All in a Day's Work

by psychicscubadiver


A Special Task and a Kind Gesture

Author: psychicscubadiver
Editor: Silentcarto
Proofreader: Coandco

Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.


Wilfred Xavier Manning sat at his familiar desk, shuffling the same papers he always had. He paused to clear his throat, then went back to his work. An odd noise made his eyes dart up, inspecting the office, but they found nothing amiss. His ledgers were unchanged, his favorite pen was still in hand, and his inkwell was undisturbed.  The rest of the room was quiet as a tomb, now that the scratch of his writing had stopped. The other desks sat empty, and no noise came from the cobblestone street outside.

Wilfred snorted as he passed silent judgment upon his colleagues. They were probably off on holiday or some other such rot. Unlike his brethren, Wilfred did not shirk his duties at the first opportunity. Being a clerk was his life, and the play of numbers and dust of his books was finer than any luxury. He was not happy, though he would have disagreed politely had anyone informed him of that fact. He was, however, content, and that went an even longer way than happiness in building a peaceful existence. His world was in perfect order until the bell rang.

By itself the chime was innocuous, charming even, but Wilfred could not have stared in more abject horror had a venomous cobra suddenly slithered across his desk. The bell itself was not a problem; the problem lay it what it represented.

A summons. One which he could not refuse.

Nervously, Wilfred put his ledger in order. His last page was blotted, his pen returned to its place and his inkwell capped. Carefully, he dusted off his coat, making certain his muted gray tie was straight. He considered pausing to shine his shoes, but he recognized it as only a desire to delay the inevitable. Wilfred did not want to face what was to come, regardless of its inevitability, but he abhorred wasting time even more.

With a heavy heart and slouched spine he began the journey up the handsome staircase that had not been in the corner of the room fifteen minutes previously. It led to a similarly handsome hallway decorated in dark woodwork and comfortable furniture. None of the art on the walls was expensive or ostentatious, but these pastoral landscapes were intended to soothe rather than impress. They were not entirely successful on Wilfred, but he appreciated their attempts all the same. In no time, he stood before a plain door. Wilfred knocked lightly upon it, hoping there would be no answer.

“Enter,” a pleasant baritone replied.

Wilfred did, and he found himself in an office that looked very much like that of his former employer, only cleaner and better kept. The man sitting at the large oaken desk in front of him did not look like Mr. Greenfield, but that did not mean his appearance was unfamiliar. In fact, he looked almost exactly like Wilfred’s paternal grandfather: a tall, formidable man with a broad, hard-worn face. He had been a factory foreman, well-used to giving orders. Wilfred had always been somewhat fearful of him, and his grandfather had never disabused him of that emotion.

The man sitting before him was incredibly similar to the old Mr. Manning he remembered, save for his eyes. His grandfather’s eyes had been a hard, flinty sort of blue, but these eyes were bright and warm. Wilfred was never sure of their exact shade, because they seemed to change depending on how the light struck them. The man smiled kindly, another deviation from the relative Wilfred had known, and gestured for Wilfred to sit down in one of the office’s many comfortable chairs. “Thank you for arriving so promptly. You’re doing well, I hope?”

Wilfred did as indicated, but he sat at the edge of the seat so as not to sink into its cushioned depths. “Quite well, sir. How might I be of assistance?” The phrase rolled easily off his tongue from long use, belying his nervousness.

A small frown crossed his employer’s face, as though he was disappointed by the impersonal response, but it vanished into another warm smile. “Mr. Manning, you don’t mind if I call you Wilfred, do you?”

Wilfred did in fact mind, but he did not give voice to his annoyance. He was very aware of his place in the world, and this would not be the first time had been forced to endure a superior’s eccentricity. It was a more tolerable habit than the horrid cigars Mr. Greenfield had been partial to.

Hearing no objection, his employer began again. “Wilfred, you have a dedication without equal. I can think of very few who could match your drive.” Wilfred would have been astonished to be informed any colleagues that could match his dedication, but to say so would be arrogant; thus he remained silent. “Your work has not gone unnoticed, and this makes you perfect for a special task of mine.”

Wilfred blinked, attempting to keep the surprise off his face. He had never refused an assignment before, regardless of difficulty, but what could he need done that that a simple clerk would be suited for? Unless some unknown accounts were in urgent need of auditing, Wilfred had little idea what help he could be. Despite his confusion, he gave the only appropriate response. “I would be more than happy to help, sir.”

Rather than respond, his employer opened one of the drawers in his desk and began digging through it. Eventually, he retrieved six small papers, each one rolled into a tube and bound with a different colored ribbon. They also had tiny names inscribed on them, but the handwriting was too messy and cramped to decipher. Wilfred couldn’t help wondering (in a strictly practical fashion) why the papers had been prepared in such a fashion. Perhaps they were invitations, but if so, surely an envelope would have worked better.

A serious expression met his eyes, when Wilfred finally raised them. “I would like you to deliver these to six young ladies. After you’ve finished, return to this office.”

Were Wilfred more expressive, he might have cocked his head and asked incredulously, “Is that really necessary?” After all, his employer should have been able to summon them, whoever they were, as easily as he had brought Wilfred here. In his opinion, Wilfred would have been quite justified in questioning the obvious waste of his time, however valueless his superior seemed to find it.

However, Wilfred was not given to such displays, and thus only frowned slightly. “Who are they? How am I to find them?” Regardless of his personal opinion on the matter, he was an excellent employee and  intended to do this job as efficiently as possible.

His employer chuckled and rose from his seat. Wilfred quickly mimicked him, as propriety dictated. “You’ll know them when you meet them. Let’s just say that they are… unique. Finding them won’t be any trouble, either. Just take that door—” he pointed to the door Wilfred had used to enter “—and you’ll run into them eventually.”

Taking that as his signal to leave, Wilfred gave a nod as crisp as a soldier’s salute. The papers he tucked into his jacket’s inner pockets, three in each one. He paused to gather his hat from the nearby hat rack that should have been downstairs, then opened the door. He was careful to shut it tightly before moving down the grey stone steps into the street outside.

The streets were as empty as his office had been. No pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, no beggars crouched in the alleys, no street urchins ran underfoot. No quick hansom cabs with their loudmouthed drivers, no stately coaches with noble crests, no wagons or carts hauling goods to and fro. The cobbles rang only with Mr. Manning’s footsteps as he walked alone. A cold wind howled through the barren roads and shutters flapped in the breeze. The empty windows watched him like the hollow eyes of clean-picked skulls, but Wilfred did not mind.

Indeed, it was somewhat refreshing to be free of London’s cloying press of humanity. It was odd that they would all be gone just now, but perhaps there was a royal coronation or wedding he hadn’t heard about. It wasn’t that Wilfred disliked good Queen Victoria, but he saw little point in paying attention to the activities of people so high above his station. It certainly was not because he couldn’t care less about the life and times of Prince Some-such or Duke Something-or-another. Wilfred Xavier Manning was a solidly patriotic citizen of the British Empire, thank you very much.

It was an unfortunate truth that the streets of London could be confusing even to those who have lived there all their lives. Shortly after deviating from his traditional route between home and office, Wilfred became quite lost. He tried several cul-de-sacs, took some streets for which he could find no names, got turned around a few times and had to risk a number of shortcuts down narrow alleys which, to his pleasant surprise, were free of refuse. For some reason, he continually found his way to the entrance of one of the larger city parks. Wilfred was unfamiliar with the city’s green spaces, having seldom visited them as a child and never as an adult, so he couldn’t put a name to this one. He might have even thought it was a different park every time, but the brass statue of a bearded statesman confirmed the place’s identity each time he found himself before it.

Wilfred rounded a corner, hoping to emerge on Fleet street, only to once again meet the metal face of the long-gone politician grinning from his pedestal among the trees. Pondering this unlikely turn of events, Wilfred decided that, perhaps, he ought to try the path through the park. The man-made woods appeared to extend a good distance, but he had exhausted every other avenue and gotten nowhere. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he kept coming back because he was meant to take the park’s path. Wilfred quashed the foolish notion and checked to make sure his hat was on snugly. Though it was only a top hat of modest height, there was still every chance of a stray branch snagging it from his head if he weren’t careful. That was one of the many reasons he avoided forests: they were dangerous places and had no care for the sanctity of a man’s hat.

Still, Wilfred was made of stern material, and he tramped into the unknown, taking care to stay on the neatly lined brick path. An unseen bird chirped as he passed between trees. Far from coming out upon a street he was familiar with, the vegetation only seemed to become denser and denser as he journeyed further. After some fifteen minutes of walking, the branches overhead had thickened into a solid canopy that allowed precious little light to enter the tunnel his path had become.

Well-used to reading sums by the dim light of a faulty lantern, Wilfred had no trouble seeing his path even in the thick shadows. As he continued forward, the trees became taller and broader, leaving more space between them, but the canopy remained as thick as ever. The forest was silent, aside from the occasional cheeps from its birds. There were no noises from the city around him, and even Wilfred’s footfalls seemed muted. He was just beginning to consider turning back and trying another street, when he heard a soft cry.

Wilfred blinked and stared into the forest, surprised by the sudden noise. He was ready to dismiss the sound as a product of imagination (which, believe it or not, he did possess), when it came again. Unfamiliar with wildlife, Wilfred wasn’t certain what sort of animal was making the noise, but whatever it was sounded hurt. He hesitated for a second, but with a quick glance at the path to memorize its location he set off to find the source of the cry. The animal continued to make its noises, and with little trouble, Wilfred was able to find it.

A small white rabbit had become tangled within a patch of briars. It was twisting and pulling, trying to free itself, but every movement only served to tangle it further, the sharp little thorns biting into it.

“Oh dear,” Wilfred said, eyeing the trapped creature. At the sound of his voice it looked up at him. He winced, expecting the rabbit to struggle even harder upon seeing him, but his presence actually seemed to calm it down. It must be a tame rabbit, he thought, perhaps someone’s pet.

Wilfred had already spent too long in this forest. If he were ever going to complete his task, he needed to be going. Yet, this park seemed rarely visited and the poor creature was clearly in pain. As he stood there, trying to decide which course to take, the rabbit let out a squeak that a more imaginative person might have called ‘indignant’.

With a sigh, Wilfred bent to free the rabbit. “Very well. Be patient and I’ll have you out in but a few moments.” Talking to animals was not an activity he normally participated in, but he supposed a peaceful tone should help to calm the pet. Moving carefully, he grabbed the vines where there were no thorns and untwisted them. It was not as easy as finding the errors in an embezzler’s account, but years of pen work had given him deft fingers, and they went to their task ably. In a short time the rabbit was free, and held close in one of his hands.

“There we are, little one. Now, where might we find your owner?” Far from showing any appreciation for the rescue, the rabbit began to struggle and kick in his grasp. Not wishing for the daft creature to fall and break its head, however much the ungrateful beast deserved it, he held on tight. He quickly, and painfully, discovered a flaw in his plan.

“Ahh!” he yelped, letting gravity take charge of the rabbit. “You bit me!” he yelled as the furry perpetrator scooted off into the underbrush. Grumbling, Wilfred nursed his poor finger as he made his way back towards the path. Or, at least, the direction in which he thought the path lay. Five minutes later, he had not found the path yet, though he was certain that his small act of mercy had earned him a wound that might well give him rabies.

His worry and dismay were cut short as he heard a voice from elsewhere in the park exclaim, “Oh, Angel Bunny, there you are! I was so worried.” The voice was young, feminine and demure, and no doubt belonged to the owner of the rabbit. Wilfred was almost as fond of children as he was of cod liver oil, but perhaps she could direct him back to the path.

Although her voice was soft as a downy feather, the silence of the forest made her easy to pinpoint. Her constant stream of cooing and comfort for the little monster that had wounded him led him gradually past trees and around bramble patches. At last he saw a clearing ahead, one in which he was certain awaited the girl he was looking for.

He had expected a rich, young heiress bedecked in a fine dress, possibly with a silent governess in tow. What he now saw was certainly female, and perhaps young, but those were the only ways she matched his preconceptions about the rabbit’s owner.

She was a slim girl, barely five feet tall with thin, graceful arms and legs. Her large sea-green eyes were almost hidden behind a cascade of rose-colored hair. Every movement she made reminded him of a doe he had once seen at a relative’s farm: delicate and cautious, ready to dart away at any moment. Her sundress was too thin even for summer, a season already long past. Yet she showed no sign of being cold. That conundrum, however, was not the strangest thing about her.

That distinction belonged to enormous wings that seemed to sprout from her back as naturally as any of her other limbs. They were covered with large feathers of a soft golden hue, much like the first beams of sunlight after a storm. Currently, her amazing wings were wrapping the demonic rabbit in a tight hug, but Wilfred had no trouble believing that her wingspan was fully three yards, if not more.

All in all, Wilfred was presented with a panorama that would have disturbed even the steadiest of minds. Gears within his head spun aimlessly, the clockwork of his psyche refusing to accept this sudden and definite disruption to his worldview. A complete and utter evacuation of his senses seemed to be the only appropriate option, but there suddenly appeared a beacon of hope.

Perhaps, he thought, she is one of the girls I need to speak with. The rest of his mind jumped on the idea, abandoning its frenzied panic as though it had never done anything so undignified. Yes, of course, he agreed with himself. I was warned they were unique. Obviously, I’ve simply never had the pleasure to meet any individual with her … condition. Settled upon a new course and secure in the knowledge that his employer knew some rather unusual people, Wilfred felt much better.

From her defensive posture, Wilfred gathered that the girl had noticed his presence.  Both her eyes were almost hidden behind her hair, and her wings covered most of her body and all of her pet. During the brief leave of his senses he had probably been staring; hardly his fault, but he could see how the action might have unnerved her.

“My apologies,” he offered, lowering his eyes. “I was just trying to find my way out of here and I heard your voice. I regret startling you.”

A muffled squeak was the only response.

Wilfred frowned. He was not a sociable person by nature, but that apology should have more than made up for his gaffe. Still, nothing to do but press on. “Forgive me if I presume, but I was told to look for six unique young ladies, and I believe you may be one of them.”

“Six?” she asked quietly. “You mean my friends and me?”

“I believe so,” Wilfred replied. Some people might have smiled at their success. Wilfred merely felt a cool satisfaction. He moved slowly as not to startle her, reaching into his jacket for the invitations he carried. The first one his hand closed on was sealed with a golden ribbon streaked with rose-colored lines. He blinked at the coincidence but shrugged it off.

The girl leaned forward, took the letter, then darted away from Wilfred as though scared to death of him. She tugged open the ribbon and began to quickly read its contents. She finished with a squeak and her eyes darted towards him nervously. “Um…” she murmured softly. “I’m supposed to follow you back to your office once you’ve gathered all of us.”

That made sense, Wilfred mused, though it would have been more convenient if the letter had merely included directions for her. Still, there was no helping what had already been set into motion. Perhaps it would even be for the best as she seemed to have an inkling about to whom the other letters belonged to. “Could I trouble you, then, to show me where I can find your friends?”

“Um, all right,” she replied meekly, looking at her feet.

“Very well. Let us be on our way. If you’d be so kind as to lead?” He had meant it as merely a polite gesture, but the girl seemed to treat it as a serious question.

“I-I guess so. This way.” She tucked the letter away somewhere in her plumage and gestured for Wilfred to follow. He did so, though the pace she set was frustratingly slow.

Wilfred tried starting a conversation, though it was more of an effort to alleviate his boredom than a real attempt at camaraderie. “Nice day we’re having.” The statement was true; the sky was bluer than he could remember in quite some time, though it did feel a trifle hot for the season. Of course, he had been running around for some time in full dress, which was certain to boil the blood somewhat.

The waif nodded and continued walking slowly, keeping herself hidden behind her long bangs.

Plainly rebuffed, Wilfred felt a stab of annoyance. He almost said something sharp to the girl, but stopped himself. Whether or not she deserved a pointed remark, she was unlikely to weather one soundly. Some measure of patience descended upon Wilfred as he considered her. Her condition likely made her an outsider to most of society. Some might even claim her to be of supernatural or impure origins, though any fool could see she was just a girl, albeit one of rather odd circumstances. Still, her fear likely stemmed from such reactions, and she had no way of knowing that he didn’t regard her with any such rot.

“I am sorry I have been terse with you,” Wilfred said, as gently as he could manage. He strove to present a sympathetic expression and was partly successful, losing most of his perpetual glower. “I was not entirely pleased with this assignment, and it soured my mood. Then, the bite from your rabbit did little to improve my disposition, but that isn’t your−”

With a gasp, her wings flared open, revealing the girl they had been shielding. Those eyes that had darted away from him in fear now fixed on him, filled with concern. Her bearing completely changed from a shrinking violet to a worried mother. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Her voice was still soft, but it possessed an intensity Wilfred had seldom heard. “Where did he bite you? How did it happen?” She glanced down at the pet still nestled in her arms with a cross expression. “Naughty boy, Angel.”

Wilfred was more than a little taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, but he adjusted accordingly. “It was on one of my fingers. I was trying to hold him still after removing him from a patch of thorns.” He searched his hands for evidence of his wound, but curiously found none. The initial injury had hurt dearly, and Wilfred had assumed that stitches would be necessary. Now that he took the time to inspect carefully, there was scant proof he had even been bitten. Wilfred flushed slightly, embarrassed to have even brought it up. “Never mind, I’m certain he was just nervous.”

She seemed aghast. “So he bit you after you helped him? Very naughty boy, Angel.” The rabbit squeaked in protest at her tone, but the shy girl was having none of that. “When we get home you are in serious trouble, mister.”

The way the rabbit wilted beneath the gentle girl’s piqued tone amused Wilfred. He had never realized rabbits were intelligent enough to read their owner’s mood. “It is all right,” Wilfred reassured her, smiling for the first time in ages. “I’m afraid I never caught your name, though.”

She blushed and mumbled something that he only caught the tail end of.

“Shy?” Wilfred asked. It was an odd name, but one that certainly fit her.

The girl, Shy, nodded in confirmation.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shy. I am Wilfred Xavier Manning,” he said, offering his hand. She moved her pet into the crook of one arm and used her free hand to take his.

“Likewise,” she replied, giving Wilfred a soft, but pleasant smile. There was something in that smile that struck a chord. Something that reached into him and shifted gears that had all but rusted still. The feeling was gone before he could analyze it further. The sensation, though initially alarming, gradually faded to the back of his mind. After all, the day really was lovely, the scenery was pleasing to the eye, and it had been a long time since he had enjoyed, rather than tolerated, another person’s company. It seemed a shame to ruin something so pleasant with analysis.