I really do hate mondays.
Maybe it's my inner Trots-stallion but nothing raises my ire more than Mondays.
Well, that and pears. Honestly, such a pointless fruit. Take the noble apple, a glorious globe if ever there was one. A healthy snack, perfectly cultivated for our stomachs and rather tasty if I do say so myself.
But pears? Egads, what a deplorable food. It's like evil ponyified and sitting on your plate, just waiting till you are hungry enough to be taken in by its ploy. Not today, Pears!
Mondays are bad enough without you mucking it up.
Celestia, I'm bored.
Sitting behind the counter at my shop, my eyes lazily drift around taking in my meagre surroundings. The shop is a quaint affair, the odd furnishing decorating the desolate room with its own empty presence. The entire shop is going for an air of refinement, sophistication and rustic charm but it fails at all three. If ever a room could be described as lonely, this would be it.
It's nothing like my old shop back in Trottingham. That was all smooth lines, minimalism and pretentiousness. I actually kind of miss it. Weird since how little time I spent there, always dying to get away from the city and its demands. The hoofsters of my craft would always pop in at inconvenient times, trying to get my opinion on some silly clockwork toy they found. But it's a buck forest, germane original. Perhaps you haven't heard of there? I could almost hear them say everytime they walked in, so sure that they knew something I didn't, just because of who I am, because of my reputation in the field.
I'm always excited to learn new things, who wouldn't be? The two greatest statements in this world are “I don't know.” and “Let's find out.”. But they always annoyed me, those hoofsters. Satisfying curiosity is one thing, but trying to satiate the ego of some young pup who's arrogant enough to think that knowledge that's limited to but a few, while kept from others, is somehow worthier than anything is else is just beyond comprehension.
Still, it was fun to bleed a few egos every now and then.
Least they were better than the only other kind of pony that would frequent my establishment. Those morbid apologisers. You would think I wasn't running a business, instead I was some kind of one pony, live-in freak show. All I'd need is a Ringleader to announce me everytime I went to work.
Roll up, Roll up. Come gather around and see the amazing and terrifying Missing Pony! Isn't it a sight colts and fillies? This was a pony once but now his ocular cavities, that once leaked continuously when he thought nopony was looking, have dried up. His heart skips a beat, as if some part of him has vanished, yet he appears whole. Gaze on him and pity him, mares and stallions. Come on, roll up. No charge, no charge.
Damn nosey busy-bodies. Least here I'm free of them and their constant questions, pitying glances, and slow head shakes.
I don't need pity.
But I do need some customers. Is it always this empty in Ponyville? Even when I first started out fixing clockwork paraphernalia in that little shack in Bayfast I was busier than this. It's just so boring.
I don't know why I am even bothering to open a shop here. It's not like I need the bits, Mels saw to all that. I could stay home and... and be bored out of my mind. At least here I have the possibility of some equine interaction. Even if it is just a waitress when I go catch my morning tea at precisely 9:15.
No, the shop is necessary. It'll help me keep to my schedule and give young pip some structure to his life. It's been upturned enough at this point. A little stability will be just what the Doctor ordered. Plus I don't think I'd survive the shame of being a “house-husband.” Really, I hate bloody gender conformity.
Besides I could really do some good here for the community. Give something back and all that. Ponies must be in dire need of a clockwork specialist in a small town like this, mustn't they?
Glancing around the spartan room again it seems that I have my answer. My eyes flick to outside where my sign is proudly displayed, as it gently sways in the breeze.
It's a mahogany sign with my cutie mark upon it and a working clock embedded in the wood.
Quarter to Nine? It's only quarter to nine? Oh Celestia, strike me down. I can't take much more of this. I know I came here for some seclusion but this is ridiculous.
My sign jiggles a little as the wind picks up slightly. Looking at it again I read it just to give myself something to do.
Time Turner: If it's broke, I can fix it. I nicker a little at the sign. Time Turner. That's the name, don't wear it out. Time Turner from Trottingham. It sounds like a really bad poem. Far too much alliteration. Still, as long as the sign does it's job who am I to complain. Course, it's not really completing the task right now. Perhaps my sign is too ambiguous? Or maybe just not big enough? I'll have to see about putting an ad in the local paper or making myself available to the Mayor for Timekeeping at the town hall or something. I'll think of something.
As I sit there pondering what to do about my lack of customers I completely miss the arrival of my first one.
“Excuse me.” A polite but firm voice asks from behind my counter.
“Hmm? What?” I muddily reply from my self-induced stupor. “Who said that?”
“Down here!” The voice pipes up again. This time I can clearly hear it. A young voice with a almost undetectable lisp. I doubt anypony would notice but it helps in this job to have exceptional hearing. Comes in immensely handy when repairing clocks you know.
Leaning over the counter I look down at a little that couldn't be more than a year younger than my Pip. She's a young unicorn with a purplish coat and an odd hue to her mane. I can't place it but she seems oddly familiar.
“Ah what can I do for you young lady?” I ask, borderline patronising. If this was pony was any older, they'd probably be insulted.
“Please don't patronise me, sir.” Blast it. “I was wondering if you could fix a watch for me. I'm in rather a hurry.”
She lifts a golden pocket watch with a weak telekinetic grasp at places it shakily into my hoof. I'd recognise it anywhere. It's a genuine Luna original. Made by earth Ponies at the start of the diarchy. There cannot be more than thirty left in existence. The face is scratched and cracked, and the inscription on the back is fractured as well. 'To my darling' I think it says but the spiderweb of cracks make it hard to read with out my specs.
Placing it to my ear I can hear the ticking as the second hoof (it sounds like) struggles to make its way around the face. Probably another crack inside the inner workings of the piece then, along the main cog stopping the smooth meshing of cogs from taking place.
Oh thank you Luna for what I am about to receive, may I be truly thankful.
Finally something to do, and not just any something but an antique timepiece of unmistakable beauty and design. Function and form dancing in a Bacchanalian feast for the eyes.
I love this job.
“I can fix it but it could take a few hours. The inner workings seem damaged and the entire face will probably need replaced.” I say barely able to control my excitement.
“But I need it soon. I have to get to school and return it home before Miss Cheerilee gets suspicious as to my whereabouts.” She almost whines.
“I'm sorry but that's the quickest I can do.” As I look at her I see her weighing the options in her mind. About whether to just forget about it or risk the punishment for flunking her class.
Obviously I couldn't let the chance to work on a masterpiece like this slip through my hooves on the account of a nervous filly.
“I'll tell you what.” I began slyly “How about I deliver it? That way you can get to Miss Cheerilee and have the watch fixed. No charge.” I added as an afterthought. At this point I'd probably repair the thing for nix, just to have something to do.
Her eyes got a little wary at that, suspicious even.
“I don't know if that's a good idea.” She said slowly backing away.
“All right I'll fix it for free then. No charge whatsoever.” I felt the watch move in my hoof as she tugged at it with her magic. I really wasn't going to let this one go.
“Please.” My voice breaking a little. “ I'm just so bored. Please let me repair it. Something this beautiful shouldn't be broken.” Celestia, how true that was.
“It shouldn't.” I almost sobbed as I ducked my head into my hooves to hide myself.
I fix broken things. It's not really my talent but it may as well be for all the use that does. Any little gizmo or gadget that gets broken can easily be fixed with just the right tools and know-how. A little work here or there and everything's alright again. Spit-spot and ready to go, as if nothing had happened. I love fixing things and seeing ponies smile as what they thought was gone forever ticks and tocks, whirs and wobbles like it always did. A stalwart companion.
Why won't she let me. Why won't she let me fix it. I can do it.
You can't fix everything doc', 'specially not me. A memory of mels voice tickles me.
I just want to fix it. I just to fix it.
I feel the fur on my back bristle as it gets patted rather weakly. I look up to see that little filly is still here. I thought she would have run off. She must have been using her magic in an attempt to console me, as her horn is still glowing. Well, aren't I pathetic. Near crying over a watch and being comforted by a girl not even old enough to have a cutie mark yet.
“It's ok. You can fix it.” She said calmly. “Please don't cry.” she said her voice hushed to an almost imperceptible level. Pity I have such good hearing.
“Thank you.”
I'll fix it.