The Endeavor Within

by Ghost Mike

Relinquishing

“So where does that leave us?”

“Um, well…” Toots fumbled with the sheets in hoof, scattering several onto the desk, before pulling out one. “If everypony on the factory floor dropped everything and chipped in, we could have the equipment back in working order in two days.”

Phyllis relaxed slightly in her chair. That loss of labor was still bad, but not unsalvageable. Release Day was far away enough that with sufficient overtime, they would still reach desired stock. It was crucial all pre-orders got delivered on time. Even if their projections on that front for today had vastly underperformed, effective marketing could make up the difference.

Before she got too complacent, Phyllis sat up. “What about the damaged products? How much of a write-off are we looking at?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Toots fished out another sheet, pushing it across the desk. “Sweets just got back with the final evaluation. Only about thirty-five percent of the components are reusable.”

In trusted company, Phyllis had no issue letting out a frustrated groan, which she was glad for, as it would have been hard to keep in. True, only a hoofful of products were damaged, but it was still a nasty blemish on the balance sheet. At least she held the manticore’s share of the stocks. Canterlogic had gone a whole year without an incident like this, she could appease the board.

Phyllis returned herself to full composure. “Thank you, Toots. This day’s been stressful for us all. You did what you could.”

Toots flashed an appreciative smile. “No problem, Mrs. Cloverleaf. But… how are we going to ensure this doesn’t happen again?”

Phyllis pursed her lips, propping her knees on her desk. Pressing question indeed, and one she’d been avoiding in the event’s immediate aftermath. She’d been so sure last time wouldn’t repeat, and yet here they were, to far worse results. She couldn’t just wave it off again, that much was sure. No, decisive action that ensured no repeat performances was essential.

“Go fetch her.”

Toots flinched slightly at her bluntness, but being a model supervisor, he hastened to obey, dropping the clipboard and sheets. Moments later, the office door closed.

Now alone, Phyllis’ first thought was to run through prepared reasoning and fallbacks. But after a moment, she stopped. That worked well with all manner of meetings and projections, where all necessary information was known well in advance and it was just a formality. There were too many unknowns here, and the known broad strokes weren’t enough to go by. No, to keep risk in check, she would feel the situation out, proceeding from there. Nopony got to where she was without being good at improvising, even if it wasn’t a skill one wanted to fall back on. Parenting had drilled that in.

Casting her eyes around her office, lit dimly through the shaded blinds, her attention fell on a propped frame by her desk, showing Phyllis slightly younger – early enough in her career that her necklace had but a single pearl – her foreleg wrapped around a red colt trapped between accepting the embrace and blushing furiously.

Phyllis smiled proudly, taking the photo. It had been a tough few years, watching her son lax around and make little effort towards his goal of becoming town sheriff, despite wanting it very much. He had inherited plenty from her, but sadly not her drive for hard work. Yet now he was Deputy Sheriff, she was confident the hooves-on experience would change that.

She was no fool – even without her connections, she knew full well Hitch had basically given Sprout the job. But Hitch was such a hard worker, if anypony could help Sprout, it was his childhood friend, who had made the change to adulthood with much grace – mature, hardworking, yet always pleasurable and a joy to be around. Even if he was so efficient he would probably stay sheriff for many years, Sprout would still do much good, and make Phyllis proud. Not that she wasn’t already proud of her little budding vegetable.

A knock at the door stirred Phyllis from her thoughts. “Come in,” said Phyllis in a clipped tone, returning the family photo to its position and sitting back formally. That had been close, she’d almost forgotten what was coming.

The door creaked open. In entered Sunny Starscout, a young mare barely out of foalhood. Her head hung low enough that Phyllis couldn’t yet see her face, but the slowness with which she closed the door told Phyllis much. She noticed Sunny lacked her usual pouch bag she invariably wore, and in the absence of any other clothing or gear, she seemed strangely small. And she was already the barest fraction under average height.

Sunny raised her head, looking straight ahead. Phyllis registered many conflicting emotions there, a skill she was very good at. Disappointment, desperation, resignation. But no guilt, no regret. Phyllis’ face tightened. As she had feared, but expected, Sunny stood by her actions.

This made things hard. It was never easy to help somepony who didn’t see it as help.

Phyllis nodded her head sharply in the chair on the desk’s other side. Sunny hastened to obey, seating herself. Once there, though, she hung her head again, though not so low Phyllis couldn’t still read her.

“Ms. Starscout.” Still Sunny didn’t move, her mouth set in the same resignation. “Do you realize how much trouble you caused Canterlogic today? No, forget Canterlogic – caused Maretime Bay today?”

Finally, Sunny made a move, sighing. “Yes, Mrs. Cloverleaf. I’m not blind.”

Not in her eyes, Phyllis mused. She shuffled aside some of the papers, fishing out one with hoofwriting and a lot of numbers, then pushed it across. Sunny took the paper, bringing it close. Her eyes traveled over the figures, puzzling it out.

“What is it?” asked Sunny finally. Judging by her tone, she had a suspicion.

The lines in Phyllis’ face tightened. “That? That is the sum total of the financial losses we suffered today from your damage to our products and demonstration equipment.”

For the first time since Sunny entered the office, Phyllis saw a different reaction. Sunny’s face lit up, eyes widening, but then her pupils averted themselves. Even her closed mouth didn’t keep, now ajar. Most telling was the marginal softening of her cheeks. Perhaps, in seeing the consequences, accidental or otherwise, of her fruitless crusade, there was hope yet. “And it would have been a lot more, if our new sheriff hadn’t caught you in time.” Sunny blinked, pupils darting sideways, rubbing one foreleg with the other.

Phyllis decided appealing a little deeper was the right call. “You know, he worries about you. A lot.” Sunny stopped rubbing her foreleg, instead holding her hoof close, eyes glued to her heel. This, Phyllis didn’t get, but it mattered little, she knew what to say. “And he’s not the only one.” Sunny’s eyes widened, and she looked up, stunned, as though questioning the statement’s validity.

As Sunny stared, eyes wobbling in thought, Phyllis couldn’t help but let her narrowed eyes relax. Sunny had that effect on ponies. Even when you were at odds with her, you couldn’t be fully angry. This was partially why, when Sunny tried to undermine last year’s presentation, Phyllis let her off with a warning. Even now, she would have full legal justification to fine Sunny the bulk of the damage charges, but she knew she couldn’t. And not because the only thing Sunny owned of monetary value – the lighthouse – was a historical landmark, had no practical use nowadays, and was too tied to Sunny’s beliefs to even be appealing to rent out.

No, it was because Phyllis felt too much pity for Sunny. Pity… and empathy.

“Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Phyllis’ eyes returned to Sunny, observing the young mare lean across the desk. Gone was the silent, quiet resignation, for Sunny had clearly pegged a punishment wasn’t forthcoming yet. “Aren’t you tired of constantly living in fear?”

Phyllis had to put effort into suppressing a sigh at this familiar song-and-dance. “Fear is a perfectly rational pony response, Ms. Starscout. It’s what keeps us safe. If the town tram was about to fall over on you, what would you do?”

There was a short pause before Sunny got her mouth moving. “…Run out of the way.”

“Exactly.” Phyllis put on her best executive smile, it rarely failed. And even when it did, it always let her appraise the situation further. “The principle’s the same no matter what we apply it to. Like we always say, ‘To be scared is to be prepared.’”

“But this isn’t a rational fear!” Sunny leaned up, slamming a hoof on the desk, though with enough restraint that it didn’t shake. It was a measure of how good Phyllis was at staying collected that she didn’t flinch. “Spending every moment frightened of ponies we haven’t seen in living memory? What’s right about that? Instead of being afraid of them, we should be trying to reach out to them! To befriend them! Then we wouldn’t have to be scared!” Sunny paused, letting out a small pant. Phyllis sensed she wasn’t done, so she continued to wait, to let Sunny finish.

“And look at how big your company is! Everypony worships Canterlogic, and they worship you!” Phyllis was too used to flattery to be moved, though she couldn’t help but admire Sunny’s ability to at least propose actions alongside pleas on the fly. “You’re in a prime position to help change things!” Sunny let out a longer, ragged pant. Seeming to register how intense she’d gotten, she sank back into her chair, though her eyes never left Phyllis.

It was at that moment Phyllis realized she couldn’t get through to Sunny the same way she had with other dissenters in the past. Oh, Sunny was hardly the only pony over the years Phyllis had seen holding out from the truth. But they all came round – if not through Canterlogic, then through friends and family looking out for them. A benefit Sunny didn’t have. The only friend who cared enough about Sunny for that, Hitch, was too close to give her the kind of tough love needed here.

For the first time in a while, Phyllis let her features soften more than she normally permitted, except when it was just her and Sprout, of course. After a few moments, she was ready. Gone was the founder and top executive of Canterlogic, and in her place was Phyllis Cloverleaf, just another pony in town. All that remained was a burning desire to help.

“Sunny.” Phyllis cracked a smile at Sunny twitching from the informal address. She always knew the best way to get a pony’s attention. “What would you say if I told you that… I once believed the same things you do?”

In an instant, the distance Sunny had been maintaining evaporated. “Really?” She leaned forward again, eyes flickering between being narrowed or widened.

Phyllis chuckled lightly. “I know, I probably wouldn’t believe it either! But it’s true.” She pushed her own chair back, standing up. With calculated precision, she opened a side drawer underneath her desk. Inside lay various trinkets, including spare earrings and a few backup ID tags. Digging past those, she pulled out an old frame from the drawer’s end.

She nudged the drawer shut, then trotted around her desk. In no time at all, Phyllis stood by a perplexed Sunny, holding out the wooden frame. The instant Sunny laid eyes on it, she froze.

Phyllis heard the barest traces of breathing as Sunny slowly extended a hoof, taking the frame. She watched as Sunny brought it close, examining the faded photo within. Running through short grass on a bright day was a young filly barely identifiable as Phyllis. And not for the lack of an ID tag, earrings, or her pearl necklace, she mused dryly. The filly was many years off needing glasses, she hadn’t yet bunched her tail up, and most strikingly, her signature, eye-catching coiffured curls were strung along in a simple ponytail. What really made her different was the boundless joy in the filly’s face, a far cry from the middle-aged mare observing the photo, who showed happiness often but largely with restrained calculation.

Sunny fumbled in her seat, her other hoof reaching out to touch the photo. Her focus was not on the pink filly, but the blue colt running nearby, light purple streaks already showing in his royal blue mane, no less happy than his companion. Phyllis did her best to remain still as Sunny’s hoof lightly passed over him.

Sunny finally looked up, pupils vibrating as they locked onto Phyllis’. “Is this… my dad?” she whispered. Phyllis gave the smallest of nods, keeping her wistful smile in check, yet still prominent. Sunny returned her gaze to the photo, sinking a little lower.

“Me and him, we did everything together,” Phyllis said softly, just as focused on the photo, though she kept her other eye on Sunny. “School projects, playtime, you name it. My parents used to say we were inseparable.” She smiled wider, chuckling lightly. Sunny’s eyes shifted to Phyllis. “Probably right.” Sunny failed to stifle a small giggle, focusing on the two foals again.

“And then, when he gained his new beliefs… Well, I was right there with him.” Sunny sat up properly, turning to Phyllis. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Phyllis. But after a moment, Sunny’s face relaxed. Phyllis’ nostalgia held enough water to convince Sunny she was sincere.

“What… what happened?”

Phyllis felt the peaceful nostalgia leave her face. “When you get older, you get a reality check. Ponies got less tolerant of outliers like us.” Her smile vanished, the events clear even with age. “Our other friends vanished. Yet Argyle remained committed.”

Phyllis was surprised when Sunny’s face hardened, an unusual sight for her, eyes clenched. “So you just turned your flank on your foalhood friend?”

“No!” Phyllis had to take a step back, so unexpected was the accusation. As gentle as she was being, she would not stand for that. “Not in the slightest. I may not have been as unrelenting, but for then, I kept faith. He kept busy with research into… history, anyway. I suppose that was the big difference as we got older.” Phyllis gazed around at the various plaques and projections in the office. “I looked to the future, while he focused on the past.” She did not fail to notice Sunny sag at these words, gently setting the photo on the desk’s edge. The edge of Phyllis’ mouth twitched.

“No, what truly changed things was… when a pony went missing.” Sunny whipped around, shocked, her braided ponytail lightly striking the photo filly. “Back then, Maretime Bay was far more lenient about how far outside town we ventured. One pony wandered too far.”

Seeing Sunny transfixed, Phyllis considered slowing for a moment. No, the blunt truth was needed. “I joined the search party. When we followed, his tracks went cold, right by Zephyr Heights.” She saw Sunny tremble, a ragged breath escaping. Again, Phyllis had to focus to keep pace. “There was another pair of tracks. They came from the city, and returned there alone. When we dated them, they were on the cliff edge at the same time as our pony. And after scaling down the mountain… we found him.”

Phyllis kept her head lowered, a moment of silence. She hadn’t known the pony in question at all, but that didn’t matter.

“That… that can’t be it.” Sunny struggled to even get the words out, so it was a miracle she managed to stand. “Maybe… he fell by accident.” With surprising energy, she stepped close, right up in Phyllis’ muzzle. “And the pegasus tried to save him!”

Phyllis couldn’t help but sigh. Typical of Sunny to grasp at straws like that, even with the evidence spelled out. “Argyle said the same. But when everypony pointed out the pegasus could have flown down and saved him, even he had no answer.”

Sunny looked as though she was about to object again, raising a hoof. Her pupils darted around, between the door, Phyllis, and the photo. Finally, she sat back down. She did not hang her head. Indeed, she kept her gaze on Phyllis. Quite a feat, given the history she’d just digested.

Phyllis let her eyes soften. Harsh realities were never easy to take. “After that, our town was very strict about wandering beyond the perimeter. And me, well, I realized that kind of child’s play had no place. We’d never attack, but we needed to be prepared for anything. So, I founded Canterlogic.” Phyllis turned to the photo. “I’ll give your father credit, he wasn’t angry, even if he didn’t agree. He always was a gentlepony. And we remained on good terms.” Sunny’s ears flicked up a little, the mildest of a spark in her eyes as they drew back to the photo. “It wasn’t until Sprout came along that I realized associating with his beliefs had ramifications.”

A long silence followed. Sunny was still enough that she could be mistaken for a statue. Were it not for an occasional eyelid blink, Phyllis might have thought so.

She regretted putting Sunny through this. But it was the only way to get her to see reason. She stepped closer, and used a hoof to cup Sunny’s chin, turning the mare to face her.

“This is why we have to be prepared, Sunny. It’s a rational fear, and we all need to be united in it. Believe me, if things didn’t have to be this way, I would take it. But there are some differences that just can’t be made.”

Putting on her best warm smile, one she truly meant, Phyllis backed up. She’d done her part. All she could do now was wait for Sunny to relinquish.

Sunny held Phyllis’ gaze for a moment. Her eyes shifted to the photo – Phyllis saw them linger on her filly self briefly before they held longer on Argyle.

Sunny’s eyes closed. Phyllis could even spot her eyelids clenching, trembling. Phyllis’ stomach churned, feeling sympathy for the tug-of-war Sunny was going through. She’d been about the same age when she’d woken up herself. She vowed that as soon as Sunny recognized the reality for what it was, mere seconds from now, she would console the poor mare.

Sunny’s eyes opened, and Phyllis froze. The fire and drive from earlier, reduced to a burning cinder during Phyllis’ tale and the aftermath, was not just back in full force. It was even stronger. Phyllis didn’t move as Sunny stood.

“I’m sorry, Phyllis.” Sunny spoke in a soft, calm voice that still carried more passion and resolve than anything she’d said thus far. “But this is a difference that needs to be made.”

Phyllis had no response, not even a fallback. Her lips fumbled, words failing her. She was dimly aware of one hoof frozen just off the floor, waiting to raise an objection that wasn’t coming. Sunny truly was Argyle’s daughter… but with far more spirit and willpower than he’d even shown. Phyllis had tried her best, that which caused her to see the light after many years… and it still wasn’t enough.

It was only a few seconds, but what felt like an age later, Phyllis finally recovered. Turning sharply, she marched back around her desk, returning to her office chair. By the time she was seated and facing Sunny again, the normal, everyday businessmare had returned.

“Sunny Starscout, I have no choice. I can’t let you make things worse for everypony else.” Adjusting her spectacles, she regarded the young mare, still on her hooves, with a stern stare. “As of today, you are banned from stepping hoof on Canterlogic premises.” Sunny gasped, but though her eyes dropped in resigned acceptance – just as she’d entered – their spark didn’t diminish. She slowly turned, moving towards the door.

“Sunny.” She froze, hoof on the knob, and looked back, curious. Phyllis took a breath, and returned to her caring, sincere visage.

“Please, don’t make things worse for yourself. Looking after each other is about more than protecting ourselves from outside threats. This endeavor… it’s consuming you.” Sunny didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the dimmed spark. Phyllis let out a long sigh.

“And… I’m sorry about Argyle. He left u – you, too soon.”

Phyllis felt her breath catch in her throat, hoping Sunny hadn’t noticed her slip.

The smallest smile, pained but sincere, appeared on Sunny’s face. “Thank you, Phyllis.” Taken aback, Phyllis could only offer the smallest of her own smiles. There were certain things you had to show unity for, no matter your opposing stances. Regarding Phyllis one last time, Sunny turned the knob, closing the door gently as she left.

Sighing loudly, Phyllis collapsed back into her chair. Only now, alone, did she fully allow herself to recuperate. No small feat, when her last appeal had failed. Nopony had come away happy here.

Sinking further, her eyes fell to the photo frame still on the desk’s other side. Straightening herself in a flash, she swooped it up. The two borderline-unrecognizable foals therein, especially the filly, remained as blissful and ecstatic as they’d always been. Foals never seemed fazed by the cold realities of life. They always seemed to carry a boundless optimism about every day. Something which, against all odds, had stuck with Sunny into adulthood.

“Argyle.” Phyllis found herself whispering despite being alone. “You never really left her, did you?”

Noting the darkening sky through the blinds, Phyllis stowed the photo back in the drawer’s depths, and got to her hooves. There was still plenty to sort out from the day’s events before closing up. With a slow gait betraying her unfocused thoughts, one she resolved to stomp out before meeting any of her staff, she departed the office.

Comments

[silverMEGAlicorn]

Deep down she wanted to believe Argyle, still has sparks of sympathy for their cause, but just needs proof. This is the kind of story we really could have used in the movie.

[Ghost Mike]

11124139
It can be annoying when any piece of media makes some characters sympathetic by throwing others under the bus, or making villains of them. I knew it would be a bit of a stretch to make the Phyllis we see in the film, the most active one against unity, promoting products against it and all, be somepony who once believed the opposite. The key came in the film's implication of her business front-facing persona – of course a company leader puts on something of a face for the public. Leaning into that, and what she might be like when she lets the mask drop, was the answer to making this angle work without it coming out of left field. That, and the story fully relying on the reader knowing things the character's don't from the future events of the film – always a nifty technique with any prequel!

In any case, glad it landed well enough for you to consider it head canon worthy for yourself! Always a nice thing for any author to hear. Especially when most fics with Phyllis in them, whether set before or after the film, write here even more thinly and one-note than the film did.

[Xanderfox]

Ahh the point where we as the audience can see the mistake made because we have knowledge the characters lack is painful, as it should be. As far as Phyllis and the towns ponies knew the Pegasus can fly and unicorns have magic, but we know the other pony had no way to save the citizen from falling, they just had to watch another pony plummet to thier doom. With out that one vital peice of info the situation looks so much worse.

[Yoshifan30]

So what I'm gathering up is this is before the movie at least her adult hood and basically Phyllis was trying to talk with sunny after her last attempt of her shenanigans of her philosophy so she told her about Argyle and her they used to be friends even though they're not now but there was still on good terms but then there was an accident it was nearby where Zephyr height is they thought that one of the Pegasus killed him but we never know what really happened to Argyle but she wants to reason with her that the Pegasus and unicorns are dangerous and that's why they had to prepare whatever they had to do not at War just to protect themself but Sunny refused to believe that Pegasus unicorns or maybe creatures are they are not the enemy that they still can be friends and usually she didn't wanted to do it but she banned Sunny to entering the factory and despite that she didn't wanted to being a bad term with sunny and she really miss Argyle so much as well to be honest I really think that should be Canon because that would explain why she's like that and the relationship between her and sunny starscout