It was just one of those days that told me to not bring any expensive equipment out with me wherever I went, and I’m amazingly glad I listened to myself. The train ride to Ponyville was incredibly bumpy and half the passengers were complaining about how something in their luggage was broken by the time we arrived. I wasn’t planning on staying very long, since the next time the train would be in about three hours, so I hadn’t brought any luggage besides some snacks for myself and some sunglasses. I snickered a little when I saw somepony’s folding chair had popped a rod out which the annoyed owner was waving threateningly at the conductor, yelling that he should have slowed down through the bends. I looked up as I trotted along at the blue sky. No clouds except for some stray cirrus clouds. Rainbow Dash must have it really posh job here as weather manager that pays well for her to work that hard. Just thinking about it made me stretch my wings.
As I did so, there was a lot of mechanical clicking and hisses, as the hydraulic system whirred to life, causing several ponies who seemed to have nothing to do to look over at me as I walked. I made eye contact with one of them and raised an eyebrow. She gave me a slightly nervous smile and continued walking.
“Oh yeah,” I remembered. “Ponyville has never seen someone with steamwing tech before. Or at least we’re very rare. There has to be someone who’s visited before.” I didn’t let it bother me too much. One filly actually stopped playing with his ball just to marvel at them.
“Cool!” he said, eyes getting wide. “Did you make those?”
I shook my head. “No, little guy, they were given to me.”
“Why?” he asked. “Do some Earth Ponies get them if we ask?”
“No, I was born a pegasus, but I was sick when I was little which messed up my wings, so they helped me get new ones,” I said.
“Oh…” he replied quietly, looking at his ball.
I must have crushed his dreams pretty badly. “Ch-cheer up, filly, if you learn enough in school and you try hard, maybe you can make your own set.”
He brightened up considerably and went off to who I assumed was his mom and told her that he was going to do his homework. I did a double take and moved on. There’s no way I just made a filly want to do his homework.
* * * * *
I was getting a little hungry. I had two and a half hours before the train arrived and I still hadn’t run into any of the Mane Six. In Ponyville. They are just normal ponies. Humans just assumed they were famous simply because they have the Elements of Harmony. No, people like Photo Finish and Hoity Toity are famous, the members of the gyro ball team in Cloudsdale are famous. Rarity isn’t famous, or she’d own a line of boutiques.
Someone promptly crashed into me, running my train of thought off the track. Lucky for me I folded my wings, because they can take one heck of a beating, but if a switch is hit, who knows what deadly weapon would shoot out. “Ow!” I yelled.
“Oops, sorry!” I looked up to see a grey pony with a yellow mane wearing mail bags sitting on me.
“Um, it’s okay,” I replied. “Please get off me.”
She hovered off me, and I noticed she had kind of a lazy eye: whenever her right eye looked up, the left one kind of just stayed. Reminded me of myself on Saturday mornings. “I’m Ditzy Doo, but everyone just calls me Derpy.” She extended her hoof.
I shook it and put my sunglasses (thankfully not cracked) on. “I’m Seismic Riff.”
“Welcome to Ponyville, if you haven’t been here before!” she greeted me. “Wow, steamwings!” she said, prodding them. Abruptly a spike shot out of the wing joint about an inch from her face.
“Whoa, careful, Derpy, these wings are dangerous,” I said, retracting the spike. “Sorry about that, they can’t be rubbed the wrong way.”
She grinned. “It’s okay. Well, I gotta go deliver some mail, so see you around!” she flew off in a lazy spiral, scattering mail as she went.
I picked up all the mail dropped and stuffed them in the nearest mailbox. She probably smacked into me too hard which disoriented her. Stupid me, not watching where I’m going.
Lucky for me though the Carousel Boutique was right across from the mail building, so I decided to walk in to see if Rarity was even there. I opened the door that greeted me to a merry jingle. Dresses galore, and pony mannequins dressed in fancy clothes.
“Welcome to the Carousel Boutique!” I heard a slightly haughty voice say. Yup, there she was, the gem herself. “How can I-oh, dear, you need my assistance right away!” she gasped midsentence after looking at me.
“Hey, excuse me..!” I started but never finished. She was already hauling me over to the mirror. Using her magic she began to manipulate scissors and fabric to make me some new threads.
“Darling, we must do something about that unkempt mane, too!” she said. “And that vest, well, it’s not something you should wear in public.”
“I washed it and brushed it this morning!” I replied indignantly. “And this jacket was for when I was in the militia.”
She stopped what she was doing to give me another once over and gasped. “You are a military pony?” She asked. Her cheeks started to get a little red. “I love a colt in uniform! So tough and brave! And masculine…” she started giggling to herself.
I slowly backed away, but she caught me before I got out the door, with a mad gleam in her eyes. “You must let me make you a uniform! I was just inspired by your vest. But of course you must take it off for me so I can measure you, so come closer, darling!”
I reluctantly took the vest off, folded it neatly, and put my sunglasses on top. I trotted over to her, and that’s when I noticed how much taller I was than her, and she did too.
“Oh, goodness, darling, you’re very tall,” she said, looking up at me. “What did you say your name was?”
The measuring tape was making me nervous, darting every which way around me. “Um, Seismic Riff.”
“Lovely name, my dear. How is the military? Is it hard?”
“I’m not in the PEM Branch anymore, I’m a musician.”
“Lovely line of work. Like Vinyl, I presume?”
“No, I play guitar actually.”
“Was it hard to learn? Guitar is such a lovely instrument to listen to.”
The questioning went on, and I wouldn’t have minded if I didn’t hate small talk. For me, talking is something you do for deep conversations or digging up somepony’s past or figuring out new lyrics, not for trivia pursuit. There was one thing I learned though, her family was from Hoofington. Something about that rang a bell, but I didn’t know why.
“And…finished!” she turned the mirror towards me.
I thought I looked ridiculous. Seriously, I was dressed in an olive green coat with a beret sloped over my left ear, my long and amazingly awesome mane had been fully pulled back so the beret would fit, the sleeves were lined with cashmere and the buttons went off to the side rather than the middle. I think it’s called a pea coat or something. Nothing I wore in the militia. Not that I could really remember the militia.
“I wouldn't say it’s my most fabulous or flashy work I've ever done, but it’s rugged, simple, yet very stylish, wouldn't you agree?” she looked at me with big eyes, batting her eyelids, expecting me to agree or say yes.
“I, uh, don’t really know anything about fashion, so you tell me,” I replied.
She smiled. “It IS stylish, darling, and very much so! That will be 50 bits!”
That was more than I made in a day usually, and that was about an eighth of this month’s rent cost, what was I supposed to do with that? Not many other ponies were around my height, either, so I doubt she could sell it to someone else. I had to go with another safe answer.
“I have no way to carry it.”
“You can wear it, my dear!”
“…It’s too hot out for coats.”
She looked out the window and she frowned. “I suppose you’re right, Mr. Riff. In that case, would you like me to store it for you for another time?”
“You’d do that for me?” I asked.
“Of course, darling, that’s what I do for most my customers who can’t afford the clothes I make rather spontaneously. But thank you for modeling and come again!”
I waved goodbye to Rarity after putting my vest and glasses back on. Rarity seemed nice enough, I had hoped the others would be the same way too.
* * * * *
“That will be 10 bits for the sandwich and drink, sir.”
“Damn it, you've got to be kidding me!”