All in a Day’s Work
Author: psychicscubadiver
Editor: Silentcarto
Proofreader: Coandco
Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.
Chapter 3: A Moment of Laughter and a Generous Soul
Wilfred Xavier Manning did not consider himself to be a man of action – not unless one deemed the hunting of errant sums to be a sport. Despite this, Wilfred had a certain amount of pride and sought to comport himself with dignity, most especially when in the presence of the fairer sex.
Thus, it was quite the blow to his ego that he grew tired and his feet ached long before either of his companions had complained. At least they had finally reached the village. The houses were expertly painted in clear, bright colours, yet paradoxically roofed in thatch. It was as though the village had decided as one to spend all their money on decorating the walls of their homes and had been forced to settle for inferior materials to finish building them.
Even the strangest house, however, didn’t begin to compare to the people walking the streets. Almost a third of them had wings, which either flapped to keep them aloft, or tucked tightly against their bodies. Some of the children also had such appendages, indicating that the condition was prevalent throughout one’s life, though Wilfred didn’t see any of the younger ones using their wings to fly.
A glitter of colour drew his attention to another young lady chatting companionably with one of the winged residents. In the center of her forehead stood a small, pointed jewel. Propriety prevented him from staring, but it was a close thing. He almost opened his mouth to ask his companions what that was all about, but now that he looked, he realized a fair number of the village’s residents, both male and female, wore the little gems. He had heard that the people of India wore such exotic decorations. Was there a connection? Did this mysterious condition arise somewhere in the steamy jungles of the subcontinent? Uncommonly curious, he sought to observe one at close quarters.
The press of the crowd made such a task simple, and his chosen subject did not even seem to notice him during his approach. On closer inspection, Wilfred could spy the edges of the gem more clearly. It was light green and clear enough to see through, but attached by no means he could discern. He searched for the seam where it was glued on, but he couldn’t seem to make it out. He moved a bit closer. Jack and Shy still drifted a few yards in front of him, as yet unaware of his momentary mission.
Wilfred recoiled in shock as he realized the crystal spur actually protruded from the strange girl’s forehead. The skin mounded up where it pressed through, and looking through the crystal, he realized he could actually see beneath the flesh on the opposite side. His gorge rose at the sight, but with a few deep breaths he mastered himself. The woman was not monstrous or disgusting; it was merely a shock to see the human body seeming to produce a jewel in the center of the skull.
But really, he reasoned, jewels were only a collection of minerals. A different manifestation of the condition, he supposed, must cause the accumulation and crystallization of certain minerals in the center of the forehead. They didn’t seem to protrude into the skull, which was a small blessing, at least. He searched the crowd, noting several such individuals behaving entirely normally. He did, however, notice an odd shine or gleam coming from those gems out of the corner of his eye which vanished when he viewed them squarely. The gems must simply act as some sort of prism, he told himself. The gleam in his peripheral vision must be merely an odd refraction of the sunlight.
Wilfred nodded to himself, becoming more certain in his conclusions the more he thought about them. The accumulation of minerals in the bodies of these unfortunate people would also explain the incredible variety and depth of colour each of them possessed. Though Jack could have passed for a normal person in the proper clothing, many of the other villagers who lacked the more … unique signs of the condition still stood out thanks to their unnatural hair or eye colours. It was even possible that Dash’s wild hair was not dyed, but instead an expression of the condition that was rare even among the rest of the carriers.
The village bustled and moved in a manner quite unlike the city Wilfred had been used to. There were few vehicles of any sort, and no draft animals whatsoever. Indeed, the people themselves pushed or pulled wagons, carts, and in one case what appeared to be a small coach. There were tales of such things out of the Orient, but to see it in an English village – even one so odd as this – was just one more bizarre detail in a day full of them. Thinking on it, it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen any livestock since arriving here, either. Only now did he realize that the beautiful pasture land they had passed through on the way to this town was almost conspicuously empty. Was that a part of their condition, or a product of a society long since divorced from normal standards? Wilfred’s mind spun with questions enough to give him a headache. He was not a man much inclined to consume spirits, but if there was ever a place to give a reason for imbibing, it stood before him.
In fact, Wilfred’s mind was so full that he never even noticed the faint buzzing sound or the collective hush of the crowd around him. Nor did he notice how they silently made way, opening a wide corridor down the previously packed street.
He did, however, notice the shrill cry of “GANGWAY!”
Wilfred’s head shot up and he beheld what could only be described as a ‘contraption’. At the forefront was a purpled-haired, orange-winged young girl riding a tiny wheeled board, steering it via a long upright stick in the front. A rope connected her to a small, bright red wagon trailing behind in which sat two more small girls. The front girl’s tiny wings buzzed like a hummingbird’s, giving her far more speed than Wilfred would have thought possible.
“GANGWAY!” she yelled again, this time with an air of desperation. Wilfred rather belatedly realized that he stood in their path and they had little means to slow down. He jumped backwards, arms windmilling in a most undignified manner as he sought to keep his balance. The dangerous little craft whizzed past at a foolish speed, its occupants still raising a hue and cry as they barreled along. The crowd soon removed them from line of sight, but given the lack of painful cries, it seemed they had managed to avoid running down anyone else on the way.
“Are you okay?” Shy asked softly as he let out a sigh of relief.
“Nothing injured save for my pride,” he responded, which set Jack to chuckling. He raised an eyebrow, almost breaking into a sneer. Laughing, practically guffawing, at another’s misfortune seemed a particularly low blow. Wilfred certainly didn’t laugh at such situations. Or most situations, to be honest.
Still, there was no use starting a row over something trivial. He held down the caustic reply he wished to give and settled for muttering “street urchins” in a vile tone under his breath.
“Ooooo, what’re street urchins? Are those anything like sea urchins? I’ve never heard of any other kind of urchins, so that’s gotta be it!” Never in his life had Wilfred beheld such a bright, vivid shade of pink. He had seen the soft pastels worn by children, but it did nothing to prepare him for this chromatic onslaught. The girl’s dress was pink, her shoes were pink, her apron was pink where it wasn’t blotched with white flour. Even the flowers embroidered into the apron were done in a darker pink. Her hair, though, was the worst offender; frizzy and curly and almost fluorescently bright, it seemed to bounce this way and that with a life of its own. The … girl darted around him, poking, prodding, and examining without the slightest sense of decorum.
“Excuse me?” he said, drawing back a step.
“You’re excused,” she replied automatically, taking a step forward to keep close to him. “Oh, are you wearing those big shoes so you won’t hurt yourself if you step on any street urchins? That’s a great idea!”
She beamed at him for a moment, showing more teeth in her smile than Wilfred had previously believed a person could possess. Then she glanced down at her own feet and gasped. “Ah! My shoes are so thin and small they’ll be no match for the vicious urchins overwhelming our streets! Save me!” she cried, leaping into his arms.
That maneuver might have succeeded had she warned him properly. And if he were a tad more muscular. As things were, he staggered under the sudden weight literally thrust upon him and they both went down in a heap.
He lay there for a moment, trying in vain to order his thoughts. Once upon a time he had understood a rational sequence of cause and effect. Reviewing the past few minutes, he suddenly doubted whether or not such a thing even existed. If it did, then the arrival of the girl currently weighing upon his mind and abdomen had sent it off on holiday without even a card to mark the occasion.
Eventually, sanity returned in the form of the two girls that Wilfred had been following. Shy and Jack both offered a hand and pulled the girl to her feet, and more importantly, off his stomach. “Thanks, girls,” she said with a smile. Her gaze fixed on her hands as she flexed her fingers and giggled. “Boy, these things sure are handy. A girl could get used to this.”
Both of the other girls ignored the bizarre statement, and Wilfred acted in kind. Jack proffered her hand shortly thereafter, and he was not so proud as to refuse it. Wilfred groaned and something in his back cracked as he stood up.
“You should be more careful, Pinkie,” Shy scolded gently.
The strange girl – ‘Pinkie’, apparently, a nickname which certainly fit – pouted at first, but it turned into a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just get so excited when we have a visitor. Especially one as especial as him!”
Given how roughly he had been treated, Wilfred feared to discover how Pinkie might have greeted someone she wasn’t pleased to meet. Only then did he make the connection between her name and an earlier statement. “Pardon,” he asked Jack. “Did you mention a ‘Pinkie’ in conjunction to my deliveries?” Wilfred Xavier Manning was not a churchgoing man, but all the same he prayed that he had been wrong. Perhaps because he was not a churchgoing man, his prayer went unanswered.
“Right on the money, there,” Jack said with a grin.
Wilfred bit back a sigh. What was more one indignity heaped upon all the others? He glanced down in mild consternation at his attire. His once-immaculate coat was dusted with flour and smirched with the dirt of the street.
He raised his head, then jerked backwards in surprise as he met a pair of bright blue eyes far too close to his own. “I’m sorry,” Pinkie said with a strange amount of solemnity. That expression broke beneath the weight of an irrepressible grin. “Here, let me help you!” Before Wilfred could refuse, politely of course, she had already started brushing down his coat with a small, noisy device. Within moments his coat was cleaner than he could have imagined. Perhaps even cleaner than when he started this task.
Pinkie nodded in satisfaction and tucked her odd implement into her apron pocket. “There we go. All better!”
Wilfred was at a loss for words. None of his usual assortment seemed quite adequate. Instead of speaking, he reached for the papers inside his coat. If she was indeed one of the girls he was meant to find, she should have an invitation. To his surprise, though, there were only two papers left in his coat pocket. A quick round of mental arithmetic told him the number should have been three. He almost glanced to the cobbled streets to see if the missing paper at become displaced due to Pinkie’s exuberance. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw Pinkie studying a sheet of paper similar to the ones he carried, complete with a pink and darker pink ribbon twined around her finger.
Pickpocketing was a low and disreputable skill, yet on some level Wilfred was impressed by the ease with which she had gained the invitation. Even thinking back he could not pinpoint where she had removed it from his person. However, to be impressed personally was rather removed from his professional opinion upon the matter. Wilfred drew himself up until he towered over the strange girl, casting his shadow upon her. “I trust you are enjoying your invitation?” he asked coldly.
Pinkie nodded unabashedly, clearly distracted by what she was reading. Her face changed expression several times throughout the contents of her letter. Wilfred as not altogether certain what each of those emotions were, but even he could read the look of determination she wore upon finishing the paper.
Although not a curious soul by nature, Wilfred had to admit that he desired to know the contents of an invitation capable of provoking such a flurry of emotions. He opened his mouth to ask, but before a word could cross his lips, Pinkie dove forward, wrapping her deceptively strong arms around him.
“Don’t worry!” she declared. “I will answer the call and do everything in my power to help you!”
“Urk!” Wilfred replied, finding it difficult to breath with his diaphragm currently crushed against his spine.
“I think he gets the picture, Pinkie,” Jack said, at last stepping in to break the near-fatal embrace Pinkie had imposed upon him. Wilfred sucked in a grateful breath of air and wheezed a word that an extremely sharp-eared person might have recognized as ‘thanks’. His gratitude was only slightly marred by the fact that his coat was once again covered in flour.
Pinkie, however, must have noticed his sour expression as he glanced down. “Whoops. I’ll take care of that.” This time Wilfred was watching as she removed the odd device from her apron again and only belatedly realized that the pocket was entirely too small to contain the implement.
He took an unconscious step backwards, both alarmed and mystified. Pinkie took no notice and advanced upon him, the sleek device already humming and whirring to life. His mental machinery spun its wheels; cogs disengaged, gears stripped themselves, and flywheels were torn asunder. Once again he felt the longing to return to his proper job; to leave this strange place and never look back. Wilfred looked to Jack, hoping against hope for an explanation. Pinkie started cleaning his coat with no care for his quiet desperation.
“How?” he asked hoarsely.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder, much as a boisterous man might do to a friend. “I was a bit afraid you’d have that reaction. Just try not to think about it too much and you’ll be right as rain.”
Wilfred Xavier Manning stared at her incredulously. Even within the short scope of their acquaintanceship, she should well have realized that he was not the sort of person to ‘not think’ about anything. Still, he tried. He closed his eyes and focused on only the strange noise of the device. He very carefully listened only to its clamor and did not even consider thinking about how easily Pinkie had drawn it forth from a too-small pocket like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat.
His eyes flew open, and he almost could have laughed in relief. Though, of course, he didn’t. Wilfred turned to Jack and nodded towards her ‘mysterious’ friend. “Of course. It never pays to try guessing a magician’s tricks.” That had to be the explanation. Pinkie was an amateur magician, skilled in sleight-of-hand and misdirection. Were this any other day, Wilfred would easily have realized she was only pulling harmless tricks, but between the stress and surprises he had already endured, it was no shock that he had taken a moment to see through it.
Jack shrugged. “She’s got some kind of magic, all right. Not that anyone knows she does it.”
“It’s easy!” Pinkie chirped, finished with her ministrations. Once more his coat and other sundry clothing was immaculate. “You’ve just got to fudge the rules a bit and hope nobody notices.” Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth as she studiously inspected him. Pinkie shook her head sadly and sighed. “That isn’t close to enough. You need fifty cc’s of fun, stat. There’s only one place in town to find that!”
“The pet-care store?” Shy asked.
“Sugarcube Corner!” Pinkie proclaimed, throwing her arms wide. Someone must have been practicing with a trumpet, because a short fanfare played in time to her words. Wilfred blinked. That was an odd coincidence, but he had no time to contemplate it further. Pinkie was attempting – and for the most part, succeeding – to drag him down the street.
“C’mon!” she shouted with all the exuberance of a happy child. “Let’s get something tasty in your tummy and watch that frown turn upside down!”
Wilfred dug in his heels and managed to extricate his hand from her grasp, though it was not easy. “Thank you,” he said, massaging the feeling back into his abused digits. “However, I would rather continue in my task. I still have two invitations to deliver, and work must come before play.” At least, that’s what he believed the girl was suggesting. Her words were rather difficult to parse.
Pinkie pouted and snatched his hand back, pulling even harder. Wilfred had to take a step forward to keep from stumbling. She was stronger than she looked, certainly stronger than he had expected. Still, his feet found new purchase, and he managed to stop himself. Pinkie yanked again, but he was prepared this time and didn’t budge. They locked stares, both of them determined, fully engaged in a contest that strained both mental and physical abilities to their limits.
“Um… that’s probably where Dash went looking for Pinkie. Shouldn’t we go there to meet up?” Shy said.
Wilfred considered his options. The detour would delay him, but he did need to return with all of them. And there was a real chance he would lose either his dignity or his arm if this contest with Pinkie continued. “Very well,” he said, stepping forward and giving his aching arm a brief respite. He used the other to straighten his tie, which had gone askew. “We shall retrieve Dash, or should your friend be gone, will continue on. I’m certain Dash is capable of finding us later, should it come to that.”
“Only so long as you try something from the shop,” Pinkie added, still not letting go of his hand. “Anyone new in town gets a cupcake on the house!”
Cup… cake? Wilfred thought. It must be some sort of local sweet. Regardless, he supposed he could try one. If that was the price he had to pay, then so be it. “As you wish; far be it from me to spit upon tradition. Let’s be off, and hope we catch Dash in time.”
“Sounds ‘bout right to me,” Jack said. Shy just nodded.
“All righty!” Pinkie shouted, bouncing her down the street, easily keeping up with the fast pace Wilfred set. “So, heard any good jokes lately?” she asked, spoiling what could have been a pleasant silence.
“No.”
“Heard any bad jokes lately?”
“No.”
“Heard any jokes at all lately?”
“No.”
“Do you mind telling me your favorite joke of all time?”
“No,” he replied automatically, only realizing his mistake seconds too late. Wilfred glared at Pinkie, and she grinned innocently back. He almost hurried away, but then remembered the difficulty Shy had had in keeping up with Jack’s pace back at the farm. Sullenly, he stayed his course.
“Well…?” Pinkie said.
He sighed and reviewed what few jokes he knew. Most of them were not appropriate for mixed company, regardless of how often his uncle had delighted in telling them. Wilfred was not a man with whom many jokes were shared. His colleagues would occasionally trade gibes or banter good-naturedly, but he had never been part of such confidences. Not even when he was a schoolboy had his fellows shared much with him. Not that he had encouraged them to. Wilfred had always been more than comfortable in his solitude. Though, there was one witticism he had always found quite amusing…
“How is a rook like a writing desk?”
Pinkie frowned and scratched her head, behaving rather more like a circus ape than a young lady. After a moment or two of pondering the question, she shook her head and shrugged. Wilfred held down a chuckle. The beauty in this joke was in its unexpected yet perfectly logical solution.
“Because you’ll find that a Parliament is full of both,” he quipped, and this time he did give few good guffaws. Pinkie didn’t laugh, but neither did she seem disappointed. She beamed at him, clearly not getting the joke, but enjoying it nonetheless. Something in her smile made Wilfred feel self-conscious, and his laughter abruptly cut off. He reassumed his usual scowl with practiced ease.
“However, this is not the time for such jocularity. We have business to attend to,” he said sternly.
Pinkie wilted, her strange hair almost seeming to flatten and lose some of its color. “I’m sorry. I know I come on strong and act weird sometimes, but I was only trying to make you happy,” she said with a strange solemnity.
Wilfred nodded to her in gratitude. “Thank you, but tomfoolery doesn’t suit me. Finishing this job and returning to my proper duties will make me happy.”
“Will it?” Pinkie asked, her bright eyes seeming to peer deep within him. She shook her head slowly. “How long has it been since you laughed?”
“I laughed just now,” Wilfred said defensively.
Pinkie snorted. “I mean before that.”
Wilfred cast his mind back. Surely, it had not been that long ago. But how long had it been? “Years and years,” he murmured aloud. But then his scowl returned full force. “But I am a man of business. A person of serious means and intent. I don’t need something so frivolous as laughter.”
Pinkie had no response for that, save for her mischevious grin. Wilfred was not certain, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that her smile implied ‘we’ll see about that’. A slight breeze made him give a tiny shudder.
“What are you two gabbin’ about up there?” Jack called from the rear of the group.
“No~thing!” Pinkie sang back, transparently innocent.
Jack snorted in disbelief. Shy gave a small frown and spoke up. “If he doesn’t want a party, you shouldn’t force one on him. You remember Cranky, don’t you?”
Pinkie stuck out her tongue in a childish gesture, but then giggled. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to do the same thing. Except maybe reuniting him with his long lost love.” She turned Wilfred, with a pensive pout. “Do you have a long lost love?”
“No,” he replied. He hadn’t ever held any sort of close romantic relationship. Though, come to think of it, he was getting on in years. Perhaps it was time he looked for a wife. Someone who was quiet, sensible, practical and not susceptible to the flights of fancy to which the gentler sex were prone. An image flashed through his mind unbidden: Pinkie bouncing up and down in a wedding dress next to himself in a flour-spotted suit.
It took every ounce of nerve he possessed to keep from screaming. Slowly, slowly he brought his thundering heart rate back to normal and calmed himself. There was nothing to fear; something so ridiculous as that could never come to pass.
Then, he envisioned their children.
“We’re here!” Pinkie shouted.
“Thank God!” Wilfred cried, banishing those frightful images to the deepest reaches of his mind and locking them away for all eternity. His exclamation and expression received a curious stare from Jack and Shy, but Pinkie either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
‘Here’ was a pleasant-smelling building designed rather differently from the many thatched cottages common throughout most of the village. Sugarcube Corner was stoutly built with a sharply pitched roof and a small turret in the center. It was also decorated in all manner of confectionary themed items. Candy cane columns flanked the door, and the horse-shaped weather vane held another candy cane in a tight grip. The roof looked as though it were made of gingerbread, complete with frosting rain gutters, the chimney was likewise coated in more frosting, and the turret resembled a pair of small cakes, thick with pink icing, stacked one atop the other. The small sign next to the door, depicting another such cake, seemed almost excessive given the trouble they had already gone through to make their profession known.
“There you guys are!” Dash shouted, standing up from his small table as they entered. “Mrs. Cake said Pinkie had gone out on an errand, and she’d be back any minute, but it took so long I was about to go out looking again!” From the crumbs and jam stains around his mouth, Wilfred doubted Dash had suffered overmuch during his wait.
“Sorry,” Shy apologized. “We found Pinkie, and, well…”
“You know how that situation goes,” Jack said with a nod.
Dash nodded back, before dragging his sleeve across his mouth. “Yeah, okay. But now that we’re together again, let’s get a move on! I’ve got place to be! Tricks to practice!”
“Naps to take!” Pinkie shouted, giggling at Dash’s red-faced glare. Wilfred gave a cough that could have been a chuckle. But it wasn’t. Not at all.
“Ta-da!” Pinkie announced presenting him with a small cake similar to the one depicted on the sign outside, but this one was coated in a thin layer of chestnut brown icing instead of a thick pink swirl.
So this ‘cup-cake’ was simply a fairy cake by another name. Wilfred assumed it was so called by the villagers because it was about the size of a teacup. Or perhaps it had been baked in a cup? Either way Pinkie was standing very close, grinning, fidgeting, waiting for him to try the confection. Even if it had not smelled delicious, Wilfred would have been hesitant to refuse her. As it was, he wasted no time taking a bite. The icing was a rich, mellow caramel. The cake underneath was light, airy and yet substantial enough to satisfy. It was also studded with small pieces of crunchy walnut. Wilfred was a man that rarely indulged himself – gastrically or otherwise – but he consumed the toothsome treat in only a few more bites.
“Mmm,” he said, using a handkerchief to wipe away any remaining crumbs. “You were right, Miss Pinkie. That was certainly worth a moment out of my schedule.” Jack and Dash clearly thought he was damning their friend with faint praise, but Pinkie took his compliment in the spirit in which he had intended.
“Yes!” she shouted, thrusting her fist skyward in a curious gesture. “Rich and flavorful, yet understated. I knew you’d like it!”
“Indeed,” Wilfred agreed, breaking into a smile, quite to his own surprise. “However, you must now keep your end of the bargain. We need to leave for our next stop.” He turned to the door and suddenly stopped. “Which would be where?” he asked Shy.
Shy gained a contemplative look, tapping her chin with a single finger. “Carousel Boutique is closer than the library.”
“Lead on, then,” Wilfred said, and with thankfully little conversation or delay they left.
The streets were emptier for some reason when they exited the bakery. Wilfred would have assumed that the presence of a stranger in the insular little town had driven the residents indoors, but none of those left outside took any notice of him. In fact, thinking back, he couldn’t remember anyone in the crowd even looking at him when he first arrived. He might as well have not existed to these strange people. Wilfred sternly stopped such a ridiculous line of thought. His adventures today must have addled his wits, the way he kept having such odd thoughts.
The walk this time was dominated by a conversation taking place between the four friends traveling with him. They talked and joked, each of their disparate personalities combining into a greater whole. He was put in mind of the way differently sized gears could mesh smoothly and without error to form a working clock. Dash led the conversation with loud boasts and declarations. Pinkie shared jokes and added oddly insightful, or simply odd, commentary. Jack was the voice of reason and the soul of practicality, though she balanced these traits with an easygoing nature. Shy spoke rarely, but always listened, lending an ear to even the most unlikely of Dash’s boasts or the queerest of Pinkie’s notions. The conversation ebbed and flowed with the ease of old companionship; it contained none of the awkward pauses or banal chatter that marked more shallow acquaintances. Wilfred had no part in it, but they did not exclude him out of malice. His silence set him apart.
Which was just as well. He had no interest in participating. Even if he did hold any such desire, his presence would only disrupt the well-oiled machine that was their discussion. His slight sensation of melancholy was only a longing for his proper job and place.
A short time later they entered the village green. There were merchant tents here and there, but only one building could possibly be ‘Carousel Boutique’. It was shaped like a three-tiered carousel with ornamentation upon ornamentation. There was not a spare yard that was not festooned with some sort of architectural finery. Even among the colorful confines of this strange village, it was ostentatious. Two carousel horses decorated the second story, and a third appeared on the sign over the door.
Earlier in his journey, Wilfred might have reacted with disbelief to such a sight. He might, also, have questioned the financial viability of a bespoke tailor in a small, isolated town. Now he simply accepted it and moved on. A worrying trait for any bookkeeper to develop, but there is a point where every man must either go mad or learn to cope with the incredible.
A bell above the door proclaimed his entry. “Coming!” sang a voice from somewhere upstairs. Wilfred took the moment to study the wares on display. There were some modest yet elegant designs, but most of what the shop offered seemed to involve a considerable number of faux gemstones. The bits of crystal – or more likely, colored glass – shone and sparkled. The effect was rather lovely, though Wilfred couldn’t recall ever having seen the style before. Perhaps it was coming into vogue? He didn’t keep up with fashion. For all Wilfred knew, every landed Lady across the British empire was wearing such clothes to the parties of high society.
“Welcome to Carousel Boutique.” A lady descended the stairs, and for a moment, despite her introduction, Wilfred was certain she was a wealthy patroness, not a seamstress. The woman moved with a subtle grace, every motion practiced and perfect. Her white dress accentuated an alluring figure without ever straying towards impropriety. A feathered hat sat at an angle on her head, the indigo hair beneath it perfectly curled and arrayed. Her make-up was sparse, yet elegant, emphasizing her beauty rather than concealing her flaws. Even the small diamond set into her forehead seemed like just another part of her ensemble. “How may I– oh, hello,” she said as she noticed her friends. Then her eyes lit upon him, and she gave a demure smile. “What’s the occasion? And who is our guest?”
“This here is Wilfred,” Jack drawled, gesturing to the clerk in question. “And the invite he’s carryin’ oughta catch you up to speed.”
“Really?” she asked, then offered Wilfred her hand, sheathed in a thin glove of white silk. “I am Miss Rarity, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Wilfred.”
“Likewise,” Wilfred said, bowing to her and doffing his hat. He took her hand and kissed the air above it, careful not to make contact. Dash snickered, but like a proper gentlemen Wilfred ignored his heckling. “As Jack mentioned, I have an invitation for you.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a rolled piece of paper sealed with a white ribbon streaked with indigo.
Miss Rarity studied it for a few moments, then paused to give Wilfred an evaluating look. She returned to the letter, but continued to inspect him from time to time. When at last she was done, she set the invitation on a nearby stand and continued staring at him, humming softly.
Wilfred felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. He felt as though he was under the eye of a stringent Dutchess; one who could ruin his career and blacken his name across the Empire with naught but a word. Intellectually, he understood this was not the case, yet the feeling persisted.
“Could I ask–” he began.
“Shush,” Miss Rarity commanded. “I am in the zone.”
Her reply made little sense to him, but he could not help but obey. Wilfred glanced backwards, looking for support but he found none. Jack and Dash looked bored, but there was an air acceptance in their waiting. Pinkie was gone entirely, and Shy refused to meet his eyes. Wilfred turned back as Miss Rarity’s hum reached a crescendo. Her mouth curved into a self-satisfied smile. Wilfred braced himself. Whatever came next, he would face it like the solid Englishman he was.
“The hat, of course,” Miss Rarity said, releasing him from her gaze and striding to a small door set against the boutique’s back wall. “I knew there was something dreadfully wrong with your outfit, darling, but I’m ashamed it took me so long to pinpoint just what it was.”
His… hat? Wilfred removed the headpiece and examined it. The brim was a bit old, and perhaps a tad frayed, but it was still serviceable. Yes, there were one or two places inside where perspiration had stained the lining, but those were not even visible from the outside. The style was not currently in fashion, but Wilfred was unswayed by the pendulum of fads, which would bring it back into style sooner or later in any case. In short, there was nothing wrong with his hat.
Until he saw the wondrous chapeau Miss Rarity drew forth from the depths of the closet. It was crisp and clean, tall and formal enough to be impressive, but not extravagant or overbearing. The lining shimmered like silk, and from what little Wilfred knew of fashion, he supposed it was the height of style. In short, the hat Miss Rarity held made his own look like a worthless scrap of cloth. “Now, men’s fashion is not my normal stock in trade, but this item was originally from one of my rare suit orders. The customer changed his mind and decided against wearing the hat, which I thought was a real shame. However, his loss is your gain!” She smiled again and with a small flourish held the hat out before him.
“Eh?” Wilfred said, quite at a loss for words. She couldn’t possibly be offering…
“Psst!” Pinkie hissed from over his shoulder, making him jump slightly in the process. “This is the part where you take the hat and thank her.”
“But I have no means to pay her,” Wilfred replied. “Even if I had my chequebook with me, I could never afford such a fine piece of haberdashery.”
“Then you are lucky that I am giving it to you,” Rarity said, offered him the handsome hat once more. “I admit it doesn’t quite match your chain, but what would?”
Wilfred glanced at his watch fob. Who even considered such a small item when coordinating an outfit? Returning to the matter hand, Wilfred shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly. Your employer couldn’t possibly sanction such a thing, and even were he so forgiving, I have nothing to give you in return. Nothing, certainly, that could equal what you have given me.” Though it had been some time since Wilfred had received any presents, he was certain that was how such things worked. Whether for Christmas or any other occasion, one did not receive without giving, save for providing money for charities. Even for birthdays, the repayment was only separated temporally.
Miss Rarity arched one of her eyebrows. “I can promise you that I will be docked nothing for giving away an article of clothing from my shop. And I do insist.”
Wilfred’s raised his own eyebrows in surprise. A woman, and a young one at that, owning and running her own shop? Had she inherited it? Even in these enlightened times, that was an oddity. Still, he couldn’t fault her skill if the hat she held was an example of her work.
His silent surprise did not go unnoticed, though the seamstress seemed to mistake its origin. An expression of uncertainty flitted across her face. “Unless you don’t like it. Is the hat not to your taste?” she asked.
Wilfred almost sighed with relief. He would have to tread carefully as not to offend her, yet a small white lie would offer him an easy escape from this dilemma. He almost opened his mouth to agree with her, but something stopped him. Jack was watching him speculatively: not with disapproval, nor with judgment. Her face showed only an open and honest curiosity.
Wilfred bit back the lie and turned to face Miss Rarity. “No, it is a fine hat, one of the finer ones I’ve ever seen.”
This baffled her, and she frowned querulously. “Then I fail to understand the problem.”
Wilfred shook his head. “I do not have the means to pay fairly for your work, nor to give you a gift of my own. Neither am I willing to accept charity. Therefore, I simply cannot take the hat you have offered me.”
Miss Rarity gave a dignified titter, her free hand covering her mouth. “Goodness, is that what you think? A gift between friends doesn’t need to be repaid, and neither is it charity.” A quick movement from her and his old hat was snatched from his head and the new one settled in its place. Yet, her words shocked much more than her actions.
“Friends?” he said in disbelief. That was absurd; they had met only a few minutes ago. Wilfred had worked next to the same person for two years and couldn’t recall the man’s first name to save his life.
“Nascent friends, then,” Miss Rarity corrected. “Are you somehow opposed to such a thing?”
“No,” Wilfred said, more confused now than ever. “It is just that I am not a man who makes friends easily.” Or at all. “However, I am fairly certain it cannot be so simple as that.”
“Why not?” Jack asked. “Friendship may not come easy to you, but that don’t mean it’s complicated.”
“I wouldn’t mind being your friend,” Shy said quietly.
“Hey, I was annoying Wilfred with friendship before it was cool,” Pinkie declared, a faux haughty expression on her face.
Dash snorted and shrugged. “Eh, I’ll give you a shot. No promise you’ll make the cut, but everyone deserves a chance.” Then he grinned and gave Wilfred a light punch on the shoulder, suggesting that his harsher words were only in sport.
Wilfred’s head felt like it was spinning. Things were moving so fast, and changing, and somehow this was not following the path he had envisioned. The individuals around him were becoming people instead of just objectives to be completed and dryly marked down. A low pounding pain developed in the back of his head, as if someone was using his skull as a drum. A cold feeling crept along every inch of his body, starting from his extremities and moving inwards. Where it passed through, there was nothing but numbness left behind.
The pounding resolved itself into a sound like wheels on cobblestones loud enough to make his head feel like it was splitting. A faint sensation trickled through the numbness and he recognized in shock that the coldness wasn’t seeping into him. It was–
No.
He forced it all back. His mind cleared, the pounding ceased, and warmth flowed back into his shivering limbs. He had not realized he had fallen until he saw the five faces above, staring down at him in concern.
“Are you okay?” They all said in some manner or another.
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Wilfred said brusquely. He got to his feet, ignoring their offers of help. He didn’t need their compassion. He needed to finish this errand and return to his proper job. Nothing else mattered. “Where do we need to go next?”
They group exchanged concerned glances, but after a moment Shy spoke. “Only one place left: the library.”
“Then let us be off,” Wilfred said. He still had on the hat Miss Rarity had given him. He was in a hurry, and it was simpler to leave it on than to hunt for his old one.
And that was his only motivation for keeping it.