Snow was falling, ponies were setting up decorations, groups of various vocal abilities swarmed to practice songs, and a multitude of events were being advertised on anything that wasn't already covered in posters.
You stare upwards at the towering human creature that calls himself Anonymous. You've always found it an odd name, but he is from another world so maybe it's normal there. Or maybe he changed it. A new world, a new name. Though if it were you, you'd go for something cool. Like "Clint Wheathooves" famed cowpony from the east that strode in on the sunset.
"Moonie, what are you doing? Anon asks, you can hear in his voice a struggle to muffle laughter.
Now you've become painfully embarrassed and self-aware of the fact you were taking a very confident strut before striking a pose as if you were Clint Wheathooves.
"Nothing," you begrudgingly reply as you try to compose yourself.
As the two of you walk down the street, you occasionally taking a faster pace to keep up with Amon's longer strides, you start thinking of days gone past. Once upon of time you were feared and respected. You could do anything you wanted and not a soul would dare find it amusing with that smug and cheerful grin. However, in a way, it was nice to have someone to joke with. But in every other way how DARE he make light of THE Nightmare Moon. Sometimes you wanted to just slap him with how much you enjoyed his company. Though it doesn't seem right. If only there was a better way to express that emotion.
"Maybe a kick," you mumble as you give Anon a slight sideways kick.
His strange spindly legs wrap around themselves like spaghetti and he just barely saves himself.from a tumble. From that height, he could have seriously hurt himself. Really why are humans that tall? Far enough for Princess Luna and Celestial, they had four legs to stabilise their height but he has two. It seems so inefficient.
"Moonie. Be careful," Anonymous growls in an authoritative voice. Likely aware but ignoring the fact that you deliberately did it.
You look away and click your lips a couple times to feign innocence. It usually works and this time is no exception it seems as you both carry on your way.
Again, you look up at Anonymous and repeat the "how dare he" line. Even how he calls you "Moonie" is evidence of his blatant disrespectful attitude towards you. Where is the Nightmare part? You earned that! And what's with trying to cutesy-ing up the Moon part? Moonie?
"I am not cute," you pout lowly.
Anonymous glances your way, a brow raised. You avoid his watchful eyes and skip a few steps to keep pace. Then the two of you walk by Sugarcube Corner, it now is overly decorated for the season in the usual Pinkie Pie fashion.
Now you glance up at Anon to see him furrowing his brow and giving the place a stern look and revel in it. That's right. That's why you get along. He's just much of a Grinch as you are. Being the horridly cheerful things that ponies are, is sickening. All this merry in material form is an affront to the eyes. And let's not forget all the constant friend stuff. You dry retch a little at the thought.
"Yup. Everything is awful and Anon knows it," you think to yourself with a nod. You almost think of the words kindred spirit, but quickly shake out such silly niceties.
"Ugh," Anon groans.
You give yourself a pat on the back, internally this time as you have already forgotten it far too many times so far. Being on the same wave-length, you take his groan of disgust as a sign to burn some of the decorations. Not much. Just a wreath. It'll be funny. With a hefty focus on your horn, you do your best to think of warm and flaming thoughts. Magic hasn't been your best subject ever since your fillyfication but when you concentrate, you get there. Sometimes.
"Hopefully today is one of those days where it's easier," you think to yourself.
It's not. It feels like your eyes are bulging out of their sockets with the force, your checks are bright red and sore from being puffed out and the rest of your face is going blue from the lack of oxygen as you hold your breath to focus all energy on a fire spell. Though with your usual blackest blue coat it's hard for people to tell you're holding your breath. It's the rosy cheeks and strained grunting that draws attention. And just as you get nearly every nearby pony's attention, you summon a flame on the wreath. Being made of dead plants, it easily combusts which is a shock to everyone as it is engulfed with a "whooff".
"MOONIE," angrily bellows Anonymous as he swats the wreath onto the ground, shovels some snow onto it before stamping the flame.
Once the flame has been snuffed out completely, Anonymous checks the ruined outsole of his shoe. Then he looks to you with an unwavering anger.
"Explain," he utters through gritted teeth.
"I... Thought it'd be... Fun?"
"Fun? To set the Cakes' shop alight?" Anonymous' voice now becomes more flat, more direct as he always does when he wants to probe your every intention before deciding your fate.
A fate you dread. It'll likely be filled with chores, disappointed stares, and public apologies. All just as humiliating as the last. Sure you could ignore it all, and most of you wants to, but when you think of possible outcomes for such defiant independence your heart drops through the floor. Anonymous probably wouldn't stick around if you did that. Why would he? He'd leave, and then you'd have to be independent, which means you'd; be alone, need to get a job, stop going to school, feed yourself, find a new place to live, and... And you'd be alone.
"Not the shop," you explain, "Just the wreath."
Your head hangs low, but you can see in your peripherals many ponies pretending to continue with their day but sticking around to steal glances of this spectacle. Your head falls lower. How dare they.
Anonymous seems to notice too, "Come on."
For a brief moment, your brain clocks out. Then it whirs with the realisation and you hastily try to catch up, skipping a few steps. Anonymous doesn't go far, he steps away from the town's square to a part more secluded and continues without missing a beat.
"Why just the wreath?"
"Because I hate all this stuff. And..." your voice trails away.
"And?"
You hesitate. Now you're angry at yourself, for not seeing it sooner. You got it wrong and you don't want to hear that aloud.
"And?" He repeats, still a lack of clear tone to his voice. And somehow that's worse. Knowing there is no judgement in his words yet.
"I thought you did too."
"You thought I hated the wreath?"
"All of it. The jolliness, the merriment, and the clutter of this fictitious holiday."
"And even if I did, does that make it okay to burn other people's belongings?"
"No," you grumble.
"Louder," he commands.
"No, it doesn't. I shouldn't have burned it."
There's a pause. Your words seem to hang in the air, the world around you freezes, and your heartbeat begins to chime like the ticking of a clock. It stays this way for who knows how long as each second feels like minutes. And still your words hang, like they need to be deemed worthy before anything else can happen.
"Good," Anonymous finally states, the edge falling from his voice.
You hear him take a breath to compose himself then he takes a step in some direction. You're not sure which as you find yourself unable to look up from the ground.
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Do you hate all this stuff?"
Again there is a moment's silence. This time Anon seems to be clearly giving his words thought.
"No. It's definitely over the top. But everyone is happy. And that, is what matters."
His words ring through you, echoing across your mind as you repeat it to yourself.
"How can you?"
"What's wrong?"
"I thought you understood that. All of this. It's a useless holiday."
"I recall you enjoying the gifts," he jests, not seeming to grasp the seriousness in your words.
"But--"
You cut yourself off. Your eyes stay firmly planted to the ground as you scan it over like you will somehow find wherever your words have run off to. Now he seems to pick up on it. You're not sure what part of you has betrayed you, being read like a book is always uneasy to you.
"You know I don't entirely celebrate Hearth's Warming. With this sort of thing, people can do to their houses and business what they like."
"But you're the mayor. You could stop them decorating the public space."
"True," he nods, his tone now takes a sombre consoling tone. And though you will never ever admit it, it is soothing.
"But only a little," you lie to yourself.
"But the majority like it. And I'm an outsider enough as it is without me refusing to allow about their celebrations. Even if I wanted to."
Your eyes meet. Yours a firm and stern glare as you read him while his eyes are giving a softer smile than his actual smile seems to be.
"You never decorate our home," you state almost accusingly.
"Oh, yes. You'll never see that tripe in anything I own."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he nods, "I'm not really the... festive type. I enjoy a good party, and holidays like Nightmare Night are great. But this one? It's a little too much for me. I guess you've made me far too jaded about all things happy. I mean, I had a nightmare about rainbows the other night," Anon jokes, even pretending to shudder.
"Really?" You scoff in disbelief, "What about... Fluffy bunnies?"
"Foul vermin, lowly demons, but very nice pillows," he replies in an impersonation of your tyrannical voice.
You laugh and feel a sense of ease take over. It's a slow comfort but that's fine as far as you're concerned. The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon making fun of everything happy, joyful, and cutesy. While you do have a nagging feeling Anon didn't tell you his feelings in their entirety, and you make a mental note to press that some time, you know for sure he isn't fond of the festive season. Like you. And that's why you get along.