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// Finnick and Foible 
// Story: The Mare With No Story And Other Promising Tales 
// by James Washburn 
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Finnick and Foible


Now, Finnick and Foible are two famous ponies from the Black Country, way out west. Further west than Vanhoover, further west than the land of Connemara, even. If Equestria is the breadbasket of the world, then the Black Country is the mine, forge and workshop of the world all rolled into one. There, the furnaces burn cherry-red all night long and the sky itself is soot-stained, so that even on a clear day there's still big black smears.
And this is where Finnick and Foible come from, working in the mines, factories and forges. And one day Finnick and Foible are down the coal mine (one of many, for the Black Country's full of coalmines). Finnick's pushing a big, heavy cartload of coal back up the tunnel, when he sees Foible hacking away at the ceiling. Now, Foible's an earth pony, and he's got this big old pick, so heavy he needs both hooves, up on his hindlegs, trying to dig the ceiling. So, Finnick stops and asks him.
"What y'doing, diggin' away at the ceilin'?" he asks.
"Well," says Foible (and his accent means he says it 'weww'), "there's a new pit-pony (except he said it 'pit-paonay') coming down 'ere, and he's a real tall bugger, so I've gotta make this mineshaft tall enough f'r'im."
"Why don't y'just make the floor deeper?" says Finnnick.
"Don't be stupid," says Foible, "it's his head that won't fit."

As you can see, Finnick and Foible aren't exactly the brightest tools in the box, but that's not even the worst of it. You see, Finnick and Foible, they liked to bet on the races, and this one time they won really big. So they think, well what are we gonna spend our wealth on? In the end, they decide to hire a couple of cows, so they'll have nice fresh milk. Something of a rarity in the Black Country, fresh food.
So they go down to the hiring fair and pick up a couple of cows. Very reasonable wages for reasonable hours, and they take 'em of a field near their houses. 'Course, it's not much of a field, it's a little spit of grass between the colliery, the tar works and the canal, but the cows are happy with it. But then, Finnick spots a probelm.
"Foible, mate," he says. "How are am I gonna know which cow I hired?"
"'S a good point, Finnick," says Foible. "Tell y'what, you tie a bow to its tail, then we'll know for sure."
"Great idea."
So Finnick does just that, he ties a little ribbon to the cow's tail (it always pays to have a bit of ribbon about your person) and they go off and think no more of it. Well, until they come back the next day to milk the cows, only to find some bugger's untied the ribbon!
"Oh hell," says Finnick, "What we gonna do now?"
Foible puts a hoof to his chin for a bit.
"I know," he says. "You have the black one, I'll have the white one."

But Finnick and Foible never were too good with animals. I remember when Foible built a new henhouse for his couple of chickens. Finnick sees it while passing by and remarks on it.
"That's a nice looking henhouse," he says.
"It's alright," Foible replies, "but the roof leaks sommat awful."
At which point, Finnick notices the roof, which is made out of a single, flat sheet of chain-link wire.
"Oh well, of course," says Finnick. "You forgot to put a slope on it."

As I say, not the brightest tools in the box. Of course, that's not the worst of it, 'cos there's the time Finnick and Foible tried to get to the colliery over the Metropolitan Line. They're already a bit late, so they try to shave some time off by taking a short cut over the railway tracks. Finnick gets across fine, but when the 10:43 to Woolverhampton came along, Foible's still only halfway across. So he runs off down the track as fast as he can. He runs and he runs and he runs until they're going through a cutting, with big banks up on either side. One of the stallions pulling the train shouts ahead to him.
"Oi! Mate! Run up the bank!"
"Run up the bank!?" says Foible, incredulous. "I'm barely outrunning you on the flat! How do you think I'll do goin' uphill!?"

Mind you, they lived in a pretty rough place. You should've seen it. Finnick's place, in particular. Y'see, the whole terrace backed on to a cut (the local word for a canal), and each house had a privy on the cut, to take the... effluent away. Of course, the canal flowed pretty slowly, and there was a dyer's works just up that dumped all their stuff in too, so the water was a pretty unpleasant kind of greenish soup. It was a game for the local foals to push the privies into the cut, just for the hay of it.
Which is why, one day, Finnick comes up to his son and says, "Little Fin, was it you what pushed the privy in the cut?"
"No, dad," he says, not making eye contact.
Finnick sighs. "Little Fin, let me tell you a story. You know Celestia and Luna, right?"
"Yes dad."
"Well, back when they were fillies, Celestia had a favourite cherry tree. She loved that tree, loved to sit in its shade, loved the fruit it gave her. And one day, for whatever reason, Luna got her hooves on an axe and cut it down. Now, when Celestia found out, she was furious. 'Who has cut down my cherry tree?' she raged. 'Oh I cannot lie', says little Luna, 'it was me what cut down your cherry tree'. And Celestia didn't beat on her sister, break any of her stuff or punish her at all. She forgave her totally."
"So I'll ask you again. Was it you, Little Fin, what pushed the privy into the cut?"
"I cannot lie, father," he says, "it was me what pushed the privy in the cut."
At which Finnick gives Little Fin a clip round the ear.
"Ow! Dad! What happened to fogivin' me? Celestia forgave Luna!"
"Yeah, but Celestia wasn't sitting in the tree when she cut it down."

See? Pretty rough place. But it was also a pretty dangerous place too. The Black Country was always at risk of getting invaded, back in the day. After all, as everyone knows, where there's muck, there's brass. And there was a lot of muck in the Black Country. Griffons, wolves, bears and sheep were always turning their greedy eyes towards the Black Country, angling to conquer it. The griffons in particular. They used sleeper agents, who were sent into the Country years in advance to gain the trust of the populace and ingratiate themselves. Then, when the time was right, they'd start sending information back.
So, one day, this griffon gets off the train in the Black Country. He's got orders to find the agent, but all he has is the name; Foible. So he goes over to the porter and asks him.
"Excuse me," he says, "but do you know anyone around here called 'Foible'?"
"Well, there's plenty of ponies called Foible around here," says the porter, with a shrug. "There's Foible the baker, Foible the cobbler, Foible the carpenter, Foible the miner, Foible the blacksmith. I mean, even my name's Foible."
The griffon glances either way, and decides to try his luck.
"The red crow flies at midnight," he says, surreptitiously.
And like that, the porter's eyes light up.
"Oh I see! It's Foible the spy you'll be wanting!"

But anyway, yes. War did happen, and of course Finnick and Foible did their patriotic duty. Now, all wars are bad, but this war was hell. Ponies were dying from diseases and wounds, and to cap it all off the rations were bloody awful to boot. Under those circumstances, it wasn't long before Finnick and Foible decided to get themselves invalided.
Now, it was at this time that they got a new officer. He was a fine strapping stallion, Canterbridge educated, with an accent like cut glass. He arrives one day, to see the men in the infirmary, but finds them all glum and miserable (as well they might be, given the situation). He decides to try and cheer them all up.
"Come on chaps!" he says, in what he thought was an encouraging voice. "You didn't come here to die, did you?"
At which point, Foible pipes up, with his thick, Black Country drawl.
"Nao, sur, we came 'ere yis-tur-dye."