Mailpony Rules

by Pyromanecer

Chapter 2: Delivery

“Well, he seems to be in pretty good condition.” Nurse Redheart told Ditzy Doo. She had come over to the mailmare’s house, as promised, to check up on Tempest Rider. She was delighted to find that the pegasus had been not only conscious, but coherent. The nurse had just finished questioning and examining the gray pony, and was now telling the curious Ditzy what she found. “He’s not going to be walking on that hoof for a few days, though. The best thing for him right now is rest.”
Ditzy turned away from where Dinky was playing a board game with Tempest, though she kept glancing back with one eye to make sure her daughter wasn’t hurting him. “So he’s going to be all right?”
“Well, a jaunt through a thunderstorm is going to be a bit beyond him for a while, but yes. He will make a full recovery.” Ditzy smiled at that.
“Good. So, how long is he going to have to stay?”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to stay with you, Ditzy. The hospital finds lodging for all-”
“Sorry,” Ditzy interrupted, “But he’s staying here. Mailpony rules.”
Redheart looked confused. “What rule requires you to detain injured strangers?”
“Rule #3.” Ditzy recited. “‘Your co-workers are your family. Treat other mailponies as you would a sibling.’ And I’m not about to let an injured sibling out of my sight.”
As the nurse considered this, Ditzy held her breath. She really hoped Redheart wouldn’t protest, as she really didn’t want to argue with her. Eventually, Redheart spoke.
“Well, this is legally lodging. I suppose he can stay with you until he recovers.” Redheart leaned in close and whispered to her conspiratorially. “Thank you, Ditzy; you just saved me a lot of work.”
Ditzy tried not to look too relieved as Nurse Redheart explain how to care for the injured pony. That had went better than she thought it would. If Redheart had taken Tempest away, then...
Well, nothing would have really happened, but she would have still felt like she failed. Mailponies don’t disobey mailpony Rules. Disobeying the rules shows a lack of trustworthiness and dependability, and a lack of trustworthiness and dependability means a bad mailpony. Ditzy was not a bad mailpony.
“...and make sure he doesn’t over-exert himself. Small flights only. Alright?”
“Alright.” Ditzy answered. With that, Nurse Redheart left the house, and Ditzy turned back to the game-playing ponies.
Tempest Rider was panting heavily, his mane ruffled and several of the playing cards stuck to his face with what looked like peanut butter. Directly across from him, Dinky was wearing a bright red hat and a wide smile, looking as happy as a young filly can be. Ditzy just stared.
Dinky, perhaps sensing that somepony was looking at her, turned to look at her mother. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Ditzy spoke.
“Muffin, what did I tell you about Dinky-rules Monopony?” she asked.
“But mama, nothing caught on fire this time!”

~~~

One bath later, Tempest Rider was now boardgame-butter free. As Ditzy walked downstairs with the stallion, she explained to him how he was going to be staying with her until he recovered.

“That’s... that’’s very kind of you, miss.” Tempest said, trying to express his gratitude. “I’ll be sure to pay you back for this.”

“Call me Ditzy, hon, and don’t you worry about it.“ Ditzy replied. “We’re both mailponies, and the rules, along with basic kindness, say that I should help you. It would go against that kindness to have you pay for it, don’t you think?”

Tempest seemed to mull it over for a moment, and then nodded. “I suppose,” he said, “But I’m still going to compensate you.” seeing that Ditzy was about to argue, Tempest interrupted, “Don’t forget, I’m bound by mailpony rules too. In this case, Rule number four.”

“‘Repay kindness in turn. Mailponies are always polite.’” the mare recited automatically. She then proceeded to frown. “Well, OK. I suppose I would do the same thing.”

“You probably would.” Tempest leaned down to adjust his mailbag, which he had not taken off since Ditzy had returned it. It wasn’t wet, though, so Ditzy assumed he had taken it off to bathe. “In any case, can you tell me where I would find a “Wigg Haarson?” I need to finish this delivery.”

At this point, the two pegasi had walked down into the parlour. Ditzy looked at the stallion like he was crazy. He had been found, unconscious, on the edge of the Everfree Forest not last night. He should be resting, not traipsing across town!

“What? No, you need to lay down and recover. Nurse Redheart prescribed bed rest, and flying across town is not restful.” Ditzy told him.

“But I need to finish the delivery!” Tempest Rider’s sense of duty was clashing with Ditzy’s insistence on healing, and so far the two forces seemed evenly matched.

“Just give the package to me; I’ll deliver it.” the mare tried. Tempest fixed her with an ‘are-you-serious’ stare.
“You know I can’t let you do that.” he replied.
Ditzy bit her lip. He was right. No self-respecting mailpony would give up their mail, even to another mailpony. She had to try something else.
“Redheart said you need to stay off your leg for a few while. You should listen to her; she’s a nurse.”
“Then I won’t walk.” he countered, flaring his wings impressively. “These babies aren't just for show.”
Ditzy felt herself losing ground.
“You’re still hurt. You need to recover your energy, not fly across Ponyville.”
The stallion felt himself winning, and looked a little smug. “I am a distance deliverypony. I specialize in long-distance package delivery. A little jaunt across town isn’t going to tire me out. I’ll be fine.”

Ditzy decided to concede defeat. “Fine,” she grudgingly admitted, “You win. But I’m coming with you.”

Tempest Rider smiled brightly and turned towards the door. “Fair enough. Let’s get going; I’d rather not have this package be late than it already is.”

Halfway through walking out the door, he turned back. “Erm, where does he live again?”

The walk to Wigg Haarson’s house was uneventful, but relaxing. Tempest kept to the air, and off his hoof, while Ditzy led him on. She tried to keep a relatively slow pace, for she was still worried that the stallion would overexert himself.

The pony in question, unsurprisingly, was a wig-maker. Why a small town such as Ponyville needed a wig-maker was as-of-yet not known, but as he had been operating for years, it was assumed he made enough money to get by. To Ditzy’s knowledge, no one in town had ever actually bought a wig, so she thought that he shipped out his wigs to rich and stuffy aristocratic types who could afford to pay hundreds of bits for fake manes. Local fashionista Rarity did the same thing, after all, and she was well off.

The pegasi arrived at the shop in question in short order. The large, classical style store had vines growing down from it’s balconies like long tresses of green hair, and it’s shop window displayed wigs of such ridiculous proportions that they looked ready to fall over like so many powdery dominoes. The sign that hung above the door showed a picture of a pony’s head with long, flowing hair beneath flowery text that read “Wigg’s Wonderful Wig Workshop.” Tempest Rider, however, didn’t seem to be taking in the architecture; instead he was looking through the window to see if anyone was home.

“I suppose it would be redundant to ask if this was the place.” he said, face pressed up against the glass.

Instead of answering, Ditzy walked up to the door and knocked three times. Hearing this, Tempest flew over to the doorstep and touched down, gingerly keeping his injured hoof off of the ground. They didn’t have to wait long before the door was opened by a curious looking unicorn.

His coat was dusty tan and his eyes were jade green, and, despite his fairly young age, his mane was bone white. Or, at least, that’s what it appeared at first glance. Upon further inspection, he was wearing one of his own wigs, powdered so liberally that every turn of his head elicited a small sprinkling of white dust. He looked at the strangers on his doorstep with mild curiosity.

“Hello,” he began, voice loud and slightly nasally. “may I help you?”

Tempest Rider quickly slipped into a professional tone. “Yes, I am here to deliver a package to a Mr. Wigg Haarson.”

“Why, that would happen to be me.” he said, and then grinned so wide his face looked like it was about to split. “Oh! I bet it’s my new scissor set! I’ve been waiting for these for weeks!”

Tempest reached into his mailbag and took out a small brown box in pristine condition. He then held it out towards the now-excited unicorn, who eagerly grasped it with his magic.

“Sorry about the delay, Mr. Haarson. There was a bit of an accident in transport.”

Wigg looked back up and seemed to notice for the first time the bandages that adorned Tempest’s head and hoof. His eyes went wide as he realized the true meaning of the professionally-detached explanation that the pegasus gave.

“My word,” he nearly shouted, “Were you hurt delivering my package!? What woeful happenstance! What wretched luck! I am terribly sorry about that! Please, allow me to compensate you! How guilty I feel!” The long-winded pony then turned around and started rummaging around in his shop.

“Sir, it’s quite alright. You don’t need to pay me.” Tempest Rider said, looking slightly nervous.

“Nonsense!” he yelled, head behind the counter. “‘Always pay the courier’ is what my wonderful uncle wanted me to learn, and since you were injured in the delivery of my wondrous new tool set, it is doubly true! Besides, you wouldn’t have been wounded if it wasn’t for my wanton desires! Now, where did I put those spare bits?”

Tempest and Ditzy, who had been watching the situation unfold with some amusement, sat there for an awkward minute before Wigg walked up carrying a small cloth bag with his magic. The unicorn dropped the bundle onto Tempest’s back, the stallion looking surprised at the weight.

“There!” the wig-maker almost yelled. “That should cover any damages and bills related to your little accident. Now, go on, and remember, wander over to Wigg’s Wig Workshop when you want wonderful hairpieces!”

As the shop owner shut the door, Tempest just stood there looking shocked and slightly confused. Slowly, he turned towards Dizty, who was struggling not to laugh while one eye looked at him and the other still stared at the door.

“Did he really just pay me for being injured?”

Ditzy was never very good at restraining laughter.

On the way back, the two ponies chatted. This was the first time they had actually done so since Tempest “arrived,” so it was mostly Ditzy asking the stallion questions about himself.

Tempest hailed from Hayton, a large city some hours of flight away. He specialized in long-distance package delivery, as he had mentioned before. He had taken the Ponyville job because, funnily enough, he thought it would be a quick, easy few bits (distance jobs were paid per delivery). It seemed fate had decided to buck him in the gut with that freak storm.

“By the way, I never got to properly thank you for saving me.” he told Ditzy, having finished his story. “Not to mention finding my mailbag.”

The mare chuckled. “You’re welcome. You are very lucky I managed to find you when I did.”

“Speaking of which, how did you find me?” Tempest asked, head tilting slightly as he flew along side her.

“Mailpony sense.”

“Ah.” One does not question the wayward instincts of postal service workers.

There was another lull in the conversation. Ditzy was still going slow for Tempest’s sake. The stallion either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. Most likely the former.

“How did you manage to get caught in that storm, anyways?” Ditzy questioned, “I know the weather over the Everfree can be unpredictable, but shouldn’t you have seen the clouds before you hit them?”

“Oh, I was aiming for the storm.”

Ditzy screeched to a halt as well as she could in midair, and whipped around to look at Tempest. The stallion managed to pull a quick stop to avoid crashing into the mare’s hindquarters. She looked at him with shock and eyes intent on staring at each other.

“You what?” she nearly yelled.

“I aimed for the storm.” he unflinchingly repeated. “Flying through storms is my special talent. See?” he turned toward the side to show her his flank. More specifically, the storm cloud and wind gusts emblazoned on his flank. Ditzy was still skeptical

“If rough weather flying is your special talent, then why were you hurt?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

Tempest frowned. “Bad luck, I guess. I’m pretty sure I got beaned by the one hailstone in the whole storm system. Normally that sort of thing doesn’t happen.” Ditzy silently contemplated the argument, eyebrows furrowing and eyes swiveling.

“I suppose that’s as good of a reason somepony could give.” Ditzy admitted with a slight sigh. She resumed flying, a mildly disgruntled Tempest Rider following.

“Well, what’s your talent, then?” the stallion asked, sounding as if his pride had been hurt.

“Delivering things.”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “How do-” he glanced at her flanks. “Bubbles relate to delivering things?”

“Well,” the mare began, smiling slightly. “What do bubbles do?” She had obviously explained this before.

“...Pop?”

“Only the bad ones.” she clarified, “The good ones don’t let anything that’s inside out, or anything outside in. I never lose a letter, or a message, or a package. I’m the most reliable mailpony in town.”

Tempest once again raised an eyebrow at the now grinning mare. “That’s some heavy symbolism there. You sure you aren’t extremely talented at popping bubble wrap?”

Ditzy responded by trying to roll at least one of her eyes. As she did so, one of her off-center ocular orbs found itself pointing skywards. She looked at the position of the sun, and gasped.

“Oh! It’s almost time to pick Dinky up from school!” she exclaimed, and looked over her shoulder at Tempest. “Do you mind if we make a stop? The school is on our way anyways.”

The gray stallion shrugged. “Sure. It’s been nice being able to fly again. Let’s go!” he punctuated the last sentence with a cry, and took off ahead of Ditzy. She watched him rocket forward for a few seconds before stopping and flying awkwardly back.

“That’s the second time I’ve done that today.” he grumbled, “I need a map.”

“Or some patience.”

“I’d prefer a map”