Fiddlefids
“There’s only one real rule for success out here, this close to the griffon war front, missy. Fiddlefids.”
It was the first thing Cashmere ever said to Needle Point when the young tailor began her apprenticeship with the older earth pony mare.
“Um, Fiddlefids?” she replied, obviously confused.
“Friends Don’t Let Friends Date Soldier Colts. It’s an acro thingy. Ignore the ‘c’.”
“An acronym?” Needle Point tried to work it out in her head. FDLFDS. Fiddlefids. The lightbulb of understanding went on in her head.
“Yeah, that. It’s my one rule. Follow that and your apprenticeship will go great.”
“Why that rule, though?”
“A soldier colt’s always gonna break your heart, little missy,” Cashmere replied. “Either they’re scum and have a wife in every town and outpost, or they’re golden, and promise to take care of you forever only to get split open by a griffon’s talons the next day.” There had been a sad sort of finality when Cashmere spoke that warned Needle Point from ever asking more.
Other than that one rule, living as an apprentice under Cashmere was surprisingly easy. The older mare had a wealth of sewing and tailoring experience, and Needle Point did her best to be a sponge, absorbing as many of the tricks of the trade as she could. She lived with Cashmere in the little apartment above her shop, and worked every day mending clothes and designing clothing for the spouses of the soldiers on the nearby outpost. It was everything her cutie mark had promised, and she was happy.
“Welcome to Cashmere’s Designs, I’ll be with you in one moment,” Needle Point called from the back room when she heard the bell ring. Cashmere was out picking them up some lunch, but after several months she trusted Needle Point to run the shop by herself.
Needle Point hastily put aside the repairs she was working on, rushing out to greet the customer in the shop.
It was a soldier colt.
A rather gorgeous soldier colt, with the sort of cyan eyes you could get lost in forever.
She’d met pretty soldiers before, but this one took the top spot. His wasn’t the beauty of arrogance, it was the casual cuteness of innocent, clueless grace. He was her age, with a black coat and a short blonde mane that was just the right amount of messy without even trying. His cyan eyes glanced about the store nervously, before finding hers, and his voice, pure stammering honey, flowed from nearly perfect lips.
“Um, sorry to bug you,” he ventured, his eyes darting about before finding the floor somewhere near her hooves. “Um, I need some thread.”
“Thread?” she said dumbly. Her brain was short-circuiting. Idly she brushed away a lock of her own red mane. “We have thread.”
“You do? Oh, g-good,” he stammered. He paused, silence filling the room. “Um, I need a spool of black-dyed polyester stitching thread. It has to be on a wooden spool, not metal.”
“Why does it matter what kind of spool it’s on?” Needle asked, bemused. He shuffled about, scratching one forehoof against another.
“It’s dumb,” he muttered, piquing Needle Point’s curiosity. She shifted closer to him, telling herself it was to hear his mumbled response, and not just to get a better look at that handsome face.
“You can tell me,” she encouraged.
“It’s silly, really. It’s a good luck thing. I’m a medic,” he motioned at the medic’s patch on his blue and gold military uniform. “But I’m also a tailor. I always carry a wooden spool of all-purpose thread with me, for good luck. You know,” he laughed nervously. “All-purpose thread for all-purpose luck.”
“That’s cute,” Needle giggled, and the soldier gave a small, worried smile as he glanced away. “I like it. Most of our thread is on metal spools, but I’ll take a look at what we have.”
Both ponies jumped when the door popped open, and Cashmere trotted inside. She clutched the handles of a bag of takeout in her mouth. Cashmere’s eyes widened as she noticed the two ponies, and how close they were standing. Needle Point flinched inwardly as Cashmere’s eyes narrowed.
Very deliberately, Cashmere stepped between the two young ponies, before setting lunch down on the shop’s front counter. She then turned a slightly cold gaze on the both of them.
“How can we help you today, colt?” she said with chilly politeness.
“Um, I’m just… er, maybe I should, I mean, if it’s a b-bother, then…”
“He was just looking for some thread, ma’am,” Needle Point offered. “He needs some polyester thread. On a wooden spool.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Cashmere glanced at him suspiciously, and he nodded before glancing back at the floor.
“It’s for a good luck charm,” Needle Point supplied, and Cashmere snorted.
“Good luck charm? You silly soldiers and your superstitions. Fine. Needle Point, we might have one or two wood spools in the back room, in the supply closet. Come help me look.”
“Um, okay. Wait right here, we’ll find your thread, mister…”
“Textile. I’m Lieutenant Textile, miss.”
“Okay, Lieutenant. We’ll be right back.” Needle couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto her muzzle as she followed Cashmere into the back room.
“He’s a tailor?” Cashmere whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. Needle Point nodded, and Cashmere sighed. “Kid, why were you flirting with him?”
“F-flirting?” Needle Point backed away from Cashmere in a startled jerk. “I wasn’t…”
“Oh yes you were, young miss,” Cashmere accused harsly, shaking a hoof at her apprentice. “Don’t you dare lie to me. No mare says ‘that’s cute’ and titters like a silly little songbird unless they’re flirting.”
“Flirting’s harmless, isn’t it?”
“Did you forget Fiddlefids?” Cashmere rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. You were too busy drowning in his eyes to know which way was up. No, flirting isn't harmless. Flirting with a soldier colt’s the path to heartbreak, young Needle. That’s why the rule exists.” Cashmere snorted loudly. “You’re lucky I showed up when I did. A few more minutes and you would have fallen too deep into those sky blues of his. So deep you would have never crawled back out again. He’d have you wrapped around his hooves, until he left you sobbing.”
“They can’t all be bad,” Needle Point stomped a hoof in frustration. “Besides, I was just…”
“No, they’re not all bad, and that’s the problem,” Cashmere interrupted. “The good ones are the worst. They end up in boxes under the dirt.” She snorted again, and yanked open a cupboard with almost violent haste. She rummaged around, her back to Needle Point, before retrieving a wooden spool of thread. “Here. I found his thread. Now go get rid of him before he breaks your heart, like every other soldier colt.”
“Who did you lose?” Needle Point clutched at the thread as she watched Cashmere’s expression go from angry to stricken. Cashmere’s eyes were distant, hazy and suddenly lost in time. She blinked, dashing at her eyes with one hoof before shaking her head.
“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. Needle Point stepped right up to her mentor, so they were almost nose to nose.
“Of course it does. It matters to you, and I’m your friend, so it matters to me.” She didn’t know if she’d ever called Cashmere her friend before. Always their relationship had been close but professional. But Cashmere drew a deep, shuddering breath before gently nuzzling the younger mare.
“Thanks, Needle. You’re a sweetheart.” She wiped at her eyes again, then impulsively grabbed Needle in a tight hug. “Sorry to weigh you down with old pony worries. It’s not your burden, young miss, so I won’t trouble you.”
“I’m not letting you off that easy,” Needle Point insisted as she squeezed Cashmere back in return. “But we don’t have to talk about it now. That poor colt is probably wondering what happened to us.”
The two of them trotted out of the back room, though Needle Point went first to give Cashmere a moment to collect herself and dry wet eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asked nervously, looking between the two mares with his gorgeous eyes. Needle Point had to resist a girlish sigh.
“Yes, sorry,” she said. “It just took us longer than we expected, and we couldn’t find pure black. Would dark navy work?” She held the wooden spool to him.
“Oh, yeah, I think so,” he said, taking the thread. He glanced it over, and a grin dusted across his features. “Yes, this will be great. Thanks. How many bits do I owe you?”
“On the house,” Cashmere muttered gruffly. Needle Point and Lieutenant Textile both stared at her in surprise, and she snorted. “What? It’s just a silly spool of thread. And you soldiers need all the good luck you can get out there. Take it.”
“I can’t…”
“Soldier colt, if you don’t take it, I’ll find out who your commanding officers are and tell them you were being rude to an old mare.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Lieutenant Textile’s hoof twitched, like he was about to salute. “Um, thanks so much! I know it’s silly, but this sort of thing…” he trailed off. “It reminds me of my grandma. She was a tailor, too. Gave me my first spool as a good luck charm, but I lost it last time we were in the field.”
“Hope this one works just as well,” Cashmere muttered. “Well, if that’s all, I’ve got work to do.” She practically fled back into the stockroom, leaving the two young ponies alone.
“Sorry about her,” Needle Point whispered with a grin. “She’s a good pony.”
“I can tell,” Lieutenant Textile said, smiling back. “She really reminds me of my grandma. She was a bit…” he lowered his voice even further, “... cranky as well. But Grandma always meant well.”
The two laughed together, before trailing off into an awkward silence.
“Well…”
“Um…”
They both spoke at the same time, blushed, then motioned for the other to continue. When neither one went first, Textile finally waved a hoof awkwardly.
“I should let you get back to your work. Thanks again, miss…”
“Oh! Needle Point is my name,” she said, embarrassed. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner.”
“It was wonderful to meet you, Miss Needle Point. Thanks again for…”
He was turning to leave as he spoke, but in his awkward stammering he wasn’t watching his hooves. One hoof caught on the cuff of the opposite hoof’s uniform as he turned, causing the medic to stumble and trip. Needle Point yelped as she jerked out of the way of the falling stallion, who tumbled to the ground with a grunt.
“Um, are you okay?” she ventured, leaning down to look closely at his face, which he hid beneath his hooves.
“Yeah, I think so. Though do you have a patch kit? You know, for small repairs?”
“A patch kit?” she asked, confused.
“Yeah, I think I just ruptured my dignity. I might need an emergency fix.”
She stared at him for a second before the joke hit, and started to laugh. After a moment, he let his hooves slip away from his burning face, and he joined in. Shaking her head, Needle Point reached out to help the clumsy Lieutenant to his hooves.
“Thanks,” he said. Much of the awkwardness had been washed away by their laughter. “H-hey, I was wondering…”
“Yes?” she prodded, when he went nervously silent.
“Would you be free? For, uh, dinner? Or lunch? Maybe next Saturday?” He locked his bright blue eyes on hers, and she froze, blinking, unable to look away. They were close, so very close to hers.
“Um, uh… well, you see, m-maybe if…” she stammered, suddenly unable to summon a coherent sentence.
“She has Saturday afternoon off,” Cashmere’s voice startled the both of them, and Needle Point jumped, jerking away from the stallion. “You can come pick her up at six. Dress up nice, colt, and you should probably bring flowers or I’ll be disappointed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Textile was bursting with excitement. This time he did salute, hoof to heart. “I’ll be here early.”
“You’d better. Now get out of my shop. There’s work to do, and you’re distracting my apprentice,” Cashmere grumped. He nodded, and with one last glance at Needle Point, complete with a heart-melting smile, he fled out the door with his spool and his date.
Needle Point was staring at Cashmere.
“What about Fiddlefids?” she asked, stunned and confused.
“Some things a pony has to learn for herself, first hoof, by diving in too deep,” Cashmere muttered with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, maybe we’ll have to adjust the rule. Friends don’t let friends date soldier colts. Unless they have eyes like his.”