Diamond Tiara is left lost and alone on the streets of Baltimare.
An Inky Jay Story
Diamond Tiara is the one filly everypony should know. And clear a path for at that. But when she winds up by herself in Baltimare, she must endure the life of the ponies she has always looked down upon.
My name is Diamond Tiara, just so you know like you should. So now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’ll just say for the record that I hate it when I have to go with Daddy anywhere for his business. It’s such a drag, not being able to do anything for days and days. And he’s so stupid about it too, thinking that I can just entertain myself in a boring hotel room. Silver’s never allowed to come with us on these trips, I don’t have any of the servants to have do stupid stuff, and Daddy takes all my allowance bits so I can’t go wandering into the city. He says it’s ‘for my own good’, but what does he know? We’ve been to Baltimare hundreds of times! I know all the best places, so it’s not like I’d go anywhere else.
Ugh!
I just roll over on the bedsheets, looking at the whole room upside down. It doesn’t help at all, and now I’ve got a headache to add to my stupid boredom. Even worse, I’ll have to actually get up to get any aspirin. I humph again and roll back over. Even if Daddy’s been dumb as usual about this trip, I at least managed to impress myself. It’s pretty hard to do, since I’m obviously the best filly around. Whichever idiot had the room before us left some miniature dolls of the princesses behind (I have ones three times the size, for the record), and because the hotel servants are even more stupid than the ponies who left the dolls behind, I took them.
It was so annoying, having to make up the stories by myself, but it was better than being bored out of my ever loving mind. So yeah, I actually managed to not be as bored as usual thanks to somepony else’s dumb. Just another good day’s work, I’d say. Or maybe Daddy would say that. I dunno. He’s been taking me on these trips more and more often, so I’m forced to be around him all the time now. Blegh. I think he’s rubbing off on my good fur.
Not that Daddy’s not a good daddy. He knows what I want and when he doesn’t, he listens to me when I tell him and does a good job following through. But, I just don’t care one bit about what he does. It’s so boring, having to be nice and polite to rival ponies. I know what I’d do to them. Same thing I do to those dorks, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I shiver. Guh, just thinking that name makes me shake in gross. But anyway, I think Daddy’s trying to get me interested in business (as if, it’s the dumbest job in the world) so I’ll take over for him one day. Gotta say, not gonna happen. I’m way better than that, just like Momma always told me before she left.
Oh, that was stupid. Now I’ve got water in my eyes like a stupid wimp. I really did love Momma. She was a lot better than Daddy. And she was Canterlot royalty. I always have to remind the servants of that, since they seem to forget that makes me royalty too. But that’s what I want to do. I want to be me, be royalty. My cutie mark says so, so everypony else can just move out of the way.
And if there’s one thing I know for sure, the royalty don’t have to worry about business. So why Daddy insists on trying to get me interested is just beyond me. It’s stupid, so I guess that’s why. I’m jolted out of trying to not be bored when there’s a rap on the door. “Diamond! It’s me. I’m coming in.” Daddy’s voice is muffled from the other side of the door. I don’t even move. He’ll come in and immediately start babbling on about what happened in the the conference room with Stupidface and Dumbnut and Dorkwad and a bunch of other ponies I can’t think of good names for.
Sure enough, he walks through the rooms looking for me and when he finds me in my bedroom, he sighs and starts wagging his mouth. I make sure to keep my eyes open and looking interested and nodding when I think he’s asking a question. Works every time. But instead of listening, I have to do something. Daddy really puts me in a dumb spot when he does this. If I listen, I’ll be bored into stupid, but if don’t, I wind up being bored into stupid unless there’s something else worth my good time to think about.
Daddy’s new navy blue suit works for a little bit. Way too many stallions and colts try to wear clothes and end up looking like complete morons. Clothes are for mares and fillies of good taste, class, and money. Like me of course. Daddy pulls off wearing clothes okay I guess. It’s better than a lot of the things I’ve seen in Ponyville. How Princess Twilight can be a mare and look beautiful in a dress one day, then look completely stupid in Winter Wrap Up gear the next just blows my mind. Shouldn’t she have standards or something? I dunno. Then that dumb question Daddy pulls on me sometimes happens. “Diamond, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah,” I answer and with any luck, sounding cheerful instead of completely beat will keep him from following up. It doesn’t.
“What did I just say?” he asks, and I hate how amused he looks. He knows I wasn’t listening and’s trying to embarrass me now.
I glare at him for a couple seconds for good measure before huffing and turning my head away. “I dunno. And I don’t really care either. What’s the point of coming to Baltimare if I have to sit up here all day instead of shopping?”
“You should care, Missy,” he tells me, and he’s more peeved than usual, I can tell. But I don’t care. It’s about time he get a grip on how I think about this stupid business stuff. “I’m trying to teach you how to run a distribution company so you can have a good future, and if you don’t listen…” He stops and sighs dramatically, and since I’ve got my head turned and eyes closed, I can’t tell if he’s being showy or really worn out. “We’ll talk about this later on the train ride home,” he says. Great, now I’ve got to deal with stupid stuff on my way back to a town full of stupid stuff.
“I don’t need your stupid business,” I blurt out as he’s walking away, and I honestly don’t know why I say it. “I’m gonna be like Momma. Royalty. A big name mare in Canterlot that all the peasants have to give a proper bow to.” He doesn’t reply at first, and I already know it was a good idea to speak up. Funny how sometimes you’re only sure in hindsight.
“Hrm,” he grunts in that ugly way that males do, “get your slippers on. We’ll go to dinner, get you some souvenirs, then come back and pack. And I don’t want to hear a word about your mother or our future discussion. I’ve had enough arguing for one day…”
“Fine by me,” I grin, thanking myself for coming up with the perfect way to shut him up. And souvenirs! Finally! I can already see a new perfume box on my bathroom vanity back home, and a new dress being levitated into my closet by one of the laundry maids. I’m thinking a light peach color, maybe with some pale blue lace trim. It’ll look good with my mane if my mane dresser can ever screw her head on straight and get what it is I tell her to do. “Where did you get reservations?”
“I didn’t,” he tells me, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Nopony can see, but it’s for good measure. “There’s this nice little family owned pizzeria I’ve always wanted to try out, so I figured tonight before going home’d be a good chance.”
“Ugh,” is all I have to say. I finish pulling on the strap to my final sparkling, gold bead studded slipper and march past Daddy with a huff. Pizza. Great. The only food they know how to give out on school trips and practically every other place common ponies get together. And I’ll probably have to give my slippers to the maids three or four times to get them properly cleaned. This ‘pizzeria’ is going to be so gross, I don’t even like thinking about stepping on their floors with my slippers.
Daddy follows me out onto the soft carpet hallways of the hotel, he says hello to some of those other stuck up businesscolts, and I try to enjoy walking on clean floors for as long as possible. I mean, honestly, Ponyville may be full of dorks and hicks, but at least it’s clean. I’ve seen parts of Baltimare that would make a sewer look good. And the ponies down those streets look even worse. I really have no idea why the decent ponies in the city don’t have them arrested for just being so ugly and gross.
When we finally make it to the bottom of the hotel (only ponies on my level get to stay in the big suites on the upper floors), Daddy gets us a normal cab. Oh, now he’s really pushing it. Why on earth would I want to put the back of my perfect mane on a seat that’s never cleaned except when some moron throws up on it? Luxury cabs like what I’m supposed to sit in get a full wipe down on the inside and outside after every customer. And they smell nice too. This thing stinks like Applebloom. The only breathable air in the cab is in my own, perfumed fur. I put my foreleg up to my nose and lean forward so I don’t have to touch the seat so much. I put on a scowl so nopony is fooled that I’m enjoying this in the slightest.
“Where to Mr….?” the cab-pull asks Daddy, and I do my eyes a favor and don’t look up to see him. “Yer girl there gonna be a’ight?”
“It’s Mr. Rich,” Daddy replies with too much good cheer. It’s gross how happy he is being surrounded by all this icky peasant stuff. “And nah, don’t worry about her. She’s just hungry. Double your fair if you can give us a hay of a ride to Deep Dish’s.”
“Feelin’ adventurous huh?” the cabb-pull says, and I can already feel the lurch in my stomach before he even takes off like a moron. The wheels to the cab rattle so badly they drown out everything else. I can barely even hear myself think. And the sharp turns and screaming don’t help. I groan. This is a lot to go through for some new perfume and a new dress, but I don’t tell Daddy how dumb it is. I think if I open my mouth, I’ll end up being that dork that throws up all over the seat, and that definitely isn’t going to happen to me. The only fringe benefit to the crazy stupid speed of the cab-pull moron is that the air doesn’t smell so bad when you’re moving so fast. And Daddy is laughing and whooping the whole time like a stupid foal that I’d rather not know. It’s a cab, not an amusement park.
When we stop at last, and I dare to look up, we’re in the middle of some dingy peasant street where ponies are being loud and obnoxious and trying to say hello to everypony they see. Even if they don’t know them. If they expect to get any of my valuable attention, they can forget it. I’m eating so we can just leave as soon as possible to the better part of Baltimare where I’m appreciated. I hop out of the cab with equal parts reluctance and eagerness. I want to be as far away from that stupid cab-pull’s cart as I can, but now I have to deal with these street ponies who wouldn’t know a jewel from a gem even if they were told in stupid-pony terms.
“Thanks stallion,” Daddy tells the cab-pull. “You gave me what I asked for.” I wince when I hear the clinking of Daddy’s bits. It’s probably worth more than the cart and his dumb, dinky house combined. Some other common ponies replace us, and the cab’s gone again. Thank goodness it’s not Ponyville, or I’d be covered in dust right about now. But when I look across the street to this pizza thing, I get back a little hope. Just a little. We step inside (there’s no door… idiots), and it’s all really traditional. The decor all’s old and stuff, but I’ve got a good eye, and I can tell most of the stuff is valuable as antique. Daddy has a lot of the same kind of junk in his office back home. So at least they know what matters. Maybe the food won’t be awful.
Just as good, they’re aren’t a boatload of ponies in the place. I won’t have to deal with overly friendly ponies constantly trying to say hello and shake my hoof, and I won’t have to put my head up and close my eyes to show just who they’re dealing with. It really is a pain having to do that. Shouldn’t everypony just get it by now that I’m better than the lot of them without me having to show and prove it all the time. Whatever, the Cutie Mark Crusaders won’t ever get it, so what am I talking about. Anyway, there also isn’t a line to the counter, so me and Daddy don’t have to wait. I never was able to understand why it was first come first serve in so many places. Wouldn’t it be better to have some kind of bouncer to see how much money you have and the ponies with the most get to go first? Better in my book.
But it doesn’t even matter this time, since Daddy gets us some pizza (awkwardly, since he’s got no idea how to order pizza at a place like this) right away, and we go take a seat by the window to wait on it. That’s when I get this really bad feeling, just as I’m taking off my forehoof slippers so they don’t get dirty. Daddy’s looking at me in a really special way. He doesn’t do it often, but the few times he has, I’ve never come out the other side any better. Well, except once when he made me invite somepony to my eighth birthday party. That’s how I met Silver, but that was an exception.
“Diamond,” he says, and I already know by the tone that I’m right. Great. I’m never going to escape being bored until we go shopping it looks like. “I’m going to keep my word on waiting to talk later on the train ride home tomorrow morning, but there is something we need to talk about right now.” I huff just so he knows my stance on having to deal with whatever it is. “Look, there’s an old saying that goes something like, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ You’ve heard that one at school I’m sure.”
“Yeah,” I answer. I’m a bit curious now, I’ll admit.
“Well, we say that when we mean that you should always be watching your rivals to see the moment you can get an advantage, but that’s not what it’s trying to say in my experience. See, if you keep ponies you don’t like close so you can keep an eye on them, you learn to sympathize with them, and they end up not being your rivals anymore.”
“So, sounds like a stupid idea anyway,” I say. “Why would I be interested in anypony who’s not a friend anyway?”
“Because then you learn what it means to be part of something bigger than yourself,” Daddy says to me, and I roll my eyes. “Hey!” he starts, and I jump. He never yells at me, even a little. Ever. “You’ll be thirteen this year, and I thought you’d be more grown up by now. I’ve let a lot slide, Diamond, thinking you’d grow out of it. But, once we get back home, I want you out of the house trying to find a small job on the weekends. That’s when I started, so that’s what you’ll be doing too.”
“Wait, what?” I almost scream. “You want me to go work?” I ask a little more quietly, but I can’t keep the shock out of my voice. How stupid of an idea is this? It’s more idiotic than the wacko stuff the Cutie Mark Crusaders come up with.
“Yes, I do,” Daddy says, more calmly than I want. He nods and thanks the waiter who brings us our pizza but I don’t even notice. I’m vaguely aware of standing up across the table, eyeballing Daddy with an angry stare.
“You can’t be serious,” I say. “Working’s got nothing to do with being a royal mare. That stuff’s for common ponies. And my cutie mark definitely has nothing to do with work. Ugh! It’s dumb just thinking of doing that stuff.”
“Your crown, Diamond, can mean anything actually,” Daddy replies, taking a large bite of the gooey cheese pizza like one of the gross colts in school. “It means you are a leader, and leaders can be found all over Equestria in every profession. But, you don’t become a leader just because it’s your talent. You earn it. I can even have Princess Celestia vouch for me on that one.”
“No you can’t,” I sneer, still leaning over the pizza.
“Really? You don’t think so? Okay. I’ll ask for a letter from her to you once we get back home,” Daddy says in complete seriousness. But he can’t be serious. There’s no way. If he was, I’d have been able to meet the princess hundreds of times already. “Now sit down and eat your pizza, Diamond. I know of some places back home that are hiring at the moment, so you should go to those first.”
“No,” I say defiantly. I won’t be roped into doing common pony labor. I spend too much time getting my mane dresser and other servants to get me to look fantastic to get it all ruined with only a couple minutes of stupid sweat. Why in Equestria should I agree to do something so mundane? “I refuse.” And I take a bite of the pizza. It seems like good punctuation.
“Then you can go find someplace else to live,” Daddy says, and I almost choke on the pie. “And I’ll let Silver’s parents know they’re not to let you stay with them. You don’t want to do your part just like everypony else in Equestria, you can’t live at home.”
“You can’t do that,” I insist, feeling a bit nervous now. Daddy’s never stood his ground like this before. These are usually just lectures I can shrug off and move on with my life. “The Royal Guard won’t let you. It’s illegal.” There. Daddy obeys the law to a tee, so now I’ve got what I need to actually enjoy my evening shopping without something like that over my head.
“Everypony in Ponyville is at least an acquaintance of mine that I’ve helped out in the past,” Daddy says with a annoying smirk. I’m the only one allowed to do that. “If you think you’ll be able to convince them to go back on me calling a favor, then go on ahead, Diamond. But you’re getting a job, whether you like it or not. End of discussion.”
“Some discussion,” I scoff at him. “You’re just trying to tell me what to do.”
“I’m trying, Diamond,” Daddy answers. “I am. Now, if you want to argue with me about it anymore, I’ll take you back to the hotel right now and get you that perfume you’ve been whining about without you there.”
“But… but,” I stammer like an idiot. Why is he being so annoying all of a sudden? “You can’t!” I say, stronger than before, and only after do I notice how quiet the rest of the dumb pizza place is.
“Fine, you’re making this harder than it needs to be, Diamond,” Daddy tells me, putting on my forehoof slippers for me and taking one of my hooves and practically dragging me out. I’m in something of a daze, and my hooves are only walking because that’s what they’re supposed to do. We get in another cab, and I can’t even think about how gross it is or how stupid the cab-pull looks. Daddy’s forcing me to work. Of all things, he’s going to make me work? Why? Where did this come from, and why am I on the receiving end? Why couldn’t an idiot servant or employee get whatever it is that’s got him in this mood? Nopony has any right to make a royal mare do anything that even looks like work. If there’s effort involved in doing anything, I’ll decide whether I want to on a case by case basis. And if not, push the Cutie Mark Crusaders to the front of the line so they have to. All I can do is just stare straight ahead in shock.
Daddy takes me upstairs to our hotel suite, tells me goodnight, and just leaves. At some point, I come to my senses, and it’s just worse than being a little loopy. In just a couple minutes, Daddy took it upon himself to destroy my whole life. All of it. My reputation is going to go down the toilet when everypony sees me behind some shop counter. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s all that’s in my head. I end up just crawling in bed and crying a little… no, I cry a lot. I don’t even remember stopping or going to sleep. One second, it’s late Saturday evening, and I’m sniffling and crying like a foal, and the next; Daddy’s voice wakes me up, and he throws the curtains open so I can get blinded by morning sunlight.
“Morning, Diamond,” Daddy says at some point. I don’t remember. My head’s too busy torturing me with all the things that are going to blow up in my face when I get back to Ponyville. It doesn’t help that I ache all over and don’t feel like I’ve slept at all. Daddy’s already packed my bags, but I check them for all my stuff anyway. It’s all there with the new perfume on top. Whatever. No amount of good scents or dresses could cheer me up now. They’re not gonna matter in a few days. Daddy says something about my mane, and I get my brush out of my bag and meander into the little filly’s room. I hate working on my own mane. It always looks so plain when only one pair of hooves works on it. I hear Daddy muttering to himself and a quill scratching in the next room, but like before, I can’t concentrate on that stuff. I take off my tiara, do a few runs through with my mane, and decide I’ll get it fixed up the right way when I have all my servants to do it the way I like it. I put the tiara back on and wander back into the main room.
“Ready, sweetie?” Daddy asks me, and I just nod, angrily determined to ignore him as much as possible. I don’t even want to see his face right now. Some pony comes and loads our bags onto a cart as we leave, and I remain focused on staring at the floor. And the longer I’m awake and alert instead of shell shocked and depressed (why did I let myself get so stupid anyway?), the angrier I get. It’s gonna take being at home in my own room to do it right, but I’ll think of a way to get back at Daddy for this. Momma wouldn’t be happy either, I don’t think, so there is some good from that thought.
We get our stuff loaded into a cab that better suits my status, and we move off to the train station at a pace that’s much smarter than that idiot cab-pull that Daddy antagonized. The station is just full of grossness just piled on top of more gross. There’s soot and smoke and stupid loud noises, and nopony has enough sense to just shut up long enough for anypony else to hear anything. I stick my hoof out and trip some of the more annoying ones, and it makes me smirk and feel a little better. Still, I won’t ever understand why Daddy doesn’t just buy his own personal train so we don’t have to go through this mess all the time. I end up between the pony hauling our bags and Daddy, trying to keep from getting lost in the crowd and giving anypony who comes close to doing so a good whack on the shins. Honestly, you’d think ponies had never seen a pair of higher class ponies who have better places to be than them.
And when Daddy finally finds the station master, the train is, of course, not ready for boarding. Which means I have to sit against a pillar looking like some normal pony and getting my coat dirty and full of grit. I’ll admit, I let my mind wander for a bit. The stupid din of the station eventually just becomes an annoying background, so I can’t help but start thinking about what’ll happen with those dorks the Cutie Mark Crusaders. They’re such a bunch of softies, so they won’t be too hard to handle, but I just don’t want to have to handle them at all. I’ve had them right where I want them for as long as I can remember, and now I’m gonna have to rethink how to keep them from imagining they’re somehow better than me and Silver. I mean come on, it’d be one thing if they weren’t blank flanks! Ugh, why do they always end up being such….
I jump again when a louder than normal whistle goes off, and I turn to see a train pulling into the station… in the same spot where mine had been. I jump to my hooves. The bags are gone, Daddy’s gone, the train is definitely gone… And I’m still here. On the platform. I feel the panic inside, and I can’t stop it as it takes hold and sends me running up and down the station searching for some sign that I just lost my bearings, and Daddy is still standing and waiting for our train. But I haven’t eaten breakfast, and before long, I run out of steam and the panic streams in harder and faster to replace it. I run as fast as I can away from the station, and I don’t care where I’m going: I can’t think straight. I don’t how long I run, hyperventilating I’m sure, until I just stop. And now I’m alone in a city I don’t know, with no money, and with Daddy already on his way to Ponyville with no way to find me.
My rump hits the cobblestone street, and I can’t even cry. I don’t know what to do.
I’m not sure what it is that motivates me out of my dumb stupor, but I’m glad it does. C’mon, Diamond, I think to myself. Get a grip and think this out. You’re just making it out to be worse than it actually is. I’ve only been scared out of my wits a couple times before, and I don’t like the feeling at all. It makes me act like an idiot, which I’m totally not. It’s time to be rational and calculate my next move like a grown up mare. Which I’ve proved I am over and over again, even if none of the ‘real’ adults think so. I pick my butt up off the dirty pavement and walk a few steps until I find a proper bench to sit and think on.
I haul myself onto it, put my chin in one hoof, and scowl. It’s my patented thinking look and pose, and I’ve trained everypony in Ponvyville not to disturb me when I’m in it. It’s great when I actually need to think harder than normal about how to mess with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, but I mostly just use it to keep ponies off my back when I don’t feel like chatting. With any luck, the ponies in Baltimare will take the hint and stay off my bench. My first thought is to try to remember what Daddy told me I should do if I ever got lost in a big city. I know for a fact he said something about it before, at least a couple times. It had something to do with… um, shoot… what did he say I should do when he was blabbering on. Most of it was stupid, but I think there might’ve been something helpful in there somewhere. I knock my other hoof against the side of my head, squinting my eyes in an attempt to concentrate. Nothing. I can’t for the life of me remember what he said. Why didn’t he make sure I was listening?
I sigh. Great. As usual, Daddy’s no help when it really matters. Well, Silver and I never thought about this sort of thing. Whenever we get to go on trips together, it’s always to Canterlot, and after being there so much, we pretty much know where everything is. And unlike Baltimare, Canterlot has a smarter way of doing things. They don’t mix the decent places and ponies with the dingy neighborhoods and icky peasants. So Silver and I never have to worry about going and getting breathed on by them.
I growl to myself. The Royal Guard aren’t any help. They like the common ponies too much. If I were just some random mare who got lost or left behind, they’d be sure to help me find my way home. But thanks to that moron Hoity Toity and his stupid wimpiness, we royal and classy ponies have to provide identification for Guard services. Apparently, they’re not reliable enough and just as bad as common peasants. And, of course, mine’s in my bag in the back of some peachy train with Daddy on its way home. That dumb law Toity pushed through needs to be the other way around. I put the idiot at the top of my list to get at for making this whole dumb situation more complicated than it needs to be. Really, would the Guard not recognize the Diamond Tiara.
Whatever, can’t rely on anypony but yourself anyway. I’m still trying to think of anypony I may have talked to that might have had some idea of what a mare does when this sort of thing happens, when this big fatty of a stallion shoves his way next to me. He’s got guts, thinkin’ he can just interrupt my thinking time like that, him and his smelly fat. He takes a newspaper from behind his ear and unfolds it, but I take the opportunity to let him have a piece of my mind. He needs it. I snatch the paper away, and before his stupid face can even finish being startled, I lean up into his face and yell, “Hey, Mister! You wanna find another bench! This one’s taken. There’s probably a special fat pony bench someplace else.”
I keep my eyes narrowed and staring into his dumb beady eyes, just like I know how. He blinks like all the dorks do, and I can’t help but smirk at how uncomfortable he looks. Home run. Except, it doesn’t last long, and his brows scowl like mine, and he forcibly pushes me back, and says, “Shove off, kid.”
Wow, he really’s got guts this stallion. But Scootaloo’s got those too, and all the ponies who’re stupid enough to just go out on a limb all act the same way. “No. You ‘shove off,’ or I’ll -”
“Shut yer trap, filly,” he interrupts me, and I let my mouth twist into angrily surprised. “This is a public spot, not yer personal patio.”
“Funny, ‘cause I thought I was sitting here first,” I say and keep myself confident. He’s got nerve. You don’t go invading a pony’s personal space, and it was obvious I was trying to think alone without any distractions. Of course, he’s fat, which also means he’s not too bright, so I guess that explains some of his stupidity.
“I… Oh, you know what, just forget it,” he mutters in a huff and gets up to leave.
I smile at my own force of will, and before he’s out of range, I yell, “Hey! What makes you think I want to keep your stupid stuff?” I wave the rolled up paper in the air until he turns around, and once his nose is all the way in view, I chuck it right at his ugly face. Unfortunately, it’s paper, so it doesn’t fly as far as it should, but it lands half in a puddle, which is a good second. He’s got an angry look on his face when he picks it up, and I think it’s probably good for him to walk some more. Being angry helps keep a pony in shape too, so really, he should be thanking me.
Guh, where was I. I situate myself back in the center of the bench and take up my thinking pose again, this time adding a swing to my hind legs. Obviously the ponies in this city aren’t too bright, so I have to go the extra mile to make sure they take the hint and leave me alone. In lieu of Daddy or Silver, Momma’s the only pony I would want to take advice from, but she’s not much help either. Momma never went anywhere without at least three servants to take care of all the missteps. She never had to worry about a thing, but Daddy says it’s ‘tacky’ to bring along the servants from home. Once again, Daddy’s dorkiness messes everything up. But… wait, Momma! That’s it.
Even if Momma always did make sure to have servants to take care of all the little annoying things and ponies, she also told me that some things were just too big for them. And these things were best settled with ponies of equal or close status and class to yourself. Makes sense to me. After all, unless it’s your personal servant, the only ponies who you can really trust to lend a hoof are the ones like you. Of course, it helps if they came to your Cuticenra; but it’s not absolutely necessary. So that decided, I hop off the bench with a smile. Everything will be all taken care in a few minutes, and if even the classy ponies in Baltimare try to give me a hard time, I can always throw Daddy’s name in their stupid faces. That seems to work a lot. Daddy’s business must mean way too much to too many ponies, not that I care when it gets me what I want.
But I don’t know these grimy, gross parts of Baltimare at all. I walk on the streets for a couple minutes, trying to catch sight of somepony with a fedora or suit and tie. It must be such a pain (never mind a violation to their ears and noses) to have to come down here just to make sure your peasant workers are doing their jobs. Ugh, and worse, they sometimes have to act like these stupid ponies have something valuable that they want to buy. But I figure that whether they’re going or leaving, I can eventually follow them to the places the beautiful mares like me know. Only, the more I look around, the more desperate I can feel myself getting. Nopony in these streets even looks like they have a shred of intelligence or money. It’s all a bunch of low lifes and bums just meandering around like zombies and dorks. And the ones that don’t look stupid are in groups laughing and joking like morons. Who gets together for a party in the street anyway?
See, I’m lucky though, so a nice, custom built cart flies past me right at that moment, and there’s no mistaking that it belongs to somepony of my status. I take off after it, being careful not to let my tiara fall off at the bouncy pace. Geez, you’d think that even peasants would know how to make an even, flat sidewalk. I jump a few potholes, and I’m about to shout to the idiot cab-pull to slow down for royalty when my forehoof catches on an uneven sidewalk slab. I scream even before it happens, and my face hits the pavement. Hard. I just lay there for a few minutes, trying not to cry at how much my face stings. I don’t think I’ve got any deep cuts or anything. It doesn’t feel like I’m bleeding when I touch my hoof to my face, but it hurts even worse at the contact. I wince and sniff, and my concentration on not crying breaks and the tears start running down my face. They hurt too. Really?! I mean really!? Why now?
I slowly lift myself off the gravelly pavement, and I notice my legs a shaking from how much I’ve dinged them up too. And nopony seems to have noticed either. Or if they have, they just aren’t bothering to care. How dare they. It’s not like I’m some groungy foal running around picking saddle bags. More to the point that I’m meant to be royalty. They’d all want to give me a hoof if Daddy would let me become like Momma, and if I were like Momma, I wouldn’t have to lean against a brick wall, clutching my shins and waiting for the burning to stop. I’d already be on my way to a hospital where I would properly taken care of. But no, I’m supposed to be some businessmare who only matters to other businessdorks. Why can’t Daddy just get over himself already?
I don’t know how long I sit huddled away from the crowds. It’s a kind of windy day, and every time there’s a break in the shuffling peasants, my scrapes sear up again. They crowd ebbs and flows too, and never once does somepony bother to give me a look. They’re all such ignorant morons. I’m gonna have Daddy do something that’ll make them never forget me when I get home. I try to stand up a couple times, but all I end up doing is hissing and sitting back down again. I’m actually really glad it’s not a rainy day, since I’d have to see how stupid and messed up I look in a puddle in the street. My one saving grace is my tiara. That at least still marks me out as belonging to a better, classier family of ponies.
I don’t know what try it is, but I finally manage to stand up and walk. My legs and face still hurt, but it’s bearable, and I’ll get them looked at once I get to the better parts of Baltimare. I decide to just start walking in a straight line. It’s my best bet at this point, and after hours trying not to trip again, I recognize the hotel Daddy and I stayed in. My stomach’s reminding me it’s well past lunchtime almost constantly now, and it’s becoming harder and harder not to think about not having had breakfast either. I push the grumblings down again with promises of sweets and snacks at some boutique or other. I have half a mind to march right into the hotel and have them pull me up from the roster and let them take care of me in real style until Daddy comes back, but there’s a bouncer at the door. And I’ve been checked by and hired enough of them to know it’s pointless. I’d have a better chance talking a dragon into not being so smelly.
I don’t like having to just walk past a warm bed and big kitchen and room service, but at least I get why we have bouncers. It doesn’t really help me at the moment, but I’m going to be sure to find some stylish way to wear my upper class identification so I never have to deal with this stuff again. That and carry some money. Daddy thinks it makes you a target, but I would have eaten by now if I had some. But I push on. Imagining what the Cutie Mark Crusaders would be doing if they were me brings a grin to my face and puts a small bit of energy back into my walk. Sweetie Belle would be straight up yelling too loudly and would sound even more stupid than normal. She and her sister like to think they’ve got class, but they don’t have the connections like me. Applebloom and Scootaloo would just want to stick to the gross parts of Baltimare. They’d fit in well enough, and there’d probably be some Apple somewhere. Ugh, nevermind. They would probably already be in some hick’s cart on their way back to Ponyville. It makes me sick.
But wasting time or energy thinking about them is pointless, especially since I’m now in the middle of the classy part of town. It takes a few more blocks, but I finally get into the shopping areas, and now that I’m so close to getting this stupid inconvenience taken care of, I don’t even feel my scrapes anymore. I wander around for a bit, looking into the shop windows for signs of the tastes of the owner. I want to be able to relate to the owner after all. What’s the point of trying to get her to give me a lift if we can’t even talk about good perfume smells and ugly mane styles on stallions? I end up settling on a place that looks like somewhere Silver would shop, not because I like the look of the things inside, but I am getting to the point that I can’t ignore my stomach much longer and most of the places don’t look like they’ve got anything close to the fantastic style I’ve got.
A small bell jingles when I step inside, and the mare of the store immediately turns from her jewelry display, her greeting just about to come out, but she ends up choking and trying to scream. I look around behind me, but there’s no big, ugly, fat stallion violating good fashion. But I don’t have to be confused by her stupid outburst for long. “Ugh!” she points a hoof at me, and I do the same, wondering why on earth a pony like me would make her look like she’s dying. “You street vermin just keep getting bolder and bolder! Gah! A fake tiara and everything! Get out, or I’ll call my bodyguard! And tell your little filly and colt ‘friends’ to stay away!”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m one them!” I burst out. This mare needs to get a grip. There are real diamonds in my tiara, and I’ve never seen a fake pearl glow like the real thing. “I’m Diamond Tiara.” When she only looks at me like all the stupid adults do when I tell them who I am, I roll my eyes and elaborate, “Filthy Rich’s daughter.”
“Huh! Brazen indeed!” she crows at me. “Such boldfaced lies are almost impressive,” she sneers at me. “Rich’s daughter never goes anywhere without him when they aren’t in Ponyville, so you can scat!” I open my mouth to protest, to give her the obvious reason I’m by myself, but she shouts in a cat-call before I can get the words out. “Big Socks! I have a trespasser I want escorted out of my shop.” A massive stallion almost immediately steps out of the back of the shop and nods in my direction to which the mare nods back.
“C’mon kid,” he says in a grumbly way. He doesn’t even wait for me to walk out on my own. He just grabs me up in a hoof like I’m some piece of garbage.
“No! Put me down!” I flail and shout at him, kicking and swinging all my hooves trying to get away. None of it even phases him, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “I’m royalty! My momma was a royal mare! My daddy’s Filthy Rich! Don’t you get it! AH! Let me go! I’m trying to get home! Uh…” A puff of breath escapes me as the stallion just tosses me onto my rump in the middle of the street.
“Keep it down kid,” he says to me, almost looking sad. “You’ll get money easier scroungin’ off the streets. Here, go buy a hayburger or somethin’.” He sighs and tosses some bits at my hooves, and I open and close my mouth, delirious, as he steps back inside and practically slams the door. That moron! That jerk! Daddy’ll run her out of business for sure for throwing me out! Really, how stupid do you have to be to think my tiara’s fake!? I huff and growl at the same time, turning my nose up and almost walk further up the street before I half-remember the bits on the ground. I wasn’t begging (that’s for wimps who can’t get what they want any other way) but they are there, and the longer I stare at them with one eye, the more I realize how hungry I am. Before anypony can see me, I sweep them into my hoof and do a quick count. It’s not even enough to get dessert for me and Silver from any place with good sweets, but it’s just barely enough for a hayburger. I never eat there. It’s so greasy and gross and full of fat, ugly dorks. But it’s cheap, which is why it’s gross, greasy, and always packed with fat dorks.
But before I go that route, I decide to check more of the boutiques. My second choice doesn’t go any better. I’m thrown out by a personal guard as I glare at the goof-off owners who are holding each others’ hooves and whispering things like ‘street rat’ and ‘ugly fake’. But I’ve already told them what idiots they are for not recognizing me. The guard this time doesn’t give me any bits, but he does mutter, “I get that you don’ feel like lookin’ for open saddle bags after gettin’ beat up, but this innit much better…” That’s when I take a chance to look at myself in some glass and wish I hadn’t. My mane’s a complete disaster, the fur on my face is all scraggly from the fall, and I’ve got bits of sandy gravel all stuck in with my usually beautiful pink. I try to fix my mane with my hooves, even while I watch and can’t stop more tears, but the more I mess with it, the worse it gets. And the worse it gets, the more frantically I try to get it right, until I’m a crying mess with a frizzy, mussed up mane that’s dangling stupidly all in front of my face.
At some point, my stomach reminds me how hungry I am again, and I sniff and decide there’s nothing for it. I trudge out of the shopping streets, head hung, but not for any purposeful reason. I just don’t have the energy to keep it up. The nearest Hayburger place isn’t too far from the train station. Common ponies are so disgusting. It’s the first place they stop to eat after getting to a new city, and it’s the last place they stuff their faces before a long train ride home. As much as I don’t want to eat that stupid not-food, it’s the only place I know of in Baltimare where I can use only a couple bits to buy enough food to keep me from being hungry in the middle of the night. A fresh wave of tears tries to come at the thought of nowhere to sleep for the night, but I force them down despite how it makes my throat burn. Nopony even gives me a glance when I walk in, and I can’t believe that out of all the places I’ve walked today, nopony has recognized me. This is what happens when Daddy won’t let me out to go do things.
When the line finally moves out of my way, I don’t even look at the peasant filly behind the counter. Never mind I’m a royal pony eating at Hayburger, I already look stupid, and I’m not letting anypony see me with puffy red eyes. I’d die first. “Just a hayburger,” I mutter to her and put the bits on the counter. She takes a second to make sure it’s the right amount, then says something really awkwardly about waiting just a second. I stand there, staring out a window in the direction of the fewest other ponies in the place. I can’t even think about anything. Not even where I’m going to sleep. I take the box without a word when it comes and go outside with it. There’s a small little nook between the Hayburger building and the next where they have their boilers. I squeeze in and eat the flat, tasteless food as fast as I can. I don’t want to throw it up before I finish. The noise of the boilers helps keep me from thinking too much.
By the time I’ve finished, night’s settled in and the lamp-ponies are already going around lighting the lampposts. I take my box and wrapper with me out of the boiler niche, and end up just watching the lamp-ponies dart around. The sound of warming boilers is still in my ears, so I get a few more minutes of numb half-peace. My stomach doesn’t really appreciate my choice of Hayburger. But when there aren’t any more lamps to be lit, I’m forced to figure out someplace to sleep. I should have gone to bed a couple hours before this, I’m sure. And that’s even with me staying up after Daddy has told me to go to sleep.
I start walking again, and my hooves are hurting now from all the work. See, this is why I shouldn’t get a job. Royal mares aren’t supposed to stand up and walk around all day. I end up trekking back to the train station. I reason it’s big enough to hide in without being caught, even if I don’t know whether it’ll be warm enough. I huff at the idea. No place is going to be warm enough. No place has my sheets and blankets. There’s a stupid draft in the building without anypony walking around in it, but it doesn’t tug at my fur if I get behind the pillars. I throw the hayburger stuff in one of the trash cans out of habit more than anything else.
I find an old, oily coat some nasty idiot left on the platform, but since I can’t find anything else, I take it with me behind the farthest pillar from the entrance. It’s not nearly big enough to cover me up and be a pillow. I have to curl up in a ball just to keep my hooves from sticking out, and my head has to lay on the hard cobblestone. I try using my mane to cushion my head a little bit, but it only tugs at my skull painfully, so I throw it over on the other side of my face. It’s stupid to think about, but I imagine where I should be and what I should be doing right now. I can see the giggling faces of the Cutie Mark Crusader dorks when they hear I’ve been left behind in Baltimare. And I can’t stop myself. I sit up and scream and stamp by hoof into the pavement. It’s not right! None of it! “I’m not supposed to live on the streets of some grimy city!” I wail, and it echoes through the empty platform. “Why haven’t you come back to pick me up, Daddy?” I whisper to nopony, but I can’t find the answer and there’s nopony else to tell me. I end up just burying my eyes in my foreleg to keep myself from crying, and at some point, I fall asleep.
I don’t shake myself awake the next morning. I just sort of blearily open my eyes and blink them a couple times. I’m not really conscious of anything other than feeling like I need to sleep more. It’s a nice feeling after everything else from yesterday. I move to stretch a little bit before rolling over, and my nice warm hooves are hit by the sharp cold air around me. I yank them back into the curled position I’d been in before, but the damage is already done. I’m more awake now, and when I blink my eyes again, I’m not feeling as drowsy anymore. It sucks. It would’ve been nicer just to sleep the day away. But with being more awake comes actually beginning to think, something I know we royal mares do better than other ponies. As much as I’d like to just stay here and sleep, if I stay too long, the trains will start coming and going. That means traveling ponies, station masters, and a bunch of other annoying ponies. Never mind not being able to get some sleep in that noise, I’d probably be forced up and out by the Guard or the station masters. I hate it, but I’d want me gone if I were getting off the train.
I try stretching again and the colder air isn’t as bad as last time. I can at least endure the shiver that runs up through my spine at the cold touch, and my legs don’t automatically curl back up. But even with sleep, I’m still worn out, and I end up just lying there splayed out for a few more minutes before deciding to get up the right way. I throw the gross, oily coat off and shove it to the side, doing my best to not think about how my fur feels all over. My face is the only place it didn’t touch, but that’s not much help either since I’ve got eye gunk I have to scrape out with my hooves (it pinches a bit), and my mane keeps falling in my face in ugly, long strands.
I manage to clear the corners of my eyes out without them watering too badly, and I take off my tiara to at least straighten my mane. It’s still frizzy and messily curled and not every stray hair wants to rest behind my face, but I’m able to take care of most it. It’s more than I can say for that stupid attempt yesterday evening. In addition to helping me preserve what’s left of my rightful dignity, my tiara’s got enough weight to act like a headband. So there is that I guess.
I peek my head around one of the pillars to check for any station masters. It’s morning time, but no trains are here yet, so I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed on the platform. It’s a stupid rule. It’s not like I would sleep on dirt in some dinky, icky alleyway. There are a few ponies in the master uniform coming onto the platform, but I’m a smart, observant mare; they don’t have all their security gear on. Sure enough, my eyes follow them as they wander off into what I guess is where they keep all that junk. I step out from behind the pillar and give the rest of the platform a scanning look. I allow myself a smirk at my own cleverness and their dumb. Shouldn’t they have checked the platform over like good little station masters?
It works for me regardless. I need to get out of here before they come though, so I start walking out at a decent prance. Before long, the draftiness of the platform hits me full in the face, blowing grit and bits of left behind paper and wrappers into my eyes. I wince against the burning and shield my eyes with one of my forelegs until the wind dies out. It takes longer than it has any right to, but once I lower my leg, I can’t help but notice how chilled the rest of me is. Being outside in the city just isn’t right. It makes me have to do stupid, ugly stuff. I grumble under my breath but turn around anyway and flick some of the stray strands of mane out of my eyes.
The nasty, oily coat is still where I left it, and I give it a good, long glare before throwing it over my back. “Bleh-heh-heg,” I shiver and whine at the way it clings to my fur. But it does it’s job when I come back out from behind the pillars again, especially since it’s still warm from last night. I vow to get something less gross as soon as I can. It’s not much, but at least it’ll be something to do while I wait for Daddy. Because that’s all I can figure has happened. I may have dreamed about it at some point or something else really stupid, but the only reason he’s not already back for me is the trains.
The station in Ponyville should be a whole lot bigger than it’s current size (duh, we have a princess living there now with me and Daddy), but we only have enough room for one engine. Daddy doesn’t go on many trips because of that, and now it’s going to keep him from coming to get me as quickly as he should. I guess there’s always the normal roads, but I don’t think even Daddy would be stupid enough to do that. There’s idiot dragons and sheer cliffs and all kinds of other dumb dangers on the cart roads. More than likely, he’d die on his way to Baltimare, or on the way back. There’s no way I’d go home in a cart, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Following that train (ugh, I can’t believe I even did that to myself) of thought, I decide it would be a good idea to come back later today to check when the next train from Ponyville will be arriving.
I glance at the posting boards with the faint hope they might already be current, but it’s all still yesterday’s times like I thought. I turn my head back to ground level, and it’s lucky I do, since they’re too far away still for me to hear. The two station masters from earlier are coming out of their back room now, and I feel a little flutter in my chest at being caught. I do my best to dart behind the nearest pillar with the nasty, heavy coat on my back, and I make it just before I’m sure they turn to look where I had been walking. They’re being really loud and obnoxious; one of them is laughing like a big dork, probably at some corny joke. I wait until I hear them pass my pillar, lean around to be sure they actually are, and scurry as fast as I can to the next one.
I keep doing this until I’m at the exit to the platform, but I have to stop there too. Actual Guard ponies are standing at the entrance, waiting until the station masters officially open the platform. This is bad. At this rate, I’ll either be caught by the Guards or the station masters will see me waiting to get out. I start to feel myself really breathing heavily, mostly because the coat is such a stupid drag and… Wait! The coat! I dive into the darkest corner of the platform, hoping there’s enough shadow to keep me hidden, and squeal a little as I scrunch up and throw the coat over my whole body. Everything goes dark, and I can barely hear what’s going on outside. I figure that doesn’t matter all that much. The noise from yesterday would be unmistakable even through this gross thing.
The smell is awful though. I want to think it’s just the bad odor of the nasty coat, but I’m pretty sure in the back of my mind that I don’t smell too great either. That alone is criminal. I focus on trying to breathe with my mouth, but it doesn’t help, since this air has a taste that’s almost ten times worse than the way it smells. I spit and spat as quietly as I can and the jerking motion of my head forces me to notice my tiara. It’s making the coat into this completely stupid and totally conspicuous cone shape. My chest jumps for a second just as I reach up and yank it down and hold it close. The result is my mane flying all over the place just before the coat becomes much heavier on my neck. Wonderful. So much for trying to hold onto looking beautiful.
But my disguise seems to work, as before long I can hear all the bustling and shouting of the morons outside who won’t shut up. I lean down and put my chin as close to the pavement as I can and lift the edge of the coat up to check. I’m right. Ponies are streaming in and a few are already leaving. Good. That means I won’t have to wait for the train. I crawl out from underneath the coat and re-situate it (it’s way too big for me, and I hate baggy clothes) before shaking a bit to sort out at least some of the ruffled spots in my fur. It’s not as good a fix as I want, but I’d need my special brush from home to have my servants do it right.
I glance around just to make sure I haven’t been noticed, and when I’m sure I haven’t, I do a lady’s trot into the crowds and make it out of the station without even a little hiccup. Perfection. Wouldn’t expect anything else from a perfect mare. I smirk at the Guards and stick my tongue out at them once I’m far enough away that they won’t see. I pause then, taking out my tiara from inside my coat and perching it wear it belongs on my head. It takes a couple of fine adjustments on my completely ruined mane to get right, but I manage.
That done, I figure it’s a good idea to find someplace to stash the coat for the day. I don’t want nor do I need to carry it around all day. It’s heavy, gross, and even if I look like a mess, I won’t go so low as to look like some dumb bum on the side of the street. Besides, the whole city isn’t as drafty as the platform. Part of me wants to head back up to the nice and classy streets I know well enough, but yesterday keeps intruding in my head until I decide that’s a bad idea. Unfortunately, I don’t think the other peasant parts of Baltimare are any better an idea. I’m stuck. Great. I end up just staring off into space trying to figure out the best place to go when I realize the building I’m staring at. It’s that tasteless Hayburger place with the boiler nook. That’s right next to the train station.
It’s not really much of a decision to make. I think back to what it looked like in there, and I don’t remember it being full of trash or other gross stuff. I control my hooves wanting to dash over as fast as they can, settling for a small trot. It’s a pretty good spot, and I have to thank my good eyesight for being able to see it in the first place. Good traits like that are just in royal blood. I can’t squeeze in with the coat on, so I swish it off and throw it before following more gracefully. Now that I’m here, it’s an even better spot, really. I crumple the coat up next to the biggest boiler, and I’m certain that whatever happens today, I’ll have a warm makeshift blanket at least.
But that still leaves me with what to do while I wait for the train station to post tomorrow’s arrivals and departures. I know for a fact that there won’t be a train coming from Ponyville just one day after one left for our tiny backwater town (I can’t stand it how the Apple family keeps us from becoming a bigger place by owning so much of the land). Which means that my best hopes will be tomorrow’s times. Of course, since train stations are run by stupid ponies, they wait until nighttime to show those to everypony. I sit on the opposite side of the boiler I’ve stuffed the coat against to give it some thought. I’m not going to get breakfast again, I’m pretty sure, but I definitely need to eat. And eat someplace that’s not Hayburger. Ugh, just thinking about having to put that icky stuff in my mouth again makes me want to vomit.
But food costs money, which I don’t have on me at all. I refuse to beg or ask for any. It’s below me and any other self-respecting royal mare in the world. I mean, the whole point of having a lot of money isn’t so you can go off buying nice, classy things. It’s a nice perk, but really, the best part is being the one other ponies have to beg from. They don’t like it, but it shows them just how beneath us they are without us having to do a single thing. I don’t even want to think about groveling like that. Momma would never forgive me, and I’d be the laughing stock of everypony in school for the rest of my life.
Pick-pocketing’s even worse. No money is better than having to take somepony elses’. For one, it’s probably all just a bunch of nicked and scratched low value bits. And second, the only money I think that’s worth having anyway is my own. It’s not grimy work wages like everypony else has but nice, shiny, gold bits that come from just being as fantastic as a royal mare should be. Unfortunately… I growl. Of all the times to be thinking about my things, I don’t have any and need them a whole lot. I bang my head against the back of the boiler and immediately regret it, rubbing where I hit it. It’s gonna bruise for sure, which means I won’t be able to sleep on my back for a while.
Whatever. Since I refuse to stoop below my status, I’m going to have to rely on the one skill Silver and I taught ourselves one summer forever ago. I sit up and nod to make sure the coat is still in it’s place and won’t blow away, then wiggle out from inside the half-alley. Normally, it would be stupid to think I could pull something like this off in Ponyville, but Baltimare is definitely a bigger place than Ponyville. Even if it’s not strictly a lemonade stand, fillies and colts are always finding sickly adorable ways to try to sell something useless. The trick is to know how to hijack it for yourself, like me and Silver did to the Cutie Mark Crusaders way back.
I have to be careful though since I don’t know these dingy streets and buildings well at all. It’s for reasons like this that I don’t listen to Daddy or Miss Cheerilee. They’re boring and annoying, of course, but nothing they say is ever useful at all. I have to leave my brain open and ready to remember things like street names (Baltimare has some the dumbest street names ever) and landmarks. Really, having to remember stuff like that for a mare like me is just as stupid as anything the other ponies older than me try to say, and I’ll just forget it as soon as I can, but at least I was smart enough to ignore them so I have the room to remember this stuff right now.
But it doesn’t seem like any of the fillies and colts in Baltimare are like the dorks in Ponyville at all. I can’t find a single stand or hoof-drawn sign directing ponies to a stand. There aren’t even signs that the ponies here have even tried to do something like that. No wonder this city is so gross, and all of the classy ponies are afraid of the peasants. They’re all lazy idiots who’d rather beg than actually work for mares like me. I’m in a real huff now. I haven’t found a single place to hijack money from, I’m hungry, and my mane probably looks like it’s been through a hurricane. Come to think of it now, it’s probably a good thing there aren’t any stands. The way I look right now, I’d be lucky if got anypony to come hoof over their bits to me.
As hungry and tired as I’m getting, I know better than to stop walking and memorizing streets. It’s keeping me occupied even if it’s not getting me anywhere. So at least, even if I am sore, tired, and starving, I’m not letting myself think about that stuff. Idly, I think it might be a good idea to try looking for random junk ponies have left in the streets and hoping to luck out on something I can sell to some shop or something, but then I remember I’m walking around and having to breathe the same air as the peasants. They don’t have stuff like that.
Like I said though, I’m lucky, and as I’m searching briefly for dropped and ignored valuables, the sun sparkles on the one valuable I know better than any other. I’m so excited, I dive into the shuffling masses so nopony else can get a chance to grab it. “Hey! Watch it kid!” gets shouted more than once, and other peasants just yell at me like I’m dumb or something. They should look in the mirror. I make it to the glittering piece on the ground and come up with a bit. It’s not brilliant (duh, it’s been in the street) but it’s not fake like what I guess a lot of these ponies use. I flip it over a couple times. It’s not the lowest value bit out there, but definitely not like what Daddy and I use. It’s progress though, and I eagerly look around the street around it for more bits.
I don’t find any, but I do see why that one was all alone in the road in the first place. Maybe I am, or maybe the ponies in Baltimare are just weird and have places like this all over, but I think I’ve wound up in the town square. It’s wide open and paved with bricks, kinda like the one in Canterlot, but not with all the mosaics and jewels. Families are everywhere, and I grind my teeth at the sound of screaming foals. Why can’t their dumb parents keep their stupid mouths shut? It’s annoying to everypony everywhere, no matter who you are. What’s even worse, they’re almost drowning out a cute little jazz group playing beside the fountain.
I don’t know why musicians don’t get more attention. Momma tried to teach me how to play the piano when I was little, but I never could get a hoof around how to do it. And if there’s one thing a royal pony should really be interested in, it’s playing an instrument, enjoying concerts, or both. Peasant’s just don’t get it, or they’d be quiet for the jazz group. I tear my attention away from them even though I don’t want to. Watching and listening to them play would be such a relief. It would almost feel like I’m back home at an outdoor concert. Instead I have to concentrate on why I found this square in the first place.
The fountain isn’t big or dramatic, but it is one of those kinds that ponies like throwing their bits into. It’s the perfect opportunity. There’s no clocktower around and my watch ran off with my bags with Daddy, so I don’t know the exact time, but I’m guessing it must be around lunch time since there are more ponies leaving than coming to the fountain. I mean, there are really shallow parts of the fountain where foals can stand in it and play around, so it’s not like I’ll have to actually jump in to get a decent amount of bits. I lean my head over the edge of the normal side of the fountain just to check it’ll be worth it at all, and I grin at all the bits on the bottom. Sure the waves on the surface make it look like there’s more, but even then I won’t have any trouble at all getting some without anypony noticing.
I start to stroll around the fountain to the area I can step into, and my confidence at how easy this was going to be starts to disappear. It doesn’t make any sense at all, but by the time I’ve gotten to where all the screaming foals are there’s not a single bit within easy reach. Dorks. They’ve probably taken them all or nopony throws any in on this side because they don’t want the foals to take them. I should leave right then. No way I’m getting any bits over here. But I end up going back over to where I’d first looked into the water anyway. I peer over the edge again, and all those bits in the water start laughing at me in the voices of the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I scowl and reach my hoof down just to see how close I can get to the water from here. I’m able to smack the water, but instead of making me feel any better or making the laughing stop, I can only imagine it more clearly. My stomach’s actively growling at me now too. It’s no help at all.
I can swim. It’s not that deep. And it’s also the dumbest idea I’ve ever had in my head. I growl audibly and whip away from the fountain, determinedly marching off. I’ll get some bits for food. I know I will. I’ve already got… what, just one. It’ll probably only pay for one whoppin’ hay fry. I scream in pure frustration and throw the bit at the cobblestone for good measure. It bounces and rolls and bounces again, but instead of ending up on the other side of the street where I can pick it up and get on with my search… it rolls down a sewer grate. I’m nowhere near it, but somehow I can hear every small clinking sound it makes on its way down. I start shaking, from what I don’t know, and I just lose all control. I turn around and break into a full run.
Nopony does or says anything to me until I’m right at the edge of the fountain, but by the time I hear a shout, I’m already in the air. And whatever else happens I miss. My body hits the water, and it’s just enough for me to go completely under. It’s also freezing cold. I can’t even think about the bits for a few seconds, popping back to the surface and already shivering and breathing heavily like a madpony. But I notice that more and more of the ponies in the square are looking at me, and I dive back under the water to escape. My hooves find what bits I can hold and run with, and I haul myself out of the water to hushed, disapproving whispers. It really was a stupid, stupid colt-ish thing to do. Water is dripping off me like I’ve gotten out of the shower with no drying towel, my mane is sticking to the sides of my face and the back of my neck, and my hooves are slippery on the cobblestone.
I take a few moments to try to take full breaths past how violently I’m shivering, and before anypony can do anything, I take off. I run like I’ve never run before. All I want is to get away, to be warm. I want to eat something and not have to look anypony in the face ever again. And what’s worse, I don’t even know why. I’m not in a panic. I just know that I want those things. I decide not to think about it. I must have run faster than I thought I could, because I’m inside the boiler alley before I even register squeezing in. I throw the bits on the ground with a clatter. I don’t want to look at them either. I grab my coat and wrap myself up in it and huddle in the smallest corner of the alley. I’m shivering still, but the warmth of the coat and boilers keeps it from being as bad as it was running here.
I just don’t think until I stop shaking. I let the humming of the boilers take up all the space in my head. It’s only when my mane’s beginning to perk back up, and my chest isn’t heaving from being so cold and running so hard that I hop over to the bits (I keep the coat wrapped around me tight with one hoof). I sort them by values for some reason, and it’s not nearly as much as I thought it would be. Maybe I can get double the amount of food I got last night. I don’t even care how much I hate Hayburger. I take off my tiara and stow it behind a boiler to keep it safe so that I don’t have to wear it and be recognized in the Hayburger. I toss my coat over my head and walk in to get the food. The mare at the counter has a different voice, but I still avoid looking at her.
The sun’s beginning to set when I go back outside and return to my boilers. I scarf down the food as much as to keep from having to really eat it as because of how hungry I am. I ball up the trash and kick it away. I try to curl up and sleep, but I end up rocking back and forth with the oily coat hanging off my back. My mane’s still not completely dry. The rocking eventually takes whatever else I have left in energy, and I just sort of fall over and close my eyes. It’s too early to got to sleep, but I don’t care. I don’t want to look at this stupid city anymore anyway.
For whatever reason, I wake up really late the next day. And I’m not tired or sleepy, which I guess is a little bit of an improvement from waking up yesterday in the train station. I stretch anyway, since it helps work out all the soreness in my legs from walking so much. And for the record, that’s the first thing I notice. I’m sore just about everywhere. I can still move and walk and turn my head and swish my tail, but every one of those things just feels ten times harder. The fact that it seems to take effort at all is stupid. Normal stretching doesn’t seem to do the trick, so I shake off that gross coat (which is now damp to go with the oily thanks to my dumb brain) and sit up.
Bringing my head off the ground tells me why I slept so long though. Beforehoof, I couldn’t hear anything but the gurgly sound of the boilers, and even sitting upright, I can barely make out the noisy peasants shuffling around outside the nook I’m in. So I guess even if they are ugly, the boilers are good for something. I shake my head and go back to stretching each of my legs one at a time. I think I squeal at some point when my left foreleg seems stiffer than the rest, but it’s too short for me to be sure. In the end, I feel like I’ve done my limbs more harm than good with how achy they are now, but I decide I should maybe just wait out the majority of the soreness before heading out again.
Not that I want to go back out there. That much I know for absolute certain. This city isn’t full of anything but dumb half-royals, cheap peasants, and idiot foals who don’t know how to actually sell something. There aren’t any stray bits lying around, they name their streets stupid things that are hard to keep right, and nopony has taken the time to learn who I am. Even Ponyville, the biggest hick town in Equestria, has taken the right step to learn who Diamond Tiara is. I’ve decided I hate everything about Baltimare, and if Princess Celestia wanted to burn it with the sun, I’d ask for a front-row seat.
But of course, even though Daddy apparently knows the princess, I haven’t been able to get to know her. Which means I won’t be able to convince her to melt everypony in this city. I stomp my hoof in the dirt and edge over to the crack of an entrance to the boiler nook. I need something else to think about other than how much I can’t stand this city. Normally, that would actually help me decide what to do (helped plenty of times with the Cutie Mark Crusaders), but it’s a little hard to give flank hurt to a whole stupid city. I wait until I don’t see pony legs passing by for a few seconds, and I peek my head out the entrance. I’m glad I have a scowl on my face, since the morning sunlight doesn’t hurt my eyes because of it. But I’m too furious to even have a smirk at that little bit of ‘good’ fortune.
My eyes dart to what part of the train station I can see from here, and I search for one of the big clock faces they have on the outside. It takes more seconds than I think are safe to find one, so I pull my head back and wait a few more minutes before watching the opening again. I have to repeat sticking my head out into the walkway of the idiots several times before I finally see the clock faces. The fact they’re hidden beneath the archway above the platform entrance is stupid enough, but it’s just my luck they’ve got something like five of the things all turned to different times. I huff-growl and whip myself back in with my boilers and sit against one of the them, crossing my forelegs over my chest. Sure, that’s helpful to some dork like Daddy maybe, but it’s not like mares like me are supposed to be able to learn that sort of thing. I mean honestly, how hard would it be to put those inside instead of out?
I should have known though. Baltimare ponies are all morons and are no help at all. And being smack in between two buildings, I can’t really guess what time it is by where the sun is. The only way that’d be helpful is if it were noon. And I can tell just by how I feel it’s definitely not lunch time. I’ve gotten myself into morning limbo again it looks like. That time of morning where there’s not enough time to really do anything before noon, but it’s still going to take forever for noon to get around if I do nothing. Ugh, this is not the kind of start to the day I wanted or needed.
I start tapping on a boiler pipe as I try to sort out my head. I’m not even really wanting to think about anything at the moment, but just getting my brain to that point is hard enough. I’m a flat-out, jumbled mess, and I can’t stand it. Of course, I realize that it’s not really me that’s so bent out of shape. Well, yeah, I am in the absolute worst of spots, but none of it’s my fault. Daddy didn’t check to see if I was coming onto the train with him, the royal ponies here don’t have eyes good enough to see a royal mare from another part of Equestria, and… and… UGH! None of it’s fair at all, and nopony seems to get it.
Somewhere inside, I’m vehemently opposed to crying anymore, but I just shove that idea away. I don’t care. I just roll over onto my side and don’t open my eyes. I let the tears leak out and try not to give my head a place to wander. But I can’t, and I start thinking about really stupid morbid stuff. I’m probably going to die in this dumb city. Right here surrounded by ugly, loud boilers. I’m going to starve instead of going out in a way that will be remembered. And nopony will know that I’ve even died for a while. I notice amidst all of it that I can’t even seem to cry right. I’m not sobbing, my chest isn’t breathing in bursts. I’ve just got tears rolling out my eyes which makes them feel all puffy and sore like the rest of me.
At some point (I lost track of time), one of the boilers cycles down, and the change in its tone does something in me. The tears stop and so do the thoughts of how I’m going to die isolated from the rest of the world that should be mourning me. NO! I’m not going to just lie here and fall asleep and never wake up. I’m going to have a full stomach, at home, in my room, with my mane brushed and taken care of by the servants I have. And just to rub it in Daddy’s stupid face, I’m going to come home in style and class. I stand up and wipe away what’s left of the tears and rub my eyes to get rid of as much of the redness as I can. I’m going to show them all. Every last one of their stupid little mugs.
I march out from behind the boiler half-alley with a grim frown of intensity on my face. I’ve got a plan, and nopony in this dingy city is going to stop me from getting away from their grossness. I don’t even bother taking the trashy coat with me. I’ll have things a hundred times better in the first class train car alone. I make it inside the train station and start looking around for their departure billboard. And instead of being right up front like it is in the dinky Ponyville station or hanging from the ceiling like in Canterlot and Manehattan, the postings are nowhere in sight. I whirl in place for a few seconds, trying to see in all directions past all the moving ponies blocking my view until I finally give it up. I push somepony out of my way and walk over to the nearest bench, not even bothering to look behind me at the startled and offended noises coming from whatever dork I moved from in front of me.
There’s already too many ponies trying to cram themselves onto the thing, so they obviously don’t care about what kind of pony has to touch their fur. I move around to the end of the bench, and after several tries which none of them seem to notice, I clamber onto the armrest, and from there, onto the back of the bench itself. It’s tricky to balance half of my body on the solid wood of the bench and the other half on the squirming and whining heads of the ponies underneath me. I manage it though, and I’m sure they’ll get over it. Idiots never remember who or what did anything to them in the first place.
Luckily, from my new vantage point, I spot the board pretty quickly and hop off the squished and doofus ponies before their yelling and hoof waving actually does anything. Whatever. I slip back into the crowd briefly so they can’t chase after me and get out of that gross, smelly mass as soon as I’m close to the board. The floor around it’s packed. Typical. Not one of these ponies obviously knows where it is they want to go, or they’d be like me. Standing back far enough, I can see the names and times just well enough to make out what they say, and as soon as I spot what I’m looking for, I turn right around and head for the ticket office. As if I need to think about where to go. If nopony knows me here, I’ll have to go someplace where I’m sure the classy ponies know me and will get me home. And since I’ve been there plenty of times, Canterlot is where I’m going.
There’s two lines at the ticket counter, one for receiving pre-bought tickets, and one for buying tickets on the fly. I’m never in the latter line and for good reason. Daddy makes all of these trips way in advance, so we never have to buy tickets the day of, but the ponies in the purchasing line are so much grimier than the ones like me. It has to mean they’re ponies from Baltimare, and as much as I hate getting in line with them and their unbrushed coats, I do it. I don’t know if it’s physically possible, but I think my scowl gets deeper when I realize I probably don’t look out of place in the line. But even if these idiots all look like they’ve all crawled out from under a rock, I can admit at least most of them know what they want and get moving out of the way. The stallion at the ticket counter can’t see me from his booth, and if he thinks I’m going to find something to lean up on to see him when he’s perfectly capable of reaching his head over, he’s gonna need a new job.
He doesn’t do it at first, which impresses me and makes me even more annoyed all at the same time. But when the muttering and grumpiness of everypony else increases to the point that he can’t ignore it, he edges over to look me in the eyes. “Yes?” he asks, and his tone is more holier-than-thou than any other adult I’ve ever heard. He’d have probably made my momma proud.
“Yeah, listen colt,” I demand to him. However much I loved Momma, I’m not her, nor am I in the mood to try to be civil. None of the ponies in this city deserve my best. “Tell me what the price of a first class ticket on the three o’clock train to Canterlot is.” He’s got this dorky little bowtie, as part of his uniform I’m guessing, and if the counter weren’t so high up, I’d grab it and pull him down a bit for emphasis. Instead, I have to settle for my hardest voice and deepest glare. I also give a solid kick to the stallion behind me who coughs in disbelief at my question.
“Two hundred bits up front, and another two fifty when you get there,” the pony says to me as blandly as possible. “Now stop blockin’ the line filly.”
“You’d better save one of those tickets,” I point my hoof at him as he straightens up back into his chair and motions for the stallion behind me (still wincing a little) to move up. He ignores me, but I’m gonna have the last laugh for sure when I show back up with the bits it’s going to cost. I don’t want to waste time, so I take off at a full run. Funny how ponies naturally jump out of the way when you’re running pell-mell toward them but won’t move if you’re just walking. I make a mental note of it. Could be useful for when I get home.
Even if I know what I’ll have to do, it doesn’t make me thrilled to have to do it. There’s only one way I’ll be able to get out of this stupid city, and it’s sitting on my head. Daddy bought me my tiara when I got my cutie mark. It’s a custom piece. The solid parts are made of white gold and platinum, the circle itself is studded with diamonds, and the pearls on top are the of the best, natural quality. I’ve never gone anywhere without it ever since Daddy put it on my head at my Cuticenera. It looks just like my cutie mark, and I guess I kinda look at as actually being my cutie mark too. It sounds so dumb to even think it, but it’s like a part of me. I’d never thought of getting rid of it or replacing it, even to get a bigger one as I get older. This one is the only one. But now, I’m about to sell it off for bits to buy a train ticket. I know Daddy can buy me another one when I get home, and I know he will too. But it’s not much comfort. I convince myself as I’m running down through the grimy streets of Baltimare that it’s doing just what a cutie mark is supposed to do. It’s keeping me on track for my destiny. I can’t be a royal mare like Momma if I’m stuck with these morons.
Normally, no matter how fast or slow I run, I can’t feel it on my head unless it slips off, but now I can’t help but notice how it’s weight seems to shift with every running bob of my head. I can feel the war in my chest over whether or not to give it up and just narrow my eyes and block it out. I’m not staying in Baltimare any longer than I have to. That three o’clock ticket is going to be mine. Once I think I’ve run long enough, I slow to a trot and start looking around at the gross, wrecked-looking buildings around me. They’re definitely beat down, so the place I’m looking for shouldn’t be too far away. There’s one in Ponyville, and it’s the only shop front that’s consistently nice-looking. Always has bright colors and big signs when nopony else can come close to affording them. Ha! There.
Even more than it does back home, the pawn shop in Baltimare sticks out like a sore hoof. Better yet, it sticks out like a dragon in a crowd of mice. A unicorn must run the place, since they’ve got flashing magic inside the store windows. Daddy’s gotten some nice things from these places before (or that’s what he says anyway), so put my face up the glass to check if there’s anything inside that looks like my tiara. There’s a lot of instruments, a lot, and several china sets that I can see. No jewelry from where I’m standing, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s probably hidden so nopony can know how much they really have.
After all, ponies in this city probably steal just because they think it’s fun. They’re stupid enough. I shake my head and end up mouthing ‘no’ right then. Memories of jumping in the fountain are coming back. That wasn’t stealing, I say to myself. It was no different than if they’d just thrown them out into the street for anypony to find. “Oh! Just shut up!” I growl under my breath and angrily push the door open to the pawn shop. I don’t need to think about that right now. If I lose my nerve, I won’t get the bits I need out of this shop. I’m probably swindling myself asking for only four hundred fifty bits anyway, but… oh, no I don’t want to think about my tiara either.
I tense the muscles in my neck, focusing on looking straight ahead and not letting my head wander anywhere else either. There’s nopony at the counter like there should be, even though I just came in to the sound of a little jingling bell. I keep walking anyway and bang my hoof on the dividing wall since I can’t reach the chime. I wait and… nothing. I rap my hoof on the wall again, this time shouting, “Hey! Anypony in here?” That gets an answer. There’s some muttering from somewhere behind the counter, and I hear some frantic scuffling when somepony bangs a chair on a desk. I would know. It happens all the time when Daddy is expecting somepony at the house he wants to greet himself.
I take my tiara off then and pointedly decide not to look at it or think about how it feels between my hooves. The pony that comes to the counter is as dorky as they come. He’s about as thin as a candy stick, has freckles on one side of his face, and is wearing crooked glasses. I think his mane is the only reason he hasn’t died from how dumb he looks. It’s not too bad. “Yes, Ma’am. How can I help you today?” he asks me, and for once I’m getting the respect I deserve.
“I want bits for this,” I say and offer up my tiara. I’m glad he doesn’t know how much I hate even saying that or showing it to him like this. Could this sacrifice hurt any more? Does the counter have to be so tall that I’m forced to hold it up like a primitive offering or something else stupid? He doesn’t care what it means, as I can tell from the way his magic yanks my tiara from my hooves.
“Hmmm,” he hums to himself, and I glance up to see what he’s doing to it. I’m determined not to cry when I have to look at somepony else eyeing it like it belongs to them. He’s got his tongue in his cheek and’s rolling my tiara over and over in his magic. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “What are you looking to get out of it?” he asks me, and he sets my tiara down on the counter and lets go of the magic.
“Four hundred fifty… fifty… bits,” I manage to croak out despite my voice wanting to break.
“Steep, not unreasonable,” he muses, leaning his chin on his hoof and seeming to think for a moment. “If it’s real anyway. I’m going to guess you don’t have any official documentation that will make this easier for both of us.” I nod. What’s he getting at, official documentation? Any half decent jeweler would be able to take a look at my tiara and know immediately it’s real. “Then would you mind if I took a closer look with some instruments of mine? just so I can be sure myself of course.”
“My tiara stays here while you go get whatever it is,” I say, and my brain catches onto something brilliant even by my standards. “And you promise me the bits I asked for once you see it’s real.” I’m glad my face or voice doesn’t crack that time.
“You drive a harsh bargain, filly,” he laughs and leans under the counter with a grunt. “But it’s a deal,” he says when he comes back up, and he’s got a set of magnifying lenses in his magic. Some of the lenses he immediately sets aside and others he arranges in what I can only guess is a very specific order. I watch his every move with rapt attention just in case I think he’s about to try to pull something. He may be showing me the proper amount of respect, but he’s still the owner of a pawn shop in some dingy part of Baltimare. But he’s thorough if nothing else. It seems like he checks every inch of my tiara over like he’s looked at other fake ones before. He even switches out some of the lenses for the pearls and diamonds.
When he finally finishes and stows the lenses away again, he lets out a big, gusty sigh before looking at me. “Look, I can see you’re desperate for bits, but…” he sighs again and takes off his glasses and chews on one of the ear pieces. “It’s fake. The gold’s real, but it’s only a thin coating. I’d give you maybe… um… one fifty.”
“NO!” I scream, and I can feel my whole body trembling. “It’s real! I’ve had it forever! My daddy bought for me for my Cuticenera! He doesn’t buy fakes! I… It’s been looked at by professional jewelers in Canterlot!”
“Calm down, calm down,” he smiles nervously at me, trying to keep my tone like his.
“No!” I yell louder. “You’re evil!” I jump up and grab my tiara from off the counter and run out the door as fast as I can. It’s just… I can’t… I hold my tiara close to my chest and actually, really cry. I sob. I sniff. I shudder. It doesn’t make things feel any better. It actually makes things worse, but I do it anyway. I keep turning my little circlet over and over in my hooves as the tears drip off my chin and my heaving chest makes it harder to breathe right. Now it’s going to be next to impossible to let it go, I know it.
Except… “Hey, you okay?” a voice asks me, and I look up out of instinct more than wanting to know who it is that’s trying to get the attention of dirty, grimy, crying mare on the sidewalk. “What’s up? Low Value knock somepony else again?” There’s a stallion looking at me, and even though he’s a pegasus, he looks a lot like Daddy. He’s wearing an all black suit instead of the traditional style Daddy goes with, and he’s got a hat and a little scruff, but he’s definitely similar. Probably a decent business pony at least.
“H-h-h-him?” I hiccup and shakily point at the pawn shop. How am I supposed to know who Low Value is?
The stallion nods with a grim look on his face. “Thought so,” he tells me. “Guy’s got no talent at appraisal. You lookin’ to sell that crown there?” I nod, but don’t say anything, since another shudder goes up through my chest.
“Should be sinch at my shop,” he tells me and offers a hoof. “C’mon, I’m just around the corner from Value’s place. We’re kinda like competitors, except he’s got the street front.” I take his hoof, and he easily pulls me to my hooves for a stallion his size. Most pegasi in Ponyville are only strong in the wings. I put my tiara back on my head, but I can’t gather enough conscious effort to do or say much more than that. After all my time alone in Baltimare, getting help from some random business pony was the last thing I’d expected. Maybe… maybe I won’t have to sell my tiara after all. Maybe he’ll believe that I am actually the one and only Diamond Tiara and get me home or to Canterlot because he knows about Daddy.
“Just around here,” he says and directs my hooves to turn down an alley. Well no wonder he has trouble competing with a street front store. He doesn’t even have any signs pointing down here or anything. I’ll give him some advice to do just that. I wipe away my tears and sniff, and I’m about to turn to suggest it to him when I notice two other stallions coming down toward us from the alley. They’ve come out the only door and both are dressed just like this other stallion. Just as I’m about to stop and try to turn around on impulse, the pegasus holding my hoof bodily tosses me on ground.
I feel the breath pushed out of my lungs at landing so hard, and I have to cough at the suddenness. Already I can feel my brain screaming at me to get up. I know this is bad, I know these stallions are the worst of the worst, and I… I… I scramble to my hooves, and I don’t think my eyes could be smaller or my mouth more dry. All three of them are coming closer, and I try to back up, my mouth trying to say something, but I’m too shaky to get anything out. I bang one of my hind legs on a trash bin and fall on the ground again. “Please! Don’t!” I scream. A million things are flying through my head, and I only know I don’t want any of them to happen.
“Oh, shut up,” one of the stallions grunts at me, and before I register what’s happening, a hoof slams into my chest. I cry out, but that only hurts worse and trying to stand and run even more so. I stumble backward, coughing and feeling tears coming at the sharp, burning feeling in my middle. “I… I… please…” I stutter, descending into a coughing fit that only makes me wince more.
“He said shut yer trap,” another one of the stallions growls, and another hoof hits me in the side of the face. I feel his hoof on my face still as I collapse on the ground, and it’s a white hot searing sensation. My hooves are shaking as I try to touch where he hit me, but they never get there.
“Gives us the crown you brat, and we’ll stop after this!” the first one laughs, and I actually scream when he bucks me in the flank. I roll over and over until I hit the other side of the alley wall, and I can feel the bricks scraping up my back. But nothing else hurts worse than my flank. I can’t help whimpering and shaking my hooves at the three of them as two keep walking closer.
“Enough!” the one who brought me here says, grabbing the other two with his wings and pushing them back. “He said get the tiara! You guys are real nut-jobs. That’s a kid! Now grab the jewelry and get back inside!”
“Shove off!” I can hear one of them hiss, but my eyes are starting to blur, so I’m not sure which. I just… I just want to go… go to sleep. It hurts. It all hurts so bad. I can’t even move without hurting somewhere. I feel somepony taking my tiara without my permission, and I try to say something and reach with my hooves, but all I get is a sharp slap across my cheek. I’m knocked to my other side, and when I hit the cobblestone again, all I can remember is how much I hurt, and that I’ve had a part of me taken away.
Silence. Pure, blessed silence. That’s what I wake up to, or that’s what I first think I wake up to. Stinging pain’s the second. Just trying to open my eyes sends it running down my spine and a wincing hiss escapes my mouth and pulls me straight out of drowsiness. I gingerly try squinting them open again, and I realize it’s only one side of my face that hurts so badly. I keep that eye closed and peak out the other. Above me is a big, four-bladed fan lazily turning without a sound. Even the magic on the shaft isn’t making any noises. It’s weird, but just noticing that little detail brings everything else into sharp focus. I panic and try to flail around at first, but a slow grinding pain in my thighs kills that idea. I blow out a huge breath and just lean backward, staring at the fan.
I’m lying in a small bed, a single and flat pillow for my head, and just one, thin sheet to cover me up. I turn my head from side to side since that doesn’t seem to hurt anywhere. The bed takes up most of the space in a tiny, blank room. There are no boxes, dressers, cabinets, or any kind of other furniture that’s usually in a bedroom. The only other unique thing about the place is a small, circular window on the right wall. Apparently I’m on some upper floor because I can’t even see the roofs of other buildings from my angle on the bed. Just a plain, grey, cloudy sky. Great. It’s going to rain.
I roll my head back to stare at the fan. I don’t will it to think about it, but I don’t try to stop it either. I don’t have the energy. My head keeps repeating that one moment. When I feel those filthy thugs take my tiara off my head. I guess it’s the lesser of two evils, because I can’t seem to remember them beating me. But it doesn’t hurt any less. My only hope of getting away from Baltimare is gone to who knows where. The only thing I had left that helped remind me of who and what I was going to be, no matter where I was, is gone. My connection to Daddy, to home, to my status… taken like it was some stupid trinket. I want to flop my head back on the pillow, but my chest is bound up by something and makes even attempting to sit up much too difficult.
So instead I just lie there, knowing that somepony will eventually come inside the room. After all, somepony obviously found and brought me here, so I’d think they’d want to know if I was dead or not. I really am surprised I’m not dead, the longer I think about it. Who knows how long I was unconscious in that alley, and as much as I hurt too much to do anything other than roll my head, they hit me hard enough. It crosses my mind that maybe I am actually dead, but I shake my head at that idea. The afterlife wouldn’t be so drab and dank and boring. Not to mention I don’t think I would still have my wounds. But that brings me back to wondering where exactly it is I’ve been taken.
I think the tightness around my chest and barrel is from bandages, and when I check beneath the sheet, that’s just what they are. And they’re not grimy, old bandages either. They’re a stark, clean white like what I’ve seen Rainbow Dash wearing when she comes out of the hospital every other day. And the wrapping looks professional too. Maybe a nurse at a hospital nearby found me? That seems as though it’d be the most likely. I’ve never believed in flowery depictions of certain ponies like nurses or Guardsponies or mail carriers, but I may have to rethink that if this pony does turn out to be a nurse. This is the kind of thing that happens in fairytales and other dorky foal stories.
I’m feeling even more awake now, and my curiosity is keeping me from thinking too much about getting beaten and robbed in an alley. I try to move around to get up again, but every twist and turn sets my flank and middle into throbbing pain like they’re being pelted by rocks. I don’t mean it to, but a yell comes out of my mouth before I bury my face in the pillow. I’m not sure why, but smothering my senses in the old thing keeps me from screaming any more as the pain slowly pulses away. When it finally goes back to being just a numbing pain in the back of my mind, I let go of the pillow and let it just sit there on top of my turned head. There wasn’t any noise in the room beforehoof, but now with the pillow resting on my exposed ear, it’s like I don’t even have to be bothered by the quietness.
I lay there for a long while, or maybe it’s not, but it seems like a long time for me. I’m back to where I was when I first woke up in this bed, in this room with the slow turning fan above me. My head feels like it’s spinning, giving me a headache and making me close my one open eye to block out the way everything is tilting and swaying. It only helps a little, since everything still feels like it’s trying to go topsy-turvy, but at least I don’t have to look at the real world staying perfectly still. Eventually, the swaying in my skull stops, but the headache doesn’t go away, and I decide to just keep my good eye shut. There’s not much to see in the room anyway, and if I do open it up, I’ll probably end up trying to get out of bed to go look out the window. Considering that my whole middle is bandaged up, I think that’d be a bad idea.
Not that lying very much awake with nothing but the darkness of my own eyelids is any better. I start to notice just how clean everything smells and feels. Whoever brought me here no doubt lives in the worst places in Baltimare if they have to use that much scour to keep icky grossness out. Aside from that, choosing to not use my eyes to occupy my brain means I have to take notice of how swollen my face feels. I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as I think it is, but even against the softness of the mattress, I would swear it’s at least three times its normal size. It’s odd I think that the rest of me that got beat on doesn’t feel so bulged out but then again, I’ve learned my lesson about moving them around much. It’s hard to tell if they feel puffy or not when I can’t even brush them against bedsheets.
And it seems like it’s not just my physical head that’s swirling. My thoughts somehow circle back around to my tiara without me even realizing it. I’m remembering just how big it was, the specific steps I would go through to polish it when I wanted to do it myself, and even the names of each of the pearls I gave them when I was little. I’m remembering every little thing about it now, things I didn’t even know I had as memories. My head plays out a fun time I had with Silver once. We swapped out things. I took her glasses and pearl necklace while she wore my tiara. We even tried to do each others manes up to look like each other. I giggle a little bit. We ended up looking really stupid, and Daddy was up in a fuss with the servants for several days about letting us near scissors. I want to laugh harder, but the pain in my chest stops me, and I settle for more giggling. Tears are coming out of my eyes too, but I don’t notice them as much. Everything I’m feeling blurs together so easily, and at some point I fall asleep again.
I don’t know for how long I sleep, but I wake up with a jerky start when a thunderclap shakes the whole building I’m in. My eyes are wide and my breathing heavy and fast until I catch up with where I am. It all floods back, and I sigh. The rain starts, and I can tell these weather pegasi aren’t as good as the ones back home. Instead of a slow lead up, the clouds just start pouring out the rain as hard and fast as possible. I must be on the top floor of the building, because the clatter of the raindrops on the roof is loud and not a little piercing. I pull the pillow back over my head, and it blocks out enough of the incessant patter.
Several minutes go by, and the rain keeps me from concentrating on anything. But it’s too loud to let me sleep anymore and for some reason, it keeps me from being outright bored. I guess it’s just me trying to think or feel something, but being unable to. Before I can think of a way to shut the sound of the rain out completely, I hear something else distinctly different. It’s a small but prolonged creaking. Whatever. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s windy outside with how much rain and thunder are pounding along with this storm. I adjust my shoulder a bit, only, the sound of the sheets brushing against my fur is drowned out not by the pouring rain or growling thunder but by the steady, light clop of hooves on wood.
The steps are spaced out and cautious. Whoever it is doesn’t want to wake me up if I’m sleeping, obviously. I really want to roll over to see who it is, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’d end up howling into the mattress. Instead, I try to mouth a question, but only a little, strained squeak comes out. I clap my hooves over my mouth, and the steps stop. There’s nothing but the storm outside between us for what feels like an eternity. “Miss Veny!” a filly from the other side of my bed calls, and I can tell already she’s freaked out. Good thing I already had my ears covered, or I’m sure I would have had to at the volume she’s shouting. “The one from the alley’s awake I think!” If I wasn’t before, I sure am now.
“Hush! Magic, please, keep your voice down!” another voice and another set of much faster hooves greet my ears. I can only compare her voice to Momma’s. It’s stern, but I can hear something like what’s in Princess Twilight’s voice. It’s not kindness or concern. It’s just… I imagine Momma and decide it’s the voice of somepony who is simply nice. “You’ll wake up everypony else if this storm doesn’t do it for us.”
“Sorry, Miss Veny,” the filly I guess is named Magic says, and I can picture her looking down and shuffling her hooves. Her tone is apologetic enough. “Should I go while you check on her?”
“No, stay here. I may have you run and get me some bandages from the medicine closet,” the older mare who sounds like Momma replies. It’s then that I feel a soft, tentative hoof poke at my shoulder. I don’t move, and I definitely don’t say anything. I only breathe as softly as I can. It’s weird. I can’t place it exactly, but when I was alone in this room, I really did want to know who it was that had brought a beaten up mare here. Now that some of the ponies who live or work at this place (I still don’t know what the building is supposed to be) are in the room with me though, all I want is for them to go away. I don’t want them to know about my tiara, or what it meant, or where I’m from and trying to go. I close my good eye and pretend to be asleep. Maybe if they think I am, they’ll leave, and I can sort all of that junk out by myself. What good are they if I can’t even explain it all anyway?
“Dearie,” the mare says, more quietly this time, and I guess it’s her who pokes at my shoulder again. “I know you’re awake. So why don’t you say something. Like, say, what’s your name?” I keep silent and keep my eye shut. My name is mine and mine alone. I’ll give it out only if I think somepony else deserves to know it. They won’t take that much away from me. I think my eyebrows are scowling, because my head starts to hurt worse, and when I consciously don’t frown, it feels better. It’s hard to do, not furrow my eyebrows I mean.
“My name’s Magic Gale,” the filly in the room says. “Ain’t got a drop of magic in this unicorn body of mine.” Why is she so chipper about it? If I were a unicorn, that’d be the thing I’d probably care more about than being a royal. “C’mon, what gives newcomer?”
“Are you thirsty?” the older voice says, and her hoof rests permanently on my shoulder. It takes every bit of the little willpower I’ve got left to keep from yanking my shoulder away. But thanks to her suggestion, now I can’t help but notice how dry my mouth is. I dart my tongue out to wet my lips, and while I’m doing so, she pats me in what I guess is an attempt at encouragment. But all it does is cause me to bite down on my tongue. I can’t stop what happens next, but I still hate it that I suck in my breath so loudly. My tongue doesn’t even hurt that badly compared to the rest of me.
“Cool! She is awake!” Magic Gale says, and she’s back to her annoying loudness. Which she seems to take notice of, since she immediately apologizes with a whispered, “Sorry!” There’s nothing for it now, so I pull the pillow off my head with about as much care as Scootaloo has for her own safety. My hoof ends up flopping somewhere above my head and the pillow falls off the mattress and onto the floor.
“Go away,” I say as briskly as I can. I may not be able to make sense of it even to myself, but I know for a fact that I don’t want to talk to them right now.
“Are you sure?” the Momma sound alike asks me, though she does stop touching me. “We’re having a nice pot of pesto soup for supper in about half an hour.” I shake my head no. It sounds good, but I feel sick just thinking about trying to put anything in my mouth, never mind my stomach.
“Miss Veny?” Magic asks, and I can only assumes the older mare gives her some sort of approving nod, because she starts off again almost a second later. “I can bring her some up here after we’re all finished.”
“How would you like that, little one?” this Miss Veny asks me in turn. “You really do need to eat if you’re going to heal up properly.”
“I’m not little,” I feel the need to say. I’m not going to have this turn out with any misunderstandings. “You can leave it at the door. The soup.” Maybe I’ll be able to stomach something once I’m by myself again, and I’ve slept a bit more.
Magic giggles and says, “You are too little. You’re my size. And don’t you worry. I’ll have that soup up here soon as I can.” As if. The only thing in the world allowed to have a voice that high for her age is Pinkie Pie.
“Okay, that’s settled then,” Miss Veny says, apparently satisfied by the turn of events. “Magic, would you go down to check on Bowlful and make sure he’s not drowning in vegetable broth again.”
“Yes Ma’am!” the filly answers, and I get a pretty clear picture of a salute from her tone before the clopping of her hooves tells me she’s left the room. There’s a drawn-out silence now, and I notice the rain seems to have let up some even if it’s still letting off cracks of thunder every now and again.
When the mare doesn’t leave after several minutes, I repeat, “Go away.” She obviously didn’t take the hint that I meant both her and Magic the last time.
“I’ll go when I’m done making sure your bandages are still in place,” she answers me with a sternness that more than matches Miss Cheerilee. But she’s definitely preoccupied, I can tell, and if she is checking on whatever my bandages are for, I decide it’s best not to distract her. “Well that’s that then,” she says at last even though I never feel her tug on the white cloth strips once. She must be a unicorn and used magic to tell. “Could you sit up for me, dearie?”
“No,” I say. I’d think it would be obvious to somepony smart enough to wrap bandages that my flank hurts whenever I move it.
“You’re lucky, you know,” she tells me. “Nothing was broken and the cuts on your back aren’t deep at all. The rest is just bruising. If you don’t move around, it’ll just hurt more later and take longer to get better.”
“Go away,” I reiterate for the third time. “I don’t want to talk to you or anypony.” Why does she keep trying to be so comforting. Haven’t I made it perfectly transparent that I want to be left alone, with just my own head. It’s bad enough having to sort through it without somepony else muddling things up being nice or trying to understand. What a joke.
“If that’s what you need right now, I’ll leave you to it,” she says at last, and I hear her following through with it by the fading clop of her hooves on the wood floor. “Don’t be afraid to holler if you need anything. Somepony will hear and come see what it is you need. I’m Venia or Miss Veny so you know.” I don’t feel the need to nod or reply. It would probably end up convincing her to stay in the room longer. When I hear the door close behind her, I don’t peak open my good eye at first. I just try to enjoy the complete oblivion the rain gives me when I’m not looking around.
But I eventually peel it open, wondering if either of the mares did actually leave, or if they only faked it and are waiting on me to move around some. From what I can see from my limited area of vision, they left for real, so I let myself blow out a big breath. I begin to regret not having looked at either of them since I start thinking about the things they said and imagining what they must look like from their voices. Am I in a boarding school or someplace like that? Magic never called Miss Veny ‘Mom,’ but they were obviously eating here together with more than one other pony. A hospital is looking more and more likely, but that still doesn’t… or well, I guess Magic might be a nurse in training. Whatever. I don’t even know why I care.
I try to sit up again like Miss Veny said would be good for me, but I end up just falling back on the now pillowless mattress with an audible whimper escaping past my lips. My forehooves gingerly touch my flank, and I immediately yank them away at how sensitive they are. I do the same to my chest, and it doesn’t seem as bad. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out in a long huff, staring at the ceiling and that same, old slow-turning fan. I try sitting up in different ways, but each time I end up leaning or collapsing back onto the bed, closer to tears every time. I don’t know why I’m not dead. I’m an utter and complete failure. I couldn’t pay attention to Daddy and when the train was boarding, I couldn’t convince the classy ponies of who I was, I ate at a Hayburger place, and I couldn’t even get my tiara sold so I could make my way home. Why?! I’m useless, pathetic, and… and… and, “Why can’t I just die?!” I’m not sure how loud I make that last part, but I hardly care. I lay my forelegs out and just let myself sob. The shaking on my chest keeps agitating the soreness, but it’s not like it’s bad as it probably could be. It has something to do with the bandages I’m guessing.
The tears seem to stop of their own accord, leaving me with one eye I can wipe dry and one I won’t even try to touch. I grab the sheets and dab at my good eye, and when I look over to toss them to the side, there’s a small black cart with a table-cloth on it blocking my view of the window. And behind it, a smiling sky blue mare is sitting with two bowls of steaming soup on the cart. “Hey,” she says, and I know immediately it’s Magic, even if she is keeping her voice quiet. “Ready to eat? I’ve been in that bed, so I thought I’d let you get it out of your system before I said anything.”
“How long have you…” I start to ask, but I stop and swallow hard. My voice sounds like some old stallion’s. When it doesn’t feel so bad, and I’m not sniffling as much, I ask again, “How long have you been there?”
“Not all that long,” she says back. “You were crying, but, yeah. So, want some help?”
“With what?” I spit back. I’m not in the greatest shape, but it’s not like I can’t put a spoon in my mouth.
“Oh, just sitting upright,” she says back, a little nervous but otherwise unfazed. “I can help, really.”
“No,” I say back, and even though I know I’m going to fail again, I try to ease myself onto my rump. My mouth opens in silent pain right when I’ve come to expect it. My forelegs give out, but instead of falling, there are hooves that catch me. It’s Magic. She’s leaning over the bed, her own forelegs thrown out to support mine.
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘yes’,” she giggles to me before pulling me around to face the cart. Only, when she lets me go, the pain in my flanks is like fire going all through the lower part of my body, and I pitch forward into the cart. Magic must have guessed it would happen, because she braces the cart with her chest and holds onto the two soup bowls. I lean there against the cart for a while, but the pain becomes a bearable throb eventually, and I’m actually able to sit up.
And now that I can eat and the food is in front of me, I lose most of my self control. My hoof darts out and grabs the spoon, and I’m shoveling soup into my mouth faster than I can swallow. It tastes amazing, and I only realize how hungry I really am when its warmth hits the bottom of my stomach. I hear Magic giggle again, and when I look past my stringy mane (which I vaguely notice is somewhat in my soup bowl), she’s neatly and primly eating her own soup. “So,” she says to me even though I go back to concentrating on eating. “How ‘bout I tell you some about me, and you can tell me about you whenever you’re ready. Today, tomorrow, whenever.” I do my best to nod while still shoveling the soup toward my face, and Magic giggles some more before she starts off talking. The clopping of hooves outside the room interrupts her, and when I look to see who it is, I see Miss Veny smiling in at her. Or me. Or both of us. I can’t tell, and frankly, the soup is more important to me at the moment anyway.
Last night was different for me. I didn’t let Magic talk. She would start to try to go off on some story, I could tell in her tone, which meant she would stop eating. That bothered me for some reason, though now that I think about it, it was probably from me being so hungry I couldn’t understand why somepony wouldn’t want to eat. After she tried to start I think around five times, I ended up just telling her to shut up and eat. And instead of frowning and huffing at me like most ponies back home do when I give them my good opinion of whatever it is they’re doing, she just smiled, laughed, and ate. When we finished, she told me she’d had a good time meeting me (I don’t know how since all we did was slurp up hot soup) and that she’d be back to get me back on my hooves the next morning. Part of me wanted to protest how stupid that idea was since I hurt all over, but I only ended up being able to move my mouth up and down wordlessly before she pushed the cart out and closed the door. I think I may have squeaked something after she was gone, but I don’t remember.
So when I wake up this morning, I can’t understand why I feel… excited is the only word I can come up with. I’m excited to see her again. I reason it’s just having somepony around whose name I know, and who seems to care about my well-being at least a little bit. I can tell it’s early from how quiet and still everything seems around my bed, and when I look out the window, I’m glad to see the skies are very, very blue. I want to lean up to get out of bed, but I catch myself just as my forehooves are beginning to push against the mattress. I ease myself down again, grateful I caught myself. The last thing I want is to start my morning with is a searing pain on my butt. On the plus side though, my face doesn’t feel as big and puffy and isn’t so sensitive to me touching it with a hoof. And I can open both eyes now.
It’s not long after I’m fully awake and feel like I’ve been waiting for several long minutes that I hear some bustle below me. Creaking wood and clattering hooves is the most prominent for a few seconds, but the loud shouting of colts takes over pretty quickly. And once they’re noisiness gets so loud I can almost make out some of the language they’re using with each other through the floor, more and more voices and sounds join them until it almost sounds like the rain yesterday. Except it’s inside the building instead of out, and I have a gut wrenching feeling I’m about and expected to be drenched in it.
And sure enough, my eyes have just locked onto my door in dread of hundreds of annoying colts bursting through when the door flies open and it’s… only Magic. I don’t even bother looking further, just letting out a sigh and leaning my head back onto the pillow. I’m safe for the moment. Really safe from my own brain more than the noisy ponies in the building. I must have been delirious last night, because I can’t remember the exact way I was thinking about my tiara or Daddy or much of anything for that matter. But it did something whatever it was. I just feel this numbing cold deep in my chest and a constricting tightness up near my throat. I push it away. It’s better than crying and screaming (I’m sure I ended up doing those two last night, a lot actually) but something about it makes me feel worse inside.
“Good morning, newcomer!” Magic squeals, and even though she’s only in the doorway, it feels like she’s right at my ear. But even if I moan and do what I can to roll my head under the pillow so I don’t have to get my ears looked at by a doctor later, Magic definitely keeps me from thinking about what’s going to happen to me. “Oh, that’s a good sign!” she continues on, and I can hear her trot over to my bedside. “Miss Veny always says that not wanting to get out of bed is a sure sign that you should get out of bed.”
“I’m hurt,” I say, and even to me it sounds muffled by the mattress. For good measure, I add, “And everypony out there sounds crazy.”
“Nah,” Magic blows off my comment, and I can imagine her waving a hoof. “We’re all just ready for breakfast! C’mon! You’ve gotta get up an’ move around at some point, so give it a shot.” I lie there for a while, unmoving. Unlike yesterday, I actually feel like I’ve got the energy to move around and walk, but I still don’t want to talk much. If I’m honest with myself, I just want to be around somepony else so I can watch and be occupied by them instead of myself.
“It’ll be too painful,” I mutter, which seems a weaker excuse than it was yesterday for some reason I can’t explain.
“Um, yeah, it’ll hurt,” Magic says to me with frank touch to her voice. “But not soooo bad you won’t be able to get up. Miss Veny even said it’ll be good for you.”
“How does she know?” I ask, my voice clearing up but still breaking some. I swallow several times to try to keep it from doing it again.
“Nopony knows, actually,” she replies with an airy, curious note. “But she’s never given us bad advice before. Hey, I know! How ‘bout I help you get stood up, and you can take it from there?” Again, I don’t say anything at first. Usually I’m able to make decisions on what I want faster than anypony I know, but nothing seems to want to make a decision inside my head.
“Fine,” I say and throw the pillow off onto the foot of the mattress. When I look at Magic, she’s absolutely ridiculous. Her orange mane is styled into a spiked mohawk like the kind I see the colts in Ponyville do sometimes when there’s a music group in town, but she’s still wearing fuzzy black pajamas. Or a bathrobe. I can’t tell.
“Try to sit up like you did for supper last night,” she tells me. “You should at least see if it’s better or worse.” I can’t deny a test would be smart, but when I throw the sheets back, a small yelp escapes my throat, and I grab them back up around me. The whole room is freezing cold, like there’s ice all around it. At least that explains Magic wearing the pajama things. “Here,” she says, and she peels the robe off while holding back giggles. “It takes a while for the whole place to warm up, so you should wear this ‘til we go down a couple floors.”
I take it from her outstretched hoof, and she’s been wearing it for a while already judging by how warm it is. But, I’ll have to sit up to put it on and remembering how badly my flank hurt last night, I’m hesitant to just go for it. “Stop bein’ a wuss,” Magic says to me, impatiently offering a hoof out for me to grab onto. “I’ll catch you if you fall, but you’ve got to do this yourself, newcomer.”
“You know, we have crutches and braces for this sort of thing - Ow!” I grunt through the shout as I pull myself upright. I squint my eyes tight as the fire lashes up my thighs, but I don’t let go of Magic’s hoof. Keeping my eyes shut, I end up gritting my teeth together as I ease myself down onto all fours. When I do let go and my weight settles on my hindlegs, it’s like they’re tensed up and unable to relax. I wince some as I try to move them, but it looks like Magic was right. It hurts less than I thought, and even though I’ll end walking around more slowly than some old geezer, I will be able to at least walk.
“We good?” Magic asks after I’ve stopped easing my hind legs into a stretch and throw the fuzzy robe on. It feels nice with how cold the room is, but it’s thinner in some parts than others. It’s definitely past it’s prime. I nod to her, and to my surprise, she doesn’t take off and wait for me to catch up. We walk out of the room at the same, slow pace, and the more I move my hindlegs, the easier it is to know how far I can move them before it hurts. Magic takes the lead, showing me down staircases and hallways so narrow, for a moment I wonder if the place used to be a haunted house attraction for Nightmare Night. Except for the floor, ceiling, and walls, I don’t see any matching parts. Every doorknob and candleholder come from a different set, and the pictures hanging around the place go from being worthless scraps of paper with crayon marks from a foal to what look like museum quality pieces of real art.
“So… this is where we eat our meals!” Magic declares grandly before throwing open a door after we’ve gotten onto what I think is the ground level. The wave of smells and noises inside bombard me with their suddenness and strength, so much so that I blink and shake my head to acclimate to them. The room is about as big as my bedroom back home, but this one is made of solid brick walls. There are two, party-length picnic table shoved in on either side, and they are filled with stallions and mares my age down to foals who look like they can barely speak. Both tables are centers of excited yelling and talking over a variety of different bowls and mugs. Whatever is in the bowls must have come from the massive black cauldron in the middle of the back wall. There’s a stallion stirring the biggest wood spoon I’ve ever seen with his magic, and the smell of warm oatmeal is rising from the pot with a little bit of steam. Obviously I can’t hear them over the din all the others are making, but the stallion and Miss Veny are talking to one another.
“Hey ya louts!” Magic roars out to the crowd of ponies, and I cover my ear nearest to her. I didn’t think it was possible for her voice to get any louder. I’m not sure if her yell was really louder than the chattering of everypony in the dining room, or if they heard something that sounded like her and took notice, but the result’s the same. Each and every one of them quiet down and turn to look at her. Then at me. I normally love it when ponies give me their visual attention, but this feels just wrong. They’re not admiring me (I know I look like an unloved rag doll), but instead, they’re ogling me.
“Let me get a good ol’ House of Pain cheer for the new girl!” Magic eggs them on, but I only faintly register what she says. I’m trying not to look at any one of the ponies staring at me for too long, but my eyes keep catching on little things that are making my skin itch under my fur. At least five are blind, some of the pegasi are missing a wing, most of the older ones have several ugly scars across their faces and necks. Others just look plain grungy.
“What’s ‘er name Gale?” one of the stallions who is probably several years older than me calls out.
“She hadn’t said, Millet,” Magic answers him. “Doesn’t like talkin’ much. So -”
“I’m -” I say, but stop and stutter unintelligibly when every head turns in my direction. This is all I have left now. My name. And I almost just threw it out there.
“Spit it out there filly!” the stallion Magic called Millet calls out. “We ain’t mind readers here, and it ain’t like you’re the princess or somethin’. Besides, we gotta know what ta call ya so we can give ya good nicknames! Right boys!” The vast majority of the colts and other young stallions whoop and holler in reply, and I swallow hard. They’re right in a way, but I don’t want to tell them who I am. I’m not just some other poor, street filly.
Except you are now, a little voice whispers in my head.
And mercifully, before it can stab at my head any more, Magic murmurs in my ear, “You can tell just me if you don’t wanna tell all of them yourself.” I turn to look at her, and she’s got an encouraging smile for me.
I lean over to her ear, and I swallow hard for the third time already this morning, and whisper, “Diamond… My name… I’m Diamond Tiara.” I feel stupid now. It wasn’t hard, and the way Magic grins in response brings out my own small smile.
“Fancy schmancy!” Magic cat-calls to the others. “This here’s Diamond Tiara, fillies! Now let me get that cheer!”
“WELCOME HOME, DIAMOND TIARA!” the small crowd belts out in their loudest voices. I start to protest to Magic. To tell her that I’m not like the rest of them. That I’m just lost and trying to get back home, but she grabs me by the hoof and leads me inside while everypony on either side of us stamps and whoops… for me.
“Morning Bowlful. Morning Miss Veny,” she says to the stallion at the cauldron and, obviously, Miss Veny.
Bowlful just grunts at both of us and goes back to concentrating on stirring the oversized pot. Miss Veny, on the other hoof, gives us both warm smiles. Her mane is soft looking, but pretty curly, and it reminds me a lot of the Mayor’s back home, just brown instead of gray. She levitates two bowls to us, and says to me, “Good Morning Diamond Tiara. How does everything feel?”
“I’m sore. A lot,” I manage to say. “I couldn’t get out of bed on my own.”
“But you’re walking, so we’ll thank Celestia for that and be sure to make sure you stay that way,” she replies. “Now go ahead and eat before you get cleaned up.” She ushers me along to the base of the cauldron and Magic follows with a little prance in her step.
“You hold the bowl up like this so Bowlful doesn’t slosh any on you,” she smirks up at the stallion while extending her foreleg out high and long. A plop of steaming oatmeal falls into it a moment later, and she moves aside to give me room. I’m uneasy about this, but I hold out the bowl like she showed me and wait for Bowlful to drop the ladle of oatmeal into it. It seems to take forever for the glob of the stuff to fall, but for all the preparation in my head, I still squeak and yank my bowl away just as it gets close. Half of it smacks into the bowl and the other half runs down the side like glue.
There seems to be a reigning silence in the room, but before I can begin to panic, another massive hollering cheer flies up from the crowd. “SHE CAUGHT HALF! FIRST TIME!” the voice of Millet roars over the others as they descend into laughing. “C’MON GREENS! COUGH UP!” Heartier laughing follows, and when I turn around, no end of trinkets and candies (I swear I see a whole cupcake at one point) are flying up and down the table from pony to pony.
“You just made a whole buncha days there! Mine included,” Magic says and wraps me around the neck to lead me over to where some of the fillies and colts have already cleared a spot for the two of us. I sit down with her, unable to stop wincing at the pain of sitting compared to walking. When I open my eyes again after blinking away the rise in the sore feeling, a gold coin thinner but wider than a bit is rolling down the table until Magic stops it with her hoof. “Check it fillies! Don’t bet so high when you’re dealin’ with me! Don’t wanna lose anymore griffon ingots! Hahaha!”
“You… I was bet on?” I ask her in disbelief.
“Oh yeah,” she says through a mouthful of oatmeal. “ ‘e alvays ‘et on ‘e noo’s.” I’m not sure exactly what to think about that, especially since Daddy has always had such a strong opinion on gambling. So I just decide to enjoy the oatmeal and the orange juice (which doesn’t take long to make it’s way up and down the table several times). Not once does the volume go down in the dining room, at either table. Most of the time, they’re actually yelling and threatening each other, but always with smiles on their faces. Magic joins in at every opportunity, and I have to duck down several times when bouncy balls end up being hurled back and forth between her and somepony else. None of the ponies bother me much despite how uncouth and rowdy they all are, which is a nice surprise, I’ll admit. I wouldn’t be able to be heard over all of them anyway.
But something happens that I don’t hear, because even faster than they did when Magic yelled at them, the entire dining hall goes silent and the random bits of junk and half-valuables stop flying through the air. I lean up to see past the others all turned toward the center of the room, and Miss Veny is just standing there. “Everypony,” she says, and while her voice is still as nice as I remember Momma’s being, there’s a level of command too that I can only compare to the princesses. “It’s Thursday, so we all know what that means.”
“Cleaning day, Miss Veny,” everypony echoes her back, obviously unhappy. And I can’t say I blame them. Don’t big places like this have servants for things like that while the younger ponies go to school?
“I’m going to be making the rounds, like always,” Miss Veny says, “but I’ll also be showing around our newest housemate, Diamond Tiara. Don’t think you can get out of a job well done just because I’m doing two things at once. Magic will be with me to catch anything I miss. Now. Get those brooms and get to work.” The whole room erupts into shuffling bodies as everypony slips off the benches with their bowls in hoof. Four lines form just like they would at school back home, and before long, I’m dropping my bowl into a sink in a back corner where five colts are already rinsing, scrubbing, and drying them.
“Righto, thisaway, Diamond,” Magic tells me when we’ve deposited our bolls. I follow her to where Miss Veny is still standing in the center of the room. Everypony is grabbing a broom or duster or cart of some kind and conversations are starting to pick back up. I guess this is probably what the servants’ ready room looks like in the morning at my house, but I can’t be sure since I’ve never even had an inclination to go down there. “Ready to get a move on, Miss Veny?” Magic asks her, as chipper as always and now flipping the griffon coin with one hoof.
“Well, do you have any questions first, Diamond?” she asks me.
A million different ones spring to mind, but the one I still can’t quite figure out and that I think is simple enough, is, “Where am I, really?”
“This is the Baltimare Charity Home,” Miss Veny answers smoothly. “I founded and run it to take little ones like you and Magic off the streets.”
“House of Pain,” Magic quips and does a longer flip with her new coin.
“Anyway…” Miss Veny continues on with an amused smile at Magic, “that’s what we do. Anything else?”
“I’m not an orphan, or disabled, or poor. I know I don’t look it, but nopony believes that I’m a royal mare. Please believe me!” I say. I guess it’s how much she reminds me of Momma, but it all just spills out right there. “I’m trying to get back home.”
“We can walk and talk,” Miss Veny tells me. “I just want to show you the rooms and such. Showers too. You look like your fur would thank you for one.” My heart starts beating faster as me and Magic fall in step beside Miss Veny while she starts out into the halls and peeking into each of the rooms. Is she going to ignore me like everypony else? Should I run now? Daddy definitely wouldn’t think to look for me here of all places. I really should run, but she starts talking again, and her words keep me following for some reason. “Sweetie, if any royals had gone missing, I would know.”
“How?” I ask.
“Here, let me break it to ya hard, Diamond. We always check missing ponies lists when we find somepony on the street,” Magic says with a blunt hardness that’s weird coming from her squeaky voice. “Your cutie mark wann’t anywhere on any of ‘em.”
“But… no…” I whisper, and my legs stop working. I’m standing in the middle of the hallway and nothing wants to work. “Daddy wouldn’t… Momma… loves me… I’m…” My brain’s all mush like the oatmeal I just ate.
“Diamond,” I hear Miss Veny say, but I jump in place when her hoof rests on my head. “I’d know if a royal foal went missing because I’m from Upper Canterlot. I have friends there.”
“Then you should… Wait, you’re royalty?” I gawk at her. For a moment, that impossibility alone drags me away from the idea that Daddy really did just leave me behind, but it’s only for a moment. “Ponies with class don’t just dump their foals! It’s not like we’re poor and think our foals are worthless! Daddy wouldn’t abandon me!” I fall back on my flank, and at this point I can’t feel much of anything. I think Magic hisses something, because before I know it, I’m alone in the hallway with Miss Veny sitting beside me.
“Dear,” she says in the softest voice I’ve ever heard. “You know, being part of royalty doesn’t mean anything. Anypony can be anything, no matter where or to whom they’re born. And that means the good and the bad. That’s why I left and came here.” I’m listening to her, but I have a feeling it’s not going to mean anything for a while. Daddy left me. He’s not coming for me on the fastest train from Ponyville. I lean over and bury my face in Miss Veny’s side and cry. Really cry. I’m pretty sure I’m loud and making somepony else somewhere uncomfortable, but these aren’t tears I can control. I have to let them come and all the hiccuping and sharp breathing that goes with them. At some point my hooves are gripping on her fur too, and she’s patting me on the back.
“But Diamond, rich or poor, good or bad, royal or common,” Miss Veny whispers for me, resting her hoof in my mane and stroking it like Momma used to, “we’re all a somepony on the inside. It’s just, that somepony is who we and we alone make her outside of what we’re born as. And here, we all take care of each other’s inside someponies. Don’t you ever doubt that. Come on, let’s get you to a proper room and get those tears dried up.” She stands up, and the way I’m holding onto her as tight as I can, I’m forced onto my hooves as well. I guess she might be right. Being royalty must not matter all that much, since Daddy threw some away…
The rest of the day was just one big blur for me. When I wake up to what I’m thinking is my sixth morning in Baltimare, I can tell I did indeed get a bath at some point. My fur isn’t full of dirt and grit and actually looks pink instead of some dull mix of gray and red. My flank still has ghost pains when I strain it (how the colts manage to get up to a run in these narrow hallways I don’t know), but I don’t need the bandages around my chest anymore and my face has gone down too. Somepony took care of my mane at some point, because it’s been brushed and braided off to one side. The braid is kinda sloppy, but it almost reaches down to my knees, and I wonder if my mane really does grow that quickly.
Part of the haziness from yesterday has to come from not speaking. Ever. At all. I can’t get a handle on what happened in specifics, but I do remember Miss Veny leaving me alone for a while in the room I’m in now. It’s more like a closet than a room, a closet stuffed with two bunk beds and chests at their feet. I’m lying on the bottom of the left side. I think I must have cried and cried and cried after Miss Veny left. The only clear thing after that was a feeling. And it’s not all gone this morning, just not as strong. All I could think about was how uncaring and vast everything out there had become. Or better yet, how tiny and insignificant I was. Everything felt heavy and crushing, and I wasn’t sure if I would be squashed under it all. And even now, part of me wants to be. For it all to just end.
I’m not sure how she knew, but I think now that she might have been waiting outside listening. Before I could cry myself to sleep, Magic came inside and brought me some lunch. It was just daisy sandwiches, but I was just glad it wasn’t a hayburger. Somehow, I ended up following her around for the rest of the day even if I have no idea what it was she was doing. Maybe it was having to be around all the colts and fillies chatting and laughing without a care in the world, or it could have been just walking itself, but I felt that weight mashing me into nothing but hate. I didn’t frown or scowl or lash out at anypony. I just seethed and hated the world. I hated this ‘home’, I hated everypony in it, I hated the city, I hated the princess for letting this all happen, and I hated Filthy Rich for actually doing it. And I couldn’t express it. I refused to express it. It was mine, and I was going to keep it that way.
My stomach is really growling this morning, so I must have skipped dinner. But it’s not the only thing that’s empty. It took me what felt like forever to go to sleep with how angry I was, but it, like the crushing feeling, seems to have mostly drained out during the night. I feel cold and numb to the world, like nothing matters anymore. I want either of those two back, even if they make me feel terrible, because it’s better than where I am now, not feeling much of anything at all.
I prop the thin pillow on the wall of my bunk and lean my back against it. I fiddle with the braid that is my mane now, noticing that the morning light from the window near the ceiling flicks on my hooves in weird ways. For a bit, there’s no movement in the room, and the most that I can hear is my own, almost silent, breathing and the songs of the morning birds outside. But the thing that interrupts it all isn’t a sound, not at first, but a shadow. A dark shape blocks the light from the window, and I can see something leaning down from the bunk above me out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re up early, and looky at that, sittin’ up by yourself an’ everything,” Magic’s voice comes from the shape.
“Yeah,” I answer, still twirling the end of the braid in my hooves. There’s a silence between us that feels wrong to me, but I get the notion Magic doesn’t care at all. “I’m not worthless,” I blurt out, and I squeeze my mane as if that seals the statement as right.
“Hoo,” the filly above me sighs and before I register how she does it, she swings down to plop onto my bunk. Literally. I’m certain she never touched the floor. It sorta makes me look up at her in surprise, and she’s eyeing me with a definitely ironic smile. “Slow down there Half Full,” she says to me. “You’re tryin’ to figure it all out, aren’t ya?”
“My name is Diamond,” I retort. “I… Why wouldn’t he want me?”
“You’ve got me beat on that one,” Magic says with a shrug. “But my advice, don’t even try to get in their head. Just roll with it, ya know. Tartarus’ll be happy to take’m eventually.”
“But… I can’t just forget like that!” I feel myself hissing in a whisper. “How can you just let go?”
“Ayo, I was like you when it happened, Half Full. I was angry and didn’t want to do anything with anypony,” Magic goes on. “I wanted to know why, but couldn’t ever figure it out. But when I finally stopped carin’, it just hit me a couple years later.”
“It’s not that easy,” I mutter. “All I can do is hate him. I don’t want to not hate him.”
“Well you’re not alone,” Magic rolls her head back with a chuckle. I glance over to the other side of the room, and it looks like we’re the only ones bunking in this one, which explains why there haven’t been half-asleep groans at the volume of Magic’s voice. “All of us here’ve got somethin’ to settle with somepony. Or we did. It seems silly after a while.”
“I feel straight up crappy,” I say, and while it sounds stupid, even in my head, I can’t find any other way to sum up all the digging and piercing and anger. It’s anger. I might as well admit it and stop trying to make it sound better by calling it hate or something else.
“Nothin’ new,” Magic says. “Anypony can feel crappy at any time for any darn reason. You wanna start to get past it all, you gotta do stuff. Find your place an’ all that jazz.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all flat broke and have nothing that even looks like makeup,” I sneer, even though I try not to. But Magic doesn’t seem to be offended. Instead, she covers her mouth with her hoof, and her eyes squint before she bursts into a fit of laughing and giggles and starts rolling all over my sheets. I frown in confusion. Being poor isn’t funny is it?
“Okay, okay,” she eventually pauses to breathe and compose herself even though a few giggles slip past. “Let me put it this way instead.” She gives off a couple more laughs. “It’s a shock, sure, and it’s gonna take awhile to recover, but it’ll be easier and faster if you get outta bed and help me with somethin’.”
“Um… what?” I ask, curiosity at least managing to make enough of a dent in the wall of numbness to slip me onto the floor.
“Well, make your bed first,” Magic almost trills at me as she hops off too. “Miss Veny isn’t gonna cut you slack just ‘cause you’re new. And she’d be on my cutie mark about it too since we’re bunking together.” I grit my teeth together when I turn around to face the sloppy, mussed up sheets and squashed pillow. I’ve never in my whole life made a bed. That’s a poor servant’s job, and a low rung servant at that. But Magic’s watching, and I’ll look like a complete idiot if I don’t do something. With any luck, maybe she’ll just believe I do it differently. I at least know enough to toss the pillow onto the floor, but after that, I’m just guessing when I try to smooth out the lower end.
“The fillies are gonna be happy for the extra sleep,” Magic sighs behind me but with her typical upbeat tone. “Here. Watch and learn.” She has me stand by her side and with a sweep of her hooves, she grabs both ends and tugs them to the upper end. A couple hoof pats later, and it looks like the one across the room. “Toss that pillow up there and let’s go,” she tells me, and I follow her trot out the door.
We’re in one of the second floor hallways I think. There’s a particularly bad crayon version of what I hope is Princess Celestia taped to the wall. “Okay, since you’re the newest newcomer, you get to wake everypony else up with me. Here’s what you’ll do. First, keep on my tail, no matter what.” I nod, and I’m already getting anxious about this. Anypony who gives instructions in numbered order inevitably is giving instructions for something risky. “Second, run as loudly as you can. Stomp those hooves like you mean it!” She’s grinning wickedly now, and I get the idea this is probably her favorite part of the day. “Third, scream at the top of your lungs! It doesn’t have to be anything. You can just scream. It just has to be loud, obnoxious, and something you’d frown at on Monday morning. We cool?”
“Is this some sort of wacko tradition?” I ask, staring down the hallway and realizing she wants me to run down this half of the second floor, onto the first, through the kitchen, then back up the other side through the third until I wind up back here. “Because’ there’s no way I’m running that much.”
“You are too, Half Full,” Magic giggles with a rough rub of her hoof in my mane that’s over before I can duck out of it. “Just follow my lead, yeah?”
“Why in Equestria would I want to get sweaty and tired before I’ve even eaten breakfast?” I ask her. I inject a heavy dose of sarcasm for good measure. Who would want to do that except for farmers?
“Makes ya good an’ hungry,” Magic replies brisk and sure. “Besides, how else are all these fillies gonna know we mean business? Now, they’ve gotten more extra minutes than what’s good for them, so in three, two, one… GO! GET OFF YOUR FLANKS AND DOWN TO BOWLFUL! MOVE IT YOU PRISSY WUSSES! WOOOOO!” She takes off at a pace that would make a pegasus proud, screaming at the top of her lungs and slamming her hooves into the floor with each gallop. I can still feel the vibrations in the floor behind her as I feel my own hooves start to go forward. My mouth is open, and I’m taking small, dazed, and uncertain steps but my brain is still trying to process the ‘why’ of it all. Trying. That’s what I’m slowly inching past when a door flies open right next to me and the hollering of the colts inside scares a real, genuine scream out of me. My hooves grip at the wood, and I’m running off down the hall like a madpony yelling about the end of the world. And apparently I can run, because I catch up to Magic’s whiplashed tail before we’ve crossed the dining room.
And once I’m keeping pace with her, hollering and screaming doesn’t seem so weird anymore. My lungs fill up with air, and instead of a scared-out-of-my-skin yell coming out my mouth, a bubbly laughing is echoing behind Magic’s playful taunting. I don’t know why I’m enjoying it enough to laugh, because I never thought I’d have fun with anything ever again. But I am, so I don’t think about how it’s possible. I just go off and keep following Magic as we both yell ourselves hoarse. And by the time we end up back where we started and at last slow down into a trot, we’re both in giggling hysterics. They don’t stop until we wander down into the dining room, where it’s the same chaos from yesterday morning. We get our bowls of oatmeal (everypony else hushes and holds their breath only to break out into mad whooping when I don’t spill any this time), and I sit, eat, and listen to everypony else talk.
It’s not so much because I choose to not say anything, but for once, I’m happy to just hear what else is going on. Everypony teases everypony about anything. And most of the time, I can tell none of the accusations are true. But my biggest surprise comes when the stallion sitting next to me gives me a rough shove that keels me over into Magic, and instead of whapping him on the shoulder (she does that a lot) she calls at me, “So he’s just gonna get away with pushing like that?”
I don’t even bother saying no, but as I search around for what I’m supposed to do back, I surprise myself when I dip my hoof in my oatmeal and splat it all in his ear. And I say as the colts and fillies nearby give a rising ‘Oooooo!’, “Yeah, watch it!”
“I’d listen to ‘er Flat,” a younger stallion yells at him. “I bet it’s the face next time!” And everypony cheers and stomps the table as we go back to eating and hollering at each other while Flat cleans oatmeal out of his ear. He flicks some of his own from his spoon at me, and my giggle gets added to the cacophony filling the whole dining room. I like how it fits in.
And it’s a good thing I get the chance to tell this morning, because mere seconds after it escapes my mouth, Miss Veny steps into the center of the room, and like the ritual I’m guessing it has to be, everypony goes completely silent. “I’ve got the cleaning report card taped to every door, so bunks who have slackers, you know what you’ll be doing today after school. It’s much better this week though, so I want to see it even better this upcoming Thursday. Also, once we are finished with class, I’ve assigned you all into groups that you will go outside with. You young ones can go do rough around in the parks like I know you want to do when I’m trying to teach you mathematics -” A chorus of chuckles and giggles comes from everypony, even me. That’s really been me my whole life, come to think of it. It seems so far away, sitting at this makeshift hall table. “And as for the older fillies and gentlecolts, some of Millet’s friends are going to meet you outside and take you all job hunting. We will not have hooligans in this home while I’m still alive.”
“Hear, hear!” Magic roars at those words, lifting her mug of juice above everypony else’s heads. None of the rest of us are bold enough to follow her lead, but Miss Veny doesn’t seem to mind her outburst.
“Line up now, and get your books, and don’t dawdle,” she continues on before walking out while we all scooch out to dump off our bowls. And it hits me.
“Ah, Magic?” I probe. Surely I won’t have to go into a classroom. I was almost finished with school in Ponyville, and it’s not like Miss Veny knows that. I’m old enough to be out. At least I hope I look old enough to be out.
“Chill, Half Full,” she says without even waiting for the rest of my question. “You get to work with me, and maybe Millet’ll give you a shot as his assistant if he thinks you’ve got the chops. Out of textbooks and chalkboards we may be, but there’s not a day where we’ve got nothin’ to do.”
“Do… do I really wanna know what that means?” I ask, dropping my bowl in the sink, and instead of heading back into the halls like yesterday, I follow Magic through a door nestled inside a small crevice in the wall. We walk into a kitchen unlike any I’ve ever seen before. There’s no separate pantry and none of the cabinets have doors. It’s just a ton of counters filled either with knife sets and other cooking tools or protected by an extra layer of wood boards. Bags of vegetables, bread, and pickling jars are stuffed inside the no-door cabinets.
“Half Full, it means you’re about to make my and Millet’s life a whole lot easier,” Magic says. I can tell she means it, but she’s also amused. “Millet takes care of our bookwork for Miss Veny since she’s gotta teach all the school guys, but you and me, we’re here to help out Bowlful.”
“Like… how?” I ask. Cooking can’t be all that bad. Ponies don’t go to pay small fortunes for meals in Upper Canterlot because normal cooks prepare the food there. Celebrity chefs have to come from somewhere, and those ponies are looked at with a good amount of prestige.
“Choppin’,” Magic states. “Choppin’ our veggies, peelin’ our potatoes, trimmin’ the daisies. That sorta thing. I’m gonna get started on some pickling, and Bowlful’ll be in here later makin’ some dough. Not the shiny kind.”
“That’s…” I almost say ‘servant work,’ but I don’t. I trail off not because it isn’t true. It totally is. I know that for a fact. But, I don’t know why it takes so long to finally sink in, or maybe it just had to wait until my numb walls and anger thinned out enough, I don’t know… Regardless of why it happens now, I can’t escape the fact that I’m not in a mansion or an expensive hotel. I’m not sitting on the edge of my pool waiting for a glass of water, and I’m not sitting seventeen seats down from Filthy Rich expecting a dish with ingredients that came from the other side of the world. Where I am, what I am, is Diamond Tiara ‘Half Full’ being expected to help keep everypony else in the house from going hungry.
I walk over to the counters with the wood covers (I suppose they’re safe to cut on), grab the biggest knife I see first, and turn and ask Magic, “What should I start with?”
“That’s the spirit!” she says and dances in place, which makes me feel a little stupid with how I probably sounded. “Grab the carrots and the bell peppers and lay into those first. And lucky for you, Bowful doesn’t care all that much about what they end up looking like.” She laughs then and begins moving around and grabbing ingredients and bowls and jars like she’s done whatever it is she’s doing a million times over. I remind myself she probably has and grab a sack of green things I think are peppers. The knife feels odd to grip, but it must be ridiculously sharp, since it slices the vegetable in half without me even putting much effort into it.
And that’s how the work starts. We cut and peel and jar and stir and do every other possible verb to the vegetables and sauces Bowlful has for us. My shoulders end up straining themselves silly, and I have to switch hooves with the knife to give one a rest several times. Magic corrects me and shows me the right way to do it all whenever she sees me about to do something that could ruin the food, but she doesn’t stick around much. She’s darting all over the place, doing at least five things at once if I were to venture a guess. It’s impressive, and I have no other words for it. But even with Magic outperforming me by a long shot and my own bucketful of blunders, I don’t ever feel upset by it. And though we’re at it for hours and hours, I want to keep going. I want to fill that next jar or bowl faster and better than the last. There’s an excited feeling, a rush I get whenever I can actually finish something and hoof it over to Bowlful. I know that it’s me, only me, that’s done it. I’m helping to move things forward, and somehow, I know that by helping, everypony will be able to eat tonight.
Of course, it’s not like the whole kitchen is silent. Magic is in the room with us, which means loud jokes and cat calls bouncing around the walls every couple seconds. Magic is weird in a way. Nothing she says is funny all by itself, but the way she says things and the tap dances she does with them sometimes make it impossible not to laugh. Even Bowlful (who just grunts most of the time) snickers and snorts when she says something that’s good even for her.
But Magic wasn’t joking when she said the work never stops. Chopping up foodstuffs doesn’t last all day, so she leads me up to the top floor of the building to see Millet. We pass Miss Veny in a larger room on the second floor, and all the fillies and colts are listening to her with rapt attention as she draws something that looks important on the blackboard. Seeing Millet in a chair, in what I guess is the building’s only office, behind a desk, and with paper neatly ordered all around him just doesn’t seem right. He’s very quiet, focused, and doesn’t look up at us for anything. He’s not unfriendly, but he’s a completely different pony here than he is when he’s surrounded by all the younger colts. Magic tries to get him to show me some of the paperwork, but he gives us a small satchel of bits instead and tells us to go the market for our week’s supply of fresh vegetables.
We do, and Baltimare seems so different when I’m walking out in it with Magic. She knows just where to go, which ponies to talk to among the stalls, and how far she can push prices. I can’t help but take notice of how she does things, since a little thought in the back of my mind keeps poking me about me being in Magic’s place at some point. Only, I’ll be by myself, and everypony back home will be waiting for me to come back with more than they thought we could afford to have. Because from the weight of the sacks the two of us end up carrying back, Magic drives a harder bargain than anypony who’s on the other side of the counter.
We eat a snack (even Magic doesn’t go so far as to call a couple slices of bread and an apple, lunch), and she leads me to the wash closet. All of the cooking cloths and bath towels and cold weather coats are in buckets waiting for us, and I dread having my hooves in soapy, scalding hot water for the time it’s going to take to clean all of them. I wince at how hot Magic heats the water, but she insists it’s for the good of both me and her and the ponies who’ll be using what we dunk in it. Scrubbing on the washboard is the most exhausting, sweaty, time-consuming thing I’ve ever done ever. We work on them for longer than it took to do all of the food prep, and I realize why Magic is so lean and fast if she does this every single day.
When we finally finish, I simply fall onto my back with a huge sigh while Magic pulls the plugs on the drains. I have no doubt I’ll be very ready for bed by the time the moon pops up. “Eh, you’ll get used to it,” Magic says, and she pokes at my rapidly falling and rising stomach. “Aaaand you might wanna get outta the way.” I look to my side, and the horde of the youngest fillies and colts is barreling toward us. Every one of them is caked in dried mud and most have twigs and leaves in their mane and tails. They streak past us and leap into the empty bins Magic and I had just been using a moment ago. Somepony turns the water on, and cheers and cute yelps come from the gathered young ponies.
I find myself twidling with my braided mane as Magic and I watch the fillies gradually scrub and soak off the dirt and tree parts from their bodies. I don’t know why it’s my mane that starts my thoughts off this way, but with all I’ve gone through at this point, I hardly even try to understand it. All I know is that the mane in my hooves, braided up or trimmed to perfection, is still the mane of a royal pony. It still has a silkiness to it, and it still feels like only special hooves are allowed to care for it. It’s not the mane of somepony who cuts vegetables or carries heavy sacks through city streets. And it’s definitely not the mane of somepony who spends the better part of her afternoon scrubbing at towels so fillies and colts can have a way to dry themselves after a much needed bath.
It’s a royal mane. And it’s not the mane I want to have. It’s not the mane ought to have. And the thing Magic said to me about just doing things makes sense now. I’ve done. I’ve accomplished. And I feel better knowing that than I know I would sitting around trying to forget and trying to force myself to move on. “Magic, do you have a pair of scissors?” I ask her, and I pull my eyes away from the fillies and colts. I’ve been staring at them for a while I think. “And do we have much time before din - I mean, supper?”
“Yeah, I’ve got some,” she says and shrugs. “And yes again! With another team pony, we got done with that load twice as fast.”
“Will you cut my mane then? Short. Really short.” She looks at me with wide eyes for a couple seconds before they narrow, and she grins with a small nod.
“Right this way.” She swings a hoof I guess in the general direction of our bunk room and wraps it around my neck as we walk there. “Yeah, you’ll make it, Diamond.”
“Oof!” I say, feeling my gut press against the cook table’s edge and just barely keeping my nose back from my hours of delicate work. “Careful when you’re putting on the top layer unless you want me to ruin the whole thing.”
“Done and done!” Magic crows at me as if I hadn’t said anything at all, and she hops away from where she’d been pushing into the small of my back for support. “You wanna stop trying to lick it and actually use the icing, Diamond?” she adds with a smirk.
I turn to face her and flick some of the buttercream in her direction. The squeaky squeal that comes after is all I need for a giggle to come out of me before I resume layering the icing onto the cake. “Guilty by association,” I add after a bit.
“You wish, Half Full,” Magic teases, edging her hoof dangerously close to the bottom tier I’ve actually managed to finish.
“Enough, enough!” Bowlful lets out a sigh in his exasperated baritone. He walks over to where I’m decorating and Magic is threatening to, I guess undecorate, and starts shooing us away with his hooves. “Go, go,” he says. “I’ll finish Miss Veny’s birthday cake. You two can go endanger some other art’s existence.” He huffs through our growing giggles before shaking his head as he closes the door to the kitchen.
The dining room is scrubbed clean like always, but both Magic and I know there’s a lot more that has to be done if it’s going to actually look ready for a party. Some of Millet’s colts out in the city’s shops have already dropped by several boxes full of random streamers, bags of confetti, and party plates, but we’re still waiting for a whole lot more. But since that stuff isn’t here at the moment, we start ahead with the streamers. Magic insists on making me a scarf-like thingy with some, and after she’s done, I dump the whole box on her head. I try to hold a straight face as she picks her way out of the tangled up strands of paper, but I can’t control the bubbly feeling inside and laugh until I hiccup and choke. And even then, I have trouble stopping and getting myself together. “Just for that,” she says, her tone serious even though she’s smiling, “I’m letting you set these things up yourself.”
“Cool,” I reply. “Pass me the tape?” She chucks it through the air for me to catch, and I immediately start on making rainbow colored rings and half-circles around every possible surface. While I’m working my way around the edges of the dining room, Magic takes charge of getting the other boxes from any of the ponies that drop by. We finally get enough party table cloths for her to spread over both tables, and just as I’m finishing with the streamers, she’s starting to set out the plates, hats, and other silverware.
While she’s doing those things, I open the last box and have to gasp. “Ooo! What?! What’dwe got?”
“Somepony pulled out all the stops for us here,” I say, and I add a stuttering chuckle of surprise from pure disbelief. “How much do you think Miss Veny is gonna freak when she sees we’ve gotten ahold of a four wheeled party cannon?”
“For real?” Magic jumps over to my side, eagerly watching as I pull the ultimate party accessory out of the box. “And the colt who dropped it off said to keep it! I couldn’t figure out why he said that at first, but it sure makes sense now!”
“We’re gonna be the talk of the block for a while, sis,” I tell her, already imagining how every colt and filly within sight of home is going to want to see us use the cannon. “Wanna help me stuff it?”
“Already way ahead of you,” Magic says, and she begins ripping open the bags of confetti to hoof to me so I can dump them inside. Some sort of powerful magic must be used to make the cannons, because I can’t see any of the stuff we’ve dumped inside, and it still weighs about the same as when I first wheeled it out of the box. “We’re gonna need more puff balls,” Magic echoes my exact thoughts.
“I’ll drop by Archie’s place,” I suggest. “You think we might need any more wrapping paper?”
“Nah, we’ll be good with the paper,” Magic says with a glance to the small stack of cast-away tubes of the stuff. “But good luck convincing Millet to give you anything for more party accessories. I think he almost died when I told him what our tab would be for the cake ingredients.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I can cover it with some of my own allowance.” And before she can protest and try to push some of her own bits in, I take off out of the dining room, through the doors, and into the streets of a chilly Baltimare morning. There’s no snow or ice on the ground, but the air’s slowly dropping to the point that I won’t be surprised if we get either soon. But for now, the skies are clear and the air feels crisp and clean like it does every winter.
I set out at a light trot, giving a wave to our home’s closest neighbors and receiving one in return. Part of me is glad the party cannon is somehow defying the laws of reality, since it lets me get outside on a weekday without any emergency licking at my fetlocks. I trek through streets and down alleys I’ve found, taking the quickest, most efficient route to the center of Baltimare. The widest street in the city is filled with cab carts and ponies moving all at different paces and to different places. I remember when I first ventured down here with Magic, and the sight of a cab-pull almost trampling me still sends tingles up my spine. But after seven years, I’ve learned just how to get in and around these crammed streets.
I dart in, behind, and around the crowds until I wind up on the other side of the busy street and in front of the one shop Millet, me, and Magic try to come to at least once a week. Archie is the pony we tell all our newcomers to look up to. He left and made something of himself. Not a lot, but owning his own arts and crafts supply store is more than anypony else who’s come and gone. And on the busiest street of the city no less. Luckily, ponies are more concerned getting to work at this hour, so the shop is empty when I come inside to the jingle of a cute trio of bells.
“Hey Half Full,” he says after glancing up from his bookwork behind the counter. “Party prep goin’ alright still? None of the youngin’s ruin the surprise yet?”
“Magic’s got them all bribed with cookies,” I say with a smile. “But somepony donated a four wheel party cannon out of the blue. Aaand we…”
“... don’t have enough stuff to jam in there,” Archie says with a knowing nod. “Got anything in mind?”
“You still have any of those rainbow puff balls from last week?” I ask hopefully.
“Five packs left in back,” he says, and a flash of teleportation magic later, they’re on the counter waiting for me.
“You’re getting really good at that, you know,” I tell him, pulling off my little satchel necklace where I keep my few bits. “What’s the damage?”
“Ah, c’mon Half Full,” Archie lilts and leans one elbow on the counter. “It’s for Miss Veny’s birthday party! I think I can take the loss for her.”
“You’re the best, Archie,” I say sweetly before leaning over to give him a hug and peck on the cheek. I laugh at the way he blushes and mutters under his breath and wave him goodbye. He returns it with a sheepish grin on his face, and I feel in an even better mood than when I left home. So it stands to reason that I’m not paying attention when I step outside Archie’s place.
I whirl around to start my way back, packs of puff balls swinging from my mouth, and I crash into somepony. Hard. Both of us end up falling back on our butts, and we both cry out having knocked our heads together. “Sorry, sorry!” I recover first and apologize as profusely as I can. I sweep up the packs of puff balls, hoping whoever it was won’t be too upset. When I look up, my heart stops. Three mares in full, all black business suits (even if one of them is wearing a black, wide-brimmed hat) are not likely going to be the type of ponies that take being run into very well. What’s worse, they’re all wearing matching black shades, so I can’t tell from a glance whether they’re peeved or not.
“Don’t worry… about… it,” one of them, a pegasus, answers, but in a trailing, awed voice. She lowers her shades down to the tip of her nose, and bows her head to look over them. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she goes on, and I notice that her voice is scratchy in an almost familiar way. “Hey, AB, you wanna stop dustin’ off our resident clutz and take a look at the pony we ran into?”
The one with the cowcolt hat lets go of the third mare, who seems to have been leaning on her the way she falls back on the ground so suddenly. Like the pegasus, the second mare lowers her sunglasses, and this time, I can see her eyes widen. When the pony I ran into finally gets up of her own accord, she looks at me, but doesn’t even bother trying to look professional. “Aw c’mon!” she yells, whipping off her shades to reveal vibrant green eyes. “You know, Scoots, I’d like one of our cases, just one, to not be solved with blind luck.”
“Whatever,” the pegasus laughs, and the pieces are slowly clicking into place in my brain. And they’re fitting together, which is almost enough to shatter the whole puzzle all over again. “That’d mean we aren’t lucky anymore.” She turns to me. “Are you Diamond Tiara?” she asks in as straight and serious a voice as a Gurad.
“That ain’t Diamond Tiara,” the covered mare says. “That ain’t even a mare. Look at ‘is mane.”
“No, no, no, wait!” the words finally spill out of my mouth. “Scootaloo? Applebloom? Sweetie Belle? What? What are you all doing here?!”
“Ha! I knew it! Mission accomplished,” Scootaloo crows and fully removes her sunglasses too before offering me a hoof. I take it, and she hauls me up to my hooves. “Don’t listen to AB. The manestyle looks rad.”
“We’ve been looking for you for five years!” Sweetie tells me. “I was beginning to think we’d never find you.”
“Why?” I blurt. “Why would you waste so much time looking for the pony I was back then?”
“Nopony else had tha guts ta go ‘gainst yer dad ‘cept us an’ Princess Twilight,” Applebloom says. “But she couldn’ ‘cause she didn’ have nuff evidence. So, that’s what we decided ta go out an’ get.”
“We’re a PI team now,” Scootaloo says proudly. “And now we’ve just closed our oldest case.”
“How did you make it here?” Sweetie asks. “We’ve been in some really dirty places in Baltimare.”
“I…” I start, but I can’t go any further until I do one, very important thing. I drop the packs of rainbow puffs and rush forward to grab both Sweetie and Scootaloo around the neck in the biggest hug I’ve ever given anypony. Applebloom joins in without me even having to ask. “I never thought I’d see anypony from Ponyville ever again,” I say. I can’t believe it. It’s almost like a dream. “The idea that somepony would come looking for me… I never thought anypony cared that much.”
“So…” Sweetie says with a bounce of good cheer when when disentangle from the hug. “Stories. I know you’ve got to have some.” I just laugh at first, still just a little chest-shocked at the reality of who’s standing in front of me with open forelegs.
“Why… Why don’t you three come back to where I’m staying,” I say, breathless from my laugh. “I wanna know what’s going on back home as much as I wanna introduce you to all my sisters and brothers.” Their confused stares are priceless, and I walk off toward home with a hearty giggle in the air knowing that Miss Veny’s party is going to be much more interesting than Magic and I ever thought.
