Tough Cookie and Syntax

by Blazewing

Part 1

It was morning in Canterlot. Its restaurants and eateries were gradually filling up as their first customers came to fully rouse themselves with coffee and breakfast. One such establishment was The Golden Apple, one of the city’s most popular and prolific public houses, and already quite busy despite the early hour.

Inside, and seated at a table in a far corner, were two unicorns of distinctly different appearance, so much so that a casual observer would have taken them for table neighbors only by pure happenstance. The contrast between them would have made it very unlikely that any sort of familiarity existed between them. One at least, the stallion (for it was a stallion and a mare seated together) had the look of a member of Canterlot society, while the other might have come from Manehattan or Fillydelphia, by no means meant as a disparagement against such cities.

The mare had a peach-pink coat, dark brown eyes, and a dark red mane and tail, rather unruly, but sleek and shiny to the eye. She was a bit shorter than the average mare, and rather plump. This was further evidenced by her attire: a white tank top, damp with sweat, and stretched very tightly over a round and protruding belly, and gym shorts in much the same way over her ample hindquarters, obscuring her cutie mark. At the moment, she was drinking deeply from a glass of ice water, refreshing herself from a recent and exhausting bout of exercising. She had a hardy sort of face, but with no marks of unfriendliness.

The stallion, on the other hoof, had a powder-blue coat, dark-blue eyes, and a mane and tail a shade of blue in between, more neatly managed than the mare’s. He was slender, upright, and immaculate in attire, dressed in a gray jacket and black trilby hat, with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. His cutie mark was comprised of the letters A and E joined together. An air of perfect serenity and calmness surrounded him, his eye steady, his expression denoting both geniality and cleverness. He paid no mind to the mare guzzling down water before him. On the contrary, he was reading a newspaper, held in front of him with his magic, insensible to all else around him.

The mare finally set her glass down with a grateful sigh, wiping her lips with the back of her hoof.

“Boy, I needed that,” she said, in a hardy, streetwise voice. “Nothing like a jog around Canterlot to get the blood pumping, eh, Syntax?”

The stallion, thus addressed by this name, didn’t so much as move the paper to look at his table-mate.

“I should think so,” he said, in that cultured, cosmopolitan type of voice habitual to native Canterlot citizens. “I admire your dedication to physical activity, Cookie, even if it makes no alteration in your abdominal circumference.”

The mare, labelled as Cookie, knit her brows.

“In Ponish, please, Mr. Language Master?”

Syntax sighed, bemoaning having to dumb down his vocabulary to a capacity understandable to his more crude companion. He folded his newspaper up and looked her straight in the eye.

“You make a good show about exercising, yet you don’t get any thinner.”

Cookie scoffed.

“Look, Tax, we’ve been over this already. I don’t need to get thinner. I don’t exercise to lose weight; I do it to stay active. The problem with most fat ponies is that they just sit around all day doing nothing. They don’t have to be skinny to still be able to do stuff. I like doing what I do, but I’m not giving up on hayburgers and milkshakes in order to keep doing it. And besides,” she added, loftily, “unlike those ponies, I’m not fat. I’m ‘stout’. There’s a difference.”

“Of course there is,” said Syntax, with a smirk, as he picked up the paper again.

Cookie rolled her eyes. As she herself had attested to, this wasn’t the first time Syntax had made a pass at her bulky figure, nor would it be the last, she was sure. She knew he was only looking out for her health, and she appreciated it, but he was her partner, not her doctor.

At just that moment, a unicorn waiter appeared, bearing a tray with two plates of eggs, toast, and fruit salad, along with two cups of coffee.

“Ah, about time,” said Cookie, as hers was laid down. “Thanks.”

Syntax merely nodded his appreciation as his plate was set down, and the waiter retreated. Cookie dug in hungrily, while Syntax took his time, burying himself behind his newspaper again. By the time Cookie was ready to speak again, she had already scarfed down her eggs and toast, and was now gulping down large spoonfuls of fruit salad.

“Anything interesting today?” she asked, as Syntax idly sipped his coffee.

“Oh, the usual,” he said. “Things are still winding down after the nationwide magic scare.”

“Hoo boy, that was dicey,” said Cookie, wiping a lock of her mane out of her face. “For a while, I thought I’d forgotten how to do my own spell, until I heard everypony else had lost their magic. Definitely didn’t do much good for the business.”

“Quite vexing, I agree, especially for unicorns.”

“And they’re saying it was some student from Princess Twilight’s School of Friendship?”

“That’s what they reported, yes. For somepony of such a young age and adorable appearance, she was apparently very clever, duplicitous, and power-hungry, not to mention unrepentant of her crimes, prepared to flee and start anew rather than atone for what she did. Although, happily, she seems to have been the only bad egg out of Princess Twilight’s class. From what I hear, the rest, especially the students who came from outside Equestria, have shown remarkable promise.”

“That’s good to hear. Still, is it true that that filly was sent to Tartarus? I mean, what she did was awful, sure, but she’s still a child, isn’t she? Was that really the best thing for the princesses to do?”

“It is not up to us to dictate how royalty decides to punish the guilty,” said Syntax, with dignity. “They act as they see fit, for the benefit of Equestria and its subjects.”

Cookie rolled her eyes again.

“You’d have made a good lawyer, speechifying like that,” she said.

“My brother would be glad to hear you say that,” said Syntax, with a small grin. “He’s a lawyer, and he’s quite fond of making filibusters, the way he rambles on about justice. A shame he never went into the study of languages as I did,” he added, half-regretfully. “He’d be interested to see how many of them say quite a lot to express only a little, a point of familiarity he’d undoubtedly recognize.”

Cookie snorted with laughter, thumping the table with her hoof.

“Ok, that was a good one,” she said, snickering. “How come you never joke like that more often, Tax?”

“Oh, I never joke,” said Syntax, composedly. “I may make a wry observation from time to time, but it’s not in my custom to joke.”

“Meh, suit yourself,” said Cookie, shrugging.

There was a pause, during which Syntax turned the page of his newspaper. Cookie took a sip of coffee, then cleared her throat.

“So, nothing new in the winds today then?” she asked, casually.

Syntax didn’t reply. Cookie frowned slightly.

“Nothing up our alley?”

Again, Syntax didn’t reply. Cookie snorted, then asked, with a very deliberate and purposeful tone,

“Nothing interesting?”

Syntax looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“By which you mean?” he prompted.

Cookie huffed in exasperation.

“You know what I mean,” she said, testily, leaning forward and nearly upsetting the contents of the table. “Any new reports? Any new mysteries? Any new leads?!”

“Shh!”

Syntax, after having first placed a hoof over his plump companion’s muzzle to quiet her, looked all around him in the packed eatery. Nopony was looking their way, and were in fact engrossed in their own affairs, in spite of Cookie’s momentarily raised voice. He sighed impatiently and removed his hoof.

“Haven’t we spoken enough of your imprudence, Cookie? Talk of that nature is not suitable for public ears, lest it attract unwanted attention.”

Cookie’s ears flattened as she sat back, pouting. She knew Syntax was in the right, but disliked being spoken to like a misbehaving foal. Syntax cast another look about, then learned forward. Cookie raised one of her lowered ears.

“We’ll continue this discussion at the book shop,” Syntax said. “There, at least, we can be guaranteed some privacy.”

Cookie’s eyes lit up.

“So there is something?” she asked, eagerly.

“Perhaps,” said Syntax, with a small smile.

Reinvigorated, Cookie returned to the remains of her breakfast, while Syntax returned to his newspaper.

***

In a certain corner of Canterlot, adjacent to Restaurant Row, there stood a stately book shop, named Trotsworth Tomes. Sadly, the founder of said shop, Mr. Trotsworth, had long ago passed on. Since then, the shop had fallen onto hard times. Without the superintendence of the worthy literary mind, it foundered under ponies lacking the organization and knowledge he possessed. Shelves were haphazardly stocked, books were misplaced, left lying around, or even stolen, and the staff ponies were idle, lazy, and underprepared to answer customer queries.

Thankfully, nowadays, the shop was steadily regaining its reputation, now that Syntax, whose grandfather had known Mr. Trotsworth, had taken ownership of it. Like a ship helmed by a skillful captain, Trotsworth Tomes was leaving the dangerous waters it had been mired in with Syntax scrupulously righting what had gone wrong, putting the disorganization to rights and restaffing with ponies who could be trusted to do their jobs. Even so, to preserve the memory of the pony who started it, his name remained affixed to the shop front.

After breakfast at The Golden Apple, Cookie and Syntax made their way to this shop, amidst ponies who had shaken off the stupor of early morning, and were now alert and active. Cookie had divested herself of her jogging gear, and was now attired in a dark green vest, which comprised her sole form of casual dress. Her cutie mark could now be seen on her curvy flank: a scroll of parchment. She also, by way of habit, had placed the blossom of her favorite flower in her mane. She never said why she did so, but her friends agreed that it was a nice touch.

The bell of the shop tinkled as the two entered. While perhaps not as well-stocked as the Canterlot Archives, the royal library, or the library of the Crystal Empire, Trotsworth Tomes still possessed an impressive quantity of literature of all genres: fiction, non-fiction, even children’s. Scattered about were lamp-adorned tables surrounded by chairs, as well as armchairs beside side tables, all placed for the comfort of reading patrons.

Cookie, who had been full of anticipation ever since Syntax had hinted there was something to tell her, was about to start asking about it again, when the bell rang behind her. Turning, the two saw a skinny young unicorn mare with an orange coat standing behind them, her brunette mane done up in a ponytail, her brown eyes blinking benignly behind a thick pair of spectacles.

It was one of the shop assistants Syntax had hired after he took over. True to his nature, he ensured that whoever he took on lived up to his expectations of integrity, efficiency, and politeness, and so she did.

“Good morning, Paige,” said Syntax.

“Good morning, Mr. Syntax, Miss Cookie,” said Paige, in a tone almost as polished as that of Syntax, and accompanying it with a bow.

“Morning, Paige,” said Cookie. “And I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me ‘Miss Cookie’. Just Cookie’ll do.”

“My apologies, Miss– Excuse me. Just Cookie.”

Cookie rolled her eyes but said nothing. If this sweet-natured filly had a fault, it was, perhaps, that she was a bit too formal.

“Mind the shop for me, Paige,” said Syntax. “Cookie and I have private matters to discuss in the back lounge.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And while you’re at it, could you bring me a copy of Discoveries of the Undiscovered, by Strawvinsky?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Without even taking a step away, she lit up her horn. From the topmost shelf of the first non-fiction bookcase, a thick, hardcover volume bound in black and silver was levitated down to float right in front of her boss and his friend. Cookie let out a low whistle, impressed. Syntax smirked and took the book in his own aura.

“Excellent,” he said. “Thank you, Paige.”

“You’re very welcome, sir,” said Paige, bowing her head again.

“She’s incredible, that filly,” said Cookie, as she and Syntax walked towards the back of the shop.

“Indeed,” said Syntax. “She amazes even me sometimes, and I’m not a stallion who is easily caught off guard.”

Syntax led the way through the alleys of bookshelves, the book he had requested floating before him. Cookie followed, though with a little difficulty, as her wide frame brushed up against the shelves as she passed. It was a common hazard for a pony of her girth, having trouble maneuvering through spaces that were much roomier to smaller ponies. Still, they didn’t have to go very far.

A solitary bookcase, full of faded and dusty volumes, sat at the very back of the book shop, hidden from view. It was obvious even at a glance that it was never touched by even the most devout patrons. With a rapidity and exactitude that proved how often he had done this, Syntax pulled one book from each shelf until they were sticking over the edge, then pushed the second one he pulled back in. There was a clunk, then a rattling noise, and then the bookcase slid away, revealing a doorway hidden behind it. Through this went the two friends, and Cookie’s tail had barely whisked inside before the bookcase slid back into its original place. She shuddered.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she muttered.

The passageway led into a simple but well-furnished room, something like a sitting room. A pair of cushy chairs were settled around a square table over a rug, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A tall wooden radio sat in one corner, a refrigerator in another, and a newsrack full of newspapers and books in yet another. The last corner was taken up by a writing desk, with all the appearance of being frequently used, but frequently tidied as well. This was Syntax’s private office, something only he, Cookie, and the shop staff were privy to, and even then, the latter still needed his permission to be allowed in.

Syntax set the requested book down on the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Cookie sat in the other, which creaked under her weight.

“So?” she asked, eagerly. “What are you so hush-hush about?”

By way of answer, Syntax’s horn glowed. As though caught in a high wind, the book opened, and the pages flipped, stopping at last on an entry near the end of the volume. Cookie leaned over, and saw a page headed with the title ‘The Scrolls of Equus’, followed by an illustration showing a bundle of sealed scrolls.

“The Scrolls of Eck-oos?” Cookie pondered, looking closely.

Syntax winced, as though Cookie’s pronunciation actually pained him.

“Eck-wus,” he corrected. “The Scrolls of Equus. Legends say that they are some of the most ancient records of pre-Equestrian history, far before the reign of the princesses.”

Cookie’s eyes widened.

“Is that right?” she asked.

“Yes, and the description of their resting place matches that of an ancient tomb in the Badlands, of which this–” Here he magically opened a desk drawer and drew out a faded piece of folded parchment, unfolding it for Cookie to see. “–is a map of said tomb. However, nopony has been able to recover them, despite knowing their reputed resting ground.”

“How come?” Cookie asked.

“Supposedly, they are well-guarded by traps and puzzles. Too many failed attempts, and too many near-death experiences in the far past have turned explorers off to trying to uncover them. Not even the likes of Star Swirl the Bearded, so intrepid and dedicated a wanderer and so powerful a sorcerer, managed to find them. That’s how I came by this map. I can only guess that one such explorer had gotten a hold of it, but got cold hooves when they learned what lay before them, and left this between the leaves before it was donated to the shop. I discovered it was there by pure chance when doing inventory, and kept it hidden. Serendipitous, to say the least.”

Cookie rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Interesting. A well-guarded treasure, potentially older than Equestria itself, that’s too secure for ponies to want to mess with.”

“Precisely,” said Syntax.

“What made you think of them?”

“Well, with the Pillars of Equestria back amongst us in the present day–”

“Still not used to that,” Cookie interjected. “When I heard Princess Celestia had recruited Flash Magnus as a drill sergeant for her royal guard, I thought it was some kind of spoof piece in the news.”

“Unbelievable, to be sure,” said Syntax. “Well, as I say, with the Pillars of Equestria back amongst us, Star Swirl has taken to wandering the land, and he made a brief stop in Las Pegasus to take part in what transpired to be a fraudulent friendship institution.”

Cookie blinked.

“I’m gonna have to ask you about that later,” she said.

“It appears,” Syntax went on, “that during his stay, he was approached by a reporter and, surprisingly, agreed to an interview. In the course of it, he mentioned the mystery behind the Scrolls of Equus, and about where they were reportedly hidden, but how even he was averse to meddling with the countermeasures surrounding them.”

“The chance to find something that not even Star Swirl the Bearded wanted to try and find?” Cookie asked, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm. “I like the sound of that.”

“As I thought you would,” said Syntax. He then added, dryly, “A pity, then, that, despite having returned, his uncertain whereabouts would render you incapable of ‘rubbing it in his face’.”

Cookie gasped, a hoof over her chest, as though Syntax’s words had injured her physically.

“You make it sound like I don’t respect my fellow discoverers,” she said, affecting a wounded tone. “Why, Syntax, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Syntax raised an eyebrow.

“Just last month,” he said, “I remember you being quite celebratory over having discovered the Golden Horseshoe of Mustangia first, prompting Dr. Spelunker, who had made it a well-publicized mission of uncovering it, to declare you, as I well remember him putting it so bluntly, ‘an overstuffed, un-sportspony-like glory hound’.”

A dull red flush colored Cookie’s pink cheeks.

“Ok, so maybe I get carried away when I find something,” she huffed, “but can you blame me?”

Here she thumped the table with her hoof, making Syntax start, in spite of himself.

“Ponies expect me to sit behind my counter in the shop and tell them how old their dusty old finds are, and what they might be worth. And don’t even get me started on the smart-alecks who try to fool me with some ‘valuable find’ that’s really just been rolled around in the dirt and scuffed up a few times. I’m tired of that! I want to be the one doing the finding, Tax! I want to feel some pride in being part of discovering a lost piece of Equestrian history! Don’t you?”

She looked at her old friend with such earnestness, such fervor, such undisguised emotion, that Syntax, taciturn as he was, was moved. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Of course I do. Do you think that I enjoy simply poring over old texts that have already been found? It gets dreadfully dull after a while. I can’t deny the acute pleasure it gives me to uncover the uncovered, to translate the untranslated. In a way, I do understand your frustrations, and your desire for more out of your life. It’s part of the reason why I enjoy these little excursions.”

Cookie smiled.

“So, what do you say, old pal?”

Syntax looked her in the eye and smiled in turn.

“I say that the Scrolls of Equus aren’t going to find themselves.”

Cookie let out a squeal of delight, falling back in her chair with such force that it nearly toppled over, if she didn’t catch herself in time.

“We still need to make preparations, of course,” said Syntax. “It is a trip to the middle of the Badlands, after all. I’ll need to inform Paige and the rest of the staff that I’ll be away from the Tomes for an undisclosed period of time.”

“Whatever time we need, Tax,” said Cookie. “Just tell me when, and I’ll post a sign saying the shop’ll be closed until we get back. Might not even matter. Business has been pretty slow lately.”

“One of the unexpected perks of a slump,” said Syntax. “For now, however, we must keep mum about this. As I have often needed to tell you, you never know what winds may carry careless words to unwanted ears.”

Cookie scoffed.

“You and your pedantic poetics. I don’t want anypony trying to steal our glory, so unless there’s a hayburger in front of these lips, they’ll stay sealed.

“Then that’s as good a promise as I can hope from you,” said Syntax.

***

Just down the street from Trotsworth Tomes, there stood another building, one whose appearance also bespoke a considerable age and legacy. It wasn’t just in the exterior, either. The street window was populated with items made of weathered wood, faded cloth, chipped stone, and worn, tarnished metal. Inside were pieces of furniture, shelves of books, rows of trinkets, pieces of pottery, boxes of jewelry, and much more besides. Nearly all of it was fascinating to look at, especially those items one wouldn’t be likely to find in a normal shop nowadays, but showed unmistakable signs of age and use from bygone days.

This was Curios, an antiques shop that appraised and sold items of considerable age and worth. There was a smattering of these sorts of establishments all about Equestria, though they were more likely than not labeled as mere ‘junk shops’ or ‘second-hand stores’, accepting any item and reselling it if it could still be used. Curios was unique in that it not only put donated items up for sale, but could accurately determine just how old they were, and have a clearer say on their value. So it was in the days of its perceptive former owner, Knick Knack, and so it was today with his successor, Tough Cookie.

In Cookie’s case, it was thanks to her special talent: using her magic to determine the age of whatever she chose to scan. This spell was never off by more than five years, so Cookie’s analyses were nearly always accurate. This meant that, as she told Syntax, if a pony tried to pass off something as older than it really was, Cookie could see through the deception easily. This made her respected by antiquarians, but disliked by con artists. It made no difference to her. The spell could work on both inanimate objects and living creatures. If used on the latter, they wouldn’t even feel the spell being cast on them, and the accuracy in determining their age was never off by more than a few months.

As a filly, it hadn't been long after she discovered her signature spell before a wide range of possibilities opened up to her young mind. Apart from the usefulness of determining if certain foods were still fresh or past their expiration date (an important perk for a filly who, even at her age, was becoming wider than she was tall) and finding out how old her friends’ pets were, she could determine the age of fellow ponies without needing to ask them. This made her the bane of middle-aged Canterlot ponies who felt bespeaking their true age was below their precious dignity, and who could hardly contain their indignance at Cookie’s impetuosity if she slyly hinted at it. It had also gotten her in trouble at school, when she made one too many jokes about her history professors knowing their subject all too well, when they were ‘practically old enough to be there when it happened’. This had given her the reputation of a rascal among the older ponies of Canterlot, but her friends thought she was brilliant and funny, and to her credit, she never used her talent to blackmail or bully anypony.

Unfortunately, while Trotsworth Tomes saw a fair bit of business nowadays, patronage for a shop like Curios in an aristocratic city like Canterlot was hit or miss. Some days it saw a decent flow of customers, allowing Cookie to keep herself busy with appraising items, arguing over their authenticity, or chatting it up about certain pieces or new discoveries. Other days saw the shop practically empty apart from Cookie herself, for she was the only staff member to keep it running at all. Her predecessor, Knick Knack, had had too many incidents with shop assistants neglecting their duties, so when she took possession of Curios, she resolved to keep it running with a staff of one. Of course, this meant that slump days gave her the perfect excuse to close up early, and if, by chance, somepony had stopped by looking to do business, they were usually back first thing the next day, so no harm, no foul.

Today was yet another sluggish day. Ponies passed by on the street, sure enough, but the most any of them did was give the shop a casual glance, if that. Cookie saw it all, of course, from where she sat behind the counter, her forelegs folded on top of it, her chin resting on her forelegs, and her work glasses perched on the end of her nose. She let out a bored sigh, making her pudgy cheeks wobble.

“We could’ve headed out today,” she mumbled. “Nopony would’ve noticed. I’ll betcha as soon as we go, that’s when all the big customers will come crawling out of the woodwork, and by the time we get back, they’ll have lost interest. That’d be just my luck.”

A loud gurgle suddenly sounded from Cookie’s stomach. Her horn flared up, pulling a glass jar full of chocolate chip cookies across the counter over to her side. The lid floated off, a cookie floated out, and she popped it into her mouth, munching away.

“It’s a miracle I even make enough bits to get by,” she went on, with her mouth full. “If it weren’t for our adventures, I’d lose this place, and then where would I be? Bumming off Syntax and helping him sell his books. Old Knick Knack would haunt my nightmares if anything happened to this place.”

She popped another cookie into her mouth, wiping the crumbs from her lips with her hoof.

“Maybe I should get an assistant,” she muttered. “At least then I wouldn’t be sitting here, stuffing my face and talking to myself like a crazy pony.”

Just then, the doorbell tinkled as the door opened. Cookie sat up in a twinkling, straightening her vest and adjusting her glasses, trying to look professional, even with her belly pressed up against the counter.

“Welcome to Curios,” she said, in her best ‘customer service’ tone. “How can I help you?”

“Well, well. Still collecting dust in here with the rest of your trinkets, Cookie?”

Cookie’s smile dropped. A unicorn mare had stepped inside. She had a cream-colored coat, brown eyes, and a chestnut mane and tail. In contrast to Cookie’s considerable size, this mare was curvy but sleek, her mane silky and shiny. Her cutie mark was a yellow teardrop-shaped gemstone. She was quite pretty, though this was marred by the look of smug disdain on her face, the face of one who constantly has the smell of something undesirable in their nose.

“Hello, Beryl,” said Cookie, coldly. “Long time no see.”

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Beryl asked, walking up to the counter with a sway in her step. “I hardly see you anymore, Cookie, but then again, I just assume that you’re stuffing your face down at the Golden Apple as usual.”

Cookie rolled her eyes. Jabs at her gluttony were nothing new to her by this point, but Beryl had been rather fond of poking fun at her weight when they were in school together. They had taken a few of the same classes, and had never seen eye-to-eye. The final straw was when Cookie had proved, with her spell, that Beryl’s beloved pearl necklace, the envy of many a mare at their school, wasn’t nearly as old and valuable as she pretended it was; in fact, it hadn’t even been made of real pearls. Beryl had treated her as a sworn enemy from then on, while Cookie just found her obnoxious.

“So, what brings you here?” Cookie asked. “This hardly seems like your kind of shopping spot.”

“Well, normally, yes,” said Beryl, casting a disparaging eye over the collection of aged miscellanies. “I much prefer being surrounded by the shimmer of new gems, rather than the dust of old junk.”

Cookie snorted. Beryl just couldn’t get to the point right away, could she? She just had to throw in a few more barbs. Beryl’s horn flared, and she drew a cloth bag from the saddlebag at her hip.

“Still, I wanted to see how old this was, and I couldn’t think of anypony more qualified to ask than you. Believe me, I tried,” she added, snidely.

Not even deigning to respond, Cookie turned her attention to what Beryl had brought. From inside the bag, she drew out a small silver goblet. It was tarnished in one or two spots, but it still shone in the sunlight filtering through the shop. Cookie’s interest was piqued, in spite of herself.

“Where’d you find that?”

“At the Trader’s Exchange in Rainbow Falls, funnily enough. I went there for a browse, and saw this among a whole set of silver kitchenware. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough to trade for the whole set, and this goblet really was the most intact and presentable piece of it. The owner told me it was ‘priceless’, but I figured I should get a second opinion.”

Beryl smiled with what she must’ve assumed was innocence and pleasantry, but Cookie didn’t smile back. Her eyes narrowed as she looked from the goblet to Beryl, but she said nothing at first.

“Yeah, I can tell you how old it is,” she said. “I do charge an appraising fee, though.”

“Oh, now, Cookie,” said Beryl, in a playfully pouty voice, “you wouldn’t charge an old friend for a small favor, would you?”

“Of course not,” said Cookie, dryly. “If you find one, I’d be happy to let them know, but you’re the only one here, so ten bits.”

Beryl scowled, but said nothing. She drew out a hoof-ful of bits and placed them on the counter. Smirking, Cookie slid them aside, took the goblet in her magic, then stared hard at it, her horn flaring brighter as she cast her spell. Numbers filled her head, going higher, then lower, until a final answer came to her.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” she said, handing it back. “This goblet’s got about 200 years behind it. A little polish, and you’ve got some prime silver there.”

Beryl’s momentary scowl vanished, a look of gleeful triumph on her face as she put the goblet away in her saddlebag.

“Wonderful. Thanks, Cookie.”

“Oh, no problem. It’s a nice, rare treat to see anything valuable in your hooves before you go and dismantle it.”

Beryl raised an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” said Cookie, her eyes narrowing. “I heard from Syntax about how you outbid everypony at the last grand auction for that gem-encrusted tiara. It was at least 500 years old, belonging to a late Maretonian duchess, with seven precious stones set into it. And what did you do?”

Here, Cookie’s voice took on a heated tone as she leaned forward over the counter, glaring daggers at Beryl.

“You took it apart to make pendants out of the stones, using the rest of the tiara for embellishments! 500 years of Maretonian smithwork, broken to pieces and sold as trinkets!”

Beryl looked unconcerned.

“And? What of it? That tiara became mine fair and square, and I put it to the use that suited me. Is it a crime to decide what to do with my property?”

“It’s a crime against the memory of that old tiara!” snapped Cookie, rearing up and slamming both hooves on the counter, while also making her gut plop down on top of it. “It was a priceless piece of Maretonian history! It deserved to sit preserved and respected, not chopped up into baubles! Think of how much it was worth at the time, and what it was worth now, before you decided to recycle it! The same goes for that goblet! Just wanted me to tell you if it was ripe enough, huh?”

Beryl shook her head with a small laugh.

“Celestia, Cookie, you sound like one of those rabid comic book collectors, and you’re about as girthy as a lot of them that I’ve seen.”

She prodded Cookie’s abdominal pudge with her hoof at this.

“I have a business to run, and I’m simply being creative with resources. Compared to what else was put up at that auction, I bought that dusty old tiara for a pittance. It’s not like anypony else would’ve done any better with it. And this goblet was, as I said, the nicest-looking piece out of the lot. It’s not like it was being put to better uses. What would you do if you’d gotten it, or the tiara: stick them up for display in this dump?”

Cookie said nothing, but continued to scowl.

“And as for Syntax,” Beryl went on, derisively, “he was only at that auction to add some moldy old volumes to his already-moldy collection, so what business is it of his what I do?”

“Hey, leave Syntax out of this,” said Cookie, sternly.

“Why should I?” Beryl asked, coldly. “The both of you have the same problem. You’re both stuck in the past, skulking in the shadows of the old days while ponies like me are moving on in the world. When you’re not squatting in your musty shops, you’re bumbling around Equestria, looking for even more old junk to add to your collections. Face it, Cookie: you two are a pair of fossils,” she added, with a scornful laugh.

Cookie bared her teeth furiously. Sure, she complained about sitting behind her counter all day with nothing else to do, but this shop was still dear to her through her old mentor’s legacy, and nopony dragged Syntax’s name down as well and got away with it, not on her watch. She would have dearly loved to grab the nearest piece of bric-a-brac and chuck it in Beryl’s smug face, if she wasn’t concerned about damaging the bric-a-brac.

Instead, she said, icily, “It figures someone who sees the world through a jeweler’s loupe wouldn’t understand something’s historical value, instead of just how many bits they fetch on the market. As for why Syntax and I keep these old shops, it’s because we have strong ties with them, though I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about integrity or commitment. Tell me: which naive young billionaire are you making spoil you this month, until his money runs dry and you toss him away like a used tissue? Don’t think I don’t know about what happened with Silver Coin or Lucky Day.”

Beryl’s tan cheeks flushed pink at this, and her smug smile vanished. Cookie had struck a nerve. She spluttered in indignation for a second or two, unable to think up a counterattack, while it was Cookie’s turn to smirk. Finally, when no retort would come, Beryl merely scoffed, stuck her nose in the air, and flounced back toward the door. She stopped to glare over her shoulder at Cookie.

“You think you’re so clever,” she muttered. “At least I can get a coltfriend. The only stallion who could stand a blimp like you is Syntax.”

“Then that just means my somepony’s still out there,” said Cookie, shrugging. “Better to find them at the right time than burn through poor saps waiting to get their money bled out. And for the record,” she added, “a lot of this stuff may be dusty and old, but they’d still sell for a lot more than that old pearl necklace of yours.”

Beryl snarled, yanked the door open, and stormed out, slamming it behind her. As soon as she was alone, Cookie burst into a hearty fit of laughter, collapsing back into her chair.

“Hoo boy, I really needed that,” she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. “That just made today worth it.”

She sat back, still giggling to herself for a bit, when the doorbell rang again. She straightened up, and saw Syntax approaching.

“Ah, hey, Tax. You missed one heck of a show here.”

“I figured as much. I just passed Beryl on the street, coming from your shop, and she had a face that would curdle fresh milk.”

“She just came by to try and get under my skin. She wanted to find out how much a silver goblet she found was worth, and I called her out for what she did with that Maretonian tiara she bought at the auction.”

“Ah, yes,” said Syntax, grimly. “If I hadn’t been at that auction to bid for that collection of Trotcer’s poems, I might not have known.”

“So she called us a pair of fossils for sticking around our shops,” Cookie went on. “Made me wanna deck her right in the muzzle.”

Syntax’s brow furrowed at this, both at the idea of Beryl calling him a fossil, and at hearing Cookie contemplating violence on her, however much it might feel deserved.

“And did you?”

“Nah. I did better than that, and asked who her new temporary coltfriend was this month. I even brought up Silver Coin and Lucky Day.”

Syntax snorted, covering his muzzle with his hoof. Cookie grinned to see herself get such a reaction from her normally stoic friend. However, Syntax felt it was below his dignity to give way to mirth at such a joke, so he cleared his throat.

“By Star Swirl’s bells, Tough Cookie,” he said, “you’re one of the most spiteful, vindictive mares I’ve ever met.”

“Turnabout’s fair play, Syntax,” said Cookie, cheekily. “She started it, so I finished it.”

Syntax merely shook his head.

“Well, I’m not here to chastise you for giving Beryl a bit of just desserts,” he said, adopting a more confidential tone of voice. “I came by to see when you would be ready to set out on our ‘little trip’.”

Cookie’s eyes lit up at these words, and she leaned forward so that she and Syntax were almost nose-to-nose.

“I’ll pack right after closing, and I’d be ready to leave tonight, if we could.”

“Tomorrow morning, at the earliest. I still have some preparations to make. I have to hire a private airship to take us to the Badlands, for a start. Nopony knows, do they?”

“Of course not. It’s been a slow day today, and I didn’t say a word about it to Beryl. Like she’d care. She can’t make brooches out of scrolls.”

“True. All the same, not a whisper, not a syllable. Meet me at the Tomes tomorrow morning at 6 AM, and we can be off.”

“All right. It’s a pain to have to be up so early when it’s not for a jog, but it’ll be worth it. You can count on me to be there.”

“Excellent,” said Syntax, patting her hoof. “I’ll see you then.”

With that, he turned to leave, but paused at the door, much like Beryl.

“Incidentally, Cookie,” he said, in a light, casual tone, “Beryl’s ‘new coltfriend’? Young Lord Goldstrike.”

Cookie’s jaw dropped.

“No!” she gasped. “The gold baron’s son?”

“The very same. I saw them together, side by side, Goldstrike looking like the perfect picture of a lovestruck fool. Such a pity. He always seemed to be a stallion of good taste. When did he suffer such a lapse in standards?”

Cookie snorted with laughter.

“Now who’s the spiteful one?” she asked, giggling.

Syntax merely winked, and went on his way.

Comments

[Dramamaster829]

So I've been exploring around FimFiction a bit bored out of mind, when I stumbled upon this fascinating piece. The very look of this image almost made me think of 'Laurel and Hardy' but more the way their actors 'actually' act as opposed to their characters. With Tough Cookie acting the way Laurel would in the movies and with Syntax resembling Oliver's posh characters, plus I like how it adds a bit of that 'Indiana Jones' flair which I've been a fan of (Having seen nearly every bit of material about the famous explorer and his ventures). What I like about these ponies is that they are not the standard uppercrust, nose-in-the-air kind of ponies, but the kind that don't mind getting their hooves dirty in search of their greatest find. I don't know if this will be an ongoing set of stories after this one, but I do think I'm going to enjoy myself reading this.

Plus, that bit where Tough Cookie has an interaction with that Beryl lassie almost makes me think of one of Indy's old rivals, where Indy would do all the work finding a lost artifact and that guy in the fancy white suit takes the treasure for himself (Note I'm referring to the main antagonist of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark). Not that I think she might be a surprise villain, but given history with these kind of stories you always look for something that sticks out.

[Xanni]

understable

- what an amusing horse pun typo for "understandable!"

[Blazewing]

10475509
Thanks for catching that, lol