Roam-Springa

by Pascoite

Chapter 4: A Harsh Truth

I drained the last of my tea and set the cup back down, the bitter dregs making me wrinkle my nose. More story required more tea, though, so I refilled it and grabbed the tongs to add a wedge of lemon, and perhaps a dusting of sugar this time, to head off that bitter ending. It didn’t fit my tale.

For somepony who’d only reluctantly asked for any tea, the young mare had readily finished hers.

“Can I pour for you?” I said.

She nodded, so I tipped up the pot and breathed in the rich steam that floated in wisps from the cinnamon-brown liquid swirling around her cup. I’d let her manage her own lemon and sugar, since she appeared to prefer going without, judging from her first round.

Then I placed a hoof over the cup and planted a rear hoof firmly on the floor for a moment. An old earth pony tradition called grounding, one which I hadn’t really acquired until after I’d gotten married, and one it seemed only I practiced anymore: making that connection from the earth to what we ate and drank when serving a guest. Or sometimes even ourselves.

She smiled at it. Had she come across such a ritual in her research before?

With another of Cup Cake’s pecan twirls balanced on the edge of my saucer, I leaned back in my chair. Still a little sweet for my taste, but nothing brought back those old days quite like it. “Have you ever travelled to Manehattan?” I asked.

A quick nod, and her smile never faltered. She must have had a good experience then. Well, for all I knew, she’d lived there, though I remembered her letters coming from a small town near Fillydelphia.

“If I’d needed Mrs. Cake’s help just to make it in Ponyville, what chance did I have in Manehattan?” Yes, every town should have a Cup Cake. “What would I do there with nowhere to go? Maybe I could still get to Canterlot on time. Or maybe I could wait for Prim to return—Manehattan was her home base, after all. Eventually, she’d have to, but she might call down Tartarus on me and demand I pay her back for her wasted expenses from a failed attempt to make something out of me.”

I couldn’t resist. Leaning forward for another pecan twirl, I held up the plate toward her. I didn’t bother grounding it. “Would you like to try one?” I recognized the way she wrinkled her nose. A little sweet for her, too, but then I’d always simply found them compelling. “Go on. They’ll surprise you.”

She took a tiny bite, then another. A little sigh, the first sound I’d heard from her, and a faint smile. And Cup Cake had another fan.

I held my tea up to breathe in its scent once more before continuing. “So I had two options available to me, neither one cheap. And I only had the money in my coin purse, which might hold fifty bits if I packed it carefully, but of course I’d already spent some.”

---

The entire group had left for Canterlot without me? Prim? Pixie? Glitter Glow had told me—“But three o’clock! We were supposed to meet at three o’clock!” I shouted at the hotel desk clerk.

She only shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you.”

I couldn’t stand there wasting time! Maybe I could still catch up. I raced for the train station, splashing through puddles and icy cascades of rain the whole way, then dashed inside, to the ticket counter. The schedule on the board behind the agent—noon train to Canterlot, and not another til six! “Six?” I barked, jabbing a hoof at the offending number. “Why not until six?”

“Saturday schedule,” he answered, backing away as if I might start foaming at the mouth.

Okay. I needed to calm down. I didn’t know what Prim had planned for today. Just getting to the next hotel? Or would I miss a photo shoot? Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“A-a ticket. Is this enough?” I said, shoving my coin purse toward him.

He peered down his nose at it and shook his head.

How could he say that? It wasn’t true! I slumped against the counter, and my throat spasmed—for a moment, I thought I might retch right there on the floor, but I only gagged and let out a strangled gasp.

Could I—could I run to Canterlot from here? Start walking, and eventually I’d get there, prostrating myself at her feet and begging forgiveness. Drenched in cold rain and—and shivering, too. Maybe she’d take pity on me.

“Next!” the agent called.

No, it took the train many hours to get there. By the time I could, she would have returned to Manehattan already. I had to wait. I had to wait and think about what wrath she’d unleash upon me.

So I trudged back to the hotel. My bun half unraveled, the loose tresses dripping on the floor, I crept up to the desk. “I-I need a room.” The clerk, still filing her hoof, chewed on a wad of gum. I opened the flap on one of my saddlebags. Thank goodness they were waterproof. If the rain had gotten in, ruined Mayor Mare’s book, made the ink run all over Cup Cake’s unfinished quilt… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d do, but I could never face either of them again. Something trickled down my cheeks, surely rainwater.

My coin purse, rather lighter now—I nudged it at her. “Is this enough?” She barely afforded it half a second’s attention, then gave me the same response and consideration as the railway ticket agent had.

“I thank thee,” I said quietly as I stashed my purse away again. Nowhere to go. Maybe I should simply set out walking for Canterlot. Or Ponyville. Or home.

All three started with heading out the door.

I went vaguely southwest, by my meager knowledge of the city’s layout; the sun had taken its own refuge from the newness of autumn’s first cold drizzle, and it refused to give me any guidance, lurking behind endless monoliths of basalt-gray clouds. My stomach groaning, I thought about using my last few bits on some lunch, yet if Prim returned to find me not only absentee but overweight as well, it would only further incite her ire. Maybe I could purchase an energy drink somewhere.

My sodden dress clung to every curve, and more and more of my mane escaped its bindings, and as I passed a building with a scaffold running up the facade, at least providing a brief respite from the rain, two of the construction workers whistled at me. The raindrops could have boiled off my forehead! I gritted my teeth and glared up at them. “Just leave me alone!” I screeched, then bolted down the sidewalk.

One intersection, then another—a heavy wagon had to swerve to avoid running me down, but if it did, what would it even matter?

Finally, up ahead, a cheery storefront of light-toned oak and frosted windows stood with its shingle teetering in the breeze—a shingle with a full mug emblazoned on it. It seemed as good a place as any to waste time fretting about where to go next, so I squeezed in through the doorway and shook myself off.

Much darker on the inside, but dancing firelight in the hearth promised a warm place to dry off. Enough empty tables sat around, but none for a single occupant. I’d only take up needless space at one of them. The last stool along the high counter stood right next to the hearth, though. So I clambered onto its worn surface and set my saddlebags on the floor, between my dangling legs.

A stallion ambled along the counter, wearing a button-up shirt rather reminiscent of the fashion from last year—how in Tartarus had I learned that? My poor beleaguered brain, all clogged up with knowledge I’d never require. “What can I get ya?” he said.

He had soft features and seemed friendly enough. Though he’d only halfway committed to that beard. “Do you have energy drinks?”

“Sure! What kind?”

Then I noticed the handle protruding up from behind the counter, a picture of an apple gracing its knob. I’d rather liked the cider Cup Cake had suggested I buy at Ponyville’s market. Something, anything to return to those simpler days, just a couple of months ago, when I had no concerns but rising early, helping bake, then reading before bedtime.

Returning to familiarity would defeat the whole point of leaving home, though. Good ponies stayed mindful of their purpose. But even good ponies needed a rest, and Mayor Mare—

I covered my eyes with a hoof and sniffled. “Just a cider, please.” Then I reached down for my coin purse and fumbled it onto the polished oak surface. “Is this enough?”

He plucked out four bits and filled a mug right in front of me, the foam dancing on top. And there it sloshed, under my nose. It smelled different. It tasted different, too. Kind of weird, but I’d already paid for it, and it wouldn’t do to waste it.

Strange. It burned my throat, and I had to swish it around in my mouth, swallow it little by little, but the more I had, the less it bothered me. Just numb. My stomach growled even louder.

Late afternoon, and some ponies must have gotten off work—they came in and filled out the tables. Some with construction vests on. My head felt all jittery, and I glared at them. They’d whistled at me, all of them. Nice and tart and apple-y, and a smile sprouted over my face. “Is this enough?” I jabbed my hoof at it, my—my purse. How many times now?

Too loud, too many voices, and I slumped face-first on the counter, breathing in the cool air, except I’d picked the seat by the fire, hadn’t I? Pretty dumb. Pretty, heh. That was me, the pretty one. I blinked hard, and if I kept my eyes closed, I could imagine the voices dying away, leaving me alone. I pulled the cold mug against my cheek.

Empty? Already? I shook the glass, but now I’d have to open my eyes to make sure. Over to the side, wasting space at a table by herself—an orange mare, blonde mane, trophy cutie mark, and wearing a blazer and turtleneck. She kept watching. And about the time the stallion asked me if I wanted another cider, she walked over and took the seat next to me.

“Cold Draft, you’ve been helping yourself to very generous tips all evening. Don’t you think you’ve both had enough?”

He frowned, and before I could ask him to count my money again, he’d wandered down to the far end of the counter. The mare frowned, too. What’d I do to her?

While I sat there trying to hold my head steady, she sipped at some dark red liquid from a glass that looked like a big eggcup. “That good?” I asked her.

She daintily touched the glass to her lips again and looked away from me. “Why don’t you put your money away?”

What difference did that make? But she kept staring somewhere away from me, so I corralled my purse toward me. It fell on the floor with a jingle. So I bent over, and—

The lights on the ceiling stabbed at my eyes as I lay on my back, and a hoof pulled me up, tugged me to a chair, my saddlebags plopped on the table in front of me. Light blue eyes, not as deep as… as… I couldn’t remember who.

“You’re not one of the regulars. What brings you here?” the mare asked. Her frown gone, now a little smile, exactly like Igneous Rock would give me if I skinned a knee. Making sure I was alright.

“I’m a model,” I replied, puffing out my chest. “On my roam-springa!”

“Your what?”

“W-we have to—” I stifled a burp. “I beg thy pardon. We have to see what the world is like, to see if we wish to stay home.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh! I guess I have heard of such a thing. How long—?”

“I learned to bake and model a-and not get scared of crowds.” It seemed like the buzzing in my ears had faded, so I opened one eye wider. “Dost thou like pecan twirls?”

I’d seen a grin like that before, turned upon the nonsense of foals. “Do you have a chaperone?”

Ch-chapter pone? “No, just poetry. I only read half of it, though. Here—” I reached down for my saddlebags and nearly toppled to the floor again, but she caught me. Oh yeah, they were on the table now. Pretty dumb. Pretty, dumb. Heh. “You can read if you want.”

Like the wind coursing through the quarry at home, she let out a heavy sigh. “I apologize in advance, but I have to do this.” She then proceeded to pick through my saddlebags, holding up whatever scraps of paper she found. Her frown returned the more she looked.

Then another sigh. “I don’t see a key, an address, or anything.”

“No, I got nowhere,” I mumbled. “’Cept the park.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” she said flatly, but I didn’t answer. Seemed like everypony could read that from me anyway. “I cannot in good conscience leave you to fend for yourself. Come with me. You can sleep it off at my apartment.”

“Oh… okay.” How did we get outside? And when had it gotten dark? She had on saddlebags that looked just like mine! I tried to follow, but sometimes she had to slow down and let me catch up. I might have stopped once to retch in an alley, but maybe I only thought I needed to. I wouldn’t want to do that in her apartment, and clean ponies were good ponies.

Some stairs, but not many, so only a little exercise, and then I stumbled in to a small three-room suite. A table and sofa and kitchen appliances in here, a bed through the archway, and a washroom.

I needed a bath. I was gross. But I flopped onto the sofa to catch my breath, and I heard some muffled sounds of a toothbrush and clothes hangers. The light turned out, and it felt like somepony draped a blanket over me.

A bath could wait until morning.

---

“Hi-choo!” My eyes snapped open, and I peered over at the sunlight piercing the room at a shallow angle. “Hi-choo!”

“Huh? Wha—?” somepony said. What room was this? Not my hotel. But then rustling cloth, and through an archway, I saw an orange earth pony roll off the bed and land on the floor with a thump. Then a head popped back up with a blazer draped over it.

“Oh! I apologize!” I said, grimacing and holding a hoof to my mouth. “I did not mean to wake thee! But I couldn’t help it!”

Small place, three rooms. Fairly modern style, but not one I’d seen before. How did I get here? But then the pony shook the blazer off, and—a mare. She glanced at the clock as she trotted in, wearing a flannel nightgown. “No, don’t concern yourself with it. I didn’t stay up late, so I can stand to get up early. Would you care for a bath?” she said, pointing at a washroom.

Maybe it’d make me feel better. So I strained my way off a very comfortable sofa and stepped in, my hooves clicking on the tiled floor. My dress, hanging over the curtain rod! Had—had she undressed me? I whipped my head back around, and she craned her neck from her place in front of the kitchen sink, halfway through dumping a scoop of coffee grounds into a percolator. “Is that dry yet? You got it all soaked with rain yesterday.”

Oh. Well, that was okay, I guessed. I patted my dress with a hoof, and it seemed dry enough. “Mmhmm.”

I took it down, folded it, and placed it on a wicker box before stepping into the shower and drawing the curtain closed.

“Clean towels are in the cabinet across from the sink!” she called. And some kind of hiss started from the kitchen.

I turned on the hot water and bathed as quickly as I could. I still didn’t know where I’d ended up, but bits and pieces began drifting onto my memory like ashes. Yesterday, I’d run to that… beverage establishment. Things got fuzzy after that, but I did remember talking to a mare. Yes, that blazer I’d seen on her head just now. This was the mare.

A bit of soap, and—wow. Three or four kinds of shampoo, something called “conditioner.” Pixie Cut had told me not to use soap, so I tried the bottle with a picture of hyacinths on it. What a nice lather it made! I swirled it into my mane with both hooves, and it all clicked! Pixie Cut used something like this when doing my mane. I’d never watched her. It felt positively luxuriant!

I could have wasted an hour in there, but I had no business taking up somepony else’s bath. So I shut off the water and found a towel, right where she said they’d be. But my mane, just hanging free! I didn’t have a hair tie, and where did my saddlebags go?

Back out into the main room and—there, on the floor, next to the sofa. I let out a heavy breath.

“My word, you’re rather pretty!” she said. Yeah, pretty dumb. But why did that pop into my head? She dished up two plates of eggs and toast. “Here. Have some breakfast. I don’t think you ate anything all day yesterday.”

Food. Mmm, it smelled good, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it. “I-I can’t. I’m a model.”

“Who told you models couldn’t eat?”

What would happen when Prim Hemline found me? I slumped onto the sofa and got out a hair tie, then gathered my mane up into a nice, tight bun. And luckily, my glasses sat in the saddlebag, too. Had she put them in there? On they went. Yes, who’d told me models couldn’t eat? The same ones who’d told me the train left at three.

So I staggered over to the table and sat down. My legs would not stop shaking.

“See?” she said, angling her nose toward them. “You’re malnourished. And probably dehydrated.” A cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice soon joined my plate in front of me.

“What did I do?” I said, holding my throbbing skull as I nibbled on a piece of toast.

“Had too much cider. Way too much,” she replied through a mouthful of eggs.

I shook my head. “But I’ve had cider before. It didn’t do this to me.”

“There’s more than one kind.”

A touch of nausea still tiptoed around my stomach, but the toast seemed to help, like a hygroscopic mineral, sponging up moisture from the air. “How can I tell them apart?” Not that I’d want cider any time soon.

She took a sip of coffee, and her mug clunked against the table. “If it says ‘hard’ or ‘alcoholic’ on the label, you should probably stay away from it. And if you’re at a bar again, order virgin cider.”

My cheeks burned fiercely. “That’s not anypony’s business—!”

But she held up a hoof and grinned. “It’s just an expression. That’s all. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh.”

“By the way, I don’t know your name. I gave you mine last night, but I don’t expect you remember. It’s Ms. Harshwhinny.” She extended a hoof, and I shook it.

“Cloudy Quartz,” I offered. “Or Crystal Essence. Prim said to go by that.”

Right away, her eyebrows shot up. “Prim Hemline? You’re one of her models?”

Another crunch of toast. She’d buttered hers, but I preferred it plain. “Mmhmm.”

“Okay, there’s obviously a story behind this.” Besides the few isolated breaches, she’d worn a cold, stony expression the whole time. It rather suited her, and now it returned, but still with a hidden warmth underneath. Like Igneous Rock, especially as he grew up.

So I told her everything. Starting from my own front door, into Ponyville, to Manehattan. How I’d made friends with so many in Ponyville, though I left out the grislier details. Good ponies didn’t parade kisses around, either the good ones or the misguided. And then how I’d made very few friends in Manehattan.

She didn’t speak the entire time, and even when I’d finished, she remained a statue, with her eyes closed.

I wedged in a few bites of eggs before I spoke again. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, why did you decide to help me, and before you even knew any of that?”

After a deep breath, she turned steely eyes on me, like one imparting a catechism. “In my profession, I encounter many types. From canny mayors who wheel and deal to get any advantage possible to first-time athletes from backwoods towns who think that the best pony really does win. I can see it in their eyes. You’re one of the latter, and for the life of me, if not for ponies like you, I would retire. You make my job worthwhile.” Another smile threatened to crack free, but she must have awakened enough to wrest it under control.

But mayors and athletes? “What kind of work do you do?” I asked.

“I’m the chairmare of the Equestria Games committee. I help organize the Games, make sure they run smoothly, and facilitate bids for future venues.” Her eyes softened for a moment. “When Equestria is no longer a place friendly to the naive, I will take my leave of it. And somepony has taken advantage of you.”

“N-not Miss Hemline!”

Ms. Harshwhinny snorted. “She knew or should have known.”

If Prim never found me, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Unless Ms. Harshwhinny wanted to help get me to Canterlot, but what would that solve?

She didn’t speak again, so I finished my eggs and toast and juice and coffee. Then I merely sat there staring out the window.

Finally, she moved, and it made me jump. “We need to discuss where you go from here. But I have some business matters to take care of today. You’re welcome to accompany me, if you’d like to see some more of the city.”

As long as I’d been here, I’d barely seen a few buildings. The hotel, the studio, the train station. The bar. I nodded quickly. For the first time in weeks, I’d eaten my fill. It felt good.

---

“I’m afraid my meeting would only bore you,” Ms. Harshwhinny said as we passed through a large wooden door in a carved stone archway. She waved a hoof toward the ceiling, as cavernous as the central mine chamber back home. “But town hall is a historic building. Feel free to look around. They aren’t busy today, so one of the desk staff can give you a tour. Just tell them you’re here with me. I’ll return in two or three hours.”

“I thank thee.” Partly hidden by the hinges’ squeaking, a quiet chuckle sounded. My old style of speaking was one of the few things that had reliably made her smile so far.

She started up a broad staircase, no longer making room for me or waiting for me to catch up. So I supposed I’d come as far as I should. “If you want some lunch, there’s an employees’ cafe in the basement. I’m a civil servant, so I have a tab with them. Just give them my name.”

I waited until she’d glanced back to make sure I’d heard her, then bowed my head slightly. “I thank thee.” She smiled, but I would have missed it, had I not been looking for it.

What grand deed had I performed in my life to deserve such kind ponies? What would have become of me if not for Cup Cake taking me in and now Ms. Harshwhinny looking after me? Surely Equestria wasn’t as treacherous as Ms. Harshwhinny liked to think.

I did spend about half an hour strolling about the ground floor. Impressive, but not really that much different from the train station, if less crowded. Then the clock tower outside struck noon, and I went down to the cafe for a small salad, which I paid for myself, and returned to the lobby. Good thing I’d brought my saddlebags.

Ms. Harshwhinny had insisted I didn’t need to, that I was welcome to return to her apartment, but I didn’t dare presume. And it meant I had my quilt with me.

The first time in weeks I’d worked on it, and oh, how peaceful it felt! The two ponies at the desk watched with interest, and a few entering or leaving the building smiled down as well. “That’s beautiful!” a passerby said. “How long does it take you to sew one?”

“It taketh two or three weeks, if I work continuously. By my troth, I have not given this one the attention it deserveth.” These days, I tended to speak that way only when shaken, but it seemed to fit this place.

A quiet giggle sounded, and she turned to her companion, whispering, “Did you hear how she talks?”

But they walked on. Another good day, and I could have the quilt finished. When would I ever get back to Ponyville to give it to Cup Cake, though? I ran a hoof over the blocks Mayor Mare had cut and sewn herself. And I couldn’t stop the tears. I’d never written her a letter, I’d never finished her book, I’d let her efforts on this quilt languish. What kind of friend had I been that I warranted all the kindnesses afforded me? Good ponies gave more than they took.

I kept working. If I didn’t see it through, it wouldn’t matter if I ever got the opportunity to present it to Cup Cake. Near the middle of the quilt, the first two blocks Mayor Mare had ever cut for me, but I had to assemble when she couldn’t overcome her trepidation at doing the actual sewing. Two rows down, the first one she’d sewn herself. Then the entire next row with her stitching, a little more closely spaced than mine.

Why? Why did it hurt so much? I collapsed onto the fabric in my lap, and I didn’t have a tissue, but those old gray dresses—I pulled one out and wiped my eyes dry.

Did I love Mayor Mare? Just as quickly as the thought burgeoned, a resounding “yes, but—” rang through my mind. I couldn’t put my hoof on either part of that, but she was dear to my heart, and I definitely wanted to see her again.

I’d… never thought of it before. The Pairing Stone had chosen Igneous Rock and me for each other. But I hadn’t at all considered that his father would have done the same as mine: walked him to the road, wished him well, and sent him on his way. His own roam-springa. Was he trying new things? Would he return?

Did he love me? Was he even pondering the question?

I barely felt the bench move, but somepony had sat down. I stayed hunched over my quilt.

“You look as miserable as me,” a growly voice said. “You okay?” Without sitting up, I shrugged. “Yeah, that’s life,” he answered.

For a minute, his hoof tapped against the bench’s leg, but then the seat moved again. “Sorry to bother you,” he said from a few steps away.

“No, no!” I replied, wiping my eyes again. “I’m not in a social mood today. Please. Don’t leave on my account.”

“It’s alright. I gotta get back to work anyway.” As he walked off, I stole a glimpse. A donkey?

I watched him leave, and then I picked up my needle again, but no, I couldn’t sew right now. Away they went, my needle, my thread, my thimble, all in my saddlebag. I left the quilt in my lap, though, all nice and warm. And I reached for the book. Her book.

---

Ms. Harshwhinny dabbed her glass at her lips, but if the level in it went down any, I couldn’t tell. “I must have watched you for a full minute before coming down the stairs. I’ve never seen anypony snuggled up in a blanket in the lobby, but there you were.”

The same table as last night, in the same bar. She stopped here every night she was in town, or so she said. I could have done without coming here, but the stallion behind the counter didn’t seem to recognize me, thank goodness.

“Another drink, ma’am?” the waitress said from beside me. I looked up and stared at her for a second, then nodded. “What were you drinking?”

“V-virgin cider.” She didn’t laugh, then or when I’d first ordered it. Maybe Ms. Harshwhinny was right.

When the waitress had left, I gazed back at Ms. Harshwhinny. Some of the old speech clamored to get out, but I held it in check. I didn’t want to elicit an answer through charm. “I don’t understand. Why have you shown me such hospitality? You don’t know me.”

In return, she gave me a curious stare, her eyes sparkling. “Your story. You’ve fallen on some very hard times for someone so lost in this world. Who would I be if I turned a blind eye to that?”

The waitress set a new mug in front of me. I still couldn’t believe I’d try cider again so soon, but with Ms. Harshwhinny’s assurances that it wouldn’t result in a repeat of last night, I’d lost my timidity. “More wine, ma’am?” she said to Ms. Harshwhinny.

“Does it look like I’ve finished?” she replied, swirling her beverage in her half-full glass. Funny, she treated everypony else with either brisk professionalism or obvious disdain. Not me.

She watched the retreating waitress, then let her gaze drift back over to me. “Honestly, you’re the kind of pony we all wish we could be. So purely innocent, so excited to see everything for the first time. And, unfortunately, so easy to hurt, since you wouldn’t expect ponies to be capable of doing that to you. We should all have such a zest for life.”

The foam on my cider bubbled up, deflated, dissipated, disappeared. How could I follow that? She made too much out of me. Cup Cake, Mayor Mare, Igneous Rock. Those were the amazing ponies. Not me.

“Like I said,” she continued, “if we as a society stop valuing that naivete, I’ll have outlasted my desire to work for its benefit.” And she flashed me the fullest smile I’d yet seen on her. “You bring out the best in others, Miss Quartz.”

I couldn’t make any kind of coherent response to that, even if I believed it. So I just silently sipped at my cider until she’d tired of scoffing at various bar patrons, and we went back to her apartment, where I might resume my quilting.

---

I didn’t know how the time escaped from me or how Ms. Harshwhinny didn’t feel put upon, but over two weeks had passed, and I still traipsed all over town with her, shared a drink at the bar before dinner, and stayed on her sofa. And I’d learned a lot. This really was a pretty town. And there really were nice ponies here. I just couldn’t tell the difference until it was too late.

But my thoughts kept wandering back to something I’d wondered when I first got here: did every place have a Cup Cake? Ms. Harshwhinny couldn’t have been more different than her, but she’d done no less for me. Yes. Yes, every place did have a Cup Cake, it seemed.

Ms. Harshwhinny’s duties had brought her once more to the town hall, so I took up my station on the bench. I’d sewed more and more of the quilt during my evenings at her apartment, and she’d even tried her hoof at one block. A little lopsided, but no more so than Mayor Mare’s first effort, and like it, only a bit of scrutiny could single it out from the rest. That was the second time I saw her wearing a full-bore smile.

But today, my needle remained in my saddlebag. Instead, I found my place in Mayor Mare’s book. To my surprise, somepony joined me on the bench.

“Hello again, kid.”

“Oh!” That donkey! “I apologize for last time. I was in a dreadful mood.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “I could tell. That’s why I sat with you. Misery loves company, right?”

Immediately, I thought of Bell Hop. He’d kindly offered his time, but I hadn’t considered going back to see him again. “Things are better today,” I said absentmindedly as I scanned down another stanza of poetry whose meaning was lost on me.

“LIfe’ll give you a reason to think so,” he grumbled, “until it pulls the rug out from under you again.”

Ms. Harshwhinny had spoken of naivete, but this donkey lived at the opposite end of the spectrum—he had a severe case of world-weary gloominess. “What happened?”

Quite possibly more than one thing, but he had that dogged cling to his pessimism that suggested a single fervent hope dashed instead of constant failure. He had a job, after all, unless he’d lost it since our first encounter, and he looked well fed. “You wouldn’t understand. What’s true love to someone so young?” If he could tell I was only halfway listening to him, he didn’t let on.

“I am betrothed to Igneous Rock Pie.” He blinked at me and didn’t speak right away, silent as a silicate, as Father might say, so I got through another incomprehensible short poem.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Name’s Cranky Doodle, by the way.”

“Cloudy Quartz.”

He sat up straighter and ran a hoof through his thinning mane. “Last year, I met the most amazing jenny,” he said, his eyes twinkling with whatever tableau existed in his mind. “At the Grand Galloping Gala, and we danced the night away. We couldn’t have been more perfect for each other, but come morning, she was gone.”

Hm. Maybe she hadn’t been as enamored as he. But I dared not suggest that. “What did you do to find her?” I’d just started a rather lovely nature poem, but I paused after the first line. He deserved my attention.

“Looked around all of Canterlot, but no hope there. She had no means of staying after the Gala. She’d made that clear, but we didn’t connect again in the morning. By then, it was too late. I would have followed her anywhere. Anywhere.”

Chasing something through an unfamiliar world? Now he really had my attention. Still, a kindred spirit, it seemed. Except one thing. “Then you gave up.” I hadn’t gotten to that point in my own journey yet.

“Kind of. No.” He forced out a rough sigh. “It’s complicated. See, I had to come back here for my job, but on all my lunch breaks, I walk over here—” he rolled his eyes up and traversed his gaze across the vaulted ceiling “—and go through the public records, just in case I unearth a single mention of Matilda. If I had luck on my side, she would’ve turned out to live here. So of course she didn’t.”

He fell into silence again, so I showed him a sympathetic smile and returned to my reading, retracing that opening line. It drew me in like none of the others had. It felt like a teasing memory of childhood, of my days spent playing after chores, romping through the fields and woods with Igneous Rock, and then the second line—

My jaw dropped, and my trembling hooves nearly lost their grip on the book.

“…rocky with promise, overgrown with heart…”

“It’s her!” I shouted. His head jerked toward me.

No way something she’d simply read could have become her life’s meaning, not in that manner. Those were her words. She’d written them. And she’d shared that with me and nopony else.

My heart nearly tore from my chest, and I entreated him with tear-filled eyes. “It’s not enough! Thou hast to go, wherever it taketh thee, all over Equestria. Look for her!”

Everything crashed down on my head, and my stomach lurched as if I’d had too much of that cider, and not the virgin stuff. The snuggling, the kissing, it… I didn’t know. I’d never sorted all that out, but I did know that I’d do anything to be Mayor Mare’s friend again. Just to talk to her, to see her, to laugh with her. To find that place of rest.

I’d failed her. If I really loved her, in any capacity, how could I have just abandoned her? Never contacting her, always justifying it with a flimsy excuse, because I was too afraid of what I couldn’t even define, because I’d let all the shiny baubles distract me from what really mattered!

“You had something special, something that you may never find again! You can’t let that get away from you!” He scooted away from me with a grimace as I snapped the book shut and held it to my chest. “Don’t give up on her, please. Find her, no matter what, or you’ll always regret it!”

“Y-yes,” he said, gulping and staring wide-eyed at the floor. “I-I could, I could ask for travel assignments at work, use the vacation time I’ve built up…” For the first time, he met my eyes. “What if I don’t find her?”

“Then you gave yourself the best possible chance, and you will have experienced a lot of new things along the way.” It seemed the roam-springa had wisdom for those in the outside world as well. Good ponies sought wisdom.

A timid smile emerged. “I-I’ll try that. Thank you, Cloudy Quartz.”

And with a quickness anathema to his previous trudging, he hurried out the door.

The silence gathered against me like a snowdrift, and only then did I relax my hold on Mayor Mare’s book. A piece of herself she’d never shared before, except anonymously, but she trusted me. I flipped to the page again and read the remainder of that poem.

I absolutely loved it.

---

“I think I see what you mean,” I said, “about ponies in situations that just speak to you, and you have to help them. I met somepony like that today.” Off and on, I’d tried things other than virgin cider. Today, Ms. Harshwhinny had suggested strawberry lemonade. It actually tasted pretty good!

She touched her glass to her lips, maybe drinking some wine, maybe not, and nodded. “Yes, we regain a little of ourselves when we do that, and not just for the special cases, either. How did it turn out?”

Honestly, I doubted I’d ever know. “I could only help him choose a path, but at least he started down it. The rest is up to him.”

“Interesting.” She drained the last of her wine and stood, leaving a stack of coins on the table. “If you recall, on the first morning after we’d met, I said we needed to discuss where you go from here. I think it’s time, but better if we wait until we’ve gotten home.”

Oh… yes, I couldn’t stay with her forever. My ears drooped.

But her eyes softened. “I mean in life. I didn’t mean I was kicking you out. You have a purpose, and we need to make sure you’re accomplishing that. Stagnating will do you no good. Always forward! I don’t think either of us can abide an idler.”

True enough. And I did still need to decide what to do about… all of it. I glanced at her coins. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t pay for much. If I’d only been able to get to Ponyville—I have some money in the bank there.”

And she glared at me like I was one of those simpletons she complained about every day. “You do realize banks have branches, right? You could have gone to any bank in this city and made a withdrawal.”

“N-no.” I could have gone to Canterlot and caught up to Prim Hemline. I could have gone back to Ponyville. I could have avoided being a parasite to Ms. Harshwhinny. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she said, dabbing at my eyes with a napkin. At least I didn’t have eyeliner to run. I hadn’t worn makeup in weeks. “I’m not mad. I’ve enjoyed the companionship, and if I’ve managed to give you some peace, it was well worth it.” Then she reached an arm around my withers and corralled me toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go home and cook dinner.”

Yes, we’d had fun cooking. She’d said her job made her travel a lot, and she mostly had to eat restaurant food, but when she got home and could spend time cooking, she could unwind. Only good fortune smiling on me yet again meant that she hadn’t needed to leave town since we’d met.

We walked side by side down the gaslit streets, and after a few blocks, the same questions that always teased at my thoughts once more cried out like a hungry infant. “Why are you helping me? Why do so many ponies want to help me? Why do I deserve it?” I could never repay them all, not even close.

She stopped, right next to a darkened alley, and looked me in the eye. “Because you’re beautiful.” An honest answer, I guess, but not one she’d given me before. Would she still like me if I hadn’t been a model?

“I mean—” she started, then shook her head. “You are beautiful.” She lightly touched my cheek and brushed the few hairs escaping from my bun. “But you’re really beautiful where it matters. In here,” she said, poking my chest. “You’re so full of wonder and joy and kindness, like everypony wishes they could be.”

I didn’t even do anything for that. I didn’t earn it. So I teared up and sniffled, and she reached into her saddlebag for another napkin, but she never got there—I pushed her into the alley, against the wall, and kissed her.

She backed off just enough to let my skewed glasses tumble off my nose and catch on their chain, then she pressed in, one hoof around me in an embrace and the other running along my neck. My hair tie soon came undone, my mane spilled over her arms, I tasted wine on her lips—I could have floated up from the pavement and touched the sky!

Her nostrils flared for breath, and her heart beat against mine, her giving heart that she said didn’t measure up, yet it was just as beautiful, but then she paused, panting, our foreheads resting together as she softly bit at my lower lip.

“W-what’s wrong?” I said. Her downcast eyes, her hoof gently pushing me away.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this to you,” she replied quietly, as if rationing out her final breath.

My tears had never really stopped, but now they gushed out again with renewed purpose as I picked up my hair tie. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Please forgive me!” I’d offended her somehow, played the game wrong. Something.

But she patted my shoulder. “No, just… Let’s go home, start cooking. I’ll be able to talk if I’m cooking.” With her eyes focused somewhere far off, she lumbered toward her apartment. I actually considered running away. I’d get answers with her, but answers I didn’t want. Answers that would explain why I wasn’t worthy of her.

Ten minutes later, I set my saddlebags down next to her sofa and walked into the kitchen with her. Our usual setup ensued: cutting boards out, the hiss of oil in her saute pan, me with the clack-clack-clack of the knife over celery, carrots, peppers, and her peeling garlic.

Everything in the pan, and she turned the heat down to a slow simmer. Then she hugged me from behind, kissed me on the cheek, and began.

“I’m a few years older than you, so I’ve been around a bit. I know how these things work. My job takes me all over the place, never staying still for long, and I don’t have an opportunity for anything but short-term romance. And through those relationships, many with younger folks like yourself, I’ve adopted one chief rule: never leave the other pony in worse shape than I found them. I don’t want regrets or pain on either side.” I only stared at the cutting board, at the loose carrot ends, only fit to be discarded with the rest of the day’s waste. The pan clanked against the burner momentarily as she tossed its contents.

Then she ran a hoof lightly through my mane. “You couldn’t handle that fast pace, going to another city every few days. Maybe you’d get used to it eventually, but you’d never enjoy it. I can tell. You’re the type who needs to find her place and stay there, and the city will never suit you.”

I—I needed to hear somepony say that. I’d thought so, too, but I’d been laughably misguided about so many things. Her hoof still twirled through my mane.

“Ponies have used you,” she said, “and if I went through with this, I’d be no better.”

“But what if I want it? Don’t you?” Another question I shouldn’t have asked, since I just might get an answer.

She squeezed me a little tighter. “I should have seen it from the beginning, when you first told me your whole tale. You don’t want this. You just don’t know that.”

If not for her holding me, I could have reassembled my bun, put my glasses back on. Not looked so pretty. “But you’ve been wonderful to me! Why wouldn’t I want that?” I blinked hard and shoved the knife and cutting board nearer to the sink. “Or am I not worth it?”

“You’re worth more than that,” she said, pressing her muzzle into my neck. “As much as I’d love to love you, that’s not what this can be. And it’s my fault I didn’t see that sooner.”

I sank to my knees and slumped against the counter, but she stayed with me, all the way to the floor. “Don’t you see? You’ve taken every friendship you’ve made and tried to construct a romance out of it. You just didn’t understand—one doesn’t have to become the other. You can love friends just as much while remaining friends. After you tried that with Cup Cake, you were still friends, right?”

We were. I had other foalhood friends at school, too, but I’d grown up now, and… Try new things! Why did it have to be so confusing? “Then how do I know when it’s more than friends?” I said through my sniffling.

“When you really love them and want to spend time—” She exhaled sharply and smiled at me. “You know, it’s kind of hard to say. Of course you love friends. But think of somepony you want to see first thing every morning and last thing every night. Somepony who gives you strength just from a touch or holding hooves. Somepony you could see raising children with, if that’s your thing.”

Mayor Mare. I loved her, I did, but I’d see her on spontaneous visits. I didn’t wake up every morning—and sneeze twice, of course—beaming about the chance to walk over to her office, rushing through my routine to get there faster. I loved her, though, like… like I loved Cup Cake.

“I can tell,” Ms. Harshwhinny said, leaning around to look me straight in the eye, “that you won’t find that with me. And right now, letting you entertain any thoughts to the contrary would do more harm than good. I can’t be what you need: somepony stable, always present, who can give you back the same devotion you keep trying to entrust everypony with. Not many ponies can earn that from you. It’s a rare, precious gift.”

She patted my shoulder again, her subtle warmth radiating through me like the last ember from a blazing hearth. “Keep that for somepony special, somepony who really deserves it.”

As if that made any of this easier. It didn’t solve a thing!

She must have seen my teeth grinding. Or felt my body tremble. “I realize,” she said, “that’s how you already lived, back on your farm. It’s not a ‘new thing’ to you, but I think you’ll find it applies in both worlds.”

The warmth only grew, and my heart stilled, like a hummingbird’s impossibly rapid wingbeats finally taking their rest. Yes, try new things and test them, weigh them. And quite possibly conclude that the old ways worked better for me. Ms. Harshwhinny would probably be happy, but first, I needed to know one more thing.

“You deserve somepony’s love, too. It’s only fair,” I said, and she chuckled.

“Somepony sitting around incessantly waiting for me? Not likely. Another of me, maybe—doing their own thing, just as dispersed around the nation, then intersecting with my life on the few weekends I find myself here.” She waved a hoof at the walls surrounding us, and for the first time, a sheen of tears marked her immutable cheeks. “So I move from island to island, leaving each unspoiled, and once in a while, even I emerge better off.”

“I wish I could do something for you.”

A genuine smile, one no doubt born of days before she’d succumbed to her own loss of naivete, crystallized on her face. “I know. And honestly, the sentiment is enough. Really.” Her eyes crinkled, and she lost some of her stiff posture. Perhaps she’d found rest of a kind as well. Perhaps I’d helped. Good ponies returned favors in kind.

“I think I should return to Ponyville,” I said.

Once more, she kissed me on the cheek, looking more like a proud mother. “And I think you’ve made the right decision.”

Author's Note:

Coming June 14, Chapter 5: Just Desserts.

Comments

[forbloodysummer]

A stallion ambled along the counter, wearing a button-up shirt rather reminiscent of the fashion from last year—how in Tartarus had I learnedthat?

This was a great touch!

Would you be able to say roughly how many years before the show this is set? I had a thought a full generation, but just how long has Ms. Harshwhinny been in that job?

[PresentPerfect]

Ms. Harshwhinny: hero to many.

[Pascoite]

8972788
I didn't explicitly go through and figure a specific age for everyone, but I figure this is about 20 years before present day. Ms. Harshwhinny is about 30 here, and she's been on the job for 5-10 years, though of course she wouldn't have been the chairmare that whole time.

[forbloodysummer]

8972867 Sorry, I meant not so much to have risen that far, but for her to still be in that same role by the time the series rolls around.

Also, I forgot to say: this was a really nice chapter. I liked how you characterised Ms. Harshwhinny, and particularly the climax of her relationship with Cloudy.

[Norm De Plume]

:D You invoked the Campsite Rule, I see. I just found that one last week while I was working on my own fic.

[FanOfMostEverything]

And then came a professional angel...

I do wonder what Prim thought had happened to her latest find. I suppose she might have sent one of the other models to wake her, but still, no message? Not even one of dismissal? Ah well, Ms. Harshwhinny is a far better guardian in Manehattan, especially her advice on the different forms of love. Now to see what Cloudy does with this greater wisdom.

[Pascoite]

8973613
Don't count Prim out yet.

[Always Breakfast]

As much as we giggle when Cloudy starts making out with people, Harshwhinny really nailed why it's happening, and it's actually really sad. She sees tepid acquaintances and full-on suitors, and hasn't really figured out that any kind of affection -- romantic or not -- exists in between.

[Luna Aeterna Solutae]

Cloudy is such a fucking adorable cinnamon roll.
I'd think I'd like to see a story of Pinkie leaving on roamspringa and never returning, and slowly shaking off the Rock Farm.
Of course... only the parents talk like Amish folk.

[CoffeeMinion]

Dude, Harshwhinny for the win. Definite best pone candidate up in here.

But you’re starting to make me prefer your young-Cloudy headcanon to my own, which simply won’t do. You must stop this immediately.