Memoirs of a Minutor Crystallum

by Witching Hour

Ch 4 - Craft Therapy

Grand Canterlot Station
Oxton, Canterlot, Equestria
Sunsday, 15 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

“So… Why am I here again?” I asked my doctor, pulling my cloak further up on my shoulders. It wasn’t necessarily that it was cold in Canterlot, though certainly the breezes were chilly, whipped down from the mountain tops, but in the two weeks since my release from the hospital, I found the stares my wings got were more than the typical unicorn elitism.

“I told you, Miss Wrench,” Witching Hour responded with a tired sigh. “Part of your recovery involves a psychological component. You need some time away from relearning your wings.”

“And you’re sure of that?” I retorted dubiously even as my companion yawned widely.

“Yes, Miss Wrench…”

“I’m impressed, Witchy,” commented a new addition to our party. “I didn’t think you’d make it this early. It usually takes five alarms, four cups of tea, three wake-up calls, two blanket pulls and a bowl of your father’s ginseng-infused oatmeal before you’re awake with plenty of time for the eight ‘o clock train…”

I eyed the new unicorn curiously. She was shorter, and definitely stockier than an average unicorn, with brown eyes set in a rounded pink face. Her tawny mane was pulled into a sloppy tail, while her tail was coiled into an equally messy bun.

“You’re one to talk, Rosy,” Witching Hour almost snapped back, but the harshness is softened by the smile in her eyes. “I seem to recall several times where I had to wake you up before the crack of noon.”

“Touché, mon amie,” ‘Rosy’ chuckled. “At least we’re not going to your aunt’s place again…”

“She really has mellowed since she went into the ambassadorial service instead of law!” protested Witching Hour.

I quickly found myself struggling to keep up with the banter between the unicorns. “Um… Hi! I’m Monkey Wrench, the good doctor’s sorta-unwilling hostage for this adventure.”

The new unicorn laughed again, turning a bright smile on me. “Sorry, I’m Chère Rosé. Witchy and I have been friends since…”

“Forever,” Witching Hour interjected, smiling as well. “Her father’s a writer, so he was constantly coming to Mom’s tea house to get his thrice-daily dose of muse… It didn’t hurt that when Mom started the shop and we moved in upstairs, she saw us with our carts of boxes, somehow managed to see some of my old toys and immediately knew there was a girl close to her age moving in. She strolled up to Mom, bold as you please, and asked where the filly was.”

“I don’t remember that!” protested Chère Rosé.

“Mom does!” countered Witching Hour.

I was spared from further Third Wheel status by the train whistle sounding the boarding call. “Welp, Craft Day awaits!” Witching Hour declared, and led us both into the train to Ponyville.

---

1000 Emerald Lake Drive
Ponyville, Equestria
Sunsday, 15 Breeze Moon, 1001 Equestrian Era

“Well this is a hike to make just to play with things for a few hours before you go home again…” I commented as I followed Witching Hour along a road outside Ponyville. It was a nicely wooded area, but the houses were few and far between out here, like they were all recluses that wanted to be close enough to a town to get supplies easily, but not so close as to be involved in all of the town’s events.

“It’s less about the actual crafts and more about spending time with the family,” Rosé replied with a gentle smile. “Mom and Dad used to make a full weekend trip to Manehatten when Aunt Olive was hosting… but that only happened a few times since Grandma and Grandpa have a better space for it.”

“It was less suspicious for my other grandparents though,” Witching Hour sighed wistfully. “As it is, I’ll probably have some accounting to make tomorrow about this trip… Thankfully, I have a handy explanation in Miss Wrench here…”

“Oh now I’m an excuse???” I protested. “I thought you said this was actually part of my treatment!”

“It is!” countered Witching Hour, smirking with an almost evil glint in her eyes. “Which is why it’s a handy explanation to give Grandmother about what I was doing in Ponyville.” She then grimaced. “Of course, she doesn’t much care for the fact that I’ve chosen a profession instead of being some witless noblemare, good for naught but to be waited upon and to marry… But she can’t afford to alienate me or Mom, even if she can annoy the piss out of us without doing so, since it’s a case of dealing with our ‘eccentric’ behavior, or the House goes to Grandfather’s brother.”

“I still think it couldn’t be that bad for you and Mom to tell them to take a long walk west of Kensington…” Rosé grumbled, half under her breath.

“Oh trust me, Rosy… It would be… Uncle Tie is so much worse than Grandfather…” Witching Hour responded morosely.

“So… Can I ask a question here?” I jumped in before the pair of friends could digress further. “Chère Rosé, I get that you and Witching Hour have been friends for a really long time, but… You’re talking like you’re a member of the family… and forgive me for saying this, but you two look nowhere near related…”

Both unicorns shared a look and then laughed at this. “That’s because we’ve been friends for so long, she practically is family,” Witching Hour replied, smiling fondly at the pink unicorn.

“My family’s more than a little weird anyways, what with my parents divorcing and remarrying… What’s another set of honorary parents?” Rosé then smirked at Witching Hour. “Or another daughter hiding at our house to escape less pleasant relatives?”

We turned off the neatly raked path onto one paved with decorative cobblestones to face a rather pleasant red house with a well tended garden under the large front window. Blocking the house from full view of the main path was a large oak tree that seemed to grow out of the center of a red brick patio with chairs and small tables in a conversational arrangement which were occupied by a trio of mares, all with yarn and knitting needles in hoof or magic. The drab-green pegasus and muted-orange earth pony both looked much older than the unicorn of the group, and simply looked up and smiled briefly when they heard us approach before returning to their knitting. The deep violet unicorn, though, grinned broadly and let her magic set the needles and yarn down on the table beside her chair before standing and crossing the neatly trimmed lawn to hug both Witching Hour and Rosé.

“Glad you could make it, Rosy, Witchy! Going to join us old biddies for knitting this time, Witch?” she asked with a laughing twinkle in hazel green eyes. “And who’s this?” she asked, looking past the two unicorns to me.

“Aunt Vel, this is Monkey Wrench. She’s a patient of mine. I prescribed some crafting and relaxation as part of her therapy,” Witching Hour replied, smiling. “Miss Wrench, this is my aunt, Velveteen Oracle. My other aunts over there are Pumpkin Carol and Olive Virga.” Witching Hour nodded to the earth pony and pegasus in turn. “And not this time Aunt Vel, Grandma wants me to work on that embellishment for Zetta’s uniform to get it done before she goes off to Junior Officer Camp this summer. If I don’t, you know she has to attempt fine needlework herself and then it won’t be finished until the poor girl’s nearly of age to go to the Naval Academy.”

Velveteen Oracle chuckled ruefully. “Mom is a bit of magic in the sewing room but gods save her if it’s more than fitting pieces together. Alright then, but only because it’s for my daughter… And I know you are not allowed near knitting needles, Rosy… My poor Gold still flinches every time he sees me crocheting… What about you, Monkey? Do you knit?”

Put on the spot, I stammered briefly before finally answering, “Um… I don’t really do anything crafty like that. Witching Hour said I should look around and see if anything caught my attention.”

“Sage advice.” Velveteen Oracle agreed with a solemn nod belied by the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Well then,” she said, turning her attention back to Rosé and Witching Hour. “Mom and Dad are downstairs with Zetta already, and the useless males are out on the back porch, putting dents in Dad’s supply of banana wine again. Even money says another inter-branch pissing match will start or Astro winds up building another Lake Catapult Slide.”

“Lake Catapult Slide?” I asked, already trying to figure out how that’d work in my brain.

“Don’t ask!” chorused all three unicorns and the two mares who looked up from their needles to do just that.

“It was stallions being idiot adrenaline junkies, and we’ll leave it at that,” Rosé added, not at all helpfully, since now I really really wanted to know what had happened. Maybe if I didn’t find anything to my liking downstairs, I could join the ‘useless males’ on the porch and get the story out of them…

“C’mon, Miss Wrench,” Witching Hour said, and headed for the open door to the house, Rosé following after her. Giving Velveteen Oracle a sheepish nod and a smile, I followed after them. In the house, Witching Hour quickly followed the wall on the right around a corner and another door opened, revealing a long stairwell going down and turning right, leaving those upstairs blind to the happenings below. “Grandpa! Grandma! I’m here!” she called before taking the steps quickly.

Witching Hour was already rounding that bend before I’d taken the first few steps down, all the while, I was cursing that wretched dossier to the deepest pits of Tartarus and trying to keep track of the doctor’s family relations. As far as I could tell, all these ponies were from her father’s side, and I could easily believe the displeasure of Earl and Countess Grey at their heiress marrying such a mixed family. Both Velveteen Oracle and Olive Virga had the same facial structure as Holly Sweep, but none of those three were the same breed of pony. I could only imagine what was waiting for me in the basement.

My imagination fell short by a country mile. There was an old dark green earth pony mare with a silvering black-brown mane pulled into a sensible bun working on what looked like a version of the Royal Equestrian Navy’s dress black uniform, and a much younger ivory earth pony mare with a messy and almost blindingly electric cobalt mane was fiddling with some weird contraption that had wires sticking out of it at odd angles. The last of the ponies was what made me stop dead in my tracks, staring out into the large work area that was part woodshop, part sewing room and part distillery.

Standing there, embracing my doctor in a familial hug, was an old grey-green pegasus stallion, like the clouds right before a tornado formed, with his black mane and tail streaked with white like lightning. Dimly, I heard him greeting Witching Hour and Rosé, but my mind was still going through all the facts I knew about this stallion without ever having met him. He joined the Wonderbolts at the start of the Griffin-Drake War, and leapt up the ranks to become the Commander of the Second Squad under Lead Captain Storm Surge and Second Captain Blizzard.

“C-c-c-c-c-c-c-co-” I stammered, still gawking at this pegasus who, despite having a bit of a potbelly and far more wrinkles than the promotional posters and personal photos in my father’s collection of memorabilia, was still clearly Commander bucking ANVILHEAD.

“Oh dear…” the older mare commented dryly. “Fluffy-love, I think our granddaughter inadvertently brought a fan of yours.”

At that, my brain truly broke. “Fluffy?!” To my dismay, my voice came out in a cracking squeak.

“Aw Tartarus, Ivy… Di’ja hafta say that name in front of a fan?” Commander mother-bucking ANVILHEAD asked the mare with a groan.

I nearly tackled my doctor and dragged her back up the stairs. When we finally got up the steep flight, and I closed the door behind us, I whirled on her. “Witching Hour, why didn’t you tell me your grandfather was Commander bucking ANVILHEAD?!” I demanded in a harsh not-whisper.

Witching Hour blinked several times before smiling sheepishly and shrugging. “I honestly forget about it most of the time. He doesn’t like a lot of attention over it and he’s always been just ‘Grandpa Fluffy’ to me…”

I could feel the gears in my brain screeching and grinding over this. At this point, the mental copy of the file I had on her was just one big red scribble and something about writing a better one later.

“Witch, go help your grandma. I’ll deal with this.” The spectacled pair of sapphire blue eyes staring at me were replaced by another pair of like-colored eyes, set in a much older, and masculine, face. “Now, Monkey Wrench was it?”

“Gah-” I was screaming internally. Face to face with one of The Wonderbolt Greats and there I was, gaping like a fish out of water.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Anvilhead chuckled, his country drawl thick. “Honestly, you’re taking this better than some of my more avid fans. You haven’t fainted yet, or asked me to bear your children.”

My mouth moved of its own volition. “It’s hard to consider offering my womb in sacrifice now I’ve heard you called ‘Grandpa Fluffy’…” Immediately, I clamped a hoof over my mouth. I was seriously considering just curling up and dying right then and there from sheer mortification.

“Well, yes. Not to mention I’m sure my wife would have a thing or two to say about it,” Anvilhead offers with a smirk.

“Doooooooooooooooooooc…” I wailed, turning to the stairwell and hoping my voice would carry far enough. “Get back here!!!”

After a long moment, an unfamiliar and rather young voice called back, “You dug your grave! So either take the rope he’s throwing you or start filling it in!”

“Zettabyte Oracle!” exclaimed Ivy. “Do I need to speak to your mother about your manners to guests again?”

“Ignore her. And by her, I mean Zetta, not my wife,” Anvilhead offers with a small laugh and a wink. “Anyway, you’re from Cloudsdale I take it? I was always rather popular up there.”

“Uh… Yeah…” I managed to stammer coherently. “And my dad got into the Reserves, and then joined the Air Guard.”

“Ah yes… Many Reservists go that route, even picking up and moving there to do so.” Anvilhead commented thoughtfully. “I’d half a mind to do the same when I got forced out… but no way Ivy’d be happy there, even if we’d be closer to Flash Chinook and his family.”

“You?! Got forced out?! Sweet Celestial Sisters, WHY?!” I sputtered indignantly. “You were one of the youngest Commanders of an upper tier squad in a century!!! The only reason you and Captain Blizzard were Second Squad was because Blizzard didn’t want the top job!”

“Don’t get him started!!!” chorused unfamiliar male voices from beyond the living area. A moss green stallion with frosted pewter mane and the family sapphire blue eyes peeked around the corner. “Love ya, Pops, but save the rant about Flashwind and Blazetail for when and if she joins our merry band of maniacs. Leaf Wind or Flash Gale look the right age for her… But Gale’s besotted with Sugar Spoonful -” I heard another male voice make a protest from further away but the stallion ignored it “- and the day Leaf stops playing fly-colt, I’ll turn in my stars.”

“Keep your stars, sir… He’s already turned me down flat,” I commented dryly. The stallion barked out a laugh, shot a knowing smirk at Anvilhead and then disappeared back around the corner.

Anvilhead chuckled ruefully. “Alright, I’ll spare everyone that story. Needless to say, it’s a sore point… Now, how about you tell me how you know that much about my old Captain?”

“Oh… My dad told me loads about you and Captain Blizzard from when he first made the Reserves! He stayed with them for a bit, what with the Griff-” I trailed off abruptly, seeing the sadness and weariness suddenly in Anvilhead’s eyes.

“The War,” Anvilhead finished for me, flatly, before he seemed to shake away the mood with a quick toss of his head. “Come to think of it, I do remember a reckless and headstrong colt with the same red mane as you causing all sorts of mischief amongst the non-comms. It doesn’t surprise me he didn’t advance though, the new Leads wanted… something new…”

The bitterness which colored this explanation made me reticent to pursue the subject further. Anvilhead spared me that choice by ushering me back through the door to the narrow stairs and following me back down to the basement. “Now… If I’m not much mistaken, my granddaughter brought you here to take a look at what sort of hobby you can take up for the day.”

Once we were both back downstairs, the ivory earth pony, who I presumed was Zettabyte Oracle, was looking rather despondent, poking at her strange contraption while Ivy was nearby, cutting pieces to a pattern. Witching Hour was over at the poniquin, a needle flying through the fabric to add gold stitches to ornament the black uniform, while Rosé was at a small desk against a wall, twisting wires and stringing beads together. “So what’s your flavor, girl? I don’t think you can help Zetta with her contraption much, unless you know how the engines on the Navy airships work, and you don’t strike me as the sort to muck about with fancy stitching like Witchy, but Ivy’s got sewing, Rosy’s making jewelry, and I’m just whittling some things for the farmers market.”

While I did actually have a fair bit of knowledge about the airship engines, thanks to my father, and had a fair amount of aptitude working with machinery, I was uninterested in whatever Zetta was working on. Almost in spite of how far down my throat I’d shoved my hoof so far, I found myself following him over to his woodworking area. “If you don’t mind, I’d probably fair better with you than attempting anything fine like your wife or Rosé.”

To my intense relief, Anvilhead simply laughed and beckoned me closer to his table and said, “Well come on then. Take off your cloak and I’ll get you started.”

I hesitated then, but shook my head to dispel the unease I’d felt over revealing my very attention-grabbing wings. Witching Hour had already seen them, and wasn’t bothered by them since she’d made them. Rosé probably wouldn’t care either, since she seemed to be entirely focused on creating some kind of beaded chain. Zetta and Ivy, likewise, were equally absorbed in their tasks. It was just Anvilhead who would see… And he didn’t have to know what the crystal iron did to my flying capability. And so, with that thought firmly in mind, I grabbed the cloak at one shoulder and pulled it off, draping it over a nearby chair.

Anvilhead let out a long, low whistle. “Damn girl… I ain’t seen wings that needed that much work since the War.”

Like a shot, Zetta perked up and stared at me. “Sweet cous! How’d you do that?!” she exclaimed, turning towards Witching Hour.

“I’ll send you a copy of my notes, Zetta,” Witching Hour replied distractedly. My brain briefly seized up.

“Wait… You actually understand her when she starts spouting off her mumbo-jumbo jargon?” I asked the young mare.

Bright blue eyes blinked at me in a brief moment of disbelief at being asked such a strange question. “Well, yes… Don’t you?” Zetta retorted, her tone one of complete seriousness, as if any non-unicorn could - and indeed, should. I did, of course, understand Witch’s magical ramblings, but that wasn’t something I was about to advertise, lest she question how a pegasus got so versed in arcane metaphysics.

“Nooooooooooooooooo…” I drawled emphatically. “The moment she starts going into it, the hamster quits turning the gears in protest.”

Zetta snorted derisively. “You let a stranger do something to you without understanding it?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Zetta,” Ivy said, the warning clear in her voice. “Don’t think I won’t be speaking to your parents about this.”

“Less crazy and more lassitude as long as I could fly again. There was also a significant amount of trust in her professional standing. She studied for years to get to the level she’s at, so of course I’m not going to understand it.” I countered easily. “And don’t worry, ma’am. I’m not offended.”

“Whether you’re offended or not isn’t the point,” Ivy retorted, though her icy stare full of matronly disappointment was directed fully upon Zetta. Even my brashest brother would’ve quailed under that gaze… And yet the teenaged earth pony merely shrugged and went back to fidgeting with her device while looking at me, as though nothing more than a strong gust of wind had suddenly rattled the windows.

“I’m more impressed that it was a machine that did that,” commented Anvilhead, his gaze lingering on my back and wings. “Only time I saw wings torn up that badly was when I was in the service… And it wasn’t any machines the weather factory had access to doing the tearing.”

In spite of myself, I shuddered, recalling vividly each moment of agony in that smoke-filled Oxandria street. I shook my head to clear the memory away, only to be confronted by two sets of very concerned and almost identical blue eyes; one set behind blue plastic frames in a pale gray face, the other set staring at me from a gray-green face. Witching Hour blinked once, looked at her grandfather, then smiled slightly before retreating back to her needlework. Anvilhead, on the other hoof, stayed where he was, looking down at me intently.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. Try as I might, I could hear no pity, nor any emotion whatever, in his voice. I’m still not sure I could’ve handled either of those from Commander Anvilhead…

“It just… happened so fast…” In spite of every instinct telling me to keep the events hidden, the words tumbled from my mouth. “One moment, everything’s going well, and the next… It’s got me by the short-feathers and everything’s blazing white agony…”

“You’re talking about this machine like it’s alive.” The sound of Zetta’s voice near my shoulder startled me out of the half-trance I’d slipped into.

“That project of yours? That’s an analogue module for the gearshift computer, right? Battleship class? Then you know just how alive engines can get,” I retorted. “Why should the machinery in the weather factory be any different?” I asked with a shrug.

“Oh no…” Anvilhead groaned. I barely heard it before the young mare had shoved her way between me and the old pegasus, staring at me with wide, almost starstruck eyes.

“You know engines!? MINE!” she declared, dragging me away. “Sorry, Grampa! I’ll let her carve with you next time!”

“Zettabyte Oracle!” Ivy reprimanded sharply, standing in the young mare’s way of hauling me off to her corner. “Miss Wrench chose to work with your grandfather today. If she wanted to work with you on your gadget, don’t you think she would’ve chosen otherwise???”

Finally, Zetta was cowed by Ivy after the several scoldings she’d already gotten. “But Grandma! I never have anyone to work with me! And no one understands what I’m working on…” the teen wailed piteously.

I couldn’t help it then; I laughed. “Tell ya what, girlie… I survive another month in the death trap I call my apartment building, and I’ll work with you on your engine part then, okay? I’m sure you can’t blame me for thinking your grandpa’s pretty awesome and wanting to spend time with him.”

“Where are you living anyways, Monkey Wrench?” Witching Hour asked over her shoulder, the needle still flitting through the fabric even as her attention wandered. “My mom wouldn’t explain beyond a disdainful sniff that she usually reserves for the peerage, and that if you ever missed an appointment, I should check the morgues. Then my dad started teasing her about being stuck up and having no appreciation for the struggles of the commoner youth.”

“It’s no manor estate, but I’d hardly call it a ‘struggle’ by any means.” I shrugged, taking a seat next to Anvilhead. “It’s one of the apartments over at Kazoozles Commons.”

“You’re living in Hackney???” both Witch and Rosé exclaimed, nearly in unison.

“My parents got us out of there as fast as they could once Dad’s books started selling!” Rosé continued, almost in awe of how I’d somehow survived there.

“Oh… It’s not as bad as -” I cut myself off sharply. I didn’t need to tell them about all the places I’d been, and telling them about Coltenhagen would certainly get them questioning me. “As some places I’ve been. Reino for one. Dad took me with him on a bunch of Air Guard trips.”

“Still… No wonder Mom thought you’d wind up dead,” Witching Hour commented dryly. “Listen… I’ve got a line on a place close to the hospital… I was going to make the second bedroom into an office, but if your parents wouldn’t mind splitting the rent, I’d let you have it instead. Do you think you can afford to break your lease?”

My eyes briefly glazed over at the onslaught of information my doctor had just unloaded on me, as well as trying to figure out an appropriate answer for the question. “Oh! Um… I think my parents signed me up for a month-to-month lease, since they didn’t know how long I’d be in Canterlot… I’m rather liking it though, so I mean… If you don’t mind?”

“Why would I have offered if I minded, Miss Wrench?” Witching Hour asked, genuinely baffled at the thought.

I blinked and grinned, not only because I’d managed to get out of the shitty little apartment my dad and Earl Toffee had arranged for me with this assignment, but because my assignment had just gotten loads easier. “Thanks, Doc… I’d like that a lot…”