//------------------------------//
// Keeping Warm 
// Story: Society as We Know It 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

The sky was a little dark, overcast, but of a thin rainbow hue. A darker morning but altogether a cozier one—the blanket of snow reaching here and covering most of the ground, with only the dirt paths free from it; over there, on the rooftops, chunks and covers of snow. Even then, snowflakes were falling down.
Ponyville's thatched and hay-roof houses (among the other buildings there) were dressed up in the timely decorations of the season: colorful lights hanging on a wire across walls and streets; evergreen wreaths under balconies and on windows and doors, red and white stripes on candy cane-like structures scattered about town—accompanied by glowing yellow stars on sticks and ponies licking real candy canes with their sugary, minty tastes; bells hanging either on the wall or on the closed windows, sometimes jingling and ringing; tall pine trees (also evergreen) decorated with flowing robes and ribbons and stockings and such, almost always topped with a star.
The ponies themselves were wore ear muffs, coats, sweaters, scarves, hats—anything to keep themselves warm, though despite that, a few were shivering.
A shadow loomed ahead near an establishment whose lights were on in the morning, shining.
A pony inside went to a tiny window and looked up.
Pegasi were moving clouds about, clearing the colorful sky from any obstruction.
It was getting a little brighter.
The pony turned away from the window.
Inside, it was much warmer. Wooden tables and chairs lined with cloth were not the only pieces of furniture here. Cushioned seats and couches on ornate carpets and rugs before a few fireplaces with their collective burning and cackling, several ponies sitting close to the fire and spreading their forehooves out; bookshelves away from the windows and at the far end alongside candy canes dangling from strings as ponies grabbed them and as the staff—identified by their red and green shirts and hats—replenished them by tying new candy canes to the strings; linen-coated counter of invigorating coffee and tea and chocolate served on tiny platters or directly on mittened hooves as the clothed ponies there sat, drank, and talked to the waiters and servers at the other side; all the while, some musicians played old-time carols in jazz—saxophones, trumpet, double bass, drums all handled by ponies in suits that would have been gloomy had they not been in the festive colors of red and green, for even their ties were red and green.
Quiet, hushed, peaceful inside.
As Blue Alarm walked inside through the single wooden door, there was the rush of warm air out. Looking outside at the slightly-blue surroundings lit up by many hues, he then closed the door.
"Welcome!" a voice called out.
It came from a mare who walked out of the counter; she wore a red and green shirt but no hat, she was yellow and had a blue and purple mane.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said. "And your name would be...?"
"Blue Alarm, ma'am," he said as he gandered with a face of awe—open mouth afterwards. "You, uh, hold a perfect place here."
"I open my house to all during Hearth's Warming," she said. "Twilight has her Hearth's Warming party over in the castle, but even she curls up for a good read or two once in a while during the celebrations. This—" she turned a hoof about, calling to his attention, once more, all that was inside the room "—this is for the pony who wants to celebrate the season but doesn't want to get caught up in all the loud and gaudy activities outside."
Blue Alarm took a step forward, observing all the different ponies who were there.
A couple of amber and yellow sat at a small table, talking to each other over individual cups of tea. The mare—her orange mane was tall in three layers; the stallion—his green mane was combed, as if waxed or gelled. Their cutie marks? Slices of orange for the mare and a whole orange for the stallion.
Moon Dancer, in her scraggly black sweater, sat on a hoofchair made up of stuffed fabric; her horn glowed pink as the book she levitated was, too. Her eyes moved left to right—back to the left; a smile as she read through her glasses.
A sturdy stallion of silver coat and gray hair—and a long jaw and chin—wore only a bowtie as he pulled out from behind his hoof an endless string of colored hankerchiefs, amazing his audience of young and old as they "Ooh'd" and "Ahh'd".
Trenderhoof was seated at the counter, drinking water from a bottle. Donning a tall hat that shadowed his face, he cleared his throat and glanced about anxiously, eyeing newcomers the moment they came in before making a swift turn back to his bottle.
"You attract quite the crowd," Blue Alarm said as he turned to the owner.
"It's up and rising!" she said, shooting a hoof across the air. "It's the place to be when you just wanna escape from the galloping about—having to buy this, having to check that one off the list, do I have enough to please this or that one?" She held her cheeks in a frantic way. Then, she let go, revealing a relieved smile. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but preparing for Hearth's Warming just gets exhausting after some time, so I want to help those exhausted ponies, too."
Blue Alarm nodded as he watched the candy canes hovering over the rug, three ponies heading their way there. He turned to see her again. "What was your name? I didn't catch it."
"Calca Ream," she said.
"Calca Ream?" he repeated, leaning his head.
"My dad works in the timber industry, and my mom makes paper—which, I guess, is still a part of the timber industry. Kind of fitting, even more so because of my cutie mark—a pine tree."
"And...?" He tapped his chin. "I get the 'Ream' part of your name but not the 'Calca' part."
"'Calca' from calcium," she said. "Pine trees can grow on chalky, calcium-rich soil."
"Alright," he said, nodding. "Your parents were...creative?"
"That's how pony names work," she said. "Besides, your name sounds like a pony's name." She smirked. "I guess Chrysalis was running out of ideas when you came along."
"She wasn't running out of ideas," he said. "She ran out."
Calca Ream raised an eyebrow wide, giving Blue Alarm a skeptical look. "What you're saying is...you were born without a name?"
He nodded.
She eyed a table. "We need to sit down. This is proving to be interesting."



As "Hearth's Warming Eve is Here Once Again" was played and performed by the jazz band on stage, the changeling and the mare were seated at a small table, a bit far away from the fireplaces; nearby, a pony tried to read a book but kept shivering every so often. The silver stallion had already left, though the secretive Trenderhoof was still about.
"I don't get it, though," Calca Ream said, holding a cup of chocolate and marshmallows—the cocoa smell wafting its way around. "Why did you call yourself Blue Alarm? Even the changelings who had to name themselves had bug-related names like Cornicle or Ocelli; even the not-related ones don't sound like pony names to me."
"I had to give myself a name," Blue Alarm reasoned, having nothing to drink on his side. "Since I was a changeling, why not name myself after a creature that wasn't a changeling? So, I did some thinking and thought up of 'Blue Alarm' since it fitted my role back then."
"But, do you ever feel...weird?"
A pause as she looked at him.
He glanced away. "Now that you think about it..."
"I'm not asking you to change your name," she said. "A name's a very big thing. I know better than to meddle in naming. But...just give it a piece of your mind, OK?"
Blue Alarm blinked.
He then looked at the counter, feeling the heat of the distant fireplaces.