//------------------------------// // Part 4 // Story: Reconciling Annabelle Smith // by Crowley //------------------------------// The Clover Café Present Day “I can’t believe it.” It’s amazing to see how little of it had changed. Despite a few small changes - some new tables here, a lick of paint there - the café you had spent so many years visiting is still open for business and going strong. The old mare by your side chuckles as she finds herself a two-pony table. “Yup, same old name, same old family that runs it, believe it or not.” “So, er… Sookrey Friesh’s son works here?” “Sucré Fraîche‘s son?” a fancy voice to your side catches your attention. A rather familiar-looking unicorn stallion, despite never having met him before. “Non, that would be my father, who retired two years ago. I am Sucré’s grandson, Souriant.” Well, heck if that doesn’t make you feel old. “So I suppose ordering ‘the usual’ would be pushing it?” you jest, before you realise that “the usual” may not even be on the menu these days. Only one way to be sure… “Tell me,” you ask, “do you still make tomato and hay soup?” The young waiter returns a grin. ******* Your hoof smacks the table as you roar with laughter, turning a few younger ponies’ heads in the process. The other hoof dabs up the last of the tomato and hay soup up with a bread roll. “So she just drove the Summer Harvest float off a cliff? Geez Louise, Annie, I know your family‘s always had a penchant for wildness, but that takes the cake!” Annabelle’s reminiscent grin shines with a happiness, the kind you get when you know that all is right with the world. “Yep, the Apple family tradition of being borderline crazy’s still going strong with that young’un. Still, it was either her goin’ over the edge or her cousin.” “Well, it could’ve been worse,” you push the empty soup bowl away. “She could’ve lead the whole parade off that cliff.” “Don’t jinx next year’s, dear, she just might.” Yeah. Next year’s. You wonder if you’ll even be around for that. You laugh those thoughts away, reaching for the bill. Two soups and two sarsaparillas equalled about twenty Bits overall. “Hey Annie, remember back in the day when this sort of meal used to just cost six Bits?” “Remember when six Bits was a lot of money?” she light-heartedly replies. You suppose the café’s pricing is about the same, considering the worth of currency these days. “Yeah. Our generation was the best, hooves down. Sucks for the whippersnappers of today, eh?” Annie chuckles as you take care of the bill. You make sure to leave a generous tip. ******* As Celestia’s sun lowers itself towards the misty Canterlot mountainside, the laugher of the two ponies - a mare and a stallion of respectable age - can be heard as they merrily trot down the cobbled streets side by side. Any differences are digressed, and past mistakes reconciled, if only for this one night. You can’t really feel the slight chill the evening breeze brings, mostly due to your overcoat. You hadn’t removed that all night, for the same near-featherless reason as always. The hotel you were staying at slowly comes into view as the two of you turn the next corner. Part of you slumps internally; you know that the night is nearly at an end. The last time you had this much fun, you were still a Scarlet Wing. On the other hoof, you’re exhausted. These past few days have been draining, both physically and spiritually, for a gentlecolt of your age. Annie’s sure to be tired too. You come to a stop outside the humble hotel’s doors. “I suppose this is where we part ways,” you tell her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you the rest of the way back?” “Oh, pshaw!” Annie dismissively waves a hoof. “It wouldn’t make sense for ya to walk past your own stop to reach mine. I can handle myself darn well.” “Are you free tomorrow?” Annabelle’s jovial eyes glisten below the nearby street lamp. It’s amazing to see how little they’ve changed, providing your memory serves well. “Aw shoot, you know I won’t have much goin’ on tomorrow! Come around the farm any time you see fit, I’d be pleased as punch to properly introduce you to the grandkids.” “I’d like that.” A brief, parting hug, one foreleg over her as she returns one in kind, and you push your way though the door, your warm heart fending off what little cold you felt. ******* The hotel’s front door closes with a secure click. The elderly mare smiles to herself, safe in the knowledge that life can still hold its fair share of surprises. But for now, she’s tired. It isn’t far to Sweet Apple Acres from here, and the fond memories of tonight should keep her company while- Wait. Something catches her eye as she turns to leave. Something had fallen by her hoof a moment ago, something that her old stallion friend holds dear. It must have came loose during their hug; a recently shed feather. ******* Your aged weariness starts to set in as you climb the creaking stairway to your room. You’d have taken one on the bottom floor if they weren’t all booked; it’s a small hotel for a small town, after all. Strange. You can’t recall when you last felt this weary. Maybe the whole day’s adventure is just catching up to you, now that you’ve had all the fun. Yeah, that’s what it is. You finally reach the room you’re staying in, the clear click of the turning key welcoming you inside. It’s hardly a shoddy room, but it has a well-worn charm to it. For example, the creaking door loud enough to wake the dead. Upon entering, you breathe a sigh of relief as you push the door closed behind you. You’ll relock it later; far too tired to right now.. Off goes your hefty overcoat. It feels so liberating to finally have that hot and heavy thing off. Throwing it onto the nearby coat-hanger, you head for the bathroom to wash yourself before bed. You open the bathroom door. You take one look at your bony wings in the mirror. And you scream.