//------------------------------// // The junior librarian and the fashionista // Story: From the Big Apple: A Tale of Misadventure and Affection // by Nurse Bedpan //------------------------------// “I take that back. So far, not so good,” you state glumly. The plan you had crafted after your pretzel break was not coming together as soon as you had hoped, the main reason being spelled out right in your snout. “OUT. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.” The brief message was hastily scrawled on a piece of parchment, affixed to the red door of the imposing tree. Er… house. Tree house? “Heh heh – tree house.” Chuckling inwardly, you take a walk about the large structure to take it all in. Its thick trunk and healthful canopy gave no doubt of its nature; at the same time, windows, a balcony, and even a telescope showed that this was manipulated by the occupant. A simple sign to the left of the door featured a thick, open book - Golden Oaks Library, while admittedly small compared to the regal buildings in Manehattan, possessed a charm and authority all its own. Sadly, this provided little impact on your search for the truth. You had been planning on going through old newspaper snippets dated to when Babs stayed here; it would have been a good foundation on where to start. Not having a clue where to begin did not give you the most straightforward plan of attack, but this had to do. Operative word being “had.” “Hmm, maybe I can sneak a quick browse? It’s not like anypony can stop me…,” you say as you stand back in front of the library’s door. Placing a hoof on one of the handles beneath the large candle insignia, you find that the entrance swings open with ease. The head librarian must have left it unlocked when she left. Inside, the library appeared barer than expected – as if it was built for somepony to simply come in and borrow books instead of staying over to read. The lobby had multiple shelves built into the walls, all lined with books of varying shapes and sizes. Oddly enough, the books appeared to have been placed with no rhyme or reason, as large and small spines, sometimes even pieces of parchment stuck out like gaudy markers in the alcoves. In the center of the lobby stood a round, wooden desk topped by a wooden horse head. Again, papers were hastily strewn about here and there, along with spent inkwells and broken quills. A staircase lined the back wall, curving up to an upper level. “It’s like a tornado came through here…,” you mutter as you make your way further inside. An adjoining back room held more shelves and books; however, this room was spic-and-span. It even had… “Lace and ribbons?” In stark contrast to the central room, this room had been dusted and reorganized to a tee. Every book looked like they had been dusted and gingerly tucked in with its companions and the floors were so smooth you could have skated on them if you had wanted. Nopony seemed to be here either, forcing you back to where you came. Making your way back to the main lobby, you settle on the flight of stairs carved into the surrounding wall. Even this was not spared the shelving treatment, as the wood was hollowed to accommodate even more books and wayward scrolls. Flecks of ink dotted the boards, indicating that somepony must have been in a rush. If the situation in the library is any indication, the upper level must also be in a similar state of dishevelment. Your first step on the sturdy looking flight elicits a loud ~creak~ that reverberates throughout the building. A quick scratch and shuffling noise sounds out from the upper floor, followed by a tired, airy voice: “Who?” Hmm. It seems like the librarian was just using “out” as an excuse to sleep in extra late today. Maybe there was some sort of book party here the night before? “Uh, hello? Sir, er… ma’am? Or sir? I was just wondering if I could sift through your newspaper back-issues. I, uh… need them for some research.” You didn’t need to fib, but the situation somewhat called for it. The hat and eyepatch are instantly suspicious after all, even you can attest to that. This librarian might try to pick your brain and that would cost too much time. “Whooo?” Scratching your forehooves against the step, you say your name and re-state your business. “I won’t be here long, I promise!” Maybe you were being brushed off in exchange for another 40 winks… “Whoo.” Odd. That last one sounded more pensive that questioning. The airy voice gave way to another scuffle before its owner made itself visible. Descending quickly from the upper floor was… an owl? The brown ball of feathers descends cheerily and lands on the horse head in the middle of the lobby. His eyes, large and black, give you a once over before he nods and sits, listening to your next words. “Oh. Hey there, fella. You wouldn’t happen to know where the old newspapers are, would ya?” The little fowl gives you a quick nod and flies off into the cleaner room you had just explored a few minutes ago. Trotting after it, you enter the polished portal to see the owl feverishly pulling on one of the ribbons guarding a tiny alcove near the top of the roof; it seems that your smaller height stopped you from noticing this particular shelf. A few more spirited tugs later and the offending band of fabric frays, letting loose a torrent of black and white papers. “Jackpot,” you say as you advance towards the growing pile of sweet information… Just as you are able to make out a headline (“Twin Conponies, Apprehended in Appleoosa”), you are alerted by a tinkling bell and the sound of some shuffling footsteps. The pitter-patter of feet sounded strange – whoever had come in must have done so barehooved; the telltale clip-clop of horseshoes did not echo through the empty library. Was it the head librarian, returned from his afternoon of personal shenanigans? Seeing as how sifting through the papers without so much as a backwards thought to the new visitor seemed rude (and made you look like a sneak-thief), you abandon your search and walk outside to meet the newcomer. Instead of a pony however, you are met with stacks of baskets, each filled to the brim with varying items: quills, corks, stoppered inkwells, and small bags of what appeared to be grain. The mountain of items is balanced precariously on a little red hand-pulled wagon. “AAH! A burglar! Please, don’t take my stuff! I just dragged them here!” The small voice emanating from the top of the wooden staircase sounds like it belongs to a little colt, no older than yourself. Whirling around to make eye contact, you see a stubby little lizard, on his knees and his front claws clasped together in a praying position, his eyes shut tight as if awaiting a horrible fate. “No! No, mister – I just came here to look at some papers! I’m not a burglar, I promise.” Your words reach the little creature immediately and he stands up to his full (albeit, still short) height, sheepishly, rubbing a claw across his bulbous purple forehead. “Phew,” he says. “I thought this was going to be one of those crazy things that happen whenever Twilight’s out…” Giving the small creature a once over, you can’t help comparing him to an old cartoon you saw as a foal. The purple scales, the enormous green eyes, even the small fangs protruding from his upper lip. You can hardly believe it: this living, breathing thing standing above you looked just like… “Huffy the Magic Dragon?! You’re REAL? Mom’s been convincing me that you were nothing but a hoof inside a sock puppet!” The purple dragon stares at you at first, before breaking into a hearty guffaw that sends him doubling over and falling down the stairs towards your feet. He continues laughing for a good few seconds, tears welling up in his eyes as his green underbelly rises and falls erratically. Making his way to his feet and polishing the dust off he exclaims “Oh, man. I haven’t heard THAT one in a long time. Nah, I ain’t famous or anything. But yeah – I guess I AM a magic dragon.” He extends a right claw to you in a hoofshake. “The name’s Spike. Junior Head Librarian of Golden Oaks.” You introduce yourself and repeat that you came in looking for old newspapers. “Your pet helped show me where they were kept. I think we made a bit of a mess though. I’ll be sure to put them back into place when I’m done.” How you were going to do this, given your height and lack of wings or magic, is still a mystery. “Wait, did you say… Owlowysious!,” Spike calls out as he runs into the adjacent room. You hear a bit of a scuffle, followed by some incoherent mumblings of “feather,” “trouble,” and even “…oh, Twilight’s going to cut my bit allowance for this!” Following suit, you find Owlowysious the owl, perched atop Spike’s head, as the latter feverishly rearranges the fallen papers into multiple stacks. “I’m really sorry, kid, but I’m not even halfway done with cleaning the library. Could you maybe come back another time?” “Really? It looks like this room’s pretty done,” you say to calm the hyperventilating junior head librarian. The stack of papers is starting to grow beyond the little dragon’s reach, his efforts having to be aided with a flying beak to place the papers ever higher. Seeing this scene unfold before you, you volunteer to help the wayward pair. “If you want, I could help you reorganize. I can set aside what I need and just bring them back tomorrow – it’d be a win-win for both, err… the three of us.” This statement is met by a clatter of claws and a whoosh of wings as the two creatures cling to you in a tight hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Princesses know I could sure use another helping hoof. This place has definitely seen better times,” he adds with the slightest twinge of annoyance in his voice. As you sift through the papers, you make casual conversation with the young drake. Spike the dragon, as it turns out, had been living here in Ponyville for the past couple of years. He had come in to accompany the real proprietor of Golden Oaks, a Miss Twilight Sparkle, in order to complete her studies in friendship. He has since been part of the local Summer Sun Celebration and Winter Wrap-Up (where no magic was used), had become a bit of a town personality (“I helped with the announcing for an Iron Pony Competition and the Running of the Leaves! Everypony knows me, one way or another.”). In many of his stories, he names six friends, all mares of differing backgrounds and personalities. He gives happy accounts of each: the ever-studious Twilight Sparkle, the competitive Rainbow Dash, the frank Applejack (whose name rings a bell), the timid Fluttershy, the loud and friendly Pinkie Pie, and the dazzling fashionista Rarity. As time passes, you notice how often he praises and serenades the last unicorn, the saccharine emotion just oozing from his every word. This little guy is crushing tremendously on her, you think. “He’s so forthcoming about it though. Like he doesn’t care who finds out.” When asked about what caused the mess, he gives a casual shrug and says "Dunno. Something about some natural disaster all the way out near the Griffon borderlands... Twilight and some o' the others were sent to investigate it." A whole morning is spent on cleaning out the library. The great mess that greeted you as you entered was now almost completely gone. Unfortunately, your search for anything newsworthy turned up empty and you had to leave empty-hoofed. Well, at least you made a new friend; a dragon no less. “Wait,” Spike calls out. “Before you leave, could you take that basket to Carousel Boutique? The top one, filled with all the jewels. I kinda owe Rarity some since she was the one who helped me spruce up that one room in the first place. I’d do it myself, but duty calls, you know?” He punctuates the last line by donning a pink apron emblazoned with a flower and holding a tiny broom to his side. Before you can ask, he adds “Owlowysious can lead you to the front door. And Rarity’s really good at socializing. She can probably give you that news you’re looking for.” “Oh, wow. Really? I-I mean – yeah, sure! Thanks, Spike!,” you say before grabbing the basket in your mouth and following Owlowysious out into the afternoon sun. The hustle and bustle of Ponyville looks like it picked up while you were cooped up in the library. Mares and stallions walked to and fro, bringing with them various items. Their cutie marks were in plain view; Ponyville, as Spike said, isn’t as avid with clothes as cities like Canterlot and Manehattan. Truth be told, it was causing you to stare for longer than usual. Tailing Owlowysious, you soon arrive at a grandiose, multi-tiered structure that resembled a castle, a tent, and a carousel all at once. Its blue outer walls mingled with its yellow and lavender accents on various adornments and the roof itself. A large sign, seamlessly incorporated into the shop’s façade, depicted a ponyquin dressed up in an elegant bridle. Two similar ponyquins were propped on both sides of the upper structure. If this wasn’t Carousel Boutique, it was certainly doing a bang-up job of making everypony think so. Waving goodbye to the departing owl, you deposit the basket of gems on the ground before delivering three swift knocks to the front door. A singsong voice answers “Who is iiiiiiiitt~?” “Jewel delivery for Miss Rarity? Spike sent me!” A few minutes later, the door swings open to reveal a small, white unicorn filly with a two-tone mane and tail. Her green eyes give you a once over before politely smiling and beckoning you in. This mare isn’t at all who you were expecting. Truth be told, she looked too young to be running a business here all by herself. Her pink and purple mane wasn’t done in the curled style that Spike couldn’t stop blathering on about either. Before you can get to look at her cutie mark however, she gives you a quick nod and runs out the door. Huh. Fillies. “Miss Rarity, wait – the jewels!,” you call out, but your assumptions are soon quashed by the voice that had addressed you earlier. “Just leave them there, darling! I’ll be right over!” You are soon in the presence of a much taller mare, her stark white coat bringing out her blue eyes and vibrant indigo mane; a trio of blue diamonds adorns her flank. A small pair of red glasses adorns the mare’s snout; she also seems to be busying herself with threading three needles of varying size with different colors of thread. While obviously well-occupied, she doesn’t appear terribly frazzled; on the contrary, she appears to be enjoying herself quite a bit, her eyes glinting past her little glasses. “Oh, why hello there, little one. My name is Rarity and this is my shoppe – Carousel Boutique, where every garment is chic, unique, and magnifique!” she intones, with the slightest giggle in her voice. She must really like her work here. “Spike sent me a letter and said you’d be right over, the little gentledragon. From Manehattan, are we? My, my – such a busy city. The fashion trend is rather brutal there, I hear. What IS all the rage there right now?” You can barely blurt out an “Uh…” before you are quickly levitated onto a small stage surrounded by three full-length mirrors. A number of tape measures and patterned cloths are applied quickly to your croup, dock, haunches, and shoulders and removed just as quickly. Miss Rarity seems to be just talking to herself now. “Oh, but I know something simply perfect for you, dear! Yes, yes – definitely a dapper little number I can make just for you,” she coos as scissors begin to cut out small patterns in rolls of fabric stationed near where you’re standing. “M-miss Rarity? I’m sorry to be a bother, but the jewels,” you point out “are still over by the door.” “Oh my. I thought Sweetie Belle had brought them in before going out. Oh well, fillies shall be fillies.” As Rarity continues on about how debonair she plans on making you look, the gears inside your head finally click. Spike’s friend, Applejack. “Apple Bloom.” Rarity’s little sister. “Sweetie Belle.” Rarity hears your words and chirps in, “Why yes, dear – ‘The Cutie Mark Crusaders,’ those two along with Scootaloo. A handful at times, but they truly remind me of a more innocent time. Charming, really. Almost like a fairy tale… And will you be their prince?” She’s grinning ear to ear now, eyeing you with glee. “Gah! What? No! I’m not… I mean… but they… but Babs…!” “Oh, Applejack and Apple Bloom’s cousin Babs? I didn’t know you were spoken for. And so young too. Such a wonderful thing, young love!” “Miss Rarity, please! I’m just here to get some news and be on my way!” You can feel your blush threaten to burn your cheeks off as your voice reaches a pitch akin to your mother’s. “Oh, p’shaw, dear. I’m merely teasing. You just look so adorable is all Now, why don’t we start from the beginning? You tell me about you and I’ll tell you what you think you need to know.” The dressmaker claps her front hooves together, excited that her little game is about to begin. *sigh* “Only if you promise not to tell anypony else. Please.” “Pinkie promise, dear. Cross my heart and hope to fly,” she gesticulates, “stick a cupcake in my eye.” “… you’re mocking me aren’t you?” “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I do hope you understand – I haven’t had any decent conversation since Twilight and Pinkie left with Fluttershy in tow.” This looks like it’s going to be your only lead. Sweetie Belle and the other crusaders would have to wait – talking to fillies isn’t exactly your forte after all. “Well,” you begin “it all started about two weeks ago when I met Babs at the train station…”