//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 
// Story: Dusk 
// by DuskbeforeDawn 
//------------------------------//


An Overturned Inkwell


The desk was fancier then it needed to be. One can forgive some level of excess, considering Canterlot Castle was a classy white fortress of dominance and control, but gem encrusted unicorn sculptures, really? Inkwell was staring down one of the aforementioned statues as she sat across from the desk, in the middle of the main hall of the castle. “I do apologize miss…” the secretary unicorn looked down at the application, “…Script, but you are not qualified to take the scribe’s exam.” Inkwell looked down at her form, mighty was her ink, flawless her calligraphy, and her spelling was exceptional. She looked sternly at the secretary, but the scorn was lost on her. “Have you considered another line of work? One more suited to your… natural abilities?”
Inkwell’s eyes narrowed. This, being attempt number five, meant she did not even bother to get her form back. She stood up, snorted in disdain, and left, trudging through the main hall of Canterlot castle. It was rather plain that today was a total bust as far as things go. No job, and she was still stuck living at home. Not that living at home was necessarily unpleasant but it was more of an annoyance that she, the elder sister, was still living with her parents while her genius baby brother was off living off his Unicorn Guard salary in a nice big apartment near the castle. Once outside, she stretched her wings and flapped experimentally to test the weather. It was soft and warm, but rather gloomy today. She flapped once before taking off. 
Ink glanced down at the little ponies going about their monotonous lives with the same resolve and eccentric force as usual- which is to say, for a  city whose main contribution to the world was a military academy the citizens where disturbingly happy. She saw some ponies dining and enjoying shows in the park, several social clubs were full to bursting and the day just had a general air of the jovial. 
The purple Pegasus groaned aloud at the sheer inanity.
She flew across the city, and landed in front of a tiny wooden shop- it’s sign had been worn away long ago and Inkwell had never bothered to ask the owner its name (as if anyone would go there but her). The bookstore was empty aside from the old man behind the counter, as always. She trotted around, looking at the books- “The history of Equestria,” (she had read all 150 pages multiple times), “Flight theory” (not applicable) and of course, no magical books for the public. The only fiction was the usual mess of poorly-written novels that spoke of pulp, romance, or the standard glory of the nation Equestrian. She had always suffered from an odd medical condition; she noticed it when she was very young, that the sight and sound of a poorly written book filled her with such carefully cultivated critical distain that it made her physically ill. Had she been exposed to people who found such works of “writing” to be of high quality, her illness was made doubly dreadful. 
Ink left the bookstore with nothing and flew away again. It wasn’t long before she had crossed from the shopping district of Canterlot, to the homes of the upper-class, and eventually came to the grid of houses in which the middle class lived. She drifted down to a light colored house with a red faded roof, then glided through the window and flopped down onto her cloud bed. Getting Cloudsdale furniture to work in Canterlot had been a trial, but the payoff was worth it. Finally, something that couldn’t be used by her brother. She rolled over and pulled a small tuft of cloud over her, it felt like a type of silk, but much heavier and warmer. Then, she took a moment to look around her room. Her scroll rack was full to bursting many of them scattering and forming small piles all over the room. Flight theories, weather patterns, and journals covered the walls and floor, as well as hundreds of as of yet unused inkwells and quills. However as if to balance out this there was nearly as many matching empty inkwells and bags of used quills. She buried her face in the cloud. 
Having a cutie mark was no longer assurance of a job, it seemed. The best she could probably do was maybe a job with the post, but more likely she’d have to go down to the weather office in a few days and just get a job there. She’d passed her flying exam well enough- but it was far from a perfect score. Most likely she’d be put on something dull and menial. She then glanced over at her desk , there was a tattered blue green book- ‘The Elements of Style, Fourth Edition, by Scribeson and Whitehorse.’ It had been her tireless companion in writing, as well as the finest tome of writing techniques she had ever known. She gritted her teeth and threw the clouds covering her away. 
She emerged from her sullen resignation with a sudden resolve; she grabbed some of her best writing and darted away from her home. She would show them her writings, show them all her skills, she would meet the unicorn and write everything she said in record time. She slipped the tiny book into her bags side pocket, for luck. Even burdened by her scrolls and quills her drive carried her the way. The trip was much faster when one was not burdened with the weight of failure. She flew down to the castle and glided into the main hall. The secretary was gone, however. Fair enough, she thought as she began preparing herself for the epic battle to be had. 
Suddenly, the gates slammed closed, the drawbridge rose, and distant alarms began sounding. Inkwell’s drive instantly drained out of her. She spun around looking for anypony, she ran down a small hallway, her mind focused on finding an exit. If she was found there might be questions, but alarms did not sound when they were looking for someone to imprison. She ran, looking for a back door, a hole in the wall, a stupid window, all of them the things that did not exist in the halls of Canterlot castle. However, the alarms did at least get fainter and fainter with every twist and turn she took. There was a noise around a corner but she could not stop herself in time. 
“I’m sorry I got lost!” she yelled, flinching as she rounded the corner. It turns out she had been making excuses to an old rusty door. She laughed hesitantly and wiped the sweat from her face. She then turned to find another route to take but then smelled it. A very dry and slightly musty scent, yet with an undercurrent of a dry tangy acid, a flat black ink smell. She looked back and could see them beyond the door, books! 
She entered the room, ignoring the fallen and rusted lock. There were books to be had. Good books. She was almost salivating from the thought of actually being able to find a decent read. She was so distracted, that in fact, she didn’t see the Unicorn until they had knocked each other flat on their rumps.
He exclaimed his surprise, leaving her to stare at him. He was quite the oddly-dressed fellow, even daring to wear a hat in Canterlot. She stared for a moment before finally managing to find the words.
“So… Are you the librarian?”