I fancy myself a sort of ‘social scientist’. In simpler terms, I try to find out why ponies act as they do.
Today, I was sitting on a bench in the center of town, near the farmer’s market. Typically, I don’t choose such crowded places, as it’s harder to keep track of an individual, but I was feeling ambitious today. I was looking for my first subject when Pinkie Pie popped up with, wouldn’t you know, another party invitation.
“Hey, ****, I’m having a first-blue-moon-of-the-year party tonight! We’re gonna watch the moon rise in the park! There will be tons and tons of treats and cakes and donuts, and everyone’s invited!” She leaned toward me, an invitation in her mouth. “Not tonight, Pinkie. I’m… busy. Sorry.”
“Oh-kay! But if you change you mind, have an invitation anyways. Just as a reminder.” She left it on the bench next to me, then took off.
I’ll find a trash bin for it later.
I’m not adverse to interruptions, so I paid Pinkie’s greeting no mind and turned my attention back to the crowd. I searched for a subject, but nopony seemed to stick out to me. It is no desire of mine to waste time while pony-watching, so I always look for subtle indications of interesting qualities before picking somepony. The overly-loud and charismatic ponies are boring; their actions I’ve seen many time before, repeated by others of the same disposition. The shy ones are similar as well. Oddly enough, what I usually seek out are average ponies… but with one stipulation. They must be curious.
I was still searching when another pony approached me, this time a teal-coated mare bearing a lyre. An image of the same instrument adorned her flank. I was not acquainted with this pony, so I merely gave her a polite nod in greeting.
“Do you mind if I sit here? I’m exhausted and I really prefer benches to the ground.”
I nodded again, giving a modest smile as well. Perhaps this was an opportunity to take a more involved approach to my ‘pony-watching’.
“Thank you.” She took a seat next to me, giving a sigh of relief as she settled in.
“What brings you out here this afternoon?” I asked. Had to start somewhere.
“Just finished playing a private concert in the park. Was heading back home. You?”
“Been sitting here a while, relaxing.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Typically ponies don’t find crowds relaxing.”
Ah, there it is. Curiosity. “How do you feel about crowds?”
She gave a smirk. “Depends. What has stood out most to me about crowds is the diversity of them. I’ve played for many different types of ponies in varying numbers, and the experience is never the same. Sometimes I find the crowds relaxing, too. Sometimes they make me nervous. Other times, I’m invisible in front of them.”
“How about this one?”
“This one?” She scanned the area briefly. “This one makes me want to move. It also makes me wonder why a pony is sitting on the bench, as if only here to defy the crowd.”
I chuckled. I always liked seeing curiosity in other ponies. I feel it reflects myself in them, and vice versa. It’s a great way to relate to one another. “This pony is trying to figure out why the crowd wants him to move in the first place.”
She nodded. “Perhaps.” She hopped off of the bench and stretched, letting out a yawn as well. “Or maybe, that pony wants to figure out why he’s defying the crowd.” With that, she headed out. Off to home, if things went as she expected. Something told me they wouldn’t.
The mare did make me wonder, though. Maybe I am here to learn more about myself. For some reason, that idea made me smile. I looked at the disregarded invitation next to me.
I sometimes wish I could hear what other ponies are thinking.
Not as a means to spy on their thoughts to manipulate them, but out of a focused curiosity. I want to know the complexity of their lives. Often, I feel I am the only one with more on my mind than what’s in front of me. Speech is a terrible communicator, when I think about it. Or maybe ponies just think too much.
I know I do.
It really strikes me at parties (goodness knows, Pinkie throws enough of them). There’s such a commotion, a vortex of words and expressions, an abundance of communication. I can feel life in a party. Sometimes… sometimes I think I can even touch another pony’s thought. But then I realize I’ve already had a hundred go through my head.
I’m most alone in crowded rooms.
It’s late — really late, actually. I’m sitting and thinking about things. About the day, about stories, about music. The sort of things I usually think about when I’m keeping myself company.
I’ve noticed that thinking isn’t always a good thing. It’s a form of self-evaluation and reflection… and that can go places beyond what is healthy. The mind makes it too easy, sometimes, to go down that road. The path is so subtle, so straightforward that I find myself completely lost on it with no way back. I can’t unthink thoughts.
Perhaps I’m not cut out for philosophy.
I spent part of the day walking by a park. I don’t know what it is about that place that captivates me. Maybe it’s the safety I find in the organized freedom of nature. On my walk, I found myself thinking again. A harmless kind of thinking, a clear mind that only comes when I’m in the park. When I’m pondering there, my mind is blank in an odd sort of way. I feel like a freeway of thoughts, nothing slowing down or stopping, but running through quickly like there’s somewhere to be. Only when I leave can I grasp something.
I’m not exactly sure why I chose to go. Perhaps I wanted to try listening to thoughts again. Maybe my earlier conversation had piqued my curiosity.
I liked that it was outside. I’m not one to pay too much attention to the sky, but I love surrounding myself with all forms of nature rooted in the ground.
Pinkie Pie was excited to see me, but I think she’s that way around everypony. I had only time to acknowledge her before she was off, redirecting her excitement to whatever had grabbed her attention.
She’s a pleasant enough pony, but can be a bit much at times.
I perused the party, making small talk with strangers. Always in search of curiosity. I’m weak like that.
The moon rise was just like every other, except it wasn’t too. It followed the same course it always had, but to the ponies below, it was something fascinating.
At least, to most of them.
My gaze, however, had found something—well, somepony—else to admire. The lyre-marked unicorn was here. She was watching the moon with all the others. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t understand her curiosity.
Perhaps another day.
Ah, my parents.
It’s not something I often talk about, though I don’t actively avoid the subject either. My feelings toward it are closer to apathy than anger or sorrow.
My parents were fine. They took good care of me, made sure I never failed classes or turned into a delinquent. They put a roof over my head and provided meals without begrudging me for it.
That’s what I assume, at least.
I never really felt like calling them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’, though. They were more guardians than anything else. Like a couple that adopted a foal and realized a few years too late it wasn’t something they were passionate about. I don’t think I was adopted, though.
My guardians loved each other, that’s for sure. I think that was probably the most important thing they taught me, since they didn’t really go out of their way to teach me anything else. They showed I could be happy, if I found the right pony. They did have arguments, but they were few and far between. A textbook marriage.
Just like I was a textbook colt.
How do I feel about them? I’m okay with how they treated me. I can’t blame them for not making extraordinary efforts to make me feel special. They owed me nothing. They fulfilled the duty society placed upon them, and I suppose I fulfilled mine as well: I was a decent colt, and I’ve never betrayed that.
Sometimes, I feel like I missed out on something. But how can I, when it was never my choice?
Apathy, yes… with maybe a tinge of regret.
What does a pony do with his life? That’s a pretty good question. I take care of property. I do all sorts of grounds-keeping, though mostly for one client in particular.
It suits me; I enjoy the outdoors. Not all of it, of course, but the benefits far outweigh the negatives.
That’s just what I think, though.
I wish I had some spectacular explanation of the philosophy of keeping grass green, but there really isn’t anything special about it. You keep an eye on it, water the grounds regularly, and kill weeds where they grow. Not the most impressive job in the world, but I take pride in my work, nonetheless. It’s good to stay focused, at least a little bit.
Now, I know I said there isn’t anything special about my job, but that client I usually work for, that’s a different story. I look after a fairly small patch of land, a little ways outside the town. It’s owned by the town government, ‘The Office of the Ponyville Mayor’, if you want to get specific.
I’ve always had a pretty good relationship with the government people who check up on the place. We don’t talk much, but there’s still plenty of communication.
Ponies tend not to say a whole lot around me on the job. It makes it easier for my mind to wander, which allows me to enjoy what I can about nature. It’s got it’s downside, too, though.
I don’t know why my dreams seem so important to me. They’re simply random pulses in the brain, evoking images and storylines of fiction. I wonder: are everyponies’ dreams important to the owner?
This dream I had, it was about a hill. A very ordinary hill, the only mark on an endless plain. I couldn’t climb it. I remember moving each leg carefully, ensuring that I was, indeed, putting one hoof in front of the other, but I never moved.
The first thing I tried was changing my pace. Even at a full gallop, however, the crest of the hill did not move closer. I then tried backing away, thinking the hill illogical. That did not help either. My second effort ineffective, I attempted attacking the hill at an angle, taking a spiral path to the top.
Alas, my efforts were still in vain. So I sat, and I thought.
I asked myself why I wanted to make it to the top of the hill.
Because it’s there.
What tools do I have to make it there?
My mind.
I wondered why I couldn’t move up the slope.
Because you do not understand.
I grimaced. My mind was of little help.
Another pony appeared next to me. She was glowing; her coat radiated a pure white. She smiled at me and pointed upward to the peak of the hill.
“I know,” I said. “How do I get there?”
She pointed to her head.
“I tried that already.”
Shaking her head, she walked over to me. She picked up my hoof, bringing it to her forehead. It felt… warm. Warm and impossibly soft. She released my hoof and I held it there, taking in whatever it was she was there to give me.
Was it clarity? Faith?
I withdrew my hoof and looked at the mystery pony with confusion. “I still don’t understand.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Who?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Who am I? I’m ****, a groundskeeper.”
“Who?” she again inquired.
“I just told you. My job is to keep land looking presentable. I take care of grass and other vegetation. My parents are **** and ****. I went to school and graduated middle of my class. I enjoy the occasional party. I met a teal-coated unicorn two days ago. We had a nice chat. I have other friends as well. I just don’t—”
I was cut off by a hoof lightly touching my lips. Her eyes were still glowing, but when she looked into mine, I nearly became overwhelmed by the strength of the glow.
“Who?” She slowly withdrew her hoof.
I looked at her, then at the hill. Nodding, I turned to the obstacle before me and began towards it. With my first step, I was already at the top. I smiled and turned back to my companion, but…
I believe it would be fair to say I dislike going to market.
Perhaps it is because it is something I am forced to do, or perhaps I just don’t like bargaining. Some ponies get a kick out of it, though.
“Twelve bits!”
I rolled my eyes. It was horribly overpriced for a loaf of bread, and I knew I could not accept such a price. “Six,” I replied. He frowned at my proposition. “Really? A stallion’s gotta eat! Ten bits.”
Still too much, but I had had enough of this peddler. “Fine.” I handed the bits over to a fairly surprised seller as he handed me the loaf.
“Come back any time!” He yelled at me as I walked away. A smile was plastered on his face.
Oh yes, I just can’t wait until next time.
Next was potatoes, then tomatoes, then apples. At least the mare who ran the apple stand had a more honest approach to manners, even if it was not the city-typical politeness I was used to. My shopping done for the week, I started home.
“Hey!”
I turned to the voice; it was coming from a off-white coated pony with an odd-colored mane and tail. It was half navy blue, half pink. How does one manage that? She approached me, taking leave of her post at a candy stall.
“You know you could use some work on those haggling skills of yours.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You were watching me?”
She giggled. “No, the other vendors talk about you all the time. ‘The Most Generous Pony’, they call you. At least, next to the Element of Generosity. You buy their goods at higher prices than anypony else.”
I rolled my eyes. “It is my money, what does it matter how I spend it?”
“At this point, you’re just wasting it! I’m sure my companions enjoy the business, but they enjoy earning it, too. You’re just throwing it at them. How about this: next time you come to market, talk to me first; I’ll show you how to haggle properly.”
“I know how to, I just don’t really feel like bothering with it.”
“Nonsense,” she said, waggling her hoof at me, “Everyone I know loves to haggle. You just need a little push!” She leaned in and gave me a grin. “Just once?”
“Fine,” I muttered.
Why is she interested in how I buy my food, and why is she offering to help? The conversation was on my mind until I made it back home.
I think I just don’t understand mares.
The town’s changed since the creation of the Elements.
Nothing so abrupt you could notice it with a moment of thought, but if you take your time and analyze what’s been happening, it becomes pretty apparent.
The first thing was that showmare bringing a huge bear made of stars on us. Seriously, how does that happen? I know the Everfree is never truly quiet, but anything that comes out is dealt with quickly, whether it be the kind hoof of Fluttershy or the more harsh touch of the police force. One of the Elements took care of it in the end, though.
Giant star bears have no business being around here.
Next thing was the smoke could. Dragon took up residence in the worst possible spot. There are plenty of mountains fair away from town; what was he doing in that one? If I remember correctly, the Elements were sent to deal with that as well. Of course, they had the problem fixed in no time.
Don’t even get me started on the parasprites.
Anyone watching would just say it was an odd set of coincidences. Accidents, misunderstandings and the such—but they change things around here, just a little, every time. Ponies are more familiar around that zebra now. Everypony seems to be more open in general. I think we feel safer, too.
I went to a concert today. It was a small one, out in Ponyville’s central park. I usually don’t go to performances like this, but today was different.
The performer was that interesting teal unicorn; the one that plays the lyre. She did quite well, if I do say so myself. The music flowed smoothly and softly, a gentle massage on my ears and my mind.
Music can tell you a lot about a pony. Maybe more than anything else.
It told me she was calm. It told me her pains and how she dealt with them. It told me what brought her peace. It told me so many things.
But it did not tell me everything.
There are times I wonder if I regret meeting this unicorn. I’m having such a hard time understanding her—something that has not happened to me for a long time. I want to know more, but I cannot bring myself to take the next step. All I can do is stand here in the crowd, watching her behind a facade. Her eyes have been closed the entire time, anyways. I’m safe here, and here’s I’ll stay. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But then she looked at me. Straight into my eyes.
And she saw me.
Bold.
Too bold. I was quite uncomfortable, in fact. The mare was practically yelling.
“What’s the big deal, huh? Does this stallion look like a chump to you? Cause that’s what you’re treating him like!”
I walked up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. This scene really didn’t need to go on any further. “Really, Bon Bon, it’s fine.”
She spun around, her angry immediately redirected towards me. “And you! Do you really insist on being trodden on for the rest of your life?”
I shirked away beneath Bon Bon’s glare. “It’s just an asparagus…” My voice trailed off.
“Sure, today it’s an asparagus. But what about tomorrow? The day after that? Next week? You’re not walking the road to success, ****, you’re just dithering in the grass!”
She was breathing quite heavily, and her head was now turning back and forth between me and the vegetable vendor. Why the hay did she care so much? For whatever reason, she had decided to invest considerable time into ‘training’ me to haggle, and now it had just become a point of pride for her. But pride in what? We hardly knew each other!
“Maybe we have different definitions of success?” I suggested, wincing.
“No, success is not relative, dolt. I just—” she took a deep breath and spoke her next words more slowly, “—I just want to help you. Are you really so adverse to the idea?”
I stood up straight and put a hoof on her shoulder. “I do appreciate the effort, Bon Bon, but it’s just a misalignment of priorities. I don’t really mind paying a little extra for goods. It gives me more time away from the market, doing things I enjoy. Besides, I’m sure the vendors here don’t mind.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I won’t bug you about it any more.” With that, Bon Bon trudged away, back toward her own market stall.
I felt bad about letting her down, but I had warned her to some extent. This enterprise wasn’t exactly accepted with gusto. Hopefully next time I came around, she’d feel better. It would be a pity if this caused hostility between us.
Turning to the vegetable vendor, I paid the price Bon Bon had worn him down to, smiled, and headed back home.
I always thought her a curious one. A celebrated unicorn in both intellect and power, she had always been a symbol of everything that was good in Ponyville. She was known for being ready to help a weary traveler, eager to aid a lost filly, and most helpful in teaching, well, just about anything. Give her a hoof of interest in something, and she’d guide you a league. That’s what I’d heard about her, anyways. I’d only really met her once.
It was storming outside; Like a fool, I’d been caught in it. Sugarcube Corner was the next bastion of shelter, so I settled in with a muffin and made to wait out the storm. The librarian was also there with some books and a slice of cake. We paid each other no mind for a while, until I heard a grunt of frustration.
“Gah! This is so stupid! Why would Hoomfer write about fake gods in the first place when Celestia is clearly the only one?” She buried her head in the open book in front of her.
I knew it was no business of mine, but I couldn’t help myself. “What are you reading, there?”
“Huh?” She looked up and blinked a few times when she noticed me. “Oh, hi. It’s “The Odyssey” by Hoomfer. Pointless fiction, but Celestia wants me to read it for some reason.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Can’t say I’ve read it myself.”
Her eyes seemed to sharpen as she leaned her head against a foreleg and peered at me. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I suppose not, though I’m not the most memorable pony.” Clearing my throat, I introduced myself. “I’m ****, a groundskeeper. And from the name of your teacher I would suspect you’re Twilight Sparkle.”
A smile lit up her face and she nodded in reply. “I feel famous.” Her eyes went to the ceiling in thought. “Well, I suppose saving Equestria and being the princess’ personal protege would qualify me as a—” She blushed and looked away sheepishly. “I’m ranting about myself…”
I waved her off. “I’d say you’ve earned it. But that book seems to be giving you trouble.”
Rolling her eyes, she replied, “Ugh, yeah. I just can get immersed in it. It’s all fake, what am I supposed to learn from it?”
“And your teacher didn’t tell you why she asked to you read it?”
She shook her head. “Nope, that’s one of Celestia’s favorite teaching methods: give me a task with no context and I learn why she asked me to do it by carrying said task out. I suppose it can get a little annoying, but I certainly can’t argue its effectiveness.”
The patter of the rain on the roof was getting a bit lighter. The storm would be passing before too long. I decided to offer to help Twilight. She’s much, much smart than I, but I had more experience with the world of make-believe.
“I’ve read a few novels myself. Could I offer some advice?”
“Go for it.”
I leaned in over my table, and drilled my gaze right into Twilight’s eyes. “Symbols, Twilight. That’s was really separates fiction from non-fiction. The idea that things do not stand for themselves. In your case, a god is not meant to be a god, but a representation of a force that governs the world.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “That seems grossly unnecessary. Why can’t the author just state such a thing?”
The pattering had completely faded away, now.
A rather large grin grew on my face. “Ah, but Twilight… why didn’t Celestia just tell you the reason she’s asked you to read that book?”
I enjoy contests of skill. Watching them, at least.
Not four days ago was Ponyville’s local rodeo. It’s not the largest event, but the competition is still quite fierce, and egos still quite large. I almost feel sorry for the competitors, though, because there is no pony more skilled in leagues than the Apples, specifically the brother and sister duo Applejack and Big Macintosh. The winner of the whole thing is always one or the other, though I must admit Applejack has shown an advantage in more recent years.
I like knowing the outcome. It eliminates variables, allows me to study other things. Bah, I sound like Twilight Sparkle. Can’t deny I enjoy crowd-watching, though.
Sometimes, I’ll get caught up with the spirit and, to my utmost surprise, start getting into it! The ending rounds of competition are intense, ponies pushing themselves beyond barriers they’d only railed against before. I do wonder what inspires them sometimes. Is it pride alone? I suspect there is more, so I’m always searching for that curiosity. The thing I love to see, love to draw out.
The thing I’m scared of.
This year’s competition was won by Applejack. I knew she’d come through. She still had stubbornness left over from that apple harvesting fiasco.
I wonder… why haven’t I talked to her about that, yet? Perhaps I should.
