Of Hooves and History

by Ahmad J Charles

A Cloverleaf Conversation

Sunny was an early riser. It was barely half-past 7 am when I heard the gentle thuddering of the elevator’s wooden cogs and the calm rush of the kitchen tap. My mind swam a little, and I shuffled my sore ankles around a bit, rolled over, and dozed off. But not before my ears briefly caught wind of an audible grin.

Five hours later, my eyes started flickering and my stomach started grumbling. Yup, it was about damn time I got up. Wincing a little at my sore joints, I pulled out a tube of ointment from my bag to alleviate some of the pain. One wash-up session later, I entered the kitchen and popped some bread into the toaster, only to notice a pot of baked beans left on the stove. How sweet of you, Sunny.

Sitting back in a chair, I gently rolled my ankles in a massaging motion whilst chowing down on crisp buttered toast. The rest of my body would gain total relief over time, but my ankles were needed pretty much immediately.

With my belly full and my mind fully awake, I tossed my shirt into a plastic bin, and slid on a pair of camel-colored khaki pants, white dress shirt, and a grey V-neck sweater. Hopefully Sunny wouldn’t mind me using her dad’s clothes hamper. Feeling rather freshened up, I slipped on my Vans and hit the streets – this time on foot.

Noon time was rather interesting; it felt rather quiet, aside from a few colts and fillies rushing to the restaurants to get a quick lunch, and some oldies chilling together and reading the newspapers – all of which had my photos on them. No surprises or accidents there. A few ponies still gasped, frozen in shock upon sight of me, but I simply waved back, and their postures relaxed.

Climbing the steps to the Canterlogic factory was a little tasking, but I soon made it to the top. Double grins where had as my eyes gazed upon the town spread out below and my ears perking up at a little colt’s exuberant chatter about the sweetness of raisins.

At the entrance, I was greeted by a rather cross-looking pony with a hard hat and a stocky body. “Who are you and what are your dealings?” he demanded.

I cleared my throat loudly. “Good afternoon sir. Would it still be lunch break by chance?”

He glanced down at a watch on his wrist. “It is, alright.”

“Perfect,” I said with a slight grin. “I request to speak privately with Mrs. Phyllis Cloverleaf, please. If she is currently available, that is.”

“Wait here,” he ordered, and rang a bell. I stood off to the opposite side of the doorway and listened attentively. Sure enough, the smoothly charming voice of a lady could be heard, gradually getting louder and closer. From the tone, it sounded like she was having some prior conflict.

The doors opened, and before me stood a pony who, apart from being a pony in the physical sense, was a dead ringer for a 1960s librarian. I bit back a smirk at how stereotypical it was. Composure was everything now.

“Whoa! What the – who are you?!” she gasped.

“Hi Mrs. Phyllis,” I began, smoothening out the ridges in my voice and holding out my hand. “My name is Aiden. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Phyllis glanced sideways awkwardly, as if looking for reassurance. Another worker pony smiled and nodded, so she extended her hoof out and stared up at me.

I took the underside of her hoof and gently shook it with a slight O-mouth of surprise at the touch. Whilst I had given Hitch a hug before, these ponies’ fur felt heavenly soft… and also awkward given whose fur it was in the moment.

We smoothly released, and I stated the reasons for my presence.

“Come on in. We can talk upstairs,” Phyllis said with a welcoming gesture, and I followed, taking in the sights of the industrial operations. Given my engineering educational background, it wasn’t too dissimilar from typical “human” operations – hard hats, trolleys, crane arms, welding equipment, a forge, etc. The big questions I held were all centered around the end products and their objectives.

Up on the second level by a balcony ledge, Phyllis explained her technology, and expressed remorse for her prior intentions. I pointed to an empty table at an eating area, and as we sat down, I gradually began unpackaging the box of questions and optimistic, constructive feedback.

“What are your current objectives for the company now?”

“Still reworking the internal structure to a new orientation that is multi-faceted and flexible.”

“Nice. That’s a good approach to have in business.”

“You can learn plenty in twenty years.”

My lips pursed into a little O at that. Two full decades of running a factory building machines that fed off perceived fear. As I glanced down at the worker ponies, my attentive eyes caught sight of a pair of Pegasus watch goggles, which looked like exaggerated 90-degree binoculars.

“Have you considered talking with Hitch?” I mused. “Viewing apparatuses can still work for other purposes – animal observation among others.”

Phyllis’s eyebrow shot up and her head tilted a bit. It looked so smooth, a spark of skepticism went off in my head. “Never thought of it that way. I shall have you know that my product designer has drafted some new plans that will be reviewed soon.”

“Great to know.”

I made a few more passive comments and questions to draw out the discussion. Phyllis seemed like a decent, confident pony who was focused on recovering her self-image and keeping her business afloat with a fresh approach.

“Thanks for the conversation.”

“You are most welcome, dear.”

I gave her a warm smile and strolled towards the stairs, catching a glimpse of an office room with a bunch of papers scattered on it. A stallion was hunched over in a chair, looking as if to be writing down note. Then he took some of the papers and slid them into a trash bin. So Phyllis was busy with re-development of her tech.

The iPad was the first thing in my hand when I returned to the lighthouse. Grabbing the stylus pencil, I jotted down some notes about everything that I had experienced in the past three days – awakening in the submarine thousands of feet below sea level, rescuing a little filly, eating fresh hot soup, and giving Hitch a bro hug. I was about to write up my obsevations on Phyllis’s self-presentation when the clickety-clack of Sunny’s rollerblades on the stone path broke the seaside ambience.

“Hi Aiden! How’d the meeting go?”

“As expected. I don’t have much of a reason to perceive Phyllis as somepony of concern at this point. You finished the first shift?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s head to Bridlewood then! I just gotta pack up my stuff.”

“And I presume that’d take you a whole moon?”

“Nope,” I chuckled. “Just got to decide what’s really needed and what isn’t.”

Back upstairs, I changed into my “adventurer” outfit (khaki shorts, longsleeve athletic undershirt, sneakers), then pulled everything out of my backpack and trimmed down my EDC – iPad and stylus, GoPro kit, sleeping bag, towel, helmet, toolkit… and the topaz ring. I gripped the bike’s handlebars with one hand and the suitcase of clothes in the other.

“Ready for an adventure?”

“You bet, Aiden!” Sunny replied, an eager smile on her face as she tapped her satchel – no doubt filled with her own pony EDC.

We double-checked our bags to ensure we had all important items with us, and walked down the seaside main street together, before ascending the grassy hill beside the Canterlogic factory. Sunny precariously balanced the skateboard on her back, even though I insisted we didn’t need it.

The woods weren’t too dense, and after two false ends, I finally discovered my old campsite. It looked rather glum compared to all the vibrant, upbeat colors of the seaside town, but there were still remnants of the fire pit and the log was still untouched – apart from leaves and bird stool.

“You were sleeping on the ground here?!” Sunny exclaimed, before shaking her head in sympathy.

“It’s okay, Sunny bunny,” I consoled, caressing her head and neck. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

Sunny smiled and nuzzled my side, and I briefly felt an electrifying pulse flow through my body. Yet it felt smooth and gradual, like the conduction of warm bodies – which it was, anyway.

I set the bike and suitcase down and led her to the cliff edge… where my beloved sub was still resting, despite having drifted a couple feet. Sunny froze, her eyes wide with awe and shock.

“That’s the submarine, and we gotta get down there,” I stated flatly, hoping to jarr her out of a trance.

Sunny’s ears jiggled as she shook her mind free. “But how?”

“With this,” I declared proudly, holding up a slack of the climbing rope and checking the winch hook.

“Cool!” Sunny beamed, excitedly rushing over. “Can I try first, please?”

I sat back and pondered for a moment on how exactly to proceed with lowering all our items – and ourselves – down the cliff face. While it could be done piece by piece, I wanted to get this done productively so we wouldn’t find ourselves arriving in Bridlewood at night.

“Two, then one, then one, then – no, one, one, one, two… Got it!” I crowed, jumping to my feet. “You first, Sunny.”

I used a short piece of rope to tie her satchel’s chest strap to a carabiner, then secured that to the main rope’s hook. Using the winch, I simply reversed the coil, slowly lowering her down the cliff face.

“Use your hooves to grip onto the surface as best you can,” I instructed. “Hold the rope with one hoof.”

Hearing Sunny’s queasy voice whilst being unable to actually see what was happening made me feel uneasy. And then the inevitable happened; Sunny lost grip and flailed – I could feel it in the rope’s sudden tug.

“Aiden!” she yelled.

“It’s okay!” I called down, leaning as far forward as I could without letting go of the winch crank. “Just try getting close enough to grip the surface!”

Through the sound of lapping waves below, Sunny’s groans and huffs could be heard as she shifted back and forth to move herself back to the cliff. I gently winded up the winch to reduce the slack… and heard a faint pant.

“Got it!” Sunny breathed. “About halfway there.”

I kept slowly releasing more and more rope, until a whoop could be heard from amongst the waves.

“Success!”

I sighed with relief and leaned out over the edge. “Don’t forget to unclip!”

It took Sunny numerous tries, but she eventually released the carabiner. We exchanged a distant hoof-bump and I dashed off to retrieve the other items.

Author's Note:

Soory for the unexpected hiatus. I'll try to commit to this as best as possible.

Comments

[StarzGecko]

Hold on you made them tall as the shoulder? That’s a bit scary horses are tall but ponies?

[Ahmad J Charles]

11301855
Waist-height actually, so about 8-9hh - a teeny bit taller than here.