at Mixy sat across from him, partially obscured by the steam rising from the metal teapot that had been brewing on the table between them. She was totally in her element, scribbling away wildly in a leather bound sketchbook with a pencil.
“How do you know about this place, it’s pretty out of the way” She asked. “Oh, Sandy’s mentioned a few times. This is the place she tends to go to when her writer’s block kicks in. Apparently the change of surroundings does wonders to clear her mind. That’s probably where the waitress seemed to recognise me from. This is apparently the booth Sandy says she normally requests” Mixy set aside her sketchbook and made a start at pouring her tea “So, who’s Sandy?” “Well she’s…” Ostin paused “…I’m not quite sure…is the term ‘guardian’ too formal?”
He contemplated this for a few moments, inevitably shrugging the matter off and making a start for the big slice of chocolate cake in front of him. He picked up the spoon and planning how best to attack it, starting to lower the end of the spoon to stab the cake. He stopped as he heard Mixy inhaled sharply through her teeth. He looked up. Mixy’s pupils seemed to have shrunk in a panicked sort of way, looking directly at him.
“What is it?” Ostin asked. “Nothing.” “You’re sure?” “Yes.”
Even Mixy’s replies seemed panicked. Ostin turned to look out of the window briefly into the small courtyard area outside. Apart from a lone window cleaner high up on their ladder, there wasn’t a single soul out there, so Mixy certainly wasn’t panicked about being spotted by somepony.
Shrugging again, Ostin return to his cake. He stared at it again, licking his lips as he advanced his spoon towards the slice. It was just about to pierce the layer of icing on top of the sponge when a grey fore hoof swatted his own hoof down onto the table with a loud whack, the force of the impact causing Ostin to let go of the spoon and send it rattling along the table.
Ostin looked up to find exceptionally strong hoof belonged to Mixy “What?” “You’re trying to eat cake…” “Yes” “…that’s a soup spoon…” Mixy pointed at the offending object in question.
Having been altered by the noise from their booth, the waitress who’d served them their tea walked up to their table.
“Is everything ok?” She asked. “Um,” Ostin looked across quickly at Mixy, who now seemed totally embarrassed by her actions “I’ll just have a box to put this cake in, please” “Anything else?” Ostin looked at his hoof, which looked like it was starting to swell “Actually, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare bag of ice, would you?”
“…a-and so, looking at these averages, you can see that company profits are up a good 10% for this month”
Lord Spyglass reclined back into his captain’s chair in his dimly lit, oak panelled study, taking a long drag on the cigar he held in his forehoof. Despite his doctors recommendations, he always made sure he had one in his hoof when he was talking business matters, it made him feel powerful. It also made his business seem more grand than it really was. Only a select few ponies knew of just exactly what it was his families reputation and wealth had been built up on and were sworn to secrecy, he knew he and Lady Jewel wouldn’t be able to live down the scandal if the truth ever came to light around Colton-on-Sea.
His accountant, Leicester, was possibly one of the most boring ponies there could be. A short lodge pony, his mane, short and curly, had an annoying tendency to bob about slightly with the tiny, bird like movements he made whenever he spoke. A thick, square rimmed set of glasses sat high upon his nose, the lenses magnifying his eyes to the point where looked like a goldfish out of water.
“Save the formalities Leicester, how much are we up profits wise so far this year?” “W-Well, according to these figures” panicking, he accidentally dropped his notes, scattering his papers over the floor in front of Spyglass’s desk “I-It would appear your business is…um…down by five percent, Sir”
Spyglass held his head in his hooves, exhaling deeply, the cigar smoke spewing from his mouth like a dragon “I’ve already got enough problems, what with Mixed Media acting the way she is as of late…” Leicester stammered “A-As a matter of fact, I saw her on the way here” Spyglass raised his head, lifting a quizzical an eyebrow “The university’s a bit out of the way from your route” “Well th-th-that’s the thing, I didn’t see her there. She was sat on the street corner, just besides that small newsagents at the crossroad in the town centre. There’d been a fairly messy accident there this morning”
Spyglass nodded silently, his head resting in one hoof whilst the other held his still cigar stub, still singeing away. It wasn't too odd for ponies of his stature to get out of a carriage to stretch their hooves if they were held up in traffic.
“It was odd though” Leicester shook his head slightly “She was with a rather scruffy looking stallion” “What?” Spyglass’s eyes suddenly pierced through him like a nice through a butter block. Leicester recoiled in fear slightly “A-A stallion. Probably about the same size as her, rather scruffy short grey coat with a yellow mane. Looked like he was wearing some sort of sweater vest and shirt. Certainly not posh by any means” Spyglass paused for a second “And was Parker there?” “I can't say I saw him”
There was a moment of silence as Spyglass puffed cigar smoke out through his nostrils. Leicester wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking.
After a moment he spoke “Thank you Leicester, you may go now”
Gathering up his papers and gladstone bag as quickly as he could, Leicester nervously left the room.
Getting up from his desk and walking to the mantle, Spyglass drew heavily on the cigar in anger, going into a small coughing fit as the smoke choked him slightly. He glared at the object in disgust, refusing to admit his doctor’s advice that he should give them up was right. In his opinion he deserved to be able to flaunt his wealth in any way he wanted. He threw the slightly singed cigar stub into the roaring flames of the fire, quickly filling the room with the pungent smell of expensive tobacco.
He had to know just who Mixy was seeing behind him and her mother’s back, and how he could put an end to it.
