A Prose By Any Other Name

by Jarvy Jared

XIII: A Crusading Morning

For once, when Dusk Prosa woke up, he did not immediately feel like he was in any danger.

That did not mean, however, that he was above feeling nervousness. The bag of needles on his stand and his shaky hooves testified to this. Quickly, before he suffered anything long term, he closed the bag and slid it under his bed.

His gaze wandered around the room. It had been a few days since the party. One of Pinkie’s party hats rested on his bookshelf, a reminder of that annoying, yet strangely enjoyable, pink mare. Though he had not been given any parting gifts, he couldn’t help but think that the hat was enough.

His eyes moved onto the desk, where an unfinished letter lay next to a recently sent one. The blue quill pen had been dipped in the ink, poised for usage; yet strangely, he had no desire to use it at the moment. At first, he thought this was because he wasn’t in the mood; but shortly after, he had deduced that it was because the need had seemingly vanished.

Such a revelation might have made him uneasy, but he shook it off. He was determined to enjoy himself while he remained in Ponyville, and such thoughts were merely burdens that he did not wish to bear at the moment.

Glancing out the window, he saw that it was quite early in the morning. Celestia’s sun had not even reached a quarter of the way up, still hiding somewhat behind the eastern hills. Yet the warmth was wide and open, easily traversing the landscape and breaking through Dusk’s window, landing on the stallion and bringing a soft smile to his face. Though he could not say he preferred day over night, he did acknowledge that the morning heat was, in some ways, a welcoming sensation.

He walked over to his desk and chair, taking his vest and putting it on. He then walked over to the bathroom down the hall, fixing his gaze on his reflection. A surprisingly content stallion stared back, his mane—a slate-grey with its familiar blue highlights—somewhat unkempt. He took a comb and brushed it, all the while thinking back to the party.

I have to admit, that was fun. I haven’t had that much fun since foalhood. Placing the comb down, he opened the mirror cabinet and took out some gel. He spread the material on his hoof, before bringing his hoof back to his head. He carefully massaged and caressed his mane into its normal appearance—smooth and streamlined, with a hint of sharpness. How long has it been? Nearly two decades? He chuckled to himself, finishing up with the gel and rinsing his hooves. Goddess, I am getting old.

The thought was somewhat disturbing. A stallion in his twenties was by no means ancient; yet, for Prosa, such an age carried the same weight and stress of a sixty-year-old. Seemingly, whatever had happened to him, made him feel older than he really was. Whether that was a blessing or a curse was, at best, a moot point.

He forced the thought aside, drying his hooves on the nearby towel. He gave himself a final look, making sure that everything was prim and proper. Seeing that it was, he nodded, before stepping out of the room.

The day would have proceeded normally; had not the sudden, faint smell of smoke wafted up his nose.

His eyes shot open, and he sniffed the air, wondering how he had missed the scent. He glanced around, before settling on the stairs. A faint outline of smoke had traveled upward; he immediately knew where it was coming from. Don’t tell me I left the oven on! he thought, instantly panicking.

He raced into his room and threw open the window, before dashing out and down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen, intent on shutting off the oven as fast as he could.

What he found was both relieving—and highly irritating.

Sweetie Belle stood on top of a stool, trying to—apparently—cook several bits of lettuce. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom were handing over the butter and oil, doing their best to be helpful. None of them had noticed the smoke billowing out from the pan, nor the gaping expression of the stallion nearby.

He blinked, thinking he was seeing things.

When they turned to face him—equally surprised at his appearance—he blinked again.

“Oh, hey, Dusk!” Sweetie greeted cheerfully.

The gears in his head began working again, and his mouth began moving. He stammered, he stuttered, but he managed to get a few words out: “… Uhn?”

Well, almost words.

“What’s wrong, Dusk?” Apple Bloom asked, looking at the stallion with concern. “Ya look like you had seen a ghost or somethin’!”

“Unnnnnhhh?”

Scootaloo scrunched up her muzzle. “Huh. He must be broken or something.”

Finally, he was able to form a coherent sentence: “… What are you three doing in my house?”

Sweetie gave him a big smile. “We thought it’d be nice to cook you breakfast!”

He stared at her, before suddenly exclaiming, “Did you three break into my home in the morning?!”

His tone was more surprised than mean-spirited. Apple Bloom was the first to respond. She tapped her hooves together sheepishly. “Uh… I guess we… kinda did.” She frowned as Prosa resumed stuttering.

Scootaloo bristled. “Hey, his door was unlocked! Technically, we couldn’t break in if we didn’t break anything!”

Dusk slapped a hoof to his face. Of course I forgot to lock the door…

The fillies gave him some sickening innocent smiles, completely oblivious to the danger they were in. He took a slow breath, trying to calm himself; but failed to do so.

“Sweetie Belle,” he called, putting on a strained smile, “can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Dusk?”

“… Do you realize that there is currently smoke amassing in my home?!”

Several more windows were opened, and the smoke was fanned out, leaving the house with a much cleaner air. Had there been curious onlookers, they would have concluded that the house itself had swallowed an extremely hot chili pepper and was in the process of expunging the taste in a rather… extreme manner. It was decided that the windows were left open for a little while, to ensure that the house had been properly cleared of any smoke.

Meanwhile, the three fillies looked at Dusk with sheepish smiles. He had placed his head in his hooves, and was rubbing his temples. A low groan rumbled from his throat, exasperated. The groan was then followed by a low growl from his stomach, reminding him that he had not yet eaten breakfast.

Only seconds later, a similar sound came from the girls. They blushed, faces turning a deep shade of crimson. For a moment neither sides said anything, choosing to wait for the other to do something.

Finally, Dusk looked up. He stood, walking over to the pan that Sweetie had been cooking on. Looking down, he saw that the lettuce had somehow caught on fire; the leaf’s veins and edges had been burned to a crisp. He was quite surprised at how badly the filly had managed to mess up the lettuce.

“But why lettuce?” he wondered aloud.

Sweetie responded earnestly, “Well, we thought it would be an easy thing to cook.” She looked down sadly. “Guess we thought wrong, huh?”

Dusk didn’t say anything, simply staring at the burnt delicacy. He picked up a spatula and peeled off the lettuce, tossing it into the trash. The fillies cringed in embarrassment as they heard the soft plop of the food.

He quickly washed down the pan, drying it with a paper towel. He placed the spatula down, before bringing over the cooking spray. Seeing that the bag of lettuce was still out, he brought that over as well.

He glanced at the fillies. “Watch,” he simply commanded.

Though it had been a long time since he had stove-cooked lettuce (an odd delicacy, but still enjoyable when prepared right), he still knew his way through the cookbook. He first sprayed the pan with the oil so that the lettuce wouldn’t stick, turning on the stove to a light heat. He washed down a few leaves of lettuce, carefully scrubbing them, before plopping them onto the pan. He shook the pan a little, igniting a small flame; he quickly subdued it, knowing that having it up too long would ruin the taste.

Dusk then opened up a top cabinet, bringing out some kale and salt. He placed the kale on top, turning the stove to low, before sprinkling some salt over the leaves. The pan began to pop and fizzle, but they could all smell the kale beginning to cook.

“Something more,” he muttered. He walked over to the pantry, bringing out a few small nuts. He placed them on a cutting board, slicing them into fine bits, before placing them to the side. He then walked over to the refrigerator door, pulling out a loaf of bread, and taking out two slices. He placed the slices on a paper plate next to the pan. He then placed the loaf to the side as well.

He didn’t want to burn the leaves, though, and knew that he had to keep a sharp count—else the leafy food burn up.

“Unum, duo, tribus, quattuor, quinque!” he counted, before turning the heat down to zero. With the spatula, he carefully lifted the lettuce and kale dish, placing them onto one of the slices. He then sprinkled the sliced nuts on top of them, before finally covering it with the top slice.

The smell of salty peanuts and perfectly heated kale and lettuce filled the air, wafting deliciously up their noses. “Wow, Dusk!” Scootaloo commented. “That smells really good!”

He smirked. He waved the sandwich around, the fillies eyes following it eagerly. Apple Bloom put a hoof forward, perhaps to further waft the smell into her nose; but Prosa backed up. “Ah ah ah!” he said, smiling devilishly. “This one is mine.”

He placed the sandwich on the table, before turning back to the fillies. He gestured at the kitchen sink and counter. “Now, you try.”

Apple Bloom gave him a confused look. “Um, what?”

He gestured again. “I showed you how to make this. Now, you try.”

“Try?” Sweetie asked.

“Cook,” he clarified, with a smile. “I’ve found that one can get better at a skill through eager practice.”

Seeing their nervous faces, he smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry; I’ll be helping you while you three work.” They smiled at that, though they still felt a bit uneasy.

They pushed their thoughts aside, however, preparing themselves for the task at hoof. Sweetie stepped up first onto the stool, letting out a slow breath. She then began her work.

Though there were a few mishaps (a fire nearly ignited Dusk’s mane), the fillies finally managed to create a half-decent meal for themselves. Though they were tired, they happily cleaned up the sink and counter, satisfied with their work. They were only mildly disappointed when they found their Marks absent.

Breakfast therefore went as expected—or at least as one could expect with three filly intruders and a stallion who had only a few minutes ago had to air out his own home. The four of them happily muched on their sandwiches. Prosa was still slightly peeved that the Crusaders had entered his home without permission, but decided to let it slide. Fillies will be fillies after all.

The Crusaders surprisingly refrained from asking Dusk more on the syringes they had found in the fridge all those days back. Whether it was because they had forgotten or had ulterior motives, Dusk was unsure, but silently thanked heaven that his secret was still relatively secured. That being said, the fillies were still inquisitive about many things. Their attention was mainly drawn to how good a cook Prosa was, despite, by his own admission, “never having been trained by some world-class chef.”

“You could say,” Dusk said, as he finished off his plate, “I learned on the fly.”

“Really?” Sweetie asked. “Why?”

“One word: college.”

Of course, they didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, nor did they understand why he was struggling not to laugh at his own joke. But they nonetheless nodded, trying to appear polite.

Other questions arose, such as one concerning Dusk’s vaulting a few days prior. He explained vaguely, “When you’re an adult, you tend to pick up some pretty weird talents every once in awhile.”

Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “College?”

He nodded, though there was a bit of a guarded look in his eyes.

Another question, this one asked by Scootaloo, concerned what Prosa was planning on doing today. “Honestly?” he answered, leaning back a bit, “I have no real plans.”

That’s a little lie, but they don’t need to know.

Sweetie Belle’s eyes lit up. “So you’re free? That’s great!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned, don’t you?”

Sweetie nodded. He sighed. “Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I was dragged into your shenanigans.”

“It’s kinda a given once ya join the Crusaders,” Apple Bloom remarked sheepishly.

He nodded, fixing the fillies with an amused gaze. He stood, before grabbing the dishes and walking over to the sink, quickly washing them. Once he was finished, he said, “I’ll need my cape, of course.”

“We’ll pick it up at Rarity’s,” Sweetie answered with a smile. Prosa nodded at that, before walking up to the front door. He opened it, and smiled at the sunlight entering his home.

“Shall we?”

Retrieving the cape was quite easy; a short walk to the Boutique was all it took. Along the way, the Crusaders were excitedly bouncing by Dusk’s side. The stallion smiled quietly, having taken a particular liking to the fillies.

Rarity met him at the front entrance to the store, happily letting him in while she retrieved the cape in question. Sweetie went upstairs with the Crusaders to grab a few essential items; Dusk distinctly heard the phrase “parachuting off cliffs” come up once or twice.

He was unsure whether to feel nervous or impressed that the girls were willing to try seemingly anything to get their Cutie Marks.

Rarity returned a short time later, the red cape caught in her magic. It was much larger than the one Sweetie had on at the party, and instead of a filly on the back, there was a golden adult stallion attached to a brilliant blue shield. She handed it to him with a smile, and he quietly looked over it, taking in its features.

“You remembered my measurements,” he remarked, looking back up at her.

She waved a hoof, unabashed. “I always remember my customers’ particular dimensions.”

“Dimensions is an interesting way to put it.” He smirked. “You’re sure you didn’t memorize them for some other reason?”

She scoffed. “I’m fairly certain there was no other reason to beheld.”

“Ouch, I’m hurt.” He mockingly placed a hoof over his heart, as if in pain, making the mare laugh.

“You’ll need to be thicker than that while you hang out with the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” she said, smiling at him.

He rolled his eyes. “That I can tell. Got any advice?”

She smirked. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

“I’m almost certain that I’ll end up doing just that by the end of this.” He closed his eyes and grinned. “Something tells me those fillies are crazy for their Marks.”

“And you’re doing them a big favor by joining them,” Rarity assured him, placing a hoof on his chest. “Just try to keep them mostly out of trouble, okay?”

“I can try. But I can’t guarantee.” He smiled at her. “That good enough?”

She nodded, also smiling at him. “I’ll see you tonight for guard duty, right?” she suddenly asked.

He had nearly forgotten that today was his first official guard duty. Caught by surprise, he quickly nodded in confirmation. Though still somewhat wary by the prospect, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to “help” where he could.

Shortly afterwards, the Crusaders returned downstairs. They toted their signature capes on their backs. On their sides were satchels, likely filled with various gadgets and devices to suit their crusading needs. Their large, beaming smiles reminded Dusk of Pinkie’s, and a nervous chill ran down his spine.

What have I gotten myself into?

Seeing the stallion with her sister, Sweetie asked, “Uh, did you guys have a moment or something? Why is Rarity so close to you, Dusk?”

Rarity coughed and stepped back, a blush on her cheeks. Dusk turned away, frowning, unsure exactly what to say to that.

“Why, Sweetie,” Rarity stammered, fanning herself, “what on Equestria do you mean by that?”

Sweetie shrugged. “I wouldn’t actually mind if Dusk became my older brother.” She frowned and scrunched up her muzzle. “Just, don’t get me any younger siblings, okay?”

That rendered her sister unconscious. Dusk caught her with a sigh. “Poor choice of words, young Belle,” he commented, placing the unconscious unicorn on her fainting couch.

Sweetie frowned. “What do you mean—”

“Never mind that!” Apple Bloom interrupted. “We’ve got a whole day of crusading ahead! So we had better get going!”

She dragged Sweetie out the door, leaving Scootaloo and Dusk alone for a moment.

The orange pegasus looked up at the stallion in confusion. “What do you mean, that was a poor choice of words?”

He coughed into his hoof. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He gestured Scootaloo to move, with him following after her out the door.

“Okay!” Apple Bloom exclaimed. She pulled out a scroll from her satchel, and her eyes began glancing over it. “Let’s see what’s first on the agenda…”

Scootaloo glanced over her friend’s shoulder. “There! Parachuting off of the tallest cliff outside Ponyville!” She eagerly went for her satchel to pull out the chute, but Dusk calmly stopped her with a steady hoof.

“Let’s not partake in something potentially fatal,” he said, leveling a stern gaze at her. “We wouldn’t want to die before we get our Marks, would we?”

Scootaloo grumbled. “Way to ruin the fun, Dusk.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Surely there are more conventional ways of getting your Mark?”

Apple Bloom returned to her list. “That… actually eliminates most of what’s on here.”

Dusk nearly fell over. “You’re kidding.”

Sweetie grabbed the list. “Actually, there’s a fairly decent number of activities we could try that don’t involve us getting really hurt.” She pointed a hoof out. “How does hoofball sound?”

Prosa rolled his eyes. “That asinine sport?”

Scootaloo frowned. “Hey! Ponies get paid a lot to play that game!”

“True,” he countered. “But it doesn’t seem appealing.” He made a disgusted face. “Waiting around for the other team to hit, catching balls, throwing it back to first… it seems all boring.”

Sweetie gave him a skeptical look. “Didn’t you run through Everfree and the Hollow Shades?”

He cringed. “Right. You’ve got me there.”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t really want that as my Cutie Mark. It’s fine to play it for fun, but for mah special talent?” She glanced at the other fillies. “There are more interesting ones, Ah think.”

“What do you suggest, Dusk?” Scootaloo asked.

He placed a hoof on his chin thoughtfully. “Where there’s a need, there’s an opportunity,” he said. He pointed a hoof out into the center of Ponyville. “All you have to do, I think, is look for things that you could do to help out.”

Apple Bloom frowned. “That doesn’t sound like much.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes, it’s better to start with the basics than mess up at step five.”

They walked around the town, garnering a few odd looks from the locals. Most were pleasantly surprised to see Dusk with the fillies, and even more so when they saw him toting a bigger version of their cape. The stallion was neither embarrassed nor abashed by them, smart enough to acknowledge how silly he looked.

The fillies began entering a few shops, hoping to try their luck at some practical talents. Sugarcube Corner was the first stop, the four of them entering the parlor eagerly. Pinkie happily greeted them, and as the fillies explained their predicament, she offered a few suggestions that were in the realm of possibility.

While they talked, Prosa stood next to the grey pegasus he had seen at the party. Up close, he saw that her eyes were somewhat lopsided, though she had a big grin on her face. She turned to face him, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh! You’re Dusk Prosa!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he quipped, putting a hoof out to shake. “I saw you at the party; we didn’t get a chance to talk.”

She took his hoof and eagerly shook it. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Ditzy Doo. Though, my friends call me Derpy.”

“I’ll stick with formalities for now.”

“I’m just waiting for my muffins.” Ditzy pointed at the fillies that were talking with Pinkie. “I guess you’re having fun with them?”

“I suppose so,” he mused, stretching a bit. “Though I wonder if I’m but a chaperone to their Crusader antics?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. You seem nice; and Sweetie seems to have taken a liking to you!”

He chuckled softly. “You think so?”

Ditzy nodded happily. “I guess you guys are on a Cutie Mark quest?”

“Indeed we are. ‘On an endless quest for our Cutie Marks,’” Dusk quoted.

“That’s nice. Dinky was going to try for her Cutie Mark today, but she had some chores and extra homework to do.”

“Dinky?” He gave her a questioning look.

“My kid,” she answered, smiling. “A real love-bud and cutie.” She sighed. “I’m thankful that she didn’t turn out as bad as I did. What with the eyes and all.”

Dusk frowned, before placing a steady hoof on Ditzy’s shoulder. “Miss Doo,” he said, “self-satire is never a good thing, and I would advise you against it.”

She sighed again. “Maybe. But sometimes I feel like I might be a little burden to her.”

Dusk shook his head. “Nonsense, Ditzy. You are her mother, and I’m certain she loves you very much.”

“You sure?”

He smiled. “In this brief interaction, I already like you. If Dinky is as good as you say she is, then she does love you.”

She smiled, before giving him a brief hug. “Thank you, Dusk.”

Mrs. Cakes soon arrived with a fresh batch of muffins, placing them on the counter. Ditzy opened her satchel to pay, but was stopped by a pewter-grey hoof.

Dusk reached into his vest and pulled out a few bits, before placing them on the counter with a small smile. “Allow me.”

Ditzy gave him another big hug, as well as a more enthusiastic thank you. She grabbed her bag of muffins, and trotted outside, a slight bounce in her step.

The fillies and Pinkie had finished their conversation, and were giving Dusk several huge smiles.

“Well, that was really kind of you,” Pinkie commented brightly.

Prosa smiled. “I’m in a good mood today.”

“Did you see how happy she was when she left?” Scootaloo said. “You’d swear she hadn’t been having a bad week!” She looked back at Dusk. “Maybe you could get a Cutie Mark in therapy!”

His chuckle and good-natured “Maybe” masked his concern for Ditzy. He wondered what had made her feel down. Hopefully nothing too serious…

“Enough chit-chat, everypony!” Pinkie ordered. “We’ve got some milkshake Cutie Marks to get!”

She pushed Dusk and the Crusaders into the kitchen, the stallion a bit flustered and the fillies giggling in excitement. They vanished from view, and soon a strangled, male yelp shot out as the first casualty of the Milkshake War was taken.

Author's Note:

This and the next chapter were originally together, but I felt that it would be better to separate them into two different ones.

Comments

[Azrael the alicorn]

Milkshake war? Well, is useless to cry over spilled milk...