//------------------------------// // Chapter Three // Story: Aperitif/Digestif // by Mr Merritt //------------------------------// Why do I…always seem to…find myself…in positions…like this? Peppermill followed Fleur de Lis and Rarity as they made their way through the gathered elites of Canterlot society. The problem wasn’t the fact that he was allowing a pair of beautiful, confident mares lead the way. It was that, by being behind them, it gave the young colt a rather…unobstructed view of their flanks as they walked. Peppermill found himself treading on that thin line between colt and stallion, and the way his thoughts tended to stray as of late were of minor concern to him. The grey colt prided himself on his knack for being able to charm mare and stallion alike, a useful skill in the restaurant business. But lately the tendency of mare and filly to show far more interest in him than normal, and the subsequent emotions that knowledge stirred in him, were of concern. This train of thought brought back to the colt a series of memories he’d thought were long repressed. His elder brother Saltpeter, at least before his raging jealousy started that chain of events that led the colt to his new life, was a playboy of the highest calibre. It was a given that on any (and all) nights he would come back to the restaurant with a pretty mare at his side to woo and charm. It didn’t take Saltpeter long to realize that he could use his adorable little brother to his advantage in his pursuit of willing female flank. It wasn’t as if the colt was trying to be overly cute. He simply did what he was told to do by his parents and brother: be polite and friendly. It seemed the combination of charm and his raspy voice tended to result in squeals of amusement and all sorts of compliments. Way back when, Peppermill simply shrugged off the praise and took pride only in the idea that he did as his parents asked. As he grew older he continued this trend, but every so often he found himself…pleased at how happy he seemed to make all of the mares he came in contact with. The grey colt couldn’t deny that he had few friends while he lived in Canterlot. In fact, it wasn’t until he found himself in Ponyville that he began to be around colts and fillies closer to his age. Of particular interest was the fact that four of the closest friends he had were fillies: Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, Applebloom (practically the little sister he never had) and Silver Spoon (of who he was…particularly fond). All this female company could give a young colt struggling with hormones ideas. It was those ideas that Peppermill forcefully flushed from his mind’s eye as he attempted to continue walking forward and not be caught staring at the shapely flanks before him. I should…talk to…Big Mac about this…when I get…home Finally the mares and colt arrived where Fancy Pants, probably the most politically powerful pony next to the Sun and Moon Princesses themselves, held court. “He…looks exactly…the same…as always.” murmured Peppermill, to Rarity and Fleur’s delight. “I always try to get him to wear something other than that old suit.” smiled Fleur, “But he insists on that one. He claims he feels more comfortable in it that anything else.” “He could wear a potato sack and still look breath taking,” gushed Rarity. “Does he…still use…that monocle?” asked the colt. He got his answer as the powerfully built unicorn stallion levitated said monocle to an eye as the two beauties approached. Rarity caught a small snort from the colt before Fancy Pants spoke. “Ah, it’s good to see you again Rarity. I do hope Fleur has gotten you up to speed with the goings-on here. I swear, I think one would need a scorecard to keep track of who is with who and so on…” It was then that the two mares spread apart to let the grey colt approach. Fancy Pant’s monocle dropped and the stallion gaped in surprise at the sight. “Hello…Mr. Fancy Pants.” greeted the colt. “My word! Peppermill…is that truly you lad?” The barrel-chested unicorn approached the colt, and peered down at him. Peppermill, unfazed, merely shook his head. “You still…use that…silly thing. Dad…would have…a fit if…he saw that.” announced the colt, pointing to the monocle with a fore hoof. Rarity gasped in horror, but Fleur and Fancy Pants chuckled. “Well, that answers my question. Only one of Peperoncini’s boys would be as bold as that.” Fancy Pants caught Rarity’s eye and winked before murmuring just loud enough for her to hear. “It’s not real glass. But I always thought it was a wonderful accessory. The colt’s father always teased me about it.” “He wasn’t the only one…” remarked Fleur with a sparkle in her eye. The stallion smiled warmly at his companion, then turned the same smile onto Peppermill. “It is good to see you. It was terrible what happened to your parents…and your home for that matter. What in Celestia’s name happened to you?” Peppermill explained about his brother, his forced evacuation of his hometown and subsequent arrival almost on the Apple clan’s doorstep. All the while Fancy Pants and Fleur de Lis listened and nodded sombrely. When Peppermill finished his tale, the stallion’s face grew grim. “Well, that is quite a story. I am happy to hear you have found a caring home with some of Rarity’s friends. Miss Applejack struck me as a very firm but caring pony. Not like your mother, of course…” “Applejack…watches out…for me…as does the …rest of her…siblings. I’m more…than happy there. But…” “But?” “I’m sure…you remember how…Dad felt about…his employees.” “Of course. He considered each and every one of them as the extended family he never had.” “Well…he made it…very clear to me…that they were…to be taken…care of no…matter what. But with the restaurant gone…” “Ah, I think I see what you are getting at lad.” “Crème Brule would have been so proud to hear this…” said Fleur. “I need…to know if…they are ok.” finished Peppermill firmly. “And I can’t…think of any…pony that could…help me more…than you. You know…just about…everything about…everypony. You must know…where some if not…all of them ended up…after the fire.” “A noble endeavour. I know your father would be proud to know you were doing this.” agreed Fancy Pants. “I’m sure if I can find some things out for you. Until then, why don’t you and Rarity go and take advantage of the buffet. It may not be to the degree your family could have done, but it is still quite passable.” *** As Fancy Pants made his rounds and quietly posed his questions to the other ponies, Fleur and Rarity took the unicorn stallion’s advice and examined the dainties and other tidbits arranged for the gathering. Peppermill took this opportunity to quietly slip away. It wasn’t that he doubted the food would be acceptable, nor was it for a few moments of quiet contemplation (the excuse he would have given should any of the elites took the time to notice). He had this planned out well in advance, and his plan required Rarity’s attention to be elsewhere. Once the colt had made his way out of the building, it only took a moment to get his bearings. Though it had been a while since he had trotted down the streets of the city, it all came back to him: the sights, the smells and the sounds. Peppermill might have admitted to have become fond of the countryside and small town living, but the city pulsed in his veins and a surge of pride and contentment flooded through him. With a look of determination, the colt made his way down the sidewalks towards the centre of the city. As he bobbed and weaved among the throng of ponies in his path, he began to feel a sliver of anxiousness in his heart. Peppermill was sensible enough to know that just about anything might be in the place of the big building he grew up in. Canterlot was known for being quick to remove and/or replace anything that might ruin its image, and a burnt out husk of a restaurant didn’t fit on the cityscape. Regardless, the need to just be near where he had once called home would ease the ache he felt in his soul. Only then could he gain the confidence and motivation to fulfill his duty. As he reached one particular corner, a shiver ran up his spine. I’m almost…home, he allowed himself a smile as he rounded the corner into what would have been the familiar stonework of the big building he had taken his first steps in and where he first learned the knife technique that he liked to show off when the mood took him. He was so engrossed in his memories it took a moment for the realization of what truly was before him to sink in. … … … “This is…different.” It was most likely the actual grass under his hooves that sunk in first. The square lot in which Apretif/Digestif had once stood was now a space of green, a rare sight in Canterlot. Or, to be more precise, four green spaces divided by cobblestone paths going out in the cardinal directions meeting in the middle in a stone circle. Four white wooden benches sat in each space, and light posts of black metal and magic candles sat at the corners of the lot. Peppermill scuffed at the grass at his fore hooves, still trying to digest the information his senses provided him. Eventually he decided that he needed to take a rest on one of the benches to truly be able to focus his thoughts. As he sprawled on the bench farthest from the sidewalk, he gazed without seeing the many ponies going about whatever business they needed to do this late in the day. “Well…Mom would…have been…happy.” said the colt to nopony in particular. Crème Brule had received, as a gift from her beloved husband, the roof of the restaurant turned into a greenhouse where she grew all sorts of flowers. Peppermill had many wonderful, if somewhat fuzzy from time, memories of sitting with her as she took in the beauty. While the flowers planted in the green space didn’t come close to the beauty of the tropical varieties, the warm memory stuck fast in his mind. As the colt pondered, more and more ponies began to walk through the space. It proved to be a rather handy short cut between the two city blocks. Of course, the colt could recall using the narrow alleys on either side of the building for the same purpose. But he was willing to admit this could be a bit better. At least the chance of scraping against stone walls was no longer a concern. It wasn’t the same as the memory of the flowers, but Peppermill grabbed hold of it tightly. Regardless of the warm memories he was experiencing, there was still something bothering him about the scene. He continued to look around the space, trying to put his hoof on what it was. It was only when a pair of impeccably dressed ponies walked by him without a second glance (not a uncommon event, given everything) that it finally hit him. It wasn’t what he saw…it was what he didn’t see… Canterlot, for all of its glamour and class, tended to treat its local celebrities quite well. And should, Celestia forbid, something tragic happen to said celebrity the city was well-known for the excess it went through to preserve their memory. Peppermill recalled meeting through his father a pony whose talent was to design the beautiful bronze plaques that could be found all over the city. These metal markers were usually found near or at the places that these popular ponies were known to habit. Their beauty made them highly sought after, to the point where that particular artist had a massive backlog of requests made of him should the inevitable occur. But sometimes…they do it…for special…occasions thought the colt as he gazed all around, looking for that tell-tale glint of metal in the sunlight. But there was no sign of any memorial, at least as far as he could see from his seated position. Peppermill got off of the bench and searched every corner of the space, at every flower bed and every area a plaque might be affixed. … … … Nothing… The fruitless search mutated warmth of pride and happiness the colt was feeling into a flame of anger and betrayal. He began to backtrack, praying he had simply overlooked something or missed an obvious spot, but it proved to be a useless task. The grey colt sullenly went back to the bench he had hopped off of and slumped onto it. “Why?” That was the single, soft word spoken by the colt. His heart and mind boiled with his inability to come up with a logical reason for this massive slight towards his parents. It wasn’t like he was expecting a massive statue or anything. But anything would have been better than seemingly nothing. All the young pony could do was let the red haze settle into his mind and curse at what he saw as hypocrites pass by.