The hotel indeed seemed as top-notch as Manewell claimed. The floors were covered with golden tiles, and a crystal chandelier hung from the multi-floored ceiling. The two features combined gave the hotel an almost circuitous glow. A small fountain sat in the lobby’s center, spurts of water shooting out the center and landing amongst a flock of ducks swimming around the aquatic structure. It was what ponies called “high class”, something Price didn’t anticipate in the convention center across the street.
The room itself was nothing to sneeze at either. A bed covered in a floral sheet took up a quarter of the room, while a large writing desk took up another. The carpeting consisted of a strange hue of brown, stuck somewhere between caramel and rust. The bathroom was almost as large as the room, with more bottles of shampoo and conditioners than Price knew existed. There was even a bidet shimmering in the bathroom light and fully prepped for the next flank.
Price walked over to the desk and put his bags down, then flopped on the bed with a satisfied sigh. Well, at least the room won’t be too bad, he thought. Haven’t kicked it in a place like this since the wedding.
The wedding. Back with her.
The name returned to his mind, as did her sweet green eyes and quiet demeanor. She was probably the only pony other than Manewell who didn’t drive him insane with every other word that came out her mouth. Then again, Lilligold didn’t speak much period, which was even better. Ponies who had to talk a lot to explain themselves never appealed to Price.
A gentle grumble filled the air, and Price looked down at his stomach.
Well, I guess it is about time, he thought. I haven’t eaten since morning, and the things they serve on train rides never sit well with me. He sat up, made his way to the desk, and threw his sack around his back. Might as well take care of a few chores while I’m out there.
With that, he was out the door.
The lunch Price received from “Prairie Wind’s Potatoes” had been perfectly adequate. It was the special recipe of some local yokel who proclaimed his mashed potatoes to be the best this side of Equestria. They weren’t, but Prince wasn’t in the mood to call this to attention. Lousy salesmareship didn’t concern him, but the oncoming deadline for his convention piece did.
He wandered out onto the street and toward a nearby camera shop where he bought more film. The cashier was a strange fellow, a rough-faced stallion in a turban who looked at Price as if he was some thief who would swipe his goods any second. Price left the second he got his film, if only so that the stallion’s tangerine eyes didn’t stare at him much longer.
Well, everything that needs to be done has been done, Price thought to himself. Might as well find something to do until evening. He looked up and down the street, desperate for anything to take his mind off the weekend-long wincing he’d initiate tomorrow.
Then he saw it. A large brick building with green and browns filling the windows and a name hanging above the doors in big, bold, beautiful white lettering:
Barns and Nuzzle Bookstore
What little emotion hid within Price’s breast flared, and he began to enthusiastically trot towards the blaring sign. A wide beam appeared on his face, hidden only by the slight downward angle Price held his head.
Nothing a little reading couldn’t fix, he thought, entering the bookstore the same way a holy mare enters a temple. A mild green covered the whole store, from the carpets to the walls to even the bookshelves. Faint flourishes of tan wood peppered the store, either in wall linings or the tables and bookshelves holding the books. The overall mood radiated one of peace Price had welcomed ever since he was a child, desperate to get away from the ruckus of his siblings and the future plans his parents tried to force him into. He made his way through the store, zipping by the Colt and Filly Section with its small stage for public reading and cutesy pictures of smiling ponies.
I need to find the Modernist section, Price thought. There’s a Hoofingway novel that I need to gl-
Whoomf!
Price stumbled to the ground, falling over his rump onto his back.
“Hey!” he yelled. He looked up to see a young mare, whose purple mane looked disheveled and her coat grungy from some struggle. Her eyes seemed to go wide upon seeing Price, though whether in surprise or fear Price couldn’t tell.
“S-Sorry!” she said before dashing off. She zipped between a few rows and disappeared out the doors almost as fast as she’d appeared. Price sat back up and began to dust himself off.
“Are you okay, sir?” a voice said behind him. He saw a brown mare with a black mane behind him. She wore a green vest with a “Hi, I’m Sunny Side” nametag posted on her chest.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Price grumbled. “Just a collision.”
“Well, she seemed alright too,” Sunny said, motioning toward the doors. “Wonder what she was in a rush for.”
Price shrugged and walked on. The mare fell from his mind upon the Modernist section coming into sight, as well as his desired book: The Sun Always Rises. He sat down and read it for a while, before he caved in and bought it for the full price. All the good Hoofingway books were too good to put down.