Sun Redacted

by daOtterGuy

Agent Smith Reporting In

On the corner, the one where the streets transform from the drab cobblestones of the lower end to the polished paved stone of the upper class, sat the Evening Watch. It was a strange establishment, open from the hours of 2 pm to midnight, serving a particularly devoted clientele that enjoyed the eccentricities of its operation.

It, unlike its morning-oriented peers, sold primarily bitter treats alongside sweet coffee drinks. It was an acquired taste that not many were fond of, but those that did adored it, knowing that only this cafe could provide such unique flavours.

The Evening Watch had a dark colour palette with a sleek modern design on the outside, lit up by a neon white sign signifying its name. The inside was decorated with simplistic decor and cozy furniture that, in combination with the dim lighting and somber background music, lulled ponies into contented drowsiness.

This was at odds with the cafe’s owner, Spearhead.

He greeted customers with ‘wazzup’, wore large colour-clashing scarves around his neck, and had the demeanor of a frat boy serving alcohol in red solo cups when the party was long over, but he’d gotten there late and was desperate to inject a new pulse into the dead partygoers.

Furthermore, his build and the way he stood suggested ‘guard’ rather than ‘barista’. No one knew anything about him, and, when asked, he would reply with such generic answers that many were caught between believing that he was either the most boring pony alive or ostensibly lying.

Despite this, he offered a second well-used service of the cafe, which was to listen. No matter the situation, Spearhead had your back and would support you through whatever terrible, awful thing that happened (usually getting dumped).

Spearhead stood behind the coffee counter cleaning out mugs from the busy day. His last customer had left some 30 minutes prior, and closing time was but a mere few minutes away.

A quick glance at a hanging wall clock noted the exact time left in his shift to be two minutes. He glanced next at the receipt pinned to the cash register to confirm his last order of the night.

---

EVENING WATCH CAFE

101101101

Agent Smith
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Receipt #02-P-D-1487
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TAKE AWAY
1 Apple Cinnamon Latte SML 00:00

Thank you for your service.

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Delivery to be made by usual means.

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A latte took approximately one minute and thirty seconds to brew. With the amount of time he had, he could have it ready as soon as his last customer trotted through the door.

Nutmeg from a swamp. Cinnamon harvested from the Badlands. Coffee beans ground from the pits near Tartarus. Milk taken from a cow fed only lemons. The bitterness was all brewed and frothed, poured into a black coffee cup and served before the only stool at the bar counter that had been left during his usual closing routine.

Just in time, the door swung open with the somber tingle of brass bells as his final customer strode across the floor and took a seat on the stool.

“Wazzup, bra?” Spearhead greeted.

“I ain’t your bra, sonny.”

“Sure ya are, Granny,” Spearhead replied. He smiled warmly. “All ladies are bras, all dudes are bros, and if they're in between, they’re buddies.”

Granny Smith frowned. Her kerchief was tied around her mane to keep it out of her face, which seemed pointless, as she was covered in bright red scratches and pumpkin pulp. At her side, looped onto her saddlebags, was a small wooden cage of old branches where a miniature pumpkin thrashed around inside.

“L E T U S F E E D!” it moaned.

“Shut yer trap,” Granny snapped. She banged the cage against the counter, causing the pumpkin to screech. “Yer lucky I don’t make ya into a pie with what you tried to do to my grandbaby.”

“Woah, bra. Is that the infamous Pumpkin Party?” Spearhead asked.

Granny’s frown deepened at the mention of ‘bra’. “It is, and I’ll be glad when I don’t have ta worry ‘bout this varmint hidin’ out in the woods.” She took a sip of her brew, and her frown turned into a scowl. “Nasty stuff. Don’t know why anyone drinks this.” She took another sip.

“Same as anypony. To make the sweeter moments sweeter,” Spearhead replied.

Granny grumbled incoherently for a moment. “Suppose I can see the fuss then.” She took a few more sips, savouring the brew. “Will make the reunion with my kin all the better.”

“Waitin’ back home?”

“Yeah. Must be worryin’em sick, but can’t leave this thing unattended or it’ll just go back to gobblin’ up pony innards again.” She glared at the creature caged at her hip. “Gross little pest.”

“So, will you continue with Redacted after this?”

“...We’ll see.” Granny took another sip, staring off into the middle distance as she did. “This one was my goal from the start, and now that I got it, don’t see the appeal of continuin’.”

“Retirement is always an option. Enjoy the passing of time on your front porch knowing you avenged Ole’ Spartan Apple.”

“Not all of us git a cushy cafe job when we call it quits,” Granny retorted. “Why’d you even take this post anyways?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Do those reasons look like an orange monster with a bad taste in stallions?” Granny asked.

Spearhead didn’t say anything. Instead he drew himself up to his full height, towering over the older mare as he continued to smile at her. Granny glared back. She held strong for a moment, but nerves got the better of her and she looked askance.

“...Didn’t mean to poke at yer kin. Been a bad day,” Granny muttered.

“Nah, no worries, bra,” Spearhead said, back to his chipper self. “Though the—” a loud ping interrupted him “—ah nevermind.”

The wall behind Spearhead slid open. An earth pony stepped out, pushing a rolling dining cart with a cloche on top. The pony was dressed in a full body black suit and matching hat that covered most of their features. They rolled the cart around the counter and stopped it near Granny.

Granny passed them over the cage that rattled in her grasp. The suit pony lifted the cloche to reveal an empty plate and placed the cage onto it. They slammed the cloche down, silencing the creature.

“Anything we should know?” the pony asked.

“No. Just make it suffer,” Granny replied.

The pony nodded and rolled the cart back through the wall, the panel sliding shut behind them.

Granny slammed her cup back onto the counter, the container drained of its contents. She jerked her head in Spearhead’s direction.

“Well, I need to be goin’,” Granny announced. “Got grandkids waitin’ on me and yer company is terrible. Have a good night.”

“Have a good night,” Spearhead replied.

Then she left.

---

Long after the sun had set and just after the last train had stopped for the night, an old mare made the long trek from Ponyville Station to Sweet Apple Acres.

When she arrived, she found her three grandfoals huddled together on the porch awaiting her return. The last of her immediate kin.

The warmth of their embrace that followed was everything the old mare needed to finally dispel the sorrow in her heart.

Comments

[Sunny]

The continuity despite the mostly disjointed chapter nature continues to fascinate :)