• Published 4th Dec 2017
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Field Notes from Equestria - Admiral Biscuit



A modern-day explorer gets his chance to visit Equestria, and writes down notes about the ponies he meets.

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Strucia

Strucia
Admiral Biscuit

Most of the ponies I’d seen took their coats seriously. I was sure that there was some kind of social rule about that, but thus far I hadn’t figured it out, and it felt gauche to ask.

Besides, even if I did, I might not understand the explanation. I still didn’t understand why men’s bikes needed a crossbar at the top when women’s bikes had a lower frame, and I’d lived on Earth all my life. The nuances of pony coat grooming would likely be completely lost on me.

Mostly, it appeared to be a spectrum from good to better. A lot of ponies, especially working ponies, had decently-groomed coats, while the white-collar—if that term could be said to apply to ponies—took more care. They often looked glossier.

Of course it was possible sweat and dust from work could dull their coats, and I had to admit that they wouldn’t be able to have much of a society if they groomed themselves at the exclusion of all other tasks. The coal-mining ponies had had slightly dirty coats, no doubt an occupational hazard.

Even when they were doing the same thing, though, there was clearly a personal aspect. Goldenrod and Lillium were very similar in appearance, although not at all in personal care.

I was waiting for an omnibus to take me back to my hotel, and the last thing I should have been thinking about was pony coats, but just across the street from me, in a little shelter that was a mirror to my own, sat a mare who was nearly shaved bald. It was hard to judge from my distance, but she looked balder on the chest and belly than on top.

The two initial thoughts I’d had was that she was rebelling against the coat brush industry, or else she was sick. And as much as I wanted to know, I wasn’t sure that it was the right thing to ask. Kids could get away with that; kids could go up to a person in a wheelchair and ask why their legs didn’t work and that was cute, and a learning opportunity. Adults couldn't, not on Earth anyway.

Granted, she’d probably never see me again, but it was still rude.

Just the same, I checked the traffic signal and it was in my favor, so I got up from the bench and walked across the street. I could get on whatever omnibus she was taking and maybe there’s be an opportunity to talk, an opportunity to sate my curiosity.

Maybe there wouldn’t, and that was okay, too.

I noticed that her eyes and ears followed me across the street. I hadn’t encountered all that many human tourists. If she was curious, I could answer her questions and she could answer mine. Ponies were generally more social, and would strike up conversations with strangers.

As I got closer, I noticed some white smudges on her short fur and in her mane, and I could see the tired droop of her eyelids. The latter didn’t rule out anything.

Her cutie mark was a loaf of bread, which suggested that there was a good chance that the white smudges were flour, although I didn’t want to jump to that conclusion right away.

“Tourist?” Her voice had a bit of roughness to it, which again could have been from anything.

“Yeah.” I sat down on the bench, which brought me closer to her height.

“Where you heading?”

“Well.” She’d surely seen me across the street, and if I told her, she’d inform me that I was getting on the wrong omnibus now. But I didn’t want to lie, either. “Nowhere in particular. Just looking around the city, you know?”

“It’s a big city, plenty to see.”

“Yeah. You from here?”

“Born and bred.”

Our conversation was interrupted as the omnibus arrived. I had a monthly pass which I showed to the cubrside pony towing the wagon. She was a familiar face, and they let her board unchallenged.

She was covering a yawn as I took the seat beside her, wondering if I was being rude. Maybe she liked to doze as she rode home.

Instead, she smiled. “I don’t usually get company on the ride home, not unless one of the girls is headed uptown.” She held out a hoof, and I bumped it. “I’m Strucia.”

“Joe.”

“Good to meet you.”

“Same.”

We fell silent for a moment. I really wanted to ask her about her coat, and she surely had a question or two for me, but we were both too polite to ask, until I decided I might as well be the dumb tourists. “So, forgive me for asking, but is that flour on your coat?”

She nodded. “I’m a baker.”

“So you’ve probably been up all day.”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Ponies want fresh bread in the morning, which means I’ve got to get up before anypony else, and get to work. It’s nice, though; I get to see a side of the city that not many ponies do.”

I thought back to my chance meeting with Tam Tam. “I know what you mean; I’ve been wandering off the beaten path myself. It’s more interesting than the parts of the city that the tourists see, don’t you think?”

Strucia nodded. “Sometimes it’s kind of creepy, though. I don’t like the way that my hooffalls echo on empty streets. There’s a newspaper colt who’s usually at the corner by the time I get there, but sometimes he isn’t.”

“Do the omnibuses run that early?”

“No, but I don’t mind walking to work. It helps wake me up.”

“I suppose it would. Say, you don’t mind me asking—”

“Because it’s hot in the kitchen.”

“—why your . . . okay, yeah.” That made perfect sense. All the ovens. I’d worked in a restaurant back in high school, just a little hole-in-the-wall type of place, and the kitchen was hotter than the hubs of hell in the summertime. The owner was too cheap to install air conditioning, so we just suffered in the heat.

“Easier to keep clean, too.” She reached up and brushed at a spot of flour. “Well, mostly. I shoulda cleaned off before leaving, but I just didn’t feel like it.”

“I can understand; I used to work in a restaurant myself. Nothing special, just fast food.”

“Like the Thermopolium?”

“More like a Hayburger.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Their food isn’t all that good. Some ponies swear by it, though.”

“Ours wasn’t, either,” I admitted. “It was cheap, and it was fast, and that was the best that could be said for it.”

“Well, if you want some quality bread sometime, you should stop by my bakery. It’s called Strucia’s—creative, I know—and it’s not far from the omnibus stop. A couple of blocks west, that’s all. You can’t miss it.”

“I think I will,” I said.

Author's Note:

IRL, working horses are often shaved so they don’t overheat. Assuming the same principles of thermodynamics apply to ponies, some working ponies might also choose to shave their coats, especially winter coats.


Source

What Applejack is sporting is called the blanket clip, which is idea for horses doing medium work.


Strucia is a type of sweet bread, and I don’t know more than that about it.