//------------------------------// // Gimmie Fallout Shelter // Story: Anchor Foal: A Romantic Cringe Comedy // by Estee //------------------------------// She doesn't smell like anything. It's weird. There's this soap she's been using for a while, ever since she started making the overnight trips into Canterlot. When she gets home, she always wants to wash up first thing. She washes up before she unpacks whatever she went to shop for. Before she'll touch me. And it's always the same soap. She had me get Brass in here a couple of times to improve the waterworks, because she washes up for a really long time and the town's water system is one of those things that's still in progress. We wound up having to tap a stream. There's more than enough flow, but that meant I had to find a wonder which could flash-heat that much water in a hurry. Brass has part of a stream running into our bathroom and she still says it feels like there isn't enough water. It takes long enough for her to wash that I can go to the stream and check it from the banks. I keep waiting for the water level to drop. I guess I understand about wanting to get the road dirt off. She's always been more careful about staying clean than me. But I run a mill. There's a price for that. It would be weird if I didn't get some sawdust in my coat. And I don't mind the smells. Sometimes after a busy day, I'd start heading home and it would take me half the trip before I realized that my fur was wafting pine. Or cedar. Cedar's the best. That's nature's musk. I was still in my apprenticeship when we were dating and I always tried to work with some cedar just before I went out to meet her. Now she just tells me I smell like work and tells me to wash up next. I shouldn't smell that much like work now that I'm not doing as much of it. There's been times when I've taken a trot around the mill without having to dodge a single spray of sawdust. Now it takes more time to weave around ponies who aren't on top of their stations. I looked at the soap. Looking at the whole label took a lot of squinting. I don't want to use it. Okay, I get that the wood smell can be a little strong sometimes. But there's a scent which a healthy stallion is supposed to have, and that soap would get rid of it. It's kicked away her scent. She had this sweetness rising from her fur, and the soap means she doesn't smell like anything. It's like there's a mask and when we're sharing the bed, the mask is all that's there. A mask instead of a mare. I used to fall asleep breathing her in. The sound from the forceful staccato pace of the hoof-rapping knock on the rental's door had to make its way up the treacherous ramp, curve around a bit to get into the bathroom, and lost none of its identifying characteristics along the way. Fleur knew exactly what kind of pony had made that knock, and it was why she took the two minutes required to finish applying her cosmetics before she went to answer it. She had wondered if there was a class which taught that knock, because escorts had their own classes and a profession which possessed roughly one percent of that social utility presumably didn't just point to somepony with an appropriate mark and nose over the badge -- at least, not all of the time. The students of those other courses clearly learned nothing about how society truly operated, they mostly understood what justice wasn't and did their best to enforce that, and obviously any instruction in shading your jawline had been skipped. But Fleur could certainly imagine somepony leading a class in knocking, because all of the graduates did it in exactly the same fashion. The knock on the door had been one of the two signature styles used by all who worked in law enforcement. It was a rhythm which existed to state 'I'm coming in anyway, but let's pretend.' And it meant Fleur was in no hurry to answer it, because she knew about the other knock. The one which said you were in real trouble, because there wouldn't be any knock at all. The presence of the first knock told Fleur that whatever was about to happen probably qualified as no more than a deliberate attempt to inflict annoyance. (She suspected the police chief had slept on the thought of not having been able to press charges -- possibly with unused forms as her pillow -- and had likely still done so in more comfort than Fleur had managed.) She still made sure to review every possible way out of the rental well before the second round of impacts had begun, and made sure her cosmetics were set to best set off patronizing smugness before starting down the ramp. It helped to have the security spells. Fleur knew law enforcement had all sorts of ways around enchanted locks, and occasionally tried to solve the problem by going through them -- but having even a basic unicorn device on the front door meant that opening it required igniting her corona. Having her energies summoned in a fully explicable-before-the-court fashion at the start of the discussion added a certain something to the interaction. Having the mild headache set up a renewed camp behind her temples contributed its own flavor. But when you were used to forging your pain into a weapon... (Her sleep had been of exceptionally poor quality, and the same nightmare had just kept replaying over and over and over and...) "Good morning," Fleur smiled, and let a small head tilt to the right put an open claim on the lie. "Or a little closer to afternoon now, I suppose. Is there something we need to discuss? I was under the impression that everything had been wrapped up last night." Miranda Rights was considerably more visible under Sun. The chill rays illuminated that singular, strange subtle blend of fur strand colors in a way which rendered her into a standing blotch against the landscape. There was no way the mare wouldn't benefit from a course in basic cosmetology, and that was why Fleur had no intention of being the teacher. In the other mare's current state, it was just so easy to see every facial feature go tight. "I need you to come for a little trot with me," the police chief stated. "Where?" felt like a rather reasonable question. "Since you did agree that sufficiency had been properly invoked, I can't see why the police station should be involved. Unless --" and this was a real possibility "-- you need to get my own testimony about Vlad --" It was an accident. "-- no," the officer cut in. "That's not currently necessary. We're going to Sweetbark's practice." 'Practice' fits. It's not as if she ever truly made perfect -- and then Fleur, who really hadn't slept well, got around to the outraged blink. "Fluttershy and I made sure the place was cleaned up. Sweetbark even came in herself, about eighty minutes before we left. If she felt we didn't do enough in restoring its pristine condition, she should have said something then instead of sending you." Then again, getting others to do the hard work on her behalf was pretty much the false vet's whole life -- "There was no complaint filed," Miranda softly said, and the lack of volume found a way of undercutting the cold air. "I doubt I'll ever see one. She doesn't have the most basic requirement any more." This blink was a little more on the curious side: something which also reflected the lack of true rest. "I don't know what you mean." The dark forehooves scraped against the peeling paint of the minimal porch. "She's gone." The words had been blunt. Even. A simple statement of fact. She... ..she never should have been a vet in the first place, she was never really a vet at all, she... I didn't mean to. A green-grey gaze seemed to be roaming across Fleur's features, and it paused for too long on the eyes. "You really don't go quiet very often," the officer observed. "Not that we've spoken that much, but I've heard enough about you. There's always a word ready to go. Usually one that's been sharpened --" The escort redirected her own eyeline. It left her visibly regarding the empty street which lay beyond the dark unicorn's back. "Define 'gone'," Fleur said. It wasn't quite a smile. It would have needed a lot more lip movement to approximate a smile, along with a degree of actual mirth. When it came to the pointlessness of law enforcement, you didn't get to graduate into the profession until the only things you laughed at were the ones which had never been funny. "Bad time for a perceived euphemism," the other unicorn admitted. "She's not dead, Fleur. She left town. A few hours ago. Enough ponies saw her heading out to let me track her all the way from what used to be her front door to the train." ...because she was shamed in public. Revealed. Because she couldn't even deal with it as well as Caramel did, and leaving was easier than learning. ...have to see if that pegasus mare from last night is even a little bit interested in him, or just basking in the aura of Faced A Bear -- -- no. Maybe Sweetbark was stronger than that. Fleur had serious doubts on that subject, but the possibility seemed to require up to a single moment's worth of entertaining. "How do you know it's permanent?" The reasonable questions just kept on coming. "When she came to the office last night, she told Fluttershy about why she hadn't tried to treat Kori." Which almost made Fleur sarcastically wish for the chance to visit the police station, just to put it all on the record. "I can give you the details later. But Fluttershy tried to offer her solutions: hire a partner, take extra classes. If she got on the train, it might have just been to arrange all of that in Canterlot." Softly, "Because that's not what she put in the note on her door. Both doors: her home and the office. Or in the letter she sent to me by private courier, with the delivery hour arranged in advance. She's gone, Fleur. Ponies have been reading the office notice for a while now: that news almost beat the courier to my desk. She's left Ponyville, and I doubt she has any intention of coming back. The note on the apartment door directly said she's forfeiting her deposit, and she left most of her possessions behind." And with a little more darkness in the tone, "I've already been there. I can't tell exactly how much she took because the bedroom looks like it was ransacked. There's pieces head-tossed all over the place. But she ransacked it, and the majority still seems to be there." Typical. She probably wanted to be seen leaving, or she just got the whole process wrong. Lightly, "Not something you can arrest me for, then." "Oh, it's a good thing that ponies saw her leave," Miranda evenly stated. "And that her neighbors in the building knew she was alone last night, and heard her moving around by herself. Or I could at least justify a few interesting questions right now. But I'm aware that she spoke to Fluttershy, because that's on the second note. And in my letter. But we can see how the stories compare some other time. Right now, I'm..." The short-cut tail twitched. "...fulfilling a request. To come and get you, then take you to the office." A brief pause. "It was you or Fluttershy. Or both. But you're closer. And I'm guessing Fluttershy is... a little busy right now." She was tired. She missed most of the last bit. Where I'll find a note blaming me for the whole thing. Possibly rendered in your fieldwriting. It's a drama exit. And she doesn't even know how to run properly. She'll be too easy to track. I could outrun her any day of the moon -- Her own forelegs adjusted their position, and the titanium shifted against her fur. -- under normal circumstances. Still, it was a shameful performance. Fleur recognized that most ponies didn't read the works of Solomon Short, and she could now add Sweetbark to the list of those who hadn't seen one of the basics: 'Everyone should be prepared to move at least three times in their lives. The limit on filling out the forms to give your pursuit a helpful forwarding address is once. They stop falling for it after that.' It meant you always had to be ready to evacuate in a hurry, because there were times when Sun didn't get raised. And when it came to hasty exits, Sweetbark had been outclassed by insects. (This was a factual statement. Fleur's arrival date in Canterlot had put her in place to witness the end of the invasion. Several dozen changelings had been revealed in an instant, some of them had been able to get away from screaming witnesses, and just about all of the ones who'd managed to establish full, legal cover identities had made preparations for a day when their disguise collapsed. The majority had managed to escape and ever since then, a small, prepacked piece of get-out-of-town-now luggage had been known as a bugout bag.) 'To come and get you...' So you're serving as an errand filly. Let's hope you're up to it. That takes actual skill. Fleur smiled, and allowed her corona to wink out. She had to stay on guard -- but for now... "Fluttershy's expecting me later," she admitted. "But we didn't set an exact hour, because last night nearly brought us all the way back to Sun again. If you just have to fetch me, officer, then I can give you a little time." Something which Miranda Rights in no way actually deserved -- but sacrifices occasionally had to be made. And as a special bonus, while the mare might not be competent or worthwhile or have any idea how jaw shading worked, she was currently the most local source for something Polish would have given a fifth of his tongue to acquire. Surely the officer was willing to offer Fleur that much. Yes, they hated each other, and they always would -- but there was supposed to be a basic bond between mares... Fleur's smile got a little wider. "So how did Vlad pass the night? Has anypony come to fetch him yet? And is he insisting that his gruel be prepared by a mare?" I had to let some ponies go today. It's not something I'm used to. I build. I can put together a mill, a house, and I would have done more on Town Hall if somepony had let me. Being able to do all that means I need to be capable of putting together a work crew. Directing them. The mark helps with all of it. But it doesn't really care about the other parts of being somepony's boss. It sure doesn't care about ledgers or do anything to help me balance them. The ledgers give me headaches. Letting workers go felt like it was going to be a kick in the heart. But crush time is over. The mill is at the point where it doesn't need so many work crews. There's a lot of lines in the ledgers which mean salary going out and there's less now for invoices getting paid. It was time. It wasn't as bad as I'd been expecting. Most of them already had other plans. Some are going to start their own businesses in town and were saving up their salaries for that. A few are going back to Canterlot. Contestoga said he might go look at the open lands on the Equestria side of the buffalo borders. But there's still some who didn't have fallbacks, and I could see the loose reins whipping at their flanks while they tried to figure out what to do next. It could have been a lot worse. But it still hurt. I was responsible for them, like they were my own foals. I feel like I didn't prepare them enough for it. But crush time always ends eventually, and the biggest crush is probably over. Now I'm just waiting for the surge. Weather control means we're a full settled zone. The population might not reflect it just yet, but we'll have all the basics in place. Once we've got weather control, the ponies who were a little too skittish to risk a new area without it should start to show up. They'll need homes built. Businesses. And the mill is in place. I had to let ponies go today, and some of them weren't ready for it. But I told myself that maybe I can hire a few of them back when the new weather control team shows up and we'll need some more construction again. I just couldn't pay for them to mostly stand around and talk until that happened. Pretty sure the ledgers don't like that. Weather control. A posted schedule. It's almost a weird thought now. I've got to make sure the porch wood gets another waterproofing treatment. So much for the basic bond between mares. Fleur was feeling decidedly cheated. She knew the noble had done something stupid while in the cells, because it was Blueblood and all such odds were cumulative over time. The police chief was in possession of that information, and had refused to nose any additional portion of it over. This admittedly gave Fleur the chance to just make something up, but when it came to that ring of authenticity... They were making their way through Ponyville, at an hour which saw very few residents on or above the streets. Ponies were at work, or staying home to keep out of the chill. Others might have been at the train station, or waiting for appointments to begin. (Some of those were going to be waiting for a while.) It meant there weren't many witnesses. Those who did exist could be presumed to not always understand the finer subtleties of body language, and nopony really got to appreciate the dance. Fleur knew where they were going. She refused to let the other unicorn lead, because to be seen with a police officer leading you somewhere usually had two indicators for the truly observant: Custody or Snitch. She was taller, she had longer legs, and it allowed her to make multiple attempts at getting ahead. But the officer seemed to possess more physical strength, might have even gained the benefits from true rest, and the dark tail just kept going back into locations where Fleur was forced to look at it from behind. The escort was fully aware that there were ponies who were attracted to that sort of tail, along with the buttocks which set it off. If something stupid existed, then there were equally stupid ponies who were attracted to it. As far as Fleur was personally concerned, it was the sort of display designed to make pieces dim. She led for a while. The other mare quickstepped in front. A quick waltz saw them change positions. The power dance occasionally went through canters, hoofbeats, and one fountain triggered an impromptu spiral. There was a traveling masterclass in dominance dynamics proceeding through the streets, and nopony appreciated it. Most of the few witnesses they passed did nothing more than pause to watch the mares go by, and Fleur decided they were doing so because she was beautiful (and Miranda wasn't -- well, she was nowhere near Fleur's level and the escort wasn't going to help). That was entirely expected. She wasn't sure why so many of them were waving a foreleg at her in greeting. Ponies didn't wave forelegs at Fleur. They trotted into things. Each other. Lower jaws dropped so far as to allow a full tooth count. Waving was... casual. And when it came to Fleur, it was also rather unusual. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be waving back. ...waving back would require stopping, because you couldn't do a three-legged trot for long. Stopping meant the dark mare got ahead. "So there were two notes," the officer eventually reprised, just before they started to approach the last turn. (Fleur used the height advantage and took the inside track.) "The one at her apartment was mainly addressed to the building owner. The second was for her clients, because she had office hours today." And not many of them. "I'm guessing the core subject was just about the same." Somepony else waved at her. ...and she's going to keep on flying by. How is anypony supposed to respond to that? "That she was leaving? Yes," Miranda admitted. "The news has been spreading through town since. It's moved faster from the office, since that notice was out in public. I've had it taken down and replaced with something a little... less personal." And you're not going to tell me what it said, any more than you're willing to give me the goods on Vlad. Well, plenty of ponies would have seen that note... "But that's connected to the courier letter," the officer added. "And since we're almost there..." They finished the turn. (The dark mare put a little push into the step just before the straightaway, temporarily reclaimed the lead.) The view of the street opened up, just in time for Fleur to see a stunned-seeming pegasus mare wearing pet-carrier saddlebags, who was shakily hovering in front of the office door. There was a Qweep! of confusion, because the guinea pig peering out through the mesh on the visible side had been in the same place for several seconds and confusion was automatic. The hidden saddlebag, carrying nothing more than balancing weights, naturally remained silent. And a very confused, rather distressed pegasus flapped away. The two unicorn mares, alone on the street again, approached the door. Fleur got the best sight line on the replaced notice first and considered herself to have won. This Office Is Closed Which, as far as Fleur was concerned, pretty much said it all. They both stood there for a while, because Fleur didn't know if they were supposed to be going inside, didn't have a key, and wasn't about to try breaking in with a police officer on her immediate left. (She was now fully familiar with Sweetbark's former defenses, but the replacement notice had been joined by a large, dark, and heavy precinct-issued replacement lock.) Besides, the dark unicorn was rather obviously trying to use the silence to see if Fleur would fill it with anything incriminating. The lack of decibels wrestled back and forth for a while. "She left via train," Miranda finally said. (Fleur promptly claimed Round Two.) "That let me find out where she was going. Transferring in Canterlot, and the end destination is Vanhoover. I'm told she has family there. An uncle. So that's probably her goal. Seeing somepony she loves. Who... loves her, still. I know she reached Canterlot. I'll be sending express messages to Vanhoover's police chief, and some of the stops along the way. Making sure she arrives safely. But that has to wait until I reach the library." Because you don't remember the postal codes for your own country and looking them up at the post office is too embarrassing. "So why are we here?" The dark mare's horn ignited, and the temporary lock began to click. "She didn't take much from her apartment," the officer restated. "I can only guess, but -- based on what was left behind and the train ticket, I'll say it was heavy winter clothing. What you'd need to get ready for a Vanhoover winter, so she'll probably be staying up there for a while. Mr. Croesus said he had to issue several traveling vouchers for her, to submit into her next bank: she didn't want to carry that much in bits, even at the largest denominations." Money she never really earned. No, that was unfair. Some of those bits had been paid for services rendered. Sweetbark had probably been world-class at claw trimming. "They were still chipping out the Account Closed notice when I left," Miranda added. "Very few possessions, all of her money -- but..." One last flow of green-grey, and the door opened. Neither mare moved. Both looked at each other. "You go first," Fleur pleasantly requested. "I'm pretty sure you have to give me access here." Miranda shrugged, stepped through the doorway. Fleur followed. "I told you we cleaned up," the escort stated as she entered the pristine office. "And Fluttershy was going to send over a package before Sun-lowering. We wrote down a full inventory for the supplies we used. They were going to be replaced. We left a copy here, but if you need the original from the cottage, I can bring it to you. We didn't take anything --" "-- I know you didn't take anything," the officer calmly said. "Because Fluttershy never would have allowed it. But neither did Sweetbark. Everything she brought onto the train came from her apartment. The office is intact. I'm not accusing you of theft, Fleur." "Then why are we here?" The dark mare got a little further ahead. Approached the reception desk. "Didn't even tell Greetkin that she was out of a job..." the officer mused. "There's somepony who's going to be looking for work today. After she cleans the tear tracks enough to go out on interviews. It may have only been part-time, but when you're newly married and looking for a little extra income..." A slow head shake. "I know you didn't take anything, Fleur." Her horn ignited. A carefully-folded piece of paper, visible portion preset to show off a select group of words, rose from the desk and floated in front of Fleur's eyes. The escort squinted. "You have a rather dark field," Fleur noted, and freely allowed the exasperation to creep in. "I'm not sure how you expect anypony to read through this --" The energy didn't wink out. It was pulled back, the corona yanked towards the source, and the paper fell to the floor. Fleur's gaze automatically tracked -- "You're here," Miranda calmly stated, "to take everything." I relinquish all claims on office equipment and supplies. Please send them to Fauna Cottage. I don't need it any more. Fleur stared down at the paper. It was better than looking up. "But I suppose that's what you do," and now the bitterness was in the dark mare's voice. "You just take --" "-- debts can't be passed along this way," Fleur quickly said. "Fluttershy isn't liable for something which Sweetbark didn't finish paying for. Those pieces have to go back to the maker --" "-- it's all paid for," Miranda cut her off. "All of it. You can check the receipts yourself, once my officers sort the last of them out from the rest of the paperwork. And there's some other things going to the cottage, but -- a few of those were sent ahead. It'll take a while to move them all. The courier letter said to contact you, Fluttershy, or both. You were closer, and I thought -- maybe she hasn't left for the cottage yet. Maybe she'll appreciate the chance to see what she accomplished." Slowly, Fleur raised her head. Looked at hardened eyes and a still-lit horn surrounded by spikes and furious sparks. "I hardly expect you to pack it all out at once," the officer spat. "And I'm not going to have somepony stand guard for a few days while the place is emptied. We already took inventory. Stop by the precinct and I'll have somepony give you the key. But take something with you, so I'll know it's under way. And as a matter of practical advice, just to remove the most likely target for theft, or at least for children playing around and draining the last of the charge.... I think you should start with the bone-glow screen." Sometimes I have to try really hard to remember that my grandfoals are supposed to read this one day. I don't know how old they're going to be when that happens. So I try to keep it a little on the accessible side, just in case they're young. Maybe young enough that somepony's reading it to them. Maybe even me. And if they're a lot older and reading it on their own, then there's stuff which you should never try to imagine your grandsire and granddam doing. Trust me there. The thing is that right now, we've been working on the first stage of getting you into the world. I've been home a lot more, now that crush is over and it's getting down to the regular jobs. Especially when those jobs aren't quite regular yet. I don't need to stay in the office trying to go over the ledgers, because I found out there's an accountant coming in soon. So I head home and work on the porch. Sometimes it feels like I spend more hours at home than she does, with all the time she's on the road or in the capital. Most of that is working on the porch. At this point, it's more like reworking it. I've been trying to find a way to make it perfect. Taking portions apart, experimenting with different woods. Decorative touches. The swaying bench swing is going to stick around for a while, especially after I tested the chains and made sure the overhead anchor points could take some weight. The porch is one of the first things ponies see when they come up to our house, so why shouldn't it be the centerpiece? Nothing wrong with putting a table out there, and some guest benches. We can eat outside on nice days. Might even be able to rig a fire pit for cool nights. Hide it under a lid which matches the rest of the porch when it isn't being used, make sure the heat is low and deep so nothing catches. It's a challenge. Maybe I'll take that section up tomorrow and try to figure out how much I'd need to dig. I spend hours on the porch and if she's home, when I'm done, we try to call your mom into the world. Or your dad. I'm not fussy about which one we get. I'm not going into details on how the calling works, but the one you probably heard about foals coming out of a mirror was a lie. She's doing her best. I know these things take time. We lost some when she first got into town. We didn't do much more than share a bed for a while. I think it's because we were apart for so long. I thought she'd just want to start right away, but it was like she'd decided she had to get to know me all over again. So it took a while before we started trying, and it wasn't exactly dedicated. We'd try once in a while, and she usually didn't feel like trying at all. It wasn't anywhere near as much as we used to try before. But now we're trying. And it takes time, plus some luck. But she's doing everything she can. I know that because I found some discarded herb packets when I was cleaning out the ashcan. I know they were herb packets because they still had a little residue at the bottom. Some mixed greens and a little bit of red. Weird smell. And the paper was stained because it's an ashcan, but I could still make out some of the last words. The stuff left on both sides of the blurs said 'Foal Tea'. So it's tea which helps you have a foal. And she didn't tell me she was getting it. Maybe it's something which you can only find in the capital. She's trying that hard. She wants that foal. I didn't tell her I found it. I figure a mare needs a few secrets. We can talk about it once we know the foal is on the way. Have a laugh together. It'll be good to laugh with her again. Well, of course the charge had been low. Fleur had done everything she could to leave the contents of the office exactly as she'd found them, and the charge had been low when she'd arrived. She was good enough with her own magic to add energy to a device, and she'd done exactly that -- channeling power into the bone-glow screen, exactly as much as they'd used. She'd had no intention of giving Sweetbark free thaums. The screen was a rather awkward piece of equipment. It was also horrendously expensive, and she hadn't been fully sure how to disassemble it for transport without wrecking the whole thing. She was currently trotting towards the cottage with the device in her saddlebags. Or rather, one end in each bag, with the metal extensions of the adjustable middle jointing awkwardly rubbing against her back. She wanted to reach the cottage already. She had to tell Fluttershy the news: that a vet who never should have claimed the title was gone, that they'd won -- -- probably shouldn't put it that way -- -- that there was a caché of free equipment (free!) waiting for them, things Fluttershy needed and not only that, it all had to be hauled. So here's another invoice for the palace, we'll just have them pay this one directly to Snowflake because as long as there's hauling to be done, can you think of anypony more qualified? And he'll just fly everything over -- somehow... and we'll have to shuffle the surgery around to make room, maybe Sweetbark would think it was a 'proper' surgery now and unlike her, you've actually done surgery in it. No need to worry about adjusting the plantings in your herb patch because she never had a proper one and for Sun's sake, that neglect was accomplished by an earth pony... She had to tell Fluttershy all of that. She was eager to pass on the news. But as much as anything else, she still had a post-strain headache, she hadn't want to risk levitating the delicate screen all the way to the cottage, and she wanted to unpack the device before the metal rasped all the fur off her spine. The mill was up ahead. It wasn't much further -- -- there's a pony looking at it. I've never seen anypony actually stop and look at it. Did I cover up all of the -- -- earth pony stallion. Really deep brick red. Features aren't bad. A little shorter than average, but stockier. And that's a Trottingham terrier on the leash, happy to be with its master, tail wagging in that little rotary circle which makes it look like the dog is about to take off butt-first. Probably not security checking on the mill, unless that dog's been trained to sniff for signs of intruders. And I put the right spices down on the followup visit. Most likely possibility is a client. Somepony I haven't seen before -- -- and he'd spotted her. "Hello!" It was a jovial voice, although it came with a hint of disorientation. "This is the way to Fauna Cottage, yes? I've never been out this far before." And then embarrassment tinged the next words. "I guess it has to be the right way, if you're on this path." She automatically checked his puzzle, found nothing worth worrying about and an equal amount which she personally matched. "You're close," she smiled. "You can just follow me in if you like." The next, magic-free check was directed at the dog, who was now just as happily wagging its tail for her: the master had given approval, and the companion followed suit. She looks healthy, and he stopped to look at the mill. No emergency. "Thank you," the stallion offered. "I just hope she can see us." Hopefully, "Do you know if she can squeeze us in?" Fleur checked Sun's position as she mentally reviewed the schedule: almost directly overhead. "There was a grooming appointment due to start in about ten minutes. You'll probably have to wait until after that." And if a true emergency came, the pair would have to wait all the longer. He nodded. Indigo eyes, whose owner had no true interest in the living masterwork, were drawn back towards the wooden corpse. "I've never been out this far before," he repeated, just a little more softly. "I didn't know this was here. Does somepony own it?" "I'm not sure who the current owner is," Fleur smoothly lied. "I just know it gets checked by patrols at random intervals. Making sure nopony's trying to claim it, I suppose. Or anything else." He distractedly nodded. "It gets your attention, doesn't it?" he asked. "It makes you wonder how long it's been here. Why it's still here..." I know. She understood the questions. She had the answers. But the latter had to stay with her, because she had no open reason to be in possession of them. Gossip spread, rumors flew, and both were qualities which required the present tense. History was in the past, and when it came to the mill's history... that had been buried. Some ponies buried the dead. Some ponies... It was an accident. "Fleur? ...it is Fleur, right? Fleur De Lis?" She blinked. "Dis Lee," Fleur automatically corrected. Get to the cottage. Get to work. I may not make it in time for the grooming, but the accounts due invoices are always waiting to be settled. Find a chance to give Fluttershy the news, send a carrier pigeon to Snowflake, and we can keep working on getting ready for the Algonquin. Joke delivery: that's potentially going to be crucial. If she comes across as quick-witted -- and there's ways where she is, it just doesn't show up in her speech... "You look tired," the stallion said. "I heard it was a long night. We should probably trot together, this close to the fringe." The next smile was directed downward, towards the dog. "Gladys will try to protect both of us, but when you're less than a tenth of a bale..." It was a smile she could return. "Valiant efforts," Fleur readily conceded. "Directed low." He was no threat to her (although she wasn't planning on letting down her guard). The trot mutually resumed. She was tired. She hadn't truly rested, and it had been the same nightmare, over and over again -- -- wait. I've never seen this stallion before. How does he -- Casually, "Where did you hear my name?" She hardly ever used the full one. "Oh, everypony's talking about you today," he less-than-reassured her. "The two of you." Followed by a little sigh. "We were stuck outside her door for a while, all of the early arrivals. Talking. Trying to figure things out, and then somepony came by and told us what had happened." The stringy tail drooped. "It was... pretty easy to make a decision after that --" She heard the sound of approaching wings, and then a pegasus mare flew by overhead. One of the saddlebags went Qweep! And as she watched that tail curve around the next part of the path, with her weary mind trying to slip into the proper canter, hoofsteps came up the path behind them. "Oh no..." the unseen mare sighed. "Did a lot of ponies pass you? I've already gone past four. But I can't keep up with a pegasus! And I'm not sure how long we can stay..." Her own companion made a trilling sound: something meant to comfort a worried pony. It might have helped the mare. It didn't do a thing for Fleur. ...oh no. No, they couldn't have -- they didn't all just... ...the herd... ...and she was moving, it was a faster gallop than she'd meant to assume in front of witnesses, as fast as she'd run on the previous day while pushing for the office, the device jostled across her back and she heard the stallion gasp. This was followed by his saying something which she didn't catch, and then he couldn't say anything because a terrier couldn't keep up with a pony on the gallop and a stallion with a scruff of fur gently held in his mouth wasn't going to be talking. She galloped. She passed three startled ponies and four companions. And part of her was expecting the song as the bridge came into sight, because the cottage birds had an alert for somepony they knew and there was another for a stranger on the road, but the only sounds came from her own hoofsteps and breath. She'd passed three ponies. She'd seen three more. And the birds sang every time -- but there was only so much singing you could expect them to do. It had happened yesterday: they'd called out the alert until the sheer numbers on the approach had made the song collapse. In this case, they would have been singing over and over and over. It wouldn't take long before they became exhausted, and then they would presumably decide their mistress knew what was going on and give up for the day. Fleur's pounding hooves hit the bridge. She cleared the apex -- -- the desperate leap sent her to the left just in time to avoid colliding with the roughshod stallion's stationary backside: a desperate flare of field and pain stabilized the device. And then all she could do was try to slow her rush as she finished crossing the too-narrow span, moving alongside the living line which stretched all the way back from the gouged cottage door, passing pony after pony and all of their waiting companions... Nopony complained. There were no accusations of her attempting to cut in front, and a few ponies even managed a quick wave. Most of the expressions she ran past were fleetingly glad to see her. They knew she worked there. And now that she'd arrived, the line might move faster. She got inside, managed to advance about a body length before the breathing blockage stopped her. And there were chirps and squeals, mews and barks, chittering and of course there was a Qweep! and the sitting room was now the nowhere-left-to-sit room, there was fur and feathers everywhere and the portion she needed to reach was half-cowered near the surgery entrance, quill just barely held in a trembling jaw, trying to write it all down, sort everything out the same way she'd been trying to go at it alone for hours, the quill fell as she saw Fleur and a single desperate blue-green eye begged for help... When I started this journal, I made a promise to myself. I'd tell the whole story. That meant if there was something which made me look bad, it had to go in because that was what happened. Me looking bad is part of how we got here. Part of how you got here. You, the grandfoal who's reading this now. I've told you about work and sweat and hoof-hammer shoes. You probably know more about mills than you really wanted to, unless somepony got my mark. And if you didn't, I want you to know I love you just as much as I would if you did. Some ponies say that life is a game and grandfoals are the last prize. If you've got grandfoals, then you did it all the right way. You found somepony to love. There were kids, and you raised them right. They found their own partners, and now there's you. You reading this right now. If life is a game, then even if I'm dead, your reading this means I won. I have to remember that. Right now, I need to remember that more than ever. Because I'm writing these words down before I say them to her. This is practice. If I can get them to come out of a quill, then maybe they won't rasp my throat on the way out. I've told you everything I could, as long as it was something I thought a kid should read. And kids can manage more than most ponies think. I've told you about the good and the bad and if you're young enough, the farting was probably the funniest part. And now I'm talking to you before I talk to her. I keep looking at how many blank pages are left after this. Wondering if I'll get to fill them up. I'm stalling. I just got home. I haven't showed up at home this late in a while, and she still isn't here. I think she should be coming off the road soon. I need to be ready by the time she clears the porch. Or we could do this there. Maybe that'll make it easier. I was at the mill late because it was finally my turn to have Balance Sheet visit. The town's first live-in accountant has been a really busy pony for the last couple of moons. Really popular stallion, at least with the business owners. He's having a little more trouble with the mares, because it can take him a few minutes to stop talking in numbers and a couple already decided he was trying to read off their measurements. The key is that he can turn numbers into words eventually. Words everypony understands. He tells ponies what all the numbers really mean. So I was the last pony in the mill, and I had all the ledgers out and waiting for him. I didn't realize there were that many until I had them all out in the open, and then I felt like I'd just kicked Balance in a foreknee. Like he was going to trot in and then just turn around to trot out, because it was better than dealing with all of it. He just looked at the stack when he came in. It was a tired look. He usually looks tired, because this is his crush. But he stayed as long as he had to. Charges by the job, not the hour, because it can take a long time to turn ledgers into something a pony like me can understand. I deal with math in building, but that's measurements and force and angles. The building evens out at the end. Not the accounts. Balance was tired all the way through. But he got through it. He can deal with a crush. His crush. It's not mine. It isn't a surge either. What he said at the end is where I think he was trying to meet me halfway. Translate to builder. Because I always make sure we plant trees. There has to be wood tomorrow, even if it's not a tomorrow I'm ever going to see. He said the mill is dropping below the sustainability level. I was expecting the surge. You get a weather team, you get a population surge because it's safe now. But we can see the capital from here. From where I'm writing right now. And the way Balance put it is that we're in its shadow. Sun is where the Princess is. The more skittish ponies, the ones who would normally come in at the end? We're not getting enough of them, because what they see as the truest safety is just that close. So there isn't as much of a draw. Ponyville doesn't have enough weight. Enough gravity. Not compared to being right next to Sun. We're getting some ponies, but it isn't enough. Unless something big happens right here, something that makes a pull, they may not come. Maybe we'll always be a small settled zone, almost lost in Canterlot's shadow. I thought the town would expand more than this. And we've been getting the pegasi, because when the earth ponies start, the pegasi finish. But they aren't enough. They're a minority. Even when the numbers stabilize there, they may wind up as the smallest group. I'm not stupid. I knew a lot of them would wind up putting their own places together. You don't need a mill to mold a cloud. But there's a few mixed families now. With pegasi involved, those always stay on the ground. And even the ones with cloud homes can't run their businesses on that level. You usually lose two-thirds of your customers. So they were going to need some construction, and the mill is providing. It's just not enough. Balance said I needed to let ponies go a couple of moons before I did. He thinks this settlement wave can keep the mill going for a while. But he's not sure it'll last a full year. And when that's over, there might not be enough traffic for a town to have its own dedicated mill. I can compete with the capital on costs, because nothing has to travel as far. But if there aren't enough contracts, then there isn't enough money coming in. Repairs, business expansions, extra rooms for new family members might not be enough. The workforce can be cut down. But I can build a mill on my own. The mark means I can operate every station. I just can't do all of them at the same time. I can't be everywhere. There's a minimum herd count required to run the place on a normal schedule. To fill out a work crew. And that's sustainability. The number of contracts coming in to cover the money going out, while having enough left over for a family to live on. Balance showed me what that number is. The smallest version, where we're just barely safe and maybe I start to really regret all the money I put into the waterworks. He doesn't know if the mill can stabilize above that level. Right on the line. Or if we're going below it. And all he knows is the numbers. He translated them, but he can't tell me how to make them call in extra work. I have to think of something. For her. For my kid. It was chaos, and not the type you could just tell to leave. Fleur had never truly gotten the chance to explore the town's full social web: her charge represented too many demands on her limited time, and it had left her ignorant of where some of the larger strands went. She was aware that ultimately, just about everything had the chance to go through Pinkie -- but beyond that, she had yet to locate the majority of the distribution vectors. She didn't know who was doing the talking. But the sheer speed at which the news traveled impressed her, and some of the distortions which had developed within the finer vibrations -- those were almost worthy of the capital. It was simple, wasn't it? There had been a single vet in residence, a perfect one. But because she was perfect, she couldn't see everypony. Thousands of ponies in the settled zone, perhaps just about as many companions. Figure short visits, the fact that even a competent vet couldn't see every animal... it was possible to estimate Sweetbark's client base and if an estimate wasn't enough, then Fleur just had to wait until the last of those files was delivered to the cottage. Something which took three days, although a few of them had beaten her there on the first. Miranda had looked at the appointment list for the initial hours of the post-Sweetbark era and sent those files ahead. The perfect vet couldn't see everypony. So if you lived in Ponyville and you had a companion... you had to go somewhere. And there was a train, the capital was right there, and while you hadn't been lucky enough to gain access to the perfect vet, anypony surviving in proximity to the palace had to be fairly skilled. But if you just needed something minor, didn't have the time to travel, were desperate -- -- or you were just experienced -- -- there was a cottage out by the fringe. And everypony knew animals died there. They didn't understand that the battle was always lost eventually, that everything a vet or doctor could do represented a stalling action and the most you could supposedly hope for was to have a good life before the darkness closed in. They had just been told that the cottage was a place where animals died. And the settled zone cared about the mare who lived there: she was seen as the youngest and weakest of the Bearers, but she was still a Bearer. Their Bearer. They protected her, as best they could. It just didn't mean they trusted her. Because she was seen as youngest and weakest. Because everypony knew animals died. Because she always tried to flee, and so few understood that the things to be afraid of were the ones she didn't flee from. You could go to her for grooming, or to adopt a pet. She was good at that. But for veterinary services... how could somepony so fearful possibly be capable of facing the harshest parts of the profession? Clearly she wasn't really good at it. She didn't have the mark, and the mare everypony listened to said the mark was the most crucial thing. The cottage was where animals died, and why would you risk that when there was somepony who was perfect? Then something happened. And those who had gathered bore witness. The herd spoke within itself. Passed along a new thought. The truth, and Honesty became the most brutal Element. The herd... Take everypony who had managed to become part of Sweetbark's client list and stay there: the soft jobs, those who helped her stay lucky. Well, now Sweetbark isn't there any more. All of those appointments are void. But there's a new story spreading through the town, you know the truth now, and who do you want examining your pet? And the ones who'd been going to Canterlot? Obviously the best option was close to home all along! -- well, out towards the fringe and most of them had never taken that trot, but you probably got used to the trip after a while. And the story is spreading, there's all these ponies with companions, just about every companion needs to see a vet for checkups if nothing else, and the bulk of the herd makes a decision. Because it's the herd, they all make the same one. Perhaps there should have been more lessons in rejection. But Fleur understood that Fluttershy responded to the whispers of her mark: the need to try and take pain away, even when doing so was impossible -- when it came to sapients. With animals, you could try. It was just hard to stop. And with Fleur... she'd had to manage her own booking schedule. There were only so many hours in a cycle of Sun and Moon, a limited number of days available in her career. She couldn't see everypony, had sorted her own catch accordingly -- but it could hurt to turn money away. And she'd had the option to do so, because between her escort earnings and -- everything else -- there had been bits flowing in. Fluttershy couldn't. The days blurred. That was what happened when you didn't really sleep. The edges of time became fuzzy. The present tended to meld with the past, usually in a way which had Fleur's body jerking out of sleep several times a night. She kept having nightmares, the same nightmares, and she wanted to retrieve the box just to spend a single period under Moon with it nearby. Something which would break the pattern, because one night of true rest had to lead into more. But she couldn't become reliant on it, on anything. Even if she wanted to risk it, retrieval was harder now. There was too much happening, too much and... ...endurance under both Sun and Moon, the ability to get by on less sleep -- that was part of Fluttershy's talent: a necessary subset of the mark's gifts. And even her charge's endurance was being stripped thin. There were times when the pegasus stumbled, when the single visible eye began to flutter closed. They had to watch each other for such times, have one take over while the other tried to reach the bedroom for the shortest of naps, and sometimes that was Fleur because there was no other choice. The soundproofed blanket seemed to be doing its job: nopony was ever alerted... ...she didn't have nightmares when she was in Fluttershy's bed. Perhaps it was the upheaval of her sleep schedule: after all, by definition, nightmares weren't something which could find you in the day. Or perhaps she'd just been lucky. But as Sweetbark had so aptly demonstrated, It was an accident. nopony could stay lucky. There was barely time to drink wake-up juice. Fleur invoiced the coffee to the palace. She had to struggle for five minutes in which to examine Bluestocking's contingency contract, and the bookseller sacrificed two hours to the line before gaining them. It was an endless parade of paws and claws, talons and feet, feathers and fur. There were times when they started before Sun was raised, ended long after Moon had been placed in the sky. And Fleur tried to tell Fluttershy that they needed to sort the catch or, by this point, scatter the load -- but the bulk of the herd had made up its mind. There were too many ponies coming and while they couldn't all be seen, they also couldn't all be turned away. It was often hard to get an appointment in the capital on short notice. Once a pony had decided to try for the cottage, it could take weeks before anything else opened up. Because the bulk of the herd had made a decision, but some outliers had still needed to make appointments -- and that meant the vets in the capital were dealing with a smaller amount of overflow. Nothing critical, but enough that getting in wasn't guaranteed. And rather than get on the train and travel hours roundtrip for the rejection... Two mares were trying to deal with all of it. Two mares. Except for when there were three ponies, because Snowflake was doing whatever he could. But the cottage situation didn't represent a palace hire: no automatic override for whatever he'd already had booked. There were commitments on his schedule, and to abandon them would eventually lead to the end of his livelihood. Plus his skills were limited: there were things he couldn't manage, and more of them appeared at the cottage every day. Still, there were times when it was three ponies. Others saw it as four. The theoretical maximum was ten, but Fluttershy managed to explain why that wasn't going to happen. If Twilight was at the cottage, then Spike usually had to hold down the library. (He'd also apparently had one chance at watching over the cottage, and that occasion had provided a lot of reasons for never going to twice.) Additionally, Rainbow was exempted from any and all attempts to assist. Fleur had initially (and silently) assumed this had something to do with attention span, had followed that up with vocally considering just how many delicate items might be on the concluding end of a crash, and Fluttershy had said that wasn't the reason. So what was the reason? ...it was classified. That didn't exactly help. No Spike: Fleur still hadn't had any time with the little dragon. No Rainbow, and perhaps they were better off. But there were Bearers flowing in and out of the cottage, doing what they could. And it still wasn't enough. Twilight was mostly good at organizing appointments. But she didn't always seem to understand that when it came to medicine, stop times weren't a suggestion: they were a hope. A veterinary schedule would disrupt itself. And she came into the surgery, offered one more field to hold and shift and make adjustments, but she was visibly nervous the whole time and, if things ran too far past what the schedule had dictated, she tended to twitch. A lot. When it came to the little things which needed to be done around the cottage, Pinkie was actually the most methodical. Fleur fully understood that: you couldn't be a baker unless you knew how to follow instructions in exacting order. Pinkie would sort out feedbags, check the chicken coops, examine powdered herbs for hazardous color shifts -- anything she could contribute, she would do as well as she possibly could, until it was done. But she was one of three bakers trying to keep that business running, the cottage was a long gallop from Ponyville, and she had work shifts and scheduled parties and the least time to spare. Applejack hosted tenants on her farm: something which required her to have mastered a little first aid because doctors for non-pony species could be hard to come by. And she had a dog, which had allowed her to learn about claw trimming, tooth-cleaning and the like -- but beyond that, she was mostly good for enforcing order on the line. Nopony tried to cut when Applejack was around, and arguments about who was going first when the schedule broke down were settled with a hard look. Applejack kept the peace. But she had her own family to worry about, a farm which had to be put to sleep for the coming winter and a home which needed her every night. She couldn't stay. Rarity had announced that she was going to stick with what she knew herself to be capable of, and that meant she just did grooming. There were frequently too many curls in the results and if a pony's companion was wearing a cute outfit, that garment was going to be revised. And if she found a direct sight line through the crowd, she would sometimes glare at Fleur. ...most of the time. The escort had no intention of ever trying to truly bond with the bitch. But Fleur had felt they might at least find some common ground. Both mares were trying to help Fluttershy. Both also -- well, if you couldn't appreciate a mutual hatred of Blueblood, then there was truly no hope. But Rarity just glared at Fleur, because the bitch was finding ways both visual and, if she thought she had anything approaching privacy, vocal, of making it clear that she felt the entire situation was Fleur's fault. It was unfair. Fleur's cause hadn't exactly been helped by events. Prepping for the Algonquin was becoming effectively impossible. It was hard to do with a Bearer around, they always had to talk over the increased background sounds of animals and when it came to the other necessary end of speaking up, Fleur was still dealing with Fluttershy. Full briefings on party guests were interrupted, trying to master the cadence required for joke-telling usually found the punchline cut off by a bark, and bed shopping was completely out. Fleur was almost at the point of resorting to catalogs and order forms. ...as long as she was mailing things out, she could try to put a classified ad into the Canterlot newspapers. Vet Wanted: By Ponyville. Badly. Because Sweetbark had divided the load, Sweetbark was gone, and any time Fleur managed to hold onto the thought long enough to try acting on it was usually also a time when she couldn't reach the post office before it closed. But she had to try, because they couldn't keep this up. Not forever, not for very long at all. They'd been doing it for too long already and seven days before the party, she managed to get the notice sent out: all replies posted to the dubious care of her rental. It was unreasonable to expect a next-day response. Two was more likely. Three was pushing it. It took the fourth before she wondered just how much of the story had reached the capital via commuters. If veterinarians were afraid to try posting their sign in Ponyville because that was where Fluttershy was. Messages from potential suitors were still coming in. There were also invitations. And there was no real chance to work on any of it. Fleur pushed on through each day, survived on what scant sleep she could find (and she knew her luck was going to run out), the Algonquin was now a mere seven days away and they weren't ready. Six. Five. Four. Three... She did what she could to prepare her charge, when the cottage finally shut down under Moon. But Fluttershy's endurance was running out, and Fleur couldn't match her. Fluttershy just had to go up the ramp at the end of each day and Fleur had to go back into town. Make the trot almost every time, and it was 'almost' because there had been one night when Twilight had stayed late and considerately escorted Fleur back. The other kind of escorting. That confusion happened sometimes with unicorns... ...Fluttershy kept telling her to sleep at the cottage. But her luck was going to run out, and the special blanket was on Fluttershy's bed. Sleep on the fainting couch and even if any screams didn't reach the pegasus, every animal would be jolted into waking. They would seek their mistress, and... ...Fleur tried to stagger back to the rental every night. There were two trips under Moon where she didn't reach it. The nightmares came, Sun would be raised, and then she staggered to the cottage again. And when time stopped blurring for a moment, when her thoughts stopped blurring, she would think about missions. What might happen to Ponyville if the palace called for the Bearers now, leaving Fleur and Snowflake to manage the load all by themselves. Doing so in a way which didn't cost Fluttershy all of her new client base, and most of the old ones. But there was barely time for such thoughts. There was barely time for the massages which gave Fluttershy the only relief Fleur could offer. And sometimes there was a Bearer around and Fleur couldn't do anything with a Bearer present because it wouldn't be understood, or Fluttershy would just say that Fleur was too tired and shouldn't wear herself out any more, Fleur would protest and say it was Fluttershy's health, her charge would push a reversed version back at her and sometimes it ended with Fluttershy going up the ramp with no relief at all. Snowflake tried. The Bearers pitched in as best they could. But the bitch just glared at her, because Rarity very clearly felt the whole thing was Fleur's fault. It wasn't. She hadn't intended any of it. ...yes, she'd wanted to show everypony what Sweetbark truly was and there had been but one chance, but she hadn't meant for this to come from that. Intentions had to count somewhere or the world had no meaning at all. No purpose beyond providing a place where pain could thrive. Fluttershy went up the ramp in pain... ...Fleur didn't control everything. 'You can't, but it's fun to watch you try.' It's not my fault. I'm looking at this journal and I'm telling it everything which is going through my head. If I clear out all of the words, there has to be an answer waiting behind them. Sun was lowered. I'm looking at the same page under lantern light. She's coming up the path and the words aren't there. I'm the one who wanted to come here. I put it all in motion. That makes this my fault. It was an accident.