There were those who said the world was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and there were ways in which the hoary declaration was true. It was just that those who said it tended to be loading up their life's plates with a fourth helping of hop shoots, while the ones they said it to had recently learned that the inner bark layer of most conifers was edible, doing so through the education of desperation. In terms of edibles only, the best things tended to be hoarded by those who could most readily gain access to them: it got all the worse when you kicked in any degree of economics. The world was a buffet, and those who declared it so kept their own plates full by making sure most of the population had to pick through the scraps. Also, for Equestria, the vast majority of said population was ponies and if anypony had complaints about what they got to put on their plates, then wild zone grass was free.
But there were ways of getting to the main course. And if you were very careful, you could reach the point where the elite would trample each other during the desperate rush to invite you in.
Fleur had worked out some of that fairly early. Creating the original finely-detailed plan for dealing with it had required some time, a significant portion of her puberty, and the utter destruction of her life. Something which had left her standing among the debris of her existence, trying to figure out if there was any way forward or rather, if there was any path which didn't lead straight down. She'd almost been looking forward to failing because at least that way, she would have been moving towards company.
But she'd remembered her lessons, starting with one of the most fundamental: if you were still alive, then you'd probably won and if you hadn't, then strictly speaking, you were still in the game. Add that to what she already knew and had recently learned of the world, followed by a glance at a reflective pool while she thought about all of it, end that with a long, aching regard of a recently-manifested mark... that had planted the first of the seeds. It had just taken some time before she'd found any shoot emerging from the soil, and waiting that out had meant dealing with a lot of living, half-sapient fertilizer.
She didn't think about that portion of her life very much. It was something between and in the use of that term, it existed as a counter to the realm of the same name which teleporters passed through on their journeys. There were times when you found yourself there from necessity and in Fleur's case, she wrapped herself in anything other than memory in order to get through it all the faster. There was no point to thinking about it, and... perhaps she could find some way of stopping the dreams.
Fleur generally didn't think about those years: there was seldom any real need.
(She'd been thinking about it more and more.)
(Ever since she'd been kicked into Ponyville.)
(Somepony had to pay for that.)
But she never forgot her lessons. The first sign that someone had neglected their teachings was
and then the sound stopped
a rather permanent one. Fleur took pride in her education, honored her teacher with every breath, and considered herself to be decidedly ahead of those ponies who treated their lives like an empty bowl which a dog was pushing around with their nose for the fifth time: after all, if you just kept sniffing at where food had once been, then more food had to show up.
But it didn't work that way. Life was an all-you-could-eat buffet: it was just that there were those who started out in front of the best serving stations, and they almost never moved enough to create space for anypony else. (There were also those who spent their existence acting as living blockades, because for any other pony to discover why hop shoots were so expensive would somehow devalue the vegetable forever.) If you had started near the sort of communal trough which had pigs questioning the quality of the contents, you had an obligation to reach the good stuff.
There was something special about working your way up and in. A certain deep pleasure came from knowing that the ones who felt nopony else had a right to the best plates had been forced into a position where they had no choice but to serve you.
It was a philosophy which could be applied to just about every facet of life. If possession was nine-tenths of the law, then getting others to give Fleur things obviously put her under the protection of majority rule. (In this view, the Solar Princess represented a clause buried under seventeen layers of subscripts written in steadily-shrinking fonts, where the only mare who knew about that particular trap was the one who'd written it in the first place. It was the sort of thing which could catch you once and after that, you went through life with a magnifying glass and some still-coalescing thoughts regarding replacement political systems.) Wanting something turned into a dual-layered process: you could work out the best means of earning your way towards it, or you could discover the identity of the current owner -- along with six reasons why they really didn't need it any more.
For most intents and purposes, being exiled to Ponyville had kicked Fleur back into the alley behind the restaurant -- but this time, she was surrounded by those who didn't seem to understand that acquiring a better plate was even possible. They had gone with the last resort of the desperate: contentment. Somehow, they'd convinced themselves that things were preferable this way: that more money and a higher social standing just meant extra problems. Why not be happy where you were, even when you could literally see something better on the eastern edge of the horizon? They were ponies who had chosen to spend their lives within a shadow cast by Sun, and they told themselves they were better off.
Fleur understood the concept of blinders, because she had once been made to wear them: panels of thick material strapped to the sides of her head, blocking out all peripheral vision. They were meant to keep the wearer completely focused on the path ahead, they made you utterly vulnerable to being blindsided, and just about everypony in Equestria seemed to exist with a pair attached to their brain at all times. They saw what they chose to perceive, they believed only what they wanted to, and the majority managed to do so without even buying into the even more ridiculous concept that poverty in life somehow built up wealth in the shadowlands.
Ponyville hadn't robbed Fleur of her soul's vision. She still understood how the world truly worked: she simply hadn't been fighting over scraps because she was better than that now. Rebuilding her web in Ponyville had been waylaid by the needs of her charge, but it was still something she intended to do eventually. But when you were surrounded by those who refused to believe that any mobility between stations was possible, who didn't understand iceberg lettuce was only edible on technicality and romaine was just around the corner -- there was an obligation to demonstrate the possibilities.
Also, she wasn't sure what Fluttershy had packed for dinner, the line hosted any number of ponies who'd set up their own version of a moveable feast and all things considered, anypony who couldn't say no while looking directly at her didn't have much of a claim to the mangoes anyway.
"...but..."
"I'll peel the skin off for you," Fleur offered. "The interior is safe for everypony, but it's possible to have a minor allergic reaction to the skin. You shouldn't be dealing with inflamed lips tonight, and since you've never had one before --"
As protests went, "...but..." was starting to feel as if it lacked in originality.
"-- we just won't take the chance." Fleur shrugged, then sniffed the air and began to trot forward again, confiscated fruits bobbing along in a field bubble just off her left flank: the increasingly-desperate pegasus was about two body lengths behind her styled tail. "By the way, do you know the rumor about the pegasus Guards on the Lunar shift? The one involving mangoes?" Because that seemed like something a Bearer might be familiar with.
It got her a "...but..."
Figures. Fleur would have appreciated having the matter resolved one way or another, but Fluttershy clearly wasn't going to be the one who provided the answer. However, having her charge moving among some of the parties Fleur wanted to schedule would require a grasp of basic Canterlot gossip, so... "It's two rumors, really. The first one --" and she couldn't fully suppress the snort, turned her head enough to aim it at the fence "-- claims there's a subspecies of pegasi. Something called a thestral, where the wings are closer to a bat's. And there's only a few of them in the world and somehow, all of them work as Princess Luna's Guards."
As topic changes went, it won Fleur the gift of an "...um..."
This snort was louder. "I know. What a coincidence! And the fact that nopony ever saw them until after the Return? Well, that's just because they were a national secret before then. Which somehow got kept for a thousand years." Which was why Fleur had never believed that side of the story: in Canterlot, the typical duration for keeping a secret was closer to five minutes. "But the second rumor says that even though ponies have seen a few around Princess Luna, thestrals don't really exist. It's an enchantment on the armor. An advanced illusion that covers up their normal wings, changes the look of their eyes, and keeps up with all of it in realtime as they move. But none of the ponies who wear that armor will admit it. Or that there's supposed to be a side effect."
Which brought them back to "...but..."
"Once they take it off? They crave mangoes. Do you like pomegranates? Because I can smell pomegranates --"
"...the mangoes aren't yours..."
Fleur stopped. The stately head slowly turned, and an artistically-rendered mane swayed with the movement.
"They were given to me," the escort stated. (Most of the frustration had been kept out.) "So they're mine now. That's how gifts work. We had this discussion --"
"-- the Canterlot ponies... sort of sent things because they wanted to," Fluttershy softly protested (and Fleur was briefly amazed that any degree of protest had been detectable by pony ears). "I didn't ask for any of it."
"I didn't ask for the mangoes," Fleur countered, just before inclining her lit horn towards the next field bubble. "Or the strawberries." With just a little pride, "And I saw you looking at the cherries. Even with greenhouses and earth ponies, you just don't expect to see cherries this far into autumn. So I thought -- "
"-- but you -- looked at them," emerged as something just above a whisper. "One after the other, at every campsite you stopped at. And... your hips..."
Fleur glanced back at her charge again, then carefully diverted the path: leading the way towards the other side of the road and its offered shadows. The pegasus hesitantly followed.
"The gifts came from Canterlot because those ponies wanted to know you better," Fleur finally stated from within the night-enhanced shade of an oak. (She was aware that ponies were still watching them, because there were two beautiful mares moving together through the night, and so watching was just about guaranteed. It made careful pitching of her words into something essential. Fortunately, Fluttershy's mastery of that art came pre-installed.) "They also wanted you to think well of them before you ever met, and with things like the new suture kit --"
travels too much
"-- it did the job. So if a pony gives me something because they believe it'll make me think better of them, that's their choice. It's the same principle."
"...your hips..." had either been designed to end the debate or had been the only thing Fluttershy had thought of.
She didn't have to force the little sigh. "Hips move. That's how trotting works. We still need to get a little more shift into yours. So let me peel this mango --"
"-- are you going to date any of them?"
The small field bubble paused less than a hoofwidth away from Fleur's horn.
"I don't know," felt like a fair answer. "I don't really know them." She still had very little concept for what most of Ponyville's residents might be able to do for her. It made picking difficult. And when it came to just picking somepony for sex -- she'd already made her choice for that, and -- Fleur was starting to wonder if extended droughts could affect the senses.
She'd had no trouble with hearing those whispers which hadn't been expert enough: little fantasies launched into the air around campfires in the hopes that something else might get a chance to burn. Scenting the food she most wanted her charge to try had been easy. But even with lighting as a variable, rendering some impressions darker and others brighter, when she'd closed in on her targets...
Maybe I just want to find her so badly, I'm seeing it everywhere.
...which probably means I'm going to four.
"But I appreciate the gifts," Fleur finished. "And maybe that'll make me think better of them."
"-- are you thinking about dating?"
The visible blue-green eye looked at Fleur. Waited through the unicorn's blink, and seemed ready to wait for a good duration beyond that.
"Not right now." It was an honest admission, and a painful one. Not until I at least find out what the Rich patriarch wants in a mate. "I just really haven't had time to date. It's been you and the cottage. And --" not without humor "-- I'm out of practice. When you spend all of your social time as an escort, you can almost forget how to have a normal date. You know somepony's overbooked when they kiss their date goodnight at the door and present them with the bill."
That eye closed for a second. Opened again, slowly.
Soft, even, almost measured neutrality. "...but you just invoice the palace, right?"
"For my time here?" The pegasus nodded, and Fleur let the confusion come partway into the open. "Yes. You know I get paid, Fluttershy. Helping you is my only assignment right now. I can't survive in Ponyville on nothing." And when she had been brought down to her normal escort's salary, a little free fruit didn't exactly hurt -- and even that was a downscale. Fleur had seldom needed to keep many edibles in her Canterlot rental because there was an endless procession of ponies buying her lunch and taking her to dinner, catered parties were the norm and sure, there weren't many breakfast assignments, but it was easier to pay for one meal per day than three. Especially when you knew that there would be three --
"...okay," Fluttershy softly said. "...escorts get paid. I knew that. I'll... try the mango now. If that's okay."
Moon-shadows rippled across two very different bodies. A tall, stately unicorn whose every move was measured, and a pegasus with slightly-oversized wings and the sort of tail which had been known to create fresh puzzle pieces just by showing up. Standing within a measure of darkness: something which meant each had to struggle somewhat to truly perceive the other.
"I'll peel it," the escort finally offered.
Touching the fruit with her lit horn created no fear: it was sharp, hard contact which triggered backlash. And as for piercing the skin... just about any unicorn could wound.
The fully-exposed result was floated over to her charge. Fleur watched.
"How is it?"
"...it's okay."
Which was almost offensive: tastes varied, but... "It's one of the most highly-regarded fruits in the world," Fleur defended. "It's on the same level as durian, only without being banned from just about everywhere on the continent. Just about everypony loves mangoes --"
"-- it's... okay," Fluttershy softly repeated. "Can we go back to the line? Not the tent. I... just want to see who else is here."
Fleur suspected that even with her charge's normal social reticence in play, Fluttershy would have recognized more ponies than the unicorn did: after all, it could be vitally important to know just who you were fleeing from. But the first identification was still made by the escort, although initial recognition didn't really hit until the undercoat of the pegasus mare near the green tent started to match the fabric's hue. The nausea which took over the features from there, however, was completely familiar.
The mare quickly turned to her two companions, hastily whispered. Four freshly-wincing eyes immediately looked at Fleur.
I'll have to do something about that. Unfortunately, a public lecture on international cuisine felt ill-timed. It's not fair. All I was doing was cooking. She maintained her pace, leading Fluttershy in the general direction of the next campfire. It didn't even come out right...
"...I see Twilight's tent," her charge softly reported.
"Where?" Because Fleur hadn't really spoken to the alicorn for a while, and if the insistently-titled Librarian had a few words waiting in still-new wings --
"-- four spaces ahead. The dark blue one," Fluttershy clarified. "But we shouldn't disturb her. There's no light glowing through the fabric, so she stopped reading and fell asleep. I don't want to wake her up. She needs rest more than she thinks she does, and when it comes to trotting the line with us, she's... not always good in social situations."
This slow turn possessed the fully-visible deliberate evaluation of a mare who was rather openly considering the statement's source.
"...she's better than she used to be," her charge quietly continued. "More than you might believe. When the Princess first sent her here --"
Fleur took a moment to regard the brief sting of empathy, then wondered whether she had a library visit in her future. Something where she could consult the tree's occupant on etymology. They could have a spirited discussion on the origins of 'Grimcess' --
"--she was... bad. Just..." Feathers very carefully failed to shiver. "...bad. And she got better. But after she changed... she went backwards a little. There's still a few ponies who see her in public and decide that they can go to a Princess with their problems. All she can usually do is show them the shelves which have the right case studies. So she stays in her tent a little more. And sometimes she falls asleep."
Fleur nodded, turned to face forward again. They both trotted a little closer, and she could hear her charge's wings shuddering under the weight of watching eyes.
Then there was a giggle.
"...she's not the only one."
Fleur, confusion fully hidden, tried to look --
-- the first thing which registered was the little reflections of light, and it gave her the wrong impression because they were very much like the sparkles produced by glitter which had been carefully sprinkled into white fur. It made her expect the owner of the soon-to-be-opened rival candy shop --- but she never saw him on that night. He hadn't been in town much longer than Fleur, might not have been told about the cider line, or possibly just found bowling alleys more to his liking.
But then she saw the source.
What was it that produced the highlights? There was a rumor which said that the species was capable of eating gems, and perhaps there was a biological process which carried the tiniest portions into new scales. If so, his diet was exceptionally rich in diamonds, for all of the tiny reflections produced by healthy luster were clear.
He was half-curled up in front of the campfire, because he had an extra need to stay warm. She hadn't been aware that they slept in that kind of curl. But it was something which helped to conserve body heat, and when it came to the tucked tail which was partially covering a hip -- there was no mark to hide. There never could be.
The crests began at the top of his head, ran down to near the tip of that tail. They had their own luster, and shifted slightly as he wriggled a little in his sleep. The right hand trembled, and claws uncurled from the palm. Reached out with the determined, half-mindless grip of those too deep in their nightscapes to know exactly what was wrong in the waking world, and failed to find what they were searching for.
He made a little sound in his failure, something like a half-frustrated 'snrk.' Wriggled a little more, getting that much closer to the heat.
"Oh..." Fleur softly said, and the spiny growths on that side of his head automatically twisted a little. There were three of them, independently segmented and jointed, which allowed movement in a way that could focus and magnify sound -- but it still wasn't enough to wake him up. "Oh..."
"...this really is... the first time you've seen him, isn't it?" She would have heard the concern in her charge's voice more easily if it wasn't for everything she was looking at. "...some ponies don't... react well when they see --"
The mare's horn, already ignited so as to carry an ever-increasing amount of food, visibly increased its lumen level.
"-- Fleur!" Half hiss, half gasp, and all desperation --
-- the newest projection carefully deposited the shaken-away blanket across scales. After a moment, it began to work on getting the edges properly tucked, and did so while the unicorn distantly wondered if the cat-wrapping article would have helped.
The blanket's recipient softly sighed in his sleep, and curled up more tightly into a warm ball of innocence.
"-- he's adorable," Fleur whispered. "Nopony ever said they were adorable..."
Her charge quietly trotted forward. Stopped when she was next to Fleur's right flank. Watching.
"...they -- aren't all like that," Fluttershy stated. "Or maybe they were, when they were young, and it's just about who helps them grow up. But he has the right ponies around him, I think. And..." It was possible to hear the smile. "...he's... the whole reason I spoke to Twilight, on that first day. Because I couldn't look at him and not want to talk. It was -- mostly just to him, though. She was getting really frustrated by the end, and I didn't spot that for --" The blush was beginning to underlight yellow fur. "-- a few days. But he was adorable. He still is. I think that if we're careful about how we all raise him together, maybe he always will be..."
There were a thousand questions which seemed to need asking, and Fleur narrowed the first choice down to "What color are his eyes?"
"...green. Darker than the crests. But they're also brighter."
He's just a child...
"What does his voice sound like?"
"...just like a colt of the same age. It's... a little strange, sometimes. Ponies can hear him before they see him, and... they don't expect a dragon. Nopony ever does, because there's been so few who lived with us. But he doesn't sound like they expect a dragon would. He's startled a few that way, especially when they're new in town. But he just... puts out his hand, claws curled in and knuckles out. Like a minotaur would. And he introduces himself, then asks what their name is. I think he must know as many names as Pinkie by now. He just... tries to make them see him. It works more than you might think. Sometimes, when you see one of them coming up to him afterwards, it works more than they might have thought..."
Fleur watched the little dragon sleep. Saw the eyes shifting behind the lids, and wondered what his nightscape was like.
"He's going to have his choice of mares when he grows up..." she announced --
-- her jaw slammed shut.
"...sorry?"
The word came across as an honest inquiry, and it still wasn't enough to keep the wince from trying to encroach on Fleur's features -- and worse, her makeup. "That was offensive. He'll be looking for another dragon --" and blinked. "-- where is he going to find one? And how? When you were telling me about him in Canterlot, you said he was the only dragon citizen in this generation! He's going to be --"
the only one of his kind
far from what could have been his home
raised by a different species
thinking as they do
not understanding his own kind because
what's around him is all he knows
"-- alone," Fleur softly finished. "He'll... he'll be..."
The soft feathers gently draped across her back.
"...what you just said? About his having a choice of mares when he grows up?"
She barely felt the contact. Maybe there's going to be another so-called assignment, years or decades from now. Another request to match the impossible...
"...it's okay to tell him that sometime," Fluttershy stated. "It'll... make him happy. He's Twilight's little brother, and he's a Bearer even if there isn't an Element called Protection, when there really should be -- but he's also sort of the little brother for all of us. Especially Rainbow, because she's the lone foal. She never had a sibling, and..." The pegasus softly sighed. "...it helps. To know he's happy."
The little dragon shifted a little more in his sleep. Fleur's corona automatically adjusted the blanket.
"...but for now," her charge finished, "just let him sleep. He's young, the youngest of us, and... that means it's hardest on him. He needs his rest..."
They met a number of ponies, and it took Fleur some time after the event to realize that it should have been more. There were some whom Fluttershy knew and Fleur hadn't met: clients who hadn't had any reason to visit the cottage lately. Others approached the unicorn first, and it was only the escort's presence which kept the pegasus on the ground -- along with a hoof carefully, subtly hovering over the incredible tail. There were ponies approaching them for any number of reasons -- but the most prevalent was because beauty had its own gravity.
Quite a few ponies came up to them. But when Fleur looked back, she realized how many there should have been. It would take only a little more effort to bring back expressions which the firelight had blinded her to...
(She would try to blame the firelight, from the apex of the bridge. There were any number of things she tried to blame, and the grand total for the desperate equation would always add up to herself.)
Of course, there were ponies whom she had no intention of speaking with. Fleur kept her trot absolutely steady as she passed Miranda Rights or rather, the blotch of shadow near a shabby sort of single-occupancy tent: one where she needed an extra second to spot the outline of a horn. As she'd predicted during their first meeting, the police chief's fur had a way of blending into Moon-shadows. Something which normally wouldn't give Fleur trouble in spotting her regardless -- but with Fluttershy in close proximity, the necessary sense was still shut down.
She didn't even bother with a tail flick as she passed. A tail flick would have meant she cared enough to do something, and the minimal weight of the green-grey stare went fully unacknowledged.
Sweetbark wasn't there. It was a pity. Fleur had sixteen withering openers on standby.
There were two other Bearers holding places in the line. Strictly speaking, one was above it: a cyan foreleg hung limply over the edge of what Fleur judged to be a rather well-molded swagger lair, and little snores were the only things which reached the ground. There was some extra space around the little cloud: Fluttershy carefully informed Fleur that this was due to lingering memories from Rainbow's first year in the line, which had apparently seen the weather coordinator decide the best way to reach the front in a hurry was through raining out everypony between her and the cider: a process which had only ended when the forward edge of the unscheduled downpour had touched orange fur. There seemed to be a long and storied pre-Bearer history between Rainbow and Applejack, most of which ended in kicks.
Pinkie wasn't actually present. Fluttershy indicated the placeholder tent, then explained the problem: baker's hours. Sugarcube Corner would be preparing product well before dawn, and that meant Pinkie couldn't spend the full night in line without cutting the workforce by a third. She had shown up, probably partied for a while, and then headed back to Ponyville. Laughter would streak across the horizon towards dawn, moving at the speed of instinct and, according to Fluttershy, leaving with a lot of oddly-balanced mugs -- plus a few foal bottles, because the Cakes had twins.
Fleur was the one who spotted Caramel, and turned out to be the only one who did so because after Fluttershy started to come into viewing range, the teeth which were hastily pulling the tent flap shut weren't distinctive enough to be identified. He was feeling better, and had managed to own enough of the humilation to begin some degree of recovery -- but it didn't mean he was ready to speak with that evening's most direct witness.
Looking back... Fleur had considered Fluttershy to be making real progress. They certainly wound up roaming the line longer than Fleur had believed they would, even with carefully-hoofticured steps making most of the decisions on where they would stop. If Fluttershy hadn't spotted a client whose companion was due to be scheduled for a visit, then Fleur was on the lookout for expensive tents. Anything which had a few enchantments built in, or even a little copper-channeled temperature regulation -- although unicorn senses were incapable of picking up on the latter, and Fleur generally wound up looking for the subtle lines of wire running between layers of fabric. Beyond that, she was checking for the best ingredients being used at the cookouts because when you treated life as a buffet, then you wanted to make sure the chefs were working with quality.
Of course, she didn't eat at every stop. Some of the best spreads were being created by couples, and using her skills there was guaranteed to offend somepony. Additionally, there was only so much she could eat, especially knowing that Fluttershy still intended to prepare -- something -- once they got back to that tent, and an escort always had to maintain their figure. Fleur wasn't among those who had clients expecting her to keep her weight up, and that put an absolute cap on what she could consume at any session. It was easier for Fluttershy to enjoy the sampling at those stops, and just about impossible to make her charge actually do so -- even when ponies were openly determined to nose food towards the yellow snout. It was a frustrating reminder that there were those who had to be convinced they had a right to eat at all, added another future lesson to her charge's seemingly-endless schedule --
-- but they still moved along the line for a surprising amount of time. Fleur was invited to fill in with a board game which didn't have a player for the north edge, quickly realized that it was all about dominating the competition, wound up trouncing everypony, and lost most of the insincere congratulations while trying to blink another unexpected intrusion away from her eyes. By contrast, every card-based event in the area carefully draped tails across any gaps as the mares approached. The unicorn didn't understand that and when she glanced at her charge to figure out what was going on, found the half-visible features unreadable behind manefall.
As far as Fleur was concerned, the night didn't do anything for Fluttershy's future romantic prospects. Nopony seemed as if they would be suitable on displayed personality or economics alone, and her talent would need privacy before exerting itself. But it did seem to show how far the pegasus had come, just by being a voluntary part of it.
They wandered the length of the line, or as close to it as endurance and an ever-increasing number of tents would allow. (At one point, Fleur swore they were a fourth of the way back to Ponyville and Fluttershy, who was much more familiar with the area, carefully suggested that it was closer to a sixth.) But every hoofstep outbound had to be matched by one going back, and so they eventually turned around.
The fast-cooker was carefully unpacked, and Fleur instructed Fluttershy on its use. This rapidly led to discovering that the pegasus had wanted to try making rutabaga fries. (Fleur spent several desperate breaths in wishing she'd learned that unfortunate fact a little sooner, all of which still involved having to smell the results.) The hardest part of burying the remains was the scraping of the necessary trench, and it still took a while before either of them were convinced that the lingering odor wasn't being produced by high-speed decomposition.
And then Fluttershy nosed the tent flap open.
"...I'm going to read for a while," her charge announced. "...I want to make sure I finish this article before I meet Rarity at the spa."
"I was expecting to see her tonight," Fleur reluctantly admitted. She'd been looking for the single gaudiest tent --
"...she likes cider, but... the secondary schools have their Fall Formals coming up. The Boutique offers dress rentals. So this is when she has to do some extra design work, because she likes to have a few things just for the kids. The sizing is a little more awkward, and keeping up with the junior trends..." Fluttershy sighed. "...it'll be a really long spa session."
For lack of any better public response, Fleur nodded. The pegasus went into the tent, with the incredibly full tail swaying slightly as it crossed the threshold and then kept right on doing so.
All right. It's already been a long night. Which, as admissions went, felt embarrassing: by Fleur's Moon-aided estimate, it was barely an hour past midnight. She hadn't been away from her escort's schedule for that long. I should be able to go longer than this, especially if I can find some wake-up juice...
But it had been a typical workday at the cottage, with 'typical' being swapped in for 'exhausting'.
I could still try to tour the line a little more. Which was naturally when the first yawn tried to press itself against the back of her teeth. Or I can just head back to the rental now. Get some sleep, then come back in the morning --
-- a well-shaped snout poked out of the tent.
"...come in?"
Fleur blinked.
"...you should read the article too," Fluttershy explained. "...since you're probably going to need it."
"On cat wrapping? You can talk them out of swiping. You said so --"
"...when I'm there." Softly, "I'm not always. There could be another mission. More than one. And you could say the article is best for unicorns, since it's a little harder to do it all by mouth without getting clawed. So you'll be at the cottage, and there might be an angry cat. I don't want you getting clawed. It would be... really hard on your makeup."
It wasn't exactly a good attempt at a joke, and it still felt as if Fluttershy had earned a smile. "I can just hold them in my field --"
"-- and having claws scratching at the inside is really uncomfortable. So you should read the article."
Fleur thought it over. It probably wouldn't hurt, unless the boredom produced by excessively-dry journal writing produced attention dehydration. But --
-- she's expecting me to be there.
"Where else am I ever going to be?"
It's moons yet. Moons at the minimum. Just finding somepony for her, getting her to the point where she'll try to have sex, even with a fast pregnancy... moons.
But she's expecting me to be there...
It took a few seconds for those thoughts: the initial crossing of her mind, added to several circuits as the same concept insisted on going around over and over again. Long enough for Fluttershy to notice the delay. But there was a chance that her charge was used to silence on the other end of conversations, and... she was just watching Fleur. Waiting.
"I can come in for a little while," Fleur finally said. "But I can take the article back with me."
"...we can read it together."
"Our paces won't match --"
"...you're right," Fluttershy considered. "...I'm probably much faster. Because there's a lot of journals to get through every moon." With the smallest of smiles, "...even Twilight was impressed, once she thought about it. And finally got to see me reading something. But I can wait for you."
She wasn't sure whether she was supposed to feel insulted by that.
Well, at least the inside of the tent can't possibly be as bad as the outside --
It was worse.
The little glowing device near the apex lit the area with soft white, bringing the illumination to a comfortable reading level. She could readily see that there were no extra fire scorch marks on the inner surface of the fabric. However, the bloodstain substituted nicely.
Fluttershy had arranged a patch of blankets near the center of the three-pony tent. It was big enough for two mares to rest near each other comfortably, and it wasn't quite sufficient to cover the full extent of the discoloration around the edge.
"What happened?" She was fully expecting to be told the answer was classified, which would allow most of the definition-narrowing work to be done by the upcoming nightmares. "And I mean the blood on the floor --"
"...I've been having trouble getting it to wash out," Fluttershy confessed. "Rarity knows a cloth-cleaning spell because... well, because Rarity. But it doesn't work very well with blood..."
"Fluttershy --"
"-- it wasn't any of us," her charge softly said. "I found a wounded bobcat. Most of the time during missions, I don't have what I need to help, or I find the ones where -- there's only one kind of help left. That time, with Spike sterilizing some of Rarity's needles... I had enough. She stayed with us for the rest of the mission, and then she came back with me. You met her, on your very first day. She's still trying to decide if she wants to go home. Her instincts say that's where she belongs, but... she's become comfortable with the cottage. It's... not always a bad thing."
She brought back the memory, considered both the maximum potential size of the bloodstain and how healthy the little predator had looked. "All right." Fleur moved forward, turned carefully within the limited height of the tent, and settled down near Fluttershy. It was a position which left her on the patch of blankets (and she automatically shifted a little, trying to smooth out the portion under her barrel), but didn't have her in contact with her charge. Most pegasi liked to have a little space between their flanks and any companions, just in case. You had to know a pegasus very well before you could just rest against their wings -- or you had to be an escort: the second condition had been the prevailing one, although some of her clients had believed it to be the first. (And for those with the most interesting pieces, they had been right. She had known them very well.) Even then, you had to be careful about pressure.
Fluttershy nosed the journal, moving it to where they could both regard the contents: some additional tooth work brought it to the relevant page. Fleur looked down, and was instantly bored.
There was a length of cloth. There was also a cat. Basic deduction seemed to indicate a rather limited number of ways in which the two could interact, and the step-by-step illustrations were determined to prove logic wrong. There was a wrapping for complete immobilization, and it happened to be one which presumed the pony doing the wrapping would want the feline to continue breathing: this indicated the possibility for biting to take over. However, there were also times when the goal would be to leave the head exposed and have a wounded section visible. This could be a limb, the tail, part of the belly, you probably weren't going to be so lucky as to have it be the head...
It meant there was a variant for pretty much any part of a feline which could suffer an injury, which at least left the ego out.
Half of this is basic intuition. She forced herself to focus on the minimal wording, which led to self-correction: she'd been rounding down.
"Fluttershy --"
"...I know it's not very exciting," the vet said. "But it's necessary. I've seen other articles written by this author. He usually gets to tell more of a story with them. But I would trust Mr. Hareiot to wrap a cat. And... more than that." A little more softly, "Sometimes I hope for missions which take us to specific places. I'd like to see the ocean one day. And if I went to Trottingham, I could meet him. But then I remember that a mission usually means something bad happening, and I shouldn't wish for that. But they're just thoughts. You don't always have them when you want to."
"Did you ever have a mission like that?" Quickly, "I'm not asking for details. Just whether there was one which took you somewhere you'd always wanted to be."
The journal began to sneak up on its second printing.
"...I had... an old friend," the pegasus finally stated. "I never got to see him for as long as I wanted, because he was so busy. The cottage... it was hard for me to travel, and he knew it. So he came to see me. I thought... it would be so nice if I could go see him, just once. So there was a mission, and... it was in his town. We.... stayed for a few days, and we were staying with him..."
She used the word because it was one of her charge's favorites. It was a word which had a few presumptions built into it: that the mission hadn't hurt Fluttershy's friend, damaged the town, or done any other form of permanent harm -- but it was a word which might still have the dubious comfort of familiarity. "That sounds nice."
The silence pressed against her fur.
"...no," Fluttershy said. "It wasn't. You can turn the page when you're ready."
More illustrations went by.
Then they began to blur.
Cats. Wrappings. Variations. One of the cats was exceptionally large, very fuzzy, and seemed to be genially falling asleep on the whole thing.
Fleur's head jerked to the left.
I need to head back.
Fluttershy was still reading.
I shouldn't be this tired. I'm out of escort conditioning. I didn't think it would fade that fast.
Another page went by. Her body was starting to slump to the side.
I can just step outside and find some wake-up juice. And probably get half-blinded again. I just can't fall asleep here. If it happens --
All she had to do was stand up. She was a pony, or at least that was what her body kept insisting. She had four legs. Four legs was enough to stand up with. It was also twice the allotment which bipeds needed to use for the same effect, and this suddenly seemed to be horribly unfair.
-- where Fluttershy can see, where anypony can see --
The pictures were blurring. One of the distortions looked like the film's idea of a centaur. She wondered how they got up. There were still four legs, but there were also arms. The arms weren't long enough to reach the ground, so they couldn't push off. Maybe if there was a table in front of it for leverage...
-- I shouldn't be this tired.
I have to get up. Right now.
If I close my eyes and focus for a second, I can find the strength to get up.
If you had to wake up to the sound of somepony's voice, then there were certainly worse ones. The stallion's natural tones were fairly deep, and the accent was lighter than that of his siblings. There was a certain bemusement to his words, along with an underlayer which suggested he had a long day of work ahead and he was going to take all of the bemusement he could get.
"And good morning to you two," the red-furred face declared as it poked through the flaps --
-- when it came to having a stranger intrude on a sleeping space, Fleur had what she considered to be a perfectly natural response, and it immediately clamped down on the strong jaw.
"HEY!" the stallion completely failed to declare. Earth pony strength was already exerting itself in an effort to get free, and he was a powerful specimen -- but there was only so much jaw muscles could be expected to do. Fleur was capable of managing her own weight, and most of that strength was being applied to a relatively small area. Another second, and she would be able to --
-- the unicorn blinked.
"Sorry." The field winked out. "You startled me."
The stallion's left forehoof came up. Rubbed against his jaw a few times.
"Right," the stallion eventually said. "We ain't been introduced, have we? Macintosh. AJ's brother. Fluttershy, you okay there?"
Wings flared, tried to stretch, and found absolutely no space available on one side: Fleur automatically shifted away. "...I'm fine. I was just up late."
"That means something coming from you," Macintosh decided. "You gonna be okay for the line?"
"...yes. I was just thinking about some things. Longer than I probably should have."
They were talking freely, as stallion and mare. It would have meant a lot if Fleur hadn't already known the stallion was never going to be interested. "Do you go around waking everypony up, or is this a special Bearer service?" She was still somewhat miffed about having been startled --
--I fell asleep in the tent.
Next to Fluttershy.
And nothing happened.
She could remember her dreams: she almost always did. But there hadn't been any nightmares in the group. Nothing which had made her shift in her sleep, much less woken her up --
-- all right. I slipped up. I can't let that happen again. I just happened to get lucky at the same time. Luck happened: Fleur was willing to admit that. But the only thing you could ever count on it for was running out.
"Special Bearer service," the stallion grinned. "Applejack wanted Fluttershy up in time to have breakfast. Which is dumplings."
"...I wasn't going to make..."
The right forehoof nudged the plate through the flaps.
Fleur made her next mistake. She inhaled.
"Where did you get that recipe?"
"It'd be mean to say I took it from a safe," Macintosh smiled. "'cause that gives ponies hope. You can break into a safe. Heads are harder. Eat up, both of you. Line's gonna be moving soon."
"I know that was brown sugar. There's no other way to get that kind of caramelization. But there was fresh vanilla in there. I know they're earth ponies, but they're managing vanilla? In this climate? And how are they getting the nutmeg?"
"...Fleur..."
"You almost never see nutmeg! Because ponies think it's poisonous!" She paused, glanced up at Sun and found exactly as much support as she'd been expecting. "All right: it is. Just not in the quantities anypony would use for cooking. You'd need to use more than a grind of nutmeg before anything bad happened. It's just not something most ponies understand --"
"-- Fleur, the line's moving..."
The unicorn kept the grumble internal, because she'd already had to redo her makeup after waking and didn't need another disruption. (Macintosh had seen her slightly out of sorts, but -- he didn't care.) It left 'move forward' as the only option remaining.
The line was moving smoothly, and doing so through a center aisle of sorts: away from the tents (which would be packed up after the purchase), but not quite at the other side of the road. It allowed Fleur a clear, thankfully short-range view of the booth which represented the goal, and the dozens of barrels stacked up behind it.
The booth was a four-pony operation. An elderly green earth pony took money and made change, because that was the job which had the least movement involved: her occasional shifts showed Fleur that she was favoring one hip. Applejack was in charge of dispensing: Fleur hadn't gotten a glimpse of the drink itself through shifting pony bodies, but she had seen the storage medium: large, sturdy wooden mugs with one-size-fits-most hoof loops. Several upended empty barrels had been placed along the road, because the family was going to need those mugs back.
Macintosh was moving fresh barrels up to the dispensing area, and was doing so with help.
And that's why I had to hire a temporary.
It might have counted as a date: Fluttershy had said a few words about that since Nightmare Night. Very few -- but it had been enough to tell Fleur that Applejack liked to have the occasional working date. She labored alongside the pony she'd chosen, and apparently took pleasure in watching him keep up. In Fleur's case, she just got to watch a hovering Snowflake remove barrels from the top of the stack with a four-leg press and fly them down to Macintosh's waiting back: the constant refrain of How? did nothing to interrupt the process.
He also occasionally assisted with kicking in a fresh tap. It was something which brought him close enough for Applejack to nuzzle.
Ponies shifted forward. Ponies staggered back, slightly unbalanced by a newly-liquid core.
"It's not alcoholic?" Even for an escort on a job, it was far too early for day drinking.
"...it can be," Fluttershy offered as they took a few more hoofsteps forward. "But she doesn't serve that one until midwinter. It takes extra time. And there's no line, because you should never drink alcohol outside when it's really cold. She and Berry have an agreement, where Applejack is just the guest bartender for a night. This is... meant for everypony."
She still hadn't seen the drink itself. Ponies who purchased mugs were consuming the contents on the spot, while others were nosing full barrels towards their tents. But she could smell it. It was, at best, mostly apples. There were cloves in there somewhere, and she could swear cinnamon had been used. Ginger seemed to be present, but only in a very small quantity --
"...move, Fleur."
She tried not to fume. She moved, and moved again --
"-- an' here they are! Fresh barrel, you two!" Applejack called out to the stallions. "'cause this one's gettin' her first taste! Standard order for you, 'Shy? Ah can have the barrel delivered before Sun gets lowered."
"...yes," the pegasus softly replied. "And two mugs for me, for here. Fleur?"
She wasn't sure. The scent wasn't bad, but that didn't always speak to the taste. Coffee smelled good and if you decided that made it worth drinking, then you were just about guaranteed to never make that mistake again. "Let me think..."
"Ponies behind you, Fleur," Applejack pleasantly stated. "Don't think too long. The line gets upset." Two mugs were carried over to the recently-arrived barrel --
-- Fleur stared.
It was as close as she'd been to the scent, and that wasn't what nearly made her pull back. It was just the same problem she had with beer. At a wine-tasting party in Canterlot, you took sips and if you were a professional wine taster, you then tried to find some way of spitting which didn't make you look stupid: it could be presumed that you were going to fail. Beer foamed. Lower your snout toward a foaming mug and every strand of fur would be saturated. Fleur didn't drink beer because doing so in public ruined a portion of her cosmetics. Cider had just as much of a head on the top, trying to move liquids with a field just had them tangle in the borders, and there wasn't a straw in sight...
Maybe I can sort of press down the foam. By breathing on it really hard. Or it might be possible to drink it so fast that the damage gets minimized.
Applejack likes me. I might be able to make a gallop for her house and use the bathroom to put everything back together. She has to have a mirror. The fur around those freckle-spots doesn't trim itself. Also, I could get into the kitchen and check the spice cabinet. Carefully.
Or I could just say I don't want any.
Except that I effectively traded this for Fluttershy's first major Canterlot party...
"One to start," the escort reluctantly said. "I'll see how it goes after that. And I might need to use your bathroom."
"Got stations set up along the line," the farmer replied, grin strengthening with each word. "But Ah'm guessin' y'want one which ain't been used by double-digits before you. No problem there, Fleur. One t' start."
Bits were transferred. Foam swelled. Fleur watched it carefully, just in case the rising tide decided to try a rushing attack.
She risked a glance at Fluttershy, curious as to how her charge was dealing with it, and saw the second empty mug being placed on the booth's counter. By the time she looked back, her own was in front of her. Waiting.
Fine. Hoof loop: I can't control where any drippings land when I release my field. Just swallow and go.
There were all kinds of sexual comparisons which could have been made and in the name of completing the action, Fleur was trying to avoid all of them. It was mostly successful until the instant when the concoction reached her tongue, because drinking cider for the first time was exactly like having sex.
...for the first time.
There were many ways to view that. In Fleur's case, this meant there had been a huge buildup. All of those around her had talked about all the times they'd done it, along with how wonderful it was. Sheer peer pressure almost forced her into finding out for herself. And after all of the anticipation, it had been mere seconds before her partner was completely spent. There had been the smallest hint of sensory joy, some suggestion that the action would have been a pleasurable one if only more time and care had been put in -- but overall, the whole thing had been so disappointing --
She put the empty mug down.
"One more. Maybe two."
-- as to give her no choice but to immediately try it again.