//------------------------------// // *Alternate POV* Winter Doings // Story: Living in Equestria // by Blazewing //------------------------------// For the first time that week, silence had fallen over the Hooves household. Scootaloo and Dinky’s sneezing fits had subsided, and their sniffly noses were beginning to clear up. The medicine chosen for their bouts had done the trick, despite its unpleasant taste, and the two fillies were settled together in their beds, drowsy but awake. Sparkler had left on an important, out-of-town errand, and Derpy was busy with the mail  so the two were alone upstairs, letting their latest dose take effect, too warm and cozy under the covers to get up. “I wonder what the others have been up to,” said Scootaloo, thickly, her voice a little hoarse. “Do you think they got colds too?” asked Dinky. “Dunno. It’d be pretty funny if they did, though. Then we’d all be Cutie Mark Crusaders Cold Survivors.” Dinky giggled, but her laughter was cut short by a coughing fit. “Sorry,” said Scootaloo. “Didn’t mean to get you coughing.” “It’s ok,” said Dinky. “I’ve been thinking about Hearth’s Warming coming up. I can’t wait! Can you?” Scootaloo would have smiled widely at this, but she didn’t feel much like it. She had never had a proper Hearth’s Warming, even when her old dad had still been alive; he had been too distracted by the state of his own affairs and his drunkenness to pay much mind to specific days. She had never brought it up in front of Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, because she didn’t want them making a fuss over her. Now that she was a Hooves, she was surprised that she’d be taking part in a holiday focused on friendship and family when she had been raised with little of the first and half of the latter. It felt intimidating...but wonderful at the same time. “What’s the matter, sis?” Dinky asked. “Nothing,” Scootaloo said, hurriedly. “I’ve just never been to a Hooves Hearth’s Warming before.” “Oh, you wait,” said Dinky, enthusiastically. “Mama pulls out all the stops when she cooks.” And Dinky went on listing the delicious foods that their mother would serve up around the holidays, making Scootaloo’s mouth water and her tummy rumble. It also made her hope her cold would be over sooner, so that she’d be able to taste it all. “Do you think Mama and Sparkler will like the present we made for them?” Dinky asked, jerking Scootaloo out of her thoughts of food. “How could they not?” she asked, with a smile. “You’re the one who made it.” “But it was your idea,” said Dinky, modestly. “Ahh, I was just a lot of talk,” said Scootaloo, airily. “You’re the little artist who made it happen. I’m surprised you didn’t become a Cutie Mark Crusader Painter because of it.” Dinky grinned. “Thanks, Scoot.” She then said, in a more subdued tone, “I just wish we could have got something for the others.” “I know, Dinks,” said Scootaloo, sympathetically. “Me too, but I’m sure they’ll understand. We still made them cards, didn’t we?” “Uh-huh,” said Dinky, brightening. “Mama always said it’s the thought that counts.” “Exactly,” said Scootaloo. *Paff!* The two sisters looked up, startled. Something had hit their window with a wet thud. *Paff!* There it was again. “What the…?” Stiffly, still feeling light-headed, Scootaloo leaned over to peer out the window. It was smudged with a thick splattering of snow. Raising it up, she peered out of it, just to get a faceful of snow at that exact moment. “Oops!” came a familiar, high-pitched voice. “Sorry, Scootaloo! At least we got your attention, though.” Scootaloo grumpily wiped the snow away and peered down. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle were sitting in front of the house, the unicorn wiping snow from her hooves. She had been the offending lobber of the frozen projectiles. “What were you doing that for?” Scootaloo called down, irritably. “We just wanted to see if you and Dinky were better yet,” said Apple Bloom. “Better than earlier this week,” said Scootaloo, “but Mom’s not letting us go until we’re sniffle-free. Seems like you guys got off easy, though.” “Thank Granny for that,” said Apple Bloom. “She can smell a cold a mile away, and her apple spice soup always does the trick.” “Rarity had me take some soup from a recipe she borrowed from Fluttershy,” said Sweetie Belle. “I only had the sniffles, but those went away in no time.” “Are y’all gonna be well in time for Hearth’s Warmin’?” asked Apple Bloom, hopefully. “We should be. This medicine’s nasty, but Sparkler told us Dave said, ‘The worse it tastes, the better it works’, and it is working great for how bad it tastes.” “Great,” said Sweetie Belle. “We’ll see you two later, then.” “See ya,” said Scootaloo. “And Sweetie Belle? Ponies usually throw pebbles at windows to get somepony’s attention, not snowballs.” Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle trotted away, the unicorn muttering ‘couldn’t even find any pebbles...’, and Scootaloo shut the window, shaking her head. Turning to Dinky, she saw that she looked preoccupied about something, just like she had been. “Something wrong, Dinky?” she asked. “No, no,” said Dinky, vaguely. “I was just thinking about Dave.” “Dave? How come?” “He looks happy a lot of the time, but I bet he’s actually really sad, because he can’t see his family.” “Huh,” said Scootaloo, considering. “I guess I never thought about that.” At that moment, they heard the sound of the front door opening. “He’s home,” said Scootaloo. “Think he got us any ginger ale?” Dinky didn’t say anything at first, then said, in a quiet voice, “I’m gonna ask what he thinks.” *** The Ponyville post office was a hive of activity. Mailponies were rushing in and out, entering with empty mailbags, and exiting with them full to bursting. If that wasn’t enough, the front counter was crowded with patrons and clients waiting to receive news about orders they had placed. Needless to say, in all of the hubbub, tempers ran high amongst quite a few, fussy foals whimpered and cried, and ponies jostled each other in an attempt to get to the counter, while the ponies that were already there infuriated those behind by taking their sweet time with the only available pens there. Why didn’t they stock more pens? To put it bluntly, it was bedlam, but nothing Derpy Hooves was not used to. She had weathered her fair share of holiday rush periods during her employment, but she had grown accustomed to it. In fact, it could be said that she was the ray of encouragement during these hectic times. Never would any of her fellow mail carriers see a frown on her face as she came in and out. No matter what, she’d always be ready to greet them with a smile, even if she got a dirty look in return. Sure, her record wasn’t perfect, but whose was, really? She loved what she did, and wanted to help her colleagues do the same. That day, she forced her way through the crowd of customers and mailponies to refill her mailbag. Her wings were aching, and her shoulders were sore where the bag had been slung over her, but she still walked with a light, easy step, greeting her fellow carriers cheerily. Some greeted back tiredly, others were too exhausted to do more than nod. The postmaster looked up wearily as she entered his office after knocking, having had a very trying morning while attempting to sort out a mislaid package containing a new silk handbag for a very demanding old mare. A pegasus stallion by the name of Arrow was with him, having delivered the complaint himself, and both looked up as Derpy entered. She saluted, and the postmaster merely nodded his head toward the mailroom, not even bothering to speak. Once the pegasus mare had left, he sighed. “I dunno how she can stand to be so cheerful, sir,” said Arrow to the postmaster. “My wings are killing me, to be frank.” “Yeah, well, Hooves has always been a...unique case,” said the postmaster, gruffly. “Her wings are more likely to kill somepony else! Well, I can’t complain too much. She works harder than all of you other bums put together. Now get back to those packages. I don’t wanna hear anypony’s Hearth’s Warming is gonna be ruined by late packages on my watch.” “Yes, sir,” said Arrow, rolling his eyes and taking his leave. *** Snow lay thick on the fields of the Pie farm, but bitter cold weather never stopped Igneous Rock Pie. Like his father before him, and his father before him, he farmed the land’s stone in all weather, all seasons, no exceptions. Nothing but rocks as far as the eye could see, hour after hour after hour of rolling them painstakingly into position, never-varying, never ceasing. This day was just like any other. Though the fields were full of snow, that was not enough to stop the toils of the Pies. Marble and Limestone were out rolling the rocks from the east field into the south while their parents supervised. The two young mares pushed along the chunks of rock and stone, neither speaking a word. The only sound to be heard was the dull clinking of rocks as they were piled neatly together, along with the tapping of Igneous’s pickaxe on the big boulders sitting in the north field. There he would stand, the handle held between his teeth, chipping away at the massive rocks with the frequency of a metronome. At last came the clanging of the dinner bell, Grammy’s signal, and Igneous stopped. The boulder he had been working on had been reduced to a pile of fine gravel, the result of another hard day’s work. The rocks Marble and Limestone had been rolling along had been arranged into perfect piles of dull gray, black, and white all along the field. As they went inside, Igneous paused at the door, looking out at the piles of stone and the freshly-deconstructed boulder. With the ghost of a smile on his face, he murmured, “Ahh, 'tis the good life…” *** Sparkler should have been extremely nervous. Anypony in her position surely would have. Nonetheless, she didn’t feel an ounce of fear within her, though this was a rather precarious occasion. She was sitting in the imposing presence of two individuals, separated by a polished wooden table. One of these was Minister Ironmane, of whom she had only heard snippets from her mother and Dave, but knew held an important post in Princess Celestia’s court. The other was Brutus, the dragon who had recently been made a member of the Round Table, just after Dave. For such a huge creature, he sat quite at his ease in the boardroom, his wings and forearms folded, his brow furrowed, making Ironmane look positively miniscule by comparison. “You understand why you have been called here, Miss Hooves?” Ironmane asked, in clipped tones. “Yes, sir,” said Sparkler, calmly. “Your friend David has spoken praisingly of your gem-finding prowess. Can you substantiate his claims?” Sparkler’s cheeks turned a slightly darker pink than her coat color. “I hope to do so, sir, though I can’t imagine how much he must have said about me.” “He holds your experience with gemstones in considerable regard,” continued Ironmane. “You work as a jeweler in Ponyville, correct?” “That’s correct,” said Sparkler. “And do you collect the jewels you sell yourself?” “Most of the time.” Ironmane and Brutus looked at each other, and Sparkler bristled as she recognized a hint of doubt in their expressions. “I may not look it,” she said, sternly, “but I know how to look out for myself. My gem-finding spell has never failed me, and I’ve never had problems hauling a loaded cart back by myself. Just ask my partner, Karat. He shines up the gems and makes sure they’re ready for display and purchasing.” “I see,” said Ironmane. “No offense meant at all, Miss Hooves. We merely wanted to make sure David was truthful in his praises about your prowess.” “He’s a good friend,” said Sparkler, “and I’m honored to be able to help him and you two, if I really can be of service.” “The relationship between ponies and dragons,” rumbled Brutus, “is tenuous at best. We are hoping that this compromise may soften said relationship. My brethren have taken much time to come to this opinion, and I will admit that I myself have had little interest in pony doings until recently, but we are prepared to see this idea of Councildrake David’s put to action.” He then added, in a tone of light enthusiasm, “Never even thought of the idea myself. A restaurant where dragons can enjoy gem dishes, it’s brilliant.” “David has shown a knack for spur-of-the-moment inspirations,” said Ironmane, crisply, “but brilliant or not, we need it to work.”  He held aloft a stack of papers and slid them across to Sparkler, along with a feather quill and bottle of ink. “Are you prepared to tell us where you have been able to acquire your gems? You need not worry,” he added, seeing the hesitation in Sparkler’s face, “As part of our agreement, the area you designate will be purchased by the Crowns, and put under your sole supervision. You do drive a hard bargain.” “So I’ve been told,” said Sparkler, with a sly grin. She leaned forward to whisper the location in Ironmane’s ear, while Brutus craned his neck down to catch it as well. “Fascinating,” said Ironmane. “We never even considered that area. David was right to elect you, Miss Hooves. Now, then, if you will just sign where designated, we can make it official.” Sparkler levitated the quill and began signing on each dotted line designated by Ironmane, who whisked each page away once it had been signed. “My brethren will be most pleased,” said Brutus, while this was going on. “Dragons shall come from all over to dine at this ‘Brimstone Lounge’. The name even has a nice ring to it.” “It was my own idea,” Sparkler said, humbly. “Construction will begin as soon as we have found a suitable location to host it in Equestria,” said Ironmane, shuffling the papers neatly into place again once Sparkler had set her quill down. “We will keep in touch with you, Miss Hooves. I shall drop by with an update once everything is in order. You are dismissed.” “Thank you very much for your time, Minister, Mr. Brutus,” said Sparkler, bowing. “It was our pleasure to speak with you,” said Brutus. “I’ll look forward to getting a good meal out of this.” Sparkler was led out of the conference room by a pair of guards. Once she had left, Ironmane turned to Brutus. “I must inform Princess Celestia of this,” he said. “And I must report to the dragon elders,” said Brutus. “Until we meet again, Minister.” “Until then, Brutus.”