Disclaimer: CC Cover art and all written material within is intellectual property of user Persianjuliet, and may not be used without consent of the author.
My Little Pony and all related characters are property of Hasbro and Lauren Faust.
Song: Cousins by Vampire Weekend
“Sweet Golden Horn’s... hooves, will you shut up already?”
Low Tide snapped at me, having finally reached the end of his tether. Still giddy, I affected a haughty air and lifted my nose skyward. “Harrumph. You’re just jealous because I didn’t have to knock anypony off the sidewalk to get a date.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m so jealous right now. You got me.”
I shrugged, too excited to take offense at his mockery. I had a date and I was in Canterlot at last! The fear that had been building up for so long had almost entirely dissipated- although I was careful to keep my wings folded against my sides, just in case somepony should spot my lack of a Cutie Mark.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Updraft. He had been so charming and confident. Meet me at eight- just like that! He was handsome too, with that unusual light green coat. I smiled to think of how he had flirted.
“So have you met Updraft before? What’s he like?” I interrogated my exasperated relative. He let out a heavy, dramatic sigh, but acquiesced.
“I met him last time I was here. He’s pretty new, so I don’t know much about him. He could be the Easter Phoenix, for all I know. Just flying about, delivering eggs and coals.”
I glanced apprehensively at him. “So… It’s okay if I meet him later?”
Low laughed, ruffling my head with one hoof. “You’re not a filly anymore. Date whoever you want.” He winked clandestinely. “I won’t tell Aunt Silver if you won’t. You deserve to get out and have fun. Meet some new ponies. Get in trouble and break some laws. Get arrested and spend a few days in jail. Get a plot tattoo and-”
“Okay. I get it. All you had to do was say yes.” I shook my head at his nonsense, but secretly I was delighted by his answer. “So we’ll meet Pirouette, get set up at her house, and then I’ll go meet Updraft?”
Low nodded. “You should get a dress first, if you’re still worried about anypony noticing your Cutie Mark… problem.”
I agreed, my mood darkening slightly as I was reminded of our reason for being in Canterlot in the first place. We walked on in silence for a while, and I turned my attention to our surroundings.
The city was breathtaking. Crystalline spires rose from the castle above, casting heavy shadows over the smaller and less impressing buildings. That didn’t matter, though, since Canterlot was ablaze with artificial daylight. Candles and torches filled the widows of every shop and restaurant, and many were lit with magical strips of light that hung in the air, pulsing and undulating slightly. The capitol glowed from within, and in the illumination, I was able to take in all the new sights.
My senses were overloaded by the wealth of information streaming in. The air was full of the talk and laughter of busy ponies. A customer haggling with a shop owner, a foal begging its parents for sweets, a group of chattering teens clustered on a corner- it was incredible. The various smells in the air mingled and strengthened in the still air, becoming powerful and almost overwhelming. Smoke, perfume, sweat, dirt, and every imaginable type of food swirled into an odorous cloud that I will always associate with Canterlot.
The rough cobblestones felt strange under my hooves. I was used to dirt roads, rocky beaches, even clouds- but the clacking noise of hundreds of hooves all sounding at once is a bit overwhelming. Looking around, I saw that many of the passers-by were shod with tough-looking cloth hoofwear. Observing, I realized that this worked to muffle the obnoxious clacking noise. I smiled. What a clever invention. This is the kind of small idea that can make a pony rich.
Low Tide led us on a meandering path through the upper district. We passed all kinds of ponies- from incredibly high-class aristocrats and merchants, and one mare that I’m still convinced was a Duchess, to homeless ponies begging on the streets, dressed in rags and huddling in groups for safety. The sight made me feel uncomfortable, and vaguely guilty in a strange, abstract way. I hadn’t realized that there could be ponies suffering so much in a city so rich. Or rather, I had known it, but I had never wanted to think about it. We moved further uptown, and the streets grew cleaner as the homeless population decreased.
My mood quickly improved as Low began pointing out various landmarks and stores. He had an endless supply of scandalous stories, and I was choking with laughter as he gestured to a particular café. “That innocent looking coffee shop right there? According to Pirouette-” (many of his stories began like this.) “the owners are new money, rich on coffee exports, but apparently they’ve been running from a sordid past. One of them used to be an exotic dancer in a bar!”
“Really?” I was fascinated. No one ever told me these kinds of stories back home. “Was he her customer when they got married?”
Low Tide laughed. “No, it was the other way around. He was the exotic dancer, not her!”
I burst out laughing, startling a pair of upper-crust ponies. They hurried past, shooting us suspicious looks. I poked Low in the ribs, whispering “I bet you made most of these stories up!”
He gave me his “affronted” face. “It’s all true! Ask Pirouette; these city ponies are bananas.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “I think I will ask her.”
“Fine. Do it.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We walked in silence for half a moment longer, until neither of us could hold it in. I snickered, and Low made a ridiculous face. The gentry around us were disapproving, and the crowd parted easily around us. Low leaned in close to me, murmuring so only I could hear.
“Hey, Wide Eyes. I just realized something.”
“What?”
“We’re naked.”
I let out an entirely unladylike laugh. Low Tide could be pretty funny sometimes. It almost made up for how annoying he was the rest of the time. I told him this, and received his gratitude in the form of a shove that sent me teetering on the brink of the curb. Some gratitude.