//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: The Garden of Ideology // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Hickory Wainwright was not the sort of pony that Nut expected in this sort of place, though to be both fair and honest, he wasn’t sure just what sort of pony he expected. Such a thing suggested bias on his part, and Nut didn’t much care for bias. He’d met Hickory during supper, and the gravel-voiced stallion had said a quiet prayer to Almighty Celestia before the meal was served.  Supper had been quite pleasant, actually.  But now, Hickory was just a few yards away, with his daughter, Tater Blossom, standing just behind him. He wasn’t big and strong, far from it, he was lean and wiry. His eyes, rather smallish, held a secretive, fiery intelligence, so much so that Nut suspected that Tater Blossom took after her father.  During supper, Tater Blossom had asked if she could be Nut’s assistant tonight.  So now, Hickory Wainwright was here and Nut found himself being scrutinised. Which was fine, really. Though the incident had caused some upset, Nut was hopeful that everything might yet be smoothed out. He rather liked Tater Blossom’s company, and not for nefarious, untoward reasons. She was a keen filly with a quick, clever mind.  “So, tell me,” Hickory began, his demeanour gruff but not mean nor overbearing. “Do you think my daughter is smart?”  What an unexpected question. Nut did not answer right away, and was somewhat distracted by Tater Blossom peeking out from behind her father. They were quite a bit alike, these two. Both were a ruddy red colour, of nonstandard earth pony build, and both shared a great many traits. Though Hickory did not strike Nut as a curious sort, but rather, a cautious sort. Tater Blossom was a curious sort, and in Nut’s experience, that was rather rare in ponies. It was a trait most found undesirable, and was conditioned out through some means or another.  “I do, actually.” Nut tried to keep his body posture relaxed and this tone neutral.  “That upsets the wife,” Hickory remarked.  “Oh? Does it? I’m dreadfully sorry about that—”  “Cut it,” Hickory said, interrupting. “Don’t apologise for being forthright. That upsets me.”  Nut almost apologised, but held his tongue.  “Am I to understand that you think my daughter is smart enough to help you?”  “Why, yes,” Nut replied right away.  Something about Hickory seemed relieved. “You’re probably smart enough to have gathered that I’m a protective father. My daughter, she’s about that age. And my daughter, foolish filly that she is, asked if she could spend a night in the field with a stranger just come to town. Naturally, this quite upset her mother. We both know why.”  Now was a good time to remain silent, Nut figured.  “I’m not so quick to judge, though. Ponies call me slow, but I think you know that is not the case. I just don’t say much. I don’t suffer or abide fools. Me, I’m the type that works from the hour before sun up, and all throughout the day, until the work is finished. And my work is currently unfinished. I came out here to find out your intentions about my daughter. If I understand right, you’re some sort of noble.”  “That I am,” Nut was quick to say.  “Give me your word as a noble that my daughter will be safe in your care, and will see the dawn, untouched. Unsullied.”  “Sir, I must say, most nobles are terrible—”  “I don’t care about them,” Hickory retorted, his wiry muscles bunching. “Just you. You care about these things, I gather. Or am I wrong?”  “Well, there is a certain amount of concern, yes.”  “So then, Lord Nut, yer word.”  “Well, how can anypony take me seriously if I am ‘Lord Nut’? Just Nut will do.”  Hickory rumbled like a perturbed bear, just come out of hibernation.  “I assure you, I have no ill-intentions about your daughter, good sir. You have my word as a noble.”  “That’s what I thought.” Hickory almost smiled, but his face was too stern to commit to it completely. “I’m a pony that lives by my gut. A wainwright by trade, I make the most perfect, most flawless wagon wheels. And everything I do is by eyeball and gut. I told my wife that my gut said that you were alright. That you were an upstanding feller. Don’t prove me wrong.”  Swallowing, Nut nodded.  “Tater…”  “Yeah, Pa?”  “Do right by the gentlepony, Tater, and he’ll do right by you.” “Right, Pa.”  “Almighty Celestia’s blessings upon you, Lord Nut. If you get bit or chewed up, send Tater. She’s the fastest critter on four legs in these parts, and I take no small amount of near-sinful pride in that. Faster than greasy goose droppings shooting out a goose’s caboose. Stay safe, and have a pleasant night.”  “Why, thank you, sir.”  “Thank you, Daddy.”  “You only call me Daddy when you want something, Blossom, and you already got what yer after. I’m gonna go back to the house now. Make the most of this night, Tater. I stuck my neck out for you. Yer Ma’ll be giving me a funny look for the next week.”  “Good night, Pa.”  “Nighty night, little Tater Blossom.”  After a kiss from his daughter, Hickory Wainwright departed, and Nut found himself alone with Tater Blossom.    The moon rose, glorious and full, and its light would be a boon this even. Nut had already set up a place to watch atop the water tower and everything was good to go. He even had an assistant, something he found that he’d never really needed before, but he found the idea appealing. Miss Blossom was bright, curious, and eager.  At the moment, she was craning her head back, looking up at the stars, and something told him that she didn’t get to do this often. The moonlight, all soft, silver hues, cast her in quite a different light. She was beautiful in ways that all things bathed in moonlight were beautiful. He found himself quite intrigued by her—but not in a shameful way.  “I told my Ma, how am I s’posed to marry somepony if’n you won’t let me meet nopony and go on dates,” she said to Nut, all while looking upward at the glorious night sky.  Hearing this, Nut suffered a sinking feeling in his gut.  “Not that I wanna get married,” she continued, “and that’s my problem. All my older sisters, they was married by my age. I’m the odd one out. No cutie mark, no feller, no prospects, no nothin’. It gives my Ma fits, it does. Marriage scares me. I’ve seen what it does to my sisters, being preggers all the time. Saw what it’s done to my Mama. She told me that I’d find beauty and meanin’ in all that suffering, that’d be wunnerful and all majestic, ‘cause it’s Celestia’s will. But it scares me powerful bad. So my Ma, she got all hopeful like when I showed a little interest in you, and that’s why she relented when my Pa gave her a talkin’ to.”  At a loss for words, Nut was uncertain of what to say.  “Is it wrong to hope for something more in life?” she asked. “Sometimes, I pray to Celestia that it be her will that something better comes along. Ma says my prayers is foolish. The best I could possibly have is already right here, right in front of me.”  “We should always aspire to be better,” Nut said to his companion. “Celestia wants us to be the very best ponies we can be. I know her, and I know this to be true.” He wanted to say more, he wanted to say to Tater Blossom that her mother was wrong, but he didn’t. Saying that she was wrong was meaningless; showing Tater Blossom that her mother was wrong was the right way to go…  But how?  “It’s all so pretty.” Standing on three legs, she gestured upward with the fourth. “Mama calls the night the wicked hours, and so I ain’t allowed to be out much. I’ve been sneakin’ out lately, so I can have me a look. If the stars and moon be evil, like Mama says, then why did Celestia keep them all in order while Luna was gone? I said that to my Ma, I did, and I got me a hidin’ for being smart-mouthed. I couldn’t sit right for a week.”  Unsure of what to say, Nut stuck with what he knew. Gesturing at the water tower, he said, “I’ve set up a place for observation, so we can watch them and study their behaviour without disturbing them. See, that’s the trick. A naturalist tries to observe without interfering. Even if it means causing suffering. Miss Blossom, you might watch a rabbit die this night. Do try to be brave, will you?”  “You don’t stop that from happening?” she asked.  “If I did, I’d be a poor naturalist,” he replied. “Sometimes, I am stuck observing. As much as I want to save good creatures from harm, I can’t. Doing so would upset the balance. I can’t interfere. Sometimes, I have to allow bad things to happen, for the sake of understanding. Such is the price a naturalist pays.”  “So what is the plan for tonight?” she asked.  “We watch and observe,” he replied. “Up there, on top of the water tower. We’ll have a bird’s eye view of everything. I’m farsighted, which is actually quite a boon in my line of work.”  “I’m not a pegasus, Mister Nut. How am I s’posed to get up there?”  “Just Nut, if you please.” He smiled, hoping to reassure her before even making his response. “With magic, of course. I am, after all, a unicorn.”  “Mama says that all magic is sinful and wicked. She says that only Almighty Celestia can be trusted with it, and that everypony else will succumb to temptation from it, like her sister. She allows our unicorn hires to use magic, ‘cause it’s useful, but she’s always goin’ on ‘bout the dangers. I think that sometimes, they get fed up with her. Not many stay.”  Nut sighed. He wanted to refute this, but the truth was, magic did, in fact, lead many astray. Plus, just saying it wasn’t so didn’t make it so. No, somehow, he had to show Tater Blossom magic that was utterly harmless, innocuous, some means of proof. She was looking at him now, and not at the stars above. The moon glittered in her eyes and her mouth was wide with an unrestrained smile.  He had an idea.  Nut had a terrible, wonderful, amazing, dreadful idea.  “Care for a candy, Miss?”  “Pa says I shouldn’t take candy from strangers,” she replied, almost teasing.  “Miss, I assure you, I’m no mustache-twirling villain. Why, I don’t even have a mustache. I can’t grow one. Which is a pity, really. When I was a colt, I wanted to grow a massive mustache, so my mother would have fits. But I fear I turned out rather plain and boring of face.”  “You’d look silly with a mustache, Mister Nut.”  He turned the full brunt of his leaden, deadpan expression upon her, to no effect.  She bubbled with laughter, a most wonderful sound, and Nut fetched his satchel. From within, he drew out a small candy wrapped in wax paper, a gift from dear Aunt Sprout, his mother’s sister. It could be said that Sprout was the funny one, while Clove was the serious sibling. Sprout had a Doctorate in Assistive Magical Applications, and was forever turning mundane objects into fantastical devices.  Candies were just one such thing.  “Raspberry taffy, Miss?”  “Oh, I love raspberries. I don’t know if I should…”  “Well, why not?” asked Nut. “As stated, I am not a mustache-twirling villain. Your father trusted me with your safety.”  “Mister Nut, sugar gives me the sillies.”  Determined to make a point, he unwrapped the candy and held it up, mere inches away from her nose. She almost went cross eyed trying to look at it, and he waved it back and forth, side to side, and Nut found himself wondering just what it was that he was doing, trying to tempt a filly with candy.  Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn’t grow a mustache.  With a quick, sudden movement, her mouth opened, her tongue coiled around the candy, and with a slurp, it was gone. Nut waited, thinking about tweed, and pocketwatches, and fine linens with freshly ironed creases, for these were good, wholesome things to occupy his thoughts with. Never one to litter, he vanished the wax paper wrapper back into his satchel.  As expected, there was a raspberry. And not just any raspberry, but an absolutely ridiculous raspberry of the wet, flappy variety, a crass, crude, vulgar sound. When he was a foal, these raspberry taffies offered him endless amusement, and caused his mother to squabble with her sister. Accusations of corrupting youth were flung about willy-nilly, all while impossible to ignore raspberries reverberated throughout the family home.  Those were fond memories of pleasant days long past.  When Tater Blossom bit down again, there was another crepitatious outburst. Chewing upon said taffy was very much like chewing on a whoopie cushion. With every chomp, chew, every bite committed, there was a fantastically vulgar outcome, a rude noise to accompany one’s efforts. Nut’s expression remained delightfully deadpan, and he stood rigid, as if he’d been carefully starched.  “Now tell me, Miss, what evil is there to be had in that candy? This might not be the pinnacle of unicorn magical artistry, but it is a rousing bit of fun, is it not?”  In response, she bit down with all of her earth pony strength, and there was a terrific raspberry, which pealed riotously though the dark, sacred night. Nut stood waiting, thoroughly enjoying himself and this moment. While fun, it was his hope, his desire that she learnt something from this, that she would remember this, that she might see the application of magic for what it was. It almost made him wish that he’d studied more of the wizardly arts, just so that he might be a better teacher in this moment.  He was young, there was still time for him to improve.  “We mustn’t fear what we fail to understand,” Nut said to the filly in his company. “We should be intrigued by the unknown, and the best of us rush to understand it. We must be curious and inquire about all things mysterious. The best of us venture off to explore the world. There is a whole, wide world to see, filled with endless wonders, and if we make the assumption that everything is evil, unwholesome, and impure, we’ll become dullards.  “Your mother says that you should not leave town, as if this is a refuge, but stop and think for a moment, Miss. At some point, this town did not exist. Somepony left home, ventured out into the world, searched for a time, and settled here, in this place. Why? Who knows. Something about this place intrigued them.”  It sounded as though a pony stomped in squelchy mud and the filly giggled “Now, the mare that made that candy you’re eating, she’s my aunt. She’s the most well-meaning, vivacious, well-mannered enchantress one could ever meet. My Aunt Sprout, she makes books that read themselves to the blind. She makes slates that scribe words so the deaf can read what has been said to them. My aunt has devoted the entirety of her life to helping those who cannot help themselves, and I daresay that she would be quite offended by your mother’s assertions that magic is evil, or somehow impure. The application of magic is neutral, ‘tis the intent when good and evil become relevant.”  He gestured at the water tower, smiled, and said, “I am going to enchant your hooves, young Miss. You may feel a slight ticklish sensation, and for that, I do apologise. This enchantment will allow you walk right up the side of the structure, and I assure you, you will not fall. You will be quite safe. I give you my word. Now, do I have your permission to cast a spell upon you?”   Now situated atop the water tower, Nut watched the fields below. Tater Blossom sat upon the sloped roof beside him, quiet, thoughtful, and wearing a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She wasn’t paying much attention to the fields, no, rather, her focus was on whatever happened to be of interest at any given moment. Moths, twinkling stars, hooting owls, whippoorwills, passing bats, and every other sacred wonder of the night, of which there were many.  Nut found her quite remarkable. Fearless, she hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, and she scrambled right up the creaky, somewhat rusty metal frame that supported the water tower. There was no coaxing, no cajoling, she was eager to experience and try something new. Her appreciation for life and living was infectious, and Nut found himself cherishing her company more and more.  “You know, Luna,” he remarked rather flippantly, “things would be so much easier to observe if you could see fit to make your moon shine just a little bit brighter. You know, turn up the light just a bit. How’s a naturalist supposed to work in the dark?”  Much to his amazement, the moon did in fact, shine a fair bit brighter. Somewhat astonished, he dismissed it as coincidence, but a powerful coincidence that delighted the senses. Silver light poured down, illuminating the fields, bathing everything in a faintly metallic white hue. As he sat there, marvelling at the remarkable happenstance, Tater Blossom clutched his leg.  “Did… did that just happen? Did Luna just answer a prayer?”  “Well,” he replied, uncertain, “something happened, but what exactly is unknown. It might be coincidence. I could very well have said something at an opportune time, and the phenomenon that we’re both observing might have coincided at a serendipitous moment.”  “Luna just answered a prayer,” Tater Blossom said.  “Well, let us not jump to hasty conclusions.”  “But you said something, and then this happened.”  “Indeed, that seems to be the case, but if you rush to conclusions, you make a mess of things. This is how religions happen. Happenstance is exploited, happy accidents are given meaning, and in the off-chance it happens again, it is taken as a sign, as proof, and if enough coincidences happen to happen all at once, it gives credence to imaginary notions that appear to be true. If I tell you that Luna causes cobwebs to happen, and cobwebs do in fact happen, due to neglectful housekeeping practices, this does not make Luna the Mistress of Cobwebs. It means the maid needs to be spoken to over tea and biscuits. Politely. But firmly.”  “Luna was listening. I knew it. My mother was wrong.”  Sighing, Nut kept his keen eyes focused on the fields below. It was far easier to see now, and he spotted the creatures of the night prowling between the rows. What a remarkable coincidence had taken place. Surely, it meant nothing. Why, he’d made off the cuff comments countless times, an untold number of times—but this time, Luna had answered. Was it to prove something to Tater Blossom? The very idea was ludicrous, and he found himself in danger of putting faith into the very thing he ridiculed. This was an assault upon his rationality.  So far, there were no signs of activity below, but the night was young. The moon wasn’t even overhead yet, it still had a ways to go. With Tater Blossom still clinging to him, Nut thought of trolls. Amazing creatures, trolls. Could sleep the day away, and gain energy from photosynthesis whilst they slumbered. Passive energy gain during slumber gave them an advantage, and an impressive one at that.  Plants changed, they adapted and evolved quite rapidly, which made them great specimens for study. In areas that were rich in magic, plants evolved all manner of adaptations, new ways to go about living and propagating themselves. But magic had ebb and flow. It changed. A high magic area might fade over time, and the plants that had evolved in that niche would either change, adapt, or die out as the magic faded.  Trolls might very well have adapted in a high magic environment, and as the magic faded, if this was the case, the trolls may have turned to the predation of magical creatures to keep themselves alive. It was one possibility among many. But these trolls, if these were, indeed, trolls, lived in a garden. They weren’t apex predators, eating ponies and magical fauna rich in thaumaturgical energy.  But they did live in the ground and soak up sunlight.  With such small bodies, they wouldn’t need a lot of magic to sustain themselves, just whatever magic could be had from sun and soil. Of course, all of this was speculation, guesswork. But this is rather what he did, and Nut was quite good at figuring these things out. His guesses, his hunches, were true more often than not. Coincidence? Luck? Some means, some manner of magical influence that fueled his hunches?  Maybe he was just smart; he couldn’t discount that possibility.  “Look, Mister Nut. Over there!”  Before he could respond, Tater Blossom turned his head for him, and he found himself looking down at a section of cabbages bathed in brilliant moonlight. Only, one of the cabbages was up and about. There was a rooty body beneath the leafy head. Little legs and arms were visible. His keen eyes allowed him to see details that might not otherwise be noticeable at such a distance, and he never felt that his farsightedness was a detriment. The odd cabbage creature was stalking between the rows of beans, perhaps creeping up on something. Nut strained to see, his eyes searched for what the carnivorous cabbage might be after. Eventually, he noticed a rabbit, its eyes reflecting red in the moonlight. But the cabbage did not pounce. It was close, quite close, and as Nut sat there watching, waiting for something to happen…  Gooey ribbons of liquid gleamed in the moonlight and there was an audible splat that could be heard even at the top of the water tower. The rabbit was suddenly covered in a glistening glob of gunk, a slipcover of snot. Blinded, perhaps unable to breathe, coated in slime, the rabbit was now easy prey… and the cabbage moved in for the kill.  “No…” Tater Blossom whispered. “Poor thing.”  After a few squeaks and a bit of thrashing, it was over. The cabbage planted itself and pulled the mucus-soaked rabbit carcass beneath the soil. Nut lifted up his notebook and began to scribble down notes of what he’d just witnessed. He also made a mental note of the location, so that he might go and have a better look come morning.  “Well”—Tater Blossom’s eyes were wide and her voice low—“that was something. I thought I’d be more upset than I am, but I’m not. I mean, I don’t cry when a bunny eats a cabbage, so why should I get bent out of shape when a cabbage eats a bunny? It’s kinda gross, but kinda not.”  “Are you okay, Miss?”  “I’m fine, Mister Nut. Finer than I thought I’d be. So this is what you study?”  “Yes.” Holding out his hoof, he gestured at the crops below. “This is my livelihood.”  “You get paid for this?”  “A little.” He shrugged. “Sometimes. It isn’t about payment, it is about betterment. I do this because it is necessary. The world exists to be understood.”  “Huh.” Tater Blossom pulled away, leaned forward, and peered down over the edge of the water tower’s roof. “Mama’s not one for understanding much, and Pa, he’s not either. Me though, I’m always asking questions. I wanna learn stuff in school. Real stuff. Not stuff about the Way of Almighty Celestia. Mama says I need to buck up and start learning about housework, and chores, and farmin’, and foalin’, ‘cause these are all the things expected of me… but these aren’t the things I want.”  “Well, tell your mother that.”  “I have.” Her eyes narrowed, almost closing. “When I do, I gets me a hidin’. I’ve learned to shut up about it and not say nothing. I can’t tell my parents they is wrong or that I don’t want what they want, or that I have hopes and dreams of things I want for myself. If I make a fuss about it, they just beat it out of me. Say it’s for my own good. They tell me that the sooner I get these fool notions out of my head, the happier I’ll be. I was startin’ to wonder if they was right… and now you’re here, and I’m sitting up on this roof, and I gots all these ideas that I don’t wanna let go of.”  “So don’t,” he said, unsure of what else to say. “Hold on to those ideas.”  “But that’ll just get me whipped. I’m tired of that. It’s easier to just go along with things.”  Sometimes, the world didn’t feel like a very fair place, and this bothered Nut more than he let on. Was this why he tended to avoid ponies? Why he retreated off into study? He had a hard time reconciling the fact that there were ponies who would punish others for thinking. As a foal, he had the opposite problem—he’d be taken to task for intellectual laziness and not thinking enough. It was expected, demanded. If he showed any signs of mental or intellectual laziness at all, his life was made into a miserable Tartarus from which there was no escape.  But he was free to go his own way, to find his own field of study. He wasn’t told what to think, or how to think, only that he had to think. If he wanted to explore some new field of interest, he only had to ask. His parents had even indulged him in subjects they didn’t care much for, or had little interest in. Frustrated, he wasn’t sure how to help Tater Blossom; her parents were determined to make her conform.  “Look,” she said in a quiet, meek voice, “the carrots have formed a hunting party.”  When he turned to look where his assistant was pointing, he saw the aforementioned hunting party. Carrots, prowling about on tiny carroty legs, working together as a group. This was… alarming. Trolls did not cooperate. Yet, these carrots seemed to be cooperative carrots. Cooperative carnivorous carrots. Oh, this was quite alarming.  He was up on his hooves in a moment, and behind his camera. He peered through the viewfinder, uncertain if he had adequate light, but maybe the moon would see fit to be helpful. Unsure of how they would develop, he took a few pictures. Why not? The camera had been hauled up here atop the tower. The lighting seemed fair. Perhaps he’d have something to work with. Film was limited though, and he wanted to save it for the daytime, when he’d captured a few specimens.  “This is the most amazing night ever, and I don’t want it to end.”  Never in his life had Nut heard a pony so sad and hopeful at the same time. It pained him. With his eye still pressed to the viewfinder, he watched as the carrots marched in a disorganised line in search of prey. Multitasking, he began scribbling down notes in his notebook, making careful mention of the tactics the carrots were employing.  “Can’t you do something?” he asked.  “Something? Like what?”  “Struggle. Resist. Fight back.”  “And have my hide tanned? I like sitting down. As it is, I have to pick my battles. And lately, it seems, I’ve been pickin’ ‘em less and less. I’m tired and worn out from the fighting. What else can I do?”  Much to his disappointment, Nut didn’t have a suitable answer. Was he disappointed with himself, or life in general? He could deal with alleyway ruffians and all manner of dangerous wildlife, but this… he had no idea how to deal with this. He’d been raised to be noble, to act noble, to think noble, to be good and virtuous in his every action, word, and deed. But there had been no lessons about this, neither in the classroom nor at home.  The carrots, working together, made a kill. A second rabbit met its end this night, and Nut barely noticed. Armed with sticky mucus and cunning, the carrots laid the lagomorph low. Before the body was even done twitching, the carrots buried themselves and their prey so they could feast. Nut made notes, but his heart wasn’t in it.  “Pinkie Pie is my favourite Element,” Tater Blossom said. “I gots me a book about her. My Pa got it and it’s the only book I have that isn’t about the Almighty Celestia and her Way. Might just be the best book ever and I’ve read it to tatters. Tell me, Mister Nut, do you have an Element that you favour?”  Pulling his eye away from the camera viewfinder, he considered the question for a time before saying, “Well, I haven’t given it much thought. Pinkie Pie, you say?”  “The Element of Laughter. The book makes me happy. I just like reading something that isn’t about the Way of Almighty Celestia. The town’s library is full of those books, and so is the school, and I think my book about Pinkie might just be the only one like it in town.”  He thought of Twilight Sparkle, the Element of Magic, but was unsure if he favoured her. As he thought about Twilight, he found himself wondering what Tater Blossom’s mother thought of the Princess of Friendship, but he didn’t feel like asking, suspecting that he would find the answer disappointing.  “In the book, Pinkie has a great love for her sisters, and I do too. And my brothers, too, I s’pose. Even if I don’t understand them or get along with them. But I understand how important they are, so I can relate to how Pinkie feels.”  Rarity. He knew Rarity. Why, he’d frequented her business more than a few times. Rarity had the most exotic and luxurious tweeds in all of Canterlot. He felt no particular connection with Rarity, nor did he hold her up as a model for his behaviour. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Did he not have an Element that he favoured?  That seemed to be the case.  Nut found that he had trouble remembering all of the Elements. He was drawing a blank after Twilight and Rarity, and the aforementioned Pinkie Pie. The list was rather lacking, he felt. Raven should be an Element, the Element of Organisation. Who didn’t love a jolly good bit of scheduling? One could even pencil in time to be spontaneous, if one felt particularly rebellious. But with pencil, not ink, so the evidence of squirrelly behaviour could be erased should one come to their senses before doing something rash.  Rash behaviour might lead to a curious monniker and nopony wanted that.  Did they?  There needed to be an Element of What For. That would require a generous pony, because What For had to be given, and freely. The funny thing about What For was, the more of it that one gave away, the more one had to give. Alleyway ruffians had severe need of it, and other ponies as well. Nut found himself looking right at Tater Blossom and thinking of a few worthy recipients in dire need of What For and possibly even Pip-Pip What’s All This Then, which would also make for a fantastic Element.  “So I guess you go on adventures then? Like Pinkie and her friends?”  “Yes, yes I do.”  “And you face danger? Without friends? All alone?”  “Miss, I’m a tough Nut to crack.”  “Mmm.” Tater Blossom bit her bottom lip and held out her hoof. Then, spitting out her lip with a wet pop, she said, “No. That’s awful. Please, don’t do that.”  Thinking fond thoughts, Nut wore a gentle half-smile that was too polite to be a smirk.  “Who saves you if you get into trouble?”  “Susan,” Nut was quick to say.  “Do you have friends other than Susan?”  “Of course,” he replied. “But they stay in the city, like sensible ponies. Me, I’m a Nut. I go into dangerous places, and occasionally, small farming communities. When I burst into a room and announce that I’m looking for like-minded companions to help me study the breeding habits of the Common Equestrian Hydra, I find that ponies just disappear, as if by magic. They sing, you know.”  “Who sings? The ponies running away from you?” “The hydras. They do more than sing. They harmonise with themselves. Having all those heads and long throats is a desirous advantage. The male croons to woo the female, he sings a rousing song to profess his love and desire, and after singing to his potential mate, it’s time for dinner and a date.”  “Dinner and a date?”  “Yes. The female hydra, being bigger and stronger, rips off a head or two and devours them. Not to worry, she always leaves the male with at least a head. After a delightful bit of dinner, they go off together to make more little hydras. Off to continue the species. It really is rather romantic, though I’m not certain I’d wish to engage in these foreplay behaviours myself. I’m rather attached to my head, and there is only one of it.”  “That… that’s something, Mister Nut.”  “Hydras might very well have evolved regenerating heads and necks specifically for breeding purposes. Males had to find some way to survive. In nature, there are many examples of males eaten by females as a successful breeding strategy. It’s a controversial theory, and I find myself rather enamoured with it. One of my professors pioneered the theory. Ponies think he’s a crackpot.”  “Do ponies think yer a crackpot?”  He shrugged. “If they didn’t, then I, not trying nearly as much as I should be, and my father—no, my whole family would be ashamed of me. We have a long tradition of being weird. Strange. Kooks. Miss Blossom, it’s fine to be different. I’m sorry that your circumstances do not allow you to be so. Conformity is an unpleasant state of affairs.”    Pulling his pocketwatch out of his waistcoat pocket, Nut saw that the time neared a quarter past midnight. Tater Blossom had endured for quite some time, but come about the second tenth hour, when the moon was high and the night was dark, he knew by her yawns that she was done for. But she lasted far longer than he thought she would.  She lay with her head resting upon her folded forelegs, lost in peaceful dreams, at least he hoped that she was lost in peaceful dreams. The night was warm, a bit balmy, and the breeze blew in from the south. He looked at his pocketwatch, at his parents, as if seeking their approval. His parents… his parents had not told him that the world was wrong, and full of sin. No, his parents had told him that the world was dangerous, and full of mystery. The mystery of this, and that, and oh-my-goodness-would-you-have-a-look-at-that-right-over-there! His parents had told him that the nobles had stumbled a bit, that their good name had been tarnished ever-so-slightly, and that he had to work extra-hard to make up for those who didn’t work at all. Of course it wasn’t fair, but that was how things were.  As he shut his pocketwatch with the click of fine brass, Nut sniggered a bit. He planned to leave young Miss Blossom up here atop the water tower. She would have an amusing moment come morning when she woke and he would get to play at acting as her rescuer. It would be gentle, sensible, harmless fun.  Much to his surprise, he himself yawned. Work wasn’t done though. He had a bit more work to do, work on the ground. There was also the matter of procuring a live specimen. Oh, not to keep, or to cut up, he wasn’t much of a vivisectionist, but he did want to make a good sketch of one. Though, which one? They came in several varieties. A whole stew’s worth of garden trolls, if that was indeed what they were. Tonight had revealed some startling new behaviours, worrying behaviours, as nopony Nut knew wanted trolls to develop a cooperative advantage.  “You there.” It felt crazy saying it, yet here he was, doing it, even as he was quite upset by the practices of others. “Yes you. That was quite a thing you did with the moon, earlier. I doubt you’re listening, as I’m but one pony that is quite unworthy of your attention. The nights are no doubt busy and you probably have a lot to do. But thank you, nonetheless, for that little moment with your moon. That was boxing clever, getting Tater Blossom’s attention in that matter.”  Things felt unsaid. Was he so swayed by what amounted to simple coincidence?  “I’ve spoken to you for quite some time, which is quite foolish, really. I mean, I know you in-pony. You attended my cute-ceañera. When I worked as a page, you pulled me aside and sorted me out when I was frazzled. When ponies mention you as the Dark One, or some such nonsense, I get a bit put out. I mean, I am speaking to you right now, and this is the very definition of delusion. It feels as though I should know better. Why am I engaging in this frivolous activity? For that matter, why do I expect an answer? I’d rather hoped that I could infect young Miss Blossom’s thinking with a bit of rationality, yet here I am, talking to the moon. What is to be done with me?”  Shaking his head, he stepped over the edge of the water tower, and plummeted to the ground below. His fall lasted for mere seconds, until he slowed, and drifted the rest of the way down like a feather, or a falling leaf of autumn. It was a neat trick, a simple trick, but what a delightful trick it was, and goodness, how it kept him safe.  “Keep me company, will you, Luna? There is still much to do. I could use a bit more light.”