Lost of thoughts

by CraftAids

Parse

“So, what you are telling me… is… that this sword,” he gestured at a somewhat large sword with a somewhat flattened handle and a perfectly straight, forward hand-guard and a curved up rear hand-guard and a blade that curved back slightly and ended in a point and returned back to the handle with two concave curves,” is worth one thousand, two hundred bits, and this sword”, he gestured at a somewhat large sword with a somewhat flattened handle and a perfectly straight, forward hand-guard and a curved up rear hand-guard and a blade that curved back slightly and ended in a point and returned back to the handle with two concave curves, ”is worth sixty five?”

The big-muscled, singed-feathered blacksmith stallion let out a quick “Yep.”

“Okay,” he pointed at a shelf full of water-proof, red, air-proof saddle-bags, “which of those is least valuable?”

The smith pointed at the second one back on the top shelf, “Twelve bits.”

“Alright,” he placed the cheap sword and the cheap bag in the very back of their respective stands, “is there anything I can do to bring that price down, anything you want?”

“Iron. Gems, too. I always need material.”

He didn’t have any of that.

“I don’t have any of that… Anything else?”

The stallion merely looked at him for a moment. The stallion slowly took a breath in through his nose and hung up his expensive sword before letting the breath back out. “Can you give me flight and still let me practice my talents at the forge? Can you bring my dead friends back? Can you stop boredom from claiming every good thing that ever lasted? Can you turn back the clock? Can you give me forever and make me not buck it up? Can you even keep my bills paid and my stomach full?” The smith went back into his forge room. “Bring me bits, then,” the smith called out before beginning to hammer out a slinky.

This left him standing in the middle of the shop, alone. The co-owner was still doing the mime-schtick nearby. He was very hard to talk to and would toss pie occasionally. Counter arguments did nothing.

He left “Adventures with Jokes.”

He had amassed a great wealth that morning. It came in in the form of knowledge about the town and, regrettably, not in the form of money. He knew anything in his possession was worth about one bit. He knew expensive items were in shops and that shops didn’t purchase. He knew some ponies were friendly. He knew that wagons and bags were expensive. He knew that mud ponies grew plants.

He knew this because he had asked the smith. “How would you recommend I get the bits?” he had asked.

“Legally.” The smith had replied. The smith had looked him over. “Why not magic somepony else’s plants into growing, like every other blank-flank mud-pony?”

“Magic?” he had looked at his hooves. “I might try that, thanks.”

With that conversation in mind, he trotted until he found a shop called “The Flowers’ Shop.” It seemed appropriate, and he went in. There was a mare shelving a potted pincushion flower.

“Hello.” He said, and she squeaked and quickly turned around. “Uh, yes, I was wondering if you could help me. Someone informed me that ‘mud ponies’ could ‘magic plants into growing’. I have no idea what they were talking about. Could you help me figure out how to do that?”

The mare’s mouth was moving up and down. She looked like a firecracker had gone off at her hooves a few seconds ago.”Don’t,” she mustered a small, sad voice, “don’t say that again. I mean, yes, but don’t do that.”

He resolved not to call someone’s profession magic and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Just…” she turned toward a nearby doorway and her eyes darted to his face before returning forward, “just stay there.” She quickly came back with a yellow flower with an unopened bulb. “One second.” She extended a hoof to the pot and the bulb grew very slightly. “There, it should open with basically any input from you. So, just… just touch it and think a happy thought.”

He touched the pot and thought of his little brother. Nothing happened.

“Are you thinking a happy thought?”

“Yes.”

“Try another one?” He thought of music and owning those bags. “Try smiling?” He smiled. “Touch the actual plant?” He touched the stem. Nothing happened.

She was shaking her head. “I… you should go to the library… or the doctor… I can’t help you.”

“Well, thank you for trying, then. Wait, doctor? Is something wrong with me?”

“Ummm… this shouldn’t have been… I just think… most ponies don’t need to be told… just go to the doctor. Just… just…”

“… Ok… thanks. Where are those places? Also, where are the fairgrounds?”

She told him and watched him go. She looked over at the almost done yellow ranunculus. She reached over and lightly bopped the pot. It bloomed explosively. She wasn’t even thinking a happy thought.

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