Ichor

by Ice Star

Chapter 10: Now Hiring

Molasses Syrup whistled contentedly which filled his store with the sound of a jolly tune. Sparkling glass jars full of a rainbow of candies were stored behind them. The cheeriness of the pieces brought a smile to everypony who entered — even Mo himself — and were as pretty as wildflowers in Center Park on a spring day. A maze of shelves bursting with other goods boasted all the everyday treasures to be found in the aisles. Cooking supplies, All-Equestrian snacks, rolls of cloth, and any and all practical goods were stocked by the merry stallion. Word of mouth was his catalog, and he took great pride in knowing his establishment had more loyal family shopping here than at Jolly Holly’s place right across the street.

The chime of a bell followed by the sound of wood against a familiar frame caused the stallion to perk up his ears. His eyes widened with interest behind his round glasses, and the earth pony stallion set his polish and cloth under the tall, gleaming wooden counter.

He rarely had any customers around one o’clock, since most foals were still in school. Usually, those that did stop by were parents out for afternoon shopping or a lone pony wanting something to brighten a lunch break. Even griffons from New Shirdal and qilin from Qilintown found their way in, as did ponies from Manehattan’s La piccola Istalia. Every kind of creature was welcome in his store — even the weirdest creature of all: tourists.

Mo did not expect to see a little school-filly standing in the shadow of his counter at this time. Her golden eyes were another surprise, brighter than her gap-tooth grin.

“Good afternoon!” she squeaked. Why, that couldn’t be right. All the little ones were always crying ‘hello’ and everything else under the sun that gave away their youth. Here was this little filly, so oddly professional with her greeting. “Are you Grandsire Mo?”

“Absolutely, little miss! I am Molasses Syrup, and this is my general goods shop. Is there something I can do for you? Do you need help finding something?”

“Yes, yes!” she cheered.

The little earth filly’s saddlebags were not unusual; everypony had those. Perhaps their larger size was the intention of a thrifty parent wanting her to grow into them. She probably wanted a bow for her bags or for her mane. Maybe something in school colors? Celestia’s All-Fillies Academy for Astute Learners was just down the street. She probably went there and just slipped out of her uniform.

“Would you like some candy to go with your lunch? A dozen pieces are only a bit!”

The filly tilted her head to the side, letting her unruly spikes of a gold mane fall with the motion. “I wanted the sign! The one outside!”

“...My ‘now hiring’ sign?”

“That one!” the filly cheered, “Yes, that one!”

“Little one, my sign is not for sale.”

“I needa job!”

Mo scratched his chin, his white mustache drooping with his thoughtful frown. “You want a job as a clerk in the store, hm?”

“Yes! Mother comes here all the time. She says it is a good earth pony store. That means it's proper to apply here.”

“Any creature can come to my story, little miss.” Why an ‘earth pony store’? Very few earth ponies in Manehattan’s community would call his store that, and Mo always kept them as reluctant customers until they caused trouble. None of them were pleasant types either. Thinking they could have a foal was such a shame.

“My mother is Miss Petunia Godsdamned Petals!” cried the little filly, bouncing up and down, entirely innocent to the fact that her mother had no middle name! “Everypony calls me Marigold, but I've got 'nother name too!”

“Oh my Celestia!” breathed Mo. “Mind your words, dear. That is not something to go shouting around, and it's certainly not right coming from a little filly like you.”

“I am ten years old!” Marigold insisted, wrinkling her muzzle up in the mirror image of her mother. “That makes me an adult.”

Molasses Syrup paused, thinking about how the ways this situation could go. No daughter of Petunia Petals should be judged for her mother’s sins — why else did she say everypony only called her Marigold? It had to be for the same reason behind the surname that was forced upon her. The court fight to cement the 'Blueblood' as an addition to the little bastard's name had made the papers years ago. Petunia had no family name herself, but 'Marigold Petals' would have been a much more scandal-free name than trying to add in her lover's legacy to her daughter's name.

Petunia Petals also lived in Tartarus’ Kitchen, which meant this little one came far enough, assuming she had not taken a cab. Though it was hard to imagine Petunia was equally stingy with bits when it came to her own foal's welfare. What mother would be?

“Ten years old is enough for a first job. Do you know how to be a clerk? Is this alright with your mother?”

“I can cook and clean!” yipped Marigold, her mane bouncing with her. “I take out the trash! I mailed a postcard once!”

What a good little filly, Mo thought, being so responsible.

“And your mother is okay with you being outside of the house for so long?”

With Petunia Petal’s condition, she barely made trips to Mo’s store without having her legs bundled up and strapped into the typical cart-like wheelchair used by those with her affliction. Manehattan cabs just were not equipped for such a thing, so with that and Petunia’s obvious love of luxurious mare’s fashion, it was not difficult to understand why she rarely came by. Other stores likely had this little messenger sent to them.

“Mother wants me to get a job!”

The poor filly was probably used to shopping closer to home, or at least one could hope she would. Getting the word out about his shop was one thing, but if it made a filly come this far across the island, he knew her safety came into question too. There were discount passes, pay-in-advance passes, and a few others that came to Mo’s mind — but maybe there was something that this filly would be able to get through a help office because of her mother’s status.

“Can you get a cab pass? Have you tried talking to the office downtown that helps ponies like your mother?”

Marigold nodded, shuffling her hooves.

“Taking a boat around the island might be good too.”

“Yes sir.”

“Most creatures just call me ‘Grandsire Mo’.”

Marigold looked at him, her golden eyes blank.

“Your mother is from Ponyville; do they call grandsires different names there? Grandfather? Grandad?”

Marigold’s stare was still as blank of understanding as blind sunshine on the sea. “Sir, I was born in Canterlot.”

Molasses chuckled, only for the filly to keep stonewalling him. A no-nonsense kind like her might be good to have around, and with any luck, she would cheer right up talking to others her age some more. “Consider yourself hired, little miss. Now, let me show you around the store, where you'll find what ya need to stock, and the papers I'll need you to bring home to your mother.”