It was a struggle for Pigeon Pie to close the door behind him. Outside, the storm was picking up, the sort of storm that the old-timers called a ‘Windigo Squall.’ High winds, heavy snow, and a serious drop in temperatures. Winter was truly here, the season of deep-freeze was upon them. Which was a cause for alarm for Lime Tart, who had just returned home with her father after they’d dropped Stargazer off at home.
“Honey, we need to talk. Can you come out here?”
A second later, Blonde Roux poked her head out of the kitchen door and into the now-empty bakery lobby. She was covered in flour, or maybe powdered sugar, it was hard to tell. Pigeon Pie shook snow from himself and it fell to the tile floor, where it began to melt. A mess was sure to be made, but messes happened. Lime Tart didn’t care about messes, at least not right now; she was far more concerned by what she and her father had discovered.
“What’s wrong? Is something wrong? There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”
“Rosie Ribbon has hardly any firewood at all and—”
“Noble Fir gave me his word that he’d keep her supplied in firewood in exchange for baked goods!” Snorting and chuffing like a locomotive, Blonde Roux burst completely through the door and then stood there with her sides heaving. “That no good, good for nothing, stingy, foul-smelling… I’m gonna give him an earful when I see him next!”
“He’s giving her firewood,” Pigeon Pie said to his wife while Lime Tart listened. “Just not very much of it. From the looks of things, it is the scraps that he can’t sell.”
With each snort, Blonde Roux’s face reddened, and her ears turned an almost unnatural shade of purple. Lime Tart began to back away, because she’d seen her mother get this mad before, and this was not good. Not at all. Already, her mother was trembling and her eyes had turned bloodshot. It was just about time to go and duck under a table, or perhaps go and hide in the laundry room, because there was about to be shouting.
“The house is freezing and there’s frost on the windows.” A long sigh happened, and then Pigeon Pie hung his head. “There’s no decorations. It looks like a lot of ponies didn’t keep their promises.”
Something even worse than shouting happened: Blonde Roux was silent.
This was terrifying. Lime Tart had never seen her mother this way. She began to back away, uncertain of what might happen. Her mother’s horn was sparking and Lime Tart could hear the awful sound of teeth being ground together. Both of her parents seemed nothing alike right now; her father was calm and solemn, while her mother was hot fury.
“She has food. At least that promise was kept.” Flexing his wings, Pigeon Pie began to flap a bit to shake the slushy bits from his wings. “Stargazer needs a new coat. The one he has is nothing but tatters. Storm or no, I’m going back out to go shopping. Tarty is right. We have to save Hearth’s Warming.”
“I go through all this trouble to organise everypony so that Rosie’s needs can be provided for and all these promises are made and I cut a little off the tabs and even give extra to those who say they’ll help her out, and I keep getting disappointed by how little is done. And now… now… now that it is the holidays… the time when we’re supposed to give… it seems everypony has gone stingy. What a bunch of miserly skinflints. Why, I oughta bake turds into their brownies.”
“Mama, no.” Startled by the sound of her own voice, Lime Tart found it difficult to believe that she’d just blurted that out.
“I have a few last things to take care of in the kitchen,” Blonde Roux said. “Pigie, make a list of everything we need. The outdoor market will be closed no doubt, so we’ll need to go to the Bargain Barn and Fleabag’s Fineries.”
“I’ve heard that Fleabag has high prices—”
“He’ll be open, he has nice things, and he’ll cut me a deal,” Blonde Roux said to her husband. “I bake him bone-shaped biscuits and crackers. He likes the extra effort I put in. Plus, he and I have been talking business.”
“You have?” Pigeon Pie seemed quite surprised by what his wife had said.
“Nothing formal. Nothing serious, not yet. We just tossed some ideas back and forth. You know I wouldn’t do serious business discussions without you. I was going to tell you after the holidays, when the rush was over and we could breathe again.”
The sudden fury was gone, it seemed, and Lime Tart wondered where it went. She watched her parents, thankful for them, and grateful for all she had. Because of her parents, she had the means to help her friend, and she couldn’t imagine how frustrating it might be if she was unable to do anything at all. While she stood there, thoughtful, her father strode forward, wrapped his wings around her mother’s neck, hauled her in, and smooched her right on the lips.
But he didn’t pull away, no. Her mother squirmed, her hooves tapped against the floor, and the kiss turned into something so steamy that Lime Tart felt she shouldn’t be watching, but she did anyway. The love of her parents was something to celebrate, not be grossed out about, but she was still pretty icked out about it anyway. Being affectionate was certainly better than fighting, and her parents were still very much in love—at least, it looked an awful lot like love to Lime Tart’s eyes, though she would be the first to admit that she didn’t really know what love was.
She was the result of her parents love, and little Lime Tart wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Her father pulled away and with her mother left breathless, he said, “I’m going to the garage to get our cart ready. We need to get a tree, too.”
“You know how to make a mare feel better,” Blonde Roux said to her husband. “Oy vey, there’s so much to do. So much to bake. It’s going to be a late night to get everything done. I need a glass of milk.” And without further ado, she retreated into the kitchen.
Now, there was nothing left to do but wait. It had been a long day, and though it wasn’t late, the fact that it was now dark outside made it feel much later than it actually was. Lime Tart had a look out the window and she watched the snow as it melted against the glass. A thunderous belch could be heard from the kitchen, and the precocious filly allowed herself a bit of a giggle.
Because of her parents, everything was going to be fine.
The Bargain Barn was packed with ponies, some of which came in to get out of the cold, and others who had come for actual last-minute shopping. Lime Tart sat on her mother’s back, because she didn’t want to get trampled underhoof. Much to her mother’s surprise, the shelves were still full with all manner of holiday-related stuff. They were going to get a tree, so they needed decorations, lights, and all those little festive things that set the mood. Her mother snatched a box of candles off the shelf and those went into the shopping cart.
Candles were practical if the lights went out.
“Do you think that Upside-Down Cake’s parents will get divorced?” asked Lime Tart.
She felt her mother shudder beneath her.
“What sort of question is that, Bubelah?”
“Well, her parents are fighting… I heard them fighting when I stayed over there for a sleepover.”
“Well, I would hope that they don’t get divorced. Things are bad enough for Downy as it is.” Using her magic, Blonde Roux fetched a box of tinsel, some frosted glass orbs, and some little wooden nutcracker ornaments. “Sometimes, couples bicker. Your father and I even bicker—”
“And then we make up,” Pigeon Pie interjected with a wink.
“Yeah. We don’t go to sleep angry. We might go to bed angry, but we never go to sleep angry.”
“Oh, yuck.” Thoroughly disgusted, Lime Tart did not want to think about what her parents might do beyond kissing. Not that she knew, not exactly, but she had an idea, and that idea was absolutely disgusting.
“I hate to even ask, but do you know what they were fighting about, Bubelah? Not for the sake of gossip, no no no… but if there is something that I can do to help them, I will. But it helps to know.”
“Well, Mom”—uncertain of what to do or how to answer, Lime Tart had to think about it for a brief time—“they can’t afford their house. I know that from listening. If either of them loses their job, they’re in trouble. They can barely afford their house payment and Mrs. Crumpledumpling hollered at her husband for taking out loans, and he got mad and told her off and said he had no choice, and I sorta stopped listening because hearing it made me feel bad.”
“Oh my… that’s sort of what I expected. They’re hanging by a thread.” Clucking her tongue, Blonde Roux shook her head from side to side, and then paused to look at some boxed Hearth’s Warming decorations on a shelf.
“Mom, are we poor? Or in trouble at all?” she asked.
“Tarty, we’re fine. You have nothing to worry about.” Her father’s voice was reassuring beyond measure. “We live within our means and don’t engage in conspicuous consumption. Well, mostly. Some of my dolls are kind of expensive.”
“What’s conspicuous consumption?”
“It’s where you buy useless junk with a fat price tag so you can show it off and let other ponies know how rich you are.” She heard her mother snort and they continued down the jam-packed aisle at a snail’s pace. “Oh, festive marshmallows in white and blue.”
“Why are holiday marshmallows in white and blue, Mom?”
“The Royal Pony Sisters, Bubelah,” her mother was quick to say. “White and blue. Just like Princess Celestia and Princess Luna.”
“What about Princess Twilight?”
“She hasn’t been a princess very long,” her father replied. “And she’s not a real alicorn. Not like the Royal Pony Sisters. She was made one. Given wings. We’ll have to see how she is accepted by the ponies of Equestria.”
“Well”—Lime Tart stretched out this word to extraordinary length—“I like her. Meeting her was nice. She was nice. Princess Twilight helped me out with my friendship problem. And she was really, really nice to Stargazer, and she tried to make him feel better, and she had a long talk with me about empathy.”
“For myself, I like my rulers a little older and a little wiser… but I think Princess Twilight will get older and wiser soon enough. She’s bound to have a rough go of things.” Using her magic, Blonde Roux dumped about a half-a-dozen bags of holiday marshmallows into the shopping cart. “Now, my mother, she can’t stand Twilight or Cadance. She feels they’re unnatural. I don’t understand my mother’s thinking, but I try to be respectful.”
“Granana doesn’t like the new princesses?”
“No, she doesn’t, Bubelah. Try not to say anything about it when you see her. If you do, she might talk your ear off and you’d look funny with no ears.”
“Granana doesn’t like Princess Luna, either and—”
“My mother grew up during a time where there was no Princess Luna. Not even a memory of her. There was only Princess Celestia, the Perfect Princess. She who commands the sun and moon, the sky and tides. My mother doesn’t like change.”
“Which is funny, given how she changes colour on a whim,” Pigeon Pie remarked after his wife interrupted him. “Oh, candy canes and peppermint sticks.”
Without slowing down, Blonde Roux dutifully grabbed the holiday treats and dumped them into the cart atop the marshmallows. The world that Lime Tart knew was a different world than her parents had grown up in. She was smart enough to know this, but she didn’t feel that she was smart enough to truly sort out how or why it mattered.
“Oh, holiday cheeses in festive wax casings.” Pigeon Pie paused, stepped aside to allow a mare to pass, and then he stood in front of the shelf where the cheeses were all stacked. “These will be good with crackers. And look, with the big cheese on the bottom, and the little cheese on the top, and all the sizes in the middle, it looks like a Hearth’s Warming tree.”
“So it does,” Blonde Roux said while she yanked it off the shelf and gently placed it into the cart.
Fleabag’s Fineries had far fewer shoppers—but more than Lime Tart anticipated. Rainbow Falls was a town of trade, a booming city of traders and merchants, whatever that meant, but almost all of them were ponies. Except for Fleabag. Who wasn’t a pony at all, but a diamond dog. An old, wizened, wrinkled, droopy diamond dog who rather smelled like, well, wet dog. He was stooped over, his front paws almost reached the floor, one paw-finger was missing from his right paw, and his tail had a crooked angle to it where it had been broken.
“Fleabag! How have you been? You look stiff. How is your back? Are you hurting?” Blonde Roux wasted no time and invaded the old dog’s space. “Maybe you should sit down. You need to sit down.”
“I’ll live,” the old dog replied in a raspy voice. “Mrs. Roux, what can I do for you?” Reaching out with one paw, he gestured at the whole of his store, which sold clothing, fabric, and fine things. The clothing he sewed himself, and the fine things were all imported.
“I need a coat.”
“For your husband, or perhaps your daughter?” the old dog asked.
“For my daughter’s friend,” Blonde Roux said. “He’s about three sizes or so larger than her, somewhat longer of leg, long of body, and well, like my daughter, but backwards. She’s got that perky big behind that runs in the family, and Stargazer is wide up front, but skinny in the rear.”
“Mama…” Eyes rolling, Lime Tart wished that her mother hadn’t said what she said.
“Hush, Bubelah, I’m trying to get a coat,” her mother said. “It needs to run a little large, but not too large. Something he can grow into a bit. You know how colts grow.”
“I do, actually,” Fleabag said whilst he began to scratch at his chin.
“Maybe something like my daughter’s blanket coat,” Blonde Roux said to the old dog who scratched his chin absentmindedly. “It’s practical, with the flaps down the sides. He’s an earth pony though, so it might be hard for him to do up the straps around the legs that hold the flaps down.”
“I’ve already solved that problem for some of my customers.” All of the wrinkles on Fleabag’s face shifted, parted, and the old dog somehow smiled in spite of the oppressive sag of his droopy face. “Quite clever if I do say so myself. Magnets sewn in under the fabric. They act like buttons.”
Head bobbing, Blonde Roux boomed out, “Oh, that’s clever!”
Lime Tart found her attention captured by something else entirely. It was a brass globe of some kind, shiny, and it sat upon a wooden base. What got her attention was all the little holes in the globe, and the fact that she knew what it was. It was a lamp that was a projector of sorts, and it made stars appear on the ceiling. Stargazer had a magazine that had one of these for sale in the back pages, but that one was cheap junk compared to this one.
The old dog, perceptive, clever, and wise, took notice of her interest. With a turn of his head, he glanced over in the direction of the projector. Then, he returned his attention to Blonde Roux, and after that, he looked down at Lime Tart, who failed to notice that he watched her. She was completely engrossed by the curious, beautiful device.
“Is that a star projector?” she asked.
“That is, indeed, a planetarium lamp,” replied Fleabag.
“I don’t see a cord,” the young filly said to the old dog.
“It doesn’t have one,” the old dog said to the young filly. “This lamp is magic, not electric. It was made by a craftspony in Canterlot, and it is a fine thing.”
When her father turned to have a better look, Lime Tart dared to hope. She couldn’t ask, wouldn’t ask, but she could hope. When her mother took interest, Lime Tart thought she might faint. Oh, she hadn’t the slightest clue what fainting felt like, but this had to be it. She was lightheaded, and butterflies were brawling in her tummy.
“It doesn’t project pinpoints of light upon the ceiling,” Fleabag said, “but rather, it creates an illusion of a galaxy in a room. Visible stars can be seen in the air, along with planets and other celestial phenomenon. It is quite impressive. I’m told it is built to Princess Luna’s exacting standards.”
“Fancy,” Pigeon Pie said as he moved closer to have a better look.
“It would be an invaluable tool of study for any young astronomer,” Fleabag said to Pigeon Pie. “Especially one with a bedtime that prevents late night star studies.”
The adults were doing that thing that adults did and Lime Tart did her best to pay attention, with the hopes that she might learn something. They were bargaining; she wanted to be a better bargainer, so maybe this was a good time to watch how it happened. Her father was playing it cool, but she could tell that his feathers were ruffled. He wasn’t the haggler, her mother was, but he tried his best.
“I can’t help but notice that there is no price tag.”
“Pigie, you won’t find a price tag on anything in here,” Blonde Roux said to her husband.
“Formidable.” Eyes narrowed, ears pricked, Pigeon Pie went still.
“Fine things are worth paying for,” the droopy-faced diamond dog said. “However, I am willing to take something other than bits. For the lamp, at least. That came to me in trade, so I am willing to part with it in exchange for some other fine thing with equal value.”
Those butterflies were brawling in her stomach again, and Lime Tart wished that they would stop. She glanced at her mother, then her father, and then at Fleabag. Each of them wore a different face, though Fleabag’s face was unreadable. It was just wrinkles upon wrinkles, along with a wet, glistening nose. She dared to hope that her parents might somehow get the lamp and already she was preparing to promise to behave all of next year in exchange for their kindness.
“When ponies come in here, they expect fine things. I have discriminating customers.” Crooked tail waving a little from side to side, Fleabag lifted his forearms and gestured at his surroundings. “My clientele tends to be small, but affluent. I do not sell tawdry, cheap junk. I would like to sell some fine foodstuffs. Perhaps you might know where such a thing can be found?”
“Payment?” asked Blonde Roux.
“Commission,” the diamond dog replied.
With the conversation happening, Lime Tart’s head bobbed back and forth as if she watched a tennis match. Her mother’s face was all scrunched up. What was commission? Lime Tart had no idea, but it sure made her mother think. Her father was eyeballing the star projector and made a funny face whilst he did so.
“Our hobbies define us,” Fleabag said. “I became a tailor. It has shaped the whole of my life. Mrs. Roux, you became a baker. It is obvious that your hobby became your purpose, for such is the way of ponies like yourself. That became a career, and like me, you now make fine things. Astronomy can be a hobby… or a career.”
“Pigeon, what do you think? Can we do business?”
Lime Tart’s eyes darted over to her father and she heard him say in response, “Our food sells itself in the bakery, but we have glass cases and cake racks and such. We don’t have fancy packaging for distribution. Not yet.”
“As it just so happens”—the raspy diamond dog pressed his front paws together—“I have an associate who has just started a packaging business after a significant investment on my behalf. They’re young. Just starting out. Not a lot of resources. What they needed was a kindly benefactor. Now, they need orders.”
Much to her own surprise, Lime Tart did not find this boring in the slightest.
“”Honey, are you sure that you’re fine with taking on the extra work?” asked Pigeon Pie.
“I am,” replied Blonde Roux without hesitation. “Though I didn’t expect to make a deal tonight.”
“For the sake of Hearth’s Warming,” the grizzled old diamond dog said, “I will give you the lamp in good faith for the promise of an agreement, and as partners, you would be entitled to a discount on all goods purchased here… such as a coat.” He bowed his head. “A promise would be a fine thing.”
“Why do this?” Pigeon Pie cast a sidelong glance at the lamp beside him, and then turned his full attention to the diamond dog merchant. “I mean, I’m fine with an agreement, but we’re getting a sweetheart deal here. A part of me needs to know why, because everypony in this town is out for themselves. Why do this for us? What do you hope to get in return?”
“Because”—Fleabag’s brows attempted to rise, but a cascade of wrinkles pulled the whole of his face back down—“I am old and I have all of the money I will ever need. More than I could possibly spend with the years that I have left. What I crave is acceptance and community. That… that would be a fine thing.”
“I think we can do business.” Her head rose and fell in rapid succession and Blonde Roux offered up a brilliant, dazzling smile. “Happy Hearth’s Warming, Fleabag.”
“Yes, happy Hearth’s Warming.” The old dog sighed, a tired sound, but he seemed happy. “I look forward to our partnership.”
And so was Lime Tart, who was beside herself with unbridled joy. Why, she wanted to pronk about and be a wild filly, but she didn’t dare behave in such a way. Though it was a struggle, she behaved herself—she kept her obnoxious joy reined in. Surely, Stargazer would be overwhelmed by such a gift, and maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel better.
“We still need a coat,” Pigeon Pie said. “Really, that’s all I care about. I don’t want that poor kid freezing to death. The lamp is great, fantastic even, but it doesn’t keep him warm.”
“Let me show you what I have,” Fleabag offered with a gesture of his paw, the one which had a missing paw-finger.
Unable to contain herself, Lime Tart rushed forwards, and crashed into her mother’s legs. She slipped one foreleg around her mother’s foreleg, and then clung to her, almost crying with relief. Hearth’s Warming was rescued from a state of disaster—almost—and all they had left to do was show up and save the day. It’d been a long day, too long of a day, and overwhelmed, overcome with relief, little Lime Tart yawned. She didn’t mean to let it escape, but it did.
“Bubelah…”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Know that I love you… I have the most special gift to give you and I can’t wait for you to find out what it is. All of this feels right… what we’re doing. What you’ve done already. Come on, let’s go find a coat for Stargazer. We don’t want him freezing.”
“Yes, Mama.”