November
November
A Sam and Rose Story
Admiral Biscuit
I wrapped my hands around my double-chocolate mint mocha and brought it to my mouth. The drink warmed my hands, a promise of what was to come when it crossed my lips.
My eyes were closed, letting my nose take the fore. The peppermint almost overpowered the other smells of the mocha, but not quite. The heavy, savory flavor of the chocolate was there, just below the surface, waiting to be explored.
I held my position a moment longer, wanting to revel in it. I'd always been a bit of a skinflint when it came to spending money at drinking establishments—whether they be bars or Tim Horton's—but now I had seen the error of my ways.
I could have been back home, maybe treating myself to a bit of store-made coffee. With my eyes closed, the dull hubbub of conversation around me might have been Vancouver . . . but even over the mint and chocolate and coffee and muffins, scones, and other baked treats, I could vaguely make out the smell of wet pony.
It was a teasing smell—not as pungent as wet dog—but it was there, and a reminder that no matter my fantasies, I was here.
Fortunately, a nosefull of whipped cream will effectively derail any maudlin thoughts.
I set the glass down carefully, and almost wiped my nose with the back of an arm, before remembering the sweater I was wearing in deference to the cold outside. Instead, I pinched my nostrils, scraping the whipped cream off between thumb and forefinger, and discreetly wiped it off on a napkin, twitching involuntarily as my sweater rubbed against my chest.
I never would have thought that there would come a time in my life when wearing a sweater would feel weird, and I thought about taking it off.
That also wasn't something I'd have considered in the past. But the ovens kept Sugarcube Corner nice and warm, and while I was still cold right now, I might start to sweat by the time I was done with my drink.
I'd cross that bridge when I got to it. I stuck a straw in my cup and absently stirred my drink, losing any thoughts I might have had in the slow spin of the whipped cream around my glass. I'd finally come to terms with being on speaking terms with the literal providers of dairy products.
That Borden's cow is a rather apt corporate logo, I thought, before the particularities of the movement won out over the bitter part of my brain.
I was so lost in my thoughts that Rose snuck up on me. Ponies were surprisingly quiet when they wanted to be.
She'd gotten familiar enough with my height that she just went up on her hind legs to nuzzle my cheek, and I returned the greeting.
She had a pair of saddlebags draped across her back, and the scarf I'd knitted her loosely around her neck. I wasn't really sure how much that helped keep the cold away—had I dressed only in a scarf and gone into town, I doubt if I would have been any warmer than if I'd left the scarf at home.
Maybe it was psychological. I don't know. But I'd seen other ponies wearing them, and scarves were easy enough to make, after all.
I took another sip of my mocha while Rose made her way to the front counter, to order a drink for herself. The Cakes were doing brisk business; both Pinkie and Carrot were at the counter, preparing and serving orders, while Cup darted between the display cases and the ovens.
Her two foals were playing in a crib just a little bit out of the way, but close enough that they could be watched.
Rose came back with a steaming mug of hot chocolate held tightly in a hoof. In some ways, their handicap when it came to horns or wings made the earth ponies more graceful.
She set the cup on the table and hopped onto the chair across from me. Although her position looked more awkward than mine, if it really was uncomfortable, they'd re-design their chairs. I couldn't plant my feet on the floor without knocking over the table with my knees.
“Are you keeping busy, Sam?”
I waved my hand in a so-so gesture. “Still a lot of work at the mill. Farm ponies are emptying their silos. I guess that keeps up year-round.”
Rose nodded.
“But there's a lot of ponies that aren't working right now. There isn't any farm work, you know.”
“You could chop more wood.”
“I have been.” I sighed and took a sip of my drink. “Ginger's always happy to have me out there helping out.”
Rose unwrapped her scarf and draped it across the back of her chair, then picked up her mug between her hooves and blew across the top of it before taking a sip. “In a month or two you could shovel snow. Do you know how?”
I nodded absently. “Hey, Rose, I've got a bit of a personal question if you don't mind.”
“Sure.”
“I've been noticing that some ponies are getting shaggy, and others aren't. I figure it's a winter coat.”
She nodded.
“That's what I thought. But I noticed that almost none of the unicorns have one, while most of the earth ponies do.” I motioned towards the front of the shop, where Pumpkin and Pound had given up on whatever game they were playing and were curled around each other in an adorable little pile. “You guys can, um, interbreed, so is that why? Is it genetic?”
Her cheeks colored slightly, and she took another sip of her hot chocolate to give her time to think. It was weird; they went around naked all the time and didn't see any issue with letting everypony see their junk, but some kinds of talking about sex bothered Rose. I wondered if it was just my choice of words. Maybe interbreed sounded too animalistic to her.
“Yes; parents from different tribes can produce offspring, or a foal can be of a different tribe than her parents, if they're not purebloods.”
“What about donkeys and zebras and stuff? Does that work too?” That had nothing to do with my question, but since I'd brought up the subject, I was kind of curious.
She nodded and focused on her drink. I felt like I'd somehow touched a nerve, so I moved back to a safer—I hoped—topic. “So that's why some of you have winter coats and some don't.”
“No, it's not that.” She tilted her head towards a booth where Applejack and Rarity were gossiping. “It's vanity. A lot of ponies don't like to look shaggy, so they go to the spa and have their coats thinned for the winter. Earth ponies usually don't, unless they're stuck-up. But a lot of unicorns do, even though it means that they're cold in the winter.” She snickered, then rested a hoof on my shoulder. “Like you do.”
I nodded. “We could have had this discussion a while back, and it would have saved some time.” I sighed. “I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm still glad that you managed to find me a razor. It's hard to be neat with scissors. On a different topic, how do you keep busy during the winter?”
“We've got the hothouses,” Rose reminded me. “So we can grow some flowers. They're not as good as spring flowers, because they don't get as much sun. It's actually a lot of work to keep them happy. There isn't any rain, so we have to water them ourselves.”
“I'm happy to come over and help, if you need it,” I offered. “Easier than chopping wood.” I looked over at the window, where small splatters of rain were collecting on the panes. I'd come early to avoid it, but it looked like I'd be getting a bit wet on the way home.
To the best of my reckoning, it was November. They'd celebrated Nightmare Night two nights ago, and with Rose's help, I'd made myself into a bedsheet-ghost. I can't imagine I looked any less ridiculous than the other mare I'd seen who'd had the same costume idea.
I probably could have gotten away with going as myself, but that hardly seemed in the spirit of the holidays. Next year, though, I was going as a Diamond Dog. I could make myself a pretty good fursuit out of yarn . . . I wasn't sure if Diamond Dogs had breeds like dogs did at home, but if anyone asked, I'd just say I was a Komondor.
Rose had gone as some sort of historical pony nobility. She'd had her mane done up in some sort of a bouffant, and wore a thick ruff collar. That was actually it for her costume—some of the ponies went all-out, while others just wore a headpiece or some other significant bit of gear and figured that was good enough.
I couldn't quite figure out how that worked in their minds: it was like some kid wearing a bedsheet cape and saying he was Superman . . . of course, with my own bedsheet-ghost costume, I could hardly talk.
I focused back on the present. Rose was lost in her own thoughts, taking small sips of her hot chocolate. When she put down the mug, she had a small line of chocolate above her lip; without thinking I reached across the table and blotted it off.
“Sorry.”
“It's okay.” She looked across the table at me. “We ought to get going. The rain's supposed to be getting heavier soon.”
I looked around. Sure enough, tables and booths were emptying out. I think the weather was something that the earth ponies were attuned to; most of the stragglers were unicorns. Maybe they couldn't control it, but they could feel it.
“I guess.” I didn't want to leave; it was nice and comfortable inside. I'd finally gotten to the point where my body temperature felt just right, and I wasn’t in a hurry to brave the cold yet. Still, the sporadic rain wouldn't be so bad; if I had to go home in a downpour, I'd regret it.
Both of us finished our drinks and we walked to the door together. Once we were outside, Rose nuzzled my cheek again and then went off towards home, her scarf wrapped proudly around her neck.
I stood there in the street for a minute, looking at Sugarcube corner. There was something nice and normal about meeting a friend for a drink, something that had been missing from my life. Maybe it was the changing seasons that made me want to seek out the crowd, perhaps as a way of fighting back against the long, dark nights that would be coming. Maybe the ponies and I weren't that different after all.
I glanced up at the sky. The clouds were getting darker: it was high time to head home. If I was lucky, I'd get there before the rain got heavy.
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6587968 I'd guess they'd use tone of voice, or pitch, not body language. Otherwise, you'd never be able to tell what a pony was talking about if she was behind you. (Or above you.)
6590969
You do know hemlock kills you right?
6588106
Yeah, that probably makes the most sense. But I like to imagine a scene where a human gets confused about the noun-based name, and then some pony explains how the angle of their ears clears it up, but of course the human can't do that.
6590976
Sure, it works on humans, horses, and philosophers, but I have my doubts of it actually working as intended on Pinkie.
6590950 Scootaloo flys a Huey is a story here on Fim Fiction
http://www.fimfiction.net/manage_user/stories
enclosed is a list above.
img05.deviantart.net/fc3e/i/2015/248/d/c/fin_by_hillbe-d98jwoz.jpg
6594465
I suppose.
I just binged through most of these.
I
your work, Admiral.
Thanks for pointing me at this. It was cute as usual, and I do actually have a good answer for Sam's question about scarves. While they will obviously never replace a full coat for extreme cold, ponies will get a lot more benefit out of them than humans do because their long necks will obviously leave much more length of the carotid arteries exposed to the cold air. With the huge volume of blood flowing through them and the fact that they go right to the brain, the heat loss will be substantial and could get dangerous quickly in cold weather so a scarf will do a lot of good.
6847246
I'm not sure how much heat an IRL horse loses in this way, but even if it isn't that substantial, there could certainly be a psychological aspect to it. I've got one finger with poor blood circulation due to massive trauma, and it's annoying as hell in the winter, 'cause it's cold all the time.
Plus, it's a nice fashion accessory, and (for Sam) it's fairly easy to make.
These stories make me long for a culture I've never had - where life revolves around community, weather and seasons describe the activities of the day, and connection to another person is of great value.
9514026
There are pros and cons to it, as with many things. I wrote a series of blog posts about farming, and mentioned how last summer when I was driving around on a stupid hot and humid day, I went past a farm where a bunch of poor bastards were bringing in their hay harvest--they had to do it that day, before the rain came, even though I’m sure they didn’t want to.
But, life revolving around community and interpersonal connections are very much good things.
There’s often a very different pace of life in the country than there is in the city, at least that’s been my experience.
9515366
In the idealized Equestria (or other Pony-themed universe) even the non-farmers have these kind of connections. Look at Rarity, Fluttershy or Twilight; or any of the other ponies. They're all integral parts of their community. Even Derpy has her place as a mail-mare despite her challenges.
I think the smallness of the community and the deep interconnections between individuals are an element of what attracts fans to the show. Our modern world doesn't have that much of this "you belong here" feeling. I grew up in a smallish town (~5000 people) and I still don't feel it. The Ponyville society type is one that existed for hundreds (or thousands) of years on Earth; and many people lost it in the last hundred years. I can't even be nostalgic for a thing I never had, but I can still see what we've given up for a more modern world.
9515388
Yes, that’s very true. And that is the way it still is to an extent in small towns; I work in a shop and when I needed a roof put on my house, I just called one of our customers who does that kind of thing. The owner of the local grocery store brings her car into the shop for us to work on, etc.--gives me a chance to know plenty of people around town, and sometimes I’ll wind up stopping and chatting with a friend I meet on the street.
One of the changes isn’t just town size, it’s ease of travel. For a lot of people, it’s easier to go to a bigger town and find work, even if they have to commute. Or go further afield for groceries and such--or order them online--which kills some of the small businesses and can hurt community connections.
There are pros and cons to the small town, and as with many things, I think that nostalgia focuses more on the good than the bad (not that there’s anything wrong with that; I like going to Renaissance Festivals, but I wouldn’t want to actually live in the middle ages). There are not as many opportunities in a small town, and there aren’t as many things to do. And community is something that you can have different ways, IMHO. Maybe it’s not everyone in your town that you know and are friends with, but classmates at school, or members of the same church, etc. And now we’ve expanded that to different kinds of communities--I have readers all over the world, some of whom I’ll surely never meet in person, others who come to conventions, and a few who live close enough that we get together on Fridays (and I would have known none of those people if it weren’t for FimFiction).
Also worth mention, my small town is about a quarter the size of yours . . . I have more followers on FimFiction than live in my little village.
I do agree with your point that the smallness of the community and the interconnections between individuals would attract some people to the show. It’s an integral element of it, and typically well-done. And a lot of the little feuds and fights seem small-townish to me.
As it relates to this particular group of stories, Sam’s still an outsider and doesn’t get all the benefits of a small town . . . however, once she finally becomes a proper resident of the town (by general consensus), they’ll defend her against anybody.
Never thought I'd see the word 'fursuit' in one of these. :P
10232193
Why not? There’s nothing weird about wearing a fursuit as a costume in Equestria.
They’re even canon.