//------------------------------// // Life is What Happens When You're Buying Plants // Story: The Sour Grapes Chronicles // by The Incredible Werekitty //------------------------------// Sour Grapes arose shortly after the sun. She looked out the window to the east and smiled, wondering if Celestia took a quick nap after the first big task of the day. She’d have to ask some time, but for now she had chores to do. Some she did not relish. She feared to see what the remains of Long-Dark would be like after a night of settling in. She would have cleaned it up then but it WAS a very late night and all she wanted to do after all of the excitement was sleep. She did her morning toilette at the washbasin, cleaning her face and teeth before running a brush through her thick curly hair before heading downstairs to find… A surprisingly tidy household. Sure, the tables and chairs were all in place but somepony had cleaned up all of the pots, pans and dishes. Sure, they were all stacked on the table but they were clean and stacked neatly. She raised an eyebrow and smirked. This had the names Earshot and Stormfront written all over it. No doubt at least they snuck back in to clean up some, leaving just enough for her to do to keep her feeling wanted. She took a moment in the silence of the house to really look at the amazing assortment of decorations the populace of Stygian Cove had sent. As alien as many seemed to her, they all had an innate beauty and powerful meaning behind them. She paused at the one item she personally thought held the strongest one of all. Earshot had called it the Three-reasons candle. It was a simple Candelabra crafted from the same weird white wood that the crate had been made from. It had Luna’s cutiemark crafted on the front and held three candles. When she lit each one the previous night he spoke softly in Night Pony speech and translated for her and the others. The first candle was for the Friends and family one had. To cherish and hold close. The Second was for the souls you had yet to meet, who would help define you in ways you had yet to know. The third was lit in memory of the family and friends who had departed from this world and how their lives had touched and changed your own. It was such an endearing concept, it was hard not to see how simple and yet wonderful a way it was to count your blessings. She straightened it’s position on the mantle and set about putting everything away. Setting aside Earshot’s motley plates for storage until next time and made a mental note of taking his Tablecloth into town for a professional cleaning. It really was beautiful and deserved to be cared for. Heirlooms often emerged from less than this. Heading outside for the more property-related chores she found more evidence of the previous night. Lots of pony prints on the ground, a yellowed melted patch of snow where hot cider was spilt (at least she HOPED it was cider), a solitary sheet of songbook caught in the branches of one of her rosebushes and Queenie snoring blissfully in a snowbank. Grapes blinked at that, trotted over, and nudged the sleeping mare awake. “Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. You’ve said you were cold resistant, but I never figured you could sleep, comfortably, in snow,” Grapes said teasingly. “Uh? Wha? Oh!” She muttered before waking up to her situation. “OH! Oh, so sorry… Am I ever beside myself. Ah yes… well I am built for cold-weather resistance… but I suspect Firestormer has been ‘cranking’ the heater in the Bunkhouse to levels of heat I’d rather not be in while I have grown my wintertime coat in. I must have stepped outside to cool off and just found a nice soft bank of snow to settle down in.” She pulled herself out of the snow and shook herself off, her glittering body and golden hair looking as perfect as if she just stepped out of a salon. Some mares have all the luck, and Grapes was certain that Rarity would be green with envy if she were to ever see this display. “Nice. Your hair’s naturally like that, I take it?” Grapes posited. “It wouldn’t just… go back into place, if it wasn’t. I would also presume that your coat is water and snow resistant.” “Mmm? Oh yes, that. Sorry, I keep forgetting not everypony has this mixed blessing. I’m built to take the cold in so many ways but Celestia forbid I should ever want a different manestyle. Then this blessing becomes a stubborn mass of sculpted wire refusing to budge one iota.” She then giggled and shrugged. “I once tried to make my hair straight by ironing it. Even that didn’t work. Well. I suppose finding me asleep on your lawn is better than finding me passed out drunk on it.” “I’ll have to agree with you on that one,” Grapes observed. “Still… When we renovate the bunkhouse, fully, we’ll see about making sure your room has plenty of ventilation. This original pass was just to make it bearable for winter. When spring comes, we can see about some customization.” “I’ll settle for us finding a way to keep Firestormer’s hooves off of the boiler. We can’t exactly sever them… pity. I’d love to be the one to shout, ‘Off with his hooves’.” “... Funny,” Grapes observed, with a roll of her eyes. “Ever get the feeling you should have been born in a different era?” “A little. But I think I’d rather be me than some cruel, heartless… vain… soulless…” She trailed off a moment with a very disturbed expression on her face before coughing into her hoof and forcing a smile. “YES! Happy to be me!” “You are not her, you know,” Grapes said, looking right at Queenie. “You are not your ancestor. Your every action, every thought, and everything you do proves that you are not her.” “Thank you, Grapes. Sometimes I need to be reminded that. So… What is in your itinerary for today? Or should I say this new year?” “Well I plan on getting the tablecloth professionally cleaned,” Grapes said. “Winter Wrap-Up is in a few days, so we should get prepped for that, though there’s no real rush. It’s always late.” “Winter Wrap-Up?” she asked, pausing a moment to think. “Ah yes. that’s right. Out here you save all your effort for one big push. In Avalanche Valley we can’t afford to let winter run completely willy-nilly like that and take care of it in small increments as winter progresses. Far more efficient.” “Old Earth Pony Tradition,” Grapes said, shrugging. “And the town was founded by Earth Ponies, so the only thing that’s used is pegasi abilities, and muscle and hard work. Yet another tradition kept for tradition’s sake, and it seems silly to me.” “Sounds slightly TOO traditional, if it’s always late. Perhaps I SHOULD be the conquering tyrant type. First place to benefit from my icy hoof would be the hamlet of Ponyville… to be benevolently renamed Queenie Town.” “You’d have to deal with my cousins. And I have a lot of Apple cousins,” Grapes observed with a smirk. “Ah yes. The noble house of Apple. To be honest I’d rather fight a raging blizzard than lock horns with Granny Smith. Still, I wouldn’t interrupt the normal day-to-day issues but rather take the reigns during events such as Winter Wrap-up. I suspect it would take a very detail-oriented pony to keep things under control.” “I… honestly don’t think that would help… They wouldn’t appreciate the input of somepony who’s still considered an ‘outsider’,” Grapes observed. “Outsider? Bah. Some good old-fashioned Annexing will fix that.” she winked. “Avalanche Valley is a bit far away to annex Ponyville,” Grapes observed. “Unwritten Constitution, Sour Grapes. I’d be able to do it if I truly wished,” Queenie laughed before seeing Sour Grapes’ blank expression. “Ah… Sorry. Not many nobles these days know about Equestria’s Unwritten Constitution, much less the public. Think of them as a series of laws created by the Equestrian Nobles of old. My father summed them up thusly… *AHEM* It all comes down to if there is either a pre-existing precedent to support what you’re doing OR nopony who is important, ie: the rich and/or powerful, bothers to make a fuss about what you’re doing. Father’s big about us knowing about the rights afforded to our family as titled nobility. Of course there’s knowing your rights, and then there’s knowing which ones the citizens allow you to get away with. Our belief of ‘Total Impunity’ ended in Avalanche Valley towards the end of Thin Ice’s reign.” “Naturally. And I’m sure the citizens of Ponyville, and of course the Apples, would stop you from the attempt at annexing the town,” Grapes observed. “Even if I make a better ruler?” “Ponyville doesn’t have a ruler, except Princess Celestia. There’s a mayor, though. You could try running for office,” Grapes said with a grin. “Mayor Ice Storm… mmmph. Then I’d have to put up with the bizarre disasters rather than merely the plausible ones.” “Yes. But you’d handle it with aplomb, and class,” Grapes observed with a grin. “Ah yes. At least everypony would know that I have great experience in dealing with disasters. My own personal life included…” she muttered quietly on the last line before taking a breath. “I should find out more about how Winter Wrap-up is done in these parts. See if I can ‘chip-in’.” Grapes raised an eyebrow at that one. “Still down on yourself for being a little selfish?” Grapes asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not a crime. It’s not your fault the avalanche happened. Also, I don’t believe in curses, just so you know. I mean, she would have had to have been something like an Angel from the ancient Project Exemplar for any kind of curse to take, and all your ancestor did was pave the road to Tartarus.. After all, apparently you met somepony who liked you for you, and not your title. You’re allowed to dream a little.” “Project Exemplar? I cannot say I’m familiar with that one.” “Ancient pre-Celestian period history. Something that happened during the war with the gryphons, way back during the reign of Prince Nebula,” Grapes explained. “It was a way to make ‘exemplars’ of each pony tribe for them to rally around during that bloody conflict. The pegasus version of an exemplar was called an Angel. Unicorns were called Sidhe, and Earth Ponies were called Giants. Also by being exemplars they were more connected with the magic of the land, than ordinary ponies.” “Ahhh… so that’s where those terms came from. Well, yes I see your point. I’m still not happy about the events but it’s not as great of a bitter pill to swallow when you explain it as you have,” Queenie observed. “So quit kicking yourself in the flank about it. Somepony carelessly loaded the cannon, and an obvious idiot rigged himself with fireworks. It was just an unfortunate series of events, that had the snowboarder in question not taken measures to save himself, would have ended with the poor guy a bloody mess on the brass decorations,” Grapes stated quite bluntly. “You truly are as blunt as a sack of soap,” she said smirking at the bespectacled unicorn. “But sometimes that’s what one is needed. So… care for some company in town?” “Eh, sure, why not?” Grapes said with a shrug. “Got to stop by the steam cleaners, and maybe pick up some extra provisions, and see if the seeds are in at the market. Got to prepare for the upcoming season…. Then… ugh… I’ve got to see the weather guild about scheduling a spring of sunny days, and the rainfall occurring at night… This spring’s going to be a doozie…” “It certainly will be interesting. Normally I do not see the lowlands during spring, save in area where there’s severe flooding. Ah, story of the life of a Storm-Rider. Travel to new locales, meet interesting ponies, but only during crises. As Summer Squall would say in his quaint yet crude nautical vernacular, ‘There and gone like flatulence in a gale’. I’m paraphrasing of course.” “Of course,” Grapes said with a smirk, briefly going inside, and coming out with the tablecloth draped on her back. “Though there are ponies that remember you, I’m sure. Heck, the father of a Wonderbolt was one of you guys.” “Father of a… oh! The young lady who picked them up from prison, correct? She looks the spitting image of old Brushfire. He was Firestormer’s predecessor, a stoic and determined figure if the wall of silent heroes does not lie. One of the few to retire from the Storm Riders on his own volition.” “Probably had to think of his family,” Grapes said, as they trotted along. “I doubt he wanted to be a statistic, before his daughter had the chance to settle down and have little colts and fillies of her own.” The door on the third outhouse from the left opened and Earshot wandered out. He didn’t looks his usual spry self but considering how long he had been awake the previous day it was only natural that he be a little less than up to par. “Oh heya Miss Grapes--*cough*-- Heya Queenie. Where you off to?” “Oh we’re headed into town on some errands. Care to come with us?” “*Cough*--No thank you Queenie. I’m not feeling too hot right now. My throat feels kinda scratchy.” “Sounds like you might be coming down with something. Note to self, get orange juice, and chamomile tea, and some lozenges,” Grapes said thoughtfully. “Do you want me to send Doc Crabapple over, to check you out?” “I dunno… it’s just a scratchy throat,” he said furrowing his brow. “Don’t wanna bother a doctor over it. Maybe we should give it a day and see what happens?” “All right. If you say so, Earshot. Going to see about some broth, too. It’s good comfort food,” Grapes said with a sigh. “Oh… and you might want to bring back some air freshener. Miss Pinkie kinda left the new outhouse in a bad way. I keep hearing about how ‘Rank has it’s privileges’ but I don’t think that’s the kind of Rank they mean.” “Ah… no. No it’s not,” Grapes observed with a chuckle. “Okay… Who’s on fewmits duty this week… Hmmm… It’s not you, Queenie, I know that much. We’re going to have to start that up again. We’ve only been shoveling out enough to keep it from really piling up. We’re going to need to start up the compost pile, we did save the leaves from fall...” Firestormer trotted down the path, a newspaper under one wing. “Morning, Ladies, just out for my morning constitutional,” he said before opening the door on outhouse number one… then shutting it immediately. The odor wafted over to Grapes and Queenie. “OH! Oh for the love of Celestia! What DIED in there?” “That’s the one Miss Pinkie Pie used,” Earshot said coughing. “Oh, my EYES are on fire. Sweet Luna’s inexplicable kneesocks, that’s awful!” Firestormer said trying to wave the smell away with his wings. “We’re gonna have to call her STINKY Pie from now on!” “Firestormer, that’s horrible… But then so’s the stench. You know who’s on fewmits duty, this week? Tell them to bring a respirator,” Grapes said blinking rapidly, and coughing a bit. “Can do,” Firestormer said nodding going to the far end of the row of outhouses. “I think it’s Summer Squall next. His fire-gear might help, goggles and the breath filter and all. Where you headed so early?” “Steam cleaners, seed shopping, getting ready to grow the grapes that are an ancient love letter to Princess Celestia,” Grapes stated with a roll of her eyes. “Sun’s Spring Glory… What fun.” “Well if you can wait a few minutes I’ll join you. I have to send a letter to my OTHER boss-filly, Lady Weathervain. Might as well make a day of it.” “Oooh, goodie, bonding,” Grapes said with a laugh. “The last time I spent a day shopping with two of you guys, it was Sirocco and Earshot. That was fun.” “Great. I won’t be long…” He ducked inside and true to his word didn’t take all that long. Ponyville was in good spirits that day. Despite the winter chill there were a lot of it’s personalities running about the snow-covered streets. Steam Clean’s Chineighs laundry was the first stop. He made a fair estimate for the cleaning of the tablecloth and promised to take extra care with it. The trip to the post office was simple enough and over with in less than five minutes. Turns out Firestormer was sending his letter first class ‘Royal’ mail, which meant it was insured to arrive. He confessed he didn’t have to but for some reason while he might play it fast and loose with most ponies he always felt obligated to show Lady Weathervain a great deal of respect, even when sending her mail. Heading down Narrowway Street they came across a familiar figure unloading a large box from a cart in front of DJ P0n3’s house. The DJ in question was there, grinning like crazy while Redline finished and gave her the clipboard. “Okay, Vinyl Scratch, just scribble the name of your choice there and accept your brand-new Speaker of Mass Wub-Struction.” “AWESOME!” she laughed scribbling something on the offered paper before Redline noticed the group approaching. “Sour Grapes! Pleased to see you. I took up on your suggestion and got an in-town office and some staff to keep me on track. Work’s never been steadier.” “Great, but you just gave something that could cause massive property damage to a mare who’s well-known for loving loud noises,” Grapes observed, with an eyeroll, then looked over at Vinyl. “I don’t suppose your filly-friend knows about this? After all, that can’t have been cheap.” “Massive property damage? I just bought a dishwasher from Redline. The dude is a freakin’ wizard with this stuff!” she said running her hooves over the gleaming white metal box. “She’ll LOVE this. It cleans dishes… with Wubs. Heck yeah! I crank the bass up to eleven and it scours dishes clean on a microscopic level. Well worth the price of admission.” “But… Isn’t Octavia more fond of, you know, classical music? I don’t think she’d appreciate a wub-based sonic dishwasher,” Grapes said, flicking an ear back. “Queenie? Add ear plugs for Earshot to the shopping list. I am SO glad we live out of town.” “Aw come on! It’s not like I asked Redline to make me some sort of… Bass Cannon!” Vinyl protested before leaning towards him and saying quietly, “We’re still good on that one, right?” “I’m waiting on some parts but all systems are go,” he replied in the same theatrically low-key manner. “RIGHTEOUS!” “Redline,” Grapes said, glaring at him, having obviously overheard the stage whispers, “for the sake of Equestria, your insurance rates, your health, and your personal freedom, I would strongly suggest you give Miss Scratch a refund. Unless, of course, you’re licensed for weapons of mass destruction, Vinyl. And I don’t think you can get that, unless you’re a high-ranking member of the army… or a Bearer of the Elements of Harmony.” Redline and Vinyl bowed their heads and nodded like little children caught in the act of being naughty. Queenie however was smirking and trying not to laugh. “You, young filly, would no doubt have fit in perfectly at the last sporting extravaganza in Avalanche Valley. They were putting out all manner of loud, bass-rich music for the powder trash.” “Woah! You were actually there at the Haybale Competition? I would have given my eye teeth for a gig like that,” Vinyl said, closing the distance between Queenie and herself in a heartbeat. “What was it like? What music did they play? OOH! What did Dusty groove to?” “Ah yes… Dusty,” Queenie said flatly. “Well… his first act of snowboarding shenanigans was to some song about how things would suffer a temperature drop by a factor of One-Fifth.” “Oh yeah! Twenty Percent Cooler is an awesome song for shaking your tail to,” Vinyl laughed clopping her hooves on the ground. “I often lead with that one at raves. You said his first act, what was the other one?” “Oh that. Yes… He had a very different act for that one.” This time Queenie seemed to stare off into the distance as she recalled the event. “It was like looking at a marionette being puppeteered to the most curious song. It was all about a spell that invoked ‘Wanting it’ and ‘Needing it’. It was hauntingly beautiful, almost mesmerising and yet so disturbing at the same time. A spell so terrible as to manipulate a pony’s very being couldn’t possibly exist… could it?” Grapes and Vinyl looked at each other, both looking a bit perturbed. “The Want-It Need-It Spell…” Grapes started. “Works every time,” Vinyl continued the quote. “Somepony made a SONG about it?!” Grapes asked sounding a bit angry. Redline chuckled and nodded. “They did. I wasn’t aware you knew of that spell, Sour Grapes. At the old CSFGU they would cite that old spell as the closest thing to an actual ‘Curse’, curses, of course, being pure nonsensical superstition for those who don’t really understand how magic works.” “It’s real?” Queenie gasped. “And they actually TEACH you how to cast it? How horrid!” “Oh, no, Queenie. They would NEVER actually teach us how to cast that one. Though somepony always tries to recreate it from scratch.” Redline said leaning against his cart. “They use anecdotes of it as an example of how magic can run rampant and completely out of control if you don’t exercise some wisdom. A prime example of a ‘Fractal Contagion’ spell matrix. You cast it on something or somepony and EVERYpony who lays eyes upon them has only the all consuming desire to possess the object or pony on which the spell was cast,” Redline explained. “In unicorn circles, it’s used as a metaphor for obsession,” Vinyl added. “And the song is… kinda about the metaphor… Somepony claiming that they were hit by a Want-It Need-It spell, when they’re really obsessed with somepony…” “Really… obsessed…?” Queenie said quietly before realising all eyes had turned to her. Firestormer broke the moment. “Wow… sounds like the poor shmoe really fell for somepony, BAD.” Grapes smirked at Firestormer, then casually rocked back and forth on her hooves, whistling innocently. “Yes… yes the poor fellow. Let us hope he gets over her,” Queenie said quickly before giving her wings a slight flutter. “All in all, the cannon incident aside, the whole event was fairly well executed, music and all.” “Except for the idiot with the fireworks strapped to his body,” Grapes quipped. “But… I don’t think the poor guy will be getting over the filly any time soon,” she added with a smirk. “After all she’s one-of-a-kind. Anyway, we’re burning daylight, my dear pegasi. And I’ll be watching you two… And I’m going to let Octavia know about the bass cannon, so she can help keep you two out of the tanty.” “Hey, don’t knock it unless you’ve tried it,” Vinyl said with a laugh. “The Iron Tower rules, it has killer acoustics.” “Yes, but I would still prefer to keep my eardrums, and most of Ponyville and its surrounding areas, intact, thank you,” Grapes said, as she trotted along. The trio of ponies headed to what qualified as an urban core in Ponyville for some light shopping. Seedy Soil’s Seed Sanctum was open for business and fairly busy. It being so close to Winter Wrap-Up he was receiving all manner of orders from the local ponies and having to deal with the deliveries. Still Seedy Soil VI saw Sour Grapes coming and putting on a smile he saved for a member of a family that were among his oldest and best customers. The exchanges were brief but warm and friendly, ending with a large box being passed across the counter to Sour Grapes. All the seeds that she would need for Summerstart Rush were there, ready to go. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any Sun’s Spring Glory in?” Grapes asked with a sigh. “Oh, and I’m going to need watermelon, and broccoli. I’m anticipating and… interesting order-list, this year.” “Hmm… Watermelon is easy enough, Broccoli is a little scarce this year. Turns out some wiseacre foals have been buying up my stock in an attempt to preemptively remove it from their dinners later,” he said, before quietly saying, “Wish I had thought of that when I was their age. I can give you names if you wanna buy some off of them rather than wait.” “Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow. “No… Wait… They’re not… Oh… Oh no… Don’t tell me… Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon, right?” “Believe it or not, no. In fact I was really surprised that those two colts had enough brain power between them to come up with this plan in the first place.” “You’re telling me Snips and Snails bought up the broccoli?” Grapes asked in utter disbelief. “How in the hoary horseradished hay did they get the money?” “When I asked them, they said something about having a couch-cleaning business and keeping anything they found in the cushions as a ‘tip’. As I said, it surprised the hay out of me they pulled this off. Still, money’s money and as long as they didn’t outright steal the stuff..” “Couch cleaning… Clever. Very clever. Must have taken them a while to get up the money, ‘cause ponies don’t usually wear garments with pockets in which they could store loose change. Must have concentrated upon the richer citizens, because they tend to use clothing as a status symbol,” Grapes observed. “I just… shudder to think what those two would do with even more money… Because I would feel obliged to pay them what they paid you…” “Well credit where it’s due. Maybe you could trade them the monetary equivalent in candy or something to keep that from happening. I’m still surprised at the whole thing. The little so-and-so’s must have used up a whole year of cleverness for this gambit.” “Too bad Earshot sent his Nightmare Night candy home… I guess I could try that. But then, since it’s the Canterlot Dandies wanting it, waiting would give me a good excuse to jack up the price,” Grapes said thoughtfully. “Anyways… Hmm… Sun Spring’s Glory. Not a lot of call for that. It’s hard to find a plant that’s even more picky than them.” The dirt-brown earth pony tapped his chin before smiling. “I think I have some in the back. Yes. Yes I’m sure I do. I remember somepony misordered some last summer when they really wanted Morning Glories.” “Well that’s fine. I’ll take ‘em,” Grapes said with a shrug. “My family’s been able to grow them, and make them into a really good wine. And I think I’ll wait on the broccoli seeds. After all if the more idiotic nobles of Canterlot are wanting broccoli wine, they can both afford to wait, and afford to pay more.” “Right. One section’s worth of Sun Spring’s Glory seeds coming right up.” He went into the back for a moment then came back out with another large box, this one with the stylised image of a sun rising over melting fields of snow. Bits were exchanged and the group took one step outside when Sour Grapes found herself nearly nose-to-nose with a blue and white pony. “Brushie, Brushie, Brushie.” Minuette chuckled. “Fancy meeting you in town, Sour Grapes.” “Hello, Minuette, how are you? Hear you’ve encountered Earshot.” “Oh yes. The Night Pony. I like him, and not just because he has such a unique set of chompers. I’ve never met any pony who was genuinely impressed by me sticking things into his mouth. He told me about the… barbaric dental care of his home,” she shuddered. “Imagine how bad it is when you need a guy named Red Chisel to remove the offending tooth.” Grapes gave a full-body shudder at that particular memory. Minuette turned to Firestormer and her expression darkened as she put one hoof under his chin and tilted his worried face upwards. “And you… I STILL wanna break your jaw.” “Wait… what? Okay, Firestormer, what did you do?” Grapes said rounding upon the hapless Storm Rider. “N-Nothing,” he stammered, looking nervously at Grapes. “Nothing? MISTER Firestormer, It would give me no greater pleasure at this time of my life to be the one responsible wiping that cocky grin right off of your face,” Minuette said with a rather sinister gleam in her eye. “You have ten seconds to explain this, before I get really really cross,” Grapes said, going into deadly sweet voice mode. “It’s not what you think!” he protested, as Grapes stared him down. Minuette laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, sorry. Guess that sounded terrible on your end, Grapes.” “Gee? Ya THINK?!” Grapes asked, sarcastically. “Oh, wow. Yeah that did sound like I was personally P.O.’ed at him. No. Firestormer here once suffered a severe facial injury that due to monetary concerns was healed on a practical level rather than an aesthetic one,” She made a show of peeling down Firestormer’s lower lip showing the poor condition his lower teeth had grown in. Not that they were yellowed or rotting, but instead of being in a neat row they were in some rather awkward placements, “He can eat and talk with no difficulty, and his upper and lower teeth fit together, but there are problems. You can see the obvious one with his lower teeth. What you CAN’T see is how some of the musculature in his face has fused incorrectly. When he smiles they pull at odd angles giving him this… cocky grin. It’s a shame, really. I bet the guy’s got a sweet smile under all this damage.” “Doctor Minuette has offered to reset my jaw for me at a reduced price, when I have time for it. Which brings me to the letter I sent to Lady Weathervain. It’s hard to give instructions to my teammates when my mouth is wired shut, so I need to let her know in advance my situation so we can come up with a workaround. Maybe bring in a temp or something in case a fire emergency pops up.” “I’ll soak the cost if he lets me write up a paper on his condition and my work to fix it,” Minuette said proudly. “Imagine, nearly a decade has passed since his initial injury. While it’s extremely feasible to do this, it has no modern precedent. This is gonna be a fairly big chapter in the annals of dental history. Hope your grand pooh-bah lets you have the time off. This is the sort of thing that helps really make a name for you in dental circles.” “Oh. Just thought Cassanova, here, had gotten himself into trouble… He’s had some near-misses, since he’s been in my employ,” Grapes observed, casually. “Really? You know, I can see that. He’s got those dashing roguish looks that some fillies just love. Not really my thing, no offence, Firestormer.” Minuette said with a smirk. “Uh, none taken? I’ll admit that I’ve finally started enjoying myself a little more lately but I’m not about to ruin my life or somepony else’s by being less than a gentlecolt in the most important respects,” Firestormer admitted with his trademark cocky smile. “Besides, Mom and Dad told me if I got a mare in trouble she’d OWN my yellow tail until the foal was fully grown up.” Grapes smirked, sniggering. “I like your parents’ style, Firestormer.” “When it comes time to break Firestormer’s face, would you mind if I watched? Perhaps even assisted?” Queenie giggled, looking more than a little in touch with her inner schadenfreude. “Sorry Miss. Unless you’re actually genetically or legally family I cannot allow you to be any closer than a waiting room.” Minuette said with a sly smirk. “Let me guess… Annoying co-worker?” “And he acts very much like the brother I never would have wanted.” “Ah. Still no. Sorry.” Minuette gave a shrug, before giving her a toothbrush. “Thanks for playing but here’s your consolation prize.” Grapes laughed out loud at that. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Minuette.” “Anyways, Lady Weathervain will probably get back to us soon enough,” Firestormer continued. “She usually has a contingency plan or two in case one of us is incapacitated… or, you know. Killed in the line of duty. It’s happened before, we might not get called in often but when we’re out there the possibility is really up there. You should see the insurance premiums we’d have if we weren’t under the command of the Crown…. Tiara… Headwear thing Celestia wears. I’ve never been entirely certain on that one.” “Oh that’s easy,” Queenie said offhandedly. “While technically it’s a Tiara, it’s referred to as a Crown (Capital C, mind you) out of the respect that she is the Crowned head of our nation.” “Queenie’s right on that one,” Grapes said with a nod, then looked at Minuette. “Just wished you had decided to do this a month ago.” “Oh really? Any reason why?” she asked, her curiosity piqued. “He works for me, too. Though I’m sure he could work with a jaw wired shut… It may make things a little difficult, while he’s in recovery,” Grapes observed. “Sorry. I didn’t know him until recently. He only came into my office a week or so ago for a polishing. Needless to say I gave him a thorough examination and decided to make it my mission to fix his smile.” The dentist said with a smile of her own. “Well you are nothing, if not dedicated,” Grapes observed. “I’m sure the sub would not mind putting in some hours on the grape fields a as a team building exercise.” “Yeah. I can’t help but wonder what Lady Weathervain really thinks about us all working together here. You know, after all that convenience of us being in one place.” “I’m sure we’ll find out, eventually,” Grapes observed. “All right. Hm… What else do we need to do, here? Oh… antioxidants, and cough syrup, and anything else that could help Earshot. He may just need something like chickpea soup, but… I’d rather have that stuff on hoof should things progress from just a cold to the mother of all colds. It’ll be handy for everypony else.” “Yeah. Probably good to be prepared,” Firestormer agreed. “He might just have caught a chill from being outside last night. But being sick is no fun for anypony. It was nice seeing you again, Minuette. Lady Weathervain will probably get back to me inside of the week. She’s good about that sort of thing.” “Right. I’ll see what times are flexible in my calendar,” Minuette replied before looking at Queenie and Grapes. “As for you two, you might wanna make your checkups soon too. Dental hygiene is for everypony.” “Right. I’ll work it into my schedule,” Grapes said with a sigh. “As will I,” Queenie said with a smile. “I should have stopped by Gleaming Bicuspid’s office while I was home but… conditions were hardly ideal. I shall drop by next week to make an appointment, Miss Minuette.” “Let’s finish up and head home, ponies,” Grapes said with a smile. “Hopefully Stormy’s been kept well away from any baking. Anything that you two need while or want while we’re here?” “Mmm. Maybe a light lunch while we’re out and about. Nothing serious, perhaps some sandwiches from that Sandwich shop I saw in the craftspony quarter. I believe it had the very direct name ‘The Sandwich Shop’.” Queenie said before pausing, her attention focused on something past Grape’s shoulder. Staring straight ahead she walked past Sour Grapes, over to a bulletin board off to one side and stared at one of the items on it. “Oh… oh my… my, my, my.” “What?” Grapes asked, looking at the bulletin board, searching for what had attracted Queenie’s attention. It was small, perhaps your standard 8” by 11” sheet of paper and printed in black and white. But the words that were emblazoned on it tended to draw the eye. The Royal Equestrian Air Farce proudly presents the runaway underground hit The Tyrant Celestia Variety Show Come one come all and witness the cruel whims of the mad Solar diarch. She sings! She dances! She LUSTS! For the mere price of admission see her twisted history with her sister come to a final climax. Witness her diabolical machinations put into motion. Thrill to the infamous ‘Banana’ sketch. Do not miss this one, ponies! To be shown in Ponyville’s ‘Underground Theatre’ at the usual time. Be there or be a rectangular thing! “Interesting. One would assume from the name of the troupe that it’s biting political satire,” Grapes observed. “I’d go just to check it out, if I knew where Ponyville’s underground theater happened to be.” “Yes…...” Queenie said distractedly, looking at the small ad. “She did always enjoy them turning social commentary on it’s ear. And still using small adverts too, very clever using word-of-mouth to their advantage. Only those genuinely interested would pass this along, if even just to go and feel outraged by it.” “Who is this ‘she’ you’re talking about?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow. “She? Did I say ‘She’? “ she said suddenly coming out of her stupor. “Why that’s absolutely redic… Fine. She’s my sister, Glacial Ice. She’s part of this particular troupe of theatrical ponies.” “Thank you for being honest with me, I appreciate it,” Grapes said with a smirk. “Though that does mean you may get to see your sister, when the troupe comes to town, which would be a perk for you, I think.” “It’s been some time since we’ve been face to face. I love my sister dearly but she followed her heart which led her to the stage, and that means she travels greatly. She prefers the underground circuit. Non-mainstream theatres that flaunt the normal laws of society and convention, truly avant-garde… when they get it right. The problem with performing away from the social mores more often than not material can become base and crude rather than clever..” Queenie sighed and smiled gently. “Fortunately they are a very competent group who realise that above all else they MUST be entertaining, even if they become insulting.” “Princess Celestia herself would not have such a thing banned, or the performers arrested; though many ponies of the nobility would dearly love to have them silenced, because they value their precious little balloon-like egos. On the other hoof, Princess Celestia seems to have the rare quality of being able to laugh at herself. All in all, though, for the material to remain clever, one must have good writers who are willing to not cater to the lowest common denominator,” Grapes observed. “Well…” Queenie said tapping her chin with her hoof. “If memory serves me, Spear Shaker had catered to the lowest common denominator in his plays. My father called him a master of the art of writing all ‘Artsy-Fartsy’. That is to say, if you write ‘Artsy’ for the highbrow ponies, then you must also write ‘Fartsy’ for the lowbrow, that way there is something for everypony. I have to agree with him on that one. Even Summer Squall has enjoyed some of Spear Shaker’s works, often sniggering away at some of the more lurid puns. ‘Get thee to a Nunnery’ indeed.” “My dear Queenie, that’s not writing to the lowest common denominator. That’s being all-inclusive. Writing to the lowest common denominator would be humor at it’s most puerile, AND unintelligent. Spear Shaker may have written inclusively, but he was always smart, and sprinkled the more ribald moments like a very spicy seasoning. Enough to add some zang, and not overwhelm the rest of the elements present in his narrative,” Grapes explained. “For an example of ‘catering to the lowest common denominator’ check out some of the more popular bits of sequential art that’s featured in some of the newspapers. They often use the same gag over and over again, because that’s what the majority of their audience finds funny. To me, it’s just repetitive, and uncreative.” “Really? I would have given the same thought to those plays those Way-Land Brothers have done as of late. Hardly any wit or creativity to speak of. All of it dependant upon pure ridicule of already existing entertainments.” “Oh, I know. I’ve had to read one of Mom’s letters about her and Dad wasting their money on one, because one of her new friends at Seaside recommended it,” Grapes said, with a roll of her eyes. “Hm… I guess I’m going to have to grit my teeth, and ask the most likely pony to know where an ‘underground theatre’ would be in Ponyville.” Firestormer nodded. “And who would that be? Pinkie Pie is bad at keeping secrets, Rarity might know because it could be Avant Garde but also may not go in case the material is too... you know… low. Twilight isn’t the type, neither is A.J. or Fluttershy… Maybe Rainbow Dash?” “Actually, Pinkie is great at keeping secrets, Firestormer,” Grapes corrected him. “If she promised not to tell, she won’t, because betraying a friend’s trust is the worst thing you could possibly do. You could even lose a friend.” “Fooooor-EEEEEEV-eeeeeeeeer!” Pinkie said ominously, popping behind them, from inside a nearby rain barrel. “GAH!” Grapes yelped, jumping a bit. Queenie and Firestormer just stared in shock at the pink pony in the barrel. A silence it took a moment for Queenie to break. “Were this any other township in the world I would be a good deal MORE surprised than I currently am. How long do you stay fresh in that receptacle?” “Four to six weeks depending upon weather conditions and temperature,” Pinkie replied merrily. “Oh, and if I have air holes. Got to have air holes.” “OH yeah. You GOT to have fresh air…” Firestormer sniggered. “I’ve been in that outhouse you left behind last night, Pinkie.” “So have I. Peeee eeeew! And I was in there for hours! Not fun at all, but at least I got to sing with everypony! Aaaaanyway, had the Pinky Sense that somepony wanted to talk to me, so here I am!” Pinkie said with a giggle. “Yeah. I can’t imagine why you ate so much of that stuff. I only got a few teaspoons that that was enough for me,” Firestormer said with a chuckle. “And we are glad you got better in time to sing. A party of any kind just wouldn’t be the same without good old Stinky Pie… I mean Pinky Pie.” “It looked like custard, with food coloring, honest!” Pinkie said in her defense as she crawled out of the barrel. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have eaten it, but it looked like custard, and I was trying to help my pal, Earshot, so he wouldn’t have leftovers. Some leftovers are fine, like cake, and cookies, but custard gets all hard and gunky in the refrigerator, and then it’s no good at all. Then you have to decide if you wanna eat it anyway or throw it out, but if you throw it out, you end up feeling like you’ve wasted food, and that’s never a good feeling at all. Heck, even the Cakes crumble up the stale bread for Fluttershy so she can feed the ducks with it, and then it’s not wasted.” “Good thinking.” He agreed before chuckling. “Still, hope you’re a little more cautious from now on. I’d hate to be the one to drag you to the hospital one day. I’m a fire marshall, not a stretcher bearer.” “Pardon me for asking this, Pinkamina,” Queenie started, her head tilting slightly to the side. “Have you… lost weight?” “Have I?” the pink pony began prodding herself all over with her hooves, giving the others in the group a chance to get in a good look themselves. It genuinely had looked like she lost weight. Not a massive amount but enough that it was as if she were somehow less… fluffy than she was in the winter. She finished her self-examination and turned back to the others. “Yeah, I have. That Smooze must have completely cleaned out my system. I felt so TIRED afterwards but today I feel… sorta healthy? Like you do after going on a diet for a while. Like you finally got all your vitamins back.” “Good for you, Pinkie,” Grapes observed. “I guess you needed that. Though, maybe, next time, you should have a slightly smaller dosage, hm?” “Oh yeah… definitely.” she nodded sadly, her pink forelock bobbing up and down with the motion. “I heard that there can be too much of a good thing and now I know that there can also be too much of a good-for-you thing.” “You know what they say,” Grapes said with a grin. “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” “Well. I’m off now. Mister and Mrs Cake got a big order for a wedding and those cakes aren’t gonna bake themselves!” Pinkie stopped a moment and giggled. “It’ll take both Cakes to bake all those cakes!” “And a Pinkie,” Grapes quipped. “Oh, Pinkie? Do you know where the underground theatre would be? Thought I’d go and check out the show that’s coming to town.” “Hmmmmmm.” Pinky, thought hard, her brow furrowing cutely before she came to a conclusion. “I haven’t been there or anything but I hear it really IS underground. You know. Like a cellar or something. Mmmm…. OH! When all else fails, follow the snacks! I’m sure even underground theatre-goers like to nibble on something while they watch.” “Follow the snacks. At least you were only moderately vague, Pinkie. Thank you,” Grapes said shaking her head, chuckling. Walking back through town Sour Grapes could have sworn she heard children singing a song she had never quite heard from them before. It took a few lines but she realised that it was that song Earshot had mentioned the previous night. All the foals present at the dinner, and Pinkie Pie, must have taught it to them. She had to admit that with the bouncy tune and easily rememberable lyrics it was insidiously catchy, annoyingly hummable… and that was bad news for Ponyville. It meant that no matter what the stallions and mares would try, the foals would be singing it ad-nauseum for weeks. She chuckled to herself. In more ways than one, nothing would stop the Smooze. The Vineyard was fairly quiet on their return. She took note of Stormfront sitting on the bunkhouse porch with Big Macintosh sipping steaming hot cider in perfect silence. It was interesting to see the two ponies just savoring the day like that. They made an interesting pair of friends, but then again despite coming from different tribes both were very much the workhorses of their groups. Stormfront noticed their arrival and waved. “Hey there, Grapes. Macintosh dropped by and we had a long chat over some hot cider. He’s very introspective when you let him get a word in edgewise.” “Well it’s often said that still waters run deep,” Grapes said with a nod. “I know for a fact that farm work leaves you a lot of time for introspection.” “Eeyup.” “Well said, brother.” Stormfront said with a smirk. “Don’t suppose you’ve been keeping an eye on Earshot? He wasn’t feeling so hot when we left. Going to whip up some chickpea soup. Might help him feel better,” Grapes said, as Queenie and Firestormer carried the various purchases to their respective places. “Oh yeah. He did mention that. He didn’t look all that good either. He drank a quart of apple juice after complaining of a scratchy throat and feeling all hot. He took a shower and lay down on the sofa in the basement for a bit. Probably is still there right now. Says being down there feels like home.” “I’ll fix that soup, then. Got him some throat lozenges, too, along with a whole array of stuff to help with all kinds of sneezes and sniffles. The weather change-over can lead to colds,” Grapes said, as she went inside. Sour Grapes entered the warm homey bunkhouse and set up the soup on the stove before pulling up the trap door to the recreational room. After checking to see if the lights were on she descended into the basement. It was on the cool side as one would expect a cellar to be during the winter, and it was very quiet. The lights may have been on but she didn’t see Earshot anywhere. She was about to check behind the proto-minibar when she heard a soft coughing from the couch. It took her a moment to realise that Earshot had burrowed into the couch so much that he had nearly gone completely between the heavy seat cushions. “Hey, Earshot,” Grapes said, going to the couch, smiling a bit. “You a bit cold?” He opened his eyes ever so slightly and smiled up at her. “Heya, Miss Grapes. A little. [*Cough*] I just came down here for a nap and it felt so good to me on the couch I kinda kept going.” “I’m fixing you some chickpea soup, hon. That will warm you up, and make you feel a lot better, I hope,” Grapes said smiling warmly at him. “I think I’d like that a lot right now,” the little gray colt said slowly unfolding himself from his makeshift nest. “I really should eat something, I haven’t had anything since breakfast. I just feel more thirsty than hungry.” “I’ve got you some orange juice, too, sweetie. Has some good vitamins that will help your immune system,” Grapes said, kindly, and helped him up. “I like Orange Juice. It tastes like sunshine in a glass.” he managed to giggle before plodding up the stairs. “How was your day, Miss Grapes?” “It was all right, Earshot,” Grapes said as they walked up the stairs. “Had a nice time shopping with Firestormer and Queenie. I should go on shopping excursions with everypony from the Riders sometime. Might be nice.” “It probably would be nice. I think it would be nice to have you at Carry-oak leaves too. Stormfront was very disappointed that you never had a chance to sing at the last time.” “Karaoke, Earshot.” “I know,” he chuckled before coughing again. “I just kinda like saying it that way. You really do have a nice voice, Miss Grapes. I occasionally hear you singing in the shower and I think Stormfront would like to hear you sing too. Maybe when my throat stops feeling like I’ve been swallowing tree bark we can try another night?” “I’ve got you some lozenges, so that will help your throat a bit,” Grapes observed with a nod. “We’ll work hard to make sure you get better.” “Thank you very much,” he said, slowly climbing into his seat at the kitchen table. “Being sick is really icky, isn’t it?” “Yes, Earshot, yes it is,” Grapes agreed. Grapes noted that the soup and lozenges seemed to perk Earshot up, and afterwards just to be sure she sent him to bed early to let nature take it’s course. She remembered being sick as a child and how just a little attention was often enough to take the sting out of everything. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -Next morning- Sour Grapes went upstairs and knocked on the bright yellow door with his cutiemark emblazoned on it in purple. Her nose twitched at a strange odor tickling it. “Earshot? Earshot you in there? It’s time to get up. Holidays are over and Cheerilee is gonna wanna see you in class later. She tried the handle, and finding the door unlocked, opened it with a gentle push. The smell hit her full-force now. The whole room stank like vinegar, a piercing acidic smell that stabbed deep in her nose and made her eyes water. His bed was in a shambles, completely unmade. The sheets draped off on the far side. She heard a faint groan and moving to the other side of the bed was caught off guard by what was there to greet her eyes. Earshot lay on the floor, next to his chamberpot. His shivering body gleaming with what looked like golden perspiration which had formed a small pool around him. The chamberpot contained what looked like what her mother had always simply called “sick”. It looked as if he had made a supreme effort dragging himself to the basin to not foul his own bed with the contents of his stomach. Instantly Sour Grape’s horn flickered to life, surrounding Earshot’s young frame in it’s golden glow and lifting him upwards. She felt a wave of nausea when she realised that whatever he was sweating might smell like vinegar but had the thick consistency of honey. Long thread-like ribbons of it hung off of his body, still connecting him to where he had lay on the floor. As she fought the urge to freak out he moaned in her ponykinetic grip, his ears weakly turning in her direction. “M-miss Grapes…” he said weakly. “...could you please tell Miss Cheerilee I might be late today?” “I don’t think you’ll be attending class, today, Earshot. Come on, let me get you cleaned up,” Grapes said, kindly, as she carried him to the bathroom, and used her hooves to start a nice warm bath. “Also, I’m about to get rather loud, so cover your ears, if you can.” His ears seemed to fold flat over themselves in acquiescence to her request. there was something both impressive and yet pitiable about how he was able to do this and yet not lift his own hooves over them. Grapes then took a deep breath, and bellowed: “EMERGENCY! We have a COLT DOWN! Firestomer, get Doc Crabapple! Everypony else stay AWAY from Earshot’s room! I’ve already been exposed, but let’s keep this contained as much as possible! Also, somepony needs to stop by the schoolhouse and let Cheerilee know that Earshot’s sick!” She could hear the sounds of the bunkhouse coming to life. Hooves hitting the floor, moving up and down stairs and one set heading out the front door. If there was one thing the Storm Riders were good at it was mobilising in a crisis. She turned the shower on the gray colt to wash the excretions from his body, adjusting the temperature to a comfortable level. The irony was not lost on her that the last time she did this with him it was more of a punishment for staying up too late. Now, it was hopefully a comfort for him. She slipped her hoof into a wash-sock and began wiping the goo from his face, speaking words of comfort to him. “We’re going to make sure you get better, honey,” Sour Grapes said gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you get the best care you can.” It took a surprisingly short time for. Dr Crabapple to arrive. Of all things he and Firestormer came over the rise in Redline’s high-speed sleigh invention. It’s loud buzzing heralding their arrival. She supposed it made more sense for Crabby to make the journey this way, she certainly didn’t expect Firestormer to carry him here, plus whatever gear he would have brought with him. She watched from Earshot’s window as her cousin shakily disembarked from the sleigh and collected his medical bags before coming into the bunkhouse. She peered down the stairs to the main floor where Crabapple staggered in and tossed his scarf over the coatrack. He grumbled to nopony in particular. “What a frightening way to travel. How does that maniac come up with stuff so unsafe and yet so useful at the same time? Worst part is I actually want to try that again.” “It does look fun,” Grapes observed with a chuckle. “Come on, Crabby, you’ve got to check him out. This is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.” The green earth pony followed her back up to the top floor. When he got to Earshot’s door she realised she had made the right choice in calling him. He actually recoiled at the sight and odor within, before fixing his expression to one of stern confidence. He cared about others, but also was going to do what had to be done, his own emotions be darned. He put his medical bags down next to Earshot’s bed and stared down at him. “Sweet merciful Celestia… it’s true. We really have a Night Pony in town. I thought…” He took a deep breath before opening his bags and pulling out his various tools. “It doesn’t matter. How long has he been like this? Not him being a Night Pony, the sickness… unless he just became a Night Pony recently too.” Grapes sighed. “Night Ponies are NOT vampires, Crabby,” Grapes said sounding irate. “They are a subtribe of pegasus, built to be nocturnal. And he started being like this today. Yesterday, the symptoms he had was coughing, sore throat, chills, fever, severe thirst, and itchiness.” “All right. That’s at least somewhere to begin,” he grumbled poking a tongue depressor into Earshot’s mouth and lowering his reflector into place to peer down his throat. “Pronounced canines... He has fangs. Fine. You’re certainly no dummy, Sour, so I’ll take your word on him being more normal than his looks would suggest. Heck, it’s not as if he’s drinking blood and eating meat, right?” “He has been repeatedly exposed to sunlight, and has exhibited no inclination toward sangovorism,” Grapes said casually. “Though he can eat normal food, quite easily, he can, and often enjoys insects, and insects added to his food. I’ve made him cookies using weevil infested flour.” “Really? I mean… really? That’s, that’s…” he recomposed himself again and put his stethoscope into his ears and peeled back the sticky blanket from Earshot’s chest so he could listen to his heart. “How long have you had him? Why was I never asked to do a physical? You’re not usually this… sloppy, Grapes. Was he just that new to your farm?” “He’s been here through the winter. I was going to call you for the spring physicals, as usual,” Grapes said with a sigh. He turned Earshot’s head to the left and stuck a thermometer into his ear to take his temperature, causing the colt to wince, even in his unconscious state. “Sensitive ears, aren’t they? Are they just for keeping his hat from covering his eyes or do they actually do what they look like they do?” “Probably. They’re good enough that he can hear stars,” Grapes said. “He’s heard Pinkie tell a joke at Sugarcube Corner from my front yard. I don’t let this get out, because ponies will assume the worst, but he’s always careful about what he hears.” “That’s some good hearing, Don’t worry. I’ll file this under the doctor/patient confidentiality thing. All right?” he agreed before carefully opening Earshot’s eyelid and getting a good look at the yellow slitted orbs behind them. “Cat-eyes. Cheese and crackers, life around here can’t be easy for a colt who is this far out of what we see as normal.” “It’s not easy, but he hasn’t had as bad a time. It helps that he’s a cute little colt,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “I’ll take your word on that one. Maybe later when he’s not oozing goo and whatnot I’ll see it too. Look, I’m gonna be here for a bit. If you want to take a break that’s fine. I’m beginning to suspect there may be more under his skin than what we might take for granted here.” Sour Grapes knew what the unspoken “I can’t work with you breathing down my neck” request was. Crabapple might be the cranky old general practitioner with others but he always showed some patience with her. Never insulting her and certainly his rudeness always softened. She knew he would call it “You’re one of the few ponies I can stand”, but it was more of a “you’re family” thing. Grapes nodded, and backed off, watching him work, and occasionally giving him one of the containers from his kit for a sample. This took a while, because Crabapple tended to be very thorough. Occasionally he would ask about his young charge and Grapes would answer as best she could, every little factoid she told him seemed to impress the earth pony greatly. When they were finished, they went back downstairs. “Sour Grapes, I’m going to need these samples sent to Dr Coldhoof post-haste. Do you think your friend Redline and his crazy zoom-machine could…” Crabapple stopped cold, his forest green eyes meeting the teal gaze of the zebra who had been laying her various jars and fetishes out on the dining room table. Looking over at where Sirocco stood next to her it made sense to Grapes that the dusky mare had sought aid from a tribal wise-mare, and brought her here post-haste. A noble gesture, but one that could go badly. It was a moment that stretched out in a heavy silence as the two seemed to sum one another up. Crabapple in his white coat, stethoscope and head mirror and her in her jewelry and wicker saddle bags surrounded by exotic materials. It was a case of folk remedy meeting modern medicine. Mystic healing coming face to face with Logical healing. Grapes steeled herself for quick, decisive and, if need be, very LOUD intervention when Crabapple spoke. “Miss, there’s a sick young pony upstairs who’s suffering from something I have never seen before… and he’s a breed of pony I’ve never thought existed. Are you here to help or just get underhoof?” "I am here, as griffons say, to lend a hand with the nocturnal pony from a distant land. I am Zecora. Please make no redress, but I have cured many kinds of illness. And you, sir, with your robe of white, are a fellow healer who has come this night?" “I am, yes. Name’s Doctor Crabapple and to be completely honest, Zecora, I will take any genuine help I can right now. As long as you have the experience to back up your claims… welcome aboard.” “I promise no miracles but I can evoke that I have even cured poison joke. My remedies come from simpler times, from distant lands and exotic climes. I have no great magic, but I will attest, for Earshot’s sake, I will do my best,” Zecora said solemnly. The green and gray pony seemed satisfied with this and giving a nod gave the box of sample jars to Sour Grapes. “Fair enough. So, back on track. Here are some samples I got of Earshot’s various… well, what they are isn’t important. Just that we get them to Dr. Coldhoof so he can run tests on them. He’s the best darn lab jockey in the region. The more we know about what’s going on with him, the better a chance we have of helping him.” “I presume they’re Earshot’s excretions, and bodily fluids?” Grapes observed. “All right. I’ll see if Redline’s still there… But… I’ve been exposed. It’s not exactly safe for me to… well… go out. We don’t know how this is transmitted.” “Right. I dunno... maybe leave it on the driveway for pickup? Look If Redline’s half as clever as he seems then he’ll probably figure something out.” “Or I could use the old lungpower, and let them know, before shoving it out the door,” Grapes observed, as she went to the door. “We need this taken to the clinic, TEN MINUTES AGO, ponies! And be careful with it! It’s medical samples!” With that she put it on the porch table. “I never assume, especially with Redline. He was making hands for Lyra, the other day… Never mind that blasted toaster...” A minute later she heard the buzzing of that propeller-propelled sleigh approaching and coming to a halt. Looking through the window she saw the strangest thing. Because it was strange it HAD to be Redline. A pony-shaped mass of yellow stepped off of the mechanised marvel. The outfit he wore was an all-encompassing covering made from a slick yellow material and had a window-like section on the face as well as carried some manner of machinery upon his back. A familiar colonial blue glow flickered across the item and two long arms extended from it, each ending in an ape-like metal hand. They gingerly took the sample case in their grasp, lifted it and placed it into a large trunk on the back covered in warning labels before closing and sealing it. “...He made more hands… Lyra must have asked for those. I think the Haz-Mat suit’s a bit much though… I guess he’s not taking any chances,” Grapes observed with a sigh. He sat down at the controls and the fan began to rev up again, kicking up a cloud of snow behind the machine. It began taxiing past the Bunkhouse when a tiny Hazmat suit popped up in the seat next to Redline’s and waved cheerfully to Sour Grapes as it began pulling away. Grapes chuckled, waving back. “It’s on its way,” she reported. “Great,” Crabapple admitted as he and Zecora were ascending the stairs. “Let’s put the foal into a cool bath for the moment. The fever might be the body’s way of fighting off a sickness but it’s not gonna help if it cooks him alive.” “I’ll get that started,” Grapes said starting toward the stairs. “If you would stray from your path, I have some herbs to put into his bath. They will help his breathing, for a while, and help clean his coat of that gunk and bile,” Zecora said hoofing her a packet of herbs. “Thanks,” Grapes said, nodding, and trotting up the stairs. The water was eventually decided to be on the warm side of cool and once Zecora added the herbs, mixing it to a pale shade of blue they carefully lowered Earshot’s unresisting body into it. Even now Grapes could see Crabapple marveling over the night pony’s form, taking the moment he was assisting in washing him to get a good look at him. “I know you’re my cousin, but I wish you would quit looking at him like he’s some kind of specimen,” Grapes uttered, sounding cross. “He. Is. A. Pony. Just as much as you are, and a lot more than some ponies I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. Just because he’s different isn’t a reason for you to dissect him with your eyes, Crabapple.” “Sour Grapes, understand I HAVE to look at him like that. Any pony who enters my care has to be scrutinised, examined and otherwise appraised,” he grumbled as he gently extended one bat-like wing and ran a wash-sock over it. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t. Now more than ever. I know he’s probably just a sub-breed of pegasus but if what you say is true, that his people have adapted to some fairly different conditions for a thousand years that let them see with sound, see in the dark, eat meat, hibernate, that means there’s probably a whole barrel load of things that make him different other than just his wings and eyes. I have to be careful what treatments I use, there’s no telling what might help and what might harm him further.” “Well Rainbow Dash was able to eat worms in her foalhood. I’m sure any of us could eat meat, if we wanted. We’ve never tested the hypothesis,” Grapes observed. “But he can eat and digest regular food just fine. Honestly, if I wasn’t so worried about the fact that REDLINE built most of her scientific equipment, I might have let Twilight Sparkle run some tests on him… Even then, I’d have been wary. He’s a guest, out here, and something of an ambassador for his tribe. They want to be able to come out, and that one village they live close to believes all the tripe about Night Ponies so they feel morally obligated to make life, out here, seem as horrible as possible to ‘keep them contained’. So you can see where I’m coming from in this.” “Remind me to send Dr Coldhoof to that village then. Sounds like they deserve his particular brand of tender mercy.” Crabapple washed Earshot’s back before smirking. “As for the meat thing, I can tell you that we can digest meat… Just not a lot. Our bodies can only handle so much before we get sick, and that amount changes from pony to pony. It’s like how with dogs a little chocolate gives them digestive problems but a lot can kill them.” “Makes sense,” Grapes said with a nod, as she finished washing his back. “Thankfully I’ve got a lot of old sheets to help with this. I’m sure he’ll start… er… sweating, when we pull him out…” “Well if nothing else this will give him a bit of relief and a little time on some clean sheets. Comfort can do a lot for a pony’s state of mind when sick,” Crabapple said, washing a foreleg. “We’ll just… keep doing what we can,” Grapes said quietly. They tucked him in a bed with fresh clean sheets and Zecora and Crabapple went downstairs to begin brainstorming on causes and treatments, giving Grapes a moment alone with Earshot. He stirred slightly and his ears twitched in that odd way they did when he heard something, but oddly enough despite his predicament he smiled as if meeting a friend. “Hullo Mister Hollow…” he rasped dryly. “I didn’t know you were passing by. How are you? Oh. Same old, same old, huh? Thanks for taking time to see me. I always like talking to you. You’re… interesting.” He trailed off and Grapes left him to speak with his imaginary friend. It worried her that he had become so delusional that he was talking to air. She tucked him in under a light sheet so he wouldn’t overheat and headed downstairs to the main floor where Crabapple and Zecora discussed possibilities at the dining table. It was a very civil conversation and rather rapid-fire as they bounced experience and knowledge back and forth so rather than interrupt she moved herself to the small kitchen area where Sirocco was, boiling water for tea. The Saddle-Arabian mare looked over from the stove and smiled politely, but Grapes could see the concern in her eyes. “Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fries. I cannot rest easy in this situation, Sour Grapes, so I decided to be useful and brew some tea. How would you like yours?” “Lemon and sugar. Also how many spiders do you know eat fries, Sirocco?” Grapes replied with a slight smile. “Not many, if any. I wondered if I had gotten that one right,” she admitted slicing up a lemon and arranging the wedges on a plate before pulling the sugar bowl from the bottom shelf under the sink. She looked at Grape’s expression on the sugar’s location and shrugged. “With pegasi one does not hide the sweets on the top shelf. You must think bass-ackwards when being sneaky in that respect. Especially when one of us walks on ceilings.” “Good point,” Grapes observed, tapping her chin, then she sat down with a heavy sigh. “I’m worried about him, Sirocco. He was talking to somepony ” “Really? I have seen ponies who have taken too much sun babble to non-present old friends, family and even memories of enemies. Perhaps it was a very good thing for you and the others to bathe him to cool him down. Who was he speaking with? Sweetie Belle?” “He called him Mister Hollow,” Grapes replied. The clatter of the spoon hitting the table was surprisingly loud in the confined space, it was also astonishingly surprising how quickly the mare had come to Grapes’ side of the kitchen table. Sirocco’s eyes were wide with worry as she stared into Grapes’. “Mister Hollow? You say he spoke to Mister Hollow?” “That’s what he said,” Grapes said quietly. Sour Grape had seen Sirocco take bad news before but she looked totally shaken, her body trembling as she took a seat and stared into space a moment before speaking. “Oh no… no no no… please no.” “... That sounds bad. Please tell me who this Mister Hollow would happen to be?” Grapes asked. “From what I understand, every pony culture knows of Mister Hollow but by many names. Mostly titles. The Hoofed Harvester, The Grim Galloper, Bill Door, In my own culture we believe this one to be female and refer to her as the Reaper Mare-” “Great flaming fewmits!” Grapes uttered, getting back up, and galloping up the stairs. She burst into Earshot’s room and found him sleeping fitfully, yet still very much alive in his bed. She became aware that Sirocco was next to her, no doubt she followed her up very closely. “Calm yourself, Sour Grapes. It is very worrying that he is here, but we may not yet have to panic. This may be just… a courtesy call on his part.” “Courtesy call or not, the thought of the Pale Rider coming for a visit is… scary as Tartarus,” Grapes said, her eyes a bit glassy, even through her glasses. “I know. And yet… Earshot’s relationship with him is unique.” She swallowed deeply and continued. “We Storm Riders would occasionally go to crises and despite our best efforts there would always be some casualties. One day we saw Earshot speaking to an empty bench. At first we thought him simply playing amid all the devastation, but the things he related to us later… You already know Earshot can hear stars, or conversations on the other side of the farm, but he also hears beings that are supernormal. I suppose you would call them creatures of magic, and no, unicorns do not count.” “I get what you mean. Creatures who are magical, not just those that use magic,” Grapes replied. “Not sure how that would leak into Death ponysonafied, but I guess it’s a job like any other. Must be Tartarus on the home life, though.” “Well, from what Earshot says, The Pale Rider need not actually be present for every cessation of life but comes to stand watch over those who are somehow important in the grand scope. Did you know that Earshot hears such magical beings with a sort of ‘extra’ sound to them? He calls it an ‘Under-Tone’. He hears their very nature in the way they talk. His description of Princess Celestia is MOST glowing, but he describes Mister Hollow as the loneliest soul he has ever heard. And so when he hears him nearby, Earshot goes out of his way to greet and speak to him. This is why I hold hope this is merely Mister Hollow having a… a ‘Near-Earshot Experience’. This may be him watching a vigil over a good friend. I can only have faith that this is so.” “I hope so. I’ll be down in a few minutes, Sirocco,” Grapes said. “You’ll probably want to reheat the tea.” “I shall keep it warm for you,” The other mare said before quietly leaving the room and Sour Grapes. Grapes glanced around the room with a touch of apprehension. You don’t live on or near a farm and simply not know about death, and she suspected the same could be applied about Earshot’s own community. It was very unnerving to know that the very being that represented it might be sharing the same room with you at that time. She didn’t feel a terrifying chill or an oppressive atmosphere or any such stereotypical sensation, and yet something deep within her told her that Mister Hollow was still there. She had met Celestia and seen Luna in person, both avatars of powerful forces in nature, this was perhaps not all that different. Many cultures believed Death was grim, some thought of him as a passive force, popular culture brought up the notion that death was reasonable and fair to the point he gave ponies a fighting chance in the form of a competition of some sort. The question was what did she believe Death to be like? Perhaps Death was just another tradespony, doing their job as best they could and genuinely caring about the quality of their work, and like any professional they cared about their clients as well. With this belief held close to her heart she took a calming breath and spoke softly. "I can't see you or hear you... but I know you're there. He's close isn't he? I mean to have a near... you experience like this means you have to visit in person, right? I have a feeling you've pretty much heard it all in situations like this. 'He's too young.’ ‘It's not fair.’ ‘He doesn't deserve this.’ ‘He's a good colt.' I can't think of a single fresh reason for you to not do your job that nopony else has already used on you. I can only ask you from one professional to another, please. I'd rather you didn't take him right now." Grapes sat there a moment in the quiet of the room uncertain if anything she said even helped, then she felt something. It was a cool weight on her one shoulder that reminded her of the kind of reassuring pat done by someone who didn't give comfort often and awkwardly-yet-sincerely was making the effort to. She smiled and nodded. "Thank you. Come what may... I won't hold a grudge against you. I just feel better for speaking my piece, and thanks for listening."