//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Love Shyness // by Crafter //------------------------------// St. Petershoof was a cold, emotionless, industrial city. Located in the northernmost territory of Equestria, the constant snowfall and harsh wind sheer made it a rather inhospitable place to call home. However, the rich deposits of coal, iron, and other metals made the city a place where the desperate sought out work. Due to the harsh conditions and poor treatment of workers in the northern territory, it was little surprise that St. Petershoof was the birthplace of communism, the new political movement that was making its way into newspapers all across Equestria. Outside of factories and office buildings, protesters stood with signs with catchy slogans and the picture of a sideways horseshoe with a hammer overlapping it. When these protesters gathered, the groups were small and generally ignored. There was one pony that was also ignored; it was something the green unicorn was used to by now. Most of his life had been spent with very few friends. He was content to keep it that way, as hard as he tried, the unicorn could not overcome the crippling social awkwardness that plagued his life. Just like every other day, he was inside his repair shop working on a complicated piece of machinery. His shop was small, with a counter separating his work area from where the customers came in. The floor around the workbench was littered with spare parts and tools, living alone for most of his life lead to a messy lifestyle. He was currently working on one of the many blueprints for inventions he was developing to improve the overall quality of life for ponies, it was one of the few things he did to prevent himself from going insane. Hearing the little bell he hooked up ring, he wiped the engine grease from a more complicated job out of his blue and red mane, put his blueprints away in a safe, and turned to greet the arrival. “Welcome to Crafter’s repair shop. Picking up or dropping off?” No matter what time in the day it was, his voice was always tired and depressed. He also lacked the local accent that everypony else in the area had, being born in Canterlot probably had something to do with that. His repair shop was the only one in the area so he had plenty of traffic. “Picking up.” The orange pegasus mare replied. “What’s your number?” Crafter replied, crouching below the counter to look for the corresponding item. “Number 25.” A blender was levitated up with the dark blue aura of the unicorn’s magic and placed on the counter. “Mrs. Dew correct?” The mare nodded. “That’s me, now much do I owe you?” This was the part he found the hardest, the dreaded question of bits. “You don’t owe me anything, I don’t work for pay.” A look of shock and confusion donned the mare’s face, clearly not expecting free repair work. “Nothing at all?” So far so good. He thought to himself. “Nothing.” After a few seconds of silence, Mrs. Dew spoke up again. “You’re a communist aren't you?” Her tone was neither negative nor positive, merely one of confirmation. Crafter nodded, eager to get it over with. “Yes, I am.” More silence. “Y-you’re not going to try and convince me to join the ‘party’?” she asked in shock, honestly expecting a conversion attempt. “Why would I do that?” “It’s just that… oh never mind. Thank you for fixing my blender.” With that, she put the appliance in her saddlebags and left. Crafter sighed a breath of relief. That had been one of the better reactions he got. Most ponies gave him disapproving looks and left, others yelled threats at him then stormed out. Very few left without some form of negative feelings towards him. Thinking it would be good to close up early for the day; he locked up the shop, placed a ‘closed’ sign on the door, and walked upstairs to the living area. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, there was a sound of shattering glass from the shop floor. “What in Celestia’s name?” Rushing downstairs, he found a rock had been chucked through one of the windows, attached to the rock was a note. Slowly picking up the note with his magic, Crafter opened it up to read it. Your days are numbered commie, watch your back! Terrified beyond comprehension, Crafter threw the note to the ground as if it were a cursed relic from the Daring Do series. Threats were something he was used to, but this? All he wanted to do was run away. “Calm down Crafter,” he said to himself “it’s probably some teenage pegasus out for a laugh. No need to panic.” After taping a plastic bag over the window that was shattered, Crafter went upstairs to try and get some sleep. None came. *** Getting no sleep that night, Crafter’s mental awareness was questionable at best. Cross eyed and loopy, he stumbled his way into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Mornings were worse when he had a long night, his ADD played havoc with his mind. When he took the first sip, his teal eyes slowly uncrossed themselves. After finishing his coffee, he put on his coat and lucky ushanka, and then left for breakfast at the bakery around the corner. The instant he opened the door, he was blasted in the face with a gust of wind driven snow. Oh great he thought another blizzard. Crafter wasn’t physically active by any means; the doctors diagnosed him with low muscle tone at a young age. Due to this, he was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the bakery. “Morning Crafter.” The owner said in a thick Stalliongrad accent once Crafter entered the shop. “Same thing as usual?” Crafter sleepily nodded. “You know it.” He said with a light chuckle. The baker slid over a chocolate glazed doughnut and a mug of coffee, in reply, Crafter slid him some bits. “You never told me how you manage to get bits; I thought communism meant ‘freedom from economy’ or something.” “Well it’s impossible to live like that when the majority of Equestria is still capitalist.” “True, but if you don’t charge for repair work, how do you get money?” “I'm also an author,” Crafter said with pride “I have a deal with the local library where I get some of the income from when my books are rented.” “Ah, I should have known by the ink quill on your cutie mark. But don’t blame me for not looking at your butt.” The baker joked. Crafter just chuckled, still too tired for small talk. His cutie mark was a quill overlapped by a wrench, forming a likeness to the communist logo. After a few minutes, a small family walked in to the bakery. They took a seat next to Crafter and placed an order. Their filly, which Crafter recognized as the one who constantly needed their sled fixed, sat next to him and tapped his shoulder. “Cwafter?” she asked in an adorably small voice. Turning to greet the filly, he saw there was sadness in her eyes. “What's wrong?” Crafter asked with concern. “When we walked by your wepair shop, all da windows were smashed in.” Crafter’s pupils shrunk and his ears splayed back. “W-what?” She handed him a note. “I found this on your door.” Slowly, he took the letter from the filly and opened it. You got lucky this time. Crafter could feel his heart stop in his chest; he had narrowly avoided being killed by whoever sent the first note. The baker took note of Crafter’s state and looked at the note, earning a similar reaction. “Little filly, where did you find this?” “On his door, all his windows were smashed in.” “Crafter do you hear me?” he asked urgently. “You can’t stay in this city anymore, it’s not safe.” He didn’t need to be told to leave, that was already what Crafter was planning on doing.