//------------------------------//
// And My Cloak Isn't A Clock 
// Story: You Get What You Ask For 
// by F.Venka 
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	"Heh, no problem! If you ever come across one, just tell me and I'll fix it without any charge!" shouted a cloaked stallion to a receding mare, his voice soaked with humble hospitality.
"If you can even find me," he muttered beneath his breath with a slight chuckle. He shook his head afterwards, the hood over his head never revealing more than his eyes. He scanned the road, his eyes rapidly passing over everything that could pick his attention. Behind his stand near a rarely frequented intersection, his gaze inspected the situation without a flaw. He had gotten used to doing so, and now he managed to do it without even trying to focus. The odd silence of the day had started to get to him.

By Celestia, these days have been so slow. What's wrong, maybe I made the last batch of watches and clocks... well? N-no, no... I wouldn't... I simply wouldn't. I wouldn't bring myself to actually make a good watch, a good clock. Good... The word itself sickens me. His gaze ran nervously back and forth the same intersection, never finding a stopping spot. He breathed deeply a few times, his eyes jumping towards the faces of the ponies near him. Nopony was close enough. Nopony would come close enough. "Can you imagine it, Screw? Well-made watches, and the ponies that don't need to get them fixed!?" Calm down, Screw, calm down... He stopped breathing for a moment, sighing loudly. "Ponies that don't need to pay to get them fixed," he remarked beneath his breath, before shaking his head in a display of sheer inner horror. I need to calm down, I need to do it...

"I wouldn't be capable; I wouldn't be capable of doing that. I wouldn't stoop that low. Not even I would. I wouldn't... do that. I'll never be capable of doing that."
"Of doing what?" The voice of a mare came from behind him, making him stand on his hind legs and almost kick his stand.
"A-a-ah... Did I..." he tried to say, his voice trembling. He turned around to face the source of the voice. "How much did you hear—? I mean... What can I do for the— the y-young mare?"
"I didn't come round pursuing praise," she answered immediately, a stern look on her face. She gave a step back, directing her eyes towards the sky for a moment. The sun was setting already.
And you certainly don't know how to take it... "Well, is there anything I can help you with?" he asked, trying his best to paint a smile on his face. His ears were still perked up, the sudden appearance of the mare in front of him leaving a still appreciable effect on his heart rate. I better get used to that fast, or else...

"I'm seeking a clock, as you would figure," she explained, her voice never dropping its snooty tone. She never looked at him in the eyes for more than a second as she spoke: she only made contact with him for an instant, which was enough for Screw to turn his head aside.
There's something in her that is very hard to tolerate. What is it? The way she's towering over me? The way she projects her strange and impractical manner of speaking over the background noise? No, wait; it's totally that thing on her head. Is that a hat? It... Does look like a hat. It's sitting atop her head, so it's a hat, techincally, but—
"Not that you would be in possession of something else that would belong here." She turned her head around in a clear attempt to get the watchmaker's attention directed towards her mane. Her voice turned into an almost inaudible whisper as she said: "It's unlikely that you'll ever own anything else that isn't among the likes of this pile of ticking machinery..."

I've got something perfect for the ponies like you... He contained a growl before sighing once again. He hadn't gotten used to dealing with those ponies yet. Smile. "And well, what are you looking for in particular? It would be so much easier for me to—"
"I'm in the middle of the persecution of a certain clock that would combine with the lighting and overall mood of an oak-walled residence." Her voice got a bit louder as she took a step forward, ending up right in front of Screw. "Its mission is to accomplish to both highlight and combine with the color of the walls and not interfere with the—"
Screw, not even bothering to hide his obvious expression of boredom, interrupted her. "A thousand pardons for cutting you off," he said, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. "So you'd be interested in a wooden clock, am I right?"
The mare answered in an offended tone, her words coming out much faster than before. "Well, I'll let the knowledge burrow down into your head of the fact that the object of which I'm making the reference towards is most certainly a sophisticated object of which knowledge is bare and scattered throughout the population."

Ugh, that physically hurt... "I might have asked the wrong question," Screw replied, trying to go off a tangent. "Let me ask this again: I do believe I have a clock that is fit enough for... such— umm, sophisticated residence."
"And what article of this... dump... would that be?" she asked with an improbably heavy incredulity. "I refuse to put in my head the belief that such a thing even belongs in such a barren container as the one you claim ownership over."
The sooner you cooperate, the sooner she'll be gone and you'll have your peaceful evening. Ah, it's like I just called her into existence and now I just want her gone. Come on, why won't you vanish...?
"Let me just remember where is it and you'll see it, alright?" he said as he turned around once again, his eyes looking at the rooftops of the distant skyscrapers. His horn lit up with a faint turquoise aura, the sound of a variety of surfaces scraping together masking a clear groan he left out. Wood, wood... "I think I've got it. Yup, I've got the exact thing you're looking for," he absent-mindedly said while leaving the clock in a small protruding plank.

The mare shoved him aside and inspected the object industriously. Her eyes moved slowly, following the curves of the carved wooden frame. She held her breath, squinting over the object. Not a thing would go unnoticed. She only got closer and closer, up until the point her muzzle was touching the plank, her eyes unfocused over the ticking clock.
Screw looked at her in complete silence and nervousness. There was something about her that made him feel uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put his hoof over it. His eyes went towards the skies once again, letting his mind fill in the blank of the silence of the scene. The warmth of the sun had started to fade away already, but the sunlight was still there. Even the dirt beneath his hooves appeared as more interesting that the tense silent scene between that mare and the clock. If the clock had any feelings, it'd be horrified, with his personal space being violated like that. It could end up calling the Clock Police or The Watchers as those in the know call them. Mostly because— hold on a second, what am I saying?

"How much currency is it that I require to spend in order for this article to trespass into my place of residence and become a member of the likes of those who had done the action of gaining my trust and allowed them to do so in the first place?" she asked, not even bothering to do anything else but to separate her muzzle from the wooden plank.
You can't say 'how much is it?' am I right...? "Three bits. It's three bits."
The mare directed her eyes towards him, a stern expression on her face, and stood in silence for a very long time. It almost was like she had frozen all out of a sudden.
Those eyes... They see my... everything. My everything.

She lowered her head, her hat falling to the ground, a little amount of dirt being suspended in the air. "I'll take it," she said, her voice much softer and quieter.
Screw wasn't sure of where to look at. Was that a normal way of paying for her? He gave a step towards the fallen hat and nervously withdrew the only three coins that could be found inside. What if that wasn't what she meant? Knowing the folks around here, it won't be pretty if she thinks that I am—
"Stuff it in there," she said, pointing the clock with her right foreleg. Her expression hadn't changed a bit.
Direct, but at least comprehensible... After leaving the bits over his stand, he slowly deposited the ticking wooden clock into the open, empty hat, still not getting the idea very well. Couldn't she just hold it in her bag? She has one but it seems to be completely empty...

He turned around for a moment, to put the coins into a pocket in the inside of his cloak. When he turned around again, the mare already had her hat on and was slowly trotting off.
"Inside my head there is the hope that you had day and will have a good evening and night," she said as she walked away.
"You— you too...!" Nope, still with that strange way of speaking. Seriously, though, that sounds downright incomprehensible. Not even the snootiest elite of Canterlot talk like that. It sounds like riddles, and those are the kind of thing I have no time to decipher.



He sighed as his most recent customer took a turn in the road and disappeared behind a house.
"There goes another. I think I've had enough for today, I really should get going—"
"Excuse me, mister," another voice said from behind Screw. This one sounded much more respectful and quiet, together with notoriously higher. A filly, perhaps? "May I ask you a question?"
Again from behind. At least she wasn't as sudden... "Yes?" asked Screw, turning around slowly. Oh, please, don't take too long...
"Ah, g-good afternoon, s-sir," she replied. A young mare with an insecure gaze was in front of him, her silky rose-red mane hanging at a side of her head. She nervously rubbed her front legs together, her cream-colored coat standing out beneath the evening sky. She didn't seem to be carrying anything with her.
"Good... umm, afternoon," he answered, trying to regain his tone of formality. "What is it?" A slight tiredness was discernible in his voice.
She stuttered a few times before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Umm... I was wondering the reason behind your name and your cape. Gear... Gear something, right?"
"Wheel."
"Gear We'll, that," she said, lightly nodding. "What does that 'Gear' mean? Is it... some kind of activity of ill repute?" she sheepishly asked, her eyes passing over a distant skyscraper.
"No, it isn't."
"Ah, then... is it 'to gear up'?"
"No, my name—"
"'Get gear,' am I right? Of course, you, sir, dream of a world where cogwheels are nigh vital, and that's why you make clocks, of course," she said at the air, her eyes lost in the distant, scarce clouds.

Screw squinted in incredulity. Well, at least she isn't bothering me too much, he remarked on his mind. Just not too much. "Maybe you've got the wrong pony. I'm not Gear Wheel."
"But you said that..." she replied in a strange apologetic tone. "I just thought that—"
"I'm Hat Trick."
The young mare made a face before freezing in deep thought. Her already lost eyes lost all focus and her jaw opened at a glacial pace. "But you don't have a hat on. Plus..." she raised a hoof and pointed, in the distance, towards a stallion trotting down the street, almost jumping, an outlandish top-hat sitting atop his gilded mane, hopping up and down together with him. "Plus, isn't that Hat Trick? Aren't you... Aren't you stealing his identity? Isn't that... A c-crime?" The mare gave a step back after asking that last question, her ears dropping to the sides.

Screw turned around, pulling his cape over his head and horn, and spoke up in a voice of mystery and trickery, almost like the one expected from a convoluted noir film. "No, I'm merely borrowing it, my dear. Under its wing I shall be unreachable, untouchable." He stopped for a moment, looking askance at the mare, who, confused, just stared at him. "Unknown, but no less active."
"R-really?" she asked, unable to articulate any other word. Her eyes were glued to Screw, her neck extended in his direction, her ears standing in attention.
"In fact, umm, no," he said, his voice regaining his mundane tone. He shook the cloak from over his head and turned around again, looking at the baffled mare. "My real name is Screw, but I believe that, as a watchmaker, Gear Wheel is far better of a name," he said with a soft smile. Before he could continue talking, he heard another voice from behind him: the voice of a stallion, strong confidence present.

"Hey, buddy."
Screw gnashed his teeth before turning around once again and giving a questioning look to the source of the voice: a dark-coated stallion, leaning on his stand, a confident smirk being hidden behind his dark mane.
"Take this bet," he said, barely moving a muscle. Cheesy jazz music was on the verge of appearing out of nowhere in that moment.
"How about no?" replied Screw, his words dripping with indifference. He raised his voice a bit before asking: "What is your name, dear?"
"Stakes... dear," replied the leaning stallion, mimicking Screw's voice.
"I didn't ask you."
"Agate," answered the mare.
"Huh, Agate, a pretty gem and a beautiful name for someone like you. Fits you very well, let me tell you. With a name like that, you should try to be more direct, don't you think?"
"Hey, cape—"
"It's your garment, it's... intimidating, sir," she replied, cutting Stakes off, who decided to hop with his two front hooves over the wooden stand.
"Are you listening to me, wheels?" The indignation in his voice was palpable. Had jazz music actually been playing, it wouldn't died down right here.

"What do you want?" asked Screw dryly. "Oh, and get your hooves out of my stand."
"Your stand?" asked Stakes, amused. "Not for long. Make a flip-flap or give me your stand and earnings." He proceeded to leave out a laugh.
Screw, by his part, seemed not to react to it. A serious, almost menacing, expression appeared on his face. "Agate, can you do me a favor?"
"Hey, I said you had to—"
"I don't even have wings. Agate, could you please flap your wings for a short moment?"
The young mare nodded slightly before taking off, her tail barely touching the ground. "Is this okay?"
"Perfect." Screw directed his voice towards Stakes. "There you have it. I made a flip flap. Now do me a favor and just continue down your path."
Stakes was frozen in silence for a moment before receding with a groan, complaining about 'darned literalness.'

Agate, after some seconds, dropped down and adopted her typical standing stance. "Does that happen often?"
"All the time."
"You sure have done quite the accomplishment in staying if it does..."
Screw chuckled before replying: "Ah, I thought you meant how dumb that kind of ponies is. No, this thing of using loopholes is rare and, well, this try was insultingly badly-designed."
"I see..." Agate softly scraped her hoof against the dirt for a moment, making a line, before asking something else: "Do you have a special somepony, sir Screw?"
"Please drop the 'sir.' I'm married. How about you? I guess a mare like you has a stallion that—"
"Until little ago, I was, but it didn't go any well," she replied, a little shy smile on her face that vanished as soon as she continued talking. "There was an... incident."
"Ah, I won't dig up your private life's events. It's such a shame that—"
"It had to do with noodles and a frequented street, I can't remember too well, but I think it was that..."
"What a strange and unexpected way to say—"
"It was just burns and impromptu noodle mane extensions; they were even the same color!"

A small silence followed.
"So... he dumped you for that, am I right?"
"I suppose. He still ate the noodles, so I guess it wasn't that bad," she replied with an innocent smile. "Ah, Screw, I think you've got another customer."
Screw shook his head lightly before turning around once again. He made a mental note about how most of his other days do not have that amount of turning around.
"Really? Because I don't see— oh, wait, I do see him now," he said as he looked for his new customer. It was a little smiling colt, who was barely visible behind the stand. He enthusiastically jumped and down, even when he didn't seem very interested on watches or clocks: he just looked genuinely interested on anything. Maybe seeing a new coat of paint dry would be a reality-questioning experience for him, thought the watchmaker.
"Well, what do you want, young colt?" he asked absent-mindedly, following routine as with usual customers. The colt, by his part, at least in the first part, was wondering how could Screw miss somepony like him, when he was so unique and bouncy.
"Hey there," the young pony said, giving Screw a confident smile. "Can I ask you something?"
"Uh, sure, why not?" And another one that comes to ask something.

Agate flapped her wings and got closer to the colt, curiously staring at him, almost crashing into him. The little colt seemed not to be very comfortable with it, and he gave a few steps away from the mare.
"Can you...?" he tried to say, his voice turning into an inaudible mumble in the middle of the sentence. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Can you give a little seminar?"
"Seminar... Of what?" Screw asked, not getting it. "As far as I know, I don't—"
"A seminar on assertiveness!" the little colt exclaimed in excitement, raising one of his hooves, pointing the sky.
Screw only got more clueless. "But I'm—"
The mare looked at Screw, surprised. "You give assertiveness seminars as well? You should have told me!" she said, excited. To her, Screw was getting more and more multifaceted by the second.

Screw tried to speak up again, but was interrupted before he could even say a word. He was amused by the situation, to his surprise, and knew very well that he might have a little fun with it before saying that he really wasn't even close to giving seminars on assertiveness.
The little colt turned around to face Agate, smiling. "Who are you? Are you his wife?"
Agate chuckled before answered: "No, I'm not. I guess he does have one." She smiled to the little colt before looking at Screw, who seemed to be quite confused by the situation.
"Excuse me, but why do you think I give seminars...?"
"Your name! You're Gear Will!" the colt exclaimed, jumping over the stand, looking at Screw right in his eyes, or at least where his eyes would be beneath his cloak. "The 'Will' surname is an obvious hint!"
"I'm Gear Wheel; you shouldn't be mixing the two words up..."
Neither the mare nor the colt seemed to hear him, the two continuing to elaborate on the theory of Screw's assertiveness classes.

"How nice of you!" said the mare in apparent heartwarming. "I knew it; somepony like you should also do something like this."
"Umm, what?" Screw was lost, the two ponies in front of him looking at him as if they were seeing the secret to happiness unravel.
"So, can you start right now, sir?" asked the little colt, a hopeful smile on his face. "I think a small one would be enough."
"But, you two— I'm not him..."
"You're right... Wasn't your name Screw?" asked Agate, tilting her head aside. "Do you have more names? Are you really Screw Gear Will? Because that's a long name... You really should leave some talents for the rest."
Screw spoke up with a little bit of seriousness in his voice. "Agate, I'm just Screw and—"
"Of course he is!" interrupted the colt, giving a little jump "Say, what relative are you from Iron Will?"
"You mean—"
"Are you his brother, his nephew, his...? His son...?" the colt asked, his voice more and more questioning as he listed the possibilities.
"I... I don't think so," replied Screw, looking at his horn. "I'm a unicorn—"
"I think he's his cousin," said Agate, giving Screw a good, attentive look.
Screw stared at Agate incredulously before saying: "Agate, not you too..."

"Say, Sir Will, why aren't you a minotaur?" asked the little colt, giving a few steps towards the watchmaker.
"Because I'm not a relative of Iron Will, that's why...?" answered the stallion, raising an eyebrow. "Because I'm a run-of-the-mill unicorn."
"Hah, sure I'll believe you," replied the colt, adopting a stance worthy of an interrogator.
"Don't lie to the colt, Screw," said Agate, pointing at him with a hoof as she said: "I know you're hiding something."
"Of course I'm hiding something: most of my body," replied Screw, without giving the statement much importance.
"But of course you are! After all, you're supposed to be undercover here."
"Wow, Screw, you sure do know how to life two different lives..."
"Guys, stop that," said Screw, giving the two a scolding look. "I'm seriously nothing special and I swear I'm not a seminar... Seminar..." He struggled to find the word. Is there a word for that? After a long while of silence, he said: "A seminar-giving-stallion." He stopped for a moment, gazing at the open air, before saying: "Uh-huh... I'm a watchmaker."
"We don't believe you."
"Are you a minotaur?"
"Whether you two choose to believe me or not will not change the fact that I'm only a unicorn. Just look at me, it's obvious that I'm a pony," replied the watchmaker, incredulity back in his voice. I wonder if they really believe that I'm a relative of Iron Will... "Well, tell me, kid, what do you want?" he asked, his tone going back to normal.

"Me? Oh, nothing, really. I just heard your name and thought— well, you already know," replied the colt, shyly looking away as he answered. "Can I stay with you for a while?" he asked after some time, trying his hoof at puppy eyes.
"Why...?" His eyes didn't seem to be making any effect on the stallion, but Agate was totally under the influence.
"I don't have anywhere else to go," replied the colt, making a tiny pout.
"Hmm..." Screw turned his head around, catching a glimpse of Agate's expression: a threatening expression that almost forced him to accept. "S-sure, why not?" he replied nervously.

The mare smiled once again after he said that. "Oh, I guess I've got to go," she said as she looked at her hoof. "I really should have gotten a watch from you, but it sure is getting late. See you!"
"Uh, see you...?"
"Have a good day, miss Agate!" shouted the colt as she flapped her wings, traveling down the road. He immediately turned around to face Screw, noticing somepony else was next to his stand. He signaled over to Screw for him to turn around once again.
The stallion did so, his mind once again informing him of the fact that he was turning around quite a lot that afternoon. In front of his stand was another mare, leaning over the stand. Her front hooves were over it, a playful smile on his face. Screw at her, at the colt, and back. There was an awkward silence as the colt started to switch his gaze between the mare and Screw.
The watchmaker got closer to her and said a quiet voice: "You've got the wrong one."
The mare, nervously blushing, lowered her head and walked away as she said: "I'm sorry I got the two mixed up, name's the same..."

To the colt's confusion, she disappeared in the nearest intersection.
"What did you mean?" he asked, not sure of what to think.
"Oh, nothing. She thought I was another stallion," the stallion replied, chuckling beneath his breath.
"Who?"
"You're a little too young for you to understand if I were to explain it, don't you think?"
"Pfft, lies," replied the colt, apparently offended. "I'm more mentally mature that you," he said as he adopted a rather defensive stance.
"Heh, I doubt that, kid. What's your name?" Screw was genuinely amused by the situation. The sun was starting to disappear behind the skyscrapers of the city, and the orange tonality that had imbued everything was starting to darken.
"Don't call me 'kid,'" replied the colt, pointing a hoof towards the stallion. "And I won't give you my name. What's yours?"
"Bullet," replied the stallion without any interest in giving the answer.
"It doesn't sound like a watchmaker's name," replied the colt, rising as eyebrow. "Plus, I thought your name was Screw."
"I never said that being a watchmaker was my special talent," the stallion informed, putting the idea behind right after he said it. "Say, do you want a clock or something?"
"And what is your talent?" asked the colt, interested in the stallion's story.
"You can guess."
"Umm, being fast? But you don't even have wings. Hmm..." The colt seemed to be making a huge effort trying to think of something.
"Come here," said the stallion, softly patting the ground with his hoof a few times. The colt rushed towards the spot and ended up crashing again Screw, or Bullet as he was called now. "See, a piece of a particularly hard material is a projectile when used correctly. We tend to call those things 'bullets.'"

His explanation only seemed to confuse the colt even more. "So your special talent is being shot out of slingshots, without any wings to fly after that," he said, gesturing his hoof a flight in the air, before crashing it down to the dirt to signal the landing. "Sorry to say this, but being a watchmaker is far better for you."
"I know," replied the stallion, suppressing a smirk. "Do you want anything that has to do with clocks?"
"Umm, no, I'm not really that thrilled about getting a watch," said the colt, an expression of boredom appearing on his face as he said the phrase. "Can I stay with you?" he asked, then, his face lighting up.
"Alright, you can," he replied, stopping the colt from hopping in celebration. "Let me tell you: if you mess around with my things, I'll show you the real meaning of being a bullet."
"Show me now," the colt replied, daring.
"Don't even doubt that I'd do it," the stallion grumpily replied, clearing his throat and getting his mane out of his face as he heard somepony else stop by his stand. Lots of ponies today, huh... "Ah, welcome, what can I do for you?" he asked formally at the mare that stood in front of him. He directed his gaze at a side, seeing the little colt trying to jump into his storage. "Leave that alone, kid."

The mare in front of him stared at him for a very long time. Awkward silence took over the scene. None of the three made any sound. Screw looked around, his gaze cantering down the road.

After a very long while of awkward staring, the mare retrieved an object from her bag: an hourglass.
Screw looked at her, not sure of what to say. "And... And what would be the problem...?"
The little colt, by his part, was busy looking at the mare. She didn't seem to be moving, except from making the hourglass hover in mid-air.

Another long patch of silence took place.

"I'm afraid you have to speak up," said Screw, trying to maintain his formality.
The mare left the hourglass over the stand and drew a cross over her mouth with her white magic aura.
Screw put two and two together, then. "Ah, you're— you’re mute. A thousand pardons about asking you to talk."
The little colt brought a hoof to his forehead.
The cross disappeared and the mare rolled her eyes before giving Screw a severe glare. She pointed at the hourglass, staying in the position without moving once again.

Screw raised an eyebrow and took a closer look to the hourglass itself, not sure of what to say or expect. It didn't take him long to find the problem. "This hourglass... It's empty," he absent-mindedly said, not addressing anypony in particular. "Ah, the culprit is this crack right here. The sand leaked out of here and now it's—" He stopped talking, laughing nervously, looking at the mare. She, in return, looked at him with a stern look.
"This is an hourglass," he said, noticing how obvious he sounded. "Umm, maybe you didn't understand it quite well, but... I work with wheels, cogwheels. Honestly, I have no idea of how an hourglass is made and, with even more honesty, it doesn't intrigue me too much."

The mare just glared at him, immobile. Screw could feel his fear started to appear in the corner of his mind.

"No, I can't fix this, plus it doesn't have any sand on it," he said, looking at the hourglass as he spoke.
The mare only seemed to get more and more angered with every new word. The hourglass was engulfed by her magic aura, hovering in mid-air once again.
"No, you can't throw it against my head," he said jokingly. "It wouldn't be very appreciative to the work of—"
The mare, without making any sound, threw the hourglass against the cloaked stallion's head, the object jumping out of his head and shattering against the wooden stand with a crash that echoed against the houses. After that, she walked away, not bothering to suppress her grin.
"You've done that in purpose, huh!? You'll see when you mess with my well-made clocks... There won't be a part of you— the clocks that can be found!"
"What, Bullet?" asked the colt, also amused.
"I said that mare should learn to— wait, be quiet for a moment," he directed, seeing a mare in the distance.

The colt looked around, following Screw's gaze. "Oh, are you looking at her?" he cluelessly asked, pointing at the mare as she cantered down the road.
"Don't point, for goodness sake," Screw replied, putting a hoof over his head. "Just be quiet for a moment. Wait, where is she going to?"
"You could ask her," said the colt, before taking a sharp breath. "Hey, Lights—!"
Screw reacted fast, wrapping a hoof around the colt's mouth. "If you ruin this, you'll see... Just stay calm and quiet and you will be perfectly fine."
"Are you placing a treat over me, you Iron Will wannabe?" replied the colt, playfully giggling after talking.
"You meant "threat." I'm not giving you any candy, that would be creepy," said the stallion, patting the colt in the head. "I could shove a hoof down your throat but we are in the middle of the road in the city," replied the stallion, looking at the mare attentively, before letting the colt go. "Please contain yourself. If you manage to do so, I'll—"
"You'll give me something?" the colt asked, excitement growing.
A hit to the head... "I'll give you a clock."
"Don't you have anything better?"
"Maybe you'd be more interested in my impromptu flying lessons," said the stallion, almost mockingly.
"Yes, please," replied the colt, jumping in expectation.
"It’s such a shame I have absolutely nothing to with that," said Screw, his tone almost apologetic.
"But you said... Did you lie to me?" asked the colt, apparently offended. "Who are you?"
"You're way too much of a pure being to possess that knowledge," replied the stallion, his voice far more serious than normal. "Now run, get away from this wayward stallion before the darkness that resides in his soul infects you."

"Are you alright? Because you're not making any sense," the colt shot back, not really caring about Screw's dramatic impression.
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine," replied the stallion, his voice back to normal. "It's the heat around here."
"The sun isn't up in the sky," said the colt, lost.
"I mean the heat in the ambient, kid. Can't you feel it?" he said, his voice dramatic once again. "A million of voices screaming, pleading to be lifted out of routine, a thousand screams—"
"A million of voices that don't want any clocks," replied the colt, grinning.
"At least let me finish my improvised theatrical impressions," said the stallion, looking down at the little colt without a trace of a smile.
"But it's the truth..."
"Want something, kid?" the watchmaker asked, resigning.
"Show me that slingshot."
"I don't have one."
"Remember I get what you ask for. It says that right here," said the colt, pointing at the front of the stallion's stand. A sign had, in rustic letters, the phrase painted on.
"I won't do what I can't do."
"But you can do it."
"If I walk away, will you leave me alone?"
"Don't even think about it," replied the colt, tightly hugging one of Screw's legs. "It took so long to find you."
"Ah, yeah? How long?" asked the stallion, feigning interest.
"I have no idea, I didn't have a device to keep track of time," replied the colt, giggling, as he let go of the stallion's leg. "Why do you make clocks?"

Screw thought for a moment before answering. He wasn't too sure of why. "They're complex, they're very much alike and many think that fixing them will help."
"Are you tricking ponies?" the colt asked, confused.
"Don't say that too loudly," replied the stallion, looking around. "Do you want a watch?"
"Alright, but I won't come back to fix it. And make it free of charge."
"Whatever if it makes you be quiet for a while..."
"If I ask you for something, will you give it to me?" asked the colt, his eyes gleaming.
"Yes, but only if I can do or give that something."
"You're a strange stinging kind of a charitable soul, you know." The colt didn't seem to understand much of the conversation, but he enjoyed having it anyway.
"I'm not charitable at all," replied the stallion. "But yes, I'm very stinging. Also, it's late."
"You're pretty boring. You know that, right?"
"I have my days. I have those days where the only thing I want to do is to go home and have a tranquil night with her," he said, remembering his wife.
"Who?" asked the colt, interested in Screw's words once again.
"Flourish."
"That's a very strange name for a bed."
"She's my wife," replied the watchmaker in a no-nonsense manner.
"You're married to your bed? Wow, that's a new one."
"My wife is a pony like you..."
"Holy horseshoes, your bed has the shape of a colt like me!?" asked the little colt, confused beyond belief. "I won't even try to count how many things there are wrong with that fact."
"Do you have anything better to do?" asked the stallion, his face lacking any expression.
"No," replied the colt. "I want to meet that Flourish you speak of. I want to sleep with her."
"In her, you mean. And she's not a bed, she's a mare," replied the stallion, his ears dropping to the sides. The worst part is that she won't have half a problem with all of this...? "Okay, let's go."
"But you need to work some more."
"I could stop coming here for a week."
"Because of what?"
"I sold a particularly expensive watch to a stallion that paid quite the sum for it," the stallion explained, smiling between his teeth.
"Tell me the truth: you pulled the biggest rip-off ever off, right?"
"What? Nah, not at all," replied Screw. "The clock shouldn't have any problem, and it shouldn't break unless he stomps over it. Even then, I don't think it'll be easy to break."
"Ah, being honest? You? I simply can't believe it."
"You didn't even know who I was up until some moments ago," replied the stallion, starting to walk down the road with his cart. The colt followed him, running in circles around him and jumping around.
"But I do know you, I know you very well."
"Yeah, of course you do..."

The two walked down the road in silence for a while, something that Screw was thankful for. The colt oftentimes ran into things and ponies, and he had to apologize for his actions whenever it was necessary.
"Say, why haven't you used clocks instead of wheels in your cart? It would look cute and eye-catching."
"Because clocks aren't that big and they aren't meant to be used like that," replied the stallion, boredom in his voice.
"You really should use clock handles instead of those wood things," he said, pointing at the harness with his muzzle. "You would have more time that way and you could think about your Iron Will phrases, because you're not fooling anypony. You could do something like..." The colt stopped for a moment, to think. "Something like 'when you've got no time, show them that... that I can't rhyme.'"
"You just did," said the stallion, not paying the colt too much attention.
"See? Even a small colt is a better Iron Will than you! You've got a lot to think about," said the little colt, looking at Screw as he sighed. "Hey, are you cuckoo yet?"
"For the love of Celestia, leave me alone," said Screw, unwanted severity in his voice. "I don't want others to think something strange is going on in here. You know the tales around here."
"What tails? Your tail? Wait, where is your tail?" asked the colt, staring at the end of the stallion's cloak. It seemed like there wasn't a tail there. "Plus, don't worry, they won't be a thing to you! You will bring them to their final hour!"
"You're pretty good at that thing of joking with my name, but stop that, seriously. Why do you follow me?"
"I want to know if you walk at the pace of the seconds or not."
"Yes, I do. It comes as a side-effect of listening to it every day," replied the stallion, hoping that would be it. "Happy?"

The colt stopped to think for a moment. "Do you scream 'ding!' after every 3600 steps? 'Cause that's some awesome counting skills you would've got, there." The colt stifled and looked at the ground for a moment.
"Do you want to leave me alone or not?" Screw asked, getting tired of the situation.
"I just want to watch you..."
"That sounds very Manehattan-ish, you know. Especially the alleys of around here."
"Don't insult my hometown."
"I know what happens around these parts, you know. It isn't pretty."
"Ten o'clock news, am I right?"
"Yes, I—"
"But you know they don't come at ten o'clock exactly, right? 'Cause you have that clock in your mind and all."
Screw stopped on his tracks, looking at the colt disapprovingly. He left out a sigh before asking: "Do you have any place to go, kid?"

The colt got quiet for a moment. Screw decided to just continue walking towards home.
"Two, three, four, five..."
"Stop that."
"Why?" the colt asked, a mischievous grin on his face. "...Six, seven, nine, eight, ten, thirteen... Messing up your counting?"
"I don't count my steps."
"Ah, of course you don't. Why the name Gear Will?"
"Gear Wheel—"
"You're not very Iron Will."
"I'm not—"
"Are you his pony brother?"
"I said—"
"No, wait! You're totally his brother. You're a minotaur! But you have a very pony voice and head, and the way you walk is very well researched. You almost fooled me." The colt proudly grinned.
"Kid, I'm not a minotaur. Minotaurs don't have horns, and I—"
"Of course they do have horns. Why, haven't you seen Iron Will, ever? He's got two," he said, pointing to his own head as he talked. "So, tell me, what happened to yours? You only have one."
"I'm a unicorn, can't you understand that?" replied the stallion, his voice dry. "I'm trying to get home, thank you very much! Leave me."

The little colt stood in front Screw, looking at him with an expression of audacity. "I'm going to block right now and you WILL have to show me that you rock."
"I'll show you a rock if you don't stop..."
"Nuh-uh, you'll show me that YOU rock."
"I can show you how to eat a rock," replied the stallion, not stopping. He didn't seem to be quite interested on the colt's ideas.
"So, is the rock blocking you?" he asked, a little confused by the fact that he had just asked that particular question. "Is it rock-blocking you?"
"Why do I come here...?" Screw looked at the sky, the orange tone of some moments ago now gone, being replaced by a dark blue tonality, together with some scarce stars appearing in the firmament.
"To protect your identity from me!" shouted the colt, stepping aside. His voice was dramatic, maybe overdone, but it all was amusing for the stallion. "But I know who you are, and I know your crimes!"

Screw, at the phrase, but a step back in surprise and asked: "Crimes? Which ones!?"
"Umm, none?" answered the colt, tilting his head aside. "I... Don't know?"
"Ah, alright," replied the stallion, leaving out a "phew."
"Aha, so you HAVE committed crimes!" shouted the colt, running around the stallion.
"No, I h-haven't!" the watchmaker stated, moving his head from side to side.
"Oh, you have! You have committed crimes!"
"Stop shouting!" said Screw, lowering his head so he could lower his volume. "They're gonna see me— see you!"
"What is it, huh? What is it!?" The colt acted more like an interrogator, indirectly threatening the stallion. "Are you hiding something in those clocks of yours!?"
"No!"
"Is it... is it..."
"What?" the stallion asked, half-amused, half-scared. It was true there were some things about him that were far better left unsaid.
"Is it..." The colt stopped for a moment, looking at the stallion right in the eyes, reveling in the nervousness coursing through his body. "OATS!?"
Screw, at the question, stopped walking for a moment, looking at the colt, who was still tense and trying his hardest to appear menacing. The longer he looked at him, the more the colt relaxed, or got bored, it might have been any of the two.

"Well, spill the beans!" shouted the colt all out of a sudden. "Or, rather, spill the oats!"
"You're weird, very weird," said Screw, starting to walk once again. He had to get home before night set in. "You should go home before somepony hurts you."
"No! I'm the guardian of the night!" shouted the colt, trying to catch up with Screw, who was walking far faster than before. "The knight of the night! The night is nigh and the night knighted a knight: me!"

Screw stopped once again, waiting for the colt. "You're just full of spunk, aren't you?" He was chuckling beneath his breath, but tried his hardest not to make the fact that the colt was amusing him obvious. "You're weirder than I thought," he said, smiling at the colt. "Do you have any other place to go?"
"T-the night! The knight!" the colt shouted, trying to appear as serious.
"Stop that, seriously. Your throat will be sore tomorrow," said Screw, his tone far more calm and affective than before. "Well, at least no one will want to do anything to you if they see that you're so weird. It's a good self-defense mechanic, I admit it. Just be careful not to have anything of value: there are some bums around here—"
"Ah, that's why you're always around here: you like hanging out with the bums."
"In fact, I d-don't..."
"Sure. I can see through your disguise," said the little colt, still tense.
"What is your name, kid...?"
"Knight. Night Knight."
"I mean your real name."
"I won't reveal my real name to you. You're a criminal, you sicken me," he said as he pointed at the stallion with an expression of disgust.
"Ugh, come on. Is there somepony accompanying you?"
"The Night's Knight doesn't need a sidekick."

"I'm just going to leave, alright? I hope you can get home; it's quite dark now~!" Having said that, Screw started to trot down the road, his home still far from him.
"No, you can't go!" shouted the colt as he ran behind him. "Because... Because... I'm following you!"
"Look, I'll let you come with me," said the stallion as he slowed the pace down. "Jump into the cart I'm carrying, but please do be quiet. I don't want to drag any more attention to me." He looked around, finding nopony nearby. "It's getting difficult to be low-profile with you around here."
"Alright," said the colt reluctantly, before hopping into the cart, landing over an open space that seemed to be the only part of the cart that wasn't filled with stuff. "But you'll have to take me towards that Flourish if you do this."
That's not how favors work...  "Just act naturally and everything will go just fine, got that?"
"Your threats do not inspire fear in me."
"I'm not threatening you. If I were, things would be different," the stallion said, taking a deep breath. "Now let's go. And do be quiet, I'm not used to loquaciousness and the way we're getting along is troubling for me."
"No problem. Don't even try to commit more of your crimes."



And after that exchange, Screw ran down the road towards his home. Rarely did he feel so well: oftentimes he'd just slowly walk down the streets, and other times he wouldn't even bother to raise his head and look at what was in front of him. Obviously, after the incident with the glass, he learned not to do that. Maybe if they carried glass around in a more secure way, it'd be better for everyone... No one would have seen that crash and I wouldn't have had all those shards dig into my head. It's painful to remember.

"Umm, Screw?" called the colt, standing over the edge of the cart.
"Yes?"
"You should stop here. I live here."
"Ah, sorry about that," the stallion replied, turning as he dug his hooves into the dirt. The little colt fell out of the cart and rolled a few times in the dirt. Screw just looked at him as he stood up again, letting a nervous laugh out.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," the colt said, grinning. "I had a great time today, Screw. Thanks."
"I-it's nothing, really," the colt replied, sudden humbleness taking over him. "If anything, I should thank you."
"Sorry for shouting so much."
"You'll need to say that to your throat tomorrow. Better get ready for that. Well, I'll be going now. Wouldn't want to make my colt-bed-wife think something happened to me, right?"
The colt walked towards a house and knocked on the door. "So you do have a colt-bed-wife. I knew it."
"Such a shame you didn't get to meet her," the stallion said, giggling a little. The door opened, then, and the colt just skipped into his home without saying goodbye.
Cordiality. It's difficult to keep it sharp when I meet these ponies...
With that thought in his mind, he continued down his path.





He arrived in front of his house at last. There didn't seem to be any activity coming from there. Out of custom, he retrieved the key to the front door, almost silently opening it. He tried to enter it, but something stopped him in his tracks.
The cart, the cart, the cart... he repeated in his mind as he stepped back and opened a large door at a side of his house that connected to the garden. In a matter of seconds he had guided the cart back into its place and freed himself from the harness.
I bet a thousand bits on that somepony saw that...
Without further thought, he entered his place of residence, sighing beneath his breath.

"Ah, to be home once again. I wish I had some comfortable conversations instead of the forced, awkward ones I have..." As he said that, he disrobed and let his cloak on the floor, not even bothering to fold it.
The lights in the first floor were turned off. He managed not to trip over anything as he walked down the room, even when he did come close a few times. He went up the stairs in the dark, his hooves barely making out the steps as he went upwards.
In silence, he walked down the short corridor that led to the bedroom. It was then when he noticed it: there was a very soft light coming from inside it. Slowly and softly, he opened the door.

The image of his wife greeted him, a candle lit in a corner.
"You look adorable when you're absentminded," said Flourish, walking towards him, kissing him on a cheek once she was by his side.
"Umm, good night, honey," Screw said, the tiredness in his voice being evident. "How was your day?"
"It was fine, nothing too special. How about yours?"
"Very tiring."
"I... I see. I'm guessing you need to rest, dear."
Screw subtly smiled at her, saying: "No, I'm not really tired. I just need some contact with somepony I love. And that means you," he explained, putting a hoof at a side of her head.
"You're so corny when you're tired," she replied, giggling. "I really like that from you. Get to bed, now, it's late at night," she continued to talk, pointing towards the mentioned object.

The two got into bed without saying a word. Flourish blew out the candle once she was inside, darkness taking over the room.
"Good night, dear," she said, warmly smiling at the stallion.
"T-thanks. You too have a good night."
Flourish felt Screw's forelegs wrapping around her as the stallion left out a sigh of relief. She giggled once again, thinking about how cute he could be.
"The way you brought that little colt to his home was so heartwarming. You're such a cutie pie."
Screw groaned in response, before saying: "I've told you that I'm not cute."
"Your actions say so; otherwise you wouldn't be holding me like this..."
"I do this because I love you. Whether it's cute or not won't change that fact."
"Now that's trite."
"You never ask for me to stop saying that kind of things, and you know, you—"
"	You get what you ask for, yadda yadda, I know. Don't get your public and private life mixed up, that's all I'm asking for."