Through a charming windowpane, luminous violet eyes wander dreamily over a sunlit rural scene. They belong to the little pony of our tale, Ocean Mist, whose furry fetlocks rest on an open colouring book. The pale blue of these is edged with green from a still-glistening attempt to bring to life a beanstalk, while the enormous, booted feet of the felled giant of that tale remain uncompleted in black and white. In this unsatisfactory state they will sadly remain for some time because today is not destined to be just another one spent in idle fantasy.
The reason for that is due in part to the owner of the windowpane in whose living room Ocean Mist is daydreaming. With this pony you may be familiar, as she has a prominent place in Ponyville society: her name is Kimono. Known for having mature tastes and her love of foreign culture, this personage has been the most forward of her kind in establishing contact with the Equestrian ponies. It is an event linked to this contact that will shortly disturb Ocean Mist’s favourite activity.
Contact had occurred many moons ago when the Equestrians emerged from a magical portal in Unicornia, upending the small world of the natives. In contrast to the Equestrians’ sprawling civilisation, Kimono’s cosy society is a mere handful, living in innocence in small enclaves. Kimono has ever since been fascinated with all things Equestrian, unlike her more parochial neighbours, and to satisfy that interest, she has placed many orders with the off-world firm Amarezon. One of these deliveries, the cause of today’s kerfluffle, is just about to arrive.
Ocean’s Mist’s sky-blue ears swivel forward as she sees the unfamiliar sight of a delivery wagon drawn by two strange-looking Equestrians in drab, beige, mail-pony uniforms, complete with baseball caps. Over the grinding rumble of the wagon’s great wheels, she can make out a distinctive ‘clop’ – a sound new to Ponyville whose denizens’ soft, unshod appendages have always been muffled.
The sight is a shock, prompting a small “Oh!” of exclamation.
The sound echoes in Kimono’s drawing room, whose quiet has so far only been punctured by the turn of a page or scribble of a pen. Kimono, the source of the noise, is sitting at her desk, where she has been involved in “Important research so shh!” all morning.
Ocean Mist looks round and is relieved to see the lilac pony oblivious, head buried in an arcane looking, leather-bound volume.
This book, as with a few new additions to the room, were recent Equestrian acquisitions. To the concern of her Ponyvillian friends, Kimono’s initial interest in the new arrivals had grown into full-blown obsession. Ocean had always known that her mentor was a strange pony and, as she had recently been warned by Pinkie Pie: ‘Her “strangeness” has only got stranger!’. But, though Ocean sometimes struggles herself the other's peculiarities, she could not help but continue visiting, drawn in by exotic tales of fantastic creatures from the distant past or other worlds.
‘If only I had listened to Pinkie!’ she frets, upset that her association has resulted in the unknown appearing in the flesh.
Ocean Mist contemplates telling her friend about the visitors but decides against. Whilst studying, Kimono was very sensitive to interruption and Ocean Mist, though a good little filly, had already been told off twice this morning.
“I am not to be disturbed again! No ifs and no buts. Or no bed-time story,” Kimono had warned.
Ocean Mist wasn’t about to risk disturbing Kimono again – no bed-time story would spoil her whole visit!
Turning back towards the window helplessly, Ocean Mist lowers her head and peers out at the strangers from under her pink mane, muzzle to the sill.
‘Maybe they’ll turn back?’
Behind her anonymous mail-pony uniform, which Ocean Mist had spied from her window in Kimono’s house, Derpy Hooves was in a state of wonder. This was her first inter-dimensional delivery, and she was loving every moment. As they passed through Unicornia, Butterfly Island and now Ponyville, she had wondered at their every delightful feature and had quietly enjoyed the cutesy, endearing ways of the natives. She would be the first to admit that due to these charming distractions, her professionalism might have lapsed, thus making them a ‘teeny bit’ late. But while that wouldn’t please her boss, his disapprobation was a price she was prepared to pay since she'd likely never get this opportunity again.
Unlike Derpy, the pony pulling the wagon beside her, Crafty Crate, was not wonder-struck. As the owner of the delivery business, he felt that he should by now be enjoying a nap after his morning coffee in the spacious Cloudsdale offices of Crate Inc, rather than be on delivery. The unpleasant task was also made well-nigh unbearable by his coworker. He had sworn to never again employ this pony – only a bout of pony pox decimating his staff had overridden his better judgement. His patience with her antics was fraying, so that the only thing keeping his temper even was the knowledge that soon he would be heading back. If they hurried, he quietly hoped, they might be back in Equestria by late afternoon and possibly even make it to Detrot in time for last calls in the Sky Anchor, one of his favourite watering holes.
Ocean Mist’s stomach flutters as the mail-ponies stop, unhitch themselves and remove a large parcel from the wagon. As the two open Kimono’s garden-gate and head towards the house, she notices that while one was a familiar pony shape, the other looks strange. Wondering what seems off about them, she remembers Kimono saying that there are two types of Equestrian pony: one was normal like herself, but the other was bigger, smellier and hairier: ‘They will call ponies like us ‘Miss’ and we call their big ones ‘Mister’. One of these was clearly a ‘Mister’ since he was the largest and hairiest pony Ocean Mist had ever seen.
With a last look to Kimono for support, only to see the mare still rapt, Ocean Mist takes a deep breath and heads towards the door to see what the strangers want.
“’llo?” she squeaks out, eyes darting between the two.
“Delivery, Miss,” the large one says in a deep voice.
“Oh, yes.”
Not knowing what else to do, Ocean Mist holds out her hooves.
The stallion shakes his head, however, and with an effortful grunt, lowers a giant cardboard box, about the size of Ocean herself, to the floor.
“Oh…” she says, forgetting herself in her shyness.
However, Ponyville custom dictated fulsome ‘thank yous’ and hugs when receiving presents.
“Thank you very, very, very much!” she says, forcing herself to be effusive.
To complete her redemption, she goes in for a hug, starting with the smaller of the two, the grey pegasus pony.
With a friendly smile and a little ‘aw’, Derpy accepts the gesture. Ocean Mist’s nostrils wrinkle at the unfamiliar musky smell from the Equestrian, who in turn sighs as the slight, warm, body presses against hers.
The stallion, however, remains aloof when she offers him the same greeting, and only nods gruffly at her.
“That’s ok, Miss,” he grunts.
Ocean Mist stops, flustered.
“Oh, ok.”
Despite the awkwardness, Ocean Mist was a little relieved, as this ‘Mister’ was living up to his reputation in terms of ‘smell’ – a result of Crafty’s long day.
The male looks about to move away, when suddenly the other pipes up:
“Lovely place, this.”
This was firmer ground for Ocean, who adored the aquatic aesthetic of Kimono’s residence, so unlike the pastel pinks of Ponyville.
“Oh, yes, it is lovely isn’t it! It was all designed by Kimono herself!”
The mare nods encouragingly.
“Do you want to see the gardens? I play here all the time, so I know them really well.“
“I’d love to!”
Ocean Mist grins, liking the idea of showing off her friend’s gorgeous grounds. Since her friends rarely played there, she had had limited opportunities to tell anypony about the stories she had made up for each of its quirky features.
“Great, they’re over there!”
Ocean points behind the two and over the lane towards Kimono’s extensive water garden, bordering Ponyville lake.
Derpy begins to follow but is halted by a grunt from Crafty.
“Uh, is it ok if we–“ she begins.
But Crafty has already shaken his head.
“Oh well, maybe another time? Places to be, y’know.”
“Right. Please sign here.”
The stallion holds out a funny square device in his huge hoof, one that Ocean Mist had never seen before.
“Uh? I don’t..?”
In a tone that causes Ocean Mist’s cheeks to pinken, he explains:
“Just waggle your hoof on the screen.”
“’k.” she replies.
The Equestrians turn to go.
“G’Day Miss.”
“Bye-bye!” Derpy adds.
Just as Ocean is about to close the door the latter turns and calls out to her in her peculiar low, lilting and languid voice.
“What was your name?” she asks, causing her companion to wince. “In case we visit again?”
Once they exchange details, with Crafty tapping his hoof impatiently all the while, they leave.
With the door closed, Ocean Mist’s fluttering heart begins to calm, and she returns to Kimono’s drawing room, finding the mare to have finally taken a break from her research.
“Who was that?”
“Two Equestrians with a special present for you!”
“And you answered the door to them?” Kimono asks, dubiously.
“Yes!”
“Oh,” she says, surprised. “Well, thank you very much, Chibi Sakura.”
The filly nods proudly in response, pleased with the friendly use of her pet-name, a sure sign that a bed-time story would be forthcoming.
“Derpy!” Crafty Crate barks.
The mare’s eyes are glazed over, her face serene.
“Sorry, Crafty, it’s just so beautiful here.”
Reluctantly, she heads back to the wagon, where the stallion is already hitched.
Taking the lead, Crafty begins to turn the large vehicle around, unable to proceed forwards due to the cul-de-sac.
The procedure is difficult, requiring them to act in unison, with Crafty pulling the wagon forwards and turning, and Derpy attempting to push it backwards.
The wagon, however, was not moving easily on the soft ground, making Derpy’s pushes less than effective.
“Come on, come on!” Crafty grumbles.
Derpy, reading his mood, stays quiet.
After five, effortful, minutes, the wagon is still diagonal to the lane, with its back facing a moist, mossy bank.
“Right. I’ll push, you pull,” Crafty orders gruffly.
Throwing off his hitching, Crafty puts his hefty shoulder to the wagon.
Derpy, sighing, approaches her tack and straps herself to the wagon bars, giving one last look to the enticing light-striated turquoises of the numerous ornamental ponds of Kimono’s water gardens.
“Ready?”
“Sure.”
She jolts forwards due to the force of Crafty’s shove. This, combined with the slick cobbles, causes the wagon’s wheels to slither. Straining with all her might she tries to turn the wheels round, but her hooves, compromised like the wheels, start to give.
“Steer! Steer!” Crafty shouts in panic.
But it is no use. The heavy back wheels sink into the bank, tilting the vehicle, and though he throws his weight against it, its momentum is now unstoppable as it slides into the ditch, dragging Derpy after them. Derpy is lifted off her legs when the back of the wagon dives and the front lifts. The wagon settles there and does not continue through Kimono’s gardens to the lake, but that fact hardly assuages Crafty’s anger.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he swears, ripping his cap from his head and stomping it into the mud.
“Uh, boss?” Derpy calls to him.
Crafty Crate looks up at her angrily.
“Didn’t you hear me!? I said 'steer,' you feather-brained mare.”
Derpy knows better than to respond, despite it not being her fault for once.
Grumbling under his breath, Crafty unhitches her.
Meanwhile, Ocean Mist’s mind had been racing, wondering how she would tell her Ponyville friends about the encounter, one eye on the heavy wagon, which seems to be slowly turning in the lane.
She doesn’t pay much attention to it, until its lack of progress and odd angle next to the bank verging the lane cause her to worry.
Looking a little closer, she sees, with a flush of anger, that the huge wheels are digging into the verge, scarring it.
But only as the wagon begins to teeter does she becomes fully alarmed.
“Oh no!”
“Shh!”
Kimono arches an eyebrow at her.
“Sorry.”
Kimono nods and resumes her research.
Ocean quietly continues her observations. The wagon is still on the lane, but only barely, and the two Equestrians have now swapped positions.
‘Why don’t they just push it back down the lane?’ she thinks.
Her hopes are dashed, however, when she sees that they have redoubled their efforts to turn the wagon.
‘It’s going to slide down the ditch and fall in the lake if they keep on!’
Sinking to the sill, she covers her eyes with her hooves, wincing as the wagon churns up more of the verge and threatens at any second to extend that destruction to the delicate gardens.
Heart in her mouth, time seems to slow down for Ocean as she sees the wagon first rocking on the edge of the lane and then sliding away from it into the ditch. Already moving to the door, she does not immediately see that her fears for the gardens, at least, were unfounded.
Galloping to try to help prevent more destruction, Ocean Mist is arrested by the same shyness from before and halts at the edge of the garden, peeking over Kimono’s gate. The grey mail-pony is idling next to the now stranded wagon, being shouted at by the brown pony. Uncertain, and a little afraid of the shouting male, Ocean is caught between fear and her desire to be useful.
“I think it’s stuck.”
Derpy, hooves back on the ground, eyes the problem with equinamity from under her baseball cap.
Crafty Crate, face like thunder, ignores her.
His knowledge of problems like this was limited, unlike his extensive experience of flown wagons, the typical mode of delivery for his company. However, in his eagerness not to let the generous fee for the delivery go to a rival, he had not fully accounted for the fact that this dimension’s physics would not allow for that. By the time he had realised his mistake in taking the booking without an assigned earth pony courier, those had all been either tied up or were out of commission due to the same pony pox that had left him short-staffed. Therefore, he had had to send two pegasi to do an earth pony job, and not only that, but one of these, himself, was an out of practice desk-pony, while the other was the clumsy freelancer beside him. He could feel his old boss and mentor, Ship Shape, judging him for his carelessness.
Suppressing his self-reproach, he squares up to the problem and turns to Derpy, a determined expression on his face.
“If we put our backs into it, we should be able to push it free.”
“But the bar’s in the air boss,” she slurs, lazily, mind drifting off to her captivating surroundings.
“Derpy!” he snaps.
“Sorry.”
“Put your shoulder against the wagon’s side here.”
Derpy obediently leans her shoulder on the place indicated and braces herself as best she can on the moist, grassy bank. He adopts a similar position on the other side.
“Now, on three, push!” he bellows.
As the ponies strain against the wagon, to Crafty’s relief, the coach moves. Both, however, struggle to maintain their momentum. Their hooves, intended for the well-drained plains of Equestria, begin to slide on the slick verge and soon they are dragged inexorably back down the bank.
Crafty Crate racks his brains for anything that might help and after a short while, he has an idea. Many moons ago, when he was an apprentice, he had overheard his boss talking to a crusty, mud-stained, earth pony about how he drew his wagon through the notoriously challenging terrain of the southern swamps.
“Y’see boah,” the elder had said. “All your hooves gotta grip, so when yeh push off y’whole self is doin’ it. ‘s called ‘Four Hoof Drive’.”
Crafty looks at his hooves, perplexed.
Feeling foalish, he rises and tries to angle the appendages in the mud in an approximation of ‘Four Hoof Drive’. However, the unnatural action only unbalances him.
‘I can do this,’ he thinks to himself.
Trying to force his adult limbs to unlearn the habit of driving from the back, he engages his forelegs and hind legs together, but the simple-sounding action eludes him. Determined, he stubbornly perseveres, his thrashing and leaping leaving him increasingly splattered as he churns up the mud.
Derpy, overhearing this, plods over to see what he is doing.
“Boss?”
Despite herself, she couldn’t completely keep the chuckle out her voice at seeing Crafty prancing.
Crafty’s face reddens, but he keeps trying the ‘Four Hoof Drive’ and ignores her.
“What’cha up to?”
Irritably, he turns to Derpy.
“Will you put a pie in it and let me try this.”
“Ok…”
Derpy turns away, glad for the opportunity to enjoy the exotic surroundings.
“Four Hoof Drive makes no damn sense!” he eventually exclaims.
“Oh, you’re trying that,” Derpy says, laconically.
Crafty Crate looks incredulously at her a moment before resuming.
“You thought it would help with the ditch?”
Derpy tries again.
Crafty grinds his teeth together.
“Well, I don’t think it will work, boss.”
“Oh?” he reluctantly engages.
“Yeah, because my friend Turnipseed-“ she pauses. “Y’know him?”
“No.”
“Oh! He’s great, I think you’d like him.”
“Derpy,” he growls.
“Well, y’see me and Turnips went to the same summer school. And one day he fell in a puddle. He looked sad, so I jumped in after him to show he wasn’t the only one, and then whole class did. We got such a scolding-”
“Derpy!”
“Well, after that we became special someponies for a while and he let me in on his big secret about ‘Four Hoof Drive’”
“Yes?”
“And he said, ‘Bubbles’ – that was his name for me y’see – ‘Bubbles, you know ah wish’n ah could flah like yah’.”
Derpy pauses.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at his accent.”
“Get on with it.”
“Uh, anyway, he said that he wasn’t rich like his Da’ with a proper house, so he couldn’t marry me. Which is silly, because I was just a filly and he was the smallest colt in school, but you know how it is in school.”
Crafty Crate snorts.
“He said he’d never be rich like his Da’ because his Da’ had a special secret that made him the best delivering pony around.”
Crafty, anger getting the better of him in his frustration, scoops up oozing mud from the ditch-bottom in his forehoof and gestures to Derpy.
“If the next thing you say isn’t about ‘Four Hoof Drive’…” he says, ominously.
“Sorry boss - almost done, I promise.”
Crafty advances on her and she backs against the wagon.
“Well, y’see he said his Da’ was born with it, but that he wasn’t,” she says, quickly.
“So?”
“He said he’d tried to learn it, but it can’t be taught. He said: ‘Yah have tah be born with it, Bubbles, jus’ lahk rollin’ yer tongue. An ah jus’ don’t have me Da’s gift. So ah cahn’t have a fancy enough house for yah’.”
Crafty Crate sighs wearily.
“So, I don’t get pied?” Derpy asks, eyeing Crafty’s muddy hoof.
With flashing eyes, he grabs her cap and dumps the sweet-smelling mud on the blond head, where it trickles down her furry grey face.
“That’s for wasting my time with that dumb story, just to tell me ‘Four Hoof Drive’ don’t damn work.”
“Sorry, boss.”
Derpy gazes up at him, unperturbed, until he backs away, whereon she shakes herself, dog-like, to get the mud off.
Crafty returns to thinking through the problem.
Once his back is turned, Derpy sticks her tongue out, and then rolls it, her ‘super-power,’ whose existence she keeps a closely guarded secret, known only by her similarly gifted daughter Dinky.
Crafty Crate rests his haunches on the soft earth, his eyes mournfully drawn to his watch.
’12:30’
There would be no drinks at the Sky Anchor tonight.
Upset and unable to focus, his mind drifts to the sounds of the unfamiliar world: the quacking of ducks and chirping of a moorhen blend with the gentle tinkling of fountains in the nearby water garden. Into this soundscape another, more irritating, sound begins to cut in.
“Quit chompin’ so loud, will you.”
“Oh. Sorry bo’th!” Derpy replies, mouth full of grass. “It’sh jusht sho tashty.”
He shoos her, and she contently ambles away down the ditch, cropping the grass, which she notices has been allowed to grow long.
‘All the more for me’ she thinks, happily.
Freed from that distraction, Crafty Crate racks his brain for a solution but finds himself confounded at every turn by neither being able to lift the wagon with flight nor call for assistance from local Pegasi – those two recourses had been the solution to virtually all the many delivery hiccups he had had over the years.
Idly, he gazes at Derpy.
‘No quotas for her. No overheads. We both know I’ll fire her when we get back, but what’s that matter to her? At times like this, it almost makes me envious.’
Derpy, noticing him gazing at her, swallows her mouthful.
“This patch is so good – I can’t believe they left it. Do you think they don’t eat grass here?”
With a withering sigh, he turns away and the grinding, munching sound resumes.
As he looks at Derpy’s hooves, fetlocks unkempt and hooves ill-shod, Crafty gets an idea.
“I’ve got it!”
She flicks an ear at him but continues grazing.
“Quit playing sheep and get me some stones or wood.”
Derpy swallows.
“Rocks and wood, boss?”
Crafty patiently explains that they need something to grit their hooves, to prevent them slipping when they push the wagon up the bank.
“Got it, boss.”
While both ponies look for these items, they notice a timid blue presence watching them from the garden gate.
“I… couldn’t help overhearing that you need stones and wood to unstick the wagon?” Ocean Mist’s voice quavers.
Crafty nods.
She holds out some timbers from Kimono’s wood store.
“Will these do?”
“Can’t hurt.” Crafty says gruffly, causing Ocean’s ears to fall.
“Hey, thanks,” Derpy offers.
Crafty unceremoniously puts them in place.
“I think I know where there’s some stones!”
Ocean runs off, her soft, unshod hooves gliding over the ground.
In short order, a track of stones and wood is formed on both sides of the marooned wagon, and Crafty and Derpy once more put their shoulders to it. Ocean Mist, too nervous to offer to push, hops from leg to leg, hoping that their efforts have been enough.
This time, Derpy and Crafty’s hooves engage with the gritted ground and the wagon makes it part-way up the bank before the ground's slipperiness and its weight proves to be too much.
After many tries, during which Ocean’s hopeful smile first falters and then fades, Crafty declares defeat.
Crafty hangs his head in his hooves.
“There, there, boss.”
Derpy comforts him, bearing no grudge for the earlier mud-pie.
Ocean Mist, their recent joint enterprise enabling her to go beyond her shyness for now, goes in for a hug, only for him to shrug it off.
Feeling stung by his apparent unfriendliness, to Ocean’s hot shame, her eyes begin to glisten. Normally, she was a relatively level-headed pony of her sort, but the state of heightened anxiety she had been in for the past hour had made her sensitive.
Derpy, with a mother’s instinct, steps in.
“Crafty Crate!”
Shocked by the forthright tone, the gruff stallion is mollified.
He turns to Ocean.
“Sorry ma’am. No disrespect intended. It’s just we don’t… always hug where I’m from in Equestria.”
It was the most words he had said for two days, but Derpy wanted more.
“Uh huh, and…”
“But we’re not in Equestria, so…”
Reluctantly, the stallion gives Ocean Mist a perfunctory man-hug.
Ocean Mist tries not to let her face show her awkwardness at the strange musky presence and oddly threatening coils of muscle.
“Do you want a lolly?” she offers. This was not merely her inclination, but rather part of the established formula for dealing with misfortune in her homeland.
“Uh, no?”
Ocean Mist withdraws, putting the refusal down to his alien-ness, but was satisfied that she had at least been polite. A pony like her would have taken the proffered lolly and then she would, of course, have gone through the entire 'Make It All Better' ceremony from singing the ‘Get Well Soon’ song to the final ‘Kissing it All Better’ stage.
‘Anyway, if he isn’t ‘all better’ he at least like he is rallying’ she thinks to herself, noting the stallion’s stiff upper lip.
Crafty turns to his employee.
“Sorry, Derpy,” he says, his tone defeated.
“’s all right boss; I’m ok for a hug.”
“No, damnit. I mean I’m sorry you won’t get home to your kid because of my stupid driving.”
Struck by the poignancy of this admission, Derpy stays quiet.
“I should have just backed the wretched thing down the road and not tried the turn – it’s too tight.”
‘That’s just what I thought!’
Ocean Mist looks up, avoiding his eyes. To her surprise, she catches Derpy doing the same, and the two females share a moment of recognition, before the stallion continues.
“Ah, well. Nothing for it but to see if there’s anything the natives can do.”
“Boss…”
“Oh, right. Uh. Ma’am. Do you know any earth ponies who can shift a thing like this?”
“Earth… ponies? Like… ponies made of earth?”
Ocean Mist’s imagination summons stone ponies, mud ponies, sand ponies and more.
“He means ponies like you.”
“Oh, yes! We’d love to help!”