Derpy's hurt wing brushed against the narrow shelves used to haphazardly store the parcels and packages awaiting pickup, and she winced slightly. That area was still painful, and being chronically accident-prone, Derpy earned her fair share of dings and bumps in the confines of her own home, let alone in a workplace sporting a bruised wing.
However, she was ecstatic to be back at work, doing what she loved best; sorting, scribbling, erratically sticking 'return to sender' stickers on letters and parcels, organising re-directs, and, her favourite, distributing parcel cards to the post-office boxes. The Postmistress watched bemusedly from a corner, shaking her head and smiling. Derpy's system may be haphazard, but she always worked her hardest, and to general surprise, the Postmistress considered her the best mailmare under her care.
Which, she mused, could be more of a reflection on the work ethics of the other postponies... Her gaze lingered on the wizened stallion in the corner, sporting an outsize hunting cap and dozing lightly, muttering under her breath. Despite appearances though, she knew him to be of great assistance in the archives, and besides which, during his seemingly interminable years in her service he had memorized the address and post office box number of everypony in Ponyville. Satisfied with the proceedings, she left to preside over the counters and assist with difficult customers.
Humming a pop-y tune, and occasionally breaking into song, Derpy placed the last few of the many parcels she had processed that morning onto the appropriate shelf.
"La la la la la la... All I really need's a smile to brighten up my day... da da da da da da ... if I am sad or blue...da da da da da da da da... and Dashie loves me too ..."
It was almost ten: she had been up since four, first letter sorting, then a brief lull until the parcel drop at seven. Derpy knew she should be tired, but she had never been so excited to be alive: the sky was almost hidden behind the shifting, billowing giants of clouds, there was a warm, gentle breeze blowing that she knew would make for perfect flying conditions higher up.
The schedule on the wall told Derpy that she'd be clocking off in five minutes, and back at five for the evening post just before closing time. Before, she would have busied those last few minutes folding boxes, or distributing 'unaddressed mail', as she had to call it so as not to offend those who paid good money to advertise their goods in the mailboxes of Equestrian citizens, but today she couldn't settle to anything, waiting to come off shift.
As the clock struck ten, all that betrayed Derpy's erstwhile presence was a clattering of hooves resounding through the side street in which the Post Office sat, and all the fillies at the front counter hid giggles behind their hooves before being reprimanded by the Postmistress and returning to their work.
Having merged into the main street, Derpy slowed her stride to a gentle trot. Apart from it being dangerous to canter in crowded places such as the main street, she simply revelled in the life present, and wanted to savour it all: the chattering voices, the sweet smells of flowers and daisy cakes, the calls of artists and artisans lauding their wares.
There was something a bit odd, she noticed: the eyes of those chattering ponies, diners and florists and artisans seemed to follow her, and more than once she caught her name. She didn't mind; she was a well known figure in Ponyville, and called out greetings to those whose eyes she met.
There was a lot to gossip about, after all, she reasoned. The altercation between Vinyl Scratch and Nurse Fractia had bloomed into an all-out blood feud between the musical and medical communities: both sides had clashed, in ways both subtle ('mislaid' medical fees, mysterious refusals to grant a bill of good health, much illicit orchestral activity in the halls) and more violent. A few prominent members of Ponyville society had spent a night in the local prison after being charged with 'aggravated assault with a blunt instrument'.
Her having been there, at the time that this blood-feud had begun, gave her testimony much credence in the eyes of the local gossips, but thus far she had successfully avoided them. Besides which, they might even have been talking about the other consequence of the party- that she, Derpy, had tamed the raging bachelor Rainbow Dash!
Well, no, that wasn't true at all, she thought. I thought that Dashie was super aloof, and really mysterious, and maybe a bit scary. But it turns out that she's as kind, and as sweet as anypony I know! Besides -and she began to giggle- it's hard to be in awe of such a massive cuddle-fiend!
Almost unconsciously, she quickened her pace as she near her house, which she knew contained not only her prized collection of exotic muffin recipes, but also- how she could barely believe it- a sleeping, adorably drowsy Rainbow Dash! Derpy's trot- canter became more of a skip as she envisioned strolling into the bedroom: holding a trayful of muffins, a teapot and a mug of steaming coffee, she would open the curtains and nonchalantly say " 'Morning, Dashie!"
And as she bounded through the gate, flew up the path and threw open the front door, her sky-high mood plummeted faster than her jaw as she heard somepony, in a shrill voice, call out to her:
"Freak! Weirdo! Fillyfooler!"