Taking a minute to process what he was seeing, Brighteyes blinked twice.
After a few hours of, thank Princess Luna, dreamless sleep and just when the waiting had threatened to become unbearable – and Brighteyes considered himself a very patient pony – Tiffin had rushed into his store, shouting that a friend of Peafowl had come to the tearoom and asked for him.
It wasn’t a stiff upper lipped one. Those that visited used his real name as a code, as almost nopony else did, and the stranger had asked for him as ‘Brighteyes’. Maybe he was a messenger? Not sure what to expect, he had taken his rapier with him.
Now he was standing in the middle of the Tea & Tiffin, the smell of wet pegasus mixed with incense and herbs strong in his nose. In front of him, laying on his back, was a stallion, an olive mountain of muscles, feathers and fur. Tiffin was nearby, smiling in defiance.
“Lady, I just-” the stallion began in a deep baritone voice.
“Quiet, creep!”
Brighteyes, deciding that asking would outdo any further observation, spoke up in the most cultured voice he could muster. “May I please know what has taken place here?”
“I woke up, and my brother was still sleeping, so I figured I’d make breakfast or dinner or whatever for us all, got started in the kitchen, and heard somepony enter. I thought t'was you, ‘cause the tearoom looks closed and we left the door open in case you needed something, but then I see him here lurking around, so I tackled him, he asked for you ‘bout something important, I told him I’d get you, but if he’d move one inch or if he was a spy or something, I’d buck his hide into next week,” Tiffin rattled.
“You’ve seen too many movies, lass.” The stallion let out a short laugh. “Evening. Brighteyes, right? Oleander Hawkmoth, travelling artist. Not a spy as far as I know.” He didn’t sound concerned about his position. His tone was chipper, and remained so when he addressed Tiffin. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”
“Spook me!? Aren’t we smug today.”
“You are not a messenger then," Brighteyes said, stating the obvious, disappointment and worry tainting his voice. What if he was some agent, or even a changeling? Other rumors had been true as well… The very thought made Brighteyes’ skin crawl.
“Nah, I was hoping for information myself. I was gonna meet Fow in Manehattan for lunch yesterday, but something got in the way. When I heard about the trouble there, I flew over from Cloudsdale. Just to let your fillyfriend ambush me,” Oleander explained. Brighteyes tried to place his accent, and failed.
“Let ambush!? I-”
Determined to not let things divulge into chaos, Brighteyes interrupted her. “Let’s not lose our heads and solve this like civilised equines. Tiffin, my dear friend, would you please get a towel for Mister Hawkmoth?”
“Milady’s unbound? Why, how fortunate,” Oleander said, mimicking Brighteyes’ Canterlot diction, making the latter’s ear twitch.
“Ugh!” Tiffin trotted off, her face scrunched up in revulsion. “Not in a hundred years, tramp!”
Oleander laughed and rolled over to get up from the floor. “Hey, beneath his natty clothes and science, Fow’s a tramp as well.” Now dwarfing Brighteyes, he shook himself, spraying water everywhere and grinned, revealing a row of white teeth that did not want to match his scruffy chin beard. “Sorry, weather’s been right crazy on the way.”
Brighteyes took a moment to answer. Though Patch had reassured him on the issue, the thought of wild weather and the stranger’s nonchalance about it irritated him - this whole pegasus was irritating. “I take it that with ‘Fow’ you mean Peafowl.”
“Yah. We’ve been on the road together.” Oleander’s grin became forced before it vanished. “He hasn’t been around much lately, and he’s acted distant when he was… I hoped he was here instead.”
It would not be untrue. Peafowl had the habit of hopping onto an airship that would take him and disappear for sometimes months without explanation. Patch never seemed too concerned, so Brighteyes had dismissed it as a pegasus thing.
“Prove it!” Returning from her quest, Tiffin tossed a large towel in Oleander’s direction and positioned herself beside Brighteyes.
“Prove?” Drying his garnet mane, Oleander’s face became thoughtful before he grinned again. Maybe it was a nervous habit for him. “I sent my letters here. I always put my mark on them.”
Unfurling his wings, he struck a pose to present his thigh. There it was, outlines fuzzy on his shaggy pelt - a blot of paint with a butterfly, or a moth, cut from it. “Fow said you do all the paperwork, you see the mail too, right?”
“I do.” All did match up – Brighteyes knew by heart that there was a gap in Peafowl’s schedule where a lunch meeting could have been yesterday. The letter had been a day late, but postal services weren’t always dependable. He decided that honesty was the best course of action. “But you could be an imposter.”
“You think I am one of these bugs?” Oleander blinked, only to burst into roaring laughter moments later. “The name gave it away, right?”
“I have to consider the possibility,” Brighteyes said, his voice icy. The pegasus’ response was most inappropriate.
When Oleander noticed that nopony had joined him, the laughter died in his throat and his flippant mien faded. “I-I don’t- I’m not-”
Before anypony could reply, his ears pinned against his skull, making Tiffin gasp and Brighteyes fumble for his weapon. “Fine, don’t help me! Don’t tell me if my best friend’s alive!” Instead of charging as Brighteyes had feared, the pegasus dropped his towel and began to make his way to the exit.
“He’s telling the truth.” Tea Treat’s voice cut through the room, stopping everypony in their tracks. The unicorn stood atop the staircase leading to the siblings’ chambers, undressed and disheveled.
Brighteyes’ ears drooped, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. A wizard would know. He glanced over to Oleander, who snorted in reply.
“Yeah, if a unicorn says it, it’s valid. Canterlot fancies, all the same,” he huffed.
The pegasus had a point. Had he been a more polished fellow, they might have believed him. Brighteyes hadn’t handled the situation like a gentlecolt, not at all like Fancy Pants or future Prince Gosling. His cheeks now burning, his mind raced for what to say.
“Sir, I-” Tea started to descend the stairs, only to stumble when he missed the first step.
Before Brighteyes could react, Oleander had darted forward and up the stairs, his agility impressive for his size, catching the unicorn on his back. “And they call earth ponies stubborn. Stupid unicorn,” he muttered as he climbed down again, taking one step at a time.
“Thanks, s-”
“Inventite veritatem! You could be dead! Stupid unicorn!” Oleander shouted, making Tea blink in surprise.
Tiffin, waking from her stupor, crept over to the stone staircase with shaking legs to help her brother off his rescuers’ back, avoiding both stallion’s gazes in process.
“Now if that’s all.” Oleander’s voice mellowed as he eyed Tea with concern.
“Please wait.” Summoning what nerve he had left, Brighteyes approached Oleander with a bow. “I thank you for saving my friend, and I apologize for my poor handling of the situation. I apologize for almost drawing a weapon against you. You suffer for the same reason we do, and I turn you away, just to be safe, not sorry.”
“We’re safe and sorry now,” Tiffin murmured.
Hearing what was either a huff or a chuckle, Brighteyes continued. “Let’s start over, Mister Hawkmoth, without games this time. I invite you to worry and eat with us. My treat, for all of you. In the meantime I’ll visit my dovecote and see if there’re tidings from Manehattan.” Looking up at Oleander, he found a face of indifference.
“Well, I can’t leave him alone with two amateurs, and it’s against my code to reject free food… Ah, shush, why not.”
“Good.” Brighteyes let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll be right back.”
Closing the door behind him, Brighteyes crept through the labyrinthic tearoom. The clattering of crockery filled the air, and he soon spotted his fellow sufferers near the kitchen. Tiffin trotted back and forth, hauling around several brimming bowls and platters, slowly filling their chosen table.
Oleander sat with Tea, guiding him with gentle gestures as the unicorn struggled to pour some sort of powder into a water glass without magic, and the thought of interrupting the tranquility didn’t sit well with Brighteyes. Maybe this pegasus wasn’t just irritating after all.
All sound died as the others turned their heads to look at him, hope and fear equally present on their faces when they spotted the string of paper afloat in his telekinesis.
Intimidated by the anxiety in the air, Brighteyes hesitated. How could he tell them something he had trouble believing himself? But, he had decoded the message three times to the same results. Clearing his throat, he pushed himself to speak. “They’re all alive.”
For seconds, it was so quiet that one could have heard a needle drop. Then, gasps of relief and joy filled the room, and Tiffin dropped a bowl of fruits to pull her brother into a hug.
Oleander, laughing, sank into his seat and smoothed back the strand of mane that covered his right eye, only to let it fall into place again.
Stuck in a state of joyous shock, Brighteyes managed a small smile as he watched his fellow ponies celebrate.
Releasing her brother, Tiffin trotted over and embraced Brighteyes as well. He struggled to breathe in her grip, but he didn’t mind. It was a reassurance that this was real.
Stepping back, Tiffin eyed the message with its little symbols. “A code?”
“Yes. To save space, mostly.” And for identification – it was a reversed version of the official telegraph coding they used for their pigeon post. “The Lady Patch writes that she is okay. Peafowl is injured, but recovering. Doctor Almond Treat and Doctor Majith Vishaghna are unharmed. And to her knowledge, there were no casualties in Las Pegasus,” Brighteyes reported, tripping over the Windian name.
Tiffin didn’t seem to mind, but before she could reply, a bell called her to the kitchen, leaving Brighteyes to seat himself at the table with the others.
Now closer, he noticed a red stain on Tea’s right pastern. Realizing what it was, his heart sank at the thought of his fellow unicorn’s self-inflicted bloodshed. “Tea, I’m-”
Tea shook his head with a weak smile and sipped his drink, holding the glass between his hooves.
Brighteyes was only somewhat reassured, but his aching stomach distracted him. He hadn’t eaten much today and now that stress faded, he felt it. He put pieces of scalloped bread, so called rarebits, onto his plate, longing for Tiffin to return so they could begin.
Oleander however just stared at his coffee cup, his feathers standing out from between his damp pelt. Whenever Peafowl’s plumage looked like this, he was stressed or irritated.
“Mister Hawkmoth, again, I-”
“Never mind,” the pegasus cut him off, “I’d be lying if I said that was the first time that that happened. Though last time, the mare was-”
“Nope!” Now it was Tiffin’s turn to interrupt. She added a plate of scones to the table and hopped onto a chair.
“Brute,” Oleander muttered.
“Numbskull”, Tiffin shot back.
“Silence,” Brighteyes said.
“Both of you,” Tea added.
“Snobs,” Oleander and Tiffin said in unison, causing Brighteyes to chuckle. Tiffin’s scowl faded away seconds later, but Oleander remained sullen.
Brighteyes, nibbling a rarebit, pondered how to approach the pegasus. If it wasn’t a grudge against them, maybe it was Peafowl’s injury. Maybe Oleander mourned his own absence from Manehattan. “It is better you weren’t there. One distraction less.”
Oleander shifted in his seat, but did not reply.
“And the Lady Patch is very compassionate. She might exaggerate her companion’s condition.”
“I’ve been a lousy friend lately.” Oleander sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I got angry when Fow did nothing but work on his science stuff. When some Cloudsdale fancy wanted me for his exhibition, I signed straightaway without remembering Manehattan, and then wrote that awful letter. While Fow was right to prepare after all.”
Brighteyes hummed in agreement. It wasn’t unusual for Peafowl to work for days on end. But, drunk Peafowl came to mind. Had he known about Manehattan? Brighteyes shoved the thought away and forced himself to focus upon the good. Nothing was over yet, everything could be clarified. “The letter was late. You may have it back if you wish to refine it.”
“You’d do that for me?” Oleander did nothing to hide his surprise.
“An undeliverable letter is to go back to the sender.”
Chortling, Oleander nodded before he took a large swig of coffee, clenching the cup rim between his teeth.
“Sir, may I-”
“Ask how a tramp pegasus knows fancy spells?” Oleander licked his lips and reclined, drawing everypony’s attention. “When a foalhood friend left home to learn magic, I tagged along for fun. Northern hamlets aren’t exactly epitomes of education and excitement. Boy, we were luckier than we were stupid. A wandering old unicorn mare took us in and taught us art and magic. Back then, I didn’t understand why she whipped it into my brain, but it’s been right good knowing what insanities unicorns get up to.” He nodded to Tea, who smiled with nostalgic delight.
“And you’ve been en route ever since?” It seemed so odd, to have no base, no haven. Brighteyes had spent his whole life in Canterlot, and planned to continue to do so. Most ponies did it. Even his wife and friend always came back here to rejoin civilization.
“Yah. More than half my life. About twenty years?” Aboat. A linguist would have a field day with the boasting pegasus. “My friend found a nice mare and settled down, I kept wanderin’. Fow and his pinto pal helped me out once.”
“Lady Patch.”
“You can drop the act, I know she’s your ladylove.”
“Wife,” Brighteyes corrected.
“Mazel tov. Didn’t know noble unicorns married earth ponies.”
Brighteyes stiffened. “My parents are both middle foals of their houses. I’m not likely to inherit anything, Patch is from a good family, so mine gave their consent.”
“Harsh.” Oleander grimaced, but soon recovered his mischievous smirk. “Why, if name is everything, an Oleander Tramontane Hawkmoth must be an équin extraordinaire.”
Feeling bold, Brighteyes quipped, “If length of name was most important, I’d rule Equestria.”
“Oh?” Tiffin leaned forward, pertness shimmering in her lilac eyes.
Knowing this had become inescapable, Brighteyes raised his nose heavenwards and scoffed in mock-arrogance. “Nothing! I said nothing! Pay it no heed, peasant!”
Tiffin, continuing the spiel, clutched her chest with a mock-gasp. “No way out, milord! Now you have to tell, or I’ll get my pitchfork!” she exclaimed, making Tea and Oleander chortle.
“A piercing argument. Alright, Brighteyes is a name after a semi-famous wizard ancestor. My real name is Gentian Escutcheon, and my full name is Gentian Beryllus Tabard Lares Brighteyes Escutcheon the Third.”
“The third?” Tiffin chuckled.
“It eludes me as well.” Simpering, Brighteyes remembered the last occasion he had needed his full name, his marriage certificate. Luckily, Canterlot registry office forms were designed for extravagances. The celebration had been intimate, with a big white earth mare, whose name for the life of him he could not remember, as Patch’s bridesmaid and Peafowl as both couturier and best stallion, who had later flirted with the mystery mare, then a minotaur waitress, and after one drink too many, a colourful pot plant.
“But I suppose Beryllus fits an optician,” Brighteyes said, returning to the here and now, “Peafowl told me the Germane word Brille for glasses comes from beryl.” Which in turn had been the source of Brighteyes’ family’s fortune, mined from within the depths of the Canterhorn.
“Been there, heard that. He always holds that lecture when gems and eyeglasses are in the same area.” Oleander smirked. “Why, milord seems to have a lady, a wizard, a wisecracking tailor, a cook who makes some fantastic coffee-” pausing, he gestured to Tiffin.
Hearing this, Tiffin puffed out her chest, left her seat to venture to a decorative glass filled with many green and a few lilac marbles and dropped a lilac one into it, making Tea smile and roll his eyes.
“-does he also need a court painter?” Oleander’s smirk turned into a deadpan expression at Brighteyes’ amused face. “Seriously, that exhibition’s just started. I don’t have a copper.”
Thinking back to apologies, clarifications and rectifications, Brighteyes smiled. “Indeed, there might be something. Do you have any experience in sign painting?”