It shouldn't be this hard.
If I had to, I could put every square hoofwidth of the mill together myself. That's part of what the mark means. I understand how it all works. Sometimes when I bunk down in the barn at night, I can see the whole thing in my head. It sort of floats in front of my eyes as the last thing I see before I fall asleep, and then I spend the whole night working on it. Alone.
But in my dreams, I'm faster. I can be everywhere at once. There's a whole work crew going and they're all me, which makes it really easy to coordinate. I wake up, and it's just me and the four ponies I've managed to hire. If they all show up at the site, because some of them keep telling me about other things they just had to do instead. Like working for ponies who aren't me. They see the mill as something they can do when there isn't anything better for their time, they still want to get paid for it, and I heard one of them snickering as he went back down the trail because he'd forgotten his entire tool kit and couldn't start without it.
He was snickering when he told me that he just couldn't use any tools at all if I was going to watch him work.
They don't respect me. It's not hard to figure out why. Even a couple of moons in, I'm the one who just got here. I didn't break the original ground. I didn't clear rocks and till soil. They see me as riding in the cart they put together. I don't add anything but weight. And they don't see the mill in their dreams. They don't understand what it can bring to this new settled zone, how much easier it'll all be when we can just cut boards in a hurry and do it here. Some of them are working on houses every day. They have to saw it all themselves, and that's not easy. Hoof shoes still don't let you line up the perfect leverage for it. Mouth-grip saws do horrible things to your neck unless it's a two-grip, and that means ponies on both sides feeling the strain.
They do it themselves or they pay for a haul from Canterlot. Everything traveling the full gallop under high security, and the ponies in the capital are bilking. Those mills barely see any use: not sure how they could stay in business at all before this settled zone opened, because the capital hasn't expanded in a while. I don't think they're run by ponies with a mark for it. I don't like the look of the wood. Maybe that's why I saw the same barn go up twice in a week. Had to take the whole thing apart when the base was bad.
I'm offering good pay for solid work. But the only ones who'll work for me turned out to be the ones nopony else really trusts. The layabouts, the last ones on any project who usually show up just in time to take something from the lunch trough. I know there's better ponies than that around here. They're the ones who got the new settled zone this far.
But I wasn't here when it all started. I didn't put in the time. I think that's why they don't talk to me. Part of why.
I could build the whole mill myself. I can do it more efficiently than anypony else, because that's the mark. So take the time you'd need for one pony to build a whole mill, then kick twenty percent off that. We're still looking at moons. Moons where somepony else could come in with their own crew and get it done faster. Moons with everypony here tied up making their own materials, or paying too much for shoddy goods.
Canterlot's a gallop away. I could head back to the capital and hire a team there. I've thought about just going back for a day anyway. Of having other unicorns around. Not having everypony look at my horn like it's a tumor. But something feels wrong about it. Not just like it's retreating. Like it'll make everything worse.
I've got to get things up to full build speed within the half next-moon if I want to have a real shot. Too much more stalling and somepony else will give it a go.
I don't know what to do.
She was still opening packages.
It was just easier for Fleur to do it. There were tools which assisted with smoothly delving into boxes, and Fluttershy's mouth could hold those as readily as Fleur's corona. However, Fluttershy wasn't the one taking the inventory.
Unicorns who worked as escorts needed to be capable of multitasking, and so Fleur was able to split her concentration enough to keep the contents of the latest package floating in front of her while a secondary, much smaller slice of field directed the movements of the quill. The majority of such notes also had the sender's calling card floating off to the side for quick reference, but that wasn't quite one hundred percent because there was always somepony who just didn't use them and typically, that would also be the pony who'd put the least legible writing into the return address.
Fluttershy was already talking about returns. (Fleur was presumably the mare who would have to make them.)
"...but ...but..."
Not sighing was beginning to take an effort. They'd been at it for hours: not only had every animal who spent most of their time under Sun gone back to sleep, but the nocturnals were beginning to look tired. Fleur, who'd thought she was used to long nights spent at work (although quite a bit of that would eventually be done from a prone position, or multiple other positions) -- well, it had been a while, and that amount of time had apparently been more than enough to shave away a touch of edge. She'd been forcing her concentration for at least thirty minutes now, and Fluttershy hadn't even yawned.
"We talked about this." Another calling card was brought forward: the floating quill put the sender's name into the notebook (because Fluttershy had plenty of blank notebooks), then moved over to one of the freshly-drawn columns. Estimated cost...
"...but..."
"About letting ponies buy you things. And I don't want to hear about how '...they shouldn't have spent anything!' --" it was the first time she'd deliberately imitated her charge, and the degree of exposure made it a strong one "-- or '...they couldn't afford it!' It was their decision to spend and since I recognize the majority of these names, I can tell you that when it comes to expenses, they could." She just barely managed to repress a disdainful sniff. "I can also tell you that at least two of them were undercutting. And they're not the ones who are known for starting off small and then stepping up the pace as the relationship goes along." She finished the evaluation, then sent the new floor cushions off to the right edge of the sitting room, where they were released to fall unceremoniously atop half of a discarded timber wolf torso. "And then we have this one, who probably thinks she's being subtle --"
"-- somepony," Fluttershy carefully said, "you think I shouldn't go out with?"
Another field bubble came forward, rippled energy across the pages of the ink-covered calendar until the appropriate moon was found. "We could attend her party. She's the first pony to give us something that far forward. But based on her choice of floor cushions and her overall social standing --"
"...so that's a no."
"It's a probably not." Which was actually a no with a built-in stall, because Fleur wanted to look all of it over again after she'd gotten some sleep. It had taken time just to bring it all in, which had been preceded by that required to get out of the costumes because Fleur really needed access to her field, and then Fluttershy hadn't wanted to leave those pieces in the grass because they might unnerve some of the outdoors residents once Sun hit them: the remainder would have been raiding them for nest material. Nearly thirty minutes before she'd even been able to truly consider opening the first box (which didn't include the time required for Fluttershy to clear all animals out of the sitting room), and then she'd needed paper...
She was jotting everything down, because evaluations had to be performed and with her increasing level of weariness, trusting herself to get it all right from memory wasn't a good idea. There was also a vague suspicion that she should have been doing it all while wearing glasses, but Fleur's eyesight was excellent and in any case, glasses were something ponies generally paid her to wear: a minor, decidedly amusing puzzle piece, easily indulged --
"-- then she's giving me something," Fluttershy softly stated, "when she won't be getting anything back. With my friends, even if I can't give the same value, we... all give each other something. Even Caramel got a date, even if it was a bad one. This is just one way..."
"You'll send her a thank-you card." (The quill quickly moved to a margin and jotted down a note to bill the palace for thank-you cards. After a moment, it added a few details regarding stamps.)
"...but..."
"They're not all expecting dates," Fleur firmly told her charge -- then gave the statement a little more internal scrutiny, followed by wearily wiping away some of the exhaustion-acrued blur. "All right: they all at least think they have a chance." And for some of them, that marked the only thought which had gone into the process, along with a considerable amount of delusion. "They just have to understand that it's not reasonable to expect you'll wind up going out with everypony. But we'll be careful with the thank-you cards. Ideally, you want them to feel that at the very least, you're willing to speak with them and possibly drop by sometime. Except for the names I used the red ink on. The red ink is for the ponies who only get cards. Red ink with a double underline means I sign it." Because she might not be in Canterlot at the moment, but her ability to generate fear hadn't had enough time to completely dissipate. "The only way you send a gift back is if I tell you to."
"...but..." presumably took very little energy to repeat. Maybe that was why Fluttershy was still fully alert.
"But you don't have to keep all of them. There's a 'Sell' column."
"...selling," emerged with enough of a hollow tone to possess a degree of internal echo.
"Do you need a pillow shaped like a pony's body?"
That required some thought.
"...what's the filling? If it's something the birds could use..."
"It still leaves you with the case," Fleur firmly said. "And before you tell me you could use it as a storage bag, take a close look at the embroidery again." She slowly shook her head. "I have no idea how we're going to get his face off."
That gift had scored a one (out of five) in her Practicality column. There was nothing wrong with sending jewelry: it was just that Fluttershy had a life where such pieces would only see daily use if the cottage began hosting a parliament of magpies. (Fleur, who had very little trouble associating government with legalized theft, saw the group name as an appropriate one.) Besides, not only had neither of those two pieces been particularly valuable, it had almost reached the point of having her extend Nightmare Night just so both could officially qualify for Worst Costume. And while sending silks would be suitable for gifting any number of ponies (or bitches), the reasonable expectation for their local destiny was as an exceptionally-soft birthing nest: the stains would never come out, but it wasn't as if the ultimate recipients would care...
Higher totals had been assigned to those who had managed to put in some actual thought. Animal feed was always welcome. Nopony had been so generous as to kick in a signed prepaid voucher (and a blank one would have moved that party up to the top of the list in a blast of venting boiler pressure produced by a jet of white-hot stupidity), but one near-genius had recognized the cottage hosted carnivores and so a gift certificate for Gristle's might be the perfect entry ticket into Fluttershy's heart. However, the current leader in the cooldown circle was the mare who'd sent a full set of self-sharpening, forever-sterile needles and was hosting a get-together around Hearth's Warming. That package had been from a name Fleur knew, and the only thing she hadn't been aware of prior to its arrival was that the sender was once again single --
-- intelligent. Practical. Pays attention to the small details. But travels a lot and wouldn't be at the cottage more than one week in four, assuming she'd be willing to move. Which in the best case, means she usually wouldn't be there for the children, and Fluttershy would essentially be raising the foals alone.
Maybe she'd settle down.
Maybe I'm settling.
Fluttershy has to be happy. The palace wants her to be happy...
The mare was definitely a prospect. But that didn't mean she was good enough.
"...this is crazy," her charge whispered. "It's too much. It's... I'm not worth this, they don't even know me, they're sending all of this to somepony they don't even know..."
It made Fleur turn, and all of the little field bubbles bobbed in the air as they rotated with her.
"They're sending things," she directly told her charge, "because they want to know you. They want to go out with you, and they're hoping that the gifts make you think a little better of them. That you'll attend their parties, at their side." The calendar floated forward. "Look at this, Fluttershy. You could go out just about every night from Homecoming to Hearth's Warming, with a different pony every night! The heart of the autumn social season --"
"-- it's too many." The slightly-oversized wings were beginning to vibrate. "It's too many, too fast, I... I can't go out every night, the cottage, missions are one thing but just -- every night in the city, every night a different pony, I can't --"
It would have been one thing if that incredible tail had started to lash, especially as that was something Fleur had yet to see: a flicking tail was the sign of an upset pony, the full lash indicated anger, and neither seemed to be within Fluttershy's capabilities. But the motion concealed some of it between the pegasus' hind legs, and did so at the same moment when most of her features vanished behind manefall.
Fleur sighed, because it had been the kind of long night where any degree of argument would push the matter into an equally long day and she'd earned a sigh. Carefully put down everything, winked out her field, and slowly approached the rapidly-curling bundle of tremble.
"It won't be all of them," she told her charge. "I'm sorting the catch for you. We'll talk about who the highest-priority --" targets "-- prospects are. But we'll have to make some choices, because a few of the parties take place on the same nights." Open social dominance wars: who could be lured in, and just as importantly, who could be lured away. "And I can reject a few just based on Canterlot chatter. Reject them for you, and do it so politely that they won't be able to take offense. Not in public. You don't have to deal with all of them, and you don't have to be the one who turns them down. Not for this." Because it was one thing to go from disposing of a single candy shop employee to pushing away the best of what Canterlot had to offer -- or rather, those who saw themselves that way, and Fluttershy was nowhere near being ready for the master class. "But it's still what I told you, Fluttershy. Ponies are interested in you. Ponies want to be with you."
"...they... how can they...?"
Her horn ignited at the partial corona level, projected just enough to gently lift a portion of the coral fall.
"You're standing in the middle of the proof," Fleur gently said. "Look at all of this, Fluttershy. And don't tell me you're not beautiful, or that nopony would be attracted enough to do something like this. I've already cataloged fifteen ponies who were hopeful enough of being with you to do exactly this, and we haven't gone through all of the packages yet. Ponies who fed your flock for the next moon. A mare who replenished your suture kit. I think you'll like --"
she's away too much
"-- thanking her. I think you want to thank her -- don't you?"
Slowly, carefully, in a way which just barely distinguished itself from the vibration, the pegasus nodded.
'So say you're beautiful.'
'So say you're worth it.'
...no. Don't push her that far, that fast. She isn't me. She's never been through something like this before. It's...
Fleur blinked.
...overwhelming.
I already got her out on Nightmare Night. She's never done that before. One night of a new experience, something she said was... nice. And now she's facing this.
She's not me. She doesn't have the experience.
(She didn't want Fluttershy to have...)
She doesn't understand yet.
Just a little more softly, enough vocal force discarded to let her charge know that Fleur was done pushing for the night, "Are you tired?"
Another bare nod -- and then, after a few seconds, it was joined by a whisper. "...a little. I -- don't sleep very much."
"Insomnia?"
The shapely head turned, leaving the snout awkwardly directed towards the mark.
"Oh." It made sense: looking after nocturnal animals required the ability to be awake during their hours, and so part of Fluttershy's mark magic suite was the capacity for getting by on less sleep. Fleur could almost envy her --
"...but it was a long night," Fluttershy quietly said. "And... to have all this, after that, when we had a nice time and we were just coming home... I wasn't expecting it. I didn't have any reason to, and... I guess I'm tired. I..."
Her spine straightened somewhat. The foreknees lost some of their bend.
"...think it'll be easier after I sleep. I hope..."
Fleur sighed.
"You're too tense to sleep."
This triggered an expert tossing of the coral mane, one which ended with a single eye exposed. "...probably," Fluttershy agreed, and something about the word felt slightly dry...
...no. It felt like a question.
"Get on the couch?" And without hesitation, "Or do you want me to put you to bed?" She still hadn't made it into Fluttershy's bedroom, and winter was that much closer now. Come to think of it, she also had to find out what Fluttershy's bed was like: factoring that pony's nature with the expected budget didn't so much hint at something single-occupancy as shout it to the world. It wasn't just about trying to find a way for magic to happen: it was making sure the stage could host the final act --
she'd have to stop traveling so much, her whole life is built on that export business and she might not be willing to
-- and while there were actually a lot of things you could do on a small mattress, any cuddling had to be relegated to the floor.
"...the couch," Fluttershy softly answered. "...please. My bedroom is... probably where most of them went after I asked for privacy."
Fleur nodded. Fluttershy moved across the room, ascended to the cushions, stretched out as best she could. The unicorn looked at the tension which was preventing several of the longer muscles from fully extending -- then spotted some of the areas where the fur had been flattened against the flesh, and slowly shook her head.
"We should have gotten a lighter costume. Carrying that one all night --"
"...I'm stronger than I look. I really am. And... it was worth it."
The one visible eye slowly closed. Fleur's horn ignited, and remained lit until the soft sigh wafted across her fur.
"Better?"
"...yes. Thank you. And... you should go home. You're tired, Fleur: I can see it. You need rest too, and more than I do. Unless... that's part of an escort's mark?"
It almost made her smile. "Not for me."
Carefully, "...do you want to sleep here? It's really late. It's just about so late that it's almost early. That's not always a good time to be on the road."
Which meant that any brief nap Fleur might try for on the couch had a good chance to last long enough for a full drop into nightmare, with her charge well within hearing range. "I'll be okay. It's just a trot into town, and I know the road now."
Still with some concern, "...if you say so. Um... do you like cider?"
Fleur blinked.
"Sorry?"
"...Applejack's going to open her cider stand in three days. Early in the morning, out by the entrance to the Acres. Sometimes I go with Rainbow, if I can get away from the cottage. But... it's good cider. Really good."
"I've never had cider." She wasn't entirely sure what it was. There seemed to be a chance that apples were involved somewhere.
The expression on the yellow features suggested Fleur had just suggested a lifetime of having found a way to live without air.
"...really?"
"Really."
"...I think you should have some cider. It's sort of a town party, which is why I... usually went with Rainbow. So there would be somepony there. But if you want to taste something really good..."
Okay. Give a little, get a lot.
"We finish sorting out the gifts this afternoon," Fleur countered. "Send out the thank-you notes and commit to the first party. Then we'll talk about cider."
The hesitation seemed to be a little shorter than usual.
"...okay."
Which made Fleur consider herself to have been released, and she headed for the door --
"-- Fleur?"
The unicorn stopped.
"...could you do one more?"
A weary head turned, and Fleur's rumpled mane shifted unevenly across the movement: she hadn't had time to restore herself after getting out of the costume and in Fluttershy's presence, there had been no need. "One more session?" She hardly minded, but the sigh usually meant everything was all right --
"...one more package," Fluttershy clarified, and her left wing slowly unfolded until it indicated a direction. "It's just... that one's orange. Bright orange. It's the only one which is. I'm just... curious."
It was somewhat unusual, and so Fleur trotted over --
"-- it's repackaged."
"...sorry?"
"This was a box for designer saddlebags. It isn't now. The side is bulging a little, and somepony scribbled ink all over the original sending address. He barely managed to work in 'To Lady Fluttershy.' And he crossed out a spelling mistake on 'To'." The unicorn slowly shook her head, then lowered it until her horn was at the right angle to slice through the package tape. "Now who couldn't even be bothered to get a fresh box?"
Adhesives and threads sundered. The reused lid opened itself, and Fleur looked at the non-wrapped contents.
"Fluttershy?"
"...what?"
"You now own a fast-cooker."
The yellow head immediately came up.
With open shock, "...really?"
"You're going to send a very nice thank-you note."
"...yes. I think I kind of have to..."
"And you are not going out with him."
"...why?"
Because happiness is a requirement and between the two of us, I'm the only one who knows how to fake an orgasm.
"I'll tell you later."
I talked to Mrs. Smith about it.
I wasn't meaning to. I was the last one in the meal line tonight. Some of that was because it took me so much time to come back from the site by myself, watching my own flanks. And when you're the only unicorn and there's a jostle to get in line, you don't shove.
So there was nopony behind me waiting to be served. Wasn't much in front of me waiting to be eaten either. And she caught me looking at the scraps, said I looked like somepony who didn't want to carry the weight of their own fur any more.
She was just somepony to talk to. Somepony who was talking to me. The rest of them were already around the tables or lying down in the grass near their favorite flattop rocks, chatting and laughing and just being together. Nopony was listening. All I really talk to is the pages, and they don't talk back.
I haven't seen my spouse for moons.
I don't have any friends.
So I told her. Everything that was going wrong. How I had to get started soon, or I'd have to think about going back. She listened to all of it. And when it was done, I just stood there feeling stupid. It was my problem, and she's got enough of her own.
Then she said it was a little like being an earth pony in Canterlot.
I didn't get it. There's always been earth ponies in Canterlot. Pegasi too. But she said there's just less of them. They're the minority. More unicorns than anything else in the capital, so unicorns mostly run the show. When you're an earth pony in Canterlot, a new one -- you get looks.
I told her I didn't see it, and she said it was because nopony had ever looked at me like that. Not there. Not like I needed to prove something.
She said she didn't think I'd ever looked at somepony that way. Not knowing I was doing it, not on purpose. But that sometimes, when it's somepony new and strange, who doesn't fit in, ponies look. And here, where I'm the only unicorn that doesn't head out at the end of the day, I'm something to look at.
I was getting angry. I didn't know what I was angry at.
I asked her what I was supposed to do about having a horn. She asked me what she was supposed to do about not having one. I said it was fine for her, there's earth ponies everywhere, there's nopony but me who isn't one, and she said that was just here. And it wouldn't last. I was the first real sign that it wouldn't last, because every ground settled zone needs all three races to make it work. The earth ponies had their start, and some of them resented me because me being here means their time as a solo run is ending. She said they don't get a lot of that kind of time. To just be earth ponies on their own, in big groups. Some of them feel like me being here is sort of shutting part of them down. Taking away some of who they are.
She had this really sad look when she said that.
But then she said I was here now, and if it wasn't me, it was going to be somepony else. They were the first wave. I'm the second. All the water has to flow into the same lake. And she said she'd rather it was me. A unicorn who knows how to get his hooves dirty could be a bridge.
I told her I didn't know what to do.
She said I had to put in the work.
She had just passed the mill, using the increasing cold as motivation to push forward. It was also a case where the temperature was helping to keep her sharp: warmth was comfort, being comfortable made you relax and if you were a little too relaxed on a road deep under Moon, you might not pay attention to the important things. Lessons, instinct, and a faint shiver: enough uniting factors to get her safely back to her rental.
For the most part, she'd been thinking about the gifts, and the social calendar which had the potential to book an entire moon (although she recognized that so many outings was also pushing Fluttershy too fast, and had decided to pick out the top five possibilities. Along with commissioning a different dress for every one of them), something which had just filled itself out of nowhere after she'd circulated Fluttershy through Canterlot all of once --
-- just past the mill, clear of its decaying shadows. Gears which wouldn't turn evenly, the inanimate pretending towards some level of fully mindless life, something it could never have, and everything would be so much better if it would just recognize that it had to stop --
-- why is it happening this fast?
She didn't stop moving. Perhaps if she had been under Sun, she would have risked time on allowing thought to be the lone activity, but she was so deep under Moon that Sun would soon be back again (at least in theory). It meant she had to think on her hooves.
I only took her around once. She made an impression: I saw that. It was a start. Three, four gifts tonight -- that's reasonable. But it should have taken at least a few more trips into the capital in order to get her this far. Even if everypony who saw her did nothing but talk about her...
Would that have been enough? Fluttershy's availability somehow completely taking over the gossip circuit -- even with the casual remarks Fleur had so carefully planted within the seed hearing range of talkative designers, it would have meant days of nothing else happening and in the crowded waters which made up Canterlot's social life, you could usually find somepony bleeding enough to attract sharks.
She's beautiful. More than enough to talk about. But she's not the most beautiful pony who's ever lived --
-- still have to find Joyous --
-- and even if she was, there's always something else going on. So why is she getting this much attention, this fast? We shouldn't have been close to this level until after Homecoming.
She didn't know, and that was a cause for concern. It implied another force at work, something outside of Fleur's control. Nopony could hope to fully direct or control the gossip flow, but it was going to be that much harder if somepony else was kicking stones into the pond. And she was already aware of one pony who had been disrupting those waters: the 'greenish fellow with odd teeth.'
But I don't know who he is.
'A pony who's done a lot of the work for me' was an unacceptable answer. It was entirely possible that his motives were -- well, not pure, but at least innocent enough: a Ponyville resident with a tongue so loose that Polish would stare at it in shock, just talking about the latest gossip and finding a receptive audience. But Fleur didn't know and until she managed to gallop down the answer, it was going to bother her. She had to find him, and she had to make the identification and confrontation of that pony her top priority.
What would a bad motive be?
Too many answers flowed through her head, and the river of filth carried her hooves along that much faster.
...not without knowing who she'd wind up with. Something he can't guarantee. Darkly, Unless he's just the kind of sadist who wants to see her in a situation where she'll panic.
Find, confront, question. And if she didn't like the answers...
Breathe, Fleur. Look for the trap, but if you don't find one, stop looking.
If you're sure.
Because sometimes the trap is being made to stand in one place forever, afraid to move because you haven't found anything and that means it was just too well-hidden, so you can't move --
-- sorting the catch.
An image of the filled-out social calendar flashed within her mind, then brought up a second sheet and superimposed the pages.
That's almost my social calendar. Which nearly made her feel slightly miffed. And she really hasn't put in that kind of work.
She was reluctant to put it down to her own skills. She wanted to be proud of Fluttershy for inspiring so much interest, and wasn't sure if she could fully justify it. And no matter how it worked out...
...that's a lot of competition.
Some of them are going to be going up against each other, and not just for party RSVPs. This could mean rivalries. Escalating gifts.
I know who some of them are. How far they might go. She doesn't. And it could still be too much, too fast...
...or I could be that much closer to finishing.
She almost wished she could just accept her luck.
She almost wished she believed in luck.
She has to be happy.
Be very careful --
-- wait.
A weary mind had just cascaded its way to the next problem.
I spent days talking to Snowflake. Did everything I told him just go directly to Applejack? I must have said some good things, since she likes me. Make a positive impression on one, pass it on to the other. But I didn't know they were together. That there was any connection at all.
There's a social web in this town. Not knowing how it works has a good chance to catch the threads around my throat.
The 'cider' thing is a town party.
One more chance to circulate.
She very nearly smiled to herself, continued to trot home. And from the roof of the abandoned mill, undetectable through any sense she had active for use, two entities watched her go.
"I would say," the draconequus declared (after making sure the unicorn was well out of hearing), "that we may be looking at a success. Quite the turnout on her doorstep, wasn't it?" With a slight sniff, "I will, of course, be reviewing the list of goods received. Perhaps Fluttershy will even be willing to keep a number of them. Which is, of course, in no way offensive to someone who has offered on multiple occasions to exercise his abilities on her behalf and, for reasons known only to one pony who has yet to render an adequate explanation, she continues to turn him down."
This sniff was louder.
"She is friends with somepony who pretends to be Generosity," the affronted party stated. "One would think that would give her some rough familiarity with the concept."
He shook his head with exasperation, rendering several of the leaves caught in the gutters into rather surprised and not-the-least-bit-coincidental butterflies before glancing down at the book carefully balanced on his paw.
"Do you have an opinion of the evening?"
"I'm... not sure," Harem Fantasy carefully offered. "That was a lot of gifts --"
"-- because," Discord declared with open satisfaction, "we arranged for a great deal of interest. Successfully. Whereas a certain party who should normally go nameless, but whom I will just barely deign to designate as Fleur, has only managed to arrange for -- now how should I put this -- Caramel. I believe I can safely say that we are ahead."
"-- from a lot of ponies," Harem risked. "That means a chance for rivals. And they can get in each other's way."
"Which would seem to create the potential for chaos," the draconequus countered.
"It creates the potential for other things, too."
"Such as?"
"...Volumes 2 through 10. #11 available for preorder now. #12 awaiting approval from the publisher, because they want to see the sales figures come in first."
On an absolute scale, the frown wasn't quite as horrible as the smile. But it was a rather fine difference and for anyone on the receiving end, there might as well be none at all.
"Further explanation," Discord said, "would seem to be required."
"Too many rivals," Harem helplessly told him, pages rippling from sheer nerves (and doing so without a nervous system, which still bothered her), "can mean nothing gets resolved. Because the conflict is what's driving the story. And the publisher wants the story to keep going so they can sell more volumes. A definitive winner would end the story, so the writer is told to stall, and then stall some more... and sometimes, the story doesn't get an ending. Because the sales drop off, or there's so many rooting interests in the readership that you can't write an ending which satisfies them. Or the first mare is the worst mare now, but the writer won't admit it, and none of the better ones can get past her. Too many rivals is... hard."
She hesitated.
"Group marriages are legal in Equestria," the book added. "But some people think that's just the cheap way out."
He thought about it.
"So we may need to thin the pack," Discord considered.
With an equal balance of awkwardness and desperation, "Um..."
"After giving it some chance to thin itself. So noted. Thank you, Harem."
"It's... okay?" She really wasn't sure.
"It will be," he told her. "When we're finished."
He sat down on the roof. Several tiles rearranged themselves into a cushion.
"Why didn't you let me talk?" the book asked. "When they were right in front of us."
"I did say 'we' when initially addressing them," he magnanimously reminded her. "Repeatedly."
"But you made me invisible. And you wouldn't let me talk."
"Yes. Well..." The antler scrunched in on itself. "...I felt it would make for a rather awkward introduction at this time. Perhaps when a more -- social opportunity arises. Did you enjoy the evening out? There were dating couples, which meant the observation opportunity was welcome. Added to a surprising freedom of movement, and of course, free candy."
"It was interesting."
"Really?"
"I compared it to Chapter Fourteen. Only it smelled better. And there was more laughter. Nopony ever really writes out the sounds of laughter. I liked the laughter."
"Good," he decided, and leaned back a little. The roof curved to meet his spine.
"...thank you?"
"You're welcome. Incidentally? I remain undecided on nougat."
My horn hurts.
It's a joke. My body is playing a joke on me. The one thing which didn't get involved in the day hurts just as much as the rest. I'm lying down in the grass outside the barn. Moon's been up for a while, and I feel like it takes about as much effort to raise that as it would to move my chin. Except that Moon's actually up there and I can't get my chin out of the grass. The book I'm writing in is propped open against a rock. I've got the quill and ink nearby. And when I ignite my field, just dipping the quill to write, my horn hurts.
I should probably be doing it by mouth, but nopony's watching me now and there's the whole thing about not being able to get my chin up.
Everything hurts. Maybe I'll sleep here. The grass is cool under Moon, and my body feels too hot. It'll do me good to get out of the barn for a night. Fresh air. No snoring. Nopony farts.
I don't think I've ever read anything in a settler's journal about what it's like to be in a barn with around forty other stallions on the night after a heavy meal when everypony starts farting in their sleep at the same time. Maybe I'm the first.
Maybe the rest of them just remembered that their grandfoals were going to be reading it.
Everything hurts. But it's a good hurt. I think I won.
I showed up at the build site just as Sun was being raised, like Mrs. Smith told me. None of them knew I was coming, because I was the only one she told. They just looked at me. Some of them looked frustrated because you don't show up when the frame of a house is going up and try to recruit a workforce from the ones who are already committed.
Then I grabbed some wood.
It probably would have gone a little better if I'd remembered to put the mouth guard on first. You get the better tooth grip without it, but you also get the taste. I haven't had that much wood and metal in my mouth for a long time. You sort of forget, once you get your field, at least if you're strong enough to manage some of the medium stuff. You forget what it's like to be a colt and have your mouth as the only option. What it means to keep getting the taste all the time.
I'm just lucky I didn't get any splinters in my tongue. They would have been a lot harder to get rid of than the lip ones. I knew that woodwork was horse apple smear, but it took a while before anypony started listening to me about kicking away the bad ones.
One whole day, Sun-raising to Sun-lowering, of working at their sides. Even at the start, when they wouldn't really acknowledge me, I just kept picking up more stuff and hoof-hammering extra nails. No corona, no field.
I couldn't keep up. I always thought I was a hard worker, but not when I'm trying to match myself against earth ponies. I was getting tired and they kept going. I'm not used to balancing beams on my back: they got under the load and carried twice what I could manage, then dropped it off whistling and went back for more. It hit the point where I could barely push myself forward, and that was about four hours in. I can't match that pace. All I was doing was hurting myself, and the only thing I could do instead of dropping was to hurt myself more.
I knew I was in trouble when I lost the cool of the air. I looked at my right flank and saw the froth sliding away. You're supposed to stop when it goes to froth. Froth is your body's way of telling you that you're going out one way or another, and it might not be the way where you get to wake up again.
I thought about my spouse. I thought about the kids we're going to have. I picked up another load and got about twelve hoofsteps before the big bronze guy stopped me.
Easy to see him, even when I was losing everything else. Only metallic in the whole settled zone, and one's still more than you'd expect. I couldn't miss him, and I didn't. I just about walked right into him. I'm just lucky he moved a little before my horn put a dent in the muscle.
He told me to stop. I told him to get out of my way because that joist wasn't going to shore itself up.
He asked me what I knew about joists. I looked at his mark, which is an old-fashioned aqueduct because he's in charge of the waterworks. I told him I knew more than he did.
He snorted a little, then asked me what I knew about dying. And it wasn't a challenge, or starting a fight. He just pushed me back a little, and said he was going to walk me to the river because he wanted to make sure I didn't drift downstream if I died right there. They might lose the body and it would ruin somepony's water supply.
Never left the riverbank. Splashed some water across my back from there, until I was ready to come out. And when I did, he told me to go back to Mrs. Smith's barn. Maybe back to Canterlot.
I think he was saying something else, but that's when I got past him and lost the rest of the words in the hammering from the build site.
After that, I kept catching him watching me. A lot of them were watching after a while and when I got sick of it, I told a few that it was slowing things down and we all needed to put in the work. A couple started laughing. I went for another beam, and the bronze took the other end.
I barely made it to the end of the day. There was a bunch of them all around me on the way back to Mrs. Smith's, making sure I didn't fall over too far in any direction. They wanted to know how stupid I was. They were asking if every unicorn they got from now on was going to be that stupid.
Then one of them asked how much I was paying for mill construction.
If only half of the ones who talked to me over dinner actually show up, then I've got a real crew. I can let the stragglers go, or hope the others get them into shape. Maybe I can put a forepony on that.
I think I might have a forepony.
My horn still hurts.
I know I got here late. I know I wasn't there for the important stuff, when they all came together because they had to if they wanted to survive. I can't change that. But I can show them that I'm here now. I can be part of whatever happens going forward.
And I'm not going anywhere.
She took out the box.
She was aware that she shouldn't have or rather, that she shouldn't have been able to do it so readily. It was too vulnerable in the rental. She needed to find a place where she could truly secure it.
But it had been a long night, one which had nearly become morning. The little floor nest of blankets awaited her, and... so did something else. She had spoken with him again. She had won, because she had lived -- but there was a price to pay for that. The same price she'd paid the first time, and to use one of the potions might just keep her asleep. Trapping her with him as she sank into the sea of earth. Drowning.
So she opened the box. She looked at the contents for a while.
Eventually, her field carefully, tenderly removed a single piece. Brought it along as her body dropped down to the blankets, placed it on the pillow so that it would be the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes.
And thus guarded, she slept at last.