Today wasn’t just another Thursday for Dusty Shelves, owner and proprietress of the Ponyville General Store. Today was the first Thursday of the month, and that meant it was restocking day. So, as she often found herself doing on restocking days, the earth pony was climbing furniture.
Back hoof right, back hoof left, she scrambled and squeezed her way up. With a grunt of effort, she swung with her hips, and flailed about to move just a bit higher. Right forehoof on a stack of old pots. Left forehoof gripping the underside of a shelf. She held her tongue between her teeth in concentration.
At the moment, she was attempting to restock the horseshoes. And for the seventh time in as many months, she wondered why she kept her horseshoe restocks in a single crate, beside the stack of cast-iron skillet restocks, all located at the tippy-top of her highest display cabinet. The cabinet that was built into the back wall when the store was first opened by her great-granddaddy, when he had this crazy idea for a fan shop in Ponyville.
For nine months out of the year, she could run it on her own just fine. That's because from spring to fall, the old general store rarely saw much in the way of hoof traffic, what with the open-air market just down the block. It was only in the winter when the market was closed that she really needed to hire out some part-time help. It just felt like she needed to hire somepony on restocking day. Maybe somepony with wings. Or a horn. Or even a good length of rope.
The cabinet wood creaked as she climbed, with the same moaning creak of her floorboards. Which made sense, since most of the store was made of the same rustic red oak wood used in her floors and other cabinets. Hanging there, she smiled and recalled a childhood memory from when she was a foal, and she climbed the counter to sneak off with a couple of cookies.
But she wasn’t after cookies this time. No, this time she was after that awful crate of horseshoe restocks. She really ought to clear out the office on the second floor and use it as a storage room. She never used the darn thing anyway, since it was left it in-state after her mom went to the old folks’ home.
A thoughtless shuffle to her right knocked her backhooves into a doomed plate that went crashing to the floor. Her lower half dangled and instinct kicked in. She scurried for purchase. It only cost her a few jars of peach preserve, but in the end she was able move up another foot or so and steady herself.
Blinking, she noticed that she was now at the top of the display case, with the horseshoe crate in hoof. She let loose a victorious whoop, tapping on the crate with her forehooves, in happy assurance. She threw open the crate with a smile, and came back with a frown. It was empty save for a note. A note that read
Dusty, buy more horseshoes before next restock - Dusty
Dusty rolled her eyes at the note and let out a sigh. Then she looked down over her shoulder. Getting down was going to be tric-
The adjacent backdoor, slammed opened with a ferocity that dislodged Dusty of her grip and most of her mental faculties. Save for the ones that allow a mare to shout “Nooo!” in overly dramatic slow motion as she falls.
She landed softly in somepony’s forearms halfway from the ground, and Dusty’s brain started firing on all cylinders again. This somepony was red. She was also soft and warm. She had feathers, so she was a pegasus. She had long blue hair and she smelled like old books and fresh clouds, so she was Scarlet Letters.
“Scarlet?” asked Dusty Shelves, confused. “You made me fall! But then you caught me, so… Thanks?”
Scarlet didn’t say anything, opting instead to smile the sad sort of smile that ponies smile when they don’t really mean it. Dusty cocked her head at that.
“What’s wrong?” she asked to no avail.
The two of them floated back down to the floor, and Dusty climbed out of Scarlet’s grip, mindful of the broken preserve jars here and there. She was about to press Scarlet for more information, when the poor gal’s stomach did the talking, moaning a gurgley gurgle that had the pegasus’ face twist in response.
“Sparkle’s garters, Scarlet, when’s the last time you ate?”
“Two in the morning?” the new librarian answered back woozily.
Dusty shook the other mare by her withers. “Two in the morning? What are you thinking?! You must be starving! Go on and head up front, I've got a special on some day old zucchini muffins. They’re on the platter by the register. Help yourself while I'll get you a glass of milk.”
Dusty watched as the other mare waddled down the aisle towards the front of the store with her wings flapping halfheartedly like a drunk albatross trying to take off. She stood there until Scarlet saddled up in one of the creaky bar stools that she rescued from the barbershop when it closed a few years back. When she was seated and chewing with abandon on her first muffin, Dusty smiled, and wandered off to her kitchen to grab a clean glass for her guest.
When she returned with the glass in hoof, she wasn’t all that shocked to see that Scarlet had eaten through three muffins half again as big as her hoof, and she was starting to pick at a fourth.
“Feeling better?” she asked, putting down the empty glass.
Scarlet motioned to speak, covering her mouth daintily with her hoof, but Dusty dismissed it with a smile and a wave of her hoof, turning in place to get a fresh quart of milk out of her ice box. The silence between them was pleasant for the most part, but Dusty could see that something was weighing the pegasus down. And it wasn’t the muffins.
A day old or not, these muffins were fluffy buggers. It was the baking soda from Rainbow Falls what did the trick. But she’d never tell. It was her only secret weapon against ol’ Sugarcube Corner.
She popped the wax cap off the milk quart, and poured Scarlet a cold glass. Scarlet gave Dusty her first genuine smile of the day, and downed the glass in a few mighty gulps. She put down the glass, and Dusty offered her a handkerchief to whip her muzzle.
Scarlet took it and dabbed at her face like she didn’t just consume two meals worth of food in five or so minutes. “Thanks, Dusty,” said Scarlet. “You're a real lifesaver.”
Dusty Shelves giggled like rain hitting an empty bucket. “Don't mention it. Here, give me your list. You sit, I'll get your goodies.”
“My list?”
“Your shopping list, silly,” said Dusty with a knowing look on her face. “Or did you drop by just to say hi?”
Scarlet shrugged an apology, and winged her list out of her saddlebag.
Dusty looked at the list, smiling at the meticulous script with just a hint of flare in the way she looped her letters. It wasn’t just organized alphabetically, it was organized by the aisle. She trotted down to the imports display, grabbed a wicker basket, and grabbed a tin of Darjeeling Marybong tea. A few more tins went into the basket. Breakfast, afternoon, royal blend…
“Wow,” said Dusty. “You really like tea.”
Scarlet ‘mhmmed’ from the counter, and Dusty chanced a peek through the display case mirror, seeing the poor gal resting her head on the empty muffin platter. Dusty whapped her bushy tail against her back fetlocks, wracking her brain with how to get Scarlet to open up.
She looked back at the list, trying to spot something that could spark conversation. “Pickled herring? Herring like the fish, herring?”
Another ‘mhmm’.
“You didn’t strike me as a meat eater.”
Scarlet said something, but Dusty missed it as she fumbled the super icky jar of pickled fish into her basket. “What was that?”
“I said ‘only fish.’”
“Bleh!”
“It’s an odd craving,” chuckled Scarlet. “I’ll grant you that.”
“Why though?” Dusty asked, adding a carton of eggs to the basket.
“It’s aces for feathers. Plus it puts hai-nevermind,” the pegasus muttered.
Dusty rounded the corner, having finished with the first two aisles, and put the full basket down at the counter next to Scarlet. “Come again?”
Scarlet’s naturally maroon cheeks blushed a bit brighter. “It puts hair on your chest.”
Dusty angled her head to look down at her chest, running a forehoof through the carefully teased mocha colored tuft that was there. “It does?”
Scarlet nodded. Dusty tried to catch a quick glimpse at Scarlet’s tuft, but the other mare was still slouched in her seat at the counter, with her forehooves wrapped around the empty platter she was using as a sort of terrible pillow.
“Does it… Does it taste any good? The herring I mean,” she ventured.
“No,” Scarlet laughed a squeaky laugh and shook her head. “It’s awful. Like cold pickled mushy tofu.”
“Ew.”
Scarlet looked over and stuck her tongue out. “And it has bones in.”
“Eeeeeew!” shrieked Dusty stomping all four of her hooves and squeezing her eyes closed.
The two mares shared a bit of a laugh at Dusty’s expense, and she trotted back over to the empty baskets to get the last of the items on Scarlet’s list in the last two aisles of her shop; produce and dairy goods.
She saw Scarlet slouch back down into her seat again as she added a bunch of grapes on the vine to the basket. “Why so down?”
“Oh. You know. Ponies.”
“Is that why you came in the back door?”
Scarlet nodded. “The ponies in this town are too nosy.”
“That's for sure,” agreed Dusty, “Everypony knows everypony else's business. Especially when somepony makes a filly cry.”
Scarlet waved a hoof in the air and let if flop back down onto the counter with a thud. “You heard too, did you?”
Dusty shrugged. “The Gale Sisters. Abby and Gabby were just in here twittering away like a couple of song birds. You've never heard such rubbish.”
“Well, it's not all rubbish.”
Dusty looked up from the cheeses, her brow furrowed. “So you really did tease Boomer about her mom?”
Scarlet sat up and turned with a jerk. “Now that is a load of rubbish! I had no idea that she lost her mother in the war. She acted out of line in the library, and I was going to show her that her actions had consequences. So I asked for her parents’ names.”
“And she cried over that?”
“No. She didn’t cry until after I told her ‘I want to know what your mother thinks of your behavior.’”
Dusty fumbled with a block of mild cheddar, it slipped out of her hooves and tumbled to the wooden floor. “Oh Scarlet, you didn't,” she implored. “Oh, that poor girl.”
Scarlet swung around in her bar stool to slump on the counter again. “I feel bloody awful about the whole incident. It didn’t help that I was probably out of my mind with hunger. Or that she was tearing pages out of my books. But…”
“But those are just excuses, Scarlet.” said Dusty, venturing the gambit on tough love. She watched Scarlet feathers bristle in agitation, before the pegasus let out a sigh.
“They are. I’ve been in town for two weeks now, and I barely know anypony. Or anything that goes on around here. If I had been meeting ponies and getting to know them, then maybe I wouldn’t have made Boomer cry.”
Dusty nodded to Scarlet’s turned back. “Alright, that’s a start,” she said as she approached with the final wicker basket load of the librarian’s groceries. “But now that you’ve admitted to yourself how selfish you’ve been. Here’s what you’re going to do,” she told the mare at the counter.
Scarlet looked up at her with watery eyes and a pouty frown. “You think I’m selfish?”
Dusty rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Well yeah! You’re a funny, awesome pony. And you’ve been keeping you all to yourself.”
Scarlet smiled and dried her eyes on Dusty’s handkerchief. “So what am I supposed to do?”
The other mare started ringing up her items on the register. “First thing’s first, you need friends. Friends are like weather-vanes for life.” She stopped her counting and stared out into the middle distance, “Only they need food and shelter and stuff and they breathe…” She shrugged, and went back to her adding.
“I have friends!” protested Scarlet, “Back in Trottingham, I've got my brother and... Well, there's my brother.”
“What about here in Ponyville?” asked Dusty, her hooves a blur amongst the ticker tape.
Scarlet traced a hoof through the crumbs on the muffin platter. “You're my friend... Right?”
The register went silent. Dusty slid away from it to be opposite of Scarlet at the counter. She gave Scarlet a long hard look, and the pegasus started to wilt under her stare. And then she took Scarlet’s hoof in her own and smiled.
“I’d like to be your friend, Scarlet.”
The pretty librarian grinned at that, and took in a breath to speak, however she was cut off with a—
“But if we're gonna be friends, you have to promise me something.”
Dusty felt Scarlet’s hoof pull back slightly at her interjection, but the earth pony held on firm.
“W-what do I need to do?” the other asked, trying to free her hoof once more.
“You have to promise me that you’ll make up with Boomer.”
“Yeah,” sighed Scarlet. “I really should.”
“Also you gotta make more friends.”
The librarian tried to pull her hoof free again. “Wait a tick, that's two somethings I need to promise now?”
“And you have to visit me more often than just here at work when you're starving to death.”
Scarlet was now tugging with all her might, “Three somethings!” she grunted.
“Scarlet,” said Dusty in a more serious tone. The other stopped her struggle and looked up at her potential new friend. “Can you promise?”
The maroon mare looked at her hoof locked in an earth pony death grip, and then back into the face of her captor. She saw compassion in that face. Concern. And fierce determination. She saw somepony who could actually be a friend. She relaxed in her seat and put her other hoof on top of the two that held her fast. “Yes, Dusty. I promise.”
Dusty smiled, and released her hold with a flourish and hit the tally lever on her register with a little jig to the right. “Your total comes to forty eight bits. Fifty counting the muffins and the glass of milk.”
She looked up at Scarlet who was rubbing some life back into the hoof that she held. “I thought those were a gift.”
Dusty laughed her high pitched giggle and shook her head. “No silly,” she said as she tapped one of the two wicker baskets. “But I’ll help you pack your groceries into your saddlebags.”
Scarlet shrugged. “At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get. Thanks.”
Dusty smiled back. “Hey no problem. After all, what are friends for?”