Pearple Juice With Bits

by Pearple Prose

OC Slamjam: Trinket Vs. Mild Manners

Trinket didn’t really like Canterlot.

Sure, the buildings looked nice, and the streets were clean, and the view of Equestria’s rolling meadows from the mountainside city was among the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, but Trinket was a country pony – Hoofshear was small, and tucked away into a cosy corner.

He felt out of his depth, he supposed. Although, from what Cadance had told him, that was not at all unusual.

Cadance. Trinket jolted out of his daydreams, looked around at the train station he was standing in (and looking kind of silly in), and trotted off towards the main street. He huffed a little bit – his packs were laden with gizmos and gadgets, trinkets and tinkerings, and endless bits-and-bobs he’d put together over the last year or so.

I quite liked some of these, he thought. But good golly, my workshop is cluttered enough as it is.

Stepping out from the surprisingly modest train station into the opulent streets crowded with tapered towers gave Trinket a bit of vertigo, but he was used to it enough by this point. His tinkering habits meant he came to Canterlot pretty much every year to sell off his various creations and get some money back. Sometimes he made a profit, sometimes he didn’t. He didn’t really care either way – as much as Canterlot unnerved him, it was at least a nice change of pace. Bartering his wares with the especially animated ponies of Canterlot tended to be more interesting than making horseshoes all day.

It didn’t take long to make it to the market. It should be confined to Diarch Square, but it had formed a habit over the last few years of just kind-of sprawling out, like a freshly-fed feline, in order to accommodate new arrivals. Stalls had a habit of crowding the streets. Trinket liked it; he could hear and see ponies chatting and smiling at one another through the chaos. It felt quite homely despite everything.

“Hey! Watch out!” somepony shouted. Trinket’s ears flickered, and he turned his head on reflex, but that didn’t save him from the unicorn carrying far too many books in his magic.

“Oof!” Trinket, predictably, lost his balance, the heavy weight of his saddlebags carrying him onto the flagstoned streets. He landed with a tinkling crash, as if someone had broken a pane of glass, and he winced at both the landing and the ominous noise. I probably should have expected this to happen.

He slid out from his saddlebags and pushed himself back up onto his hooves. There was a momentary lapse of silence when he looked around as everypony nearby noticed the tumble. Trinket looked down himself – a little knocked about but otherwise fine – and then over at the pony who’d crashed into him.

He was a white, smartly dressed unicorn – hardly a rarity in Canterlot – and he was sitting on the ground, eyes closed and rubbing his head. Books were splayed out around him. Some polite ponies trotted over and asked him if he was okay, to whom he smiled and assured them that was, in fact, perfectly fine. He got unsteadily to his hooves and looked around at his books. For a moment, he looked furious, as if he was going to punch something petulantly, before his placid smile snapped back into place so fast that Trinket thought he was just imagining things.

“Hey.” Trinket walked over and picking up a book in his telekinesis. “I’m really, really sorry,” he said, immediately feeling awkward, but pressing on regardless. “I should have got out of your way. Do you need any help with these books?”

The unicorn just smiled at him. “That would be great, thanks. Maybe you should check on your bags first, though?” His horn glowed as he spoke, his books lifting off the ground and forming a stack on the flagstones.

“Oh. Right.” Trinket looked down at his bags, hefted them, and heard the tinkling of broken bits inside. He sighed, opened the flaps, and peeked inside. “That’s not good…”

“What is it?” The white unicorn said from over his shoulder. Trinket heard his hoofsteps as he approached and looked into the bag. “Oh. That isn’t good.”

Do I still have enough to sell? Or should I just not bother this year?

“Wow, hey, I’m really sorry about this.” Trinket felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the unicorn looking at him with a miserable expression on his face. “I’ll help you get set up. How’s that?”

“W-Well, I–”

“Then it’s settled!” The unicorn pulled the saddlebags on with his magic, then turned around and lifted his books into the air, where they teetered ominously. “C’mon! Where are we going?”

Trinket looked at him. He was tall, taller than Trinket, but wasn’t particularly buff either – he looked ready to collapse already, and he hadn’t even moved. Trinket would feel bad if he just brushed him off, though.

“I arranged a spot in Diarch Square itself, I think…”

“Okay! Follow me!” The white unicorn began to march into town, Trinket at his heels.

---

Trinket learned a little bit about the surprisingly helpful unicorn during their ten minute trip to the town centre.

One: his name was Mild Manners. Trinket didn’t think this was a very good name for him – he seemed to flip between sadness and excitement at the drop of a hat. Trinket didn’t mention that, though. He didn’t want to be rude.

Two: he was studying at Canterlot University. He said this with some subtle pride, so Trinket assumed that was something worthy of respect, but Trinket didn’t know anything about Canterlot, let alone its university, so this didn’t really mean much to him.

Three: he was nobility. Mild hadn’t mentioned it at all, but Trinket just got the impression. He said ‘bath’ like ‘barth’ and ‘grass’ like ‘grarss’. Trinket would have pointed to his white coat as a reason, as well, but Mild Manners was strangely stringent on the fact that it was cream coloured.

“Oh, hey, here’s the spot!” Trinket said. He pointed to a small corner of the marketplace. The crowds were especially concentrated around Diarch Square, but Trinket knew how to squirrel without any real issues.

Mild, on the other hand, was lugging around more weight than he should be, even after Trinket took some of his books to carry. He was sweating and taking huffing breaths. “G… Good…” He said, between breaths. “Let’s… Let’s get you set up.”

The two trotted over to the little corner, where Mild pulled off the saddlebags and dropped his books before sitting down to rest. He caught his breath, then looked around in confusion. “Wait… Where’s your stall?”

“Oh, it’s here.” Trinket rooted around inside the saddlebags, then pulled out a cubic contraption. “Let’s hope my fall didn’t break it.” He dropped it in the centre of his assigned area, then lit his horn.

The cube immediately began to move. Seemingly independent of Trinket’s actions, the box flipped, folded, expanded, and, eventually, transformed into a modest stall.

“Phew.” Trinket wiped his brow. “That’s a relief.”

“I’ll say!” Mild leapt to his hooves, poking and prodding the stall with his hooves. His eyes were wide with wonder. “How in the world did you make this?”

“Oh.” Trinket fiddled with his hooves. “Well, it’s like, you take the shape of the stall, and you kind of unfold it, like a cardboard box, and then you kind of…” Trinket made vague box-shaped gestures. “It’s not that impressive, anyway. Mostly just magic.”

Mild Manners didn’t seem at all disappointed by Trinket’s vague explanation. If anything, he seemed only more excited. “So you sell stuff like this, then?” Without waiting for Trinket to respond, he opened the bag with his magic and pulled out a hoof-ful of gadgets.

“Oh.” Trinket’s fiddling became more erratic. “Yeah. Well, mostly make them, but sell them too. Mostly metal stuff, you know.”

Mild peered at the trinkets, one by one, before placing them on the stall. “I can’t even tell what half of these do. They look amazing, though.” He pulled out a weirdly shaped piece of metal. “Wow, what’s this? Some kind of modern art? A sculpture, maybe?”

“Oh.” Trinket, eventually, got his fiddling under control. “No, that’s… broken.”

Mild deflated at that. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no! We’ve been over this, it’s my fault, I…” Trinket pleaded, but he trailed off when he realised Mild had gone back to wallowing in self-pity. “Look, how about I…” He thought quickly. “Maybe I can show you how to make some of these?”

Mild’s head jerked up, astonished. “You would do that?”

“I guess? I mean, sure.” Trinket looked away, abashed. “I mean, you seem to be pretty good with your magic, and you have to be pretty clever to go to Canterlot University, right? You can get the hang of it pretty quickly, probably.”

Mild made a show of looking skeptical, but his breast swelled up a little regardless. “Well, if you think I can…”

“I definitely think you can.” Trinket smiled. “But let’s get set up first, shall we?”

---

It had been about an hour since they’d set up the stall.

Trinket had been glad to discover that only some of the things he’d brought had actually broken, and that most of them were still sales-worthy. Amongst the scrap, he picked out a slightly broken old clock he’d made a long time ago, and a few spare parts that he kept around with him. After going over some of the things he knew with Mild, and showing him generally what he had to do, Trinket handed him some tools and asked him to fix the clock. Mild nodded, then sat near the stall and began to work on the clock.

Trinket, meanwhile, put some of the more useful things he had up on display – a watch, a set of horseshoes, some nails, as well as the odd peculiarity he found in the bottom of his bags. His corner of the marketplace was relatively quiet, and so only a few ponies actually came nearby and pondered his goods, but Trinket didn’t mind. He liked being able to relax and tinker with something idly while he sat at the stall, as well as help his new friend with his own project.

As time passed by, Mild got more and more annoyed.

“What does this do?” he asked Trinket, for the third time. “I can’t get it to fit.”

“Just think about it. Imagine it’s a puzzle, and you need to put the right pieces in to fix it.”

“But…” Mild huffed. “You keep telling me that, but it doesn’t really mean anything. Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”

Trinket fiddled with his hooves. “Well… I don’t really know what to say that’ll help you. I can show you what you need to do next, if you want.”

“Okay.” Mild shoved it at him with his magic. “Try that.”

Trinket took the pieces in his hooves, looked at them for a moment. “See, you just need to put this here, and then this goes here – you need to be careful with this, ‘cause it’s fragile – and then…” He handed it back, slightly more completed than it was beforehand. “Try working from there.”

“Why do you use your hooves?” Mild gave him a suspicious look. “Does magic not work, or something?”

“Of course not.” Trinket looked back at the stall, hoping to see a customer there. “I just… work better with my hooves. Always have.”

Mild stared at him for a moment. Then he returned to his corner and went back to working.

Another hour passed.

“I can’t do this.” Mild trotted up to Trinket. “It’s beyond repair,” he said, slamming the half-finished clock down in front of his friend.

Trinket looked up at him, then frowned at the clock. “Hmm. That’s a shame.”

“‘That’s a shame’? Is that it?” Mild sat on his haunches and glared at him. “I thought you said you could teach me to do it.”

“I can! I think. Maybe.” Trinket looked around, then down at the bits and pieces in his hooves. “Here. Take these, and try just, like, tinkering with them. See what you can make.”

Mild looked down at the pieces with a skeptical look, then, as if to copy Trinket, took them with his own hooves.

Trinket winced when their hooves touched. “Ouch.”

Mild looked at him, slightly surprised. “What? Are you hurt?”

“No, no.” Trinket turned his hooves over and looked at the multiple burn scars on the back. “Just some old bruising.”

Mild spared them a glance, then turned and strode off into his corner again. “Alright, I’ll be back in a bit.”

---

The market was only halfway over when Trinket heard the noise. It was a rather familiar scream of frustration, followed by an even more familiar tinkling crash.

Trinket’s head whipped around. Mild Manners stood, huffing and puffing, while a little pile of twisted bits and pieces lay in a little pile on the floor. Trinket got up and trotted over to his friend.

“Stupid broken silly little pieces of…” Mild jolted when Trinket touched his shoulder. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Trinket asked, and immediately regretted it.

Mild’s head whipped around and he glared at him, with tears of frustration budding at the corners of his eyes. He seemed like he was getting ready to shout, before he paused, looked down at himself, and let it all out with a heaving sigh.

“I’m sorry, Trinket.” Mild looked at him with a miserable expression on his face, then kneeled down to pick up the twisted pieces on the floor. “I just… I don’t get it. The pieces never seem to come together, no matter if I use magic, or hooves with the tools, or…” Mild levitated the pieces onto the stall counter and trailed off. “Maybe I just don’t have the knack for it.”

“No, I get it.” Trinket smiled at him, as if to reassure him. “I was sometimes like that too, even to this day. But I had a way better teacher when I was learning.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even know the first thing about teaching. Most of it came naturally. You must be like that with some stuff too, right?”

Mild hesitated, then nodded his head, smiling bashfully. “Yeah, I suppose so. Ah well.”

“Oh, hey, I also finished fixing that clock.” Trinket levitated over the old clock, which ticked along merrily. “I mean, not to show off. I just want you to have it. As a gift, you know?”

Mild looked down at the clock. Then he gave Trinket a large, sincere smile. “Thank you. It means a lot. Also, I just realised this second that I’m gonna be late for my afternoon classes, so I should really, really get going now. Bye, Trinket!”

And with that, Mild Manners took the clock, picked up his books, and galloped off towards the University.

Trinket sat down at his stall. He looked at his gizmos and gadgets, trinkets and tinkerings, and endless bits-and-bobs that had plagued his workshop floor, and he smiled.

Comments

[Sollace]

Nice.

I really like this one, it has a little more than the last.