Generosity

by Richie Richter

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rarity stretched herself out and took off through town at a brisk trot. A sullen bank of grey clouds partially obscured the sun. They didn't feel like rain clouds, they were more: make-everything-a-little-more-depressing clouds. Slowly floating in from the west, bound to eventually cover the entire town, but for now, they left the streets of Ponyville in a somber, iron-grey light.

But it was business as usual in the pastoral little town nestled into the foothills of the mountain that held the gleaming capitol of Canterlot. It was picturesque. Perfect. Like a page torn from a storybook. The inclement weather didn't seem to be dampening anypony's spirits, and the usual selection of vendors were peddling their usual goods in their usual spots. Some had begun to close their shops early, not unusual considering it was a Sunday.

Rarity was in especially good spirits, almost skipping, exchanging waves, smiles and a few quick words with some of her friends. She had shoved her conversation with Rainbow Dash to the back of her mind. Part of her couldn't wait to make things up with her, but that issue, she decided, was to be dealt with tomorrow.

The clouds continued to roll in. The density of the buildings began to ease as she ventured away from downtown and through the surrounding rows of quiet cottages. But downtown wasn't the right word to describe it. In Ponyville, there were no towering skyscrapers erected out of steel and filled in with glass. And no dark, cold, steaming alleys that would run between these monoliths. The roads were wide, bright, unpaved, cheerfully decorated, and clean. The filth that clung to the narrow streets of the larger cities was gone. In Ponyville, there were trees. Trees! In the streets! Not lined up in columns next to the street, identical, caged up and trapped by iron grates to contain them, dull green from little sunlight, and living off toxic chemicals. No, these were real trees. Beautiful, healthy trees. Wonderful trees and grasses and gardens full of sweet-smelling flowers and window boxes that flowed with daisies and daffodils and lilies and roses and everything else always bursting with color and life.

There were animals too. Birds fluttered through the the streets, making nests in the trees that filled them. Insects drank from flowers beneath the windows, occasionally landing on your nose to tease you with their colors. When you ate your lunch outside, (which you often did) the little critters would take notice, approaching you, cautiously only at first, begging you to share a piece of your food. You would share, and you would smile as they scurried away to eat. And when you turned back to your lunch, a dozen more would be there, begging.

There was rarely a sad soul in Ponyville. Ponies walked with a spring in each step and a smile on their faces. Sometimes there was a place to go and sometimes there wasn't. Sometimes, they were just walking for the sake of walking. Walking in pairs and groups, greeting other groups and pairs with waves, words, and nods. Even on the darkest of days it was a cheerful place. The village was always busy with peaceful activity. It was a tight knit group in Ponyville. Everypony knew Everypony.

There was rarely a smiling soul in the city. Ponies walked with uncertainty, shoulders sagging, eyes downcast, drooping, tracing the creeping cracks in the sidewalk. Eyes full of worry. Their hooves dragged, struggling for each centimeter. An exhausted frown always stuck to their faces. There was an indifferent blankness in their stares. There was always a place to go, ponies didn't dare leave the partial privacy and comfort of their homes for the distress of the streets without a good reason. They would walk alone, their faces always dug into phones, negotiating the next deal or negotiating the end to the next relationship. When their eyes happened to meet, ponies greeted each other with snorts, scowls, and sighs. Even on bright shining days, there was an air of melancholy that hung over the crowded streets. The city was always clamoring with frantic activity. It was a loose congregation in the city. Nopony knew anypony.

The trees, the grass, the flowers, the birds, the bugs, the animals, the sunlight, the smiles, the laughs, the joy, the life.

The concrete jungle of the modern metropolis supported no such things

Rarity climbed a hill on the outskirts and cast a glance back at her home, the hill provided an excellent vantage point. Streams of light shot through the clouds, coating the town in a shimmering, golden light. Ponyville.

Picturesque indeed.

Sure, Rarity was a bit bias, having grown up in Manehattan. It was far from the best place to raise a foal. Harsh and fast-paced, the city had its charm, all of which was alien to young Rarity. And now it was impossible for her to see in any modern city the warm, inviting hearth that Ponyville so potently offered. Her family had moved to Ponyville after the birth of her sister, and coming here was like a breath of fresh air. In a metaphorical sense, but a literal one too. She loved Ponyville. Loved everything about it. There was no doubt about that.

Rarity returned her attention to the road, she would be close now. The path became rougher, weeds and grasses had overgrown onto it, squeezing it tighter. It ebbed and flowed across the rolling hills and Rarity followed it, still keeping a brisk pace.

As Rarity climbed the next rise, the building slowly came into view, an anemic wooden structure. Simple and sorry-looking, the sides were mud brown and the shingles that covered the roof were charcoal black. Half of the shingles were missing and half of the wooden paneling had gone too. Naked replacement boards had been hastily nailed over the scars in the walls, but the missing shingles had not been replaced. The plywood structure underneath was exposed, but it was only apparent to the careful observer. The exposed wood had rotted from snow and rain, and now the decaying fibers had grown as black as the shingles themselves. The wretched problem had become the miserable solution. How apropos, thought Rarity with a cynical smile. The second story seemed to hunch over the first, like an aging stallion struggling to carry his own weight. White curtains that had turned grey were drawn across every window. Each of these windows was adorned by dark green shutters. Real, working shutters––a testament to the building's age––that were there for more than just decoration. A soft amber light shone through a few of them on the ground floor. A brick stack stood at the back of the structure, and it too was missing pieces.

Rarity traced the deteriorating path up the final hill to the building. Above the door, illuminated by an electric lantern was a metal sign. The letters were inscribed in a bracket that followed the slight curve of the doorway. The black paint had started to chip in a few areas, revealing rusted iron underneath. The sign was supported by two metal posts on either side of the doorway.

PONYVILLE ORPHANAGE

Rarity glanced down from the sign to her shoulder bag. She stared at its brown, faux leather finish, golden zipper and buckle. She recalled the price tag on the exclusive designer item. She sighed and looked to the heavy oaken door in front of her. Iron reinforcements spanned its width. She stepped through the arch that held the sign and stood for a moment, gathering herself. She raised a hoof to knock but hesitated. She brought her hoof to the knob instead and turned it.

They would be expecting her.

–––

The orphanage looked decrepit from the outside. The inside wasn't doing much better. The walls were covered with peeling wallpaper that had a floral red rose pattern against white background. It was difficult to look at, and If you stared for too long, the colors would flow and mash together into a disgusting paste of shape and color. Various landscape paintings were nailed to the walls, bravely providing some sad cheer. Rows of flickering fluorescent lights ran along the ceiling, similar to the ones you might see in the halls of a decaying apartment building. The sound they produced was incessant, like a swarm of bees buzzing overhead. The harsh light they gave off made everything in the room difficult to look at, and squinting was almost a necessity. The tile was gross. Just gross. White had turned to pale yellow, like a thick coat of plaque on a clean row of teeth. The grout was grey and full of dirt and grime, and the tiles were broken in places. Just like everything else.

The orphanage was put together like an old jigsaw puzzle. It was incomplete. Everywhere you looked there was a piece missing. A hole in the wall here, a spent fluorescent tube there, cracked paintings, cracked tile, exposed wiring, chipped furnishings, broken this, broken that, incomplete this, incomplete that. All the missing pieces made everything look unstable, even abandoned. But abandoned, the orphanage was not.

A desk sat in the corner of the room to the right. Unlike the rickety tables and chairs and benches elsewhere in the room, it was big, sturdy, and tall––the pony working behind it was hidden from view. The desk looked like it had been recycled from a bank. There was a small reception window cut into the wood, and there was even one of those swinging, half-door things like one you might expect to find outside a saloon in a dusty western outpost.

Rarity stepped into the harsh light and made her way to the counter. She propped herself up and looked through. A small pegasus mare was hunched over a tall stack of paperwork. A sleek pair of glasses hung on the end of her nose, a string of white beads hooked them around her neck. Her coat was grey, her mane was black, both fitting colors––all things considered. Her mane was held back by a clip behind her head. At the sound of Rarity's hooves on the counter, she looked up from her work and smiled when she saw Rarity's eager face. She couldn't have been more than forty five or fifty years old, but time had not been kind to her. Her face, like everything else, was cracked. Dark wrinkles covered her face, her cheeks sagged, the circles underneath her eyes were magnified by her glasses. Her coat was dull, but her sky blue eyes were bright. They had a complex depth to them. Kind and understanding, but also intelligent.

"Miss Rarity, good to see you," she said.

"And you too, Checker. How have you been?"

"Good," Checker said after a pause, "good, yes...very good." The smile ran away from her face. She was under a good deal of stress, if the mounds of paperwork were any indication. Her deep wrinkles drew Rarity's attention. A horrible thought crossed her mind. You know, Rarity, you too are under a great deal of stress these days. Always some kind of deadline bearing down on you. You certainly don't want to look like Checker in thirty years, not that she is an unattractive mare, no, no. She has great eyes, and that mane, if it wasn't tied up like that, it would be gorgeous! No, she's just a little, you know...saggy. You should do more to relieve your stress... How about...double vacation time! Yes, that sounds good. And...more trips to the spa! Yes, one with Fluttershy and one with Twilight every week. Yes, Twilight likes the occasional pampering, unlike some of your other friends. Not to judge them, of course. Twice a week should be enough. And you should get your hooves on one of those tiny little stress balls. Whenever you're feeling a bit overwhelmed you could just take it and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze and SQUEEZE AND-

"Miss Rarity?" she repeated.

"Um, oh, excuse me, Checker I must have lost myself for a moment. What is it that you asked?"

"How have things been going at the boutique lately?"

"Oh just wonderful. This past week has been one of the best I've had in years!" Checker nodded, and motioned with her eyes. She shifted in her spinning office chair. There was something else she was looking for. "And of course, my weekly donation." Rarity drew out the check and slid it onto the counter. The older mare's jaw dropped. She prodded it with her hoof. Yes, it was real. She looked up at Rarity in disbelief, waiting to be told this was some kind of joke.

"Go on," Rarity said.

"Rarity, this is," she stuttered, she rubbed her eyes as if they were deceiving her, "this is...how muc-”

"6,244"

She had to pick her jaw up off the floor before she could speak. "Rarity, this is just, I can't accept this."

"Absolute nonsense!" Rarity stomped her hoof on the counter. "You need every last bit and you know it. Just look at this place. Even with my donations, it's falling into disrepair. I had a good week and there was plenty left over for the orphanage."

"But this is outrageous! How can you afford to give so much week after week? You need these bits, Rarity."

"No. I don’t, and I know who else needs them a thousand times more." Rarity grinned. Checker looked back at the check before her, still stunned. She removed her glasses, they fell to her neck supported by the string of beads. Her eyes were much less striking without the added magnification.

"I-I don't know what to say..." Checker said. Rarity leaned her head over the desk.

"Then don't say anything," Rarity whispered. Checker smiled back. Her eyes went from the check, to the forlorn state of the room, and then back to Rarity.

"Just...thank you. You have no idea how much this helps."

"It's nothing, Checker, really it isn't. I'm just happy to know that my bits are going to a good cause, and that I'm appreciated." Rarity's eyes moved to the stairwell leading up at the opposite end of the room. "Are the kids?"

"Waiting for you," checker finished. Rarity nodded and lifted her hooves from the counter before making her way over.

"Wait," Checker called to Rarity. She came trotting out from behind her desk through the saloon-style door that Rarity found to be so comically out of place. Checker came right up to Rarity and met her in front of the stairs. Checker was a small, but stout pony. About a head shorter than Rarity, she had a delicate neck and a thin barrel, but thick, powerful legs holding herself up. "Again, thank you." Her tone was very deliberate. "Thank you. We couldn't survive without your donations, Rarity. I don't want to think about what would happen if you weren't here to give your support."

"Don't worry, as long as I'm around, nothing will ever happen to this orphanage. I'll be sure of it." Rarity saw a twinkle in the mare's eyes. Some of her wrinkles seemed to disappear. She stood up straighter and smiled big and wide.

"Rarity?"

"Yes?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Um...well I-" Checker threw both of her arms around Rarity's neck and squeezed. After recovering from the surprise, Rarity returned the hug with a hoof. Checker held her in place for a moment, not wanting to let go.

"Thank you. And bless your kind heart, Rarity, really." Rarity was flushed from all the praise. "Go. They adore you more than I ever could." Checker returned to her desk with a faint bounce in her step. Rarity was beaming. She stood for a moment, sighed and made her way up the stairs.

Checker sat down at her desk and fixed her glasses back onto her nose. She stared at the check in front of her before carefully moving it aside. She clicked her pen and focused on the mounds of paperwork. It was an almost hoof tall stack of documents. She looked back at the unfinished paper before her.

"Ugh, and this isn't even my final form..."