Day 9
Today was spontaneous.
And it was Tuesday. Today was a day to think differently.
I made sure to get up early. Part of the new plan is fulfilling what you know other ponies want. And to do that you have to talk to them. So I snapped up a folding chair and went out on my doorstep. Nothing like watching the sunrise while your breath goes in waves of visible vapor. Providing you have a sweater. I was surprised by how low the temperatures were getting for this time of year.
The temperature rose quickly with the sun, however. A few ponies were even stirring by the time the sound of Ditzy’s familiar, slightly irregular wing beat came to my ears.
“Whooves? I wasn’t expecting to see you up,” she commented, touching down.
“I didn’t want to miss you,” I said as I stepped closer. The breach of typical societal standards caused my irrational discomfort to rise, but I smothered it as quickly as I could. Come on, come on, just keep it together...
I hugged her. It was awkward too, for a number of reasons. A) I don’t have much practice with hugs. B) She didn’t respond, which meant it was more like me leaning on her, and C) I had no idea if it was acceptable for me to do this, and was becoming less certain this was something she wanted. But it needed to be done.
After a few seconds I pulled back and coughed awkwardly. “...Sorry.”
She blinked. “For what?”
“Well, if that wasn’t something you wanted, I guess.”
“The question is, was it something you wanted?”
“It was uncomfortable at first, but... yes. Definitely.”
She smiled at me and started to say something, but was interrupted by the loud crash of metal garbage cans falling over. We looked in the direction of the noise to find Bonbon sprawled on the ground, apparently having tripped over the cans. When I made eye contact, she forced a wide smile, blushed profusely, and made a hasty retreat back to the house.
I stared after her for a moment before I realized the implications a pony could make from only hearing part of our conversation. Now it was my turn to blush. I’ll have to talk to her later.
I don’t think Ditzy superimposed as much onto the situation as I did. Not from what I could tell, anyway.
She looked back at me. “I’m glad.”
And then she kissed me on the cheek. I wasn’t expecting that, but I remained calm and didn’t panic. Afterwords, realizing she was expecting a response, I managed to stutter, “We should do this more often.”
She giggled, before bending back and retrieving a bundle of mail out of her satchel. “Thith mpgh yers.”
I hastily relieved her of the burden. She hugged me again and took off, but not before I told her about the party at Colgate’s that’s going down tomorrow. She said she didn’t know how busy work would have her, but that I could drop by and check on my way to it.
Inside, I checked my mail bundle. Besides my usual Equestria Daily and a few medical journals (and of course the daily supply of spam mail), the royal seal caught my eye. And not one, but two!
I tore into the first one as fast as I could.
To the Most Distinguished Doctor Whooves,
From Princess Celestia of the Royal Sisterhood, Current Rulers of Equestria and Guardians of Said Land,
Firstly, I am most grateful for your report and would like you to know that you have my full support in maintaining your position in Ponyville as long as you deem necessary. I understand that reports are not always the fastest way to communicate and so I want to make you aware that you can contact me instantly through use of Spike, Twilight’s Sparkle’s Number One Assistant, should any events occur that you judge are requiring of my presence. Be this as it may, I seriously doubt that we will require his services with your abilities.
Additionally, you may or may not have received a note yesterday that was somewhat out of character. If the former is the case, please disregard it. I was beginning to write this reply when my beloved but devious sister interrupted me and playfully took possession of the quill for a moment. I’m not sure exactly what got put down before she sealed it and teleported it to the mail bins. In any case, it would be best if the contents were kept confidential.
Finalis.
Huh. And don’t ask about the titles.
I moved on to the next one.
Whooves,
Forgive our- my informality. We are- I mean, I am trying to acquire the natural tongue of this day and age. When I found out about my sister’s operation going on in Ponyville, I thought that perhaps thou- I mean, you, would be the perfect counselor on the subject. We- I mean, I, took the liberty of contacting a few of thine- rather, your, old colleagues, who confirmed that you were what they called ‘hip.’ I was under the impression that said word was a body joint adjacent to the pelvis, but perhaps I am mistaken. We- I, understand if our- my sister’s ongoings occupy thou- you, sufficiently, but if not, then canst we continue correspondence?
Princess-
Actually, just call me Luna.
P.S., Apologies for the haphazard scroll you probably received previously. The quill was in conflict while those words were transcribed.
P.P.S. This conversation would probably be better maintained without my sister’s knowledge of it. She is wise, but can be overprotective.
I sat down and grunted.
There I was, with a letter in each hoof from the Princesses, both whom were requesting continued contact for the foreseeable future. I knew I should be dancing like a school filly when she gets her cutie mark, but all I could think was, Buck. More paperwork, and likely my career if Princess Celestia finds out.
Living on the edge. But they say life isn’t worth living if you’re not on the edge. I’m not sure that’s completely true.
Well, whatever happened, I could at least procrastinate until this afternoon. I crawled out of my sweater (the weather more than permitting now), and trotted nonchalantly out the door without any particular notion of where I was going.
Until I saw the dented garbage can on its side. I should probably explain that before things spread...
You know how it is with mares.
I went to the door and raised a hoof to knock, stopping when I heard whispers.
“Lyra, I’m telling you-”
“Bonbon, whatever you heard, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. The Doctor is professional. He’s not about to sleep with the mailmare after just moving into town.”
That’s some awkward horseapples. “Now out of my way, I need to get to the park...”
The door opened, putting me face to face with Lyra, her lyre case floating alongside her. Both of our eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
I lowered my hoof.
“Whooves? What are you doing here?”
“Um...” Truth in love. Truth in love. Truth in love. “Bonbon may have caught the tail end of a conversation, and I just wanted to make sure she didn’t come away with a wrong, but completely plausible, idea.”
Bonbon put her hoof over her mouth, pupils shrinking. “I’m so sorry! I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping-”
Lyra cleared her throat. “I have a show to catch in the park, so I’m gonna pretend I didn’t here anything from ten minutes ago to present, and you two can work out whatever happened. Have fun.”
She left.
“...Perhaps we want to discuss this inside?”
Yeah, that would be best. I entered and shut the door behind me.
“You’re not wrong,” I said as we went into the kitchen by unspoken mutual consent. “But what you heard wasn’t about that.”
She looked at her hooves. “I wasn’t drawing any-”
“Of course not. But honestly, I don’t blame you. I have made some conclusions about you and Lyra from things that weren’t necessarily saying anything,” I said, thinking back to when I had been introduced to the concept of Thursday nights.
Bonbon blushed. “W-well, those are actually accurate.”
“Exactly. When the chance that something is what it seems becomes so great, we accept it as truth because it usually is.”
A pause followed.
“So, we all good?” I asked.
“I’m still a little fuzzy on one thing...”
“Yes?”
“If you are... y’known... with her, then why did you go to the effort of confronting me, even though what I heard was on a different subject?”
“Well, first of all, it’s not like that. I’m not sleeping with her, I slept with her. Once. By accident. On the couch.” Why is she grinning like a Cheshire cat? “And we were doing just that: sleeping. Secondly, we haven’t, um... we aren’t... I have yet to...”
I facehooved at my own awkwardness. “You’re the first person to really know about this, and we haven’t made it official or anything.”
“So... you slept with her but you’re not dating yet?”
Didn’t she hear the first part?
“I’d just appreciate it if this stays under wraps until I talk to her about it.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure it and the two ponies involved will stay under wraps.”
That’s it. I’ve said what needed to be said without breaking anything. No need to push my luck.
“Oh! Oh! Can I tell Lyra?”
I opened the door. “Yes, you can tell her,” I replied. For as energetic as Lyra is, she’s a bit on the nerdy side and so doesn’t have a big mouth.
Outside, the street was alive with ponies going about their business. A significant portion was headed to market, which I joined up with. I still didn’t know where to find plaster, and the market was as good a place as any to start looking.
And the first pony I saw there was Rarity. She was haggling with a cloth dealer over a bolt of patterned fabric, and had a (probably) faked irritated sneer on her face. The dealer seemed rather immune to her attacks, however. He’s probably sold to her before.
Rarity came away eventually with her merchandise deposited into saddlebags. She dropped her facade upon seeing me and smiled. “Doctor Whooves! What brings you to this part of town today?”
“A mare.”
“Oooh,” she exclaimed, prancing and settling into gossip-sponge mode. “Who’s the lucky pony?”
What, does everypony know-
Oh. I guess the way I said that did kind of make it sound like that.
“No, not like that. Ditzy smashed into my wall a while ago; I’m looking for plaster today.”
“Oh,” she replied shortly, in a much less feminine voice. “Well, I have work to do...” she said, suddenly less interested.
“Will I see you at Pinkie’s party?”
“Oh. That. Well, yes, actually. Normally her... parties... aren’t exactly my cup of tea, but apparently she has somehow managed to obtain an assurance of attendance from Sapphire Shores!”
Her pitch rose startlingly as she spoke the pop star’s name, assuming a level that usually accompanies by a screech owl. Or a school filly cheerleader.
“...so of course I’ll be attending.”
“Okay then. See you there. Save a seat for Ditzy and me,” I said, beginning to walk away.
“Wait.”
Oh horseapples. I was hoping she had missed that slip.
“Ditzy, as in the Ditzy that broke your wall?”
“Um, yes.”
“And Ditzy, as in you and Ditzy are attending the party?”
“Yes, work schedules permitting.”
The second part of the reply seemed to go right over Rarity.
“As in, together?”
“Yes. But it’s nothing official yet so could you please stop harping about it?”
Although it might as well be by now.
“Oh, how exciting! The fashionable Canterlot stallion just-moved-in going out with a local mailpony! How interesting! How scandalous!”
Gossip-sponge mode fully engaged. Thankfully we were a good distance away from market by now.
“Wait, did you say fashionable?”
She stopped, looking back at me. She looked me up and down, and nodded. I was about to protest, when younger stallion with three horseshoes for a cutie mark trotted by. I suppose it’s all relative in Ponyville.
“Of course, you could use a little help in the clothing department,” she commented as we continued on our aimless way.
“But I’m not wearing anything.”
“Exactly.”
Oh.
“She gave me a sideways look, then asked, “What are you planning to wear on your date?”
I gave her a unappeased stare back. “You mean ‘to the party,’ I presume?”
“Oh yes, of course.”
“I don’t know. Nothing, or maybe my black bow tie. My full green tie is still back in Canterlot somewhere.”
Rarity stopped, raising a hoof to her chest and donning a horrified look on her face. “You can’t wear nothing! And that little black piece of ribbon you have hardly qualifies.”
Oh dear. I could see where this was going.
“Why don’t you come back to the Boutique with me for an early lunch, and we can look over some of the new spring lineup for stallions?”
About the only upside to this was that her food would probably be good.
And that’s how I ended up in a tuxedo with several measuring tapes floating around me an hour later.
“I don’t think you quite understand me: I don’t want a tux, or a suit, or a blazer, or anything resembling any of them!”
“Relax, darling, we’ll find the perfect thing with plenty of time to spare.”
“Rarity, you do know the party isn’t until tomorrow, right?”
“Oh, is it?”
I hate being ignored.
“Can we move on to the ties already?”
“Oh fine,” she practically groaned, giving me a rack to look over as she continued to make measurements, now on a dinner jacket that I was serving as a model for, apparently. I flipped through them with a hoof. No, no, no, no... gosh, these are all so similar. No, no, no- “Yes!”
Rarity looked up over her red-framed glasses. “No. You can’t be serious.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“That... thing... is a crime against fashion! It was a promotional freebie! I didn’t even order that. I wouldn’t order that!”
“Look at the plus side; it goes with just about everything.”
“...Except itself,” muttered Rarity.
Lunch eventually came around, and good to her word, Rarity fed me. But she did keep giving me a hard time about my choice. Looking for a change in topic, I asked if she actually liked Sapphire Shores’ music. Rarity latched onto the topic like a leech.
“I don’t actually know, really. I don’t follow musicians so much as their clothing preferences.”
“Well, I guess you’ll get to find out tomorrow.”
“Oh, I don’t thing Sapphire Shores is actually going to play. Pinkie’s using some DJ I once hired.”
“Wait,” I said, my hopes daring to rise. “The one you hired for the fashion show for Hoity Toity?”
“Uh, yes. Why?”
Though my tastes are much more... classic, even I have heard of the famous DJ Pon3.
“How did Pinkie manage that?”
“As I understand it, they got acquainted at the fashion show.”
Yes, well, to paraphrase Sapphire Shores, Pinkie does have that effect on ponies.
After we finished lunch and I bagged my... merchandise, I cut through the center of town back to my own house. Having stowed it away, I retrieved my pencil and some letter paper. Celestia’s report could wait, but Luna’s letter demanded a somewhat prompt response. Per her request, I decided to opt for a more casual format.
Luna,
I would be happy to continue correspondence. Writing isn’t my strong suit, perhaps, but my skills are more than sufficient and always looking for an opportunity to improve. Any help I can provide on the matter of modern pony language is yours for the taking.
Perhaps I can start with ‘hip.’ While it does have a relevance to biology, the word is a homophone. Its alternative meaning is something along the lines of ‘in accordance with the latest fashions, especially where clothing, hair styles, music, and like industries are concerned.’
Feel free to ask about any similar questions. Culture evolves very fast.
Whooves.
I dropped the pencil and stretched my jaw. I see why all the secretaries I’ve met are unicorns now.
I sealed up the letter and put it in my outbox. There! Now I had the afternoon to myself...
…well, after I sign off on this case from Canterlot. And better get that mover’s payment in the mail. And-
Aw buck. I was going to be here awhile. I moved to my writing desk in front of a window and opened it for the breeze and set to work.
I get a little involved in my work, actually. I hate it, but it doesn’t bore me at least. So that’s why I didn’t notice the time until an aroma wafted in through the window. I looked up and saw Bonbon cooking–tonight’s dinner was going to be especially good. I waved, trying to get her attention. No response. I looked around the room, and grabbing a nearby junkmail magazine, flung it across the distance that separated our houses.
At the smack of it against the windowpane, Bonbon looked up, at first surprised and then annoyed. She came to the window and opened it.
“Did you just throw a phone book at the house?”
I looked at the item of offense which lay in the alley now. Hey, it looked like a thick magazine. Flew like one too.
“Yeah, well, pebbles aren’t handy at the moment.”
“What do you want?”
“What time’s dinner?”
“Why don’t you come help make it and find out?”
I put my last piece of paperwork in the outbox and trotted the exhausting fifteen foot between our houses. In the kitchen, Bonbon was cooking alone.
“Where’s Lyra?”
At that moment a string of musical notes floated out of what was their sun/sitting room. They stopped as abruptly as they had started, and were followed by the scratching of quill on paper. Then the chord replayed, with a slight alteration.
“Practicing. Or songwriting. Something like that.”
“How’s she been doing?”
“Oh, better since our weekend trip. More of this,” she said, gesturing to the direction from which the music came, “and less of that. I never really thanked you properly for setting that up, you know.”
“It was really more of a coincidence. Both that I had the tickets, and that my plan worked. If my life is anything to go by, I know exactly zilch about relationships.”
“Well, that’’s going to change soon, right?” She winked.
Yeah, we hope. Or, at least she does. I’m still figuring it out on my end.
We served up dinner and got Lyra. And not a word was said during the meal. Yeah, that’s how good Bonbon is. Relative to the rest of us, anyway. I can only imagine what she can pull off with professional desserts.
Afterwards, we did something we haven’t before–we sat around the dinner table and talked. I don’t know if we were too full to move, or if perhaps my conversation with Bonbon had personalized things a bit, but it was new. And nice. And something somepony with friends might do.
Now, here I am full of tea and shortbread. I think I’m going to skip the music tonight and hit the hay now.
Goodnight.