//------------------------------// // A Day to Herself, Gone Wrong // Story: The Journal of Candy Mane // by TheLadyBard //------------------------------// 6 Days Before Winter Wrap Up, Year 2 of Sororal Rule Today was the second worst day I have ever spent in Manehattan. It started out well enough. Breakfast was shared at the counter of Cotton’s (relatively) modest kitchen. Whimsy and Cream chatted happily away, and Cotton discussed the day’s plans with her children. Cream had to leave earlier than Whimsy and Cotton, saying he’d meet them later, so I shared a cup of morning tea with the girls, and wished them good luck on the gown hunt. They headed out and I took care of the dishes, tidying up a bit. I read for a little while, but found myself quickly and utterly bored. Finally, I decided I would go out on the town and revisit the city of my foalhood. Shuffling through the saddles and other clothing I had brought along, I chose a simple cloak of high quality. It was appropriate for the winter weather, but of fine enough grade that none would take me for a simple traveller. I tossed a good number of bits into the inside pockets, fixed the collar closed with a rose quartz broach, and left a note on the counter in case Cotton returned before I did. The sun was bright and shining, courtesy of a diligent weather team keeping the sky a consistent partially cloudy. With only six days of winter left, we were getting a light sprinkling of snow, enough to keep the snow looking clean and pretty, rather than the dirty, slushy look it gets by the side of the road. I smiled and kept my hood down, the occasional snowflake catching in my mane or settling on the cloak. A bell jingled, and I stepped into a jeweler’s. The gems shone under glass cases, some in settings, others lying against velvet or satin cloths. The bits in my pockets tinkled quietly, but the sharp ears of the Manehattan jeweler knew I was a mare with money to spend. “May I help you with anything, ma’am?” he asked. A bowtie and monocle adorned his vest, the latter not currently in use. “Oh, just looking for something to wear to the Masquerade.” I smiled the sort of smile that Mother had taught us. It was beguiling without seeming so, and often sent a stallion’s heart all a-twitter. This stallion, however, had seen that smile before, and knew what it really meant. He knew he was dealing with a Mane. He nodded, and allowed me to carry on with looking. There were jeweled masks and flowing necklaces, ear cuffs and foreleg bands (of the sort modeled after Rarity’s “Heart a’flutter” line which had been first worn by Fluttershy at that disastrous Gala), gem encrusted horn rings and lacy chains of thin platinum and gold, meant to be worn among the feathers of a pegasus. Everything in the shop was of finest quality, and the jeweler was near at hoof, ready to unlock any display case at my whim. An ear cuff made of silver with rose quartz set among intricate but delicate carvings caught my eye. With a flick of the hoof I indicated my interest, and the stallion unlocked the case, pulling out the item in question. “Fine choice, madam,” he said, and added, “A perfect match to the broach, if I may say so.” I inspected the pieces for a bit, and had to agree that they must have been of the same set. “I’d like to try the fit,” I stated. It wasn’t a request, but not harsh enough to be called a command. I have to admit, it was thrilling to behave as it suits my station. I may not have indulged in the public eye while I stayed in Ponyville on self-imposed exile, but I still know how to act like an heiress. The jeweler had affixed the cuffs while I was lost in thought, and produced a mirror. A cough from him pulled me out of my musings, and I looked at the cuffs that were on my ears. The shade of pink was wonderful, and truly the set of cuffs and broach were a wonderful complement to the simple cloak. “I’ll take them.” I gave him a portion of my bits and a note for the rest of the cost. Just the way business is done with those sorts. With a lighter cloak, heavier ears, and the soft jingle of the door chime, I continued my rediscovery of the city of my youth. The rest of my morning went uneventfully past, and come noon, I enjoyed a nice lunch from a darling little café. The place made me homesick, though, for Ponyville. I remember dining at the Flower Sisters’ Café, and honestly, the homegrown daisy sandwiches were much better than what a city could ever offer. I decided I would leave the high-society portion of the city behind for a while, and make my way through the rest of Manehattan, which I thought might be more like Ponyville had been, with easy smiles and ponies trotting about. Was I ever wrong. As soon as I left the well-to-do streets behind, I was faced with dirty streets and ponies that wouldn’t make eye contact. After a short time, I became nervous for my safety, and tucked my new ear cuffs into a pocket in the cloak along with the broach, opting instead to use the tie-strings at the neck. My jingling coins had become loud in the dullness of the side streets, and seemed to rattle against the ears instead of fading into background noise. The sound must’ve rattled against my assailant’s ears as well. A wingtip knife pressed against the side of my neck as a stormy gray pegasus landed to my left. My breath caught in my throat and my heart hit a faster tempo as he kept the knife against my skin. Slowly, he walked around in front of me. The knife point, concealed among his pinions, was sharp, and traced a faint cut in my skin. It was too shallow to truly hurt, but it seeped just the slightest of blood. Every muscle was taut as my body screamed “Run away! Now!” but I knew I’d be sliced if I did anything too quickly. He locked icy blue eyes on me, but his face and cutie mark were concealed. In a gruff voice that couldn’t possibly be natural, he said, “Bits in the bag and you won’t get hurt.” Without moving the knife, he reached into a saddlebag to pull out a pouch. I took my chance while his head was turned, and spun right (away from the knife). I planted my front hooves and kicked out with all the strength of the earth, catching him in the jaw. Pegasi aren’t built for taking hits, while earth ponies are designed for dealing them out. The pegasus was knocked out cold, and at the first hint of trouble, the street had gone from one or two other ponies to deserted. Concerned about my would-be mugger, I trotted over and tugged off his facemask. At first I was shocked at how young this stallion was. He was hardly past school age. Now that I had a chance to see him without the extra adrenaline in my system, I realized that he really wasn’t that big of a stallion either. Tall, yes, but the lanky sort of height that promises of more growth before his frame would start to fill out. His shock of green-blue mane fell limply across his face as I tossed aside the mask. I carefully removed, broke, and discarded his wing-knives, and tossed off the rump cover he had on over his mark. Shuffling him onto my shoulders, I made my way to the nearest hospital, since I had knocked him rather hard. It was a bit of a trot to the hospital, but I was lucky that there was no one else there. The nurse took one look at us and asked straight away if it was a mugging. I said I didn’t know, and that I had just found the boy in the street, looking like he’d been walloped something fierce. He was taken away, and I thought I was free to go, but then she started asking questions. Most of the things she asked me, I claimed not to know, and the few details I did give were just for the pegasus’s sake. Finally, she was asking me who I was, since they had no other contact on hoof related to the colt. “...and your name, ma’am?” “Ah, well,” I stammered. “C-Candy. Candy Mane.” The mare behind the counter looked over her spectacles suspiciously. “Ma’am, we don’t appreciate falsehood. Miss Candy Mane left the city years ago, with obvious intent to never return. Please give me your full name and an address at which you can be reached, along with a sketch of your cutie mark for identification purposes.” With a great glare, I stood up straight, my curled mane bouncing with the sudden motion. “My name is Candy J. Mane, and I can be found at the Puff residence.” With a glare of my own, I added, “I trust you know where the Puff residence is?” Greatly admonished, the nurse’s eyes widened as she registered the truth of my words. “My apologies Miss Mane. There’s just now the matter of your mark?” It was at this point that I let loose a string of profanities the likes of which I had thought myself beyond. Ashamed of my marklessness, I upbraided the poor girl instead of confronting the issue myself. I told her that she could identify me just fine without my mark, and stormed out of the hospital. It became a steeplechase to Cotton’s townhouse. To make poor matters worse, the cloak I had tossed on to cover my markless flank snagged on park brambles and at one point, tore up the side from a too-long nail in a fencepost I brushed too closely by. My beeline dash to the relative sanctuary of the Puff household had left me scratched, and my cloak in ruins. Thankfully, none of the inner pockets had torn. After emerging from the Grande Centre Park, I had only to dart through the market place before my clean shot to the home. Sprinting, I ducked between late-afternoon customers, my head filled with thoughts of disappointment in myself and worry about the poor lad I had kicked. A few shutters clicked, and some camera flashes blinked, but I thought little of it. The tattered cloak fluttered behind me as I finished my canter. Bursting through the door, I barely registered Cream as I blew through the family room. Slowing, I trotted down the hallway and took the sharp turn into my room. Like a foal, I locked the door, dropped the destroyed garment on the floor, and curled up small in the plush bed. Buried under overstuffed pillows and deep within the comforter, I hardly heard Cream knocking on the door. I pulled a few more pillows over myself, just to be sure he couldn’t hear me weep.