//------------------------------// // 16. Hearth's Warning Presence // Story: The Substitute Librarian // by Georg //------------------------------// The Substitute Librarian Hearth’s Warning Presence Morning sunlight reflecting through the library skylights had a way of communicating that mothers could only envy. The glitter and shine said quite plainly that although it was nippy out on the main floor of the library, he was not going to get any more sleep, and it would not get any warmer until some lazy green sot got his hairy rump off the couch and put a log onto the low embers of last night’s fire. So he did, although with a few complaints and yawns. “I could get used to this,” Emerald muttered as he left the couch cover across his shoulders for warmth while doing the morning chores, which included putting the cushions into the center of the room. “Wonder if Twilight Sparkle needs a live-in housekeeper on a more permanent basis. Living in a library is great. Naa, Mother would only try to set us up, and I’d put the dragon out of his job. He probably doesn’t even need to use the stove for tea,” he added while putting on the kettle. It gave him something to think about, although slowly, while the kettle warmed up, also slowly. Dry winter cold with a fireplace was far better than the wet cold with a stopped-up nose and failed central non-heat. Although it might be worth it with a warm librarian in his bed. Having Twilight Sparkle as a spouse would be a dramatic change in his life, but some things would probably remain much the same, like making tea, or… No, that was about it. Although the life of a Bearer involved a lot of travel with her out getting into trouble while he stayed safe and warm in the library, so that was a plus. After all, whatever could happen in a library? There was a solid thump from the other room, so Emerald turned off the kettle and scurried out to help Derpy stand back up from where she had crashed through the library skylights into the couch cushions again. “Good Morning, Miss Doo. Not much for incoming mail today, I see. If you have some time, I’ve got a rush order for a bookstore in Canterlot. With tip,” he added. “Oh, and the letter for Manehattan can go by regular post.” “Thanks!” Derpy stuffed the letters into her saddlebags after a brief inspection and collecting a short stack of bits. “I should be able to get your order back here before the Hearth’s Warming play this evening. Do you want to come to my house afterward?” “Sure,” said Emerald, half-occupied by putting the couch back together and only looking up when the library front door closed behind the mailmare. “Wait. Are you…” It didn’t seem like the invitation for a romantic interlude, although he vaguely knew that the cross-eyed mare was single with two unicorn children, one of which just had to be adopted or just a renter because she was almost as old as Derpy. By the time he reached the door to call out a question, mail and mare was long gone, and he settled for flipping the ‘open’ sign over for the library and unlocking the security wards. He thought about the ‘date’ while putting the mail where it belonged and visiting the bathroom for some delayed tooth-brushing, but nothing came to mind until he came back out into the main room and saw Scootaloo impatiently waiting in the doorway. “Oh, that’s right. I promised to help you cash a voucher at the bank.” Nopony would mind the library opening a little late on Hearth’s Warming Eve, so he flipped the ‘Closed’ sign over, put his brother’s warm coat back on, and braced himself for a brisk morning stroll, which rapidly turned into a much faster pace to keep up with Scootaloo. “Must be a pain to have your parents take off for Hearth’s Warming,” said Emerald once they got their trotting velocity matched. “Are you staying with relatives until they get back?” “Yes!” said Scootaloo far too abruptly, which made Emerald bite back any further questions in that direction. Obviously, if the young pegasus had relatives in town, they could help her cash the vouchers and she would not need to borrow a visiting librarian for the task. She was probably sneaking over to a friend’s house like Emerald tried to do when he was that age. Of course, it would have helped if he had more than one or two young friends in Canterlot who did not just pretend to like him for his family connections. “I’m glad your family trusts you with money,” he said instead. “I didn’t get my own money until I was most of the way through school, other than what I found on the ground.” Or hustled. The little pegasus swelled up so much that Emerald thought she was about to start floating. “I’m very responsible,” she started in what was probably going to be a long line of self-promotion. “So why don’t you have a bank account so you can cash your own vouchers?” he asked, feeling vaguely dirty for having stepped on her lines like that, and even dirtier when Scootaloo did not respond while they trotted along. “Your parents are probably too busy when they’re in town, I suppose. Well, since you’re so responsible, we might as well get your account set up today.” “Really?” The way Scootaloo reinflated after deflating was making Emerald think she was more pufferfish than pegasus, although she slowly lost her eager attitude as they approached the bank’s front doors. The reason was obvious. “I’m sorry,” said the well-dressed pony at the top of the stairs in a tone of voice that indicated no sorry at all. “Scootaloo is banned from the bank.” “She has bits to deposit in an account,” countered Emerald. “She doesn’t have an account,” said the banker. “She will by the time we’re done,” said Emerald, taking a bit of satisfaction at the wavering of the obstructive clerk at the concept of incoming money. “She doesn’t have any bits,” started the clerk, only to stop when Scootaloo dug into her saddlebags and brought out several cash vouchers, which he accepted and examined carefully. “They’re forgeries.” “Oh, really?” Emerald took a step forward and let his smile fade. “Let’s send for Miranda, then. Since the bank is misidentifying documents and slandering citizens, let’s get her professional opinion. If you’re right, she can take this young filly off to prison. And when you’re wrong…” He slowly changed to a frown and took another step forward into the clerk’s comfort zone. “Putting forth unproven accusations of criminal behavior is legally actionable slander. And against a child. Would you care to explain to a jury just why a banking official would leap to this kind of ridiculous accusation. And worse, the damage to the bank would be substantial, both in reputation and in any civil lawsuit.” It was unfair. Emerald had far too much experience watching his father engage in vicious business negotiations with some real heavy hitters, and he had soaked up the approaches like a bitter sponge. It felt good to press the point without the risk involved in pressuring a griffon or minotaur, but not so good that he didn’t think about the upcoming day of peace and harmony that he was stomping all over just to help cash some vouchers. Also, he had already used his Ponyville trip to snap at an elderly yak and ruin the morning for some young banking clerk, so he forced a pleasant smile onto his face, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Rather than disturb the neighborhood, how about we take this inside your office for a more polite discussion, Mister…?” “Pfenning,” said the young earth pony, who looked relieved at the offer. There were more than a few curious looks cast in their direction as they followed the banker into his office, and Emerald was not sure if it was because of his own growing reputation or Scootaloo’s membership in the Cutie Mark Crusaders. It had been a few weeks since Emerald had visited Ponyville, so perhaps the Crusaders had managed another of their dramatic disasters⁽*⁾ while he was not looking. (*) Five, actually. — The mental image almost tempted him to rent a small apartment in Ponyville as a hidy-hole and observation post. It would also let him duck out on uncomfortable social events in Canterlot without having to trust that one of Twilight Sparkle’s disasters would coincidentally match up with his own. Of course, keeping him up to date on any local gossip was not worth the danger of actually meeting Twilight Sparkle or being set up by her friends the same way his parents constantly tried to set him up, so the idea was going nowhere. He remained quiet while Mr. Pfenning examined the cash vouchers on the banker’s desk, and shushed Scootaloo when she started to speak up. Silence was important at this stage in a negotiation, even if merely opening a bank account was not supposed to be an exercise in power politics, or involve a large magnifying glass. “I apologize,” said Pfenning, placing the cash vouchers down on his desk. “The security seals and embedded threads all verify.” “So Scootaloo can open her account,” said Emerald without phrasing it as a question. “If she uses the trot-up window for future transactions, or brings a responsible adult with her.” Pfenning brought out his abacus and clicked through several lines of beads while Emerald tried not to think of the implications of ‘responsible’ in the restrictions. He had spent most of his life avoiding responsibilities, after all. “Is this all of the initial deposit?” Pfenning sorted through the slips of thick paper. “You are slightly short of the required account minimum.” Since the discussion was supposedly between the clerk and Scootaloo, Emerald had been trying to stay out of it, but it was rapidly becoming obvious that things would not go her way unless he stepped in. “Just a moment,” said Emerald. “Scootaloo, could you go over to the counter for a moment and pick up a pair of lollipops? I’d like to speak with Mister Pfenning privately.” Once the young pegasus was out the door and Emerald checked to make sure she was out of earshot, he turned to the clerk. “I’ll make up the difference so she can open the account. Just don’t tell her.” “You’re not an account holder at the bank,” started Pfenning as Emerald began nosing into his brother’s coat pocket. “We can’t accept—” There was a quiet thunk as Emerald put a gem on the table. “Got it from my brother,” he explained, which was not exactly a lie since Regal had left a pocket full of them in the coat he had loaned to his baby brother. “He likes to think of himself as a heavy tipper. Or do you need another one,” he added while rummaging around the coat pocket and eventually producing another gem. “You could start an account also,” said Pfenning, gaining verbal velocity without taking his eyes off the gems. “That would allow you to do an interfund transfer, as well as deposit your earnings as a librarian.” * * * Scootaloo was unusually quiet as they left the bank, although most of that could be excused by the two lollipops she had stuffed in her mouth. At least she had waited to start on the candy until after the paperwork had been signed and Emerald had reclaimed⁽¹⁾ his quill. With the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ reputation, Emerald had nearly expected some sort of explosion or fire during the whole process, and from the intense inspection from the bank employees, they obviously had also. (1) The bank rented quills by the minute with a substantial usage deposit, but Emerald was cheap. — Even Mr. Croseus had joined in the observation of their new depositors, making Emerald feel a little like a bacterium under a microscope. The bank owner was the model of a pinch-smidgen miser, from his pinched cheeks, a pinched expression, and a whole lot of other pinched in one skinny package. It felt good to get out from under his squint, although Emerald was starting to get a matching squint from his young companion. “What gives?” asked Emerald. “Nothing,” muttered Scootaloo, looking away while she reduced the remainder of the lollipops to shards in a series of crunches. “You’re too young to be ‘nothinging’ already,” said Emerald. “Are you upset that the bank won’t let you take a withdrawal out of your account for a week? You know they have to clear those vouchers by sending them back to the originating bank. If your parents want to give you souvenirs of their travels, they should probably send picture postcards to keep, not the ornate stubs from cash vouchers. They are unique, though,” he admitted. “And practically free.” “It’s not that,” groused the little pegasus. “Must be nice to be rich. Mister Pfenning has windows in his office. I saw you pay him. I wanted to do this by myself. It’s just not fair.” “Money doesn’t make things fair,” admitted Emerald. “By itself, money is just a thing. It’s a tool, like a hammer or a saw. What good would it be to have a lot of money if all you could do was make a big pile and sit on it, like an egg?” “That would be so cool!” Scootaloo slowed her pace as she thought, which was a good sign. “If you can’t spend the money, it’s not really money, is it?” “Exactly. Particularly on Hearth’s Warming.” Emerald got into his saddlebags and nipped out a package. “Money is more a verb than a noun. It’s not a destination, it’s a journey, and how you use it counts more than how much you have. Speaking of money and gifts, I got a little something for the Cutie Mark Crusaders while I was at the bank. You see, I was a late bloomer too, and I know how expensive getting your cutie mark can be, what with broken windows and torn-up gardens.” “Bits?” Scootaloo looked at the short tied-up package as Emerald brought out two more of them. Emerald shrugged. “My Mark is nowhere near picking out gifts, a flaw that runs in my family. I had a great-aunt in Manehattan who gave me a bright shiny smidgen every time we visited. Said if I saved it prudently, by the time I retired it would grow beyond my imagination. Then she died, and I really didn’t feel like saving them any more, so I bought a package of gum. It was good gum, though. Mint.” “I think I see,” said Scootaloo. “By themselves, the smidgens just sat there. Now, every time you taste mint, you think about the time you spent with your great-aunt.” “No. Well, yes.” Emerald scratched his chin and considered the wisdom of children. “I guess that’s a better example than I thought.” “So you’re trying to say that you having money is better than me having money?” Emerald let out a small huff of frosty breath which held suspended in front of them like a cloud. “Close. When you’re young and don’t have money, you think that having money will solve all your problems. Then when you get older and have money, you wind up with a lot of problems that you can’t just spend away, and the more money you have, the bigger the problems. You need to appreciate your youth, because you only get to spend it once. Every young pegasus dreams of being the best flier, every young unicorn wants to be the most powerful spellcaster, and all the young earth ponies—” Emerald scratched his chin again. “Want to grow the best garden, I suppose. Having money doesn’t fill those desires. It can help, but all the money in Equestria won’t give me pegasus wings, or grow a working unicorn horn. Even Princess Celestia has problems. Big problems.” “Princess Luna isn’t a big problem,” protested Scootaloo. “She’s just a little weird.” “The Royal Sisters are on the very top of Mount Problem,” said Emerald. “All they have is giant problems they can’t spend away or magic away, and I’ll bet both of them would be more than happy to trade away all their problems in order to be in your shoes for one night.” “Not likely.” Scootaloo slumped and got that bulldog-with-a-burr-up-its-butt expression that Emerald could recognize from his own mirror when he was feeling defensive. “Look, I’ve got two things you should remember about today,” he countered as firmly as possible, since the library was near and he suspected Scootaloo was going to bolt just as soon as he opened the door. “Everypony who stomps on you in life is stomped on in turn by others above them, and they in turn are stomped on by others above them. If we all try our best to stomp gently, we’ll be happier for it.” “Easy for you to say,” grumbled Scootaloo. “You’re rich.” “And I got stomped just as hard at your age,” countered Emerald. “Which brings me to my second lesson that I hope sticks. Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it can buy misery, cheap. If all you care about is money, it corrupts you. Money is one source of power, but using money for power is greed, and attempting to gain money at all costs makes ponies mean and cruel.” “So you say,” said Scootaloo. “I don’t see you complaining about not having any money.” “I have before,” admitted Emerald. “Money can be like a superpower. With it, you can influence others, overcome problems, and make life better for yourself and your family. It has power on its own, but it can shape you to its will without you realizing it.” “Like a rich supervillain,” said Scootaloo, who seemed to perk up at the comic references. Emerald nodded and put on his best dramatic face. “But for every Sun, there are two Shadows. Greed can far too easily consume you and all you care about. If you desire money too much, soon you will only want more and more with no end. You will see those possessing what you want as evil, and those who own nothing as unimportant pawns, worthless creatures to be manipulated as you wish. Oh, look.” There was a tenth-bit sticking out of the snow, and Emerald bent down to nip it up, then tucked it away into his bit pouch. “I thought you were going to give that to me,” said Scootaloo, obviously disappointed. “You got your Hearth’s Warming present from me already,” said Emerald as he fumbled in his saddlebag for the library’s spellkey. “Winter’s a good time to find loose bits, particularly outside the laundromat and stores. Now, go play with your friends. I’ll see you at the Hearth’s Warming play this evening.” “Are you staying at the library tonight?” asked Scootaloo. “Of course. On the couch,” added Emerald. “I really need to see about getting a hotel room when I’m in Ponyville, but I never seem to get around to it. Besides, I’m never done in the library until late, and I’m afraid I’d get lost in the dark on the way back to my hotel room. Just because I have money, doesn’t mean I have to spend it.” It was a successful attempt at getting the last word in, because by the time Emerald reached the end of his sentence, Scootaloo was long gone. It did make him think while just standing there, looking at the door with the spellkey in his mouth. He had always been a manipulative little brat, and viewed it more as a game than he should. With children, his goal was always them, and the game was intended to bring their full potential to light. With adults, not so much. Money and power had always been merely tokens for the game, and the only time he took it seriously was when his parents placed a potential spouse on the playing field. If he ever did abandon the game and as a result, his family also, it would mean… “I’d be dead broke, wandering from town to town eating ditchgrass and doing odd jobs so I could teach young unicorns,” he admitted under his breath to himself. “No books, no cushy couches to sleep on, and no long-term relationships.” He could still remember the joyful expression on Firelock’s face when she conjured that first noisy firework, and the look of intent concentration on Snails’ face when he lifted up the library key. Nothing was more important than that. Then again, he remembered the laughter when Frost had conjured her room full of snow, and the endless times that his big brothers had chided him about his Mark being a catalyst for their own magic. Regal was destined to lead multitudes, and his little brother had braced him up whenever he was afflicted by self-doubt. Graphite was a hopeless flirt among both pegasi and griffons, leaving his little brother to smooth the feathers of upset ex-romantic partners. And his older sister had grown so quietly frustrated about her own numeric Mark being unappreciated that she had not even complained when Emerald had done a little surreptitious matchmaking to pair her up with a lonely lawyer. It was not really a case of family or his educational career, because there was no real sharp demarcation line between the two extremes. Standing out on the library stoop and freezing was not going to help with the problem. He didn’t think about Derpy’s invitation until he put the spellkey to the door and it locked, so he had to unlock it while trying not to appear angry at his forgetfulness, and by then, his musing about his life’s journey was ready to be put aside. Besides, honesty about a potential date with the town’s most crash-prone postalmare—if it was a date—didn’t have to be spread around, much like he did not want to admit that he stayed on the library couch to pinch his own limited funds. * * * There was a certain comfortable routine in a library during the holidays. It was a warm, pleasurable time with leftover cookies in the icebox and library patrons who would wish him “Happy Hearth’s Warming” while checking out their books. Even better, the library was scheduled to close early for the town’s Hearth’s Warming play. Emerald had seen the play every year, which made him think about his family in Manehattan gathered together with Regal’s future in-laws. At this moment, they were without a doubt getting all dressed up in suits and ties to attend some upper-class presentation of the Hearth’s Warming Tale where the unicorns would seem to be the heroes of the whole story, defeating the Windigo and uniting the three tribes. It would be much like the Canterlot elementary school version Emerald had participated in once, and only once, since it seemed the unicorn teacher in charge of the youthful production was not too happy about his ad-libbed lines in the middle of it. Ponyville would probably put the play on in their own special way—with explosions—so Emerald had no particular desire to head out into the frosty air, be bored or terrified during the performance, then get back to the library in the dark. Besides, it also gave him an excuse to avoid going by Derpy’s house later. If her casual invitation had been romantic in nature, it would be best to avoid temptation with one of his student’s mothers, after all, and if it had just been for polite company this evening, it would be best to avoid the appearance of impropriety involved with such a meeting. Therefore, it was time to skip the Hearth’s Warming play for once and spend the evening curled up in front of a warm fireplace with absolutely nothing to do but read. For now, he spent his free time between patrons by collecting several interesting books for the expected relaxation time and figuring out what leftover cookies in the kitchenette were going to accompany him for a limited time. The pleasant activity dulled his senses to the approach of an unmarried mare, so he did not realize the library was not quite empty when he chased the last patron out and flipped over the sign. “Officer Rights!” Emerald cringed backward and hit his rump on the library door, which nearly got his tail caught in the door’s thin and still unfixed crack. It would have been entirely too easy to run away since the wards only prevented entrance, not exit, but the guilty flee when no pony pursueth, or at least that was what the police would think of his abrupt departure. Probably. Instead, he fixed his best smile for the situation, or at least bared his teeth, and asked, “So, what brings you to the library, ma’am?” Don’t say me, don’t say me… “You, actually.” Miranda Rights smiled in a You-Are-Vaguely-Amusing-But-Don’t-Push-It fashion. “I’ve got a few questions.” “Yaks say there are no questions, only answers,” said Emerald in a frantic grasp for a defense. “Then I’m looking for pony answers,” said Miranda in a smooth pivot that only made Emerald feel more outclassed and quite glad he had not decided to become a lawyer, because he would have so many clients behind bars. Particularly, if the judges were unmarried unicorns. “I suppose I have a few extra answers that I’m not using at the moment,” admitted Emerald. “Will you be needing them down at the police station?” “Oh, let’s not go to the office,” said Miranda. “If I walk in the door, there’s going to be no end of paperwork waiting for me. How about we talk here?” Emerald could not help but look down at the thick rug in front of the glowing fireplace, arranged with an overflowing bowl of cookies and a bottle of juice to one side, and one of the couch cushions for a comfortable curling-up spot with reading material. To his growing horror, he could see the top book on the stack was a harem fantasy which he had only picked out because of the sultry-eyed mares on the cover, and a certain curiosity as to the odd subject matter. The resulting ‘nest’ he had created was just the right size for one, or could easily be mistaken as a romantic gesture from a student who had a reputation for romancing police officers— “Any answers in particular?” he managed through suddenly dry lips. “Nothing too serious.” Miranda Rights tapped on her chin with one hoof as if she were thinking, which was always a bad sign in a mare. “We just had a report that Trixie was spotted in town this morning.” “And you want to find her or don’t want to find her?” asked Emerald. After a brief pause, Miranda Rights said, “That’s a really good question. What do you think?” “I think Trixie is not the only unicorn with a way of twisting things back on other ponies. Can’t you just not find her? Spirit of the holidays and such. Maybe she’s just in town to visit an old friend.” The clue dropped with a nearly audible thump. “Oh, that’s why you’re here. I thought perhaps you were going to invite me to the Hearth’s Warming play this afternoon.” “Accepted,” said Miranda. “We’ll go over about an hour before it starts so we can get good seats.” His fate seemed to be inevitable and it would get them away from the inadvertently romantic fireplace, so Emerald nodded quickly. “And you can watch the crowd as they arrive while keeping an eye on me.” Miranda Rights said nothing, although he got a faint sense of approval from her, so he continued digging his metaphorical hole in the hopes of making it some sort of defensive bunker. “I would be delighted to be in the company of such a beautiful young mare this evening. And I’m presuming if you’re with me, your subordinates will be less likely to interrupt you with minor matters this evening?” “It had crossed my mind,” admitted Miranda. She paused again. “Who pays admission?” * * * Emerald was cheap, but not so cheap as to have a police officer pay for his inadvertent not-date. Besides, admission to the play was only two bits each, and that was a small price to pay for an ironclad alibi in case something went wrong, as he expected. Since they were early for the play, they had the pick of sitting spots, and Emerald tried his best to make small talk while Miranda selected the best tuft of snow-covered grass to put her coat on for a warmer seat. “So, have things calmed down in town?” he asked, hopeful for a positive response to start off the evening. “Not really.” Miranda rolled her shoulders and looked around at the gathering ponies. “When they’re gone, you’re here. When you’re gone, they come back.” “Very funny,” huffed Emerald while arranging his coat on the snowy ground.. “Overstated, at least.” Miranda Rights paused, looking back into the town. “You went caroling with Derpy’s children and nothing fell down. You were seen talking to a yak visitor at the train station, and they haven’t declared war. Yet. And you survived taking Scootaloo into the bank while Mister Croseus was present. Didn’t I warn you about the Crusaders?” “Vastly overstated, I’m sure.” Emerald gave a throwing-away gesture with one hoof while wondering if there was a concession stand somewhere since he had missed dinner, and had no intentions on taking Miranda out to a restaurant later. “I was in two different Mark-hunting groups when I was growing up. Everypony gets a Mark eventually, and the things we do while looking for one are stories we remember for decades later. Didn’t you ever do anything crazy trying to get your Mark?” “Can’t say. Statute of limitations.” Miranda looked back at him. “How about you?” “Can’t say,” said Emerald immediately. “On a date with a police officer who I’m not married to, so she can still testify against me.” To his delight, Miranda blushed slightly, even if it was difficult to see against her mottled dark coat. “Flirt. That’s going to get you into trouble someday, mister.” Giving a shrug, Emerald added, “Been there, done that. Got my Mark. Now, come on. You had to have done something crazy while trying to get your Mark. It’s practically a tradition.” Miranda Rights shook her head, allowing her short-cropped mane to settle around her neck in a way that made Emerald consider the advantages of being outside of Canterlot and out from under his parents’ sight. “I tried to keep other ponies from getting into trouble,” she said firmly. “There were two ponies fighting in a playground, and I separated them. It was that easy.” “We managed to build a cart and race it down the South Market Road,” said Emerald proudly. “Well, half-way, if you count how far we skidded when the wheels came off. Oh, and we tried to make a smoke-air balloon from one of the bakery chimneys, but it crashed. And burned. Then crashed again. Three Marks total, none mine.” “Don’t you mean a hot-air balloon?” asked Miranda. “No, it was just bread smoke.” Emerald waved at one of the ponies coming into the audience, but did not get a wave in return. “Hot air rises. This didn’t. I smelled like bread for a week. I was in two different Mark-gathering organizations, got my Mark last, and still survived.” Miranda looked over her shoulder at Canterlot glowing quietly above them in the pre-dusk murk. “Yes, and the city never crashed down the mountain,” added Emerald with a wave of one hoof around the half-full audience area. “Everypony has a story to tell about getting their Mark, or about one of their friends or relatives. Someday soon, the Cutie Mark Crusaders will get their Marks and all this hubbub will just be more embarrassing stories to tell about them, just like I tease my little sister about hers.” “Hmm…?” prompted Miranda. Emerald held up a bare green leg and gave it a shake. It was a little nippy in the growing crowd to be coatless, but it was far better than having his bare rump sitting directly on snow, and the more ponies gathered around, the warmer he was. “We’re both long-hairs, although she’s curlier like she’s part sheep. In winter, she bounces around like a happy yeti, but summer is normally brutal for her since Mother doesn’t think shaving down to something more comfortable is very ladylike.” “Her Mark is a snowflake, if I remember correctly from Twerps,” said Miranda. “Ice magic is rare among unicorns.” “Rare doesn’t mean never,” said Emerald. “My mark isn’t exactly common either, particularly in my situation. Anyway, Mother found Frost in her room one summer, making a snowpony. I mean you can’t yell at somepony for that, but you can draft her older brother into helping mop when it all melts. Mother always fretted that I’d wind up with a mop for a Mark,” he confided quietly, to Miranda’s subdued giggle. “The shame!” They had to lower their voices as more ponies filtered into the outdoor theatre, which may have looked to some lookers as if they were hiding secret nuzzles, but he really did not care at the moment. There were worse things in life than to spend the evening in pleasant conversation with a clever mare, even if she was unmarried. As a benefit, Miranda knew some of the best gossip around town, even if she was unwilling to leak more than a few tantalizing driblets due to her official position. In turn, he provided a few tasty tidbits about his college friends, although nothing that could be prosecuted. They chatted quietly until the play was just about to start when Emerald had a sudden epiphany. “Does paying for your ticket make this an official date?” Miranda thought for a short time. “Or bribery. How long do you think we’d be married before I threw you in jail?” “Two weeks,” said Emerald immediately. “That long?” Miranda Rights cocked her head to one side. “At least,” said Emerald. “I’ve started jogging.” Miranda Rights had the most delightful laugh.