Day 18
Shovels are hard to use. It’s one thing when pegasi use them to help snow slide off the roof, but it’s another when an armchair-career earth pony tries to shovel rubble with it.
While I still didn’t have the plaster to fix the several holes that had accumulated by the entrance, the surrounding debris was simply becoming a pain to step around. I stopped shovelling for a second to catch my breath and rest my jaw, glad I had chosen to do it in the morning before the temperature rose.
A light flutter of wings announced the arrival of the morning’s mail. I cringed, waiting for the mailmare to hit the gutter, but smiled again when only the slightest of feathers caught the edge, landing her safely on my doorstep.
“Hey you.”
“Goff nornin-” she started, before dropping my Equestria Daily and restarting. “Good morning!”
She bent and peered at my torso. “It didn’t bruise, did it?”
“Um, yeah. Just a little.”
“Oops. I-I-I...”
“Naw, don’t worry about it. When you’ve got a hide as tough and tan as mine...” I tried to flex one of my forelegs, but it fell through wholesale. Ditzy couldn’t entirely suppress her giggle. “Rats.”
Ditzy pawed the ground. “So... I have my rounds to make...”
“What about later? Can you come over this afternoon?”
Her eyes crossed as she put a hoof to her chin. “Um... actually, Dinky and the kids were going to have a picnic...” A spark of thought brightened up her mood. “...but you could come with us of course! Please?”
“Brilliant! What should I pick up to bring?”
“Pick up?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to subjugate anypony to my cooking.”
“Dinky liked your oatmeal.”
“That was an accident. See? Fate can cook better than me.”
Ditzy struck a pose usually reserved by university professors when they answer a question they consider beneath them. She lifted a hoof pointedly and proclaimed, “There are no accidents!”
She dropped back to all fours. “I don’t know who said that.”
“Well, obviously you did, just now.”
“But, originally.”
“Collectively, everypony has already thought of everything at some point in time. I’d say context is more important now.”
“You’re so... philos... si... sa...”
“Philosophical?”
“Yes. You’re so philosophical sometimes.”
“I’m also a pessimist usually. Those two don’t make a very uplifting combo.”
“Aww, no. You’re just a sweetie, cutsie-wootsie-”
“Okay! Enough, I’ll try to make something. Where is this shindig happening?”
“The park, at four.” She leaned in for a quick kiss before lifting off, mail satchel swinging around her neck.
I tossed the broom and dustpan aside, making my way through to the kitchen. I peered into my utterly understocked icebox. Celery will have to do this morning, I thought, grabbing what I had and crunching down on a stalk. I hate those stringy fibers that get stuck between my teeth.
Attaching my saddlebags as usual, I headed out. First things first. Find some magic fix-all for oatmeal.
At the market, I found the spices sellers, but was told that cinnamon was used in baking sweets, and consequently that I should go check with the nearby pastry stands.
They told me that cinnamon was a spice.
“Hi Whooves! Whatcha doin’?” There wasn’t any mistaking that voice.
“Good morning, Miss Pie.”
The pink earth pony snorted before breaking into fits of laughter. “That is so weird! Really everypony just calls me ‘Pinkie.’ And sometimes ‘Pie.’ Well, not ‘Pie’ by itself, but with ‘Pinkie’ in front of it too, so it makes ‘Pinkie Pie.’”
“Well okay then, Pinkie.”
“See? It’s sooo much easier.”
“Uh-huh. Say, you wouldn’t happen to sell cinnamon at Sugarcube Corner, would you?”
“Nopie dopie! But I can show you where we get it,” she said, prancing in place.
“That works.”
I followed the bouncing mare as she traversed the marketplace, ending at an out-of-the-way vendor. There were jars and jars of the same, homogeneous powder.
“All you sell is cinnamon?”
“Yep,” the mare behind the counter replied. “Honestly, most of my business goes wholesale to Sweet Apple Acres. How much can I do ya for?”
“One spice-jar’s worth ought to be enough.”
As the mare began filling a bag out of a larger container, I couldn’t help but notice that Pinkie was being unusually quiet.
“Twitcha-twitch!” she yelled, dropping flat to the floor.
“What?” I started, turning my head to see what she was doing. “What was ahAH!”
My mane brushed against the large container as I turned, sending it to the floor, where my hooves were hit, breaking its fall.
“What the hay was that?” I asked.
“My Pinkie sense!” It can predict the future! Like when my tail gets twitchy-
“-yeah, yeah. It means something’s going to fall. It still wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t predicted it,” I pointed out. I returned the unharmed container to the surface of the counter.
With the threat of falling objects gone, she sprang back up. “How’d you know that?” she asked innocently.
“Uh, call it my Whooves sense, if you will.” My ‘Whooves sense’ consists of a file with Pinkie’s name on it in some locked filing cabinet in Canterlot.
“Cool!” she replied, bouncing in circles now. “Earth pony magic, huh?”
“Something like that. What are you doing here though?”
“Well duh! Shopping, same as you, silly.”
“Oh. Of course.” For Sugarcube Corner, presumably. I stashed my purchase in my saddlebags and began walking through the marketplace again, perusing for anything that would give me ideas for something to make. Beside me, Pinkie kept up, going on in greater detail about what she was doing there. My mind automatically tuned her out when she began getting too detailed and off topic.
“Hey Pinkie?”
“-so then I measured it, and it turned out to be closer to a basketball than a grapef- huh? What?”
“What goes well at picnics?”
“Oh! Well, there’s cupcakes...
“Icing recipes hate me.”
“...little watchya call em hors d’oeuvres thingies...”
“And try to get them all the same?”
“...pies are amazing for dessert...”
“Most everything I try to bake ends up burnt.”
Pinkie dropped her usual cheery demeanor for a moment in favor of a sarcastic deadpan expression. “I guess that leaves you with carrot sticks.”
“Yeah, Carrot sure has a stick up her...” I trailed off upon noticing Pinkie’s confused expression. “Oh. The veggies. Right.”
“Why do you have so much trouble with baking anyway?”
“It’s just not my thing, that’s all. Wasn’t born with it.”
The pink mare laughed. “Silly pony, just because it’s not a favorite hobby doesn’t mean you can’t be good at it!”
“Beg pardon?”
Pinkie stopped in front of me and lifted her rear, showing off her flank. “Do these look like cakes?”
I was thoroughly confused.
“Of course not! They’re balloons!” Oh, she’s talking about her cutie mark. She turned to face me. “I only started doing that regularly when I got a place with the Cakes. It just grew on me.”
I thought back to the conversation at Lyra and Bonbon’s the day before. Do ponies obtain skill because they practice, or do they practice because that’s where their skill lies?
“Well, be that as it may, I’m not going anywhere fast. Not fast enough to be a chef by this afternoon, anyway.”
“I know! You could come by Sugarcube Corner and we’ll whip something up together-”
“Thanks for the offer, but really don’t actually learn much when others are doing the actions.” ...with Miss Hyper, leastways.
“Oh. How ‘bout a recipe then?”
Come to think of it, all I have is one for muffins right now. I nodded. “Okay, sure. What do you have in the area of pies? Those are fairly classic for picnics, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Apple, cherry, razzleberry, peach, pecan, blueberry, kumquat... but if you pick cherry, you should totally make chimicherrychangas instead!”
“Who-carries-what now?”
“It’s like cherry pie filling wrapped in a tortilla and deep-fried. And I put sugar on mine.”
“That... actually sounds good.”
“Really? You’d eat it?”
“Seein’ as how I’m gonna make it, I’d say that’s a definite possibility.” I produced a pocket-sized notebook. “Alright, shoot.”
As it turns out, Pinkie doesn’t actually have recipies in terms of amounts. They’re all relative; the filling was listed as ‘a lot,’ the tortilla as ‘some,’ and the sugar on top as ‘a bit.’ It was a slight bit better than nothing, however, so I wrote it down anyway.
After retrieving what I needed from the various other markets, I bade farewell to Ponyville’s premier party pony and trotted lightly back home.
That’s something for the profile, I thought. Dropping what you’re doing to help a pony that (relatively) you don’t know. That seems to indicate...
...huh. Charity? Spontaneity? Just plain being nice? But those aren’t mental conditions, part of my mind argued. I shut down that department of the brain for now.
Instead, I deposited my groceries in the cupboards (excluding the items requiring cooler conditions, which I left in the icebox). Chimicherrychangas would wait though. Rarity needed a bit of firm talking-to right then, concerning what she had managed to volunteer me for. Not anticipating the need for saddlebags, I slid them off and rolled my shoulders.
I trotted to Rarity’s without trouble, making my way up the walk and rapping on the door. The response took longer than I expected, my ears snapping up when a voice very different from the white unicorn’s usual sing-song tone answered.
“Coming,” it grunted, before the door opened. I looked side to side and lastly down, finding familiar orange and purple pegasus.
“Whooves?”
“Scootaloo?”
“Hey guys, it’s Doc Whooves!” she yelled over her shoulder.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Rarity is, would you?”
“She and Fluttershy are off on their spa session,” answered Sweetie Belle, who had emerged with Applebloom.
“Ah. When do you think they’ll....” ...hold on. I’m thinking about this all wrong. This is perfect!.
“I see. Thanks girls.” Thanking them again, I headed out for Ponyville’s singular spa.
Aloe wasn’t around when I entered (presumably tending to Rarity and Fluttershy), but Lotus showed up quickly. She stopped when she recognized me, but snapped out of it a moment later.
“Are yea here for ze spa services?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to the two Bearers in there... but I completely understand if I can’t just jump in part-way.”
“No, tis just fine. Tis the massages going on right now.”
She led me through one of the doors, where Aloe and light-coated stallion were working magic with their hooves. Rarity peeked out lazily from under an eyelid.
“Ah, Whooves! Perfect timing!” She signaled for the stallion to stop, after which he trotted swiftly out.
Fluttershy also sat up, Aloe retreating next to her sister. “We shall ready ze baths then?”
“Oh course, darlings. That would be simply heavenly,” replied Rarity, sending the spa sisters off on their mission.
I coughed. “I didn’t mean to intrude...”
“Nonsense! Anyhow, what can we do for you? Did you find anypony that would work for our little project?”
I looked at Fluttershy, who smiled meekly but remained silent.
“Actually, that’s kind of what I’m here to talk about.”
“Yes? And?”
“I don’t think this is the best way to go about things.”
Rarity scrutinized me closely, her face screwing up in a complex look of concentration. “...and you don’t want to do it anyway.”
“Yeah. Okay, and that.”
Fluttershy finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, but what are we talking about?”
“I was planning a little... outing for Aloe and Lotus...”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“...but the Whooves seems to think it’s a bad idea.”
“Settting up a not-date really can’t be the best way to expose them to society as a whole,” I confirmed.
“Oh,” the yellow pegasus squeaked.
“But Doctor,” Rarity continued, “even if you could come up with a newer scheme, it’s too late. What’s done is done.”
I stiffened slightly. “Meaning?”
“I... I told them already.”
“Oh, dear,” Fluttershy quietly interjected.
Well, I guess that makes this conversation a bit shorter. I facehooved. “Bloody brilliant. Fine. I’ll see whom I can scrounge up.”
Rarity tapped her hooves together, a smile returning to her face. Fluttershy looked from me to her, and back again.
“...but you owe me.”
The near-white unicorn reigned herself in, nodding. I turned and headed for the door.
“Aren’t you going to stay for the mud baths?”
“I’ll take a raincheck.”
On my way out, I passed by the blue-coated earth pony, who gave a sidelong glance after me.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you later.”
“Looking forward to it very much, sir.”
It was rapidly approaching time for lunch, and I still had my rounds to make. Perfect... I’m sure Lucky could use the company.
I followed an elderly pony with a large bow tie in, avoiding the annoying buzzer altogether. Eventually I got to Lucky and Colgate’s hall, the old stallion having found his room on the first floor. I wrapped on the desaturated stallion’s door and waited.
The wait was worth mentioning because, quite frankly, I had to.
The door creaked open, Lucky rubbing his eyes under a...
“Is that some kind of sun shade?” I asked.
Lucky’s drooping eyelids snapped open as he realize he was still wearing the green visor. He cursed, swiping it off along with a rumpled tuxedo, complete with a small little black bow tie.
“Sorry about that... heh.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Yeaaah... anyway, did you want to get some lunch... or in your case, breakfast?”
“Sure, sure. Give me a second.”
When he rejoined and Colgate came along, we headed out. Colgate seemed in good spirits, if a little tired as well.
“Hey Col, I know that Lucky’s shift is late, but why are you tired too? You do realize that you can go home... I’m not going to pretend that we’re keeping you on a watch.”
The unicorn stifled a yawn. “I know. I stayed because I wanted to.”
Lucky continued trotting ahead, oblivious to our conversation. “You had fun?”
“Yeah, we had fun. Like separately had fun. I mean, we were together of course, but not together. Like-”
“Okay, I get it. But what’s he do that’s so intriguing anyway?” The closest thing I could piece together in my head was a late-night comedy act.
“He’s a... wait. You don’t know?”
“He was somewhat vague on his descriptions, come to think of it.” I glared suspiciously at the gray flank ahead of me.
Colgate smirked. “I think it’d be best if you asked him yourself.”
I huffed, picking up my pace to catch the said stallion. “Hey, what were you doing last night?” I wasn’t beating around any bushes here.
“Work, like usual.”
“I had assumed that. What do you actually do?”
He looked at me quickly, stepping up his own pace. “It’s just a... thing... I, um... run games. Yeah. Games.”
I increased my stride too. “Not to judge off of appearances, but since when does a four leaf clover have anything to do with a child’s plaything, and moreover, why would that require you to stay up late?”
“It’s complicated,” he replied, obviously hoping that would be the final word. He upped his speed again.
I attempted to match it. “Then please, by all means, explain it to me!”
By then, both of us were nearly galloping and yelling. “Why do you need to know?”
“Because I won’t risk Colgate’s health and heart to some jack-wang of a stallion who’d abuse himself or others for yellow metal!”
Lucky slowed to a stop, the dust cloud we had formed catching up to us. Far behind us, Colgate was still trotting at a more reasonable pace.
“Did you just say... ‘heart?’”
Ponyfeathers. “Um, yeah. But you’re not really supposed to know that. And don’t even think about using that knowledge to your advantage.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean? Of course I’m sure!”
“No, I meant... did your psychic training tell you that, or did she?”
“It’s called observation, wise guy. And yes, she told me.” I looked over my shoulder at the approaching mare. “Listen, I really can’t tell you more, and you should pretend you never heard this, got it?”
Lucky was also looking at Colgate as she approached. I wasn’t entirely sure he comprehended what I was saying, a slight twitch in the ear nearest to me the only sign he even heard it.
“You two get everything sorted, then?” she asked, waving away some dust with a foreleg.
“Well,” I started, “Lucky was just about to tell me wha-”
Lucky interrupted my narration abruptly. “You really like me?”
I facehooved. Colgate blinked, before sliding her gaze onto me and muttering under her breath, “Nice going, Doc.”
Lucky didn’t seem to hear, gaze still locked on the mare in front of us.
“Look, Lucky, I’ve had a rather gruesome hist-”
“Please, don’t try to explain it. It’s a very simple question.”
“...yes. But please, don’t change anything. I want this to move at your rate, not mine. I don’t want this to change anything. You’ve known me as a neighbor for a long while... you’ve seen the stallions–and mares–I’ve brought home, so I don’t blame you if you don’t take this seriously...” She trailed off, looking at the ground.
Whatever you do, Lucky, let her down easy when you do.
“So... can I buy you lunch?”
Or, you could just do that.
“Are... are you serious?” asked Colgate, hesitating to believe what she heard.
“Honestly, I was going to do that anyway. But yeah, sure. As neighbors, we never really got to know each other that well, but in the last few days we’ve spent quite a bit of time together and... you’re not who I thought you were. I’m not sure if something changed, or if you’ve always had this and I just never got close enough to see it, but either way, I want to keep seeing you. I’m willing to give this thing a shot if you are.”
“T-thank you.”
I lifted a hoof, pointing. “Hey, look. This place will work.”
As we entered the cafe, I prodded Lucky to get his attention. “Where’d somepony that talks like you learn lines like that?”
“The mare on the floor below me is some kind of actor. Doesn’t have much of a volume control on the voicebox either, if you know what I mean.”
Seated around the table with orders submitted, I turned back to Lucky again. “Y’know, I never did hear what you do for a living.”
After the last little conversation, this subject seemed hardly meaningful.
“Oh, I’m a dealer.”
“Dealer of what?” I suddenly found myself questioning whether the leaf on his flank was a clover.
Colgate rolled her eyes. “A card dealer, genius.”
Okay, that made sense. But... “I didn’t know there was any of those places in Ponyville.”
“There’s not... officially. Boats and such get the hide taxed off their back. So some friends get together and eventually... well, you just have to know where to look.”
“Ah.”
“You should stop by sometime.”
After a bit, our orders came. Lucky and Colgate talked some, but mostly about trivial things. Satisfied things weren’t spiraling toward disaster, I took my leave after my course.
“Where you headed?”
“I’ve got chimicherrychangas to make, mate! And... Colgate?”
She stood and walked with me to the exit. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry that I... I really didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t worry about it, Doc. Besides, isn’t this so much easier?”
“Yes. A lot of ponies wouldn’t like it though.”
“Mmm...”
“Well, I should go. Have fun, just not too much.”
I winked, causing her to roll her eyes before trotting back to the table.
Time to get to work.
Fact: if you can’t make a real recipe work, an ill-defined and untested one won’t go any better. At the rate I was going, I probably would have been better off to just leave off the tortilla and fry a can of cherries straight.
After a particularly bad failure, I was forced to open the window to release a growing cloud of smoke out of the kitchen. Across the way, Lyra stared at me through the glass as I waved out the pollution with a blanket.
“You sure look like you could some help there.”
I coughed. “What gave me away?”
Later, the house cleared of smoke, Lyra stood reading Pinkie’s non-recipe. “This is what she gave you?”
I nodded.
“This... this isn’t a recipe! I don’t even have the slightest as to what course this meal is supposed to belong in! Tortillas... and cherry pie filling? What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Pinkie called it a ‘chimicherrychanga,’ whatever that might be.”
“Oh...” Lyra tapped her chin. “Like a chimichanga with cherries. Neato.”
“Are you trying to tell me that a chimichanga is a real food?”
“Yeah. We used to eat spinach stuffed ones at... Bonbon’s parents’ house, back before we told them about us two being us two.”
Now having a clearer understanding of what to make, Lyra began folding the flour wrappings in patterns I attempted to imitate.
“Y’know...” I started after a minute had passed, “if they ever come up, please know I’m here to help-”
“Thanks for the offer, but I really hope that kind of confrontation doesn’t come up soon.” She continued forming uniformly tight and sealed chimicherrychangas while she talked. “Not while Bons can’t handle it.”
“Sure, of course.”
We finished frying the goods and rolling them in sugar, both of which went off without a hitch, thanks to Lyra’s knowledge.
“I thought Bonbon was the baker,” I said, as she tweaked the temperature.
“It might not be my thing, but a side effect of living with her for five years is picking up some of her knowledge, whether I want to or not. Works vise-versa too, I suppose.”
Lyra levitated a pair of tongs, rotating the chimicherrychangas so they wouldn’t cook on just one side.
“Um, Lyra? I understand if you don’t want to answer this, but...” I ground my hoof into the floor as Lyra turned and looked at me. “What did you... what did you swap out for the bubblebath?”
Lyra’s face flushed, giving her an overall complexion of complementary christmas colors. “How... how did you know?”
I almost started to tell her, but stopped when I remembered Bonbon’s reaction to the crop. I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. Tonight is Thursday night after all. “Just... an educated guess.”
Lyra gave me a strange look, but didn’t question it. “It was a little specialty thing I ordered from the Carousel Boutique...”
My mind flashed back to the day I went and retrieved the wrapping paper for the presents from Rarity. No wonder she didn’t want me to know.
“One of those black little synthetic leather outfits. Has a collar and a strap and the whole bit-”
“I think I get the picture,” I said, cutting her off.
“You asked...” She shrugged off her blush as best she could and checked the chimicherrychangas again.
I’m getting tired of saying that word. It’s so long. Let’s try CCC instead.
Lyra gave a yelp of surprise as she snatched the CCCs out of the oil with magically levitated tongs. “Whew, that was close. I don’t think they’re burned though.”
“That’s why I always keep a unicorn around. Do you have any idea how long that would have taken with hooves?”
She giggled slightly. “Yeah, some. When I was at the height of my ‘human’ phase, I tried going a week without magic. I never realized how hard some stuff is. Even little stuff, like reaching a cup that’s across the table.”
I chuckled. “Sounds enlightening. Maybe that would be something to put on the list ‘101 things every unicorn should do before they die.’”
Lyra jumped as the clock struck three. “Karaoke candlesticks! Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to go pick up Bonbon. See you later!”
I nodded. “Thanks! I should probably get going too...”
I put my fresh CCCs in a basket and headed out after the mint-colored musician. Of course, I overestimated the travel time to the park and gave myself a good margin for interruptions too, which arrived me there early. Pipsqueak was the only one there so far, playing some kind of spinning game by himself under a linden tree he had picked out.
“Mister Whooves! You’re early.”
“Look who’s talking,” I replied, setting down the CCCs and leaning back against the tree in the shade.
“What do you want to do?”
I’d forgotten what it was like to think like that. ‘Waiting’ is a concept foals just don’t get.
“I haven’t the slightest.”
“Oh! I know! Can you whistle?”
“Um... I haven’t tried in a while, but I suppose. Why?”
“Could you teach me?”
“Uh...” How do you teach that? “It’s rather hard to explain... I just picked it up as I got older. Try making an ‘o’ sound with your mouth and blowing.”
The little colt did so, but no sound was made except for the rush of spit-laden air.
“I think you have to do something with your tongue too...”
He huffed and puffed, making various faces and sticking his tongue out at random angles. A couple of new sounds I hadn’t heard before emerged, but no whistle.
“That was... a good first try. Really, I think my first attempt was much worse.”
Although out of breath, Pipsqueak jumped up and down in front of me. “Now you do it!”
“Er... I might be a bit rusty...” Nevertheless, I puckered up and let off a few lines of Dixie. Just like riding a bike.
Pipsqueak’s eyes grew large, before he began huffing and puffing again, jumping in circles around me till his face was red.
A new voice interrupted behind me. “Uh, Pip? What are you doing?”
Pipsqueak stopped in mid-air, head turning to the side. “Sparkler!” he shouted, changing course to intercept the pink unicorn. She welcomed him as he wrapped himself around one leg, using the other foreleg to squeeze him back.
She was young–old enough to have a fully mature mare’s body, but only just. She still carried that ‘big sister’ atmosphere, a slight bit different from the ‘motherly’ one most older mares have. Analyzing her further, I noticed her various shades of purple in her mane, her tri-diamond cutie mark (brilliant cuts, if I had to guess), and her eyes, which sported a darker variety of her mane’s hue.
Right about then, she caught me looking at her. “Who’s your friend, Pip?”
“Whooves, Doct-” I cut myself off. “Whooves,” I restated.
“Uh huh.” She looked me up and down, a glint of suspicion still in her eye. “How do you know Pip and the Doos?”
At that moment, Ditzy came in for a landing, Dinky peeking out of the otherwise empty mail satchel. Dodging a tree branch, the pegasus impacted and continued trotting another couple meters to stay the momentum, ending her touchdown muzzle-to-muzzle with me. She gave a proud, small little smile before encompassing me in a lip-lock for two or three second.
“Oh... that’s how...” Sparkler averted her wide eyes, looking down at Dinky who had jumped out of the satchel and bounced over. As I helped Ditzy remove her food-laden saddlebags, I caught bits of their conversation.
“I thought you said your dad was in town!” hissed Sparkler.
“He is! He lives in Ponyville too, right next to Lyra. Don’t you know Lyra?”
“Yeah, from Canterlot...” The purple-maned mare looked at me. I smiled.
“So... what did you manage?” Ditzy’s voice brought me back to the mare in front of me.
“One of Pinkie’s specials... I had a little help in making them; I hope that was okay. I really didn’t want you to have to eat tar with flakes of chimney ash in it.”
Ditzy laughed. “When the thought is there, you get credit for trying.”
“Yeah, well, the plus side is these we can actually eat.”
Ditzy grabbed the corner of a checkered blanket and spread it with a toss of her head. In her saddlebags, I found some type of potato-based casserole, beans (done up French style with roasted almonds, not snapped), bread and butter, and fresh strawberries. All very simple, but quite complementary.
After a while, we fell to talking as we ate. Something still bugged me in the back of my head.
“Um, Sparkler? Did you say you were in Canterlot?”
“For a while, I was.”
“I thought you lived with your mom.”
“My mail still goes there, but that’s about it. Also, that’s mainly because I don’t stay in one place long enough to bother.”
She popped a strawberry in her mouth. “What about you... Whooves, right? Dinky said you live here in Ponyville.”
“Yes. I moved here a few weeks ago on business.”
She looked from me to Ditzy, and back again. “Business... what exactly do you do, Mr. Whooves?”
“I’m a...” Why do I feel hesitant to say this? “...a psychologist.”
Her right eyebrow rose. “And you two are...?”
“Uh...” I stuttered, before Ditzy took over with a cheerful nod. I glanced down at the two younger foals, both of whom were too busy making napkin origami to bother with what the three of us were saying.
“Well then... congratulations, I guess...” Sparkler looked rather shocked and unsure of how even she herself felt about it. “So... uh, when’s the big day?”
Ditzy’s eyes snapped into focus, and, for my part, I could feel an involuntary heat rising to my face.
“We’re... actually... still dating...”
Sparkler immediately clamped both her front hooves over her muzzle, a muffled “...I’m so sorry...” squeaking out from underneath.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding...” If that’s true, what does it actually mean?
I looked over at Ditzy, whose eyes were screwed shut, facial expression hidden behind an upraised hoof. She began trembling, holding back a reaction, a single tear developing on the outer edge of her eye.
“Ditzy...” I reached out, touching her on the shoulder.
She collapsed in laughter, wiping tears from her eyes as she writhed in hysteria. Sparkler and I looked at each other. Pipsqueak and Dinky stared, not sure what to make of her antics.
“...that was probably the most clueless thing I’ve said in a year,” said Sparkler, a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.
“Pff, please. That wouldn’t even top today for me.” We both joined the mailmare on the floor, laughing our lungs out. The foals, ever mindful of their role models, jumped in too.
It took a good three or four minutes for the giggles to die down to a reasonable level. I ended up on the bottom, with the two mares on top of me, and the two foals on top of them. It was like we’d been put into a giant beaker full of liquid and shaken, sinking according to our individual weights.
“That was a good one, Spark...” said Ditzy, still catching her breath. “How many times have you pulled that one?”
It was Ditzy’s turn to watch us bust our guts again.
Later, everybody had regained a decent level of composure as we tried to figure out the best way to eat CCCs.
I was watching Dinky try to squeeze the filling out of one end into her mouth, when a conversation between Ditzy and Sparkler caught my attention.
“How long are you going to be in town, Spark?”
“I dunno, really. Depends on what kind of work comes up.”
“You’re welcome to stay with Dinky and me if you need a place.”
“Well... if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding, I’d love too!”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “but guess I had thought that a line of work in the gemstone industry would be more stable. If that is indeed what you do.”
“I’m more of a gem broker right now. Someday I’ll work with cutting them, but I need to get into a school first to do that.”
“Ah.”
After supper, Pipsqueak and Dinky played five rounds of tag (which is very exhausting with only two players), a few games of jacks, and they both spent a good five minutes trying to learn how to whistle before they finally dropped sometime around dusk. Sparkler chuckled.
“Ran themselves into the dirt, as it were. Speaking of which, I probably should go hit the hay too; I’ve got a deal set up for tomorrow. Want me to take Dinky back with me?
“Sure.” Ditzy nodded.
Sparkler wrapped a foreleg around Dinky, but found that Pipsqueak seemed to be attached by a grip of iron from an unfinished tag-back. “Uh...”
Ditzy smiled. “Take him too. He sleeps over often anyway. I’ll be along in a bit.”
Sparkler turned towards Ditzy’s home, guiding the bleary-eyed foals and disappearing into the dusk soon enough. By then, the park was empty, the sole exception being the fireflies, Ditzy, and me.
“It is getting late, isn’t it?” I noted, looking up at the Luna’s rising moon as it bathed the landscape in sharp contrasts with its white light.
“I did bring something else,” Ditzy said, suddenly. “But, it can wait of course, if you need to get back home,” she added, with notably less urgency.
I sat my rear haunches down on the blanket. “I’ve no place to be.”
Ditzy drew a long-necked glass bottle out of her saddlebags. In the near-darkness it appeared black, only the occasional red refraction of moonlight giving it away.
“It’s not a very good wine... and I forgot the glasses...” she said, a little disappointed in herself if her tone was anything to judge by.
I twisted the cork out with the corkscrew she produced, extracting the cork off the tool afterwards and holding it up, as though examining it. “No, this is the type of wine such that you put the bottle and cork of it on your mantle.”
She looked down at the bottle, then back at me, eyes all awhirl.
“Wines earn a reputation from where they were grown, when they were grown, and who grew them...” I explained. “Bottles and corks earn a reputation from where the wine was drunk, when it was drunk...” I reclined onto my back on the blanket, looking up at the brilliant stars. “...and whom one gets to drink it with.”
Ditzy blinked in understanding, looking down at the grape-based product between her hooves. “So, do you just want to...? I’m not sick, at least as far as I know.”
I took generous sip and passed it back. “Even if you were, I don’t think it would stop me.”
In the pale light, her blush lit up like a splash of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Whooves... I...”
I offered her the wine, which she accepted. After taking a light drink, she analyzed it for a moment before responding and hoofing it back. “It’s... a little bit on the dry side...”
In truth, it was probably a bit sweet, even for a Merlot. I took another swallow. As strange as it may seem, I think taking draughts from the bottle under the stars beats crystal glasses and cloth napkins for me.
Ditzy curled up next to me, and we finished the bottle together, watching fireflies, shooting stars, and the occasional bat or owl.
When it was gone, Ditzy stood with a little flap of her wings. “I’d best be getting back, or else Sparkler will start spreading rumors about us eloping.”
We shared in a bout of fresh mirth before packing up and picking our way back to her house.
“You know you don’t have to walk me back if you don’t want to. Your house is the other direction.”
“Don’t be silly.” I shifted into one of my higher voices. “♫ I would walk five hundred miles ♫”
Ditzy laughed and joined in. “♫ And I would walk five hundred more-”
She tripped on a stray root, causing her to skip a step and a line, leaning on me for support.
“♫ Just to be the colt who walked a thousand miles ♫” I sang, solo. Feeling the distinct texture of the doormat under my hooves, I helped Ditzy regain her own support while finishing, “♫ To fall down at your door ♫”
“Thank you,” she said simply, looking at me with those crossed honey-colored eyes. We shared a hug and a kiss, before bidding each other goodnight.
The walk back was short, or felt short leastways. It wasn’t until I made it nearly to my door that I took notice of my surroundings; in this case, a particular mare with a carrot-colored mane and a serious look attracted my attention.
“Did you ask her about him yet?”
“No.”
“...be careful with her. Please.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows.
I think I was right about her. She cares, she’s just... not good with change. That... or there was a bad experience. Anyway, now, with a little wine and a lot of special moments, I think it’s about time I punch out for the day.
Sweet dreams.