//------------------------------//
// Time For Family and Friends 
// Story: The Sour Grapes Chronicles 
// by The Incredible Werekitty 
//------------------------------//

	In the beginning there was Pinkie Pie

Amid the sea of endless white a patch of bright pink would occasionally appear, BURSTING out of a snowbank like some kind of pink porpoise, making a glee-filled squee before diving back into the white powder. Despite being in over her ears for most of the way, Pinkie Pie’s sense of direction bordered on the supernatural, and brought her right to Sour Grapes’ vineyards. 

Grapes stood there, watching her bound along through the snow, wondering what in the hay would bring her out here. Sour Grapes was sure, however, that she was about to find out in the most obnoxious way possible.

Pinkie emerged at the front gate and made a show of shaking each part of herself in turn to get the snow off. It was almost laughably cute the way she did it, and once she was finished she trotted happily up the driveway to the front door where Grapes watched through the window. 

“Hieeee Grapes! Can I come in?”

“Would it actually stop you if I said no?”

“Oh you’re so silly!” she laughed while Grapes opened the door to let her strange visitor enter. “I was just going around town checking up on if everypony had any advance orders for Sugarcube corner for the holidays. You know… beat the Hearth’s Warming rush and everything.”

“You mean like gingerbread houses, and the like?” Grapes asked. “Any way for Mister and Misses Cake to do up a kit? I’m sending a care package to Earshot’s family.”

“Oooh. A kit? You mean like ALL the ingredients together, or make the parts in advance and have a note saying ‘Some assembly required’? OH oh! How about we include instructions on how to properly demolish a gingerbread house too! Mmmmm… Step one, nibble away at the foundations…”

“Make the walls in advance, and package frostings and candy decor for some assembly required,” Grapes suggested. “Actually that may be a neat side-line for the Cakes. Ready-made gingerbread houses that are self-assemble, and they could buy packaged frostings, and candies to make it very personalized.”

“And the basic shape is Sugarcube Corner! I love it! It’s be like advertising you can eat!”

“Whatever floats your boat, Pinkie,” Grapes quipped. “Anyway… hm… five tins of cookies. Make that six… Earshot’s going to have a tummy ache, but it is the season… three stay here, three go to Earshot’s people in the package.”

Pinkie pulled a pad of paper from her mane and jotted the order down on the pink paper.

“Uh huh, Uh huh. Any squares or fruitcake? You know Mrs Cake does great fruitcake… Even though she adds an ‘extra-special’ ingredient, like with her rum balls. I once ate an entire fruit cake by myself and I was wobbly the rest of the night.” 

“Hmmm… the fruit cakes are good. All right. One for the bunkhouse, one for my house, and one for the package.”

“RrrrIGHT! Okay. That’s everything. Hmmm… I should check with Applejack and her family and see if they want anything too.”

“They generally make their own treats, Pinkie,” Grapes said, casually. “Generally apple-based. Though you could offer the do-it-yourself Gingerbread House, in the shape of their barn…”

“Ooooh… That could be fun,” she giggled. “I bet Applebloom would love to put that together.”

“Girl just needs to realize that…” Grapes grumbled. “Thanks for stopping by, Pinkie.”

“Not a problem. So how are things going for you? Normally you spend a lot of time up here alone with your mom and dad during the winter. Now you got a whole LOT of guests. It’s like a wacky Situation Comedy movie.”

“It would have been, if I hadn't gotten the bunkhouse remodeled to be suitable for equine occupation,” Grapes quipped. “The story of exactly how I got my passel of guests is kind of like the set-up to one of those.”

“Yeah, but you've already told it, like, three or four times, already, and I’m sure the readers don’t need to read it again,” Pinkie said giggling.

“Wait, what?” Grapes uttered, looking bewildered.

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go now. Byeeeee!” and she bounded off to the farm in front.

“Well that’s filled my daily quota for weird…” Grapes muttered, closing the door.

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Friday dawned bright and sunny, though not warm enough to melt the snow. Walking through town at this time of year was actually, invigorating. She saw ponies starting to put up Hearth’s Warming decorations, tinsel, and glitter, bright balls and boughs of holly and other evergreen plants. She also enjoyed seeing Earshot’s expression as he tried to take in all of it. It was easy to forget his primary sense was his hearing, and so all the bright colors and dazzling joyous spectacles were probably not unlike her walking past a gramophone playing an amazingly catchy tune. 

She could almost see all of Ponyville reflected in those wide golden eyes of his as he kept pace with her. It was a good thing he was a good follower or he might have been left behind standing in a snowbank just staring at everything. 

She had a few things that had to be cared for in town. Orders to fill, forms to process, banking to do… this year had been very productive, but like with any farm it takes time to produce a product and you have to ration the money that comes in the rest of the year. Still, it was nice to be able to see the breathing room this year’s income has. The money she had spent on the Bunkhouse and the small home for Redline and Moondust were just good investments. The bunkhouse was WAY overdue for an overhaul, and the house in the north forty… well… Some ponies liked solitude in a starter home. 

Anyways she was feeling pretty good. She and her little helper had as few chores to do while here in town and then, she was going to see her first film in more time than she cared to remember. She had promised to take the night pony and she was going to keep her promise. After all, she felt he should have lots of new experiences to write home about. They had a lot to learn about modern Equestria, and modern Equestria had a lot to learn about them too. Which brought her to the next topic in their ongoing conversation…

“So, just so we’re on the same page, when DOES Long-Dark happen? I don’t want to worry about Hearth’s Warming being more complicated than it usually is just because of scheduling,” Grapes observed, as they trotted along.

“Oh. Well we celebrate it on the day of the longest night of the year. A time we can have as much time as possible to appreciate the nighttime sky.”

“Huh. How about that. That’s the time we switch to the new calendars, or as Twilight would put it, the Winter Solstice,” Grapes observed casually. “So your Long Dark coincides with the Equestrian New Year. I think that could work.”

“Really? Sole-Stass. That’s a serious-sounding word. Solstice.” 

“There’s two during the year. One in the summer, where it’s the longest day, and that’s when we have the Summer Sun Celebration, and one in the winter, which is the longest night and our New Year,” Grapes explained.

“Wow. I think I’ll include that in my next letter. You think miss Sparkle would want to write something about the Solstices...es….s?”

“You know this is Twilight we’re talking about, right? Biggest nerd in Ponyville, and bookworm extraordinaire,” Grapes quipped, laughing. “Seriously, do you really need to ask if she’d want to write something up about the Solstices?”

“I guess not. She’s REALLY smart, isn't she? She asked me so many questions about Night Ponies… mostly just ones that were about things that weren't true about us. She called it clarification. Lady Weathervain would have called it ‘Rumor control’.”

“And I would call it ‘getting the facts straight’,” Grapes added. “Speaking of ‘rumor control’, you up for this movie? It’s a classic, and features the folkloric representation of Night Ponies, but it also has that actor that I mentioned, with the funny accent.”

“Oh! Yeah I think I am. I mean Miss Fluttershy’s books have prepared me for a lot of stuff… even if the stuff about Night Ponies ‘sparkling’ was just plain silly.“

“I did warn you about those books. I really did. Crown Superior is a hack,” Grapes uttered with an eyeroll. “A hack with mindless fans, true, but still a hack. If you’re going to read fictional vampire literature, it should be good fictional vampire literature, and not some secondary schooler’s teenaged fantasy of being fought over by two stallions.”

“Oh yeah. The part about the hippawolves was kinda weird, I mean are there really ponies with an innate magic that allows them to turn into wolves? I mentioned those books to Thistledown and he said they were the… the tragic story of a Filly torn between bestiality and necrophilia. Then he told me to ‘never mind’ and nopony has answered my questions on that statement.”

“Standard answer number one, Earshot,” Grapes said with a sigh. “Sorry, hon.”

“So when is the ‘Older’ part of you ‘telling me when I’m older’, start?”

“After puberty, sometime after the ‘where foals come from’ talk,” Grapes replied. “You may be fairly mature, but there are some subjects that won’t come up until after you understand certain things. We’re trying to help you enjoy your foalhood for as long as possible.”

“Oh. You know that makes a lot more sense than ‘because’ or ‘we say so’ or ‘ask your mother/father/grandmother/the Dark Council’. I get that a lot too. I hope my family is sending me some Long-Dark decorations. I asked them if they could include some in the next package.” 

“Well, after the movie, we’re going to do some Hearth’s Warming shopping to send them some decorations, and other stuff,” Grapes said with a nod. “Doing the whole cultural exchange thing, like I said we would.”

“That would be nice. You know I thought your town was beautiful and colorful normally, but seeing the ponies decorating everything like this… Hearth’s Warming must be a big deal to you to want it all so pretty.” 

“It is. It’s a remembrance of the Founding of Equestria, where the three pony tribes came together, in harmony, after years of infighting and inter tribal strife and exploitation,” Grapes explained. “Kind of sad it took some supernatural creatures who feed on hate to cause ponies to put aside their differences, though.”

“Reminds me of something my grandmother said. Nothing brings ponies together like a common threat… of course she was answering my question why the townsponies got along with one another so well and yet hated us, but yeah. I can see that.” Grapes grumbled something about insular, small-minded twits, as they reached the theater.

“Ah, here we are,” Grapes said with a smile. “Think you’ll want some popcorn?”

“Oh please and thank-you. Popped corn is so… fluffy. My kin were kinda surprised when I showed them it,” Earshot giggled. “With ears like ours though, it was a little… scary when you don’t realize the noise they make that first time.”

“All righty. Popcorn, soda… Hm… What else,” Grapes mused, as they contemplated the theater.

“Do they have dried raspberries there? I like those. Reminds me of the Thornrows back home.”

“What’s a ‘Thornrow’?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh! Uh… well according to what I overheard parents telling their foals in the village, long ago the ponies of… the region built these… raised sections of land. It was something to do with picking out all the rocks from the fields as you plow and stacking them along your property lines and tossing dirt on them. Anyways over time these long and twisty fake hills became permanent, then something about the local castle happened that spooked the townsponies and they planted raspberry bushes on top of the rows to act like a big thorny barricade between it and them. Whatever it was that spooked them passed and they left the bushes there, letting them grow bigger and more twisted and thorny over the years. Now the Thornrows are like this big maze of spiky bushes with deliciously tangy/sour berries that only we Night Ponies seem to appreciate. So they never notice us taking a few buckets now and again.”

“Really? Spiky bushes with tangy-sweet berries…” Grapes said thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I overheard them called Bastion-Raspberries, must be because of how hard it is to get through a wall of them. Good thing Night Ponies can fly. They are delicious though, Shades of red and purple... Miss Red Vine makes this one drink from them that seems popular with the adults.”

“Well yeah, you can make wine out of raspberries,” Grapes said with a nod. “The last time I did, it went over quite well.”

“Red Vine might like talking to you one day, then. What she does is tiny compared to what you do, but she says the other Night Ponies pay well enough.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along wonderfully,” Grapes said, as they trotted up to the ticket booth.

While she made her purchase, Earshot looked up at the poster displaying the Vampony in question. Earshot seemed to be trying to line his face up just right so he could see his reflection in comparison to that of Bella LeTrotosi. It was understandable, this was the big one. Dragonwing was THE first name that most ponies thought of when you said Night Pony to them. Of course he also dressed up as this version of him for Nightmare Night, so this might be an innocent comparison of his make-up job.

While deciding on whether to bother with salt with the buttered popcorn or just to get a salt-stick on the side she noticed a small group of young ponies sneaking up behind him. A young Brass-colored unicorn filly with white hair that reminded Grapes of those powdered wigs worn by famous composers, raised a bugle to her lips and took a deep breath… 

“Hello Brass Horn. Heya Stonewall, You too Skyhook,” Earshot said before the unicorn could toot her own horn.

Taking the horn from her lips she exhaled like a spent balloon.  “How did you know it was us?” she demanded.

“Stonewall is not really a light-stepper, and the sound of you inhaling like that is at a specific pitch… and you always bring Skyhook along with you. Besides, who else would sneak up behind me in a way that didn’t involve torches and pitchforks.”

“Day’s still young,” The sky blue pegasus with the sunshine blond mane grumped, tugging at the surprisingly ornate metal collar about her neck. “Heck give me time to find the Pitchfork and Torch store and I can…” 

“Aw don’t be that way Skyhook,” The Brick-red Pony with the mortar gray mane and tail said giving her a friendly ‘bump’ with his shoulder, which from his stocky frame caused her to have to take a step to keep from toppling over. “It’s movie night. Time to forget our cares and stuff with a visit to the silver screen.”

“Technically, it’s ‘movie afternoon’, since it’s not even lunch-time yet,” Grapes corrected.

“Really? I stand corrected then.”

“I would think the general brightness of the surroundings, the lack of stars in the sky, and the activity of the birds would generally indicate that it’s not yet night time,” Grapes quipped.

“Meh… What do you expect from an Earth-pony,” Skyhook uttered.

Stonewall looked at the pegasus a moment before laughing and pulling her close in what could be either a death-grip or an affectionate noogie, depending on whether you were giving or receiving.  “Oh Skyhook. You make me laugh.”

“Chhhck… air… air please… need… air.”

“So these are the classmates you wrote home about. Nice to have faces to put to the names. What’s with little miss prissy-feathers?” Grapes asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh her? She’s the one I told you about,” Earshot said quietly. “Parents sent her down here to learn how to get along with the other pony groups. See? That’s the special collar that keeps her from getting her head in the clouds.”

“Yeah. She was hanging out with a group of bigots called the ‘Down-lookers’ and they were quick to ground her so she could get a hooves-eye view of the world,” Brass horn chuckled. “Seriously, she isn’t a bad pony. You can tell she’s really TRYING to be a tribalist even though she isn't really there yet.”

“Well the lesson, here, is that we’re all ponies. Just because you were born with wings doesn’t make you better than the rest of us. Just different. Same as being born with a horn and the ability to use magic,” Grapes said simply. “Nor does it matter if your family happens to be descended from some grand poo-bah that started your family line, and got you some kind of passed-down recognition It’s what you do, now, with what you've got now that makes or breaks a pony.”

“Wow. That’s so familiar, like I heard it off of the educational film my parents showed me before exiling me to dirt-town,” Skyhook snarked.

“Isn’t she a Pip?” chuckled Stonewall.

“Yeah, she’s a real bitter little seed, alright,” Grapes quipped with a smirk. “And, honey,” she continued in a sweet tone that made Earshot a bit worried, “you won’t be losing that collar anytime soon, thanks to that lovely attitude of yours.”

“Now you sound like my parents,” Skyhook quipped

“Yeah, that’s the thing about parents. They have authority and experience to back it up. And all you had was a bunch of little punks who thought they were better than anypony else,” Grapes said, as she paid for her and Earshot’s snacks.

“All I know is Mom and Dad booted my flank down here and stuck a grounding collar on me for speaking my mind.”

“Aw the change will do you good. Some thick air in those lungs will help you clear your head,” Stonewall said stepping up to the counter and sliding some bits to the server on the other side. “Jumbo Popcorn, seventy-two ounce titanic soda and a box of sugar cubes please.”

“You’ll regret the jumbo soda, later, Stonewall,” Grapes said, with her own more petite soda in a holder on her back. “Nothing teaches you to not get such a big drink like having to water the hedge RIGHT during the climax of the movie.”

“She’s got a point. A Seventy-Two ounce titanic soda is NOT part of a well-balanced breakfast,” Sky Hook observed.

“Eh. Gives me an excuse to watch the movie twice.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that, “Grapes uttered. “But me and Earshot have got Hearth’s Warming shopping to take care of.”

“So, is this your keeper, Earshot?” the white maned unicorn asked.

“Kinda, Brass Horn. She’s my employer… OH! Sorry. I should have done this sooner. Miss Grapes, these are my friends from school. Brass Horn, Stonewall, and Skyhook.”

“Saved me for last I see,” the pegasus mare uttered.

“My friends, this is Miss Sour Grapes who employs me during spring through fall at Grapevine Hills Vineyards,” Earshot continued.

“Obviously nothing grows during winter, so I can’t exactly employ farmhooves, then,” Grapes observed. “And since the inns are full up, they’re my guests for the holidays.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Brass Horn said, getting a box of sugar cubes from the counter. “Earshot said he was going to the movies today so we figured we’d meet him here.”

“Earshot told me he’d never been to the movies, before,” Grapes said with a shrug. “So I figured what the hay? We had to come into town for some shopping, anyhow…” Grapes paused, buying a box of Choco-Dots, and tossing them to Skyhook. “And here. A local makes those, and they’re extra tasty. But then with a name like ‘Bon Bon’ you’d expect her to know candy.”

Skyhook looked at the box a little suspiciously before accepting it and mumbling an uncomfortable “Thank you.”

The merry bunch made themselves comfortable in the middle of the theater, getting ready to enjoy the show. The theater darkened, and the first thing to show was a newsreel.

Grapes noted that while film was still in the improvement stage of ‘Embedded Sound’ for its “Talkies” the Newsreels were still silent, resorting to title cards and local ponies reading off more detailed information from the cue-cards provided with the reel. Perhaps it was symbolic how news always seemed to take a back seat to the far more popular (and better funded) entertainment. Still, every town with a cinema was proud to have one of their number designated as the local reader. Ponyville’s most trusted newsstallion was Hugh Jelly. Nopony could doubt his reading ability, with that rich, silky voice of his, but he was always a bit… off putting. He always felt… slightly sticky, and smelled strongly of various fruit. Never mind the rumors that sprang up from his being a good customer of the various fruit farms’ jellies and jams.

“Good afternoon Fillies and Gentlecolts,” he began. “As usual I have been asked by the theater owners to speak on their behalf on movie-going etiquette. Unicorns please turn off all light spells before the films begin. Those of you with small bladders or large sodas take note of where you are seated so if you have to leave halfway through you can find your seat quickly and quietly. Also kindly refrain from talking, whispering, and scribbling notes during the show… yes, Twilight Sparkle, we can hear the scratching of your quill on paper.”

Grapes noted a purple unicorn a few rows down, slowly sinking into her seat as the ponies, and Spike, around her giggled.

“All right then. That about covers the etiquette. And now the news.”

The lights dimmed and the soft whirring, clicking sound of the projector began as the machine sent a flickering beam of light onto the screen. Grapes couldn’t help but glance over at Earshot and watch as his eyes went wide the moment images appeared on the screen. Off to the side one of the local pianists began to add musical accompaniment while Mister Jelly cleared his throat.

“Dateline: Equestria. All is well across our fair land. Farmers claim an excellent year, the weather patrol see no foreseeable issue in the upcoming winter season and the merchant’s guild of Equestria claim record profits. 
“In Appleoosa the fledgling treaty between the Buffalo Locals and the Pony Settlers continues to hold strong. The Chieftain was quoted as saying that ‘A compromise that brings peace is better than stubbornness that brings war.’ Well said, Chief.
“In Canterlot’s School for Gifted Unicorns, despite losing their valedictorian to deal with a country-wide emergency earlier this year, graduation ceremonies went off without a hitch. Celestia herself was on site to watch the proceedings with dignity, poise and cake.
“Ponyville… too many crises to keep track of… next…
“Reconstruction efforts in the Mount Ashbringer region continue to move forward. On a related note, two Wonderbolts injured as a result of their heroics during the event are being released today. No Doubt Blue Streak and Contrail will be dazzling us with feats of acrobatic skill soon enough. 
“Avalanche Valley…”

Grapes sat up straighter, an eyebrow raised. “Wonder what this is about?” she asked. “I hope nothing’s happened to Queenie or her folks…”

“... the Hay-Bale Energy Bar Winter X-Treeme Sports Spectacular; co-sponsored by Ponythirst, Red Minotaur, and Manticore Energy Drink was considered a major success with record attendance and athletes from across Equestria and beyond,” he continued as images of a beautiful mountain township and its surrounding picturesque slopes filled the screen along with the colorful ponies who attended. “Among attendees were such big names as Snowblynde, Slideways and the ever popular Dusty, the flying unicorn!” 

From off to her left a barely restrained “SQUEE!” of joy came. Grapes didn’t turn her head but rather let herself peek past the corner of her eye at the source. Only Earshot and his friends were seated there. Earshot, Stonewall and Brass horn were watching intently as Grape’s cousin Diamond Dust performed tricks amid the sculpted snow and ice, only one pony was enthralled. The self-professed “tribalist” pegasus was grinning in the most fanfillyish way, wings spread and eyes dazzling from the show. 

Grapes smirked, knowingly, as she settled back to watch her cousin. This was a most amusing development.

“Amid the fun in the sun and the ice a good time was reportedly had by all…” Quick cuts of tourists and athletes going about their business flashes past, including one brief moment where a very familiar pegasus mare in a maid’s uniform was caught “admiring”’ Dusty from afar. “But even in paradise… calamity can strike.”

The piano player switched to a minor key, adding more emotional impact to the next scene. Dusty with his team, going down the hill, then a flash of rocket-propelled foalishness, a moment of near death for her cousin averted only because of his athletic ability… but resulting in a monstrosity that make Pinkie Pie’s Party Cannon look like a pop gun, invoking a literal wall of white to surge towards the town and the ponies in it.

The next few shots were chaotic as the camerapony was obviously more interested in getting someplace safe instead of taking shots. But the shots they got were still enough to take in Ponies cramming themselves underneath a long tunnel-like structure under a building. Then suddenly snow filling the two ends resulting in sudden darkness. One by one unicorn horns lit with soft light, then little jars of glowing liquid were brought forth from what must have been emergency cabinets, illuminating the ponies in an eerie glow while they seemed to discuss what to do.

“Yes, from Party to Predicament, things looked bleak to the victims of the avalanche. But then… when things were at their darkest… a hero emerged.”

It was hard to say how much time had passed but at the one end of the tunnel some of the snow began to lose it’s darkness and light began to appear behind it. Then, a long rounded piece of wood thrust through, making a hole. Moments later a head poked in, revealing the concerned face of Dusty. His snowsuit was torn in places, leaking fluff, his hair was disheveled and his eyes showed that… he was in pain. Yet, in spite of all of this, he smiled to see ponies who were okay, and finished scooping out the snow with what looked like a broken snowboard.

Grapes glanced over at the enthralled pegasus mare who gazed at her hero helping ponies of all tribes, despite in what looked like intense pain. Dusty looked haggard, and his leg… His leg looked kind of rubbery, and he favored it for his other three.

“He’s important to you,” Earshot whispered to Grapes. “Your breathing changed when the avalanche hit.”

“He’s my first cousin,” Grapes murmured to Earshot, “from the unicorn side of my family.”

“I don’t think his leg is supposed to bend like that… is it..?” Earshot asked, looking concerned.

“Broken,” Grapes stated with a frown. “Probably happened during the avalanche. Then he goes around digging out who knows how many ponies… Dusty’s always had more heart than brain… He’ll probably be here, in the spring, after his leg’s healed up.”

“Why do you say that, Miss Grapes?” Earshot asked.

“Because I know Dusty. He’s going to feel responsible, especially after apparently setting off that cannon. Whatever money he won from that shindig, and probably most of his savings will go to help Avalanche Valley. So he’ll want to lay low, hide from Grandma Pavé, and do some honest work to get back on his hooves, while he thinks of some scheme to get his fans to donate to Avalanche Valley’s cause.”

“He’d actually do all of that?”

“Well yes. Dusty’s like that. He’s so generous, and kind-hearted that it could be a fault, if you think about it,” Grapes said thoughtfully. “But then… It’s kind of his rebellion against his Grandmother.”

Earshot nodded and turned his attention back to the screen, where the young stallion directed others to help dig out the shelters until he finally collapsed from his efforts. Shots of Queenie still in her Maid’s uniform apparently commanding others with great authority flickered between scenes. 

“The spirit of community spread and soon all of the valley was alive with ponies helping ponies. Strangers assisting strangers… and while Avalanche Valley is badly damaged and their greatest event lead to their greatest disaster, their can-do spirit cannot be denied.” Mister Jelly smiled that curious smile of his at the audience as the Newsreel wrapped up. “My name is Hugh Jelly and this has been the News Around Equestria. Thank you and enjoy the rest of the movie.”

Although the newsreel had left her concerned about Dusty and the sort of mood that Queenie might be in when she returned she did congratulate herself on her choice of film for Earshot. Dragonwing was a true classic Night Pony. The opera cloak, the noble-looking tuxedo and eyes that could bore into your head. This was what Earshot had come to fight, the image of Night Ponies being these blood-lusting creatures of darkness. He needed to see this and not some modern pouty bag of fairy dust. (Boy were the fans of that book series going to be disappointed when Night Ponies came back into the herd) When the lights came up and the doors opened, the way Earshot and his friends were laughing and discussing the film at great length as they left the theater Sour Grapes felt a strange understanding. Why WAS Earshot chosen to be the emissary of Stygian Cove? Because of his innocence? His endearing youthful enthusiasm? Or maybe it was because of all his kin, perhaps he would be fascinated by how the world saw him, and not be offended or disheartened by it. 

She saw him swoop one wing around to just below his eyes as he mimicked Bella LeTrotosi’s famous hypnotic stare, and his friends, Skyhook included, actually played along. 
Grapes smiled, chuckling at the byplay, and reminded Earshot that they still had shopping to do.

“You guys want to come with us? We’re doing up a Hearth’s Warming package for Earshot’s folks,” Grapes asked. “May be nice to have some more input as to what to send.”

“Sounds like fun,” Stonewall said without hesitation. “Earshot did mention that this is his first one.”

“Bet he’s gonna love the carols. He’s got excellent pitch,” seconded Brass Horn as she gave Earshot a nudge. “If every Night Pony has pitch as perfect as him, then it could revolutionize music in Equestria.”

Skyhook shook off the moment of camaraderie but still didn't exactly run off. “Uh… yeah. I ain’t got nothing to do right now so, why not?” 

“Thank you, so much, milady Skyhook,” Grapes snarked. “We would not know how we could have possibly proceeded without you.”

The pegasus was fairly quiet the rest of the time downtown. She was apparently unused to ponies who could not only verbally spar with her but were willing to use it to slap her down a peg. Still, it ended up being quite an enjoyable afternoon. They stopped by the Daisy Cafe for a light lunch, and Pony Express for a box to ship all the goodies to Stygian Cove, along with stopping by Barnyard Bargains to pick up some nifty decorative items, and pre-packaged candies, making sure to get some for the Bunkhouse.

“The bad thing about the locally made candies is that they’re not really made to be shipped,” Grapes observed with a sigh. “Though Sugarcube Corner is making up some nifty stuff to send in the package. I hope your folks like fruitcake, Earshot,” Grapes said as they wound down the shopping for the day.

“I've never seen a cake with so much in it. It’s almost like a brick made of fruit.”

“That… isn't too far off, pal.” Stonewall agreed with a smile. 

“An old way of preserving fruit for long-distance travel. Tastes pretty good. Especially the way the Cakes make them,” Grapes said with a smile. “I read that fruitcake was a pegasi invention, originally. Long-flight rations made with dried fruits, baked into a cake, and cut into bars. Ancient pegasi took them on their border patrols.”

“You hear that, Hook? All of Equestria can blame your kind for the scourge of fruitcake.” Brass horn laughed.

“Hey! Fruitcake isn't a ‘scourge’. You’ve probably just never had good fruitcake. The Cakes make some of the best, outside of my own family. My Aunt Muscadine… Oh, that mare can cook! But then she’s got a restaurant in New Bléhleans. Classic creole cuisine, but her fruitcake… absolute heaven,” Grapes said with a smile.

“I know. I know. Not all fruitcake is bad, but really… you ever taste the stuff that’s mess-produced in Manehatten? That’s like eating masonry.”

“No. But then, I know better than to eat any food that’s ‘mess-produced’,” Grapes quipped with a grin. “Anything that’s ‘mess-produced’, or even mass-produced, is never as good as something that’s home made. Candy doesn't seem to have that problem, but there’s only so much a pony can do to sugar, and flavoring, except maybe speed up the process of production. So… The pegasi gave us a wonderful, easily shippable, cake recipe that profit-hungry goits proceeded to muck up.”

“I… never heard of that before.” Skyhook said frowning. 

“Well, obviously your tribalist pals weren't really that interested in pegasi history and culture, hm? I tend to read a lot, anyway, and I find the histories of all tribes to be equally fascinating,” Grapes said. “All kinds of ponies have contributed to making our lives better, in this day and age. Not just one tribe over the others… No matter what any of the tribalists of any tribe will tell you. Eugh...”

“Yeah. And especially at this time of year,” Stonewall said, gesturing with a hoof at the decorations of the streets. “Didn't you ever take part in a Hearth’s Warming pageant before? Is it really so hard to forget that thinking that your fewmets don’t stink nearly did to our ancestors? It wasn't pretty.”

“A lot of the hardship, strife, and outright warfare was glossed over to keep the pageant a reasonable length so ponies could head home and enjoy time with their families,” Grapes observed. “And yes, during those dark times unicorns fought pegasus in bloody battles for territory, fertile soil, and Earth Pony peasants to slave for them. Some Earth Ponies tried to strike out on their own, but they were at the mercy of the magically potent unicorns and the weather-controlling pegasi. Some may have even tried to venture into lands where the weather is wild… But they were still at the mercy of those who controlled the day and night. When the wendigos came, naturally they all blamed one another… And in a way they were right.”

“So is that what Hearth’s Warming is all about?” Earshot asked, looking up at Grapes. His friends looked back and forth at one another before Brass Horn smirked. 

“Step one… we find a book store for this guy so we can get him an early Hearth’s Warming gift in the form of ‘The Hearth’s Warming Unification’. Mumsey and Dadsey insisted I have and read a copy before I performed in MY first pageant.”

“Obviously, I've got a copy of that, at home,” Grapes observed. “Along with ‘The Untold History of Hearth’s Warming’, ‘Letters From The Territory Battles: Missives From Pre-Equestria’, ‘Excerpts From The Diary of Clover the Clever’, and… a lot of others. Mom wasn’t a fan of glossed-over history, because it kind of lead to her mother becoming a tribalist loon.”

“There’s some in every tribe,” Stonewall noted. “Heck in every family. Even us earth-ponies can look down our noses at other ponies for no other reason than ‘What extras got glued on’.”

“And my tribalist look grandmother really dislikes me, ‘cause I’m half Earth Pony,” Grapes chuckled. “And funnily enough… all my best friends just happen to be pegasi.”

Stonewall smirked and gave Earshot a rough one-legged hug. “So where you gonna take our little bat-winged buddy now? Bookstore like Brass Horn suggested?”

“Oh, right. We were going to get a book on the History of Equestria to send to their archivist,” Grapes said nodding. And a copy of ‘The Hearth’s Warming Unification’, too. Thanks for the idea, Brass Horn.” They quickly moved to the bookstore, checking out the history section for the two needed tomes. Stonewall was very eager to introduce Earshot to the world of comic books much to Grapes’ amusement. Skyhook got yet another surprise from Grapes in the form of “The Hidden History of Pegasi”. They wrapped up their shopping, and parted ways at the edge of town. All in all, it had been a fun day, and Earshot’s people were going to receive a pleasant surprise.

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A couple of weeks later, Grapes found herself hanging out with her pegasi pals in a partially finished basement to the bunkhouse. Apparently it was going to be a rec room when it was finished, but they were no real hurry to finish it. Privately, Grapes found it rather amusing that pegasi could be comfortable underground, but she didn’t say anything out loud. 

While the upstairs’ main floor had a small kitchen, a dining table and some couches and chairs and was comfortable enough by the fireplace, there really wasn't much room. Down here it was a mostly finished wood floor, some walls were missing showing the dirt behind them and lots of support beams. Well that and the Sofas, chairs, the beginnings of a mini-bar, a dartboard and… a large heavy Rucksack-like bag hanging by a chain from the ‘rafters’. She had enough sense to recognize a Bucking Bag when she saw one, she just never thought there was any place in town they could have gotten it. Even Bulk Biceps’ Gym got theirs from one of the larger cities. Grapes looked around at her friends, as they either lounged about, chatting about this or that. Squall was working the bag, of course, but that seemed to make a lot of sense. It must have been normal enough because the others ignored the noise his hooves made slamming into the heavy canvas. 

“Any ideas on how, exactly, we’re going to handle Queenie when she gets back?” Grapes asked casually. “She’s sure to be in a right snit, when she arrives. I’m sure velvet socks are recommended, initially...”

“Why velvet socks? Do they make her feel better?” Sirocco asked, curiously.

“No Sirocco,” Stormfront chuckled. “It means we be careful to not aggravate her until she’s accepted whatever’s bothering her.”

“Ah. I believe we all shall watch one’s worms until then,” Sirocco said with a nod.

“‘Watch one’s worms’?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think Sirocco means ‘Words’,” Squall said, displaying some rather youthful hoofwork as he trotted in place a moment, examining his cylindrical opponent. “Not bad advice either way.” 

“Unless Earshot wants to try salmon, I doubt we’re going to need to watch fish bait,” Grapes uttered, deadpan.

“Guys… and gals too.” Firestormer began looking up from where he was working with the water boiler. “Seriously, Queenie’s many things, prissy at times, a little stuck up now and again, maybe even a little bossy here and there. But she’s tough. She wouldn't be one of us if she couldn't haul the emotional baggage. I say we just give her some space but just not really treat her like she’s made of glass. If she wants to talk, she’ll talk.”

“Like you did, when you had a personal tragedy?” Grapes asked casually.

He stared at her a moment, then gave that trademarked crooked grin and shrugged comically. “Okay, you got me there. But maybe I just needed the right moment and the right listener… sure it took me a few years, but Queenie isn't me. She’s a big frosty princess with her own personal kingdom.” 

“You mean a ‘big frosty’ duchess of a small duchy to be precise, but that would splitting ‘heirs’, would it not?” came Queenie’s voice from the doorway.

“Welcome back, Queenie. Would you care for some coffee, or maybe a good strong tea?” Grapes asked, her eyes half-lidded, and her nose slightly wrinkled. “Good to see you in such high… spirits, by the way…”

Queenie entered the room with more than a little swagger to her step before she leaned heavily on Firestormer. “Whunnnnnderful to see you all again. My loyal extended family. Even the annoying brother I never wanted.”

“Woah… you smell like a distillery, Queenie,” Firestormer uttered.

“Oh pish-tush, Firestormer, I have merely been tippling,” Queenie said dismissively.

“Just don’t breathe on the water heater or it’ll go through the roof.”

“Ah hah hah. I missed your damp wit, dear Firestormer. I suppose I HAVE had more than a few drinks. No doubt I shall pay for this in the morning, but at least right now I am pickled enough to not mind remembering my problems.”

Grapes simply gazed at Firestormer impassively. “Handling the emotional baggage, hm?” she asked casually, then waved at Stormfront, “Strong coffee, with a water chaser. I think you know how she takes her cuppa, right?” Grapes then turned to Queenie, with a snarky smirk on her face. “You’re lucky you’re a guest, Queenie, old gal. If this was the ‘on’ season, I’d let you wake up with a hangover, and put you on double duty.”

“And you would be RIGHT to do so, oh noble warm-season employer. However this is the winter season… and one does not spend time in the presence of a well seasoned sailor without learning what one would do with a drunken sailor… Er-lie in the Mor-ning.” Queenie actually sang the last line, fairly well too as she staggered away from Firestormer to lean against Summer Squall.

“Arr. Three sheets to the wind, are ye? Bet that last comment meant you remember all the tricks I taught ye on how to blunt the day after.”

“Aye-Aye, Captain Sir!” She saluted a little too sharply and accidentally whacking herself with her hoof. “Nnnngh… although I’m nowhere near the heavyweight thou art. The train had a car with a tavern and while I didn’t deplete their supply I should say I held my own.”

“Oh, I know a trick or two of my own, passed down the family tree,” Grapes observed with a smirk. “Though I have to admit this is highly amusing. Guess this is as close as I’ll get to seeing Rarity drunk off her plot.”

“Ah yes! RARITY! I should ask if she wishes to go out tippling with me! A ladies night out… out of our gourds! Aha hah hah!”

“At least, for now, she’s a happy drunk,” Grapes observed with a smirk.

Queenie’s face got very serious and she moved away from Squall over to where Earshot was laying reading his new comic books.  “Now, Earshot, dear, I don’t want you to believe that becoming ineb… ineb… pickled like this is in any way a valid manner in which to deal with one’s personal issues. Mmm?”

“Yes, Queenie,” Earshot said distractedly.

“That’s a good colt… and now… I must PEE!” 

“You know where the hedge is,” Grapes deadpanned. As soon as Queenie dashed out of the basement, she hung her head and said: “I’m a bad bad pony… because I am this close to laughing my plot off.”

“Aw go ahead and laugh, Grapes. It’s probably the most loosened up she’s been in a long time.” Stormy chuckled.

“Stormy, honey, that’s not why I’m so close to laughing. Mind you, I admire her, I really do, but here she is, setting herself up as this grand, romantic, tragic heroine… and the moment she experiences a tragedy that’s personal, she goes and gets herself snockered,” Grapes explained, with appropriate dramatic gesturing. “Mind you it’s not nice to find amusement in the misfortune of others, but that seems to be a ‘thing’ with me.” 

“At least she is aware she’s gonna pay for her ‘Tippling’ in the morning,” Squall said with a chortle. “A over-tippled Miss Rarity. I’d pay good bits to see that.”

“I’d charge admission, and run a popcorn concession,” Grapes quipped, chuckling. “I’m sure you’re not the only pony who’d love to see little miss prissy-mane drunk.”

"No doubt, lass, no doubt. I wonder if Miss Rarity has ever been deep in her cups?" Squall asked.

Grapes chuckled, and said: “Nopony knows for sure… Except maybe her closest friends, and I’m sure they’d never tell.”

"Maybe if you asked in a non-specific way. Like if Miss Applejack had seen any of her friends with one too many in them.”

“You know, that just might work,” Grapes said thoughtfully.

"Bet she could hold more than a few herself," Squall said rubbing his chin. "She seems the type.”

"You. Have. NO. Idea," Grapes deadpanned.

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The next day Grapes got up, and prepared for a trip that her parents usually made this time every year. She went into her cellar, and picked up some of her oldest ‘black’ wines, and put them in a case. She then brought the case up, dressed in her warm-weather gear, and went outside to prepare the sledge. It was only big enough to carry the case plus, in a pinch, one pony, and that’s all she needed. Quite frankly, Grapes wanted to get this trip done, so she come come back home and mope a bit about her parents not being there and not sending her a letter about whether or not they’d be there for Hearth’s Warming. She hated it when they were trying to surprise her.

“Hey there, Grapes. Making a delivery?” 

She looked up to see the gorgeous outstretched wings of Stormfront momentarily block out the sun as he slowly descended next to her. 

“Kind of… It’s… something of a yearly thing. I don’t really need to do it, but it’s been being done, so I may as well continue,” Grapes said with a long sigh. “Every year, around this time, we take a case of black wine to a remote area, and leave it, and in exchange, we get a bag of gold dust. Don’t exactly need it, this year, but there have been years when we needed it desperately. So… might as well continue the tradition. And it gets that stuff out of the cellars.”

“Interesting. Gotta ask what, exactly, black wine happens to be, though,” Stormy queried, looking at her curiously.

“Its wine that’s been in the cellar so long, the color’s changed drastically,” Grapes replied. "Long story short, this wine is at the point I don't know whether I should market it as a drink or a salad topping."

“Oh yeah… you mentioned this sort of thing before. That if you make a mistake along the way you can wind up with vinegar instead of wine. And someone genuinely wants this kind of borderline wine? Huh. Guess it takes all kinds.”

“Yup. It’s the condition of the tradition. First year I've done it solo, though,” Grapes said, as she shouldered the harness. “I should be back in a few hours.”

Stormfront stood there watching her for a moment before saying quietly. “You know, you don’t have to do it solo.”

“I don’t?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow. “What? Are you saying that you’d like to come with?”

“Well…” he began, one hind leg scratching the other, “It’s not like I have any pressing business at the moment. And things might go a little faster for you if I pull the sleigh… sledge… thingie. You know I’m not limited by things like hip-deep snow.”

“Oh… Well…” Grapes said, looking down, bashfully. “I didn't want to impose on you. This is kind of an off-season, unless we have an out-of-control blizzard or something…”

“I’m sure they can find me easily enough if trouble brews.  I just need five minutes to fill them in and grab my gear. You may want to make sure you’re bundled up good and tight. Windchill factors sneak up on you.”

“Good idea,” Grapes, said, double-checking her winter outfit, making sure her scarf was loose enough to cover her muzzle. She then got out the bigger sledge. If he can fly over the surface of the snow, while she rode the sledge, that would go a lot quicker than the original plan.

True to his word he returned after only few minutes, wearing a thick quilted coat and saddle-blanket plus a heavier version of his Storm-Riders scarf and a pair of snow goggles. He walked over to the sledge and positioned himself so she could harness him in.

“I figured this would go quicker if I was able to ride, comfortably,” Grapes observed, as she settled the harness so it would not be uncomfortable on Stormfront. “The sledge I had, earlier, was just too small for that.”

“I’d have missed that detail. Like how you remembered to wrap up your crate there in a blanket in addition to the straw in it.”

“That’s because it’s still pretty cold, out. Liquids can freeze, and shatter glass,” Grapes said, as she settled herself into the sledge, pulling up her scarf to cover her muzzle. “I know about how to keep alcoholic beverages intact when traveling in cold weather. And even though alcohol has a lower freezing point than water, I’m not taking any chances.”

She watched as he slowly stretched and twisted, limbering up. Under that coat were the muffled sounds of joints and muscles popping and cracking. “OK… I’m not gonna go too high here. Less than ten feet at any time. I remember that time I tried to share my joy with you… and so do your begonias.”

“Those things are going to be huge, come spring,” Grapes observed.

“OK… let’s see if I remember how to do this.” he chuckled, heaving forwards and putting the sledge into motion. For the first little bit down the driveway his gait reminded her of Big Macintosh… except his butt looked nicer than that big red one. After a moment he broke into a trot, then a decent paced gallop. She inhaled deeply at the sight of his wings extending, since the day she saw he had them, she had never gotten used to that. Beautiful light gray feathers catching the wind, and slowly flapping, and below the sledge the ground gave her a respectable distance. He tilted slightly, passing over the fence line and following the road away from town.

“Pilot to navigator, Pilot to navigator. I need a bearing before we get too far off course,” he laughed back to her as lights of her home began to dwindle in the distance.  Grapes chuckled.

“Take the east road,” she said, amusement still evident in her voice. “I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“Gotcha.” he said adjusting his course. “Just let me know if I’m rising too high.”

It was an amazing ride. Part of her told her that this was too dangerous, they were going too fast, that they might crash or something… then the other part of her was telling her ‘enjoy this, he’s sharing part of his world with you’. She could see his passing, kicking up a beautiful spray of snow behind them, his large powerful and yet graceful wings beating with a slow tempo that pulled her forwards at speeds she had only dreamed of.

“Okay. Turn here. When you see a clearing with a flat rock, stop,” Grapes instructed.

He nodded and banked gently, the tip of one wing grazing the surface of the snow in what had to be an act of him showing-off a little. She checked her watch and was surprised at how much ground they had covered in so little time, even following the same route she and her father had in previous years. She could get used to this… next time she would bring a thermos of something hot, though. The wind really had a way of trying to cut through what you were wearing. Maybe she should consult with the other pegasai on what worked best. It was in that thought she heard the sound of snow under the runners, followed by the sound of hooves joining them. He had landed, trotting to a full stop before looking back at her then motioning with his head to the clearing just off the road and the large flat rock in the middle. And as usual, it was completely swept clear of snow.

“This the place?” Stormy asked. Grapes looked it over, and nodded, carefully getting up, and stretching a bit, before carefully moving the case to the rock.

“Allright. Just got to leave this here. Then come back later today. The exchange will be made, and we’ll have a little extra to add to the emergency fund,” Grapes said patting the case.
He smiled at her as he unhitched himself (oh such a nice smile) and nodded. “I’ll leave you to the lift and tote then. This is your tradition, not mine.”

She smiled back to him and with a little flourish of her own (What? Only colts were allowed to show off?) she carefully lifted the crate into the air and the two crossed the open clearing to the rock. Stormfront watched attentively as she settled it down, adjusting it just a little so it looked… picturesque there in the middle of all that beautiful, clean, pristine snow.

At last satisfied with her work, she made a show of dusting off her hooves and the two ponies turned to leave and found a tall imposing figure in a black hooded robe blocking their path. In this unexpected moment, many things happened. Hearts raced, adrenaline surged into veins, and two young ponies found themselves clinging to one another.

The hood tilted downwards slightly and deep within unseen eyes scrutinized the couple before a soft and yet strangely authoritative voice issued forth from it. 

“My, but you’you've grown into a lovely young mare.  And I see you've brought a friend rather than your father this time. I can only hope Champagne is well.”

“Ah… Yes,” Grapes uttered. “He’s fine. He just retired, this year, and moved to Seaside with Mom.” She then realized that she was clinging to Stormfront, and he was to her. Blushing furiously, she quickly detached herself from the big gray pegasus, and dusted herself off, her cheeks still red. Stormy mirrored her motions, trying to regain a little pride from the incident. The hooded figure seemed oblivious to this.

“You’ll have to forgive me for actually making my presence known. Under normal circumstances I would have stayed with the longstanding tradition with your family and allowed you to return for this, later.” A rather terrible-looking eagle’s claw extended from the folds of the robe, bearing what Grapes recognized as the reddish-brown leather pouch that was always full to bursting with gold dust. “However the presence of your traveling companion demanded I come forwards. It’s not every day one gets to meet an Angel.”

“An… angel?” Grapes asked, taking the gold dust, and putting it into the sledge. “And it would seem that you, sir, are a griffon.”

“Why, you would be correct, young mare,” the figure said reaching up and pulling down the black hood confirming his status as a griffon… a very OLD griffon. Wrinkles were rare in griffons but this one seemed to possess them in spades. Unlike normal old souls who seemed as if they deflated inside of their own skin, Grapes would have sworn that these wrinkles were carved into him as if he were a statue artfully made from aged wood. The beak curved upwards into a warm smile before he reached out and patted Stormfront on the shoulder. “Yes… Angel. Or at least one of their bloodline. Dear heavens above, you can’t fake wings like those.”

“I know they’re big,” Grapes observed. “But I just thought it was some manner of genetic anomaly, possibly hearkening back a possible alicorn in his ancestry or something.”

“While it’s true that Alicorn blood might explain them, I am certainly certain that your young stallion friend is an Angel.” He approached and placed a claw under Stormfront’s chin and carefully coaxed him to turn his head to the left and right. “What’s your name son?”

“S-Stormfront sir.”

“Stormfront?” the griffon asked, looking genuinely surprised. “Well now. That’s an astounding coincidence. I once knew a pony by that name a long, long… long time ago. And you look a LOT like him. Yes. Very much. Oh but where are my manners. I’ve stepped out of the shadows to meet the two of you, I might as well introduce myself.”

The griffon managed a flourish with his cloak, flinging it open, revealing an aged but well-maintained military uniform beneath, including a bright red metal breastplate.

“I… am Robin the Red-Breasted, Air Commander of the Fourth Generation Phalanx of his eternal glory, Emperor Abattoir the second, and Seasoned Warmancer of the Seventh Tier…” He paused a moment before chuckling and bowing respectfully. “...Retired. I would like to stress that I am very, very much retired.”

“Well… I’m Sour Grapes, daughter of Champagne Grapes and Champagne Diamond-Grapes, proprietor of Grapevine Hills Vineyard and Winery,” Grapes stated, then looked thoughtful. “...I must say you are quite well preserved, for someone who’s over one-thousand, five-hundred years old, Commander. Emperor Abattoir the Second was the instigator of the Griffon Wars, during the reign of Prince Nebula.”

The griffon raised his eyebrows and chortled.

“It seems you are very well informed, Sour Grapes. You have truly surprised me for the second time today. It’s been a terribly long time since I’ve seen anygriff um...pony who even remembers that there WAS a war between the griffons and Ponies much less who the two monarchs were back then. griffons are far prouder of their military history but ponies tend to focus more on good times than bad. Pity. So many gave their lives so those alive, today, could live in peace.”

“A great scholar said that it is best to learn from history, lest we repeat it,” Grapes observed. “And I agree, that it’s a pity that more ponies don’t learn about that conflict. Mistakes were made, chests were thumped with much bravado, and a war that could have ended with ponies becoming nothing more than a food source for griffons was started. Though it seems something was left out… What exactly did you mean when you called Stormfront an “Angel”?”

“Let me think how best to describe what they were.” He had a seat on the edge of the cart and pulled the Black Velvet robe around his frame again. “During the war times were indeed grim for ponies. There were a few alicorns rallying the troops and some rather grand heroes… but we griffons were virtually born to fight. Yes, very grim. Then as best as we could determine an Alicorn named Ambitious Theory gathered some of the most powerful unicorn acolytes together for a daring plan. Volunteers from the three tribes were found for what they called Project Exemplar.”

“Project Exemplar? What was that?”

“Just getting to that young stallion. The premise was simple. Alicorns were few and far between. Beings of immense potential that were like the best of the three tribes all in one body and magnified. Ambitious Theory planned to share some of that gift with others. Imagine an Alicorn princess or prince, then separate their three tribal aspects and let them become ponies unto themselves. That’s not exactly what was done, more like approaching the problem from the other direction. Elevating a pony to that sort of stage… transforming a mere Unicorn, or Earth Pony or Pegasus into a Titan.”

“So these volunteers were meant to be, well, exemplars of their particular tribe?” Grapes asked.

“You hit the nail right on the head, Sour Grapes. I have no idea how many times they failed before they succeeded. Only that the successes were unlike anything we had seen before. Each tribe suddenly found itself lead by a paragon of their kind, The sturdy Earth Ponies were awed by Giants. Massive and monstrously strong, with inherent magics embedded in the very land they walked upon. The proud Unicorns were cowed by the Sidhe, Graceful and glamour-clad these ponies nearly made reality melt around them from the pure magic crackling from their horns. The dynamic Pegasi instantly rallied to the sides of any Angel in their midst.” He paused and gave a short bark of laughter. “We griffons had believed ourselves the masters of the skies until the Angels entered it. Today a legion of Pegasi would be needed to command the weather on the scale an Angel could, and they were able to match us in hoof-to-claw combat any day of the week. And yet as potent as the Titans were personally, it was their inspiring presence that was their true power. Before them, the ponies fought a desperate war. Many making suicide charges not out of bravado but because they truly believed they had no hope of winding up more than meat on a plate. These new generals revitalized them, gave them something to believe in… something personal. Alicorns are great icons of pony solidarity, but sometimes you just need one of ‘your kind’ to look up to.” 

Grapes sighed at that, shaking her head.

“Inherent tribalism,” she uttered. “Why doesn't that surprise me? So… You think Stormfront is descended from one of these ‘angels’?”

“Very much so. The powerful wings, his large but sleek build as well as the strong resemblance to General Stormfront of my era are uncannily similar. Tell me colt, what do you do?”

“I ah… I work for the Royal Equestrian Rogue Weather Bureau, bucking Tornadoes.”

“You’re a Storm-Rider? And bucking tornadoes? Really?”

“Yes,” Stormy said feeling a little more confident and proud. “Yes I am and yes I do.”

“There’s proof if I ever heard it. Not everything was left behind over the generations but some of the old spirit lies in your bones.”

“He also works for me, you know, between tornadoes,” Grapes added casually. “On this little agricultural concern I happen to have. Maybe you've heard of it.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought he was perhaps your coltfriend doing you a favor,” Robin observed, with a slight smile.

“Uh…” Grapes uttered, eyes shifting to Stormfront, then everywhere else, then cleared her throat. “I… am rather inexperienced in the department of romance, honestly, and have always found romantic novels to be rather silly and unrealistic. And while I may rather shamelessly try to match-make my cousin and one of her best friends… I still have no, how you say, personal experience...”

“Ah, well you’re both young. You have a whole life ahead of you, and you as well, Stormfront. Remember that hope springs eternal, and is much cheaper than cider.”

“Hope may spring eternal, sir, but it never lands where you want it to,” Grapes observed.

“And therein lies the fun. For example, hope was all your mother and father had before you were born. Well that and a rising pile of bills and the overbearing presence of your grandmother waiting patiently for them to come ‘crawling back’ to her for money. Pave is a crafty one, she bribed weather ponies here and there to short-change rainfall on your land and to make winters just a little harsher inside of your property line. Nothing too obvious or even ‘illegal’ , but enough that after a few years it took a great toll on your family’s business. Fortunately after that whole ‘Nightmare Moon’ fiasco, I do my best to keep in touch with the goings on of the Equestrian court, and while I could admire Pave Diamond’s tactical acumen in cutting the Grapes family off from their lifeblood, I did find it morally reprehensible and decided to lend a claw.”

He took a moment to pull a flask out from under his cloak and held it up. 
“During the war, when I was still a soft-beaked private, my unit and I were behind enemy lines and in deep trouble. We hid in a farmhouse basement and waited for the units to pass us by. While down there we came across a few bottles of wine that was halfway to becoming vinegar. I believe it was Casa Del Crepúsculo. Tasted terrible but to a batch of half-starved, beaten-down, frightened soldiers it was the best damn stuff in the world. We eventually got out and after that moment that wine became a symbol of our experiences in the war. Often leaving a sour taste in your mouth but still you cherish the time you had.
“In the here and now every soul I knew from that time is gone. So what better way to toast my comrades than to recapture that moment in a glass now and again? So I sent an anonymous letter to your parents requesting delivery of that specific kind of wine. They were dubious but unable to pass up any order. They came here in the middle of winter, and by the time they placed the crate on the rock, there was a bag of gold dust left on the seat of their sleigh. They never questioned it, out loud. Too damn grateful I suppose. But I enjoyed being part of somegriff… someONE else’s life so much I made a habit out of it. Habit turned to tradition and now… here we are. Sorry to destroy the illusion you had as a filly believing I was some kind of mysterious fairy princess of the forest.”

“Well. That was when I was a filly, sir,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “That image was destroyed a long time ago.”

“Pity. I rather liked that picture you drew of what you thought I might look like. Butterfly wings on a unicorn are rather striking.”

“That’s what they thought in Cloudsdale, when Rarity made her debut. Only later did I discover the glitter-wing spell, and of course, it took a magical prodigy to be able to pull it off,” Grapes quipped. “Well… What now? This tradition seems a bit pointless, now that I’ve got good steady farmhooves… But I wouldn’t want to leave you without your… memento mori. Maybe, next winter, you can stop by for Hearth’s Warming? Give you a year to get used to the idea of interacting with ponies on a friendly basis?”

“Oh I have no problem with interacting with ponies. I just liked the sneaky thing with you and your parents. Still coming straight to your door at this time of year would also be a good tradition. BE nice to talk to the makers of this potable instead of admiring their lives from afar.”

“It’ll be great to have you. This year, though, we’re going to have a house-full,” Grapes said with a sigh. “And I don’t just mean the rest of the Storm Riders. Don’t want you to get lost in the shuffle.”

“Is that an invitation? I accept. It will be nice to have someplace to actually be during Hearth’s Warming Eve rather than just a night at the Chi-neighs food place.”

“Oh! You mean the Jade Stable? I just love their sweet and sour dumplings.” Stormy stopped a moment before realising he was making a spectacle of himself then smiled. “Sorry. Big fan of Golden Gong’s cooking.”

“Aren't we all?” Robin asked.

“They even deliver, which is a big plus in my book, during an especially busy season,” Grapes observed, with a smile. “Anyway… I suppose we’ll see you sometime, next Hearth’s Warming?”

“I can say, with all certainty, that yes I will be dropping by.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Grapes said with a nod.

“Say, what happened to the wine?” Robin asked.

Grapes and Stormfront turned to look at the rock where the Crate sat, then turned back to Robin, only to be met by a little snow swirling on a gentle winter breeze. They looked back to the rock only to see it was suffering a sudden shortage of the precious holiday cargo they left there. 

“He’s good. He’s really good.”

“Can’t live that long, without learning a few tricks,” Grapes observed. “C’mon, tornado-bucker, let’s head back.”

“Your ‘coltfriend’ is at your command,” he chuckled with a salute before harnessing himself up to the sleigh. Grapes froze, blinking, for a couple of seconds, then smiled a bit sheepishly as she boarded.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sour Grapes woke up under her down comforter and wished she could stay in there like a big toasty cinnamon bun. Unfortunately work beckoned and while it was a weekend, on a farm of any kind, holidays were few and far between.

With personal effort she slipped out from under the covers into the cooler air of her room and stretched a few times to work out the kinks. She then looked over at the leather bag with it’s golden draw-string sitting on her desk. It wasn't a dream, Mister Robin was real… before bed she reviewed the few books she had on the war and found him in them. He was considered a war-hero, even by Ponies. Honorable, gracious, a flying ace and… well no one knew why he painted his breastplate bright red. The generally accepted theory was that it kept both friends and foes from ever seeing if any of their attacks had indeed wounded him, the blood blending in with the shiny red coloring. 
The little foal in her wished that Robin truely HAD been a fairy princess or something. She remembered her theory originally came from the fact that the payment in question happened to be a bag of gold dust, or to a child’s eyes “Fairy Sparkles”. She remembered her father’s face one time when she applied glue to a sheet of paper and sprinkled some on for adornment. It was a cross between ‘That is so adorable’ and ‘You’re gonna dig a new latrine, kid.’ 

“I wonder if I’ve got still got that picture?” Grapes mused, as she got dressed to do any pre-breakfast chores she had to do around the farm to keep the winter for being too damaging. Keeping an eye on the gutters, and any barrels and water troughs, keeping the wine press oiled, checking on the heaters in the aging caves. True, Firestormer was keeping an eye on them, but she liked to double-check, and it was part of her routine.

She went downstairs, set the kettle on the stove, set herself up the pots and pans she would need and headed outside to do her pre-breakfast chores. The first thing she found was that somepony had done touch-up on her driveway and the paths to the various buildings on the property. The paths were all perfectly squared off. the deep snow looking almost like a seamless fence bordering them… and they had not just swept it clear down to the cobblestones, but also the gravel of the main Driveway. Grapes tilted her head at this, somewhat surprised, then shrugged, and went on about her business. 

Going along she glanced up and noted that somepony had cleared all of the icicles dangling from the gutters on the buildings. The property lost a little wintertime aesthetic but she knew it was safer having them not there to fall down on you, or cause ice-jams in the eaves that could split them, or even pry up shingles and cause leaks in the roof. Still she was wondering who would have got up even earlier than she usually did to do all this. Grapes huffed at the change in her routine, she continued.

Passing by the water barrels she peered in out of curiosity and found them all completely clear of ice. Not so much as a snowflake left behind. Each one exactly the same. Same with the troughs. The strangest part was that there wasn't any telltale hoofprints left behind. She couldn't imagine even a pegasus doing these things without having to set down at least once.

Her tour of the farm was one of bewilderment. A lot of the chores she took for granted were already done. Not all of them but it was as if somepony had been going through a checklist behind her back. Now Grapes stalked the yard more from morbid curiosity than anything else, before entering the storage shed where she kept all of the “Summer” equipment for the yard, including the wine press. It was there that she found the culprit. In the light of a lamp was the ever lovely form of Queenie as she was reading the label on a can of grease. She halted what she was doing and looked up with a smile. 

“Grapes! Wonderful to see you up and about. I hope I’m not stepping on your hooves but I couldn't sleep in this morning and decided to try to get ahead on the chores. You have several kinds of lubricant here. Do you have a preference to which you want on your contraption?”

“...You got up earlier than I do, and did all my morning chores before I could get to them… That’s a serious case of insomnia, Queenie,” Grapes observed. “And I use the linseed oil on the wooden bits to keep it from drying out, and repel water, and machine oil on the metal parts to keep them from rusting together in a big old mess.”

“Call it the curse of the working filly. As a housekeeper back home I had to rise before the rooster, as it were. Although rise before the rabble is more accurate,” She said sprinkling linseed oil on the wood and rubbing it in with a rag. “One just gets into the habit I suppose… I only knew I had to do SOMETHING or I wouldn't be comfortable.”

“Let’s see… You’re taking your first vacation in who-knows how long, and you've had to get up early for as long as you can remember… You know I've never had much trouble turning right over and going back to bed, when I've had days off,” Grapes observed casually. “Something’s bothering you. I bet you feel like you should be back in Avalanche Valley doing something to help with the rebuilding.”

Queenie paused a heartbeat before continuing the task at hoof. 

“Well… yes. Yes I do. I know mother and father suggested that I return home and give my citizens the benefit of the doubt that they can get along without my presence. It’s just… I’m used to working nearly all of the time. As a housekeeper, as a Storm-Rider and countless little jobs along the way till I came here and became one of your workers. I’m supposed to be resting but… I cannot.” She finished up with the Linseed oil and applied the machine oil with the skill of a mixologist making a martini.

“And isn't your head hurting? Throat dry? Aren't you the least little bent sensitive to light?” Grapes asked shrewdly. “After all, you were… Let’s face it, yesterday you were snockered off your flank.”

“I… would be lying if I said I was in the pink of health. I apparently took precautions last night and my hangover is somewhat mild compared to most. The cool air helps too.” Her eyes shifted to the left then the right before she spoke softly. “I didn't say or… do anything that would make you think less of me. Did I? I’m afraid my memory is currently perceived through bottle-goggles.”

“You were highly amusing, I will admit, but I don’t think any less of you. Maybe took a little schadenfreude at how you were dealing with a rather personal tragedy, but my amusement was at your being drunk, not at the fact that the tragedy occurred… I guess living in Ponyville’s sort of inured me to a town getting wrecked. Seems to happen all the time, here. Though the conclusion was reached that seeing Rarity in a similar situation would be worth bits to see.”

“I see,” she nodded with a weak smile. “I would hate to have acted like an absolute ass in front of you and my friends… No offence meant.” 

“Nonnne takennn,” came a far off voice, causing the two ponies to blink in surprise.

“Now that you've completely ruined my routine, threw me off for the entire day, and left me with no pre-breakfast chores, why don’t you come in and help me make breakfast?” Grapes asked, sounding a touch grouchy. “No doubt you've already checked up on the heaters in the aging cave. Did I write down my chore list, somewhere, or were you watching me, before you left?”

“Well, I found the list your father had left you… I’m making a leap of faith that this is your father’s hoofwriting. And no, I have not yet gotten to the heaters… those are more of a Firestormer ‘thing’ than a Queenie ‘thing’.”

“And it’s a Grapes ‘thing’ to double check, just to keep an eye on ‘things’,” Grapes observed.

“Very well. I shall join you and observe.” She walked along side of Sour Grapes, silent for a little ways down to the heavy doors that looked like a common pair of farmhouse external cellar doors. It was only after her employer had unlocked the heavy padlock and and lit the lamp did she speak. “I've never actually been down here before. Normally it’s you or one of the more… sturdily built ponies who haul the bottles and casks down here. It’s giving me another reminder of home.”

“Well you've never really had a reason to come down here,” Grapes observed. “Just wondering why being in a cave would remind you of home. You have caves in Avalanche Valley?”

“You know… dozens of empty mine-shafts all over the place. When I was a filly I often would try to do some exploring. Never was comfortable with the feel of the shafts. Totally tapped out and hollow… they felt somehow ‘dead’ to me. Then of course there is the Undergallery.” 

“What, exactly, is the ‘Undergallery’?” Grapes asked, as she checked on the heaters, finding them all topped up, and in good working order. Keeping the caves cool was a priority, but the idea was to keep the wine from freezing.

“Oh, the Undergallery was one more thing left behind by Queen Thin Ice. She felt that no monarch should have a kingdom of their own and not have a place to put those whom offended her. So some of the mines directly under the town were… repurposed. Ends were sealed off, proper walls installed and transformed into a true dungeon. She was its only occupant.” 

“How about that. She makes a dungeon for political enemies, and she’s the one who gets put into it. I love the irony,” Grapes said with a grin.

“Yes. Of course, these days it’s more of a museum. Adds some ‘romanticism’ to the Duchy with many tourists trying to imagine the final ‘terrible’ fate of Thin Ice. Truth is she lived in spartan comfort till the end of her days. But we tend to gloss that point over, especially since there are so many unused torture devices down there to get one’s imagination going.”

“Well of course. Ponies love to imagine a perceived villain getting their just desserts,” Grapes said with a nod. “Honestly, I’d have gone pre-equestrian on her flank.”

“She was not exactly loved at the end. Cold and terrible as she was, she was beautiful. She had that glamour about her that only the truly damned could possess.” The pegasus swallowed and took a deep breath. “I never really liked looking too hard at her picture in the Manse gallery, but you couldn't help doing so. If there was a genuine portrait of her it was lost long ago. In her place on the wall is a picture of her on the way to her trial. A crowd of angry ponies in the streets of the beautiful town that beggared us. Pitchforks and torches at the ready, faces contorted in rage… and her in the middle of it all. Up in a hastily built cage on a hay cart she stood proudly, her face stern and unresponsive. The crown still on her head even with the Undergallery’s best shackles weighing her down. They truly were quality restraints. Even today you can see how form and function fused into something so utilitarian.”

“High quality shackles. Could be an export,” Grapes quipped. “Okay, Queenie, that’s done. Firestormer’s keeping on his tippie-hooves with the heaters. Let’s go and whip up some breakfast for the crew. And maybe you can tell me what’s really eating you.”

The kettle was whistling it’s drawn-out mono-note tune of readiness when they entered Grapes’ home. Tea and grits was the breakfast of this day, a shredded slab of good cheddar made a nice treat with the hot cereal and in due time, Queenie was telling Grapes of her experience with the Statue.

“We all know it’s there, nearly all of us have at some point or another vented upon it down there in ‘Slattern Alley’. Even I have occasionally made use of rotting fruits or other debris when frustrated. It’s just… seeing it there.. CLEAN of all filth… it’s... I can’t even come up with a decent analogy that you could personally understand. It’s like… like if your Vineyards were overrun with some manner of filthy vermin then all at once you realize they all have your FACE. “

“So… the statue of Thin Ice had an uncanny resemblance to you? Kind of to be expected; you are related. The thing is that you've proven, time and again, that you are not, and will never be, like Thin Ice.”

“Deep down I know this, but we just seem to be captured in this... unending loop. For every step uphill we seem to slide back two. Everyone in the valley calls it The Curse of Thin Ice.”

“And this avalanche that just happened is kind of like the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, I take it? Now… why was her resemblance so… shocking? Could it have been our dear tragic heroine wanted something… selfish, and has been comparing herself to Thin Ice ever since?” Grapes asked, with a smirk.

“Oh please!  Do I look like I’m about to pull a couch from the ether and flop upon it dramatically?  Er... Don’t answer that,” she quickly added in a lower tone, “But… I’m sorry. Coming face to face with… with that FACE. It was like being slapped across the head with a book entitled ‘Obligations’. And just when I met… never mind.”

“Yeah, and he just happened to be one of the athletes at the Hay Bale thingie, right?” Grapes asked, with a smirk. She then added, in a sing-song voice, “News reel.”

Apparently Grapes had said the right thing, the shocked expression and hard blush in her cheeks was worth a million Bits. 

“I… I admit nothing.”

“You know you just gave yourself away, right?” Grapes said with a grin. “So… You find somepony you like, then the avalanche happens, and you beat yourself up over being selfish, as if you being a mare caused it.”

“I know I shouldn't think like that… but one of our most respected citizens told me that he didn't know what they would do without me to lead them they way I had. You can’t help but feel personally responsible when you find that others have that sort of faith in you.” Queenie was quiet a moment while she poked at her grits with the spoon. “The whole bloody thing felt like some kind of terrible omen. Thou shalt not be happy unless all others under thy charge are happy first!”

“Or it could have been, you know, a terrible accident, with no bearing on how you felt, or who you were pursuing,” Grapes observed, “but you with your overactive sense of responsibility and self-sacrifice decided to take it as such.”

“I don’t know… I truly don’t. I suspect any leader worth their metal must feel like this at some point in their reign. Sweet sun and stars above, can you imagine how somepony as… ancient as Celestia must feel when things like this happen to her?”

“She probably has some form of coping mechanisms, or somepony to talk to about all this,” Grapes replied.

“It’s hard to imagine anypony being able to speak with her on such a personal level. Until now… I pray her sister’s return has brought her some relief. I never was never as close to my sister as I wished to be.”

“You've got a sister?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hide her from you or anything. It’s just she doesn't come up in conversation often because she’s more ‘on-the-go’ than even I. She chose to follow her heart… and her heart lies on the stage. She’s quite the Thespian.”

“So your sister’s a star of the stage? She followed her heart, and you’re here berating yourself for having one,” Grapes observed thoughtfully. “Hope you and the object of your affections parted on good terms, at least.”

“Yes. At least,” she said quietly. 

“What did you do?” Grapes asked after a pause. “Because that doesn't sound like you and they parted on good terms. Or even adequate terms.”

“Mother insisted that I leave… abruptly so I would not have the chance to say anything I might regret.  We BOTH might regret. So… I left like a thief in the night.”

“Well that was rather thoughtful of her. Gives you a chance to cool off,” Grapes observed, thoughtfully, with a nod. “Good call on your mother’s part.”

“Didn't stop me from over-tippling. They had an assortment of International imports… I believe I went once around the world before arriving in Ponyville. Wouldn't have made it here were it not for a certain gentlecolt whom lives across from us.”

“Good old Big Mac,” Grapes said with a smile. “That colt’s going to make somemare very happy, someday,” Grapes observed.

“Happier than I,” she said quietly before looking across the table at her friend. “Vacation or not, I’m not accustomed to simply sitting on my hooves. At the same time I do not wish to be under yours either. I need someplace I can go and be useful for a few hours… maybe with pay, each day. It’s either that or you may find your yard looking far more… abstract.”

“Abstract?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow. “What, exactly, do you mean?”

Queenie blinked in thought then got up. “Take a look out of your back window.”

Grapes got up, and went to her back door, and looked out, obviously curious.

Through the window, Grapes could see what happened to all of the ice that had been in the barrels, and troughs. Every icicle and scrap of frozen water was all laid out there in the snow, sorted by size. In the early morning light the sun glittered on them, creating a rather strange effect that was uncharacteristically beautiful. Like a great garden of ice popped up overnight.

“I didn't want to waste them. I had plans to use them later on. You know. Just… letting my muse guide me, but it happens that I do take requests. Is there anything you would like to see immortalized in ice?”

“You are aware that is a marketable skill, right?” Grapes asked, turning to Queenie, eyebrow raised. “Ice sculpting, I mean. I know, for certain, Pinkie would use any of your sculptures at her parties. Never mind Rarity would use them for fashion shows, and the like.”

“Really? I just did it as a hobby. Makes me feel better chipping away at a nice large block until it becomes something nice.” She was silent a moment before speaking in a quieter tone. “You really think ice sculpting could be a sideline for me?”

“Yes, I do,” Grapes said with a nod. “I could help you with some fliers, or just ask Pinkie Pie, and Rarity. In the meantime, I’ll go and check the mail. I may have gotten a card or something.”

If anything came out of this, Grapes could be certain that any mailpony wouldn't have any problem delivering to her home today. Queenie made certain of that. She stepped out on her front porch and looked down the perfectly clean driveway to the far end where her mailbox was. Looked like Derpy Hooves had arrived already… and then she blinked. There she was, and there right in front of her was Earshot. She took a deep breath and hoped Earshot wasn't going to say something untactful about her eyes. It was a little unfair how other ponies treated her at times just because she had ‘derpy’ eyes and was at times somewhat… goofy. She knew that there wasn't an ounce of malice in the young Night Pony but in his innocence he might say something that could hurt her. 

Moments passed as dialogue too far for her to hear was exchanged. Then the most amazing thing happened. The Gray mare hugged Earshot and he hugged her back. Grapes smiled, her concerns now proven unfounded allowed her to relax and watch the little Gray and Purple near-pegasus trot back to where she stood with a few letters in his mouth. He placed them on the railing of her porch and smiled.

“Heya, Miss Grapes.”

“Heya, Earshot. You meet Derpy Hooves, I take it?” Grapes asked with a smile.

“Oh yes. I like her. She’s really nice. She told me that she knows what it’s like to be judged by your appearance, just because you’re a little different,” Earshot said with a smile.

“Yeah. She would know. Thanks for getting the mail,” Grapes said, picking it up, and sorting it, as best she could with horn and hooves. She stopped at one envelope, obviously recognizing the hornwriting. Grapes opened the envelope with a sigh. “Well here’s the letter I was anticipating*. Let’s see how bad it is, inside. It’s cold, out here, and there’s breakfast, inside.”

“Ooh nice. What is it?” he asked “Fried potatoes? Oatmeal? Or maybe that new cereal, Elements of Flavorosity?” 

“Grits and cheese,” Grapes replied, laughing. “Seriously, they named a cereal that?”

“Yeah. I saw it on the shelves the other day in town. It looked very colorful.”

“Probably mostly sugar. Betcha Pinkie Pie loves that stuff,” Grapes quipped cheerfully. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll make cinnamon rolls.”

“That sounds good. I like cinnamon. I noticed you got a lot of ice behind your home. Is Queenie gonna make statues?”

“I think so. She may even get into doing it professionally, for various gatherings and parties around town,” Grapes replied, as they sat at the table, and Grapes spooned him some of the cheesy-buttery concoction. She opened her letter, and began to read. 

“I hope other ponies like them as much as I do. They’re so pretty. Like ponies who happen to glitter and be kinda see-through. They even SOUND interesting.”

“Oh. Grapes has talked to you about what may be a sideline for me this winter, yes?” Queenie asked their young charge.

“MmmHmmph,” Earshot agreed through a mouthful of breakfast. “You make ice statues really good, Queenie.”

“Why thank you, Earshot.”

“Oh… Well this is about what I anticipated,” Grapes uttered, as she read her letter.

“What is, Miss Grapes?” Grapes gestured for Earshot to come over to her side and read the letter.

“You remember what we were talking about, in the theater?” Grapes asked. “It gets… complicated. Really really complicated.”

The young pony’s eyes flitted from the piece of paper to the pony holding it and back again. “Ohhhhhh. So everything you thought might happen is gonna happen?”

“And then some. Look who my erstwhile cousin just happened to fall head-over-horn for,” Grapes replied.

“Who?” he asked craning his neck to see if he could read the letter. Grapes held it so Earshot could read it.

“Just don’t read it out loud,” Grapes said, very quietly.

He took the letter from her and she watched as his eyes moved back and forth, line by line. Occasionally he would go back and re-read something over to be certain but in the end he said something softly in the odd phonetics of Night-Pony language. 

“Who could have seen THAT?”

“And it seems to be mutual,” Grapes murmured, eyes shifting to the subject of speculation. “So… Yeah, my cousin is going to be here in the spring,” Grapes said out loud.

Queenie looked up from her mostly-finished breakfast and smiled. “Really? Well now isn't that nice. Is it a social call or more business than pleasure?” she asked.

“More business than pleasure. He’s got a grandparent who’s keen on getting him married off, and he wants none of it. Mainly due to his grandma’s choice of spouses, than commitment issues,” Grapes replied, folding up the letter and putting it back in its envelope. “Busted his leg, so he’s going to be on light duty, but he’ll be working his flank off, once he’s healed up.”

“Sounds like he’s a tough pony to keep down. Offhoof, you don’t normally speak positively about your family, outside your parents or uncle. Must be something good to this cousin of yours.”

“He’s got a good heart. Sometimes too good. That’s why he’s coming here for a working recovery,” Grapes replied. “Gave all his money to a charitable cause.”

“Well then I suppose the other workers and I shall just have to do our best to make him feel welcome,” Queenie finished emptying her bowl and got up to move the used dishes to the sink. “Say, What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“What I usually do on Tuesday nights, try to take over… Wait… Do you even know what Ogres and Oubliettes is? Nevermind, I’m probably doing my usual reading binge, why?” Grapes replied.

“We-e-e-ell…” the glittery pegasus began with a smile, “About once a week the others and I head into town down to this quaint little pub. As Firestormer would say ‘kick back, knock back a few and sing our hearts out’.”

“It’s got Carry Oak Leaves!” Earshot added gleefully.

“That’s a Sirrocoism for karaoke isn't it?” Grapes asked.

“Sorry, Grapes. It’s a wonder the two of them get basic pony straight with them swapping dialects the way they sometimes do. But yes. They have a live band and a long list of songs that any tipsy reprobate may get up onstage to sing. And by ‘tipsy reprobate’ I of course mean myself and the others. Earshot is truly quite vocally talented, you have not lived until you’you've heard him do his rendition of… well.. ANYTHING.”

“Aw, Queenie…” he said with a blush.

“It’s true. If only I had vocal chords as flexible as his, I could have my pick of record contracts,” Queenie declared.

“Well, there’s a sideline for your folks, right there, Earshot,” Grapes said with a grin.

“Be that as it may, I believe I am well within my rights to invite you along on our next pub crawl,” Queenie said with a flash of her pearly whites.

“Eh, why not? Can’t be worse than my usual Saturday Night thing,” Grapes observed. “I’ll tag along, and be the designated trotter in case somepony overindulges..”

“WON-derful!” Queenie laughed, clopping her hooves together. “And I promise not to over-tipple this time.”

“I’m taking the proper precautions, anyhow, Queenie,” Grapes said with a slight smirk. “Just in case.”