Little Whisper, Alabaster, and Midnight Dreary weren’t quite sure what to expect to find in city hall. Honestly, they each could have counted the amount of times they’ve been in an office before on one hoof. Once in town hall, they encountered a rather snippy mare seated behind a mahogany desk. Judging by the cluster of papers scattered about, the tight bun her mane was pulled into, and her thick rimmed glasses, it was safe to assume she was a secretary of sorts. At least, that’s what Whisper suspected. She’s encountered enough secretaries in the world of fiction that she was fairly sure she could spot one in real life.
The trio only made it a few steps past the building’s threshold when the mare asked about their business with all the warmth and tenderness of a badger with a head cold. She couldn’t have been too much older then the three newcomers, yet the cold bitterness in her voice sounded as if it was seasoned by a winter that’s lasted near a century.
Alabaster gave Whisper a long look, one that conveyed his thoughts rather explicitly. ‘Better take care of this bitch before I do, Wisp’, it said. Getting the message, Whisper quickly flashed a smile to the mare as she stepped forward towards the desk. Now that the blazing glare of the sun was out of her eyes, Whisper found that she could summon her faux amenity rather easily.
“Good evening, Miss,” Whisper began, the epitome of courtesy,” We would like to speak to the mayor, please. You see, we’re new to these parts and we were told that she was the pony to see about starting a life here in Ponyville.”
The secretary regarded Whisper with beady eyes that twinkled malevolently beneath the wide lenses of her glasses. “And do you and your part have an appointment, Miss…” When Whisper only tilted her head at the mare, she sighed and added, “Your name, Miss. I need your name.”
“Oh, my apologies! Little Whisper is the name. There two strapping lads are Alabaster and Midnight Dreary.” Alabaster gave a slight dip of the head at the sound of his name while Midnight only continued to watch the mare cautiously. “And no, we don’t have an appointment. As I said, we just arrived. We rolled in on the last train, as a matter of fact.”
The secretary studied the ragtag party momentarily, then clicked her tongue testily and began to shuffle through the cluster of papers before her, appearing to search for something particular. There was no real significance in the act, it simple allowed her to ponder her new guest while creating an air of importance about her. Though Whisper’s smile persisted, there was a flicker of worry in her eyes.
“Well, that is rather problematic. The mayor is very busy pony. She has visitor comings in and out all day, and appointments are the only way she and I can keep up with the constant flood of faces and the requests these faces bring…” A quick look around the lobby said quite the contrary. Aside from the three travelers and the secretary, the only other living thing in room was a wilting wallflower.
Midnight leaned in close to Alabaster and whisper low enough so that his words went unheard by either of the two mares. “What exactly is going on here, Alabaster? I’m a bit… confused. There’s no one else here, so what’s the problem?”
Alabaster grinned and whispered back, “Pay close attention, my friend, because you’re seeing the rare appearance of an ‘uber bitch’. You see, they get particularly nasty when they haven’t had a good toss between the sheets in while, and judging from the nauseating levels of bitchiness of this particular specimen, it has been a loooong while.”
“A what between the sheets?” Midnight asked with a frown. “I don’t think I follow.” Alabaster’s good humor fizzled out and Midnight’s ears fell flat under the stallion’s miffed glower.
“Sometimes you’re just no fun, dude. No. Fun.”
“Weeeell,” the secretary said at last, stretching the word out as if it was made of rubber, “From what I can see on the schedule, it doesn’t seem that Mayor Mare has any pressing appointment at the moment.” Alabaster had to bite back a trickle of snark crawling up his throat. As if sensing this, Whisper gave him a cautioning look.
The mare realigned the papers back into a neat stack and sighed impatiently. “That said, the mayor could very well be busy with some other matter. She is quite an important pony around these parts.”
Important enough to have an office in a castle? Alabaster wanted to ask. Cause I don’t fucking think so.
“However, if you insist on speaking with her, than I will go see if she is available and willing to take in unscheduled visitors.”
“Please, ma’am,” Whisper persisted, “We would greatly appreciate it.”
Hot anger trickled along Alabaster’s legs like goose flesh as he heard the pleading in Whisper’s voice. No one should ever make Whisper, probably the sweetest pony in the whole world by Alabaster’s standards, beg. That savage urge to strangle and bludgeon prickled at the pegasus’s hooves. Oh, how he would love to take that stack of papers and cram them down the bitch’s throat. How utterly satisfying it would be to hear her sputter and choke. How… wonderful it would be.
Midnight stumbled back a few steps from Alabaster. It was as if someone had flicked a switch and turned the pegasus into an oven. Heat rolled off of him in waves, baking the air till it felt dry and coarse against Midnight’s windpipe. Each breath he took was a struggle to keep himself from coughing. Thankfully, Alabaster stood far enough back from the two mares that the heat seemed to stop short before reaching them.
Eyeing him fearfully, Midnight thought to ask Alabaster if he was okay. Maybe he needed a doctor... or perhaps a priest. From the way he was cooking, it seemed more likely that he needed some diced vegetables and a cup of marinade. However, Midnight found himself halted by the calm, collective expression on Alabaster’s face. Whatever was ailing him, it obviously must not have been serious enough for the pegasus to take notice of it. Given their current situation, Midnight decided it might be best just to bring it up later when they were on their own. Even better, he would talk to Whisper about it first. She would be more likely to listen to him than Alabaster… and she also didn’t scare him nearly half to death.
The secretary gave Whisper a curt nod and pushed herself up from her chair. The old thing sounded groaned as if it were about to give out from underneath her. Just to her left was the maw of a hallway leading farther into the building depths. She passed through its threshold, leaving the trio with only the sound of her receding hoofsteps.
Whisper turned to meet her friends and smiled wanly at them. “There,” she said, “That wasn’t bad at all, was it?” From her tone, it sounded as if Whisper was trying to convince herself instead of her friends. At once the heat abated, retreating back into the pegasus like a riptide. To Midnight, the air felt rather cold now and it was all he could do not to shiver.
“Maybe for you,” Alabaster answered with a shake of his head, “But damn, I was near about ready to start chewing nails. It’s been a long minute since I’ve wanted to throttle a pony so badly.” Then he remembered Dodge Junction and all the angry faces that had followed them out of town. He gave an embarrassed shrug as he thought, Okay, maybe it hasn’t been that long of a minute.
Whisper smirked. “Well, I’m glad you managed to restrain the raging furnace that is your ovaries.”
“Oh, hardy-har-har. You know, I don’t see why we’re working so hard to hunt for jobs when clearly you should be killing it on stage with your stand-up skills. Comedians are in short stock these days, eh missy?” he added, bumping her rump with his. Whisper couldn’t help but titter.
Midnight arched an eyebrow at his friends. “Wait, do comedians make a fairly good bit of money? If so, why don’t you try it?” The dark stallion figured that performing standup would be a fairly easy profession for two ponies who did nearly anything for money.
Whisper’s titter toppled into outright laughter so infectious that even Alabaster couldn’t help but join in. When Midnight frowned at them, the grinning pegasus just waved him off.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” Alabaster said, his voice still heavy with laughter, “Once we get situated, first thing we’ll do is buy you a sense of humor. Consider it a promise.”
A playful shove from Whisper sent Alabaster back a few steps. “Don’t tease him like that, you brute, especially since he might actually believe you.” Whatever severity she tried to convey in those words was murdered with another row of laughter as the pegasus ruffled his feather and primly turned his nose up at her. How she hated these moments when laughter took her as easily as a swooning mistress. It was made all the worse by Alabaster, the perfect instigator.
“Ahem!”
Whisper and Alabaster straightening into immediate attention as the secretary cleared her throat. Midnight simply continued to look from one pony to the next, his pleading gaze begging that someone let him in on whatever joke he missed.
The secretary glared daggers at the party, a vein twitching in the corner of her temple. While Whisper appeared a touch abashed by that dirty look, Alabaster on the other hand relished it. His spiteful glee shone through in a large grin, striking another nail into the secretary’s already failing patience.
“You three are fortunate,” the mare said, “The mayor has just finished writing up some rather important… documents. She will see you now.”
Alabaster shuffled close to Whisper so that only she could hear him. “How much you want to bet those ‘important documents’ were a bunch of doodles on a spreadsheet?”
Whisper’s ear gave an annoyed twitch and promptly flicked Alabaster on the nose. This small gesture was enough to make a grumbling Alabaster hold his peace for a time longer.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Whisper said, “we greatly appreciate it.” From the grunt the wiry mare gave them, it was apparent that the feeling was not mutual.
The secretary motioned with a dainty hoof to the hallway behind her. “This way, please, if you would be so kind.”
The trio shared a brief glance between one another, then followed the mare as she turned and lead the way.
***
Speira spent the better part of an hour in the city, and though Quill didn’t explicitly instruct her on where she could and could not go, the filly elected to remain near the market district. It was relatively small when compared to the rest of the city, as well as familiar. Besides, there was plenty of hustle and bustle amongst all those small businesses to keep her young mind occupied.
She traversed the streets like a leaf wading into a babbling brook, riding the current of ponies pulsing down the street with nearly thoughtless ease. Hardly a handful of the crystalline ponies took notice of Speira, and those that did never spared her a second thought. To them she was just another child enjoying her sweet reprieve from the schoolhouse walls, never mind her dull, unshining coat or the battered traveler's cloak clasping tightly to her tiny form. Even the slight bulges running along her back went unnoticed to their eyes.
‘How many ponies see,’ Quill had asked her once. ‘How many really see?’ From the few complacent smiles that flashed her way whenever her gaze lingered too long on one pony, she judged the answer was not many.
Deciding that none of the ponies flanking her sides were of any danger to her, Speira turned her attention to the storefronts passing her by. Within a few brief seconds, the filly’s keen eyes observed more than what a pony could with a handful of minutes. Though there wasn’t too much to the stores on the outside -as amazing as the crystal architecture of them was, Speira found the extravagance of the Empire seemed to lose a bit of its luster after a while- it was what laid beyond the shop’s front windows that arrested the filly’s interest.
There had been much Speira had seen when she would cut through market district with Quill, but her elder had always seemed to be in a hurry. While ushered along in a haste, she had only seen a fraction of all the goods these stores had to offer. Now, at her own leisurely pace, she gazed into the face of each store with fresh eyes. And to Speira’s delight, the worlds beyond each window and display case opened up wonders to her that seemed so grand she scolded herself for never noticing them before.
Behind the translucent face of one window revealed a maze of bookshelves that stretched the length of the store. Books the size of a wagon wheel, yellowed parchments, and feathered quills the color of a raging fire clustered the dusty shelves. Judging from the size of some of those books, it was a wonder that the thin slate of wood holding them didn’t snap. Off to one corner of the store, Speira spotted a tiny cauldron set upon the top of a stove. Smoke tinted a shade of purple rolled from the mouth of the rusted iron cauldron and hung in the air like a wafting dream. Tending watchfully to the brew was a zebra -the manager, maybe. Speira may have paused for a second, and only a second, to watch the stranger creature craft their voodoo, but was off again a moment later. There was much to see and too little time to waste.
Though Speira’s world was mainly black and grey, there was one color that stood popped out amongst all the monotony. That color was red. Quill had jested once that the only colors a mercenary knew was gold and crimson. Well, as the filly’s eyes drifted onward to the next shop over, she saw plenty of both colors. However, those oh so familiar colors were washed away by rising tide of so many others. A sign now dangling by a pair of chains above Speira head. Scrawled along the sign in neat hoofprint was this: ‘The Sugar Tart Confectionary! Sweetest little stop in the city!’
Just like with the store before, shelves stretched from one end to the other. Now, though, they were lined with things just a bit more savory than books, or parchments, or quills. One the topmost shelves were jars of gumballs and jellybeans, and oddly shaped jawbreakers decorated to look like gemstones. Colors splashed and blended together like watercolors as Speira tried to study them all at once. At eye level there were lollipops the size of a foal's head, bricks of chocolate that were white as snow, and a vast array of peppermint sticks appeared to have drizzled with a rainbow.
So much life. So much color. Speira found her breath stolen and her thoughts arrested by the multitude of sweets that lay only yard from where she stood. Without realizing it, Speira gravitated closer to the confectionary. Breaking free of the stream of ponies, her nose was singed by the luscious aroma carried on the winds.
To better see past the flecks of sunglare splashed across the glass, Speira pressed her muzzle to the cool surface of the window. Strands of pink mane fell from behind her ears to frame her features, capturing her amazement like a camera. Inside was a swarm of colts and fillies, all of which just appeared just as bright eyed and excited as Speira. They all clammered about the counter, each of the small ponies holding their own sugary slice of heaven along with a hoofful of bits.
The wilted stallion behind the counter -his red and white striped suit making him appear more like an old candy cane than a pony- tended to each child in turn. A cool, patient smile lay beneath his salt and pepper mustache as he tackled the surging swarm headon. In that little smile, Speira saw temperance and discipline borne from years of experience. Strange, I can see a bit of Papa in him… just a bit. Both are seasoned warriors with years of experience in their field. The thought made her smile.
Speira’s hooves twitched restlessly as she watched the ponies inside. Pins and needles begged for her to walk, to move, to do something. Her stomach pleaded with her as well, voicing its opinion in a low, guttural growl.
I can’t, Speira thought, What would be the use? I have no money… and even if I did… Speira suddenly regarded the mass of bodies warily, noting how all of those children shifted and fidgeted about like a restless tide. The candy shop really was packed. Shoulder to shoulder, rump to rump, wall to wall. The thought of wedging herself in there made Speira’s stomach cramp and her mouth run dry.
No, it’s way too cramped in there. If anything was to happen then I wouldn’t even be able to get out of my cloak, let alone extend my wings. Papa always said that entering tight crowds was unwise for our kind. No way to attack, or flank, or even retreat if need be.
With that last forlorn thought, Speira tore herself from the window and trundled on. Though she knew she had made the right decision, it ate at her that she wouldn’t be able to get a closer look at all those candies lining the shelves. Sure, her shrewd eyes saw plenty curbside, but oh, she could only imagine how vibrant those all those colors must be up close.
Speira’s stomach gave a final, somewhat crestfallen, rumble of defiance before falling silent. Soon the candy shop and its divine odors were far behind her. The thick curtain of ponies that formed at her back helped to keep the store and all it's goodies out of her thoughts. Within no time at all, Speira was plucking along as if her path had never strayed close to the Sugar Tart Confectionary.
She went on like this for five minutes, and that’s when another gem came along. This one was a beautique.
Just as she had been drawn to the confectionary, this time was no different. Her hooves moved on their own and a moment later her muzzle met glass yet again. Speira’s eyes went wide as she oogled the glittering treasures just on the other side. At least a dozen or so -Speira couldn’t be sure, as her eyes would not stay still long enough for her to get an accurate count- mannequins stood vigil around all corner in the beautique, their smooth, featureless faces watching absently as a handful of mares browsed about. However, what the poor mannequins lacked personality, the more than made up for it in style.
Speira felt herself begin to swoon for the dresses cladding the mannequins, A few of the dresses, the color of nightshade, shimmered like the rippling water in the light. Some dresses were ripe with ruffles thick enough to be considered drapes, others were studded with precious gems that ran the length of the seams, and then there were a few that seemed to hug the slender curves of the fake pony like second skin.
But what was more amazing than these lush, extravagant designs was -just like with the Sugar Tart Confectionary- the colors! Pinks, blues, reds, and so many other colors were splashed here and there, covering the boutique's innards like a waterfall of watercolors. Speira saw spindles of yarn, baskets of gemstones, and stacks of fabrics, each set of items just as vivid. Honestly, it was starting to make her eyes ache a bit, though, she didn’t dare let herself look away. The image before her felt fragile and rare, as if a brief glance somewhere else would erase it from existence.
As Speira wiped away the bit of her breath clinging to the window in a haze, she felt that familiar itch return. It tickled her hooves, and this time much more persistently. She entertained the thought of entering and found it quite pleasing. The beautique was nowhere near as crowded as the candy store. She could slip in, stay for a quick gander, then slip back out. There was no bell fixed to the front and all of the mares inside, with their prim outfits and styled manes, seemed far too preoccupied to notice a nimble footed pony like Speira.
Papa did say that most ponies went through their days almost blindly, looking about at the world without really seeing anything, Speira thought, slowly working herself to take the plunge. If that’s so, than I’ll have little trouble remaining unseen. I’m nowhere near as sneaky as Papa, but I won’t have to be. I’ll be nothing more than flicker of a shadow, or a trick of the light. Yes… Yes!
And plunge she almost did. Yet, again, Speira was halted. This time, however, it wasn’t because of fright or unease.
Just as the filly moved for the door, something new caught Speira’s attention from beyond the pane. A mare. She appeared suddenly from a door at the back, entering the room with all the grace of flower dancing in the wind. Speira’s mouth and stomach dropped at the mere sight of the lady.
The nobles Speira and Quill had escorted to Canterlot, Snow Dew and her boorish cousins, had been finely dressed and immaculately groomed, but those ponies of regality were a pale vision when compared to this mare. She looked beyond regale. Beyond beauty, in fact, or so Speira thought. Angelic, the filly mused, her thoughts garnering a bitter edge that seemed fairly foreign to Speira. She looks angelic.
The mare was lithe and tall, her legs seeming to stretch below her for miles. Her coat, which lacked the sheen of a crystal pony, was as pale and as clean as freshly fallen snow and her silky mane was bubblegum pink. She has a mane just like mine, Speira noted before flushing furiously. Except mine is nowhere near as puffy, or lush… or soft looking…
Another mare -a seamstress Speira surmised, noting the measuring tape and pins trailing behind them in a haze of green magic- approached the earthen bound goddess with a broad smile and eyes glittering eagerly. The two chatted rather excitedly, probably about the pale lace gown the first mare had entered with.
Speira found herself hating that gown, regarding it as balefully as if it were a turn sack of flour. More than that, she found herself hating the mare and all of her grandeur. Hating her long legs and faultless complexion. Hating the way her smile seemed to glow and brighten up the room. Hating how all the other mares in store gave her short, adulatory glances. But what Speira hated most of all… was herself.
Standing in the shadow of this second sun, Speira felt grubby and insignificant. The filly thought of her coarse coat, mottled by the occasional scar from one skirmish or another, and choppy mane. Speira never really thought to ask Quill to buy a brush. In truth, she never really thought to ask him for anything other than the bare essentials. She knew very well that bits didn’t grow on trees. That’s one reason why she never questioned it when the old mercenary cut her mane instead taking her to a barber. Now though…
Worst of all was her clothes. Never before had Speira looked her worn, shabby cloak with such disdain as she did then. It felt as if she was wearing the fur of a freshly skinned animal, still slick and wet with gore. She was revolted, and probably would have torn the thing off of her if it wasn’t for the enchanted armor beneath. Speira dared not think how Quill might react if she were to return home with glowing veins of her armor glowing for all to see. However, the thought of the armor hidden beneath the cloak sweetened her bitterness a bit. It was a thing of beauty with its flawless ebony face and eerie veins of magic. Best of all were the steel wings that twitched and ruffled under the cover of the cloak, feeling as if they really were an extra addition to her body.
With her one redeeming feature in mind, Speira dared one last glance at the goddess inside. She stood alone now, the seamstress missing from sight, and looked to be studying the dress of a nearby mannequin. Whoever the mare was, she had done nothing to deserve the daggers that flew loose from the filly’s gaze, nor the hornet's nest of insults that buzzed angrily in Speira’s skull. And Speira knew all of this. Jealousy was a sickly, peevish monster with sharp claws that could burrow into the thickest of hide. For the first time in her young life, Speira found herself in the mercy of its clutches.
With a few self pitying tears stinging her eyes, as well as shame for those tears, Speira pulled herself from the boutiques window and pushed her way back onto the street. There would be no more gandering or ogling now. Her hunger for adventure and wonders alike had been sated, and bitterly so, and now she only longed to back in her room, in the comforting presence of her father.
It was time to head back.
***
Young Speira’s mood began to brighten considerably on the return trip to the Speckled Gem. One could even dare to say that she felt better as she mounted the steps leading up to the tavern.
Not much had changed since she had left. The drunken faces of an hour ago had been replaced with fresher ones, but that was about it. Cheeks were still rosy and glowing with a sickening fever, chatter still crashed about the room like an angry waterfall, the air still stank of spilt ale and burning cigars, and Half Pint, her old dress stained with new splotches of spilt ale, still rushed from table to table with a tray of frothing mugs balanced neatly on her back. It baffled Speira how so many ponies stumbled in and out of this place for booze. How many problems could the average pony have that it would require so much alcohol to drown them all? Perhaps if Speira was a normal pony, she would know the answer.
Speaking of Half Pint. By chance, the waitress’ sporadic trajectory just happened to cross Speira’s as the filly cautiously made her way to the stair. The sullen eyed mare gave her a warm ‘hello’ and added, “If you’re on your way up, love, tell that old turkey of yours that Topaz appreciates the advance on his annual payment. Nothing makes that buzzard happy than a little extra clink in his purse. Maybe that means he won’t skim off of my tips this week.”
It wasn’t the first time Speira had heard someone call Quill a turkey -probably won’t be the last, either- but it was one of the few times that it was said with genuine fondness.
Speira managed a convincing enough smile and nodded. If there was anything else for the two mares to share, it was nipped in the bud as a voice called out somewhere from the drunken haze around them, “Need a refill over here, beautiful! On the double!”
Half Pint rolled her eyes and hollered back, “I’m comin’, ya bushwacker! Just keep your arse to the seat and I’ll be there in a jiffy!” Then, to Speira, she added gently, “You two just holler down if you need anything, you hear? I can always make time for my two favorite customers, Topaz be damned.”
This made Speira arch an eyebrow. “Are we really your favorite customers, or are you just saying that so we’ll keep overtipping?” This got a good bray of laughter from Half Pint, making the amber liquid in the mugs on her back slosh noisily as she tittered.
“Why not a bit of both, love? Yeah, I want you to keep overtipping, but you’re probably the only ponies in this stupid city that haven’t spilt either their ale or their lunch on my floors. That is why you’re my favorites!” With that, Half Pint bide the filly farewell and went on her way. It’s always nice to see her in a good mood for once, Speira thought, dancing around a stallion who had tottered in her way. It’s a sweet reminder that she isn’t entirely dead inside.
Ascending the rickety steps to the second floor, Speira began to align all she had seen during her brief stint in the city, organizing and straightening them into neat stacks in her mind. There was no doubt Quill would question her extensively about all she had done and she found it comforting to have everything in line for that moment, so as to not get turned around by any trick question he might have -oh, how he loved to trick and play his games with her.
Speira was pondering if she should omit everything about the confection and beautique from her report when she pushed open the door to her room. The smile she had worked up for Half Pint was still stuck to her face as she entered the room, but it quickly dropped. The neat, imaginary stacks of papers she had arranged in her mind suddenly flew up into a chaotic flurry as her eyes fell upon the stallion clad in golden armor.
“Speira, my dear!” Quill called from his place on his bed, looking as pleased as a fat cat after catching a mouse. “What timing, we were just talking about you!”