A Heart's Warming Carol

by Butterscotch Cream

A Heart's Warming Carol

A Heart's Warming Carol

By Butterscotch Cream

The glass door let out a shivered, metallic rattle as the wind rushed past the wine shop's entrance, howling and whistling as it tried to pry past. Outside, the night was raging, and the snow was so thick that gusts blurred the line between air and ground. The door was the only obstacle keeping the storm from clawing its way in, and the blizzard never seemed to tire of it.

The store itself was only a moderate shelter though. For the past two days, the storm had been dumping one foot of snow after another, and drifts three and four feet high were plastered against the walls so the store itself practically felt like a refrigerator, and the line of wine coolers along the back didn't help. It didn’t even look warm, what with the icey blue incandescents draining life out of anyone inside. The idea of being in the frying pan rather than the fire might've seemed appropriate, if it dealt in degrees of cold rather than heat.

As it was, there were only four ponies there that night. The first two were staff: one a somewhat scraggly, chocolate-colored earth pony, and the other a champagne unicorn with cream hair. The former was busy restocking one of the shop’s many wine racks, and the latter was behind the cash register pouring over a list of inventory with a frown that could freeze icicles. The last two were a pair of mares who’d just finished shopping, chatting away as they hurried to the front to pay. If one had been watching, one would have seen the unicorn’s frown darken noticeably as they trotted up.

“And I made sure to drop a few hints in Sterling’s ear about the necklace,” giggled one mare. “I’ll need to drag him by the store and make a few more longing glances just to be sure he gets the idea.”

“Mauve, you’re simply wicked!” laughed the other, giving her friend a small shove. “I need to get my husband to the toy store. There’s some new fad out and I’ll never hear the end of it if the foals don’t have it under the tree this year. Hello, Mr. Perig-non? We’d like to get this please.” Almost immediately, she turned back to her friend. “I just had to stop here on the way home. I completely forgot about the neighbors’ gifts! I mean not that it really matters, but they dropped off a box of chocolates the other day, so it’d look bad if we didn’t get them anything.”

Like a mechanical wind-up toy, Perignon lifted his head, straightened his back and donned a grin so fake it was obvious he didn’t care if they noticed. They didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. Possibly both. “Good evening ladies! Ah, excellent selection you made.”

“Yes! It was your cheapest,” replied the mare with an equally happy facade. “Could you double-bag it for me? I don’t want it breaking if it drops on the way home.”

“Certainly, certainly. One moment please.” The instant Perignon turned away, his grin vanished back into a scowl, and as he wrapped the bottle in packing paper he seemed careful to snap and crumple it as loudly as possible. However, a sale was a sale, and soon the bottle was returned to the counter, bundled up as snugly as most ponies would be on a night like that one. “There you are. That will be eight bits please.”

To Perignon’s relief, the dialog between the mares was spared as she counted out the coins and put them on the counter. Of course, it started up again once she’d secured the bottle in her saddlebags. “The best time to get Sterling by that store is the payday before Hearth’s Warming! Maybe you could drag him out grocery shopping or something.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Pearl. Sterling hates shopping. You know how he—”

The rest of the conversation was cut off when the door closed behind them, leaving the ponies in the shop once more to the mostly-silence of their giant refrigerator. Perignon slumped over the counter and groaned as if the smile he’d put on had physically pained him. “And it’s ‘Perin-yon! Perin-yon! Why can’t anypony get it right?”

“Just spell it the way it sounds and they’ll figure it out eventually,” his coworker called back.

“Very not funny. ...blast it. Thursdays are usually good days. It’s already almost eight and we’ve sold a grand total of fifteen of our ‘cheapest.’ What’s with everypony?” Perignon pulled himself up to flip back a few pages in his notebook, and after scanning a few lines his face began to relax a little. “At least we sold a few extra yesterday. That should help make it up.”

“You know, ponies have lives,” called his companion again, poking his head out from behind one of the isles. “Maybe they just had something to do other than buy wine? Pay bills, groceries, Hearth’s Warming presents?”

“Oh shut it, Pin. Ponies can buy wine for Hearth’s Warming! It’s affordable, it’s relatively small, it tastes great, it gets better with age and if the receiver doesn’t like it, they can stash it somewhere and say they’re saving it for later without insulting anypony. Give me a good reason not to buy wine fo—” Perignon broke off his rant when the grating whrrr of the store’s heating system switched on. “...Pinstripe, did you turn up the thermostat again?”

“You bet I did!” Pinstripe pulled his head back as he resumed his work with a frown, huffing a lock of darker brown mane out of his eyes. “It's freezing in here! I always feel like my respectables’ll fall off from frostbite!”

“Aaaauugh!” Perignon slammed the notepad he’d been reviewing on the counter and marched to the thermostat on the store’s rear wall. Sure enough, it had been set to a balmy 73, rather than the usual 65. “Think of it as preserving them for future generations. I told you, heat’s expensive! You won’t freeze at sixty-five. Just wear a sweater or something.”

“I do wear a sweater!” Pinstripe snapped back as he shoved another wine bottle into place, a bit harder than was necessary. “And I dunno if you noticed, but our customers aren’t exactly comfortable in here. They rush in and out as if it were colder in here than it is outside! During a blizzard!” He frowned a bit more and laid his ears back as he reached for another bottle, “And in some ways it is.”

Perignon's tail flicked defiantly as he stalked back to the counter. “Good for them. It means I have to smile at ’em that much less until they leave. I doubt they’d notice if I didn’t.”

Pinstripe snorted, shaking his head as he kept stocking. It was fairly obvious that his work was serving to keep his mind from focusing wholly on the frustration Perignon was generating, even if he couldn’t ignore it entirely. “You know, the season is called ‘Hearth’s Warming’ for a reason!”

“And it isn’t turn-up-the-thermostat month," Perignon replied, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the inventory list that time. "I gave you this job because you helped me out in college. The least you could do is follow my workplace rules.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Perry. I’m talking about your attitude. Generosity? Friendliness? Good will? Any of those things ringing bells?” Pinstripe went to reach for another bottle, only to realize his stock box was now empty, so he picked it up in his mouth and carried it around to the register where Perignon was sat pointedly ignoring him. “You used to love Hearth’s Warming. Why do you hate it so much now?”

“Hate? What? Hah!” A wry smile flickered over Perignon’s face, “I love Hearth’s Warming! Ponies buy wine for Hearth’s Warming. Why would I hate it?”

“You know what I mean, Perry. You’d enjoy the season and ponies around you a ton more if you didn’t focus so much on this.” Pinstripe partially covered the notepad with his hoof, forcing Perignon to look up at him with daggers in his eyes.

“Since when did celebrating Hearth’s Warming get signed into law? I hate Hearth’s Warming for the same reason I hate fairytales and door-to-door medicine salesponies. I hate hope! Hope is a lie, and anything that offers it is selling you something that doesn’t exist. Or maybe I should follow the example of those two mares that were just here. They’re shining examples of the holiday spirit and all the bunk that comes with it!”

“Oh come on Perry. You know not everypony’s like that,” Pinstripe pleaded, softening his gaze a bit. “Just—”

“No, ‘just’ leave me alone! I don’t care how many years you’ve been working here. If you celebrate Hearth’s Warming and want to pay your bills this month, don’t do it in front of me, or I’ll give you a nice pink slip with the word ‘fire’ on it to warm yourself by as a present! And you can go spend all the money that pink slip won’t be giving you on the tailor shop you’ve been wanting since college!” Perignon’s voice was stiff and biting, almost a yell, but just restrained enough to be reminiscent of a snarling pitbull.

A few seconds of silence passed between hard faces and solemn expressions. Finally, Pinstripe rolled his eyes and flopped the empty wine crate onto his back. “Fine. You're like this all year; I don't know why I thought this would be any different. But speaking of celebrating Hearth’s Warming, you scheduled me to work on the day of. Again.”

Apparently taking this as a triumph, Perignon brushed aside Pinstripe’s hoof with a disinterested expression to resume his studied gaze at the notepad below it, “Yeah? It’s a busy time. Ponies are always getting last-minute wine bottles for relatives and celebrating or whathaveyou. You’ve seen how the business goes that day. I figured you wouldn’t complain this time.”

“Well, I’m complaining. Maybe you don’t, since I’m probably your only one, but I have friends to spend it with. And yes, I have seen business that day. I gave up the whole day last year to work because you insisted, and we sold three bottles. A—”

“And that’s three bottles we wouldn’t have sold if I closed!” Perignon practically shouted, pounding his hoof on the counter as he shot his gaze back at the earth pony. There was another period of silence, but it was shorter, and Perignon dropped his head to work again. “Fine. I don’t need your snark here anyway. Take the day off, and don’t be surprised when your paycheck gets docked. I’ll come in myself.”

Pinstripe sighed and turned away, walking to the back of the store. “I’m gonna put this crate away and be off. Since we’re talking money, you owe me for the overtime tonight. Leave it on the counter so I can pick it up on my way out.”

Perignon didn’t reply verbally, but yanked open the cash drawer with a resentful clang. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, though, since Pinstripe had already disappeared behind the stockroom doors. He felt angry. Angrier than he normally felt at any rate, and the howling wind outside just seemed to echo everything he was feeling. He was so distracted by his thoughts he had to recount the bits he’d set out twice over before shoving them across the counter.

“Happiness, good will, friendliness,” he repeated under his breath with a crescendo of disgust. He ended the list by knocking the cash drawer shut again and locking it. He wasn’t in a state of mind to finish counting, and he’d be there early in the morning anyway. “What a pathetic word, friendliness. How much stupidity can you—”

“You'll have to speak up. Did you say something to me?”

Perignon looked up to find that Pinstripe had returned, and was staring at him with the same exhausted expression, as though he were readying himself to ignore any anti-joy propaganda the unicorn had to spout. Instead, Perignon just snorted and looked away at whatever was available to stare at. “No.”

“Alright then,” Pinstripe replied, walking past the register to grab his things. As he pulled on his coat and hat, his gaze shifted out the front door, and for the first time that evening he looked more concerned than annoyed. “Hey Perry? Did you bring a coat? It’s pretty wicked out there.”

“No.” Perignon grit his teeth in agitation. He wasn't sure if he was more irritated with himself for forgetting it or Pinstripe for reminding him. He'd go with Pinstripe. He was easy to be angry at this evening, and the last thing he wanted was the sympathy of a twit. “I don’t need one anyway. I’ll just run to keep warm like when I came to work.”

“You sure? I live closer. I can leave mine here if y—”

“No!”

The earth pony had already begun to remove his coat, but at the snapped answer, he frowned and pulled it back on with an angry grunt of his own. “Fine.” After stuffing the coins from the counter into a pocket, Pinstripe marched to the door and pulled it open with a yank, unleashing the wintry beast outside in a blast of frozen air and white flakes. “And for the record, I started working here to help you, because once upon a time, you were a nice guy! Apparently he's gone.”

Perignon wasn’t looking, so he didn’t know when Pinstripe actually walked out, but the door stayed open just slightly longer than he expected before slamming shut, as if Pinstripe had waited a moment before leaving. While the door had been open, though, he’d heard something more melodic than howling on the wind, like singing. By mere curiosity, he turned his head and glanced out the window to see a mare and three foals caroling by the store across the street. They were so bundled up, they looked more like cotton and fleece than flesh in their coats and hats.

As he watched, Pinstripe trotted over to them, pulled out what looked like half of the bits he’d just been paid and dumped them into the foal’s collection tin. He didn’t even seem to count. Perignon’s gaze lingered there for a moment, staring through the blowing snow, before he jerked his head away with a scowl and began closing up shop.

“Pathetic, the lot of ‘em.”

* * * * *

It didn’t take Perignon long. He’d locked the earnings away, turned on the security system, pulled the security bars down over the windows in front, and finally donned the two articles of clothing he had remembered to bring: his scarf and hat. The moment he opened the door, there was a pang of regret he hadn’t taken up Pinstripe’s offer as the rush of cold air whipped past his sides, but he grit his teeth and dragged himself out, rushing to lock the door before the cold could weaken his magic’s grip.

The carolers had already left, which wasn’t surprising. The only other pony in sight was a charity worker with a load of blankets on her back, probably on her way to or from some slum alley. Perignon’s shop was on the very edge of town — the last building on his street, in fact. It was “closer” to home, technically speaking. Home was a fairly long trek through the neighboring woods, so at least he didn't have to cross through the town as well.

As he turned away from the shop, he glimpsed the prison-like security bars from the corner of his eye, and a shiver that wasn’t from the wind ran down his spine. He wasn't sure why his own shop would seem so foreboding. He was doing what he loved, right? One of the few things that could be enjoyed, if anything. Whatever! Perignon cut off the train of thought before it could go any further and powered up his horn in defiance of the wind lashing over his back, marching off into the dark. Now wasn't the time to think about it anyway.

Barely a hundred feet from his shop, he was already beginning to shake from the cold. The storm hadn’t seemed this bad when he’d gone to work, and on a normal evening the woods barely cast a shade on the ground. Tonight, the darkness of the snow and clouds transformed them into a mass of black, spindle-fingered hands ahead of him, which didn’t make the prospect of travel any less intimidating.

“Just… need to get r-running…” he stuttered to himself. Taking in a deep breath, he forced his legs to move at a healthy jog. Unfortunately for him, he’d shaven most of his winter coat for a business-like appearance, and he could only hope there was enough left untrimmed to keep from freezing on the way. Half of him wanted to go back to his shop, but the other half was stubborn, and was apparently the stronger of the two. He kept pushing himself forward, trying to focus his thoughts on something other than the biting cold.

By the time he made his way past the treeline, his imagination was fired with all sorts of fuel to burn, mostly Pinstripe and the holiday season in general. He conjured up a facsimile of his friend and began to rant at it, pulling out every stop on eloquence he could muster to put the audacious pony in his place.

“U-used to love Hearth’s Warming, huh? Yeah, l-let’s see how much there is to love. I’m a mem-merchant! I know ho-how holidays work! You convince p-ponies it’s a good idea to buy exp-p-pensive things. It’s a business opportunity, a chshh-chance to take advantage of that ‘generosity’ you keep sp—... spouting about. Generosity isn’t a virtue; it’s an exploit! Y-you know how I pay bills? Y-you know why I’m rich and everypony else is scraping to make rent? Because I’m frugal! So what if I pinch my coins!?

“Poor ponies are just ir-r-responsible. They’re the ones who empty their p-pockets every year for other ponies, getting things they can’t af-ford. And you know what? Usually they just do it out of obligation and wanting s-something back. I can’t th-think of anything more selfish than putting together a Hearth’s Warming list. It’s a list of ‘I wants’ and you u-usually aren’t thinking of somepony else. You’re thinking of yourself! You think I’m g-going to just th-throw out money to ponies who’ll squander it? Look at you! I paid you overtime, and you t-tos-tossed it at some idiots singing out in a sn-snowstorm!

“Hearth’s Warming is a farce. I bet the st-story isn’t even real. It’s just a warm fuzzy to make ponies behave and feel good. It’s a distraction from r-reality. Do you think it changes them? No. They just revert to the same selfish ponies they always were, or foolishly going along in their lives in some giddy delusion. Well guess what, morons! Bad things happen! Tell yourselves happy stories all you want! It isn’t going to change the nature of the world! The world is still gonna be cold, dark and totally ambivalent to your useless little dreams when it cuts through them with a knife! There’s no such thing as hope! YOUR DREAMS ARE HOPELESS!”

“Got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

The mere presence of another pony shocked Perignon off of his soapbox and he whipped himself around, stumbling frantically as he tried to locate the speaker. The voice was that of a stallion, calm and steady, but he couldn't tell where it came from, and it was too close for his comfort. “Where are you? Who are you!? I swear if you come near me, I’ll blast you to next month!” He threatened, charging his horn. It didn’t do much good though; he still couldn’t find the newcomer.

“Whoa! Hey! I’m not here to rob you or anything. I just heard you, uh... discussing things and thought I’d check to make sure you were okay. I’m right here by the way — sorry, it’s not easy to see me at night.”

That time, the voice seemed to have a distinct location and, as Perignon peered harder where it came from, the recognizable (if dim) silhouette of a black stallion gradually coalesced out of the shadows. Perignon assumed he was black at least, as he couldn't have been so hard to see otherwise. It looked like he had white hair, too, but for all Perignon could tell it might’ve been clumps of snow. Finally, he spotted a pair of eyes, just barely lit by the magic of his horn. “Well if you’re not here to rob me, leave me alone. If you want wine, visit my shop when I’m open.”

Perignon turned away and resumed the trek home, but after a pause the stallion started walking alongside him, “I already said I just came to check on you, and I’m not really a drinker, myself. Actually, I came out to see the moon.”

That statement made Perignon roll his eyes and almost laugh, “In a snowstorm? Really? You can’t even see the m—... moon...”

Just then, Perignon realized the wind had stopped, and he could actually see the snow beneath his feet, not to mention hear himself — let alone the stranger — with no howling to obscure the sound. Sure enough, though the sky was still fairly clouded, a sliver of moon was shining through a break onto the forest floor with a few stars twinkling beside it. In fact, it was illuminating the path he and his newfound companion were taking. The night didn’t even seem all that cold anymore.

“Guess you were just too distracted to notice it stopped,” the stallion chuckled. “I mean, seriously. You were so into your rant when I came up, I could’ve clubbed you over the head and you’d never have noticed. I guess that’s partly why I was worried.”

A shard of anger struck up through Perignon as he glowered at the stallion. He could make out the other pony more easily now, but he still melted too much into the shadows of the wood around them to really be distinct. Fairly soon, though, he found the pony had wings, because one was draped over his back as the stallion stepped closer, and a rush of warmth flooded his body. “C’mon. Let me walk with you a ways. Least I can do is keep you warm for a bit.”

Perignon’s first instinct was to snort and pull away, but a shiver of the frigid cold he felt before ran up his legs to convince him otherwise. After a huff, he swallowed his resentment and nodded tensely. “Thanks I guess. Just don’t bug me. What’re you doing out in the woods anyway? Nopony lives out here but me. I bought the place because nopony else lives out here.”

“Oh, I don’t live here. I just kinda pop around places, I guess. It makes life exciting. I hope your house is warmer inside than out, heh. Winter can get pretty frigid in this part of the world.”

Their hooves crunched softly through the fresh laid snow as they walked. For some reason, it was pleasant and relaxing to listen to. The night had become peaceful, a stark contrast to what it was earlier. Despite this, though, Perignon was still ill at ease. Conversation was not his strong point, and he didn't 'enjoy' it. Nevertheless, making conversation was less awkward than staying silent while huddled under the stallion's wing, so he gave in.

“It’s cheap, but it’s got a fireplace and blankets. I don’t need more than that," Perignon sighed. "At least when I’m old I’ll still have a place I can afford instead of worrying over losing some lavish mansion because my business suddenly gave out or I couldn’t work anymore. I live in peace.”

“Fair enough. It’s good to mind your finances. Seems kind of lonesome, though.” The last sentence lingered for a few moments, but Perignon didn’t have too much time to think about it before his companion moved on. “Sounded like you were dealing with some pretty heavy stuff, and you had some good points. But I’m curious, why so against Hearth’s Warming?”

Perignon snorted. That was what he didn't want. Any moment, the stallion would start some condescending speech on how wonderful Hearth’s Warming is, the lessons it teaches and all the other junk he’d heard a thousand times before, usually laced with pithy phrases and meaningless platitudes. “Look. For one, my choice in housing is my own. For two, cut it out early before you dig yourself a hole. I don’t want to celebrate Hearth’s Warming, so let me not celebrate it in peace! I don’t need yet another pony trying to stab me through the heart with a holly stake, as if I were some sort of heathen for minding my own business!”

“I just said you had good points, didn’t I? I came here to keep you warm, not tell you that anyone who doesn’t celebrate Hearth’s Warming is bad. Even I don’t celebrate Hearth’s Warming.” The stallion’s voice was calm and unthreatened, and likewise his wing remained relaxed as they walked. At least he didn’t seem to be crusading like everyone else, but there was still a bastion of resentment and wariness clinging in Perignon’s chest from the sore topic.

After another frustrated sigh, Perignon looked off into the woods and narrowed his eyes. Internally, he was still guarded. The last thing Perignon wanted was to be drawn in, but there was enough interest to keep the conversation going. “You’re one of the few. So what were my ‘good points’?”

“Well, the world is a cold, harsh place,” the stallion answered matter-of-factly. “Bad things happen. As most go through their lives, they build up whole lists of ‘bad stuff’ that happens. Some wave them around like trophies to see whose is longer. A lot of others just try to find ways of ignoring it, or covering it up like trying to hide mold with a fresh coat of paint, except it keeps growing through, so they keep on painting.”

“Hah! So you do know what I mean!” Perignon exclaimed triumphantly, smiling with a grim sort of glee. “You should talk some sense into that idiot friend of mine, Pinstripe. He’s all giggles and gumdrops - well, when he’s not trying to shove his stupid opinions down my throat. When is he gonna learn it can’t be helped? That’s just the way the world is. I can’t spend time worrying about being jolly when it does no good. It doesn’t make the world nicer. It doesn’t take away pain, or sickness or anything. It doesn’t stop you from losing loved ones. It doesn’t stop anything! It’s a placebo that blinds you to reality.”

“And those selfish ponies,” the stallion continued, “They’re everywhere. Only work for themselves, manipulating, grinning wide as bear traps, using others. That doesn’t really change either. The season really does seem like one big commercial - an excuse to sell ponies cheap things under the guise of making them feel generous by what they buy. False piety, false feelings, hollow hope based on selfish desires. They send glittery cards to one another with painted smiles and false fronts...”

“Just like I said! It’s all a farce!” By this point, Perignon was really getting into the ‘Preach it, brother!’ mood. A kindred spirit in distaste for all things holiday! “They just don’t change! Nothing changes! It’s all stupid and superficial. And when it’s over and done with, you get more ponies who are just sour because they didn’t get what they wanted, or they didn’t get enough, or they have themselves plastered in a stupor of false happiness that gets torn away the moment reality strikes. It’s like a drug they fix themselves on. And Pinstripe wonders why I don’t want to have anything to do with it! They’re all... pathetic!”

“Yep.” The stallion bobbed his head in sober agreement with a sigh. “It’s a shame. It’d be nice if more could see past it all. That’s what would really make a difference.”

“Yeah! They should just— ...wait, what do you mean?” Perignon stopped in his tracks, staring at the other stallion through the dark, or at least what he could make out of him. He suddenly got the feeling they were talking about completely different things.

The stallion didn’t answer for a bit, but seemed to chew over his thoughts, selecting what he wanted to say. Finally, he lifted his eyes up to the moon, and for the first time Perignon caught a glimpse of their crystal blue color.

“When I look at those who celebrate Hearth’s Warming, I don’t look for the prettiest decorations. I look at what they’re celebrating. The holiday — if any — isn’t what matters. The holiday isn’t real. What’s real is the idea behind it. Decorations are fine and good in their own way, but if the ones who put them up would just as soon ignore someone in need as look at them, what’s the use? They’re just celebrating a holiday, not its meaning.” He turned to look at Perignon, and somehow, though the stallion wasn’t looking at the moon anymore, his eyes still seemed to shine softly.

“The world can be downright cruel. There are a lot who go through it saying that since the world is dark, there’s no need to be any different. Most do it unconsciously because they just don’t care enough not to. So, they live selfishly, either publicly, or privately in their hearts where they think none can see while putting on a ‘good show.’ But every once in a while, you meet someone who has a genuine spark of selflessness. It can be anyone: pony, griffin, dragon, or any other race. And anyone can change, too. Those mares from your shop could have a change of heart at any time."

"Yeah? And?" Perignon ended this prompt with a snort to show his disinterest in an answer. Now it was getting into the mushy stuff, though he almost pitied the stallion's optimism. "So some ponies can do nice things. It doesn't make a difference. There's no grand purpose, no purpose period, no good or bad and no great truth. There's nothing more to life than death a little after. Love, happiness, friendship — it all ends when you die. You can't feel it and you can't give it. So what's the point? Even ghost stories have more hope than reality. All you can do is keep yourself comfortable until you die, and hope for a quick death."

The stallion tilted his head from one side to the other thoughtfully, "You're right, that's a pretty depressing view. Not one I share, though. What if I were to tell you that there is meaning to the world, and that life does matter? I think the fact people can be selfless says something pretty profound about the reality we live in, something hiding in plain sight just waiting to be seen. Besides, if there's nothing wrong in hurting others, why does the selfishness of others bother you so much, and if all you can really do is make yourself comfortable, then why aren't you?”

"Okay, that's about enough of the sap I can take from you." Perignon snapped, narrowing his eyes further as he tried to stare the stallion down. "How I live is my own business, and I've been perfectly content this way for years!"

"You've been perfectly resigned. You haven't been content for a long time. You've been holed up in a fortress of apathy, cold and miserable, and everyone around you feels it. There are plenty of others out there who do exactly what you described. Some give themselves crusades to feel worthwhile. Some surround themselves with every sort of pleasure. Some strive for power and dominance, some gather as many friends as they can to try and drown out reality, but... not you. Why are you not like them? Why are you here, alone and hurting, when others seem to ignore the dark so easily?"

The stallion returned his gaze unwavering, and for a few unnerving seconds, Perignon felt exposed. He'd heard others talk about someone looking right into their soul, but it was emotional nonsense to him. Now he felt it, as though every part of him and every secret were suddenly written on his face for the stallion to see. Actually, it was worse than exposure. Perignon felt helpless, and the stirring of a heartache he had long since buried. This pony was rousing something - something Perignon didn't want wakened.

“No! Stop. We are not talking about this any more! I'm not hurting! This is stupid. You don't know me! I shouldn’t have even started talking to you. I should’ve left when the storm stopped. Either shut up, or t—..." Perignon whipped his head away to point off into the darkness, but when he did, his anger was replaced with confusion. They were in town again, a little ways down the street past his shop. He'd been so focused on the discussion he hadn't even noticed when they left the woods. "—take... your... Wh—... what are we doing back in town?”

“Huh, I guess we got turned around somewhere; the storm was pretty fierce before I found you,” The stallion mused. “Oh, hey. Remember what you were saying about bad things happening?” He motioned his head down one of the alleys. “Look here.”

Perignon didn’t want to look. He didn’t want anything more to do with the conversation period, but it was right in his line of sight, so he instinctively glanced anyway. The alley was dimly lit by a fire in front of what looked like a crate with a tarp over it, and huddled by the fire were the three foals and their mother, the carolers. By the light of the fire and without the blowing snow, he could see their state more easily. They were ragged and worn, solemn, and the best of their clothes were riddled with holes.

“You probably didn’t know this, but they were singing in the blizzard for firewood money. If Pinstripe hadn’t given them what he had, one or more of the foals would have probably died by now. And that charity worker from earlier, she gave them the blankets they’re using, and the food they’re eating. The husband of the mare passed on a few years back, and they’ve been moving from town to town ever since as she finds jobs. She already lost one last winter..." The stallion concluded, his voice growing quieter. "Her oldest son."

There was a brief flicker of a feeling in Perignon's gut, but he crushed it with a stamp of his hoof. “So what!? So what!?” Perignon demanded, his voice getting strained. “It doesn't matter!! So what if they die? Some ponies cry, new mounds appear in the graveyard, the world keeps spinning. They'll get old and die anyway! It makes no difference if I or anypony else cares!”

“It makes a world of difference!” For the first time since they’d started talking, the stallion had raised his voice, not so much in anger but apparent shock at the suggestion. "You tell yourself nothing matters and there's no purpose except comfort, but you push it away in every form. Why?" The stallion paused long enough to step close to him again, "Because... it isn't enough to drown the fact you still want to care. Underneath all your armor and apathy, you still want life to matter, you still want meaning, and you're angry because that longing aches. Anything good in the world looks hollow, another empty promise of meaning no one can give you. You're convinced you'll never find it, and you'd rather have nothing than a reminder of despair."

A blast of fury ran through Perignon as he ripped himself from underneath the stallion’s wing and swiveled around to face him, practically seething with hostility. The cold wind cut through him again, but he was too angry, too desperate to care. His safe shell of ambivalence was cracking, and his mind was afire with rage trying to defend it. He hated this stallion, and he wanted nothing more than to stamp out the feelings he was dredging up. “What is so blasted special about caring then? Why should I care about these ponies or anypony else!? Give me one, good, solid reason why I should care! Why!?”

“Don’t you see it? You aren't without purpose or meaning, or else you wouldn't ache so badly without one,” the stallion stated, almost sounding confused. “It’s right in front of you. You’re blurting it out, but it’s so intrinsic to your existence you don’t even stop to think about it!”

“What’s intrinsic? WHAT? If it’s so damned important and obvious, then spit it out!” Perignon was shouting now, legs spread and heaving his breaths like a bull in rage. Every inch of him was ready to bore through this nuisance. But something else had been unleashed with his fury. His walls had crumbled, and there was nothing to hold back his pain anymore. Years of anger and despair locked up were now surging painfully through him. The very beats of his heart felt heavy and painful, and before he could stop them, tears began streaming down his cheeks. "I spent years! Years! I tried to be happy. I tried to make others happy. But there was never any point! I can't be happy for the sake of happiness. Everywhere I looked, everything I saw... it was all fake. And every once in a while I'd see it drop on somepony else just long enough to know they felt the same way: lost, alone, groping in the dark for a purpose.

"And I searched for that purpose. I begged!" Perignon's tears had become a torrent now, sobbing as he fought to speak past the pain stabbing through his heart. "Nights in the dark, praying for some sign, anything. I didn't care how small. And you know what I found? Nothing. Nothing! No comfort, no guide, no warmth, no peace. I gave up. Hope is what ponies tell themselves, a lie that leads you on by your own wishful thinking. It isn't real! The world is dead. What could you possibly know that gives this world any meaning at all? TELL ME!!”

At that moment, Perignon's will broke, shattered under the weight of his growing despair. He stumbled forward into the snow as his anger gave way to anguish, leaving him to sob in the drifts. When his fury drained away, all that remained was the agonized core of his heart, fluttering helplessly like a moth in the storm. As he laid there, he felt the stallion kneel down and drape the wing over him once more, flooding him with warmth again. The comfort pained him, aching, but he didn't have the will to resist anymore. Instead, he simply begged. “Please, please tell me... Please...”

The wing tucked tighter around him, and this time the stallion spoke softly. “Perry, you’ve been searching for a hidden answer that was never a secret. The evidence you were trying so hard to find was the one, most obvious proof: your own heart. Open your eyes."

At first, Perignon wasn't sure whether the stallion was speaking metaphorically, or literally, but after a moment, he opened them again, blinking away the tears so he could see. Once more he found himself staring at the small family in the alleyway, but as he watched, the older colt hugged his smaller siblings close to keep them warm, gazing into their tiny fire with eyes too old for his body.

But beyond the sadness in the colt's face, Perignon saw something else, too. The more he focused on it, the clearer it became, till the very sense of someone caring for another seemed like a tangible thing, a warmth that lingered in his chest. But it was more than that. He couldn't name it. It was... enormous, powerful, living... it existed in a sense he couldn't grasp.

Words had never failed Perignon before, but here the case was literal. Any word he chose seemed too... incomplete, like trying to describe a spectrum by a single color. He couldn't understand it, but it was wonderful, and the longer he watched, the deeper it seemed to draw him.

"You should care, because you can. 'Good' isn't an arbitrary concept; it's a part of your very being. While the world can be dark and cruel, you have the capacity to not be! That is what makes you precious and different. That is why life is important. In a world of darkness, there's nothing so strange, or beautiful, as a spark of light.”

* * * * *

“...He’s coming around. Keep that oxygen mask secure in case of a seizure. Tip, get some fresh blankets, will ya? These are losing heat.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and somehow distant. It took Perignon a few seconds to realize he couldn’t see anything, and a few more to realize his eyes were closed. The lids felt like lead weights — as did the rest of him, for that matter. All he could do was rock his head and groan through a swollen throat. Just then, the voice started again, a lot closer this time.

“Easy does it. Don’t shift around too much buddy. Take your time, you’re safe.”

Frustrated by the lack of visual contact, Perignon forced his head back into the pillow behind it and garnered all his strength into opening his eyes, and after a few seconds of blurry, piercing light, the image before him came into focus. A fairly large unicorn wearing a nurse outfit was leaning over him, observing his every action. A couple others stood behind him, working on various tasks that vaguely seemed medical in nature. He couldn’t concentrate enough on them to know or care, though, mostly distracted by the annoyance of being immobilized.

Shortly after, he found out why. Another pony, apparently “Tip,” trotted back in with thick, white hospital blankets. The ones over him were quickly removed, and along with them the leaden weight, only to be replaced by a fresh load, except these were much warmer, almost too warm for his liking. Just then, his attention was drawn back to the nurse above him.

“There ya are. Welcome back to the world of the waking! You’re one lucky pony. I know you just woke up, but the best thing you can do right now is relax and rest. ‘Kay?” The nurse patted the fresh blankets down and then gave Perignon an encouraging shake of the shoulder.

It was right about then it fully registered that he was, in fact, in the hospital, even though he still didn’t know why he was in the hospital. Perignon’s head was swirling with emotions, and he was still trying to piece it all together. The last thing he remembered was catching a brief glance at the stallion’s blue eyes again, and snippets of their conversation which slowly grew more detailed and more complete as he recalled them. Certain parts stood out to him more than others, though, and as he laid there he realized he was still crying.

It felt like he’d been ripped out of one reality and plugged into the present one. Logic (or what he had of it working at that moment) said it must’ve been a hallucination of some kind, but another part of him rejected that idea with a vengeance, screaming that it was real. Maybe he’d had the conversation and blacked out afterward? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think.

“H-how did I get here? Why am I in the hospital?”

The nurse smiled and motioned his head back toward the doorway, “Oh, you mean who saved ya? A fellow named Pinstripe — he said he was your friend. He brought you in.”

“P-Pinstripe…” Perignon gasped, “I… I want to see him! I need to see him. Where is he?”

“Oh, he’s still here! Uh… one sec.” The nurse turned away and waved down another who was passing by in the hallway. “Hey, Turni, y’know the stallion that brought this guy in? Patient wants to see him. He should still be in the waiting room.”

The mare he’d spoken to nodded and disappeared down the hall, presumably to where the waiting room was. How did Pinstripe fit into all this? Where was the stallion he’d spoken to? It had to have been a dream. The stallion knew too much. It had to have been, but… what he said felt so… real.

As reality seemed to settle in, so did the headache that was pulsing in his head. Perignon groaned and turned away from the lights, shutting his eyes till the heavy and hurried gallop of earth pony hooves could be heard echoing down the hall and clamoring through the door into his room. “Perry? Perry, you’re awake? How are you feeling?” Every sentence was rushed and urgent, as if Pinstripe needed every question answered right then and there.

Perignon opened his eyes again and turned to look at Pinstripe blankly. It felt like, for the first time in ages, he saw the stallion for the friend he was being. He felt trust. Gratitude. “Pin… Pin, I don’t know what to feel right now. I… I’m so sorry.” Almost immediately, he felt himself beginning to sob again, and he reached up to pull Pinstripe down into a desperate hug.

“What? P… Perry? What… what’s wrong? You’re fine now. You’re in the hospital! Everything’s going to be fine.” For all his reassurances, Pinstripe looked more confused than Perry did, returning the hug as best he could without crushing the other pony underneath. “Perry, everything’s going to be fine.”

“You’re fired.”

“...what!? How could you—...”

“I’m giving you a pink slip for Hearth’s Warming, because there’s better places to work than with me. I’ll finance your tailor shop, and give you a healthy investment so you can get materials to start with.”

Pinstripe’s confusion vanished into a frown. “Great. The first time I hear you apologize, and it’s delirium. They’ve probably got you on some sort of medication. This really isn’t a good time to for you to be discussing business.” He let out an exasperated sigh and tried to reach for the IV tag to confirm his suspicion, but when he attempted pulling away Perignon tightened his grip as much as he could.

“No! I’m not delirious! I’m serious! Look at me!”

When Pinstripe had made eye contact, Perignon held the gaze until he was sure he was being listened to, then continued. “I’m sorry, Pin. I’m sorry for how resentful I’ve been. I’m… I’m sorry for so many things. I don’t even know what to do with myself, but I know I want you to have this. I’m grateful — and ashamed — that you brought me here, even when you expected more of the same from me. Maybe you weren’t always the most tactful but… I was wrong. Please forgive me. Please...”

For a while, Pinstripe just stared at him, looking bewildered, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to take what he was hearing seriously. After what seemed like ages, he sighed and looked down. “I should never have let you go home alone, even if I argued you into staying in the shop. After I left, I realized you could never make it back home in that weather, as bad as it was, and I turned back trying to follow your scent. Your tracks were all but obliterated by the snow and I spent a good hour or two wandering through the woods before I saw your signal.”

“My… signal?” Perignon asked, quirking a brow in confusion.

“Yeah - there was a burst of blue light in the woods. Loud too - I even heard it over the wind. I figured you’d shot off some sort of magic flare. The blizzard was so thick it was practically blinding and I wouldn't have found you without it. I might’ve frozen out there myself! You got really lucky. The doctor said you suffered a mild hypothermia, and by all rights you should’ve been frozen solid!” Pinstripe tucked his ears back and glanced to the side, “I’m… really glad you weren’t, by the way. I was afraid I’d gotten there too late when I saw you lying half covered in snow.”

The idea seemed to bother Pinstripe deeply, and he shook his head as if to clear it before smiling, pointedly changing the subject, “And I have a better idea than what you offered. Let’s not just go our separate ways with me having my shop and you having yours. Let’s make this a joint investment. We can get the shop next to yours, knock down the wall between them and be one business for wine and tailoring! ‘Pinstripes & Perignon’ where our clients can taste wine while they wait for their tailoring. Aaaaaaaaaand—” Here he paused, pressing a hoof into Perignon’s chest in the take-charge, ‘I’m calling the shots’ way he sometimes did. “I will pay the heating bill, and have sole control over the thermostat, Mr. Freeze. You keep yourself on so much ice you’d think you were a wine bottle yourself!”

“Heh, deal…” Perignon replied, smiling a little himself. At that moment, as if an epiphany, Perignon realized that he was smiling. Actually, truly smiling. And he was enjoying it. His heart felt… warm, and more importantly, alive. Just as quickly though, something else entered his mind. “I… might have a favor to ask of you, though.”

“Mmm? What’s that?” Pinstripe pulled his head back to look at Perignon more easily, as up till then his vision had mostly been a faceful of disheveled cream mane due to the hug Perignon was refusing to let go of.

“I may need a place to stay. I figure it might be good to have a place closer to town." It occurred to him to tell Pinstripe about the odd conversation, but then, he didn't feel that would give his friend much confidence that he was still in his right mind. Then again, in some wonderful way, maybe he wasn't.

Pinstripe simply grinned and tightened the hug himself this time. “You can stay with me as long as you need to. On the condition!” He pulled back once more and held his hoof up commandingly, with a very stern and serious look, “That you must take Hearth’s Eve and Hearth’s Warming Day off, and come with me to a holiday party to meet my friends. It just wouldn’t do to have my partner not be known to them, especially since I’ve worked day in and out with you for years and never been able to introduce you.” He held out his hoof for a shake on it, eyeing Perignon with a cautious expression to let him know he was utterly serious.

The unicorn found himself smiling broader than ever, and wrapped his foreleg around the earth pony’s. “Keep that face up, and you’ll become quite the business pony. It’s a deal. Though I can’t promise I won’t feel awkward.”

Pinstripe’s face burst into a grin again as he returned the shake firmly, “That’s not hard. I can. And what’re you talking about? I’m already a business pony! And when I’m through dressing up our shop—”

“Uh… dressing up? Is that some sort of sick tailor’s pun?”

“Shush. And when I’m done dressing up our shop, you’ll see just how good of a business pony I can be! The first thing to go are those incandescent bulbs.”

Out of habit, Perignon flinched into a frown, “But incandescents are the ch-”

“Nah-ah-ah! I’ll pay the electric bill too, and if I’m wrong and making the shop more welcoming doesn’t help business, you can rub my face in it like you usually do.” Pinstripe followed this promise with a reassuring smile that seemed to melt the rest of Perignon’s objections, and also pluck the strings of his recently re-acquired conscience.

“I… fine. Though I’ll… try to make rubbing your nose into things less of a habit,” he sighed. Pinstripe just shrugged a bit and chuckled.

“Eh, I might need it every once in a while. Depends what my nose is being rubbed into. Anyway!” He finally pulled back and tousled Perignon’s already messy mane. “I’ll be sleeping here tonight. I took the liberty of asking the nurses to bring in a cot, but I haven’t eaten all evening, except the snow I swallowed while searching in that blizzard. I’m gonna go get something to eat and then I’ll be back, alright?”

Perignon nodded and sank back into his pillow, the smile still lingering on his face. “Alright. I might be asleep by the time you get back, I’m… feeling kinda tired.”

“All the better! I get to see if you still snore like you did in college,” Pinstripe smirked with a wink. As he trotted out and rounded the corner, he called back, “Won’t be too long!”

For a few moments Perignon almost responded, but he decided not to. There were things on his mind. A lot of things. Not necessarily bad things, but a lot. The conversation with the strange black stallion kept echoing through his mind, and the smile slowly faded from his face.

Whether or not the stranger had been a dream certainly bothered him, but that question was somehow less important than another nagging thought: how real was what he said? Looking to the side, Perignon spotted a cup on a nearby tray and floated it over. After staring at it a few moments, he smiled once more.

The last thing he remembered stuck out to him like a whisper in his ear.

“In a world of darkness, there's nothing so strange, or beautiful, as a spark of light.”

Comments

[-Brutus]

Love the message behind this story, bravo!

[Casca]

Mmmm, pretty darn well-written. I appreciate how this is quite an Aesop, in that it's a piece that asks the reader to reflect on themselves rather than the characters exactly; it's very befitting of the season. Good job, author.

[ghostcrab311]

fabulous job - the pacing was excellent, the moral was well-explored without ever coming across as preachy, and the epilogue was simply perfect. you hit close to the heart with this story - awesome emotional impact by the end.

[Night_Shine]

That was one of the most beautiful things I have found in far too long. I admit that I was genuinely shocked to find something as pure, good, and simple as this story. A story of pure undiluted hope like this one is difficult to find...and that's why this story is incredible on a level that transcends explanation: in a world of darkness, there's nothing so strange, or beautiful, as a spark of light.

Thank you for making this

[Marioaddict]

"I think the fact people can be selfless..."

Shouldn't that be "The fact that ponies can be selfless" ?

[Puzzle Reader]

You know how utterly RARE it is to find stories like this, that are against the cynicism but AREN'T going all "ooh holiday spirit" at you?! Pretty darn rare, that's how! It's really nice to see someone admit that yeah, how the holiday is, sucks, while at the same time still being GOOD.

[Matthewl419]

I have reviewed this HERE.