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// Inappropriately pink 
// Story: House of the Rising Sunflower 
// by kudzuhaiku 
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The Canterlot City Morgue was a tall, narrow building made of dull grey and pale pink marble that was, perhaps, a bit more cheerful than it ought to have been. In front of the morgue was a wide section of street that served double function as a runway, with all the markers freshly painted and highly visible. Right beside the morgue was a tailor that specialised in formalwear and next to the tailor was a memorial mason that made headstones and monuments. Everything the recently deceased needed all in one convenient location, a mall of sorts that specialised in very specific customers. 

There was no sign of a florist. 

Outside of the morgue, Sundance hesitated. Now that he'd found the place—after some time spent looking and asking for its location—he found that he didn't want to go in because he didn't want to face this. All he could think about was Cucumber and all of the pain that still lingered. Noonfire Shimmer wasn't dead until he saw her with his own two eyes, so every moment spent in procrastination allowed her to live just a little bit longer. 

He turned about, his hooves thudding against the tarmac, and saw a photographer's shop with eye-catching window advertisements stating that they photographed the dead. Fond memories could be captured forever on film. Overcome by memories, Sundance allowed himself to stare at the photographer's windows for a short time as he relived precious moments with his grandmother. 

When the delay became unbearable, Sundance acquiesced and entered… 



 

Sundance was lead into an office by a silent mare who'd said nothing beyond a simple "Follow me." So follow her he did into a room with dark wood wainscotting and opulent antique furnishings, relics from another era in perfect preservation. In the office were two ponies, both of whom Sundance knew, but only one of them he was actually surprised to see. As for the other, it made sense that he was here… 

"Sumac," Sundance said as the silent mare shut the door behind him. "Fancy Pants." 

"I say, Sundance… were we to meet under better circumstances. Sorry, old chap." 

"I was starting to worry if you got the telegram," Sumac said matter-of-factly. "It was dispatched this morning not long after the arrival." 

Rather than respond, Sundance stood there breathing. Sumac was sitting behind a massive ornate desk, while Fancy Pants sat in an overstuffed paisley chair in the corner. A decanter of some sort of golden brown liquor sat on the desk, and there were glasses just beside it. There were photographs on the wall—family photographs by the looks of them—and Sundance allowed his eyes to wander. 

When Sundance did finally muster up the words for a response, they were soft-spoken and barely audible. "Fancy Pants… I did not know that you were the sort to hang out at the morgue." 

"Typically I wouldn't." The unicorn's dry wit was on full display. "But I was trying to convince young Sumac here of the righteousness of my cause. I chose to approach him on his home turf, such as the parlance goes. I am dreadfully sorry about your grandmother, Sundance." 

"Thank you," Sundance managed to say, though he couldn't muster any feeling. 

"Your grandmother arrived by mail," Sumac said as he pressed his front hooves together. "Royal Mail. Funerary class. There's also a letter with her, which I am certain that you will want to read. Would you care for a drink, Sundance? Something strong, perhaps?" 

Head tilted, Sundance considered the question. The dark specter of hooliganism lurked within the back of his mind, a sort of annoying ache that made it difficult to think, and if it gained strength, would make him short-tempered. His eyes focused on the crystal decanter for a time, and then at the bespectacled pony behind the imposing desk. 

"I would love a cup of tea," he said at last. "Strong. Make the spoon stand up." 

Expressionless, Sumac reached out his hoof, pressed on something on his desk, waited for a short time, and then said, "Miss Fazool, a cup of tea if you please… Pebble-grade." 

"Oh my," a voice said from within the box on Sumac's desk. "Right away, sir!" 

"Do have a seat, Sundance. Rest for a moment. We have some work to do, but that will come later." Foreleg extended, Sumac gestured at a nearby chair. "You look exhausted. Please, do have a seat. Make yourself comfortable." 

Curiously compelled, Sundance found that he wanted to be comfortable, so he had himself a seat. 



 

The cup of brown sludge was fragrant, potent, and caused Sundance to shudder when he sniffed it. Just as an alicorn was a highly evolved pony, the next step in equine existence, this cup of brown reassurance was tea ascended. It was tea that had gone off to do better things, greater things, and now served a noble purpose. Just like an alicorn, it was somewhat frightful to behold such unfettered perfection. Sundance suspected that if he drank it, it would be a part of him… forever. The Sundance that was before and the Sundance that would come after would be two very different ponies. 

Across the room, in the corner, Fancy Pants was polishing his monocle. The act—though harmless enough in its own right—caused Sundance to feel a bit self-conscious. All he could think about was his own appearance. Rough, shaggy, unkempt, windblown, with wings that hadn't been properly groomed. When was the last time he'd had his mane and tail trimmed? What might his mother say? Or his grandmother for that matter. There was a time when he'd cared about such things—but that time now seemed so distant, so long ago. 

"I cannot help but wonder if I should take my leave," Fancy Pants said. 

Clutching his teacup, Sundance was quick to respond: "Please, stay if you will. I need friends." 

"I am honoured that you consider me a friend," the well-bred unicorn said in return. 

"When I left home, she was sort of sick. Her mind was going… just a bit. There were times when she was a silly pony… but there were times when she was a silly pony before she got sick, so it was hard to tell when she was having one of her episodes. She might laugh at inappropriate times, or be distracted, or unable to pay attention. Which is sorta how she lost her job and why she had to go on a pension." 

"Mercury dementia." Sumac's words were almost painfully solemn. 

"She was so young," Sundance said. "Sometimes, she'd get mad at me for saying she was my grandmother. There were times when ponies confused her for my mother when we went out together. She was a teenager when she had my mom, and my mom was a teenager when she had me. But the mercury made her old. She… changed." 

"In Ye Olden Days, we called it Alchemist's Palsy." There was a long pause from Sumac, who then continued, "Though it wasn't much of a palsy. Not sure why they called it that. And it is only very recently that we've started to understand the toxic effects of mercury exposure. Just think… we used to use it in medicines and to alleviate the symptoms of sexually transmitted diseases." 

With his nose held just above his teacup, Sundance had nothing to say about that. 

"Society is still recovering from the loss of foal-labour," Fancy Pants said in subdued tones that held a hint of shame. "The idea of protecting workers from hostile job conditions is still relatively new. And quite unliked by the industrialists as it eats into profits. I dare say that a few decades from now, mercury dementia will be a thing of the past, just as foal-labour is now done away with. A tragic hoofnote in the history books. It is my sincere hope that we'll have learned to do better." 

"But that doesn't bring back those now lost," Sumac said with faint wistfulness. 

Sundance could not help but think of his own peasants and their lives. While he wasn't an industrialist—at least, he didn't think he was—he had workers who lived and worked in dangerous conditions. Broken legs could happen, along with all manner of horrible, awful, terrible things. Dire fates. Spider season was a thing. If only somepony had cared enough about Noonfire's well-being and had protected her, his grandmother might still be alive. 

Somewhere, buried beneath the grief, there was a lesson to be learned. 

After blowing on it a few times, he had a sip of tea—and immediately wished he hadn't. Nothing in his life had prepared him for how his jaw muscles clenched and the skin of his face went as tight as a drum. His eyelids felt two, maybe three sizes too small, and he gained sudden awareness of the earwax in his ears. Blood flowed through his sinuses, he could feel it now with his newfound perception of reality as he transcended beyond all sense of taste. 

As the brown goo traveled down the pipe, Sundance's body made a frenzied effort to deal with it and the widespread changes it wrought on the way down. This was tea only in the barest sense of definition, in much the same way that a stick of dynamite was technically a firecracker, only larger, more dangerous, and with greater potency. The world blurred over and then came into impossibly sharp focus. There was no telling what might happen once the goop reached his stomach, and Sundance wasn't certain that he was ready to find out… 



 

"—it's really rather amusing, really. Pebble takes her tea yak-style. Everything is added to a pot, the leaves, milk, spices, and then the chai is cooked like a reduction. Everything condenses. Pebble insists that yak-style tea will catch on and become the next big thing, like the current coffee fad that's taken over." A polite, wry smile appeared on Sumac's face, but only for a moment, and then was gone. "Pebble has strange notions. I'm not sure ponies are ready for yak-style chai." 

All too aware of how his eyelashes vibrated in tune to the hum of the universe, Sundance somehow managed a polite nod to show that he listened. All of his fatigue was gone, banished, sent away to some far off place and never to be seen again. He might never sleep again, or suffer from hooliganism. No, society was not ready for this, and neither was Sundance, who could now feel every molecule in his body jittering and rubbing against one another. 

"Your grandmother wanted to be buried at the barony," Sumac said as he leaned forwards over his desk. "She wished to be returned to her ancestral lands. As it turns out, arrangements were made about a month ago… so I suspect that a part of her understood that she was going. She prepaid her own postage and made arrangements for transport." 

That sounded exactly like something his grandmother would do. 

"We'll carry her home. Tomorrow. Bright and early. For tonight, you can stay with me. I have a townhouse here in Canterlot. It's a bit small, and kind of cramped, but it suits my needs when I'm stuck here overnight. One of Night Light and Twilight Velvet's housekeepers will be there, though I'm not sure which one. Maybe more than one. They're quite old, but still have purpose and dignity." Sumac made a quiet clearing of his throat, tapped his front hooves together, and then used his magic to adjust his eyeglasses. 

Then, in a soft voice he asked, "When you finish your tea, would you like to see her?" 

The words caused his blood to run cold and Sundance turned his head so that he might look Sumac in the eye. He had a sip of tea, but it failed to warm him. His heart raced and squirted the frozen slush in Sundance's arteries around. Seeing her meant that he had no choice but to accept that she was dead, and Sundance didn't want to do that. He very much wanted to remain in this paradoxical state of limbo where he was right now, so that he might deny what he had not seen with his own eyes. 

His mouth, a hateful, spiteful orifice, betrayed him. 

"I'd like to see her." 

"Good. I am glad to hear you say that. We shouldn't fear death. On the contrary, death is as much a part of life as breathing… except the breathing stops." Once again, Sumac adjusted his eyeglasses, even though they were already level. "Finish your tea, and when you are done, we shall go and see her so that you might say your goodbye. There's also a letter for you to read, as mentioned. Don't feel rushed. And do not worry. I'll walk you through every step of this." 

Rather than say thank you, Sundance slurped down a sip of tea.