Chapter Four
Dustpan threaded his way through the crowded streets of Canterlot; following the trial of bemused citizens. Screwball had left a path of confused and irritated ponies in her wake, which made it a simple matter for Dustpan to find her.
What are you going to say to her? Dustpan was at a loss, sorry just didn’t seem enough and the lingering threat from Discord still danced at the back of his mind.
He rounded another corner, having taken directions from an enraged sales pony and Dustpan finally caught site of Screwball. The filly was hunched over; head bowed and sobbing tears into a growing pool on the ground before her. Screwball’s back leg had a wicker basket caught around it and what seemed to be cord with a number of colourful flags tangled about her fore hooves.
The darkened alleyway resounded with her crying, the disused crates and old linen littering the place showing an appropriate mirror for Screwball’s distress.
Dustpan stepped cautiously forward as Screwball continued to bawl miserably before stopping a few paces away, “Um Screwball....” Dustpan whispered, but the pony was far too upset to notice him. He tried again, “Screwball I’m sorry, I was just angry and......”
Screwball let loose howl of anguish and sobbed all the harder, showing no sign she’d even noticed Dustpan. He felt his ears droop as he frantically tried to think of a way to cheer the distraught filly.
Dustpan cast nervous glances back up the alleyway, fearful what any pony might think had they stumbled upon this scene. Reassured they were alone Dustpan scrunched up his muzzle as he racked his brain for an answer. With nothing else for it he called out louder this time, “Screwball it’s Dustpan, I came to say I’m sorry.”
There was a brief pause in the wails before Screwball turned her tear streaked face towards him. Fighting the sniffles that struggled to get out, Screwball finally spoke, “Oh it’s you, come to shout at me again huh?”
Dustpan winced before forcing a brittle smile onto his face, “No Screwy I haven’t, I came to say I’m sorry.”
Screwball snorted and fresh tears began running down her cheeks, “You’re not sorry, you never liked me.”
The stallion shuffled uncomfortably, “No honestly Screwball, I’m am sorry. Yes I was upset and all but I didn’t mean it.”
Screwball pouted before glaring back at him and Dustpan saw her eyes were actually kind of pretty, despite the puffiness around them from the tears. She swallowed another sob that threatened to break out before speaking once more, “Why should I believe you? I came to spend a fun day with you and all you did was shout at me and tell me to go away.”
Dustpan blushed, “Well you were acting all crazy like, it’s hard to know what to say and do around you.”
The sobs lessened and a little more the normal 'spark' returned to Screwball’s eyes, “You still think I’m crazy?”
Dustpan chuckled, “Oh I know you are Screwball, that’s why this is so hard.”
Screwball’s lips trembled as a suspicious expression came across her face, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better," she wined.
Dustpan smiled for the first time since he’d left the boarding house, “No Screwy you’re totally mental and a real hoof full: Since you came into my life I have barely had chance to sit down and I can honestly say I have never met a pony like you.”
Screwball stared at Dustpan, her mouth twitching as it warred between a frown and a smile, “You don’t want me to go?” Faint hints of hope breaking through in her tone made Dustpan’s heart soar.
Dustpan smiled wider, “No Screwy I don’t want you to go.” He paused for a moment, I really meant that Dustpan told himself and was surprised by the revelation; but not half as surprised as when Screwball dove forward and tackled him to the ground with fresh tears staining her face.
“Oh Dusty, you’re the best!” Screwball shouted, “We’re gonna have so much fun breaking things and causing chaos.” Dustpan slowly felt he air being squeezed from his lungs as Screwball hugged him all the tighter.
“Now hang on a moment Screwy...” Dustpan managed to force out of his crushed windpipe. The lilac filly slackened her grip and the haunted look returned to Screwball’s face.
Dustpan spoke quickly before she could get all worked up again, “You wanted me to show you normal pony life, normal ponies don’t go around doing those things.”
Screwball looked sceptical but Dustpan pressed on, “First of all; we need to apologize to a few folk,” he indicated the tangled flags and broken basket still adorning Screwball. Dustpan smiled again even as Screwball’s ears drooped in disappointment, “Then we can have some fun.” Dustpan's grin mirrored Screwballs before she crushed him in a huge hug.
As the breath was once again crushed out of Dustpan as Screwball giggled excitedly, “Okay Dusty, where do we start?”
“We’re really sorry Mr; Screwball really didn’t mean to damage your stall,” Dustpan explained to the grim looking earth stallion who eyed the pair with a frown.
The store keeper snorted, “That’s well as might be, but who’s gonna pay for all this?” He waved a hoof at the devastation his mobile shop had become; there were broken baskets and containers all over the place.
Dustpan’s smile fell, “Ah...well I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.”
The brown stallion cocked a doubtful eyebrow at the pair, “It’s going to cost a fair number of bits to sort this one out sonny.”
Dustpan felt his heart sink, knowing full well that his own reserves of cash were at an all time low, “Maybe we could work it off?” The store pony grunted as Screwball peered about the broken wares, occasionally prodding them with a curious hoof.
At the mention of work her ears pricked up and she glared at Dustpan. “You never said anything about having to work, you just we should say we’re sorry. That doesn’t sound like fun.”
Dustpan grimaced before running a hoof down his muzzle and smiling awkwardly at the store keeper, “Can you just give us a minute?” Without waiting for a response he grabbed Screwball and tugged her to one side.
After they were a short distance from the stall Dustpan struggled to explain the basics of commerce to Screwball, “Okay, when we make choices in the real world there are consequences right?”
Screwball nodded in a vague way as her attention fixated on a small line of ants below, and Dustpan rolled his eyes, “You broke his wares; that pony put a lot hard work into making those baskets and we should do what we can to replace them.”
Screwball continued to watch the marching insects as they made their steady journey across the cobbles. She finally replied in a curious voice he eyes never leaving the bugs below, “Can’t you just snap your fingers and put them back together again? Or just go back to before they were broken?”
Dustpan rubbed his temples in frustration, “No Screwball it doesn’t work like that. We either have to make him some new ones or pay for what you broke: Usually in our time or ‘bits’.”
Screwball turned her head, understanding blossoming in her intense eyes, “Oh.....So he wants money then why didn’t you say so?” Screwball reached round and produced a large sack which clinked heavily and Dustpan’s eyes went wide with shock.
She opened the bag and the gleam of golden bits filled Dustpan’s world, there must have been hundreds, “Will this be enough?” Screwball asked in casual manner.
Dustpan coughed and blinked a few times before he found his voice which came out in a squeak, “Er yes.... that would probably buy his whole shop along with most of the street....”
Screwball nodded happily and was about to return to the stall when Dustpan stopped her, “Wait, wait, wait; do you know how much to give him?”
She shook her head and Dustpan took a deep calming breath, “Right you stay here and watch the ants while I go and discuss it with the shop keeper okay?” He motioned with his hooves for Screwball to remain where she was.
Dustpan didn’t quite recall the following conversation with the store owner, his thoughts taken up by the large bag of coins in Screwball’s possession. In a daze he returned to the filly with a bill for the goods, counted out the coins (noting there didn’t seem to be even a dent in the quantity still remaining in the heavy bag) and paid the irate shop owner his dues.
Their lesson completed Dustpan took Screwball off to one side once more, “Where in the wide, wide world of Equestria did you get that?” Dustpan indicated the large bag of bits that Screwball produced once more out of thin air.
She shrugged, “Well Daddy dose lots of performances for foals parties and so forth. We are in big demand for entertainment you see.” Screwball hefted the heavy bag as if it weighed nothing, “They always insist in giving us payment for our trouble, but what are we going to use small lumps of gold for?”
Dustpan shook his head slowly, “Food, clothing and shelter? He suggested.
Screwball gave Dustpan a disbelieving look, “That’s silly, why pay for things when you can just snap your fingers and they are there?”
Dustpan coughed before covering his face with his hooves, “That’s not quite how it works in the real world Screwball,” He explained, his eyes still hidden behind his hooves.
Screwball sounded genuinely interested, “Really? So you need to give bits to one another for food?” Dustpan removed his hooves and nodded at Screwball whose face had taken on another thoughtful expression, “So what happens when you run out of bits?”
“You get a job and work to earn some more,” Dustpan said in a resigned voice.
Screwball’s muzzle scrunched up and Dustpan could almost see the thoughts moving around her head, “So you work to get money and use that money to get the things you need?”
Dustpan smiled as Screwball finally seemed to be getting it, but to his confusion her face fell. She looked back to Dustpan with a pained expression, “I made you lose your work didn’t I?” Screwball looked to the bag, then to the stall and then finally to Dustpan, “So you’re not going to get any more bits?”
Dustpan forced a laugh, “Well I can always get another job.”
Screwball shook her head, “But you liked your old job, plus it suits you!” Dustpan guessed that was meant as a compliment, but she wasn’t finished, “So you won’t get food and a place to stay and so on?”
Screwball’s face formed an expression of resigned determination before she handed the bag of money to Dustpan, “Here, you need these bits more than I do!”
Dustpan stared at the offered bag in utter amazement, if he was any judge it contained enough wealth to set him up in a small castle for a year, “No, no Screwball, I couldn’t. Just help me get my old job back and that will do.” You really are bonkers Dustpan, take the money!
Dustpan watched the determined face of Screwball and his heart wavered, there really were a lot of bits there. Screwball really doesn’t have any real understanding about our world does she? He couldn’t in good conscience take the money. (Not to mention what Discord would do to him if the creature found out he’d taken advantage of Screwball that way)
Dustpan made up his mind, “No Screwball: Thank you, but no.”
Screwball peered at Dustpan curiously before tucking the bag away to where ever it had come from, “Okay....” Her face brightened again, “So that’s the last pony we need to apologise to right, time for fun now?”
Dustpan smiled wider as Screwball bounced up and down with excitement, “Yep it’s time to do something fun and I know just the place.”
“So the ball needs to roll up the ‘alley’ and knock over the pins at the end?” Screwball squinted at the collection of trophies and awards arranged inside the cabinet before them.
Dustpan beamed as he took in the sights and sounds of his favourite hobby; the music playing in the background, the thuds of the bowling ball hitting the lane and drawn out rumble as it headed to the target: All the nerves and excitement as ball connected with the pins and sent them sprawling with ‘bat-doyne’ noise. He closed his eyes and soaked in the atmosphere, revelling in it all.
“But what did the pins do to deserve being hit by a ball?” Screwball asked and the moment faltered.
Dustpan scrunched up his nose in puzzlement as he looked to the filly beside him. “Screwball they’re carved bits of wood; it’s their job to be hit by the ball. They haven’t done anything, they don’t think for themselves.”
The doubtful expression on Screwball’s face lingered as Dustpan thanked the pony at the main desk. The then pair trotted between the busy patrons and found their assigned game. Dustpan breathed in deeply: savouring the smells polished wood and slightly stale hayfries.
He grinned at Screwball who still didn’t look convinced before showing her the collection of balls upon the racks, “We need to figure out what weight of ball is best for you Screwy.” Dustpan looked her up and down and judged her build, “Hmm I think one of the mediums one’s for you...”
Searching along the row of waiting spheres, Dustpan finally settled on a mid range orange ball and passed it to Screwball who held it in her hoof expectantly, “Give it a heft, see how it feels.”
Screwball did as instructed; taking the ball in both hooves she squatted before pushing the missile up into the air with all her might. Dustpan leaned back as he watched the ball sail upwards; hang briefly at its apex before it began to tumble back down again with a dreadful unstoppability.
“I er....” was all that escaped his lips before he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable crunch.
“I like this one it’s a friendly ball,” Screwball commented and Dustpan threw open his eyes in astonishment. Screwball was spinning the bowling ball on one hoof and even as he watched she rolled it down her fore leg, behind her neck and up along the other fore leg.
Dustpan just stammered, “I....how...when...?”
Screwball smiled knowingly, “I told you sill colt, daddy and I do foals party entertainment all the time. I wouldn’t be much of an assistant if I couldn’t juggle and know my way around 'balls'.”
Dustpan watched mesmerised as the ball rolled back and forth, jumping from one hoof to another in a delicate dance, Screwball in total control the whole time. With amazing skill she deposited the bowling ball back with the others and even drew a few cheers from the small crowd that had gathered.
Screwball bowed theatrically before winking at Dustpan, “So you were going to show me how to play bowling?”
It took a few moments for Dustpan to register Screwball had asked him a question, “What...I...er..yes...”
Shaking himself down and trying to block out the now thoroughly riveted stares of the ponies about him, Dustpan collected his own bowling ball and sighted down the alley. Drawing back he then released it in a smooth motion and watched the black orb roll its definite way before connecting with the pins.
As the clattering subsided Dustpan saw two white targets still standing and snorted in frustration, “You get one point for every pin, but if you...” As he turned to address Screwball he found to his annoyance she was whispering to the orange ball from before.
Suddenly straightening and looking guilty, Screwball pointed at the channels running along the lane with a curious expression, “What’s this bit for?”
“That would be the gutter Screwball, if you throw the ball wrong it ends up there and you get no points,” Dustpan said with a little smile.
Winking at Screwball Dustpan picked up another ball and repeated the same process once again; his ball rolled down the lane and with final ‘Ka-pung’ the last two pins tumbled down. Dustpan performed a reverse punch with his hoof, “Oh yeah now that’s a ‘spare’!”
Screwball folded her fore legs and cocked her head, “Why is it called a spare? I don’t see any spare pins.” Dustpan opened and closed his mouth a few times. Why ‘is’ it called a spare?
The assembled crowd looked at one another in bemusement; it seemed no pony there knew the answer to that question either and Screwball examined the onlookers with a disappointed frown, “So what you’re saying is that none of you fully understand the game you’re playing?”
The murmur of the crowd turned uncertain as they all took Screwball’s point. Dustpan felt the situation slipping from him and fought to regain some control, “Well that aside it’s your turn now Screwball.”
Screwball nodded and collected her chosen bowling ball before making way to the lane’s end. She peered down the length of polished wood and then glanced at the ball in her hoof before pressing her ear to it.
Dustpan glanced to the other ponies; who were just as bemused as him: Screwball seemed to be listening to the bowling bowl. She periodically nodded and whispered to the object before awaiting a reply.
Seeing their attention on her, Screwball straightened up and did her best to look innocent, “Right so I roll this down the lane and knock over the pins?”
Dustpan wouldn’t be swayed, “What were you doing?”
Screwball looked a little uncomfortable, “I was just asking ‘Giles’ his opinion on ball and pin relations. It’s really fascinating you know.”
Dustpan blinked as he took this in, “Who’s Giles?”
Screwball knocked on the orange bowling ball, “He is called Giles.”
Confused whispers began to fill the air around them and Dustpan felt his cheeks redden. The stares from small crowd that now surrounded the pair caused him to grin uneasily, “She’s only joking; every pony knows bowling balls don’t talk.”
Screwball tilted her head and scrunched up her mouth, “He agrees to play, but does believe it’s very unfair that the pins just stand there while he has to do all the work.”
Before Dustpan could delve further, Screwball lifted the ball high into the air and spun on a single back hoof in the manner of an over enthusiastic discus thrower. The crowd ducked in fear as the weighted ball swept past and Screwball continued to spin faster and faster.
Cries of alarm went up as she became a blur before the bowling ball sailed out of her grasp. Every pony present took cover, but it seemed there was no need: The ball curved around at an impossible angle, struck the lane and wobbled crazily along the boards.
Dustpan watched in utter astonishment as the bowling ball weaved back and forth up the lane, hanging on the rim of the gutter at several points. The recovering crowd watched as ‘Giles’ flipped into the left gutter, only to roll back up the other side, rebound off the barrier and thud back down onto the lane.
Total silence seemed to engulf the bowling alley as every pony present watched the unfolding spectacle. Giles continued to weave and at one point almost curled back up the lane once more. All this took no more than a few moments before Giles finally connected gently with the leading pin at the end of the run and to Dustpan’s amazement....they all just lay down......
What followed was a moment of total shocked silence where it felt like the whole room had frozen. Dustpan felt his jaw hanging open as he watched Screwball began to slow and finish upside down balancing perfectly on one front leg.
The background music came back into focus before the ponies all around burst into enthusiastic applause, “So what’s it called when all the pins fall down with the first ball?” Screwball asked sweetly.
Just when Dustpan thought he had a vague idea on Screwball she went and did something like this, “It’s called a ‘strike’ Screwy and no I don’t know where that comes from either.” Dustpan’s voice had a distant quality as he stared at the now resetting pins.
How in Celestia’s name had she done that? Screwball wasn’t a unicorn so direct magic was out of the question. There were so many unanswered questions about this filly that had swept into Dustpan’s life like a storm front.
He watched as Screwball righted herself and performed a quick bow for the onlooking ponies who all talked excitedly with one another; a few even came forward to shake her hoof in congratulations.
Screwball was oddly ‘likeable’ in an off tilt kind of way and Dustpan found himself warming to her strange manner; even when he always seemed to come off worse as a result of them. He continued to observe Screwball as she interacted with the other ponies and found a smile spreading across his muzzle.
There was an innocent wonder about Screwball which seemed to call to Dustpan’s inner foal, reminding him of carefree days of his not too distant youth. It drew him back to the time when his biggest worries were homework and not having enough sweets; rather than work and other ‘adult’ problems.
Screwball glanced to Dustpan and caught him watching her; she paused for a moment with another quizzical look in her eye before giving him a little wave. Dustpan waved back absentmindedly before he realised what he was doing and felt his cheeks burn as unbidden feelings stirred in his heart. Screwball really was very pretty and Dustpan found himself wondering why he hadn’t noticed this before.
“So what are you going to add to that performance colt? Decided to take to the stage instead of shifting garbage huh?” Dustpan turned slowly as he recognised the condescending manner he had come to dread.
Tip-bit was sat comfortably in the seating alcove of the lane next to theirs and was regarding Dustpan as if he was the collected runoff from one of the old pony’s spoil heaps back at the refuse yard.
Dustpan coughed, “Oh hi Tip-bit..I er didn’t know you liked bowling.”
Tip-bit looked pleased with himself, “Well I don’t normally, but a little bird told me I would find you here Dustpan and I wanted to talk with you on a work related matter.”
Dustpan took on a weary expression; it never boded well when his employer smiled like that. Forcing himself to smile in reply Dustpan braced for impact as he asked the question that was now expected, “What is it you want Tip-bit?”
The old pony’s expression became predatory, “Oh Dustpan always to the point, well it’s mostly about your contract.” Tip-bit produced a scroll which he passed over to Dustpan, grinning like a crocodile.
He took the paper and unrolled it, feeling a horrible certainty that his life was about to become even more difficult. Tip-bit had ‘helpfully’ underlined a small section of text:
Should the employee fail to live up to the terms in this contract he will then be liable to pay compensation to said employer to the amount of two months wages...... Dustpan felt his heart plummet, “You’re not serious Tip?”
The grin on Tip-bit’s muzzle threatened to remove the top of his head, “Well I just want to make sure business between us concluded ‘correctly’.”
Dustpan should have known it would come down to a price tag, “How much Tip?”
“Who’s this Dusty?” Screwball put a hoof around Dustpan’s shoulder and smiled at Tip-bit in a friendly fashion.
Dustpan felt a small thrill go through him at her touch and suddenly found it very hard to speak or think, “This is Tip-bit, my ex-boss from the reclamation yard.” He indicated the old stallion and Screwball nodded eagerly before Dustpan finished the introductions. “Tip-bit this is my friend Screwball.”
Her smile slowly faded and Screwball’s eyes took on an intense focus, “You mean this is the pony who fired you from your job?” Dustpan leant back as her expression turned dangerous, the little propeller on her hat stopped ominously and Dustpan had the sudden desire to be anywhere else but here....