//------------------------------// // November 20 3871 9:05am // Story: Well, At Least Time Flies // by shortskirtsandexplosions //------------------------------// Scootaloo gasped. "... ... ..." She was standing dead-still. The sled was standing dead-still. The hilltop, the park, the pathways in between—it was all covered with a thick layer of snow. Much thicker than a minute ago. However, the sky above was clear. A bright sun was shining—low to the horizon—and the moisture in the air suggested that much of the frosted precipitation was in the long process of melting. Scootaloo gulped. In the next breath, she sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed. It all smelled the same... Scootaloo lifted her goggles and looked around. Everything was still and quiet. So she stripped her helmet off and looked around some more. The snowbanks glistened soundlessly in the warm sun. Tree branches hung with the weight of icicles. There was no wind. Scootaloo exhaled long and hard. Her vapors lingered, rippled, and finally dissipated. Did something go wrong? Everything felt so... same-y. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she looked down at the hoofboard of the sled. Her eyes traced the characters resting beneath the translucent counter: November 20 3871 9:05am. "Twenty years ago..." Scootaloo's own voice shattered the moment like thunder, although it was barely a whisper. She looked up, squinting at the bright horizon. "This is twenty years ago...?" One hoof after another, Scootaloo stepped off the sled. Snow crunched under her fetlocks, swiftly turning to slush. The warm rays of a morning sunrise tickled her fur, clashing with the numbness emanating from her center. She looked around at the familiar trees, the familiar park benches, the familiar trail. Birds fluttered across random branches overhead, looking no older or younger than yesterday or tomorrow. The filly exhaled hard, nostrils flaring. She strolled several paces ahead, putting distance between herself and the sled. She approached a park bench, cocking her head to the side and observing the wooden surfaces covered with a thin layer of condensation. The seat of the bench looked... brighter? A strange, vibrant coat of green? Or—no—maybe she was just imagining it... Groaning inwardly, Scootaloo pivoted about. She glanced lethargically at the treetops, the roofs of Ponyville, the Canterlot Mountains lingering in the distance— "... ... ...!!!" Scootaloo's vision zipped back to the Ponyville skyline. Something was missing. Chiefly: the only thing that stretched high enough to even give the tiny town a "skyline" in the first place. The Castle of Friendship... Twilight Sparkle's crystalline home... ... ... ... ...it was gone. Scootaloo's jaw hung open. "Holy sm-smokes..." She gulped dryly, trotting limply towards the treeline separating the park from the town proper. She detected movement. Bodies trotting left and right beyond the tree trunks. Wagons being pulled and carriages rattling to a stop. The place was alive... real... and there was definitely no Friendship Palace. Once again, Scootaloo's heart was doing loopty-loops. With a goofy smile, she broke into a sprint... ...only to skid to a stop twenty feet from where she began running. Biting her lip, Scootaloo turned and looked behind her. The sled rested at the base of the snowy hill, fully exposed. A geometric trail of parallel blade-tracks magically materialized halfway down the rise and led directly to where the vehicle was positioned. Biting her lip, Scootaloo scampered back to the sled. Grunting and sweating, she pulled the metal thing across the field and towards a dense thicket of trees situated behind a park bench. Once it was safely hidden, she pulled a plug from the top of the silver brace. The device immediately went dormant, its crystalline cylinders quieting completely. Scootaloo then plopped the plug into a forward pocket of her backpack, making sure it was safe and tightly hidden. Out of paranoia—if nothing else—she trotted back to the hillside and used her sweeping tailhairs to "mask" the sled's tracks. It only created a greater mess in the otherwise immaculate patch of snow, but Scootaloo was too rushed to think rationally at this point. Also, she was trembling with unnameable excitement. Panting for breath, she loosened her scarf slightly... and marched towards the heart of town with just her saddlebag in tow. She felt tiny, light, and more than a little bit vulnerable. The sensation only grew more numbing with each step she took from the sled... and into the reality of this antiquated moment. Scootaloo half-expected a spectacle, but she swiftly learned better. What she ultimately stumbled upon was none other than Ponyville... a slightly smaller, quieter, and less monster-infested Ponyville, but Ponyville nonetheless. There were about a dozen or so fewer buildings than she remembered. This became more evident as she trotted deeper into the center of the snow-speckled village. Gazing east, Scootaloo expected to see the colorful tents and storefronts that made up the bulk of the Ponyville marketplace. They completely didn't exist here, and instead she saw a rickety wooden fence that bordered what in the warmer seasons must have been a cornfield. A cornfield? This close to town hall? Speaking of which, Scootaloo's hooves slowed slightly as she approached the dead center of town. She looked up and up some more, her muzzle hanging agape. The cylindrical structure of the town hall building was still being constructed. Wood and metal scaffolds formed a porous exoskeleton around the unfinished summit of the structure. Workponies had evidently suspended their task during the snowfall, and several tarps clung to the exposed woodwork. They flapped in the wing, creating a haunting cadence that made Scootaloo's skin crawl. Just then, there was an obnoxiously loud noise honking directly behind her. At first, Scootaloo didn't move, because the sound identically matched the noise typically made by clown gags that she was used to hearing. The synapses in her brain suddenly fired, however, reminding her that that very same noise also corresponded with old time-y wagon horns. "!!!" She hopped towards the nearest lamppost. Within seconds, two old workstallions pulled a thick iron storage cart past her at blazing speed. Scootaloo watched—dumbfounded—as the old model carriage careened around the nearest street-corner, making its rickety way towards some nebulous destination. The filly never thought hard about it before, but she was used to seeing those same model wagons immortalized in tacky post cards—or else wasting away to a rusted fate in some overgrown backyard. Leaning against the lamppost, Scootaloo looked across the snow-dusted street. Her eyes immediately danced between the occasionally familiar patterns: a rectangular-shaped store sign, a brightly-painted barber shop pole, a triangular arrangement of ceramic roof siding, an old faded woodshed in an alley that suddenly looked a lot less old and a lot less faded. Scootaloo's vision locked on the front window of a toy store that the little filly had familiarized herself with all her life... only now it was labeled as "Brook Trotter's Projectors and Film Reel Rentals." The filly's muzzle scrunched. "Ponies used to... rent movies?" She looked up and down the sidewalk. Ponies trotted to and from work in the early morning. They looked... about as normal as always. A few citizens had slightly different manestyles—the mares especially—but otherwise Scootaloo could just as well have been visiting any other town block on any other given day. At one point, a stallion lingered ever so slightly as he passed her, tilting his hat with a smile. "'Morning," he rasped pleasantly, winked, and was off to whatever destination awaited him. "Hmmmm..." Scootaloo smiled. "At least we're still polite." She smiled some more. "Hmmm-hee-hee-hee..." She wasn't sure why she was giggling. She didn't care. This was great. Trotting backwards, Scootaloo bumped into a random trash bin. Her ears perked up, and she instinctually dug her head deep into the garbage. Within seconds, she was leaning back out and facehoofing. Hard. "Dummy," she muttered to herself. "Stupid dodo. This isn't a work of fiction. You can't just... go back in time and immediately expect some rando to drop the morning newspaper into the nearby trash can for you to conveniently read." She chuckled... then chuckled some more. Outright giggling, she hugged herself before trotting giddy circles into the nearby road. Her vision swam, swirled... then came to a sobering stop on a haunting sight. "... ... ...Whoah." She blinked while her scarf and pendant settled in place as well. Before her stretched the Golden Oaks Library. The tree somehow looked fuller, taller, and less gnarled. But—perhaps—it was her sentimental memory playing tricks on her. The beehive she remembered was gone, and there was no telescope on the upper balcony... or even an upper balcony whatsoever. "Probably because there's no Princess Twilight..." Scootaloo winced. "Twilight Sparkle." She winced again, smiling in spite her ditziness. "How friggin' young is she at this point, anyway? Four? Five?" Just then, the door to the Golden Oaks library creaked open. Two adolescent ponies scampered out, their saddlebags packed full with thick tomes and botany magazines. "Quick!" one filly—a fuchsia darling with stylishly perm'd hair—lisped through thick braces. "I gotta thtudy up ath much ath I can before my cute-thenera! I don't want the other fillieth to think I'm a total dunce!" "Don't worry!" the other filly squeaked, rosy locks flowing as she galloped beside her friend. "I'll help you study extra hard! Squee! Ohhhhhh I'm so glad my best friend got a flower for a cutie mark! We're going to be B.F.F.F.F's! Best Filly Flower Friends Forever!" "???" Scootaloo craned her neck. She glanced at the first pony's flank, and the smiling daisies that looked back at her made her gasp. "Whoah! Hey! Cheerilee!" The filly in braces skidded to a stop. In a cold sweat, she looked down the street in Scootaloo's direction. "Wh-who thaid that?!?" In the last few milliseconds, a wincing Scootaloo had stealthily leapt behind a lamppost, pressing her body to it and hiding from sight. Her heart ran a mile per minute as she held her breath, mentally berating herself. "Cheery? What's wrong?" the other filly asked. "I..." She trembled, ears drooped. "I thought I heard thomepony, Rotheluck. What if it'th Fleur and the otherth? If they thaw me like thith, I-I don't think I could ever live it down!" "Pffft. Since when did those gum-chewing bimbos come anywhere near a library? We're fine! Quick! Let's get to my house to study! On the double!" "Thankth, Rotheluck..." The two fillies resumed galloping, full of smiles and giggles. "You're thuch a courageouth pony!" "Heehee! Don't jinx it, now!" Scootaloo waited a good long minute after last hearing their hoofsteps. Finally, she looked out from behind the lamppost. After a steady sigh, she finally trotted out onto the sidewalk again. She contemplated what she had just witnessed... then chuckled breathily into the nippy air. "Brbbrbbrbrrr..." She hugged herself, suddenly remembering how cold it was. The sun must have gone behind a cloud... or else she was starting to feel the weight of everything falling awesomely into place. "I need something to eat. Something warm." So, after thinking out loud to herself, she followed an innately buried habit. She trotted down Ponyville's mainstreet, took a right, then a left, then another right until... "Whoah..." Scootaloo's hooves scuffled to a stop. She absent-mindedly clutched the crystalline pendant dangling from her neck as she looked up and down at the building standing right in front of her. "What the...?" Sugarcube Corner was gone... only it wasn't. A different building sat in the same exact place as the bakery she knew and loved. It possessed the same foundation, the same windows, the same multiple stories and cornerstones. However, where Sugarcube Corner was bright, pastel, and whimsically decorated, this structure was drab, brown, rigid, and unimaginative. And—yet—as Scootaloo stood there—gawking—she watched as ponies casually trotted in and out the front door. Those exiting balanced trays of coffee and steaming oatmeal on their flanks. "It..." Scootaloo blinked. "... ... ...it was refurbished?" Her lips pursed. She looked over her shoulder, wings twitching. A few seconds ticked by. She looked back at the cafe with a stupid smirk. It was dumb—and she figured she might regret it—but she trotted towards the building anyways, making her way in through the front door with a dull-yet-rhythmic bell ringing overhead. "Hello!" a male voice called out across the front lobby. Scootaloo looked to see a acne-riddled teenager calmly, dutifully mopping a checkerboard tile floor. "Welcome to Cantershadow Cafe." Scootaloo stood numbly in the doorway. Her muzzle moved slowly, pronouncing the awkward name she had just heard through stiff lips. Nevertheless, it felt comfortably warm inside the place... although the heat was coming from one direction only. She looked to her left and saw a gray metal box positioned atop a counter and aimed at the lobby in general. It was a heat lamp; Scootaloo recalled one from an old neighbor she used to visit as a little filly. It was all normal. Everything was simply normal. It was... boring and stale and there was no modern air conditioning and no Pinkie Pie... ...but otherwise it was all normal. Taking a deep breath, Scootaloo trotted forward. She found that there was no table setup like she was used to, but rather a very long counter fitted with stools. Taking off her saddlebag and scarf, she hopped up onto one seat—struggling a bit due to her small stature. Trying not to tremble, she allowed the warmth from the distant lamp to toast her snow-christened figure. She glanced to her left and right, realizing that a few other citizens were also seated at the counter. They calmly sipped from warm mugs of coffee and bowls of soup as they allowed the wakefulness of the day to float to their senses. One of them—as it turned out—did have a newspaper. As the earth pony flipped a page, Scootaloo caught a glimpse of the sports section. There was a bold header, covering the announcement of the Equestrian Games in Fillydelphia. Scootaloo wondered if the event was anywhere near as epic as it was when she attended the Games in the Crystal Empire. She then realized that she had every opportunity to attend the Equestrian Games in Fillydelphia. She then then realized that she had every opportunity to attend the Equestrian Games hosted at anyplace and at anytime. She then then then realized that—at that current point in time—the Crystal Empire was about nineteen years away from resurfacing... and she was the only soul in Ponyville who knew about it. The only soul in that room who knew, for that matter. She was a living relic from another time, and this moment was very... very real. Chills ran down her back. Scootaloo looked at the wall behind the cafe's counter. Many of the advertisements, logos, and decorations had an antique vibe about them—but they were all shiny and brand new. There was a framed black-and-white photograph taken of the first working staff situated outside the Cantershadow Cafe on Opening Day. Scootaloo wondered where that very same photograph might exist twenty years in the future... and if it too was forgotten just like the cafe's name, buried beneath Sugarcube Corner's layers upon layers of pastel decorations. "Soup's up!" a greasy stallion grumbled, limping crookedly out of the back kitchen. A mare waved her hoof, and he swiftly passed it the patron's way. "Here ya go. Have a good day." As she scampered back out into the cold, the employee marched down the counter. "Hey! Turnip!" The teenage stallion gasped, skittishly juggling his mop before grasping it again. "Erm, it's Carrot, Mr. Trots." "Whatever." The cook belched. "Did Miss Swirl show up with the banana bread yet?" "Uhmmmm..." The stallion gulped, and Scootaloo could see a rapid blush forming beneath his acne. "No, sir. I-I haven't t-talked with Chiffon Swirl all day. I-I-I mean... she hasn't been by with the banana bread. Not yet. Uhm... sir." "Relax, kid. This ain't no interrogation." The cook pointed. "You done the front room?" "Yes sir, Mr. Trots. Just finishing up." "Good. When you're done, go clean out the back. Then Carrot can come help you make the first round of deliveries once his shift starts." "I believe you mean 'Turnip,' sir." "Whatever." Mr. Trots glanced down the line of patrons. When he saw Scootaloo, he did a double-take. "Oh! Hi there, little Missy. New customer! My apologies—I didn't see you there." Scootaloo gulped and broke a smile. "It's cool." "Uh huh. You wanna order something?" "I take it there's no banana bread." "Heh. No. Not yet. Hang out for a bit and it'll show up." "That's fine. I could... uh..." Scootaloo brightened. "Oh! I could go for a Surprise Gummy Smile Pastry!" Both the cook and the teen with the broom did double-takes. "A Surprise Gummy what???" Scootaloo blinked. She looked up at the ceiling, eyes darting left and right. "It's the year 3871. Pinkie Pie doesn't move out of Dredgemane for another three... dang it... Ahem." She folded her fetlocks nervously together and opened her muzzle. "Uhhhhh... I'll have... uhm..." She bit her lip. "...strawberry stroodle?" "Oh, you mean like Pop Trots? We serve those." "Whoah, those exist now?" "Huh?" "I mean! Yes!" Scootaloo grinned wide. "Pop Trots! Four, please! Piping h-hot!" "Okay, then." The stallion fetched a package and turned the toaster on. "That'll be two bits, ma'am." "Oh. Sure..." Scootaloo fidgeted through her saddlebag. "What's the old slogan? 'So hot, they're cool?'" "Hey...!" A mare from two stools down chirped. "That's pretty catchy!" Scootaloo blinked. "Yeah... I'm... uh..." She dropped two coins onto the table. "...I'm sure some wicked smart businesspony in advertising will think of it someday." She gulped, deciding to clam her muzzle shut. If only for a little bit. Mr. Trots picked up the two coins. He suddenly froze in place, doing a double-take and blinking at the bits. His eyes darted towards Scootaloo, and he spoke: "Say... uh... I'm not trying to point any hooves or nothin', but..." He leaned forward with the coins in open view. "...one of these is a bogus bit." "Bogus?" Scootaloo blinked. She tried not to tremble. "What—you mean like a counterfeit?" "Pffft-yeah!" The stallion chuckled. "Some idiot engraved the year '1389' on this coin! Way to stick with the times, ya doofus! Hahaha! Ahem..." He rubbed the coin while squinting at the filly. "I'm guessing some rat hoofed this to you on the street? Or at the playground?" "I... got it at the bank, actually..." Scootaloo blurted. "At the bank?" Mr. Trots winced. "Yeesh. I might wanna make a withdrawal before everything sinks to Tartarus." "Does the kid need a coin?" a stallion at the far end of the counter asked. "I'll cover." "Nah. It's good." A gracious smile crossed Mr. Trots' face as he stuffed the "good" coin into his apron. "Consider it a traveller's discount, kid." He winked in Scootaloo's direction. Scootaloo cocked her head to the side. "Traveller's... discount...?" "Well, you're just passing through, aren't ya?" Mr. Trots took the moment to wipe the back counter clean. He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm guessing your folks dropped you off while they checked in at the local hotel." "What makes you think I don't live here?" Scootaloo asked. She immediately heard spoons and plates rattling. She looked aside to see half of the patrons blinking curiously at her. "A pegasus family...?" one mare remarked. "...staying in Ponyville?" "We're... not due for weather fliers..." Another stallion glanced at the others. "...are we?" Scootaloo glanced back at her wings, then at the room full of patrons gazing at her. "Uhhhhh—yeah!" She beamed. "That's it! Weather fliers! We're... uhm..." She leaned back with a casual smirk. "...we're here to kick your clouds away." "No kidding...?" "Yeah! Me and my Mom—uh—Fluttershy..." Scootaloo blushed slightly. "...my other mom Rainbow Dash..." "That's... surprising," a mare said. "I thought Ponyville was a few hundred ponies short of the minimum population to warrant inclusion with the Cloudsdale Weather Commission." "Oh! Uh... that's... that's just the thing!" Scootaloo rambled, fidgeting in her seat. "Cloudsdale is... anticipating a population rise in Ponyville! Sooooo..." She gulped. "...we're sending weather fliers in early?" Dead silence. Then... "Hahahahaha!" "Heeheehee!" "You had us going there, kid!" "Central Equestria! A place of interest! Hah! Can you imagine?" Scootaloo exhaled with relief. "It'smorelikelythanyouthiiiiiiiink," she squeaked under her breath. Cht-Chtung! The pastries popped up in the toaster. "Well..." Mr. Trots smiled as he placed them on a plate and served them to the filly. "...in any case, for a night or a fortnight, you're welcome in our little farming town. It's not that exciting by pegasus standards, but I'm sure you'll fit in." "Thanks. Uh... I'll try..." "Still..." One mare squinted at the others. "...could you imagine a whole bunch of ponies moving in from Cloudsdale? Flying over your head everyday?" "Yeesh... could be weirder. Could you imagine unicorns living in Ponyville? Floating stuff around with their... glowy magic?" A stallion shuddered. "I mean... not that I have any problem with unicorns." "You're just scared of them blowing your head up from the inside!" "Taratarus, no!" A pause. "Wait... th-they can do that?" More chuckles lit the room. Scootaloo giggled as she nibbled into her morning treat. She went backwards twenty years in time to have breakfast. Talk about win-win. As her tongue delighted in the strawberry flavor, she felt her body and mind relaxing more and more. The denizens of Ponyville were as simple and silly as always. She glanced at several of them, trying to see if she recognized any of their faces. Twenty years from now—Scootaloo figured—a good few of them were likely living in the old ponies' home. "Taste good, lil' Missy?" Mr. Trots asked. "Mmmhmmm..." Scootaloo took another bite. Her tail flicked. "Mmmfff!" She waved a hoof, then reached into her saddlebag. "Hey... uh... can I have some milk as well?" "Absolutely, darling. One bit, please" "It's... uh..." Scootaloo dropped two more bits and smiled sheepishly. "They're both real. I promise." "I only need one coin for the milk. I meant it about the discount earlier." "Thanks. You're awesome." "Heh..." Mr. Trots took the bit and went towards the backroom to open the refrigerator. "Thanks!" he called from beyond the doorframe. "I try my best!" "If you're actually visiting for a while..." One mare looked over at Scootaloo, smiling. "You and your mothers should visit the local windmill! They serve Ponyville's finest spinach-and-cheese there. It's a real treat—spoken about from here to Baltimare!" Scootaloo swallowed another bite. "You mean the Harvest Mill that Green Harvest built back in 3820?" The mare leaned back, blinking. "Wow... you know a lot about our little town, don'tcha?" "I... uh..." Scootaloo's ears drooped. "...pay attention in school?" "They teach foals about Cloudsdale in pegasus schools?!?" "Erm... I'm not from Cloudsdale." "Oh? Then where are you and your folks from, dear?" "I... uh..." Scootaloo gulped. "Well..." She looked in the direction of the heat lamp. "...I never actually found out where I was foaled." "Hah!" An old stallion shuffled by, chuckling. "That's the life of a pegasus, for ya! Flighty and fancy-free!" "Sure. Not gonna deny that," Scootaloo said. "But... when I was really young... I moved into a small Equestrian village. I mean... heh... it may not have made that big of a dent in the map..." She smirked slyly. "...but I like to call it home." "Do they even put clouds on maps these days?" the mare asked. Another mare chided her. "Oh hush, Whistlemane. Not all pegasi live in clouds." "Yeah." Scootaloo nodded. "Some of us live in Canterlot and like to blow up ponies' heads." One stallion in particular shuddered while the rest of the cafe laughed. Mr. Trots came back with a tall cold glass of milk. "Here ya go, Miss." "Thank you." Scootaloo grasped the glass in one hoof and a half-eaten tart in the other. She squinted across the establishment. "Y'know..." A mischievous smile crossed her muzzle. "...what if I told you that someday... maybe even just a few years from now... Ponyville will become a home to all kinds of ponies." "Oh yeah?" "Mmmmmmm..." She took another bite, munched, and swallowed. "Oh yeah. Earth ponies... unicorns... and pegasi." "Well, I'd say that somepony like Filthy Rich would be responsible," Mr. Trots said. "Ewww, Diamond Tiara's dad?" "Who?" "Er..." Scootaloo coughed and raised the milk glass to her muzzle. "Filthy Rich? Why Filthy Rich?" "Who else would wanna diversify Ponyville so crazily overnight?" Mr. Trots huffed. "Hmrmmmff... must be some kind of project with expanding Barnyard Bargains or something." "You'd be surprised..." Scootaloo grinned, taking a sip. "Maybe ponies from all trots of Equestria will find themselves drawn to how nice and friendly Ponyville is." "Hah! You make this place sound like paradise!" Scootaloo didn't immediately respond. She was still recovering from how delicious the milk tasted. It was like nothing else she had enjoyed before—even at Sugarcube Corner. She lowered the glass, blinking incredulously at its contents. "This... this milk..." "What's wrong with it?" a stallion asked. "Nothing! It's... it's..." Scootaloo felt goosebumps forming under her fur. "...it's the best darn milk I've ever tasted!" "Well, I'd hope so!" Mr. Trots dusted off his apron with a smirk. "Ponyville has some of the finest bovine neighbors in all of Equestria." Scootaloo mouthed those last few words. "But..." A blink. "...I thought half the cattle... moved to Appleloosa." Heads turned. Expressions were exchanged. "Darling, what's... an Appleloosa?" a mare asked. "Heh..." Scootaloo cracked a grin. "You'll find out one day." "Heeheehee... such a curious child." "Can't help it." Scootaloo took another sip of milk. "Curiosity was..." And another. "...born in my feathers. Mmmmm." She took a breath, then looked across the counter as she savored the milk's taste some more. "Speaking of which... uhm..." She fidgeted slightly. "I don't suppose any of you ponies know of... uhm..." She gulped. "...a mare named Firefly, would you?" A few of them muttered inquisitively amongst themselves. Eventually, heads shook. "No'm." "No." "Sorry... can't say that I have, dear." Scootaloo sighed, gazing at the rest of her "breakfast" with a lethargic expression. "Yeahhhh... I figured you wouldn't have." She muttered under her breath. "She never liked to talk much..." "Is everything alright, Miss?" Scootaloo cleared her throat and resumed smiling. "Totally!" Another bite. Another sip. "Now... imagine if..." She leaned against the counter with a devilish smirk. "...Ponyville became the most important place in all of Equestria. I mean... how awesome would that be?" "Hahaha! She's so adorable..!" One mare remarked. "I wish all little kids who passed through here loved this place nearly as much!" "I dunno about Ponyville being 'important,' though," a wrinkly old stallion rasped. "I mean... I reckon we get along so fine because we're no more than a speck on the map." "Uh huh..." "The earth's fertile. The crops grow in earnest. The weather's easy to predict. Mmmm—eeyup. I'd say we're just fine being no more than a trading post for some of Equestria's finest produce." "Besides..." A mare seated a few stools down smirked. "Why would any more ponies want to move out here? Most visitors are spooked by the Everfree Forest enough as it is!" "Ha ha! Eeyup! Had a family of hoity toity retirees from Trottingham try to build a winter home out by the river! They heard just one howl of Timberwolves from beyond the northwest treeline and they booked it!" "Hahahaha!" "Too bad they didn't stick around for when the Great Dragon Migration floats overhead! We could've have ourselves some extra fertilizer for the next spring!" "Hehehehe!" The room filled with chuckles. Scootaloo giggled as well. She smiled. "I dunno. You ponies seem really awesome to me. I bet if a bunch of newcomers moved in over the years... they'd be super happy to have you guys as neighbors." She took a warm breath. "You don't have to be big or glamorous to be important. Sometimes... you just gotta be sincere." "I'll drink to that." "This isn't a bar, Swirlhoof." "Pffft! The buck do I care?!" "Hahahaha!" "Heeheehee..." A random stallion in a green hoodie trotted up to the counter and placed a few bits down. "I'll have some Dr. Pony's for the road, bud." "Alrighty..." Mr. Trots took the bits and grabbed a trio of cans. "If you ask me..." The stallion smiled down at Scootaloo, almond eyes peering under green-and-black bangs. "...the most important place is always home. No matter what shape it's in." Scootaloo blinked. Other ponies nodded and murmured in agreement. "Here ya go, stranger." Mr. Trots hoofed him the soda. "Thankies." The stallion took the cans and saluted. "To the once and future breakfast." He trotted off—humming a playful tune to himself. Scootaloo tapped her chin in thought. She looked down at her plate, and there was one pastry left. She chewed on it, swallowed, and murmured: "Hey, here's a weird question." "I'm sure we've got a weird answer." "If you could go anywhere in the world... and at any time..." Her eyes thinned above a playful smirk. "...like... through pure magic. You can just be there in a blinkg. Where would you go?" The cheery room went silent. Scootaloo was actually surprised by how much thought the ponies were putting into it. Patrons stared blankly into their plates. Mr. Trots scratched his chin and even the teenage stallion in the corner paused in mopping to contemplate the idea. "I think I'd go to the post office!" one stallion said. The pony next to him grumbled. "Bah! Use your imagination!" "Manehattan?" Mr. Trots remarked, blinking. "I've got a brother there." "R-really, Mr. Trots?" a mare chuckled. "Oh! Scratch that!" The cook smiled a greasy smile. "I'd go to Manehattan two years ago. Tell my brother to ditch that no-good bit-digging trollop who later broke his heart!" "Hah! There ya go..." "Uhm... I know it's a tad bit goofy-sounding, but..." A middle-aged mare smiled, gazing out the window at the snow-kissed rooftops of Ponyville. "...this time of year always makes me feel festive. I think I'd like to go back to Thirty-Eighth Century Canterlot... give Snowfall Frost a hug. I always imagined she need one." "Oh Pickle Prance. You're such a silly pony. A Hearth's Warming Tale is just a made-up legend." "Even still!" The mare beamed. "I'd love to see the wardrobes from that time period! I mean... the actual dresses they wore! And not the silly, cheap imitations they sew for today's Hearth's Warming plays. Heeheehee..." "They certainly knew how to throw some classy parties back then." "Yessir. Long before Canterlot became snobbish." "Hahaha! Got that right." "Hmmmmmmm..." Scootaloo smiled, cheeks rosy. "...sounds pretty awesome, actually." A deep breath, and she inhaled the last of her pastry and gulped the last of her milk. A mare raised an eyebrow. "Leaving so soon, Missy?" "Mmmhmmm!" Scootaloo gulped and threw on her scarf and saddlebag. "Gotta jet!" "Well, it was a pleasure having you around to liven up our morning. I bet your parents are missing you." "Heh..." Scootaloo winked, hopping off the stool. "...they should go to target practice and work on their aim." She waved as she trotted briskly off. "Thanks for the swell breakfast! Ponyville rocks!" "Hah!" Mr. Trots and a few happy patrons waved. "I'm sure that's little foalish for 'A-Okay. In which case, back at ya." "Hah! What a cute little pegasus." "Yeah. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with more winged ponies around." "Ehhhh... don't be silly. Ponyville's a nothing sandwich. It'll never happen." "I dunno. I'm kinda looking forward to it now." "Mmmhmmm." As Scootaloo reached the door, it flew open with a rush of cold air. A panting young mare stumbled in, bundled in snow-kissed wool. "Oh! Oh dear, I d-didn't think I'd make it in one piece!" The plump teenager peeled her scarf loose and shook snow off her saddlebags. "A wave of icicles fell off the hardware store roof and nearly turned me into a pincushion!" "Oh goodness!" The teenage stallion nearly dropped his mop, grimacing. "Are you okay, Chiffon?" "Oh! Oh... C-Carrot!" The mare held a hoof to her blue muzzle. The tips of her ears turned red as she smiled. "I-I almost didn't see you there! Yes. Yes, I'm safe and sound... especially now that I see you here. Heehee..." "Oh, well I'm glad to hear that." "But look!" Chiffon pointed at her saddlebag. "I got the banana bread! Fresh and warm from the oven!" "Sweet!" Carrot smiled wide. "Mr. Trots is gonna be so happy!" "Heheheh—See?! I won't let your cafe down!" Scootaloo cleared her throat. When the two youngsters looked her way, the little pegasus smiled and spoke to Chiffon: "Say... you should totally change your name to Cup! Then you two would be a couple of sweet, tasty Cakes!" She winked... then trotted briskly out the door... but not without stealing a glance at the two and the mutual blush spreading across their drunken-happy-smiles. Outside, Scootaloo trotted down the paved sidewalk. She allowed her body to reacclimate to the cold, and then—when she was ready—she'd gallop back out into the snow once again. While moving, she passed a storefront window. A Hearth's Warming display had been set up, with little quadrupedal wooden figures representing the likes of Smart Cookie, Clover the Clever, and Private Pansy. On another table, Scootaloo saw canvas oil paintings representing the surly Snowfall Frost and her loyal assistant Snowdash hard at work in an old, fire-lit office. Scootaloo blinked, and a mischievous smile spread across her features. Without a second's hesitation, she galloped out into the snow-patched street. A few parcel-shippers paused in unloading a carriage to glance at the inexplicable pegasus scampering down main street, then slowly returned to their task at hoof. Minutes later, Scootaloo returned to Ponyville Park. She pulled her sled out from behind the thicket and pushed it up the tallest hill. It was a grueling task, considering that a great deal of the snow had melted. But there was still a frosted slope of moist precipitation dotting the opposite side of the hill. Scootaloo hadn't wasted too much time, and she was certain she could accelerate the sled appropriately. Once she reached the peak of the ridge, she threw a hoof into her saddlebag and produced the metallic plug from earlier. Sticking back into place at the top of the sled's silver brace, she summoned a magical hum from the heart of the machine. The two crystalline cylinders along the undercarriage of the vehicle vibrated back to life. Not wasting a minute, Scootaloo glanced at the compass situated halfway up the silver brace. She popped the right handle outwards and began rotating the dials. She watched as the numerical counter beneath the compass ran up and down at random. Tonguing the inside of her muzzle, Scootaloo thought about the next jump. She resorted to reaching into her saddlebag and producing a ruler and a map. She used a modern sketch to measure the approximate distance in kilometers between Ponyville and upper Canterlot. She also took note of the relationship between two points along the cardinal lines. At last, once she had made the precise calculations, she twisted the handle's dials. Scootaloo watched as the arrow on the sled's compass rotated, and the numbers ticked to the appropriate distance. Then, once that was done, she pulled out the left handle—click!—and rotated the dials, altering the numerical field along the base of the sled. Once the red text appropriately painted themselves over the drop cards, she smiled in victory. It was ready. The mare took a deep breath. She leaned against the handle, all the while looking at the Ponyville skyline one more time. A windmill blade rotated and gentle columns of smoke rose from chimneys. Scootaloo gulped. It was about to get a whole lot colder. With a twitch of her muscles... ...she pushed against the earth. The sled roared downhill. The cylinders beneath her pulsed with violet energy. Her crystalline pendant spun in the wind, and— CLAKKK! She slapped the handles back in place as she reached maximum velocity. Snow billowed all around her, blinding. Accelerating. Transforming. She roared through the tunnel, reaching a ghost-white wall of chronal blankness. When she burst on through, a wave of Scootaloos flowered all around her, undulated, and shot right back with the force of a hundred billion rubber bands.