Generosity

by Richie Richter

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Quiet! Pipe Down! I hear her coming..."

"..."

"Aye, nevermind."

"You need to get your ears checked, Scribbles," said a colt with a stern voice from behind.

"Nothing be wrong with me ears mate! I cun hear them doonstairs talking from here!" His left eye twitched before he pushed his glasses into place.

"How long are we going to have to stand like this? She's been down there for like...forever," said a small purple filly.

"It certainly feels like it! So long that I bet my mane cut is goin' outta style!" Said another.

"No it's not, Ruby."

"What do you mean?"

"I think it looks nice."

"Really?"

"Actually...I think it's kind of cute, ya know, cut all short n' stuff, hanging over your nice eyes...n' stuff."

"Do you really think so?"

The colt rubbed the back of his head. "Well yea, I mean, you would look good no matter what, but-"

"Scatter that's...that's-"

"Get a room!"

"Be quiet, all of you!" said a small snow white filly at the front of the group. "We won't be able to hear anything if you keep chatting, so be quiet and listen." The group agreed with a few nods and mumbles. Scatter and Ruby Dust scooted a step closer to each other.

After a while longer––a time which seemed like forever for the foals––the soft sound of hooves drifted up from the stairway. "Here she comes!" A chorus of shushes sounded from the line, as well as a few giggles. Rarity climbed the last stair and stepped into the loft of the orphanage. The loft had been converted into the main living space for the foals. On one end was an open area with a large circular rug. A bookshelf and a few chests full of toys lined the walls around the rug. On the other end of the room, a set of sixteen identical, steel framed beds had been lined up in neat rows along either side. A brick fireplace was burning a tall stack of logs on the side with the beds.

The ceiling was high, and because there was no attic, it followed the steep pitch of the roof. The living space was much different from the reception area. It was warm and inviting, the entire room was bathed in a soft orange glow. Natural light streamed in from the windows above each bed and a few electric lights were also lit. Other than the beds, everything in the room was the same wooden color, a rich, walnut brown. The matching colors and high pitch of the roof gave the impression that the entire second floor had been cut out of a single enormous tree.

Pieces were still missing here and there, although not nearly as many. A few bed legs had been hastily welded or even duct-taped back together, and a few chips and holes could still be seen. The signs of age were still present, stains and spots on furniture, faded colors, dust. Even though it was clear the orphanage had been given a thorough scrubbing before Rarity's visit, there was still dust. Dust everywhere. Floating and swirling and sticking to everything in the room.

It was a great deal more comfortable than the rest of the Orphanage, and it provided all the comforts of home at absolutely no charge to you. You and fifteen of your closest friends. There was a shelf of decaying books to read, reread, and read again. Any toy that a foal could ask for, as long as it was a toy that a foal didn't ask for. (Or no longer cared for.) There was usually plenty of food to eat, cooked anything but fresh in the kitchen below, always tasting the same, regardless of ingredients. There was always never enough water. Always never enough soap. Always never enough firewood. Always never enough toys. Always never enough to read. Always never enough blankets. Always never enough medicine. Always never enough food. Always never enough money. Always never enough love. Always never enough of anything.

Except hope.

Always enough hope.

Rarity climbed the last stair into the loft of the orphanage. The foals of the orphanage had lined up into two rows––the taller in the back. They each held up a childishly crafted paper sign in their hooves, one symbol a sign. The sixteen orphans had lined up and spelled out THANK YOU, RARITY! There was even a foal who had been assigned to hold the comma in its correct place. They were all grinning at her, waiting for her to react, but Rarity couldn't move an inch.

"Thank you, Rarity!" They all shouted in unison.

Hope and gratitude.

Rarity quivered and choked. More tears were coming. But she was saved by the foals breaking rank, charging at her, and tackling her to the ground. They all fought for a piece of her to grab onto, shoving, elbowing, perhaps even biting. Once they had gotten a piece of her, they latched on and didn't let go. They were like a pack of ravenous little puppies, fighting over who could best smother their owner in affection.

Rarity didn't know who to greet first. She was being bombarded by questions, but still tried to answer as many as she could, even from her awkward position. After a while longer––a time which seemed like forever for Rarity––the foals relented, and allowed Rarity to regain her footing, although they still stood around her in a tight circle. Gazing up in awe. Rarity continued to answer to their eager questioning. They offered her gifts, all hoofcrafted and homemade. They praised her hairstyle, and gawked at her designer shoulder bag. Rarity bought her time, hoping the foals would eventually run out of steam. When there was a large enough gap between questions, Rarity pounced on the opportunity.

"So! What should we do with the time we have today?"

"Story!" They all said together. She smiled. It was what she had gotten used to hearing. The foals left their tight circle and gave Rarity some breathing room. They darted about to relieve some of their pent up energy before eventually settling down on the rug at the other end of the room. Rarity took a moment to gather herself before making her way over to the half-circle of children. There was a rocking chair in the center with her name on it. But before she could get far, a large, muscular hoof stopped her.

She turned to see Checker's husband towering over her. He had been standing off to the side of the foals and had gone unnoticed. He was grinning with his eyes at half mast. Rarity blushed. He had seen everything. He was a large stallion, about the same age as checkers––he looked much younger, however. An earth pony, his coat was light brown, and his mane was a few shades darker. He wore it long and flowing around his shoulders, every lock curled and looped to the end. His eyes, like his wife's, showed intelligent depth. They were pastel blue, gentle, but also clever, and even humorous. Age had been much more kind to him. He displayed only a few wrinkles, and he was still in impeccable shape. He stood straight and proud like a venerable iron statue. He was the handypony of the Orphanage, and he kept everything running as best he could with the money they had. While Checker took care of the financial and legal side of running an orphanage, He took care of everything else. Rarity had seen him doing everything from repairing to cooking to disciplining, and the foal's respect for him was obvious. He took one of Rarity's petite hooves in one of his large ones.

"Miss Rarity," he said cordially. He was also very suave.

Rarity flushed again. "Tenderhoof! Good evening. You've been well, I can imagine?" He was still smiling.

"Very well. Yes." He released his hold on her hoof. "And you?" His voice was like drowning in an ocean of butter. Whole. Fat. Butter.

"Oh, just Excellent. I had a very good week at the boutique. I made many good sales and-"

"Rarity! Stop talking to your boyfriend and read us a story!" came a voice from the crowd of impatient foals. Following the voice came a chorus of giggles. They had already waited days for her arrival, thus they were not really in a waiting mood. Rarity rolled her eyes and turned back to Tenderhoof.

"We should catch up sometime," Rarity said. "You and I...and Checker of course."

He chuckled, and the entire room seemed to shake. "We should! I feel like we've never really gotten to know each other," he said as he looked over her shoulder. "We should find some time to talk, but not now, they're starting to glare." Rarity glanced back at the scowling set of foals, and then back to Tenderhoof. She nodded to him and crossed the room. She settled down into the rocking chair, slung her purse around one of the pegs, and looked out over the orphans. Their smiles had returned.

"Let's see what we have, shall we?" Rarity looked over to the bookshelf. She saw a thick book that still had some gloss on the spine. Not recognizing it from last week's visit, she assumed it had just been bought. She levitated it out. It was an anthology of children's short stories. The thick volume contained about a hundred stories, illustrated and written with only a few lines per page. It was near impossible to flip the hefty volume around each time to show the picture, but luckily, Rarity could make use of her magic to make that task a little easier.

"This looks like a good one." She flipped through the book, looking for a story that caught her eye. She glanced up from the storybook. The foals were laying in various positions, on haunches, on bellies, on backs, and on sides. They arranged themselves in a half-circle around the chair, all smiles. She glanced over to the stairs at the far end of the room. Tenderhoof was there, reared up, leaning against the wall, hooves crossed in front of him, all smiles.

Rarity stopped flipping through the book and took a moment to stare. All of his features were defined. From his legs to his muzzle there was muscle. Natural muscle. He probably never had much time to work out, but from the looks of him, he hardly ever needed to. A few push ups and he was set for a week. His eyes were amazing. They were eyes into which you could easily become lost. The curve of his face was just right. His mane was gorgeous. His well groomed coat shone in the sunlight filtering through the windows. His pose didn't make him any less attractive. His crossed forelegs showed more rippling muscle. They were the kind of arms you wanted to be held in, and hopefully, to be carried into bed with. He looked like a cool cowpony relaxing in the shade of his barn after a hard days work, smirking, relaxed, and entirely aware of himself. His smile could slay dragons. (His muscles probably could too.) All in all, he was quite the specimen.

If only he were twenty-five years younger and single. Rarity mused. If only, if only. She nodded to him, and Tenderhoof nodded back. He made his way down the stairs, leaving her alone with the sixteen orphans.

He must have a huge co-

"Rarity? You there?" asked a colt in the center.

"Yes! Of course! Yes, yes." Rarity blushed. Thinking such things in front of foals! Rarity shook her head and returned her attention to the storybook. "This is a new book?"

"Thut's correct, Miss Raraty, frush and new just thuss week." Scribbles? Yes, the one with that adorable little Bridish accent, thought Rarity, north Bridish. Maybe even Trottish? Rarity smiled and continued to flip through. There were enough stories to last them at least a few months. The children were a little more patient now that it was only a matter of time before it was story time. She eventually came to an old classic that she recognized.

"Oh, here's a good one." She cleared her throat.

"B-but Miss Rarity?" one said. They all shared the same worried expression.

"Oh! How could I forget? Who wants to sit in Rarity's lap while she reads?" Twenty hooves shot up (a few ponies thought throwing up two hooves might improve their chances of being picked.) They stretched their hooves into the air, straining to raise them as high as possible, sometimes bracing one hoof with the other. They tried to influence her decision with smiles and bright eyes. Rarity scanned the crowd, she always tried to pick somepony who hadn't gotten a chance in a while. She saw a small snow white filly near the front of the crowd, she hadn't gotten a chance to sit in her lap yet. But she wasn't exactly new either. She had been at the orphanage for several months now. Rarity smiled at her. Silver Streak, or just 'Streaks' for short.

"How about...you!" Twenty hooves slowly fell back to the floor. Fifteen bodies slumped and groaned, one shot up and smiled. "Silver Streak, come up here sweetie." The filly walked over to her. She was probably a little younger than Sweetie Belle, and she was just a little smaller than her too. It was the first time Rarity noticed how straight her teeth were and how beautiful her purple eyes were. The color was about the same as Rarity's mane. Silver Streaks's mane was also purple, but a lighter, almost magenta color, with a few white stripes running down the middle. It was straight, but each lock of hair ended in a slight curl, neatly styled to fall around one shoulder. Her mane was parted to one side, half was tucked immediately behind her right ear, while the rest flowed across her forehead to be tucked behind the left. Her hair was styled in such a way that it occasionally let thin, violety strands of hair fall in front of one of her eyes, masking it like a gossamer curtain, where it would stay, adorably, begging to be whisked back behind that ear, until finally it was, allowing your racing heart to calm. A small white ribbon was tied in a bow through her hair, adding to the streaks theme. Her mark was a painter's canvas with a silver streak running from one corner to the opposite. She was cute, even for a filly. She crawled up into her lap and settled in.

The children shifted in excitement, on the edge of their respective pieces of carpeting. "The town mouse and the country mouse." She cleared her throat and began to read. After every line she would flip the book and show an illustration to her attentive audience.

– – –

"A town mouse once visited a relative who lived in the country. For lunch the country mouse served wheat stalks, roots, and acorns, with a dash of cold water to drink.

"The town mouse ate very sparingly, nibbling a little of this and a little of that, and by her manner making it very plain that she ate the simple food only to be polite.

"After the meal, the friends had a long talk, or rather the town mouse talked about her life in the city while the country mouse listened. They went to bed in a cozy nest in the hedgerow and slept in quiet comfort until morning.

"In her sleep the country mouse dreamed she was a town mouse with all the luxuries and delights of city life that her friend had described for her. So the next day when the town mouse asked the country mouse to go home with her to the city, she gladly said yes.

"When they reached the mansion in which the town mouse lived, they found on the table in the dining room a fine banquet. There were jellies, pastries, delicious cheese, indeed the most tempting foods that a mouse can imagine.

"But just as the country mouse was about to nibble a dainty bit of pastry, she heard a cat mew loudly and scratch at the door. In great fear the mice scurried to find a hiding place, where they lay still for a long time, hardly daring to breathe.

"When at last they ventured back to the feast, the door opened suddenly and in came the servants to clear the table, leaving not a scrap behind. The country mouse stopped in the town mouse's den only long enough to pick up her bag and umbrella.

"'You have many luxuries and dainties that I do not,' she said as she hurried away, 'but I prefer my plain food and simple life in the country with the peace and security that go with it.'"

– – –

The foals stared amongst themselves, whispering softly, unsure what to think about the story they had just been told. A tall colt in the back abruptly spoke up, stating what every foal in the room was thinking.

"That story was bad."

"And the author should feel bad."

"Yeah, that was boring," said another.

"It needs more action," said an equally unimpressed foal. Rarity chuckled at their innocence.

"It might not have been the most exciting story, and I certainly have to agree that it was a very...interesting adaptation. But stories like this are meant to teach you something. They call it a moral. A moral is something you learn from a story, or even a life experience. There's a moral to this story, can anyone tell me what it is?" The company was speechless. They looked around, hoping their friends could offer some insight. Their mouths would open but no words would come out. They would shake their heads and continue to think, they all wanted to be the first to answer and impress their guest.

"Living simple and secure is better than living lavish and dangerous?" said the filly in Rarity's arms, unsure of herself.

"Um...why yes!" Rarity was caught off guard by her abrupt answer. This was the sort of thing that normally flew right over kids' adorable little heads. "Very good, Silver Streak, very good. That's exactly right. Living a simple but secure life is better than living one in unstable luxury." The rest of the orphans agreed with nods and mumbles.

"..."

"It still wasn't a good story."

"Well, I didn't think it was that bad," said Silver Streak, "But it still wasn't good. No way. Can you read us another one...please?" Her voice was cute too.

"Absolutely! I wouldn't want to disappoint." Rarity flipped through the book again, looking for something more contemporary.

"One with more adventure."

"And danger!"

"And explosions!"

"Yeah! More explosions!"

Rarity nodded and continued her search. After a moment she found just the thing. "Okay, here's one you might like." Oh dear. "The Adventures of Shadowrend the Alicorn." My. How quaint.

"That sounds awesome!"

"Read it! Read it!" The foals were once again on the edge of their respective pieces of carpeting.

Rarity sighed, cleared her throat, and began to read.

Comments

[ScatMan2001]

"That story was bad."
"And the author should feel bad."

^
Probably the greatest lines ever written by mankind.
Loving this story!