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// Uptown Mare 
// Story: When You're Down 
// by Satsuma 
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Forgive me if this is bad





Among the rest of the townsfolk, Braeburn was something of an oddity. He didn’t have a proper job in the community, yet somehow still managed to not just earn his keep, but even manage to be one of the wealthier members of the humble settlement. The way things worked around this joint was, you either you worked in the vast apple orchard or doing municipality work, and got paid straight from the town council’s payroll, or you opened your own little business and provided your service or sold your goods to the other townsfolk. 

When he would otherwise idle, Braeburn could be found in the orchard, picking apples or tending to the existing trees with a mixture of well-honed skills and instincts that ran in the family. When it was necessary, however, and that becoming more often as time progressed and the little watering hole grew in size and wealth, he was the town’s makeshift guide and one-stallion ‘tourism board’. His experience as one of the first members of the tightly knit settlement and his enthusiastic, contagiously friendly disposition and outgoing nature made him a valuable asset to the municipality management, who were trying to pull together as many bits as possible from as many places as possible. They were, after all, just as determined as anypony else to make their chosen home prosper. Braeburn, on the other hoof, was always eager to do his part and happily fell into their chosen role for him, accepting quite a generous payment from the town fund each month. Everypony else was contented with the arrangement, or else not daring to suggest that he was being paid too generously. Nopony could accuse Braeburn of being a slack-off, anyway. The poor fellow, in his zeal, often worked himself to the bone, and was loved and accepted by the rest of the townsfolk for that.

It was because of this that Braeburn found himself leading a group of tourists through the town on a regular day sometime in early July. He had almost finished giving the last trainload of visitors the tour and rather short history, noting with some satisfaction that the group had shrunk to less than half the size, with many of them heading to the orchards or to some of the various shops in the wide, empty streets. It seemed that inviting the bison tribal craftsmen to set up shop here was indeed a rather good idea. He would have to congratulate Sheriff Silverstar on the success of his plan. This batch had disembarked from the second last train of the day almost one and a half hours ago. The next train would arrive in about half an hour. Due to the awkward hours that one would have to catch a train in order to arrive on the next locomotive, he wasn’t expecting many visitors. 

As he directed the last few stragglers to their various places of temporary residence or to some of the town’s attractions, he made the decision to call it a day. The tourists seemed to fade like locusts into the distance, silhouetted against the golden light of the setting sun, and he stood for a moment admiring his days’ work, before turning to the municipality’s newly set up common facilities, looking to take a shower. What could he say; there was a lot of tourism here, thanks in part to the locals and the natural locations. Even he had to admit, these facilities were a worthy investment, all but paying for themselves. He made sure to wipe himself dry with a towel from his saddlebag, not wanting the dust which carried on the arid desert air to stick to him like apples pelted on a cactus.

He was out just in time to see the last train of the day pull away from the station. True to his time-weathered prediction, there was almost nopony alighting here…save for a single mare. She was white-coated, and her mane was a mix of alternating locks of navy and electric blue. On her flank were two black tied quaver notes, a classic depiction of musician’s cutie mark. She wore a pair of rather flamboyant opaque, purple-tinted shades, encased in a thick black hard plastic frame. Though her chosen accessory effectively masked her facial expression, Braeburn could tell that she was worn out from the trip. It was written all over her in sagging shoulders, a drooping head and the rather numbed, clueless air she had about her. Braeburn decided that one last task wouldn’t take so long, and started to trot over. After all, she was just one more mare among the dozens of other visitors he was sure he had entertained just today.

He took his time, glancing at this week’s schedule on the station’s notice board and running through a list of routes, locations and timings. It was only when he was about two metres from her that he realized that the poor soul could only have gotten on a train sometime between eleven in the evening and three in the morning. He would have to make sure that she found somewhere to stay for the night, or he wouldn’t let himself off. "Good evening, miss. I’m the welcoming committee for Appleoosa. Can I help you?" She sighed almost inaudibly, looking somewhat listless even with her shades on, before offering a reply. When she did, though, Braeburn was somewhat surprised by how haggard she sounded. "Yes, please. Could you direct me to whoever’s in charge here? I don’t really know what I’m looking for right now, so I guess that’s a place to start." He silently agreed to the fact that she looked more than a little lost right then.

"Well…I think you want the town hall, I guess. They can give you a scope of what there is to do here, though I’d reckon you’d be looking for a place to stay at this time?" He followed up with a set of instructions, motioning with his right hoof all the while. "You’ll want to head down the road from here and take first left. It’ll be the second building on the right, the one with a little bell tower on it." All the while, the peculiar visitor looked like she was either nodding her head in acknowledgement or else nodding off. Whichever one it really was, he honestly couldn’t really tell. 

"Ma’am, are you fine…?"

"Huh? Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for all your help…" she nodded sleepily a few times, yawned, then set off towards the road, stumbling along and nearly tripping on the small flight of stairs that elevated the station from the rest of the town. Braeburn cringed as she nearly toppled over sideways upon a very shaky recovering. "Uhh… On second thought, ma’am, I’d better escort you there." And make sure you find somewhere to spend the night. What should have been a five- to ten-minute walk then dragged on, plowing through the minutes and seconds the same way the visitor’s hooves seemed to plow listlessly through the town’s dusty street. Braeburn would usually have tried to start a friendly conversation, but he just couldn't find it in himself to overcome the still, heavy atmosphere that seemed to swirl around them in uneven little eddies, knocking his new acquaintance off balance every now and then. 

Come on, Braeburn, just break the ice. There’s nothing to it. You do this every day. "So…" Ask her who she is, you idiot. "… You have a name, stranger?" He immediately regretted it when he realized how clichéd that sounded. As the next metre or so passed in awkward silence, Braeburn was sure that he had scared her off for good, but in the end, she offered a weak, half-hearted nod, all but indiscernible from the up-and-down bobbing of her head, which hung low as she trotted along. "So… care to share it?"

"It’s… Vinyl. Vinyl Scratch." Her voice sounded almost trance-like, almost as if she was recalling a long-ago experience that was as faded and dusty as Appleoosa itself. He could also see that like the town, that memory had some kind of magic to it as well. She had seemed to perk up a little, grow a little less weary. Then she sighed, and the magic dissipated into the cool night air, carried away on a passing dry breeze. Braeburn found that he had been staring, and quickly averted his gaze. 

"Wait…your name…did you say Scratch?"

"Mmhmm."

"Sounds familiar, but I can’t really put my hoof on it."

"I should think not. I came here for the peace and quiet, not for the fans. If I still had any, that is."

Fans? He was intrigued by the strange mention, but otherwise, he chose not to ask too much. It wasn't nice to pry into somepony else’s business, especially if they were looking for peace and quiet…and if one was hoping to make friends. Back off a little, maybe try to find out a little more about her?

"So where are you from, Miss Scratch?" Braeburn kept his eyes on the street, directing Vinyl to turn the corner when she failed to do so herself. The town office was less than twenty metres away from here. "Canterlot," she replied. 

"I see." There was a moment of silence, punctuated by the bustling of a small group of holiday goers making their way through the town. To him, they looked like the very definition of warmth and happiness and self-enjoyment, whereas Vinyl and himself seemed to hang outside the range of their warming touch. He pondered upon this in silence as they crossed the last few metres to their destination. It was only when he noticed the weak sepia glow from the building’s porch light that he perked up again. "Okay, miss. You should find all the help you need in there, but just in case you need a little help afterwards, I’ll be waitin’ out here."

She nodded weakly again, then slowly turned and pushed the door open in front of her.





Braeburn took a seat on the slightly unstable wooden bench outside, crossing his hooves behind his head and pulling his hat over his eyes, resting. It had, after all, been a long day of hard work, and he still had to make sure that this Vinyl Scratch got a place to stay. Admittedly it was getting to be a bit of an obsessive concern, but she really did look in bad shape. Why would anypony be in such a bad state anyway? Out of curiosity, he tried to recall the schedule from the train station, and realized that she must have left Canterlot at about two in the morning yesterday. Wow. And why did her name sound so familiar? He could have sworn he’d heard it somewhere… but where?

The door beside him opened and an angular, trapeze-shaped spill of light was thrown out in front of him. Currently, it was obscured in the centre by two figures. He turned to face the figures, shoving his headwear up above his eye level by the brim. ‘Evenin’ sheriff. What brings you outdoors at this hour?’

"Same reason you haven’t gone off duty yet, I reckon." Silverstar indicated with a jerk of his head that he was referring to Vinyl, who was standing in the doorway behind him, head drooping. "I see…" Braeburn, against his own better judgement, risked a wild guess . "Is she in trouble of some sort, sir?"

"Nothing of that sort, Braeburn. I’ve got a little something to settle with the lady, if you don’t mind, so I’ll fill you in with the details later. If you’re up for a drink, that is."

"No thank you, sir. But I’m sure Paperweight can fill me in, right?"

"Yes, that would be preferable. Good night to you, boy."

"G’dnight, Sir."

Braeburn spared Vinyl a small, tight-lipped smile and an equally subtle nod of the head, both of which went unacknowledged. Whether that was just another coincidence, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t care much right now. Strange that the sheriff’s got to be involved in this. Well I know she’s not a criminal, but I can’t think of why else he would want to follow her. Well, to be honest, I do have a few, but those…not likely. He watched them fade into the distance of the white, smoky night, through the hustle and bustle that the early evening maintained among the town. Then he turned and entered the small office to converse with Paperweight.

Upon entry, he noticed that the small single-story building was dark except for a light illuminating the front desk and its single occupant, a middle-aged beige pony of about regular build. Paperweight. Braeburn knew him well because they made their journeys to Ponyville to see their relatives together. He was a helpful, hardworking fellow with a mild temperament and forgiving attitude, despite the fact that he was rather easily excited. Most importantly, he was a pony who showed that he could make an honest living when he came here with the first batch of Appleoosans. That was why he was now the town’s secretary. 

‘Hi there, Paperweight. I was kinda wondering about what the sheriff was up to. He said you could fill me in?’

"Oh. Hi Brae. You won’t believe it what just happened." Paperweight dragged the last syllable of the word ‘believe’ in a somewhat over-emphasis.  Braeburn just cocked an eyebrow in skepticism. 

"No, really!" he continued. ‘That mare, you know, white with blue mane? Yeah? She just bought that ol’ house at the end of Cactus Drive."

Braeburn was stock still for awhile and simply eyed his friend in a sort of inert, shocked state. "No…you’re kidding, right?"

"No, really. Why do you think the sheriff went with her? Wanted to make sure all that ownership stuff was settled."

Braeburn's surprise changed to more curiosity and bewilderment. He scratched his head. "Who would want that old house there anyway? Sure it’s nice, but it’s right at the edge of town. Who would wanna live in a lost and lonely little establishment like that on her own? And I didn't see her carrying anything save for two saddle bags. And even then," he turned back to regard the carrier bags on his flank before continuing, "they weren't much larger than my own, that’s for sure."

Paperweight shrugged, then continued. "Beats me. But it’s not my place to ask, as long as she can cough up enough to buy it."

"Yeah. About that. Did she take a loan or something? There aren't exactly any banks setting up branches around here."

Paperweight’s eyes lit up. "That’s another thing. Look."

Braeburn watched as his friend reached under the counter-top and pulled open a drawer on his side, inviting Braeburn to look at it, which he did, sticking his head awkwardly over the counter. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. It was full of hundred-bit coins, though also made up of slightly smaller denominations. 

"She paid for it in full. Just emptied out this little sack in one of her bags."

"I see…" he replied, now more confused than ever. Whatever the deal with this Vinyl Scratch was, Braeburn had the feeling that things were about to get a little more interesting with a new neighbor in town.