Day 6
My prediction was right. My weekend is going to be busier than Applejack during applebucking season. I mean, today was tiring enough, and I have that thing with Colgate tomorrow...
Anyway, I missed Ditzy again this morning. I wasn’t really trying to catch her so to say, seeing as how the length of our discussion would intrude on her mail schedule. But I have a suspicion that she came early on purpose.
I think I fell asleep listening to records last night. I woke up on the couch, which comes with a 90% chance of sleeping in. This instance fell within the expected percentage.
I decided to write my report this morning, leaving time for Ditzy to finish her route. It wouldn’t do to track down her house just to find it empty. And for all I knew, it could be a cloud home.
So, after washing up and getting my coffee, I sat down and got my pencil warmed up for the best muzzle-writing I could muster.
To Her Most Royal Highness, the Princess Celestia.
From Doctor Whooves, on his Royally Appointed Mission,
Highest salutations and greetings, etc.
My mission in Ponyville has made its first notable advancement. Although delayed slightly with an incident involving the Bearer of the Element of Laughter–which has resolved itself without negative consequences and produced valuable insight into the Bearer’s thought processes–I have succeeded in recently obtaining a chance to question Your faithful student, Miss Twilight Sparkle. Additionally, this occurred in a naturalistic environment, and as far as I can tell, no suspicions have been aroused as to the nature of this mission.
I did take the liberty to let the Bearer of Generosity in on a portion of the secret; she believes I am here on Your orders to observe Twilight, and Twilight alone. This granted me access to my impromptu interview with Miss Sparkle later, additionally deteriorating any wards she might have which would prevent me from assessing her mental health.
Concerning the progress on Miss Sparkle; she seems at the moment to be stable enough under unprovoked conditions, but I advise continued observation. Firstly, I have only had one suitable opportunity to interview her, and secondly, that observational period provide possible clues to alternative forced behind the motivation to her action, and would be a crucial issue to resolve should its existence be confirmed. Currently I do not have enough information to say more.
The aforementioned incident with the Bearer of Laughter, however, provided me with more substantial observational data. And, while I have not attempted therapy (and in this specific case, I would not recommend it currently, at least, not as it exists in the traditional circles) my actions in the situation did remedy it. Whether this had lasting effects remains to be seen.
Your humble subject, Doctor Whooves.
I specifically left out the details to my suspicions concerning Twilight’s mental state, as it would be unwise to take such an action, when the Princess, my superior at the moment, could be contrived as part of the cause of the issue.
Anyway, I sealed up the letter, hiding it amongst other articles in my saddlebags (which I had donned) and set out. It was late morning by now, what with my cursed slow speed at muzzle writing.
The first drop box I came across was at the edge of a park. I deposited my message and turned to leave, only to bump into a mare, sending us both sprawling.
“Apologies, miss,” I said, helping the mulberry-coated mare up.
“The fault is just as much mine as yours,” she replied apologetically, dusting herself off. “Mister...?”
“Whooves, Doctor Whooves.”
“A pleasure. I’m Cheerilee.”
I’d heard that name before. I looked back at the park, noticing a particularly large population percentage of foals, some even without their cutie marks.
“I seem to recall that you hold the position of teacher here in Ponyville?”
She nodded pleasantly.
“Is it normal to take field trips on the weekends?”
“Oh, this isn’t mandatory. Extracurricular activities that the parents or guardians can sign them up for.”
I’d heard of this kind of thing happening in Canterlot. Mass government-funded babysitting to keep foals out of the streets.
“I see.”
As I watched the ongoings of the fillies and colts, an idea formed in my mind. I grinned at my own genius.
“Would you happen to have a filly named Dinky in your school?”
Cheerilee thought for a moment. “Yes, in one of my younger classes. Why? Do you know her?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Looking back, that was probably a bit creepy.
I hung around the park trying to appear casual and nonchalant as I looked over the groups of foals in their various activities, everything from hopscotch to impromptu hoofball. As my favorite professor once said, “It’s not creepy, it’s science.”
But for some reason I don’t think the mothers are going to buy that one. Hence the attempt at disguising my slinking.
I made my way through the groups (taking special care to avoid the Cutie Mark Crusaders), eventually finding my way to a group of ponies playing Jacks. Add this to the list of incredibly hard yet incredibly useless talents of some earth ponies.
Among them, a specific unicorn filly caught my eye. Her hair and eyes were too similar to Ditzy’s to be a coincidence, and even her pink coat was grayed and looked akin to her mother’s. She was still too young to have her cutie mark; she was playing Jacks with an even younger earth pony colt who was white, and yet spotted with brown like a cow.
“Hi there Mister!” he said, shocking me out of my not-so-subtle observation mode.
My auto-reply kicked in. “Whooves, Doctor Whooves,” I said, and then collected myself, turning to the unicorn. “I’m going to make a preemptive hypothesis and propose that you are Dinky Doo.”
The filly blinked. The little colt cocked his head. “You’re gonna do what to Dinky?”
I facehooved. Note to self: remember the age of audience when speaking. “I said I was guessing her name was Dinky. Is that right?”
Dinky nodded slowly.
“And I’m Pipsqueak the-” The colt stopped, thoughts catching up with his words. “Wait, how did you guess who Dinky was?”
“I’m affiliated... uh, I know your mother from her mail route, Dinky.” The filly merely blinked. Shy and quiet runs in the family, apparently.
“Want to play Jacks with us?” Pipsqueak asked, enthusiastically.
Well, it’s better than hanging around like a creep with Cheerilee giving me the stare, I thought. “Okay, but it’s been a long time.”
Pipsqueak deemed it necessary to explain the rules, after which I attempted the feat. I’m not proficient by any means, but it was kind of like riding a bike; one of those skills that doesn’t go away. I was surprised when Dinky used her hooves as well; the unicorns in my school never went that easy on me. Buck them.
Our mini-championship was interrupted when a downward rush of air, followed by four hooves touching down, landed a familiar gray and blond mailmare next to me.
“Hello,” I said, feeling stupid; I was playing Jacks and I hadn’t any plan in the least of what to say.
“Mommy!” said Dinky, jumping up suddenly. “Seeya later, Pip.” The filly jumped into her mother’s now-empty mailbag.
“I see you met my daughter, Doctor.”
I nodded. “Um, yeah. And you can call me Whooves.”
“Okay...” She shuffled a hoof. “Later then...”
They took off, my hopes moving inversely to their altitude. I looked down at the ground, where Pipsqueak was looking up at me.
“Something wrong, Mister?”
“No! I mean, no. Well, actually, it could be, but I can’t know. Meaning, I could know, but I don’t. Which means the answer is more likely yes.”
Pipsqueak blinked, once, twice, three times. He started to form a question, but was interrupted as Ditzy landed between us. She mustered the concentration to look squarely at me for a moment. “So, uh... do you have any plans for lunch?”
A little unicorn face peeped over her head and winked. I think I just made a friend...
...which is weird, actually. I used to make my colleagues’ kids cry, unintentionally of course. Needless to say, they kept relationships strictly business after those experiences. Back to events:
“No...”
“We’re having soup, if you’d like to come.”
“That... depends.”
She looked taken aback, slightly (and rightfully so). “...on what?”
“Is there a Mister Doo waiting there?”
Dinky eeped and disappeared into the mail satchel. A scowl slowly formed on Ditzy’s face, before she replied simply, “No.”
Oops. Well, I had to know.
The foul mood cleared quickly in the bright sunlight, and minutes later I found our little group (I brought Pip along too, since he didn’t seem to have anywhere else to go or anypony waiting for him) in front of the Doo home. It was modest compared to the houses on my block, but it had all the elements to make it home. And, thankfully for my earth pony protege and myself, it was not a cloud home.
Lunch was quiet. I was honestly expecting the foals to dominate the conversation, but apparently foals here have a different idea of “good behavior” than the ones in Canterlot. After the meal, they went outside.
I carried the dishes into the kitchen as best I could (darned earth-pony genotype) while Ditzy was crating the leftovers. Upon entering the kitchen, I stopped short at the already-towering pile of dishes in the sink. I guess her week keeps her pretty occupied.
An idea sprouted in my mind. Glancing back, I saw Ditzy was already dragging on her hooves, despite it being only about an hour into the afternoon. I turned on the water, pumped some soap into a large crock, and got busy.
Minutes later, she came back in, before stopping in place and gawking slightly.
“Um... I, er... what are you doing?”
I looked down at my hooves in the soapy water. “Is that some kind of trick question?”
“You’re washing the dishes,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, I would hope that much is obvious,” I replied, drying a ladle.
“Why?”
“You can barely stand. Comes from double shifts of work all week, I expect.”
She started to nod, before ceasing and saying, “Wait. That’s not a reason. Or, not according to you anyway. ‘Ponies are all logical and selfish’ and all that.”
“Well,” I said, quickly scouring my mind for a reason. “We have an unfinished conversation; I can’t have you falling asleep on me.”
She looked at me sternly for a second, presenting a surprisingly menacing look, despite her eyes which drift badly because of her exhaustion. I thought for sure she could see me sweating.
...Which is kind of a problem now that I think about it. I shouldn’t be worried about coming up with perfectly reasonable excuses for my actions. Especially because I refuse to use the cure-all label of “emotion.” I need to sit down and figure this out sometime. Argh, distracted again.
She seemed too tired at the moment to object. “Fine,” she said, taking over the drying and allowing us to finish in just a minute or two.
“So, what did you want to talk about so much?” she asked, flopping down on a threadbare loveseat. “I have to get back to the afternoon route in an hour.”
“You’re in no condition to fly!” I responded a little startled. I automatically grabbed a table chair, flipped it around in a practiced gesture, and assumed my usual pose.
“It’s the last run of the week. I catch up on sleep over the-” She yawned. “...over the weekends.”
I thought for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ll take the non-cloud-home deliveries, and you...” I stopped, realizing the mare had fallen into an unsettled sleep. I tip-hooved over to her, waving a hoof in front of her face to make sure she was actually asleep. She stirred slightly, but remained otherwise incapacitated. Peaking out the window at the foals outside, I snuck a hoof under the latch of the full mail satchel, examining the contents.
A lightbulb practically lit up over me. I smiled. Apparently, morning routes handle the few cloud homes around Ponyville and any second-story deliveries (of which, Ponyville has few). The afternoon routes are strictly ground level.
Snagging an abused pencil, I scribbled a note as quickly as my stiff jaw would allow and dashed out of the house with the satchel around my neck.
“When your mother wakes up, tell her I took the letters!” I yelled over my shoulder.
Looking back, that was a really stupid way to say it.
Fortunately, this batch of mail had been sorted (by Ditzy, I presumed) in order of delivery, in a pattern I recognized as a snake-like route across the southern part of Ponyville.
Surprisingly, I vaguely recognized most of the ponies I was dropping the mail off to. Often, I looked at the not only the address, but also the name, trying to address them by their name. That didn’t always work though, considering that a good portion of houses had multiple occupants.
And nearly all of them asked where “Derpy” was. I find it odd that they continue to use that nickname for somepony that they rely on for their daily mail. I usually replied to their questions with something along the lines of, “I’m substituting today.”
The end of the route led me along the edge of the Everfree Forest. I don’t particularly believe in all the ghost stories that surround the place, but it is still a forest–which typically do house things that don’t procure an existence in everyday life–and so I trotted along at a relatively hurried pace, with my last letter in hoof.
The place was awfully peaceful and–for lack of a better word–cute, considering its proximity to the Everfree. Additionally, the place was overrun by all of the fuzzy classes of the animal kingdom as well: Bunnies (mainly), field mice, hummingbirds, turtles, everything under the sun. I went up to the door and rapped on it, like I did on every other house.
“...just, um, leave it on the doorstep... if that’s okay with you, I mean.”
I did a double take. Fluttershy lives on the edge of Everfree? I guess that explains all the animals...
“It’s me, Doctor Whooves. I’m delivering the mail for Ditzy today.”
“...I know,” she squeaked, barely audible.
I suddenly occurred to me how avoiding she’d been during the confrontation after the incident with Pinkie. I’d been too preoccupied to investigate and see if it was an inhibiting factor. Note to self: interrogate Rarity about Fluttershy’s conflict avoidance.
But unfortunately, I was on kind of a tight schedule at that moment. “Okay then...”
I dropped the letter and lit out for Ditzy’s house. If I was lucky, I could get back before she woke up and panicked.
No such luck.
Halfway there, my brisk trot was interrupted as I was blindsided, direction shifting ninety degrees in a tenth of a second. My assailant and I tumbled head over heals in the dust, our roll stopped only when we smashed into a stand, sending debris flying in all directions.
“What the hay...” I started, trying to pick myself up, only to discover I was pinned to the ground on my back by an irritated Ditzy, eyes focused for once.
“What the buck are you trying to pull?” she almost yelled, confused, stern and possibly hurt all in one voice. She forcibly ripped the empty mail bag off me and looked inside. “What did you do with my mail!?”
“I-” I coughed. “I delivered it.”
“Oh...” she said simply, eyes drifting.
“If you don’t mind, could you get off me?”
She blushed madly and dismounted me, offering me her hoof for the second time this week.
“Um, are you okay?”
“I’ll live, probably.” I kept a straight face for upwards of ten seconds, staring her down. At first she backed up, ears snapping up in attention, looking me up and down for injury. Then we both collapsed in laughter. It wasn’t a particularly original joke, but sitting there covered in wreckage after she had just tackled me, it was the perfect moment for it.
And then there was the destroyed stand.
The angry owner disentangled herself from what had been the banner. “If Ah find tha’ this is another of yer crazy schemes to get yer cutie marks-”
Applejack stopped short on seeing us. “Derpy? Doctor...?”
“I’m terribly sor-” I started to apologize, only to have a hoof shoved in my mouth. It tasted weird. Like sweat and bubble-bath mixed together.
“This is... actually my fault, Applejack,” Ditzy said quietly, ears dropping. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you worry about it none, sugarcube,” replied Applejack, waving it off. “Ah am wonderin’ why the Doctor here has more bruises on him than you...”
“Oh, that’s simple,” I answered, mouth free of hooves again. “She tackled me because I stole her mail.”
Ditzy and I broke out laughing again, much to the confusion of Applejack.
“What’d you go an’ do that fer?”
“B-because,” Ditzy managed through her hysteria, “he’s trying to take my job.”
We completely busted at that point. I fell backward, Ditzy following a moment later–landing on top of me.
“Ah don’t get it.”
After recovering a few minutes later, and after picking herself off me again, Ditzy and I helped do what we could. Turned out, we only took out the stand–the apple cart was still intact; and being the end of the day, most of her apples were sold out. We piled salvageable debris into the cart, and I offered to haul it home. Then things got interesting.
“No offense, but I need to get home before sundown.”
I looked up. The sun was still hours off the horizon, and the trip to Sweet Apple Acres was under a half hour, even at a snail’s pace.
“Are you implying that growth of the muscles in the mind occurs at the expense of physical capability?”
“Uh, maybe?”
If I’d reversed the order, then you’d have just proved it, I thought.
I staunchly slid the harness around my neck. Normally I don’t give in to such lowbrow taunts, but Applejack is a subject of interest, and any time around her is quantifiable as research. Also, Ditzy was watching...
What did I just say? Nevermind.
During my trek (which I did succeed in finishing), I discovered that pulling cars, carriages, or plows isn’t based solely on strength. Upper-torso weight has a large influence as well. A larger stallion–Big Macintosh comes to mind–can just lean forward, and the wagon moves. Ponies my size have to actually push against that freakin’ uncomfortable harness.
Which Applejack managed to forget to tell me I was wearing wrong until we were there. Seriously, that is the type of thing I would expect Rainbow Dash to pull. I guess I should have remembered that Honesty ≠ Kindness.
Anyway, by the time I had unhitched and Ditzy and I were walking back, I felt as sweaty as Ditzy tasted. I sagged with weariness, often stumbling on the uneven path without the balance that the cart had provided.
Ditzy looked at me critically. “Maybe I should walk you home.”
Okay, that was just backwards.
“Oh come on, I did this to myself.”
“Actually, I did a good part of it to you.”
I snorted, but she continued to accompany me toward my house. We arrived at my doorstep unhindered.
“Well, have a good afternoon,” I said.
This. Felt. So. Wrong.
“Um...”
Oh she wasn’t. Please no.
“I do have a question...”
Whew. “Yes?”
“Why?”
Good grief. Why must she use my favorite question against me?
“Well, you were obviously exhausted-”
“I know that’s not a reason by your standards.”
I swallowed. When in doubt, tell the truth. “I...”
She managed to focus her eyes on me, all senses alert.
“...I don’t know yet.”
Her expression remained unchanged. After a moment, she said, “Let me know when you figure that out.”
And she flew away.
I went inside and pounded my head against the wall until there was a new, smaller hole next to the larger, still un-repaired impression that my body had formed earlier. Yet, both had been made by Ditzy in different ways.
I fell asleep taking a really long, cold shower.
Turns out Lyra and Bonbon went out to eat dinner. They’re leaving tomorrow, so they didn’t want leftovers. I stayed in and had a simple salad with what I could scrape up from my pantry. After that, I dug out any books I had on emotional theory.
I’m not quite as sure as I was before–emotion might in fact exist; but I still don’t know why it would exist. And as long as something doesn’t have a reason to do something, it probably shouldn’t.
Ugh. I should have the energy to do some partying tonight, but I don’t. I’ve been reading these books up until I made tonight’s recording, and I still don’t have any answers. Tomorrow is a new day; I need to clear my mind.
Goodnight.