A Wish For Wings to Fly

by Revenant Wings

2 - Opening the Hangar Bay

Caramel awoke at a quarter to eight the next morning. It was not due to his alarm but his own volition and the presence of a small idea in the back of his brain. For some reason he couldn’t go back to sleep, so he sat up and got out of bed. The broken picture frame was still on the floor and he stepped carefully over it to get to the shower.

Caramel took a little longer in the shower than normal but still left the room at five minutes after eight. The Coffee Hour was back on playing from the radio alarm clock in his room. He went in and shut it off before heading to the kitchen to make himself some coffee and toast and make himself lunch.

It was then that he remembered why he had a persistent thought in the back of his head. He’d forgotten to go to the store the previous day and a few crucial parts of his morning routine were thus disrupted. He didn’t even have enough beans to make a single cup of good coffee and didn’t have any good bread to make his lunch or have some morning toast. Caramel sighed and refilled his water bottle and decided to hit up a coffee shop along the way to Sweet Apple Acres.

The sky outside was grey and the air was chilly as Caramel left. There was no breeze but the air hung thick and smelled heavily of rain under the deep grey clouds. The sun was still hidden by the clouds to the point where Caramel could not pinpoint its location. There was no breeze but it felt cool and comfortable outside and it seemed like it might be cooler overall than yesterday was. Caramel trotted quickly down the street and made his way to a small coffee shop owned by a middle-aged couple from Canterlot who had decided to try and expand their business.

“Coffee and Cream” was a small store with a few circular wood tables and a granite counter for seating and lit by a few overhead ceiling lamps with fans that slowly rotated even when it was cool outside, with large windows looking out at the street corner where it stands. One part of the counter was filled with pastries and a small chill case held crackers with cheese, various patries, and cold bottled drinks. Behind the counter was a small kitchen offering a mild assortment of hot food and various types of coffee and pastries baked in-store. The menu was printed in very neat hoofwriting on a chalkboard above the register, currently manned by a light brown pony with a darker mane than Caramel wearing a green apron and boasting a cup of cappuccino for a cutie mark.

The store was mostly empty. One of the tables was occupied by a dark-brown earth pony stallion with a blonde mane drinking a coffee and reading the paper, while a purple unicorn mare was eating a bagel with cream cheese at the farthest edge of the countertop from the door. Caramel walked up to the register and took a quick look at the menu as the beige pony washed his hooves.

“Welcome to Coffee and Cream!” the brown barista pony said with a patient smile as he approached the register. Caramel looked at him; a white name tag read “Coffee Cream” in black print. “What can I get for you?”

Caramel went back to staring at the board. “Uh... I would like a... egg and tomato sandwich on a... wheat bagel with tater tots. The... a small cup of the hot caramel latte, and the fruit salad.”

The barista pony patiently waited for Caramel to finish thinking through his order before quickly ringing it up and giving his total. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Caramel said. “No... give me an orange, too.”

“Okay. Do you want that for here or to go?”

“Here.”

The barista pony gave him a small white card with a red number and finished ringing up the order. Caramel pulled out the bits needed and handed them over before taking his card and sitting down at the first available table and sat looking out the street. He could see the distant clock tower and saw it was eight fifteen, enough time to eat his breakfast before leaving for Sweet Apple Acres.

The barista pony came out with the order on a green tray a few minutes later and set it down, picking up the white card from the table. Caramel openly thanked the barista, who smiled politely at him before leaving, and quietly thanked his efficiency and speed. Caramel took a sip of the coffee, strong but still sweet, and tested the egg sandwich, warm and fluffy with a unique blend of spices, and settled down to eat his breakfast in peace.

Caramel had not been eating for long before another pony entered the small coffee shop. Caramel heard the door opened and looked up just out of curiosity and was somewhat surprised to see the pegasus from the Weather Team that had been at Sweet Apple Acres; the dark grey stallion with the light blue mane that looked like a mohawk. He went up to the barista and started chatting pleasantly with him, though Caramel could not hear what they were saying and soon went back to his food.

It wasn’t for a while that Caramel was vaguely aware of someone nearby. He looked up from his meal and noticed that the stallion had come over to him and was smiling kindly at him. “You’re that stallion from Sweet Apple Acres, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice was a little surfer-dude-from-Los-Pegasus, but quite friendly.

Caramel wondered how the stallion recognized him. “Yeah,” he said, not quite sure of how else to respond.

The stallion motioned with a hoof – holding his own white card with a red number – at the seat across from Caramel at the table. “You mind if I sit down with you for a while?”

Caramel was not quite sure what to think. He looked around at the other tables just to make sure that there were open spots and that the pony had come here quite deliberately. What reason that was, he didn’t know. But he seemed friendly enough and decided there would be no harm. Especially considering he was a pegasus. “Uh, I guess...” Caramel said.

The stallion smiled. “Cool.” He sat down across from Caramel, looked at his card for a minute, then placed it at the edge of the table.

Caramel for a while continued eating, thinking about what to say if anything. He opened up a small plastic bag containing a fork and started poking at his fruit salad and his tater tots. A small container of ketchup was present and he dipped them into it, for the most part ignoring the stallion sitting just across the table.

“Are you related to the Apples at all or do you just work for them?”

Caramel heard the tiny ‘plop’ of ketchup dropping down onto the tray as the fork with the tater tot stopped right in front of his mouth. He looked up to find that the stallion was looking at him with even blue eyes. His tone was more conversational than anything, that of finding a somewhat familiar face and discussing the weather just to waste time until something more comes up.

Caramel himself was almost flabbergasted. Sure, Ponyville was a friendly town, but even so you didn’t just meet ponies at a coffee shop one day. “I just work for them,” Caramel said. “Odd jobs, whatever they need me to do.”

“That’s cool.” The stallion smiled gently. “I see you around there often. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ve heard ponies think I could be their cousin,” Caramel said, a little easier than before. “Not really. I’m just a hired hoof.”

The barista pony brought around the other stallion’s meal, which seemed to be rather similar to what Caramel himself had ordered. Caramel wondered if it was coincidence or if it had been intentional but didn’t bring it up and took the moment of silence to eat his own food.

“You know Big Macintosh pretty well, by any chance?” the other stallion asked.

Caramel shrugged. “As much as one can for someone who’s rather quiet,” he replied. “We sometimes go out. Drink, eat, play cards, whatever. There’s a few others who join us.”

The stallion nodded. He took a bite of his own sandwich. “Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Thunderlane.” He held out a grey hoof towards Caramel.

Caramel cautiously set down his fork and extended his own. They shook hooves gently before Caramel took his own hoof back. “I’m Caramel,” he said. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you ask?”

“I deal with the Apples often. I sort of act as a liaison for the Weather Team and speak with them often. I’ve seen you there often but never really talked with you.”

Caramel scratched the back of his head and felt his cheeks get warm. “There’s not really much to talk about,” he said. “I just... my life is not that interesting.”

“I don’t care,” Thunderlane said. “I just like making friends and meeting new ponies, you know?”

“N-No, not really,” Caramel said. “I mean, at least you’re not like Pinkie Pie and bouncing around all the time, but I generally prefer to be alone more often than others.”

“Hey, if I’m bothering you at all, just tell me,” Thunderlane said. His smile was still friendly and his tone was gentle. “I promise you won’t offend me.”

Caramel thought about it. “I guess you can tell me why you’re here at a coffee shop in Ponyville instead of in Cloudsdale.”

“My little bro goes to school at the Ponyville Schoolhouse, so I thought it better to live here on the ground,” Thunderlane replied. “And I’m currently on fog duty. I’m waiting until ten to start clearing away the fog and haze.”

Caramel nodded understandingly. “Don’t see too many pegasi really around here,” he said. “It’s mostly earth ponies and unicorns.”

“We’re close enough to Cloudsdale I’m surprised pegasi aren’t more common,” Thunderlane said. “It’s only a fifteen minute flight with a good draft.”

Caramel hummed thoughtfully. He looked at his empty tray and at the clock on the wall. It was eight forty-nine. “I’m sorry, but I have to head to work,” he said, rather grateful for the exit strategy as he put his trash on the empty tray. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Thunderlane offered a hoof again and Caramel hesitantly shook it. “I’ll see you around, Caramel.”

Caramel didn’t respond. He just picked up the tray with his mouth and threw away his trash before leaving the coffee shop. Thunderlane seemed nice, but he still questioned why the pegasus wanted to talk to him.

But as he drew closer to Sweet Apple Acres, he regretted the conversation ending and wished he would have let it go on a little bit longer. He wanted to ask him some questions about what it felt like to fly. But he also wondered if it would be awkward to ask a pegasi those questions and decided it was best that he didn’t.

Caramel put those thoughts away and went to work without incident, reminding himself to go to the store afterwards.

* * *

A week later had clear and sunny skies. If there were any pegasi around, they were either grounded or out of sight of Ponyville, leaving Caramel undistracted at his work.

They had started harvesting apples. Big Macintosh had brought out a large wooden cart and a giant stack of barrels and he and Applejack had placed the buckets around the trees before Caramel showed up. Caramel now helped Applejack buck the apples off the trees while Big Macintosh came around behind and picked up the barrels and placed them into the cart.

Bucking apples was rather precise work. A pony had to hit the tree in precisely the right place with a strong enough force in order for the tree to shake and the apples to be released from the branches. But pony hooves were fragile, and too strong a buck could result in either the tree or the pony’s leg breaking. It’s possible to get all the apples off the trees by tapping it, but conservation of energy says one good strong buck is better.

Caramel did not have to worry about bucking too strong to break his legs or damaging the tree. He often took two and sometimes even three bucks on one tree to get all the apples to drop, more often two. Applejack mostly needed just one, and Big Macintosh could tap the apples off the tree with one hoof. Caramel was often more worried about splintering the bark from an imprecise buck than being too strong, and often focused as hard as he could.

Big Macintosh came around once while Caramel was about to give one tree a second buck. Caramel raised his back legs and pushed out hard against the middle of the tree. The tree shook and soon the apples came falling out one by one in a steady stream. Caramel inspected his work and found two small hoofprints in the bark and no other marks.

“You’re getting better,” Big Macintosh said. “You probably could do one buck soon.”

“I’m still not strong enough,” Caramel said. “You’ve been doing this all your life. I’d need at least that long before I get one buck like Applejack.”

“You’re learnin’ just fine. Try another one.”

Caramel went over and positioned himself at the next tree. Big Macintosh watched as Caramel raised his hooves and struck out once again in precisely the right place. Two small hoofprints were all that showed in the bark as Big Macintosh counted the number of apples on the tree.

“I’d say that’s seventy-five percent of the apples in one buck,” he said. “Based on averages. You might be able to harvest them all in one buck in a year or two.”

“Better than I was thinking,” Caramel said. “Especially considering I only started about five years ago.”

“You don’t give yourself credit sometimes, Caramel,” Big Macintosh said. “You’re doin’ just fine.”

Caramel sighed and bucked the tree again. A small scratch appeared in the bark, but the rest of the tree’s apples fell neatly into the buckets.

“I wanted to ask if you were goin’ with out with us tonight,” Big Macintosh said as Caramel went to the next tree.

Caramel shrugged. “I should,” he said. “Were you going to have it here or go out into Ponyville?”

“The Salt Lick Tavern’s havin’ an open mic night. Poetry and music. You should take your notebook along; maybe read one of your poems.”

Caramel thought about it. “Maybe,” he said. “I wrote a new one after I broke up with Roseluck. When it was raining.”

“You’ve got a decent collection. You should send them off to the Foal Free Press. Have ‘em publish one or two.”

“None of them are that good.” Caramel went silent as he bucked the next tree. Most of the apples fell off, but not all. “They’re just ramblings. Things I come up with on a whim.” He repositioned himself and bucked again. “I don’t think they’re good for publishing.”

“The Foal Free Press will take almost anythin’. Doesn’t have to be good. And ain’t poetry subjective anyway?”

Caramel did not reply. “I’ll take the notebook,” he said. “But no guarantees I’ll be reading anything.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After work was over, Caramel headed home and jumped in the shower. He washed off the sweat and dirt of apple-bucking and gently ran a brush through his mane and through his coat along his back. He reheated a bowl of soup from last night and ate it with a slice of garlic bread before getting a small purse with some bits in it and his small brown leather journal and heading out the door.

It was early evening and the sky shone gold and orange that faded into a soft, dark blue. Already Caramel could see some stars coming out in the distance and the lights of Ponyville turning on to welcome the cool dusk. It was a lovely night out and various artists were setting up stalls to sell their pieces in the middle of town. Stores were staying open later and a small advertisement for a four-piece classical set in the town hall was posted in the window of Sugarcube Corner.

The Salt Lick Tavern was the only drinking establishment in Ponyville, which would otherwise be considered ‘dry’ until the cider season. It sold light food items and major brews from Canterlot, Los Pegasus, and Manehattan after six o’clock, and during the day operated as something of a soda fountain. It held various events every other week, most commonly a music performance, an open mic night, or a new comedian who needed the extra publicity.

Tonight was open mic night. Any portable act was allowed so long as it took less than ten minutes. Caramel saw a medium grey stallion with a guitar slung over his back, a young filly with the laughing drama face in a spotlight, and many others gathering outside and heading in. He avoided the gaze of most of the others and beelined towards the medium grey pony.

“Hey Baritone,” he said. “Have you seen Big Macintosh?”

“Hey, Caramel,” the medium grey stallion replied with a patient smile. “I think he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Oh. I see you’ve brought your guitar. Did you learn a new song or write one?”

“Learned a new one,” Baritone said. “It’s been a while since you joined us. How are things going?”

“I... just broke up with Roseluck last week,” Caramel said, averting his eyes and pawing the ground. “I wanted to spend some time alone.”

“Pity,” Baritone said sympathetically. “You two were cute together. You talk to her at all since then?”

“No,” Caramel replied. “We agreed we should spend a little time apart. Probably better anyways. H-How are things with you and Amethyst?”

“We’re doing pretty good,” Baritone said happily. “She’s sick tonight, so she can’t join us. We were thinking of going to the free concert in the park in Canterlot next weekend.”

Caramel smiled as hard as he could. He wanted to feel good about Baritone’s relative success, but couldn’t help but think of his own failed relationship with Roseluck and his lack of talent in writing and music like Baritone had. He said nothing in response and managed to come up with a smile, but it quickly faded.

Big Macintosh came by a few minutes later. “Clean Sweep won’t be coming with us,” he said. “He’s visiting family for dinner.”

“Well, that sucks,” Baritone said. He motioned inside. “We should probably get ourselves a table, then. It’s filling up pretty quick.”

They slipped inside the small dark room, lit up by four lamps in the corners and a spotlight. The spotlight on a small stage with a microphone on a stand, an amplifier, and a small stool. Big Macintosh’s size easily parted the crowds and Caramel and Baritone slipped behind him. They found a spot at a table somewhere in the middle of the crowded room and sat down.

“I’ll get drinks,” Baritone said. “Canterlot cream stout, everyone?” And without waiting for an answer, he left.

Big Macintosh looked over to Caramel. “You bring the notebook?”

Caramel held up the brown leather journal. “I don’t know if I’ll read one,” he said. “I’m not much for this sort of thing.”

“That’s alright,” Big Macintosh said. “I never said you had to say one. But you should consider it.”

Caramel nodded as though he understood. But there was the slight idea in his mind that he respected Big Macintosh, and that somewhere in between being his closest friend and his boss, ‘considering’ often had the implication of eventually ‘doing’. And so he sweated slightly and gulped despite not having anything in his mouth, still not entirely sure he wanted to. At least the crowds were thick; they couldn’t see him go red down here off the stage.

A few minutes later, Baritone returned with two large glasses of a dark-colored beer and one glass that appeared to be a little smaller; Caramel recognized it as an eight ounce glass as opposed to the others’ twelve-ounces. Caramel quietly thanked Baritone for remembering he normally got the smaller glass.

By the time Baritone returned with the beers, the open mic night began in earnest. The filly that Caramel had seen earlier went up and did a small comedy act that garnered a few laughs, followed by a ventriloquist act that hardly anyone paid attention to. Baritone took his guitar up there and sang a couple songs – including Rara’s new song ‘I Am Just A Pony’ – while playing. He had a deep but smooth singing voice and was greatly applauded when he was done. Baritone returned back to the table after heading to the bar again and getting them a second cream stout plus some homemade chips and a pile of celery sticks.

“Good job up there, Baritone,” Big Macintosh said.

“Good to hear,” Baritone replied. He wiped some sweat off his brow with a hoof. “I thought I missed a few notes and hit a flat in one place.”

“I didn’t hear anything wrong with it,” Caramel said. “It sounded alright to me.”

“Well, if it sounded alright to you two non-musically inclined ponies, I’m sure it’ll be good to the rest of them.”

Baritone proudly drank a few gulps of his cream stout and sighed happily. As he was setting down the glass, he noticed Caramel’s little brown journal sitting somewhat inconspicuously on the table, hidden behind his beer glass. Caramel noticed where Baritone’s eyes were looking and tried hiding it further behind the plate of chips, but he was too slow and Baritone pointed to it.

“Big Macintosh tells me you write poetry,” Baritone said. “You should go up there and read one. Certainly would break the monotony.”

A young orange colt was doing a tap-dancing act onstage. There were frequent ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and clapping from the rest of the tavern’s occupants. Caramel noticed this and quickly shrunk down. “N-No, I think I’ll be good.”

“Give him time, Baritone,” Big Macintosh said before the medium grey stallion could push the issue much further. “He’ll go if he wants to.”

Caramel was grateful to Big Macintosh for the out and quietly said so, unsure if the stallion would hear among the crowds.

Big Macintosh looked at him and gave a patient, knowing smile, leaving Caramel to question if he heard him or merely assumed that was the case based on his mumbling.

As the evening wore on, more ponies came up on stage. As the evening approached nine o’clock, three acts had stood out in particular as highlights of the evening: the tap-dancing colt, the young comedian filly, and Baritone’s solo guitar and singing, the latter two actually managing encore performances as good as the first. After Baritone and the filly had gone for a second time the audience looked for the tap-dancing colt but he had long since retreated and was nowhere to be found. The audience began to lose interest, and by nine o’clock and a third comedian hardly anyone was paying attention.

The comedian finished and there was something of a break where no one went up on stage. Caramel and the others were having a third beer and were thinking about leaving; others were already filtering out despite the open mic night going on until ten and the tavern closing at eleven.

Baritone looked over to Caramel. “You should go up there,” he said. “Read one of your poems.”

“Eh...” Caramel wanted to say he didn’t feel comfortable even with fewer ponies in the tavern, and was afraid he would trip over his words with three beers in him. But none of that came out and he trailed off.

“Pick a short one,” Baritone said. “Doesn’t even have to be two minutes. You go up there, read one, get down. If no one likes it, you’re already done. If they like you, read one more.”

“...are you sure? I mean, it’s not like poetry is that interesting. Heck, they could boo me off the stage.”

“...did you even hear the last comedian? If you didn’t, you weren’t alone. If you did, you couldn’t possibly be worse than him. Really, he was quite demented. Wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t go up again ever. But he wasn’t booed.”

Caramel looked at the little notebook sitting on the table in front of him. He tended to keep that to himself, a little side project that helped him process his emotions moreso than an actual pursuit. He didn’t consider himself that good, and wondered if it would be a let-down to Big Macintosh and Baritone.

Caramel looked at the two. Both had an encouraging smile, though Big Macintosh’s was clear while Baritone seemed just a little drunk. Caramel felt the heat in his own cheeks and the sweat coming down his forehead. He took a sip of water that had been brought to the table and checked his nerves. They seemed steady enough, or at least the beer kept them from all firing off.

“...I’ll try,” he said. “But just one. Then I’m getting off.”

“That’s all I want you to do. Try more if you think it’s going well, but start with one.”

Caramel nodded, picked up his little notebook, and walked over to the stairs off to the right side of the stage. He walked slowly as though waiting for anyone else to come up first. But there was little rush to get to the stage; anyone else might have been scared away by the reception to the last comedian. And so when Caramel got to the stage there was no one else trying to beat him up there or even approach the platform.

Caramel slowly walked on stage. A few eyes turned his direction upon noticing someone else was coming up on stage, but most were still paying attention to their drinks. Caramel walked to the microphone and blinked a few times; the spotlight was blinding and he could hardly make out Baritone and Big Macintosh sitting in the crowds. They were there and looking at him, though, both giving him approving nods.

Caramel went up to the mic, pushed it down a little to reach his mouth, and spoke. “Hi. Uh...”

A ring of feedback came around and Caramel flinched along with the ponies in the audience. Someone came up and turned down the volume on the amplifier until the feedback had stopped, then turned it back up to a manageable level. The issue with the feedback, however, had caused the noise level in the tavern to stop and focus on Caramel. He smiled sheepishly.

“Um, hi. M-My name’s Caramel, and I wanted to share a piece of poetry I made. I wrote this a while ago after breaking up with my marefriend of a little over a year. Um... I call this one ‘Heart Be Not Proud’.”

There were a few appreciative claps, and Caramel opened his notebook and began to recite from one of the pages.

Heart, be not proud
For you have experienced loss.
Mind, be not pleased
For your wit is now gone.
Legs, do not run
For you have no energy left.
Arms, do not rise
For you failed to display your strength.
Eyes, do not stare
For all they shall see is shame.
Head, do not look up
For you have fallen into your own trap.

Caramel was only halfway through the poem, but here he gulped and suddenly froze. The spotlight was not only blinding but it was hot. The three beers were beginning to get to him and he felt himself sweat. His legs began to shake underneath him. He could barely see the audience, but he could hear slight murmurs coming from them all and wondered if they were discussing how bad he was.

He found five sets of appreciative eyes. Two of them belonged to Baritone and Big Macintosh. The others, hidden in a far corner away from the spotlight, he couldn’t recognize. Whoever they were, the five appreciative glances were enough.

Heart, be not yet proud
For one day soon you will win.
Mind, be not yet pleased
For now is the time for reflection.
Legs, do not yet run
For one day your stamina shall return.
Arms, do not yet rise
For soon you shall hold the world.
Eyes, do not yet stare
For one day you shall see them as equals.
Head, do not look down
For you shall one day pick yourself up again.

He stuttered and missed the beat every once in a while, but was pleased when he got through without another giant pause. Without waiting for the audience’s reaction, he closed the notebook and took off back towards the table with Big Macintosh and Baritone. He panted as he sat himself back down and gently tapped his forehead on the table.

“That was pretty good,” Baritone said. “Really, it was.”

Caramel heard a faint rumbling sound and looked up to see a few ponies applauding. No one seemed to see him, but no one else was on-stage yet and they seemed pretty satisfied. He calmed down a little bit but his nerves still racked him a little bit and he said nothing in response.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Baritone said. “Don’t worry; if you want to do it again, it gets easier.”

Caramel shook his head. “No, I... I-I think I’m good, thank you.”

“You really should think about doing more readings,” Big Macintosh said. “Expose yourself more often. You could publish one or two if you wanted.”

Caramel did not reply. “I... I think I want to head home.”

He barely left the table when he saw a figure approaching him. It took a minute in the darkness of the tavern to get the details, but approaching him was a dark grey stallion with a blue mane in the shape of a mowawk. Even in the dim light of the tavern, Caramel remembered him as the pegasus whom he had met in the coffee shop a week ago.

“Hey!” the stallion replied. He raised a wing in hello. “Caramel, was it?”

“Yeah.” Caramel thought about the stallion for a while. “Um... what’s your name again? I’m sorry, I remember seeing you in the coffee shop, but I’m terrible with names.”

“Thunderlane,” the pegasus responded. “And that’s cool. We only talked for, like, somewhere around twenty minutes? I don’t expect you to remember it that fast. Anyways, I liked that poem. It was cool.”

“Thanks,” Caramel said. He could feel himself blushing, but wasn’t sure if it was from the compliment or the alcohol. “I didn’t think it was that good. And I stumbled a lot.”

“But I liked the ideas in it. I really liked the second verse and how you turned it all back around into something positive. It was actually really inspiring.”

Caramel looked over to Baritone and Big Macintosh. “I agree with him,” Baritone said, pointing to Thunderlane. Big Macintosh nodded in agreement with Baritone.

“Oh, hey Big Macintosh,” Thunderlane called out. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Didn’t know you were here, either,” Big Macintosh replied. “I guess you already know Caramel, but this is Baritone.” He motioned to the medium-grey stallion, who waved hello.

“Nice to meet you,” Thunderlane said, shaking hooves with the earth pony. “Do you all normally meet here?”

“Well, Caramel’s missed a few meetings lately, but yes,” Baritone said. “You here with someone?”

“I’ve got a group that’s been sitting in the corner there.” He pointed to the dark corner where a beige pegasus with a shock of a red mane and a purple earth pony with a mint green mane were sitting at a small round table and turned back to Caramel. “They wanted to say they all liked it, too, and we were all wondering if you had any more.”

Caramel clutched the notebook close to his chest. “I do. But I really should be getting home; I can’t read anymore.”

“That’s alright,” Thunderlane said. “But keep it up! You’re doing pretty good. Written Script, a writer friend of mine, said it was good, so it must be.”

“Thanks again. I-I’m sorry, I have to go. Good night, Thunderlane. See you later, Big Mac and Baritone.”

Before they could say anything else, Caramel quietly slipped out of the tavern and headed back home. He ran through the quiet streets until he reached his door, and didn’t settle down until he’d spent a good twenty minutes in a warm shower. He put his journal away in a drawer of the desk and went to bed before ten o’clock.

When the tavern was over and the final acts were finished, the general consensus were three acts stood out among the rest. Baritone’s solo act and the filly comedian were well received, but Caramel’s poem managed to edge out the tap-dancing colt to round out the night.

Caramel heard none of this, as he kept to himself and did not care about what happened that night other than feeling quite embarrassed.

Author's Note:

Baritone:

"Purple pony with mint-green mane" (I'm probably going to call him "Slapshot"):