The Gala and Other Happenings
Dusty was with Firestormer and Thistledown behind the barn, knocking back ciders and orange drinks. Essentially they were adding one more to the “just hanging out” club.
“So,” Dusty said halfway through his first cider, “I’m not complaining or anything, dude, but is there a reason it’s just us colts back here?”
“Well, being honest we haven’t exactly gone OUT of our way to exclude fillies from this. We got an open invitation for them, they just haven’t picked up on it yet.” Firestormer said with a chuckle. “This sort of thing really isn’t Queenie’s bag, Miss Grapes seems to enjoy watching us more than joining in and Sirocco… She admitted she’d like to join in but maybe we deserve ‘one final bastion of masculinity’ to retreat to. Actually I’m mostly certain she meant ‘bastion’, the word she used was similar but suggested our fathers were bachelors.”
Dusty snorted, then laughed. “Poor filly just has so much trouble with Equish, doesn’t she?” he asked.
“Well, I’m sure I’d have just as much trouble with her language if I were serious about learning it,” the orange pegasus confessed. “Well actually I do. She giggles when I try, says it’s a good attempt but I sound ‘provincial’ and speak it through my nose. Surprisingly enough, Squall is pretty good at it. Sirocco says he can cuss fluently in four dialects.”
“So, why isn’t the Cap’n here with us, Dude?”
“Oh, Squall saves his drinking for when we hit the bar on karaoke night.” Firestormer paused a moment before leaning in close and lowering his voice. “Word to the wise… do NOT get into a drinking contest with him. The stallion has the constitution of a pirate and the bladder of a titan.”
“Don’t do drinking contests, anyway, Sparky,” Dusty said with a chuckle. “I tend to be very moderate when it comes to alcohol, much to the disappointment of fans and fellow competitors alike.”
“In that case, don’t get into a whizzing match with him neither. That bladder thing applies there too.”
“Dude, that’s gross,” Dusty uttered, making a face. “I mean.. once upon a time, we would, like, see who could do our initials… But I’d like to think I’ve grown beyond that.”
“Welcome to the wonderful world of team camaraderie and bonding rituals,” Firestormer laughed before downing the rest of the bottle and tossing it to the side. “Set me up with another one, Dusty.”
“Sure, Sparky,” Dusty said pulling out a bottle of cider. “Here ya go.”
Firestormer started to open it when he stopped. He stared longingly at the ice-cold bottle of cider before putting it back into the tub of ice.
“Sorry pal. S’not really my brand. Oh how I wish it were but... I can’t handle apples,” he confessed woefully. “Allergies.”
“Oh. Sorry, Sparky, I didn’t know,” Dusty said.
"It really sucks too. I really love the TASTE of apples but they make my throat swell up so much I can hardly breathe."
"Anaphylactic shock is no joke, dude," Dusty said in his best supportive tone.
"Tell me about it,” Firestormer sighed. “I'm probably the only pony in the region who looks across the road at Sweet Apple Acres and sees fields of potential death."
"Sorry bout your luck, Sparky. That's gotta suck,” Dusty said shaking his head.
“Eh. At least it’s helping keep the fruit drink and ‘alternate’ cider industries alive. I personally endorse Knee-High’s various drink products whenever I can.” Firestormer confessed. “Their pear cider really isn’t half bad once you give it a chance.”
“Never been too fond of pears,” Dusty confessed. “I can never find a properly ripe one. They’re either like a rock or they’re mush. And I like satsumas more than oranges. Even with horn-power, oranges are hard to peel. Satsumas, though, it’s almost like a free round at the juice bar. Peel comes of lickety split, and you’ve got a bunch of nice little segments.”
“Ever have pomelos?” Firestormer asked, popping the top on another orange drink. “Got a hide thicker than Smudge’s but they taste like a mild and sweet grapefruit.”
“I think I had some in Coltifornia,” Dusty observed. “Or was it Flora in Tallahorsie… Wait. Were you guys in Coltifornia, a while back? I’m remembering a bunch of pegasi who helped divert a hurricane from Malibuck.”
“Yeah. Yeah I think that was right. Couldn’t stay long though… Bloody shame. Those were some really nice beaches,” the orange and yellow pegasus reminisced. “Even covered in debris that white sand looked so comfortable to just lounge on.”
“Excellent waves, too. The hurricane, though, totally made the waves scary,” Dusty said shaking his head. “Yeah yeah yeah! You guys were there long enough to get the clean-up started, an’ Lil Dude was wearing a big old sunhat, and Legs was confused because I called her moves ‘gnarly’.”
“Yeah. Back then Earshot was still pretty careful about ponies seeing his true nature up close. You know how they can get, one sight of bat wings and they start freaking out. It’s not like he needed the hat and beach robe to you know… NOT melt in the sun.”
“They would have wondered who cast the spell to transform the wings, in Coltifornia, Sparky,” Dusty laughed. “That’s where you see the strangest ponies, ever. There was this one dude I saw who had so many piercings, it’s a wonder he didn’t point towards the north pole.”
“Reminds me of something my Mom used to tell me,” Thistledown snickered. “That the best nuts come from Coltifornia.”
Dusty chuckled, shaking his head, as he drank his cider. “There do seem to be quite a few of them, out there,” he observed. “Just wish I knew how to make Queenie not be so mad at me… I mean I know I’m to blame for that avalanche, but wouldn’t going months wearing this doohicky be punishment enough?”
“I think she’s mostly mad at herself on all of that. She takes a lot of what happens in her country very personally, has these self-delusions of being the tragic heroine. Trust me. If you're that worried about her then keep your head down and just be… how would she say it? Sounds like ‘accordion’. Uh… CORDIAL! That’s it,” Firestormer said with pride of his recollection. “Believe me on that. We used to get along like fire and ice… big surprise there. Now, she considers me the brother she was glad she never had. ”
“Dude, how is that an improvement?” Dusty asked.
“Because that means instead of a rival or a nemesis she now thinks of me as a brother,” the orange pegasus said with a smirk.
“That she’s never wanted,” Dusty amended. “That doesn’t sound like an improvement to me. More like a back-hoofed compliment. But then, I guess I didn’t know her as well as I thought. I could be more than a little wrong, like I usually am...”
“OK. It’s not exactly sterling I’ll admit, but the Storm Riders are a fairly tight-knit group. When the cards are dealt and the stakes are very literally life-and-death all we have to get us through is faith and each other. That kind of trust in one another is right up there with being a family. Oh, Celestia knows that you can’t pick family but sometimes you get a… sounds like ‘solid’... SOLIDARITY with them in a crisis even if you can be at each other’s throats the rest of the time. We’re just lucky that in this case… we got the option to choose to be family. Queenie may be the annoyingly ‘mature’ sister I never wanted and I was the annoyingly ‘spirited’ brother she never wanted, but in the end we’ll always have one another’s back.”
“When you put it like that, it actually sounds like a good deal for you and the others. With it were a standard option for everypony. By the stars if I could have, I would not have picked my Grandma,” Dusty uttered.
“That bad, huh? Same one that the boss-filly gripes about?” Thistledown asked, popping the top on a fresh cider. Dusty’s eyes went to pinpricks.
“Don’t tell Queenie! Please, Thistle, do not tell Queenie,” Dusty said, looking pleadingly at the green stallion.
“Hmm… How should I put this so you'll understand,” Thistledown said to the blonde unicorn before dropping into a faux-moondoggie accent. “Duuuude. That old nag’s such a downer I’d never admit to being part of her posse.”
“Thanks, dude,” Dusty said looking relieved.
Firestormer watched the exchange between the two for a moment before pressing his hoof to his face and giggling madly.
“What, Sparky?” Dusty asked. “Dude, share the joke.”
“Oh wow. Seriously? I mean Grapes did SAY she was related to someone who went to the Galas that was pretty much famous for being… really… Pave Diamond, and she did say you were her cousin but it took me until now to realise that you would probably be part of that ‘noble’ bloodline too.” Firestormer managed to get out between giggles.
“She’s my grandma. Grapes’ Mom is my aunt. Just… I don’t want anypony… Look, who would you rather be out here, chugging soda with? Diamond Dust, or Dusty?” Dusty asked.
“From my point of view?” the orange pony said before reaching into the ice chest and tossing Dusty a fresh bottle. “As far as I can tell both Dusty and mister Double Dee are decent stallions. If you wanna be Dusty, then ok. That’s your thing. I’ve been going by a different name for a few years too. Also I’ve been to the Gala once or twice with Miss Weathervain, I’ve SEEN ‘Diamond-face’ in action. If you wanna hide from her… count me in.”
“Thanks, Sparky. You don’t know what that means to me. I… I just don’t want Queenie to know. I never told her, and I don’t want her to think of me any differently. And no, I can’t just use my money to help. Grandma’s seen to that,” Dusty said bitterly. “I don’t have access unless I marry some noble mare.”
“Well, Dusty. You got a lot of time to think about it, and you got some of the best… What did you call us, Thistledown?”
“Lateral thinkers, Firestormer.”
“Yeah. Right. Thanks, Thistledown. Lateral thinkers in Equestria around these parts.” Firestormer said with a laugh. “We’re bound to come up with at least a FEW ideas that might work.”
“Thanks again,” Dusty said humbly.
“Not a problem, ‘dude’.” said Firestormer before leaning back against the barn with a smug smirk on his face. “Besides, I’ll bet you’re probably not the only pony on this farm who earned a few well-kept secrets.”
“Yeah. Probably not,” Dusty observed. “Just… hate the idea of Queenie seeing me as some kinda… no-good, rich dilettante. She already sees me as ‘powder trash’.”
Dusty found himself being half-hugged and half-noogied by Thistledown. “Don’t worry handsome.” the green pony chuckled “You may be filthy rich in Canterlot but here you’ll only get filthy. Now drink your cider. It’s good for you.”
“Yes, Mama Hen,” Dusty said, sniggering, and drinking his Cider.
-------
Around the middle of April, Sour Grapes was trotting along the Ponyville streets, when she saw Twilight Sparkle transform an apple into a rather spiffy looking carriage. This caused her to pause for a moment, gazing at the beautiful fruit-themed conveyance curiously.
“Why do they need such a…” Grapes asked herself then paused, thinking about the date. “Oh. Right. That.” Problem solved, she trotted back to her home, carrying the supplies.
It really wasn’t that long of a trip from the Carousel Boutique area to her home but she was in a good mood and opted for the more scenic route. In fact, despite her misgivings about Twilight and her friends’ impending night at the Galloping Gala, Sour Grapes had found her “not my problem” state of mind about it and just enjoyed the walk through the springtime countryside. She never quite understood the desire for so many stallions and mares to head to the fun and sunny resorts like Panamare City, Flora; Cantercun and Aplacapulco, Mexhayco; or Maretigo Bay, Jamheyica when there were so many nice local places nearby. (Then again it could be getting as far away from home as possible before you made an ass of yourself in public… no offence.){None taken.}(Wait, what? Oh, nevermind.) Though on the upside, those nice local places didn’t have to deal with Spring Breakers acting like idiots, and generally leaving… And suddenly Grapes could understand a lot of Queenie’s attitude concerning her dutchy. Speaking of Queenie, she had taken off to attend the Gala as well. Searching for a rich pony who would be interested in her title to help her homeland.
Grapes came to a stop in front of the bunkhouse with a stunned look on her face, as a realization came over her. Unaware of her surroundings, and the ponies coming to unload her cart, while she stood there in shock, as she followed her train of thought to its station.
“They don’t know,” She said, aloud. “Great flaming fewmits, they don’t know…”
“Who doesn’t know what?” Stormfront asked as he paused in mid-reach for one of her parcels.
“You’ve probably figured out that Dusty is from the unicorn side of my family, right, from Canterlot,” Grapes said to Stormy, unhitching herself, and turning to him. “Namely the Diamond Family.”
“Well his butt does have diamond-like sparkly dealies on it as part of his cutie mark, soooo… it did kinda come to mind,” Stormy confessed.
“Funny thing, his name is Diamond Dust,” Grapes said with a grin. “But I bet Dusty doesn’t want that getting back to Queenie, because of one important fact.”
“Ah. I get it.” the gray pegasus said quietly. “It’s bad enough being ‘Powder Trash’ in her eyes but he doesn’t want her thinking he’s ‘RICH powder trash’. Sort of that whole idle rich thing?”
“That’s only partially the reason. You see, Dusty met Queenie while she was working at Avalanche Valley, as a chambermaid. I imagine the fact that she’s the Duke’s daughter wouldn’t come up in casual conversation,” Grapes observed. “He doesn’t know that Queenie is Lady Ice Storm of Avalanche Valley. And Queenie doesn’t know that HE’s Diamond Dust of the Canterlot Diamonds.”
“Oh wow… I think we have a regular comedy of errors going on right in front of our very eyes.” Thistledown sniggered, adding his own two bits in. “Mind if I take notes while this goes on?”
“It would make a good play,” Grapes observed with a laugh, “if we can find the right playwright. I, for one, am not going to give it away. It would truncate the plot, and spoil the ending. If Queenie knew… And if she tried… Oh wow… This could turn into one of those silly over-done, too-full-of-pathos, overacted sequential dramas the soap companies have been sponsoring lately.”
“Oh yeah. Complex as an opera and yet easy to get sucked into.” Stormfront observed about the dramas. “And it really does make you wanna buy their product just to find out if Bad Road really will try to take the place of his twin Good Road so he can marry Ruby Facet for her family gem mine.”
“They’re like… watching gossip,” Grapes said, shaking her head. “It’s juicy, racy, full of purple prose… It’s as if you’re watching one of Rarity’s tales of what’s been going on in town. And like Rarity’s tawdry tales, they’re rather addictive. Stormy, WHY did you take me to one of those! They’re like those fried potato slices that that one food stall started selling! Thank goodness they only happen in the evening. We’d never get any work done, otherwise. Digression aside, our little drama’s going to be interesting to see play out.”
“Our little self-loathing Romeo has already sworn me and Firestormer to secrecy on the whole Diamond thing,” Thistledown confessed. “And I think it’s for the best we let them patch this part up without money getting involved. Or at least US being the ones to mention the money.”
“Yeah. Especially with Grandmother Pave having a condition on Dusty’s inheritance. He can’t touch it unless he marries a mare from a noble family,” Grapes said with a sigh. “Which would be impetus for Queenie to propose to him, even while she still, apparently, loathed him. I’d rather they decide they wanted to make up because they have forgiven each other. I can’t wait until Queenie realizes that Dusty’s playing West Lea to her Buttercup.”
“Speaking of The Princess Bride and the ponies experiencing it for the first time, Earshot’s doing pretty good at the moment. We’re trying to get him back into the game again with some light pest control,” Stormfront said, bringing Grapes into the loop. “No flying above six inches until he’s done some more wing exercises. The little guy lost some of the necessary muscle mass when he was sick so we don’t want him losing power at cloud level.”
“Who’s overseeing his physical therapy?” Grapes asked, concerned. “I’d like to be assured that whoever’s doing it knows what they’re doing. I mean, you, Stormy, knowing what you do about aero-dance, would be a good candidate, and would probably not let him overwork himself.”
“You’re closer to the truth than you’d think, Grapes,” Stormy admitted. “Doctor Coldhoof forwarded us some self-physiotherapy instructions with Skyhook. They’re really well written-out for a pony without wings, I figured I could do them with Earshot so he has somepony who’s keeping him on a regular schedule.”
“That’s a good thing,” Grapes said with a nod. “Any problems?”
“Well…” Stormy began in a manner that practically “red flagged” him trying to sugar coat information, “he keeps on insisting that he can fly, because besides losing muscle, he also lost a lot of fat, too, so apparently he can 'compensate' because he weighs less..."
“Did you explain that losing muscle means less strength TO fly, whereas losing fat means he lost a layer of thermal protection to keep him from getting cold at a higher altitude?” Grapes asked.
"Chalk it up to him going stir-crazy after being bedridden for so long." Stormy said with a shrug. “Gotta remember with pegasi we usually think of flight as our primary form of getting around. It’d be like… well… Dusty in that little wagon of his. Going from total freedom to something that barely qualifies.”
“Well yeah. And Dusty has got to think about his leg. Otherwise, he’d be tearing around on that thing like a madstallion,” Grapes observed. “Want me to explain it to him? I’ve got anatomy charts, and everything. Sometimes you just need visual aids.”
"Wait... why do you have pegasus anatomy charts?" Stormy asked before blushing and crossing his rear legs self-consciously. "Never mind...."
“I had an ambition, when I was younger, to be a teacher during the winter… Why are you standing like that?” Grapes asked, tilting her head.
“Just…” Stormy began before giggling nervously. “Well for a species that seldom wears clothing, all of a sudden I feel kinda naked.”
“Uh… Why? I mean it’s not like we’re ready for that sort of thing,” Grapes said, with a shrug.
“Yeah, but after studying charts like that you probably know more about my anatomy than I do.” Stormy admitted.
“Technical stuff, yeah, like how the muscles in your back and sides help you control your wings, and why losing muscle mass in your sides and back would make you a weaker flier. But honestly, you’re a unique specimen, and while I would have a general idea of how your body works, I wouldn’t know how your body works. It’s not like I’m looking at your x-rays, or *ahem* lewd pictures of… Yeah… That escalated quickly...” Grapes uttered blushing.
“It certainly did. Sorry about that. Uh, but yeah. Maybe you should make a short lecture out of it,” the pegasus stallion said trying to shake off the bout of awkwardness. “If nothing else, it’ll make for an interesting school project for him. I heard from Twilight that Cheerilee has started pulling a few books from the library on ‘disastrous’ first-contact situations with species unprepared for new diseases.”
“So she’s trying to help Earshot make an argument for my cousin Crabby to be welcomed in his homeland?” Grapes asked, obviously happy for the subject change.
“Well he’s written out the letter for it but he’s in the seventh editing of it,” Stormfront straightened up and looked around at the horizon. “He’s worried that it’s one thing to ask to stay here for the holidays but it’s an entirely a different one to hand a brand-new stranger a roadmap to his well-hidden home. He wants them to understand that Doctor Crabapple means well and will not be anything like the people in that village he talks about,”
“Okay. Lecture and proofreading,” Grapes said, heading into her farm house. “I’ll be back. Getting my charts.”
It took more time than Sour Grapes had expected to make all the necessary materials portable but once she was satisfied she took a step out the door and saw Earshot coming up the road from the frames. He was walking at a brisk pace but kept looking back where he had come from with the most puzzled look on his face.
“What’s up, Earshot?” Grapes asked.
“Oh hi, Miss Grapes. I was just coming to get you,” the little colt said, giving another glance back at the frames. “Uh. I just met the strangest ponies in the frames. They’re nibbling on some of the grapes back there and well… I don’t know if they’re taking me seriously when I’m asking them to leave.”
“Let’s go and see these ponies, then,” Grapes said frowning. “I mean most ponies know that these aren’t eating grapes, and that I don’t appreciate trespassers.”
“Yeah. But they’re really weird… and coming from the only pony in the area with bat-wings… I think I’m qualified to say that.” Earshot added, looking up at her.
The grapevines hung off the pristine white frames. Their tender young leaves and freshly forming grapes displayed themselves in a tantalising manner to anypony who passed close enough for a good look. This was perhaps more than what a quartet of very… tall ponies could resist. Sour Grapes had to admit that Earshot had a good point when he claimed they were odd. First of all, they were very tall and nowhere as stocky as the average pony. Second, their beautiful blonde manes and tails were so tightly curled that even Queenie would have turned green with envy. Third was that their ivory white bodies were clad in the most showpony-esque harnesses she had ever seen. They were royal purple with golden filigree, glittering in the sun, and each pony bore a feather-like plume rising up from their brows. It was as if they had strutted directly from a Las Pegasus stage onto her land. They were so stunningly out-of-place among her frames where they nibbled her produce that it took her longer than it should to see the one detail that she should have noticed right off.
There was something about their faces that looked so absolutely… wrong for anypony. The contours, the basic skull structure, the eyes, much less the buck teeth and whiskers, all screamed to Sour Grapes: “I’m a mouse that just happens to look a lot like a horse”. Then one rose it’s head up, chewing daintily before emitting a high-pitched squeak before going back to it’s foraging.
“Mice. Twitchy Switcher’s Timed Transmogrification,” Grapes said frowning at the creatures. Thank Celestia, Luna and any other benevolent alicorns that happened to exist, they were NOT eating the Sun’s Spring Glory. “Let’s get these over-sized squeakers into an enclosed area, away from the grapes. And I think I know, exactly, who to blame for this. After all, who ELSE would cast transformation magic without considering what would happen if they got loose?”
“Well…” Earshot said, thinking on Grapes’ rhetorical question. “There WAS that show pony who came by town and didn’t think anypony would call her on that whole Ursa Major thing. I think that was an Ursa Minor though. It was kinda on the small side.”
“Yes, that was a Minor. You do NOT want to meet a Major,” Grapes observed. “Also, one, she galloped out of town like her tail was on fire; two, I seriously doubt that she has the capacity and/or power to cast Timed Trasmog; and three, I already saw Twilight pulling a Fairy Godmother with an apple-into-carriage trick, so it kind of fits she’d go the whole way and do the mice-into-horses-thing for their trip to the… ugh… Gala.”
“So, they’re mice? That actually explains a lot of stuff, like them not really understanding me and why they sound so mouse-like.” The Night Pony sat there looking at them a moment before cocking his head to the side. “Seems kinda mean to turn one species into something so… different. I mean it’s not like turning a pegasus into a night pony because you keep telling me basically we’re pegasuses… pegasi who are just made to fly in the dark. They made these mice so… BIG!”
“I agree. Never mind Rarity could probably sweet-talk any number of the stallions in town to pull the carriage for them,” Grapes observed, as she used her levitation to lead the rather compliant mice away from her crops. “Okay. We’ll get these creatures corralled, and I’ll find Dusty. The reversal for Timed Trasmog isn’t that high a level spell, but I doubt I could do it. Also I’d rather not have to deal with these critters until midnight.”
“Midnight? Why midnight, Miss Grapes?”
“You’ve never read Cinderella?” Grapes asked. “Or the ‘Little Cinder Filly’?”
“It sounds familiar.” Earshot admitted, following close behind. “I think maybe I saw it up on one of our shelves in the archives when Miss Indigo Gleam was teaching me how to read Dayli… Equestrian. Was midnight important in it?”
“Yeah. That’s when the Fairy Godmother’s spell ended, and all the magically transformed items turned back into their mundane counterparts. The carriage was a pumpkin, the horses, carriage driver, and hoof-stallion were mice, and Cinderella’s gown turned back into her work-a-day threadbare clothes. Never understood why the crystal slippers stayed the same, though, except as a way for the Prince in the story to find Cinderella,” Grapes observed. “One of those silly stories with a sappy happy ending. Long story short is that along with a couple of magical reasons for it, Midnight is mainly an EASY time for ponies to remember.”
“Do you have that book too, Miss Grapes?”
“Yes, Earshot, I have that book, too. I’ll let you borrow it later,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “I’m going to be looking up how to reverse this spell, though. Better they eat mouse-sized portions, rather than pony-sized portions.”
“Oh yeah. Because if they shrink with a full pony-sized stomach they’ll look like little furry balloons, won’t they?”
“I think the spell was revised to take that into account,” Grapes said, as they led the horse-mice to a paddock, so they wouldn’t get back into this year’s crop. “Still wouldn’t hurt to check. Keep an eye on them, would you, Earshot?”
“Okie-doke!” Earshot said, giving her a smart salute that came off looking more cute than professional.
………………………………………..
Sour Grapes walked outside and inhaled the fresh night air. It was nice to get so much done today; it put her in a good mood. She noticed Earshot up on the roof of the barn, his head turning left and right like a weathervane. She had earlier got him to promise no “REAL” flying about, but knowing his curious way of sleeping he could just as easily have walked up there.
“Hear anything good?” she asked, half-jokingly. No doubt Earshot heard a lot that he might think was good or interesting.
“The town’s pretty quiet tonight. Guess it’s not the same without Miss Twilight and her friends.” he answered, fluttering to the ground next to her. (She chose to let that short flight slide on account of it being a little more like a controlled glide.) “Although I could have sworn I heard ‘The Pokey Pony’ being played over in Canterlot for a moment. Guess the wind was at the right direction to carry it this way.”
“Mmmhmm. Sounds like Pinkie Pie’s hoof at work. Well, nothing we can do about it,” Sour Grapes observed before patting Earshot on the back. “Or as Uncle Cabby would say ‘Not my monkey, not my circus’. I’m going to recommend you head to bed early tonight. No doubt Cheerilee’s got some good stuff for you to learn tomorrow. I hear she’s been looking at some specific things in the library that are relevant to your bout with the Cloppox.”
“Oh! Okay. That’s the whole ‘Early to bed, early to rise’ thing? Right?”
“Something like that,” Grapes said with a smile. “But it’s always a good idea for young colts and fillies to get plenty of sleep. Its good for the development.”
“Right. Good night, Miss Grapes. See you in the morning.”
Sour Grapes looked off at Mount Canter, where Canterlot clung to it’s rocky spires like an obsessive lover. The Palace grounds glowed with bright colors, the various towers reaching upwards to stand against the dark skies behind it. She stared at it a moment, imagining the superfluous ball that was no doubt playing out its own dramas, now having to withstand something new under its roof. The Element Bearers were unlike anything the average Canterlot fops had to deal with before, well maybe excluding Rarity, but she would learn that the IDEA of Canterlot would be very different from the reality.
Offhand, she could think of nopony else she would love to inflict upon those stuffy, stuck-up, self-absorbed Canterlot twits. She just hoped Twilight’s friends could handle their idealistic dreams being… crushed.
She began to turn away when she started to giggle.
“The Pokey Pony? Really? Oh, Pinkie Pie… you’re so random.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Queenie… no, strike that. Duchess Ice Storm, heir apparent of the Duchy of Avalanche Valley had come to the Galloping Gala with all the usual determination she normally did. Arriving by taxi she had the full intention to mix, mingle, network, converse, chat up and otherwise hobnob with the nobility of Canterlot and quietly hunt for a suitable wealthy mate. She knew there was a contemporary word for such action among the more average ponies, and she had no illusions to the truth that she was indeed “golddigging”.
It was her hope that she would meet somepony here who would be willing to trade their fiscal stability for her royal title. She arrived in one of Rarity’s creations and at first made a great impression with the other nobles. But as the evening progressed she grew weary of the events. Also after some discreet inquiries she discovered that the ideal stallions who had come this year were either married or engaged to be married… and Rarity, who had arrived had attached herself to Prince Blueblood’s side was now following him about curtailing any ideas of Queenie trying to do so. She considered it rather rude that when one was on the prowl, to try to wedge one’s self between another mare and her own stallion “prey”. She gave Rarity a respectful nod which the fashionista returned and she silently wished Rarity the best of luck with that noble yet ignoble royal.
Quietly excusing herself she slipped away to the one place she felt far more comfortable in the palace. Slipping down into the servant’s levels she passed by many of their occupants, each merely smiled and nodded to her as she passed. She had been coming to the Galas long enough that they recognised her as an honorary “one of their own”. Her attitude towards them was different from most nobelity. Never condescending nor caustic, they had long since found her to be just a servant of another kind. She entered the kitchens, and moving gracefully through the flurry of activity, sat at the large wooden table in the middle where in moments a cup of tea had found it’s way in front of her.
Mrs. Bittersweet smiled at her as she sat down across from her. She and her husband Mr. Umami had the main task of preparing breakfasts for Princess Celestia and later Princess Luna. The aged ponies were very much the epitome of the venerable, wise and happily married “grandparenty” couple. A pony who had never met them before would find themselves treated like age old friends or family, and in turn you couldn’t help but open up to them.
“Rough night, Dearie?” Mrs. Bittersweet said with a sympathetic smile. “You usually only come down from the party when something is bothering you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bittersweet. Well, yes. I’m just not in the mood tonight I suppose.”
“Well, there are those young mares from Ponyville shaking things up, after all. At least as far as all of the canterlot ‘nobles’ present are concerned. To be honest the other servants and I don’t see them doing anything wrong, different yes, but wrong? No. Oh yes, the punch ladler has mentioned overhearing that ‘Lady’ Pave Diamond has been complaining about losing her grandson. Not in the ‘dead and gone’ sort of losing, but rather she cannot find him. He’s very adept at evading her.”
“Ah yes. Pave Diamond. If she wished to marry off her bloodline to other nobles she should have taken advice from dear Lady Weathervain.” Queenie sighed with a dismissive motion of her hoof. “At least she’s honest about it, and Weathervain’s own family always provides a quality… ‘product’. As for Pave’s grandchild, I shudder to think what sort of sapling might have developed from the seed of that twisted old fruit.”
“Oh, they’re not all that bad Ice Storm, Mister Cabochon is always quite nice,” Mrs. Bittersweet observed. “As was Miss Champaign. Mister Diamond Dust only has been here only the couple of times. Such a nice young stallion, but it’s obvious he’d rather go and visit with the sports stars and other such in the VIP area, rather than being paraded around like a show horse.”
“Ah yes. I remember Mister Cabochon now. It’s so easy to forget that he’s a Diamond, no doubt because his mother tends to overshadow him so.”
“Miss Champaign’s daughter is so very different than her sweet self. Though she was one to speak her mind, Miss Champaign was, but she did it with more diplomacy…” Bittersweet said remonessing. “But even I will admit that Prince Blueblood needed telling off. ‘Biggest nothing in the principality’ indeed.”
“Indeed. If only Blueblood would use his influence for good instead of… well…” Queenie hesitated, thinking about it a moment. “...what exactly DOES he use his influence for? I don’t think I know of anything he’s done for good or for ill. His place in the history books for this era will be little more than an asterisk next to Princess Celestia’s name.”
“Being Blueblood, as far as I can tell, dearie,” Mrs. Bittersweet said.
“Ah yes. I will confess though, if anypony can put reins on Blueblood, it would be Rarity. the mare has a singular will when she is steeled for it. I just hope she hasn’t built up this whole scene in her head.”
“Depends on how much of a romantic she is… Never mind Blueblood’s never been fond of either commoners or social climbers,” Bittersweet said with a sigh. Firm believer in ‘knowing one’s place’ that Blueblood. Never mind terribly tacky. So few real Nobles, nowadays.”
“Is it any wonder I feel so much more at ease down here.” She examined her hooves and sighed. “I am the little cinder filly in reverse.”
“Too bad all the handsome princes tend to be toads in personality,” Bittersweet observed.
“A truth that I know all too well,” came a voice from behind Queenie. Mrs. Bittersweet smiled and rose enough to give a respectful bow to Equestria’s Royal Vizier. “Humble apologies for interrupting your discussion, ladies. I came to see how things were going down here in the kitchens when I saw your little… drama playing out.”
“Good evening, Royal Vizier. I did not intend to intrude on the time of these good ponies,” Queenie said turning to speak with the intensely unpleasant-looking Vizier, her entire body braced to deal with his presence. “I apologise if I’ve disrupted any plans you may have had.”
“Disrupted? Oh no. No of COURSE not.” he chortled, flashing her a mouthful of sharp yellowing teeth. “I believe I can honestly say that your presence down below is without a doubt the LEAST disrupting thing this entire evening. Why what with the horseplay of the Element-Bearers and all. Those six mares will no doubt keep the Canterlot tongues wagging for MONTHS! It’s a delicious bedlam up there.”
“What? Twilight Sparkle and her friends? But they’re so harmless.”
“Please keep in mind, my dear Ice Storm, that those ‘harmless’ fillies have stopped Nightmare Moon, evicted dragons and even dealt with an ursa minor.” Guaranty corrected Queenie with a smile. “They are many things, but I would NEVER classify them as harmless.”
“Oh dear…” Bittersweet uttered.
“Oh yes. And I have the curious suspicion it’s all about to come to a head any moment now,” the bone-white stallion pushed a greasy lock of mane aside and looked up at the ceiling with his ruby-red eyes. “If one hurries one may arrive just in time for what seem like very separate events to achieve a sort of… critical mass, as it were.”
“Hm… Should I?” Queenie asked thoughtfully.
“I can only say what I would do, Dutchess,” The Vizier replied enigmatically. “And if I hurry in my rounds down here, I shouldn’t miss much.”
Queenie shuddered as Guaranty laughed maniacally and vanished into the sea of kitchen activity. She watched him go even if for no other reason than she never liked turning her back on him, before Mrs. Bittersweet spoke.
“Go ahead, dearie. However anypony feels about Lord Guaranty, if his instincts say something is going to happen, then you can bet all of your bits that it will. He has a nose for that sort of thing. Besides, this is the Gala. You should get some sort of enjoyment out of it, even if it’s schadenfreude.”
“Thank you Mrs Bittersweet. Say hello to your husband Mister Umami for me.”
“I will. Now you go enjoy yourself, dearie,” Bittersweet said with a smile.
Queenie made her way back upstairs to see the ballroom in a shambles, and the nobility in disarray.
“AFRAID to get DIRTY?!” Rarity snarled, obviously quite enraged.
Queenie didn’t regret her choice to return to the party. It was well worth it to see Blueblood’s face contorted in horror as globs of cake spattered his pristine body. Oh the Royal Vizier was right, things had suddenly reached a head. Pinkie Pie was a major disruption in her efforts to liven things up, Rarity had humiliated the Prince in the most laughably public manner, Fluttershy had made a grand entrance more appropriate for an enraged nature goddess and Rainbow Dash was… wrestling with the scenery. (There was probably a good reason for that.)
As it was she stuffed her hoofkerchief into her muzzle and allowed herself to laugh at the insanity Twilight and her friends had brought down upon this house of cards. She laughed as everything the pompous and self-important nobles came crashing down about their ears. Well worth the trip, even if she came up empty on the eligible bachelor front. She would even stay the extra night just to read how such SCANDAL would be reported in the newspapers in the morning. She knew very well the Dewdrop Inn would always find room for a pony looking for affordable rooms while visiting Canterlot, and she had brought a fashionable scarf and her favorite bonnet so she didn’t have to walk about town in her Gala outfit.
She had to muffle a second bout of laughter after seeing Rarity smash her own shoe to smithereens in total defiance of the old Little Cinder Filly story. She couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave a certain prince in the dust. She COULD have moved in now and soothed his fragile ego, and easily endeared Blueblood to her, but she sighed and shook her head with a quieter giggle. His ego needed some deflating while his pride deserved some bruising, and perhaps in the long run it just may help him grow as an individual. Not that she would hold her breath or anything, but maybe, just maybe he might.
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The day after the Gala, Grapes collected the mice, and trotted out to Fluttershy’s house. Such tame little squeakers had to have come from there. She cautiously knocked on the door, with a slight frown.
The lower half of the door slowly opened inwards, indicating that Fluttershy wasn’t answering but her little pain-in-the-tail bunny sidekick, “Angel”. Grapes looked down at the bunny who now tapped his foot and stared up expectantly at her silently reminding her of just how ironic his name really was.
“Is Fluttershy receiving visitors?” Grapes asked. “I think I found some friends of hers at my vineyard.”
The mute little long-eared rodent looked over at the basket she had, bearing the four former equines then he nodded, gesturing for her to enter. Grapes opened the upper half of the door, and went in.
“Hey, Fluttershy?” she called. “Found some mice at my vineyard, who were the victims of a transmogrification spell… I thought you’d like them to be returned, both safe and sound as well as soon as possible.”
A yellow and pink figure slowly crept from the kitchen, timidly looking over at her from across the room. Sour Grapes couldn’t help but notice she was wearing her bathrobe and some fuzzy bunny slippers… and had telltale hints of her favorite ice cream clinging around her muzzle. Grapes glanced off to the side to see where a dress that probably had at one time been quite stunning, lay in a twig and leaf tangled shambles on her sofa. It wasn’t hard to guess that her evening in Canterlot had been less than ideal.
“Oh. Thank you so much, Sour Grapes,” Fluttershy said, sniffling and trying to sound emotionally stable, or at least as stable as she was normally. “In all of the fuss, yesterday, I had nearly forgotten them. At least somepony was keeping an eye on them.”
“Want to talk about it?” Grapes asked, setting the basket down, so the mice could go home.
To her credit Fluttershy put on a brave face for a few moments before breaking down and sobbing into Sour Grapes’ shoulder. It took less than a minute for the winemaker to take her into the kitchen and get a pot of tea brewing, another two for a spare bucket of Rocky Rhodes ice cream to be found in the icebox and be split between them. Then little by little Grapes managed to coax the story out of Fluttershy. Of all the ponies she would have thought would have had a decent night, Fluttershy was devastated that the exotic animals in the gardens had spurned her outright. Her talent for dealing with animals had, for the first time since she was a filly, outright failed her.
“They didn’t want anything to do with me! They didn’t even want to give me a chance!”
“Well, they are from a completely different town than you are, Fluttershy,” Grapes said consolingly. “It’s not like the critters, here, are particularly migratory. Also I think the gardens are a sanctuary to some abused animals… So… They’re going to be wary anyway, and no creature, there, would know you, and know that you are a friend to all animals.”
“I just wanted them to know I was their friend. That I could be TRUSTED! “ she sniffled, before sipping at the fresh tea.
“Fluttershy, hon, you should have gotten, like, a local gardener to introduce you to the creatures. This way you would be vouched for by somepony the creatures knew,” Grapes said gently.
“Maybe I should’ve. They DID have a gardener there that night… but he was busy. Maybe I should have gotten one of my animal friends to introduce us.”
Angel tapped one paw against the other, a motion that Sour Grapes had seen Summer Squall do. No doubt he was suggesting he should be allowed to go to the garden to teach the inhabitants some manners. It was almost touching how protective he was of Fluttershy if Sour Grapes didn’t know already how often Angel took advantage of her.
“No, Angel,” Grapes said gazing at the bunny. “They do have meat-eaters there too, and Fluttershy needs you here to keep the others in line. But yeah… The creatures, here, know you. The creatures at Canterlot don’t, and… well, you weren’t acting yourself, towards the end, there.”
“I’m very embarrassed about that. It was like that thing with Mister Redline’s tea all over again.” She said quietly. “And I ruined poor Rarity’s hard work on my dress. I’ll be fixing it for days before I feel comfortable showing it to her again.”
“I imagine she’ll be designing next year’s… If you’re going to go back. I hated going to the Gala myself,” Grapes observed.
“Oh yes. You did warn us that you had a terrible experience there and we might too. Maybe we should have listened a little harder.”
Grapes shrugged. “I tried to warn you, yes. Canterlot parties are not Pinkie parties. They suck out all the fun, for one thing,” she quipped. “Think I should see the others, and see how their times went? And are you feeling a bit better?”
“Yes. Thank you for staying to talk to me. I know you didn’t have to but it really helped to talk to somepony about it all.”
“That’s what friends are for, Fluttershy,” Grapes said with a smile. “Oh, I’d better go and see AJ…”
“Oh yes. I think she might like you visiting.”
“That bad, huh?” Grapes asked with a frown.
“Well. I heard there was a very… unlikable pony who called her food ‘carnival food’. Rarity could tell you better.”
“Oh. THAT would be Prince Blueballs… er… Blueblood,” Grapes uttered shaking her head. “Okay, first AJ then Rarity. I tried to warn her, I really really did… I tried warning both of them, but… Why is it nopony listens to me?”
“Maybe sometimes we have to make our own mistakes?” Fluttershy asked.
“I guess. I was trying to save you all some… Yeeeeah. Heading to Sweet Apple Acres, now,” Grapes uttered, heading out the door.
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Grapes trotted as quickly as she could to the Sweet Apple Acres stall at the market, remembering that Applejack would be THERE at this time of day, rather than the orchard. She had told Applejack that she would be competing with a free fully catered buffet. Why her cousin thought she’d be able to SELL treats in competition with a FREE buffet, she did not know. Nevermind at a party for the Canterlot Nobility, who… Let’s face it, they wouldn’t know good food, if it hit them in the face.
“Hey, AJ,” Grapes said as she trotted up.
“Oh hey, Grapes,” Applejack said, looking up from her position behind the stall. the fact she called her Grapes instead of “Sour” suggested she was still a “mite perturbed” by the previous night.
“Bad night?” Grapes asked, leaning against the stall.
“Hold that thought for a second, sugarcube,” Applejack said, turning around to pull a stool out from behind the stall and making a little show of dusting the seat off and plunking herself down on it she sat at attention, looking up at Sour Grapes.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, Ah figured this is the part where you start with the whole ’Ah told ya so’ thing, and me bein’ the pony who’s supposed to be the Element of Honesty, Ah’m gonna be doing a lot of noddin’ and sayin’ that you were right about the whole thing. So Ah figured the best thing Ah could do is get comfortable an’take mah medicine like a good filly.”
Grapes chuckled, and shook her head. “What I was going to say was ‘I tried to warn you’,” Grapes clarified. “Poor Fluttershy is getting over a case of Cutie Mark Failure Syndrome… I think talking it out helped. And she told me about how your treats were insulted by Blueballs. I bet Rarity’s in her lavish bed wallowing in self-pity over her prince turning into a toad. I tried to warn all of you, because I’ve been to the Gala, and I HATED it.”
“Ain’t surprised none,” Applejack said. “You were never the sort for fripperies an’ fancy doin’s.”
“And it was the intention of my grandmother, who took me, for me to hate it. She didn’t want me to get any ‘airs’, and think I was as good as Canterlotians, because my mother was from the oh-so-important Diamond Family. Spent the whole night being insulted, because I was half Earth Pony,” Grapes said with a sigh. “Ended up telling off Blueblood, and leaving.”
“Ya told off that stuck-up…” Applejack started, then stopped, fuming, and taking some deep breaths to calm down, noticing a family with foals nearby. She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Ah just ain’t in tha mood fer waitin’ on ponies, but Mac…”
“Is coming up now, with the next load of treats,” Grapes said, spotting the hard-to-miss Macintosh.
“Thank Celestia,” Applejack uttered. “Hey, Mac, couldja take over fer a spell? Ah’m still perturbed from last night, an’ it may be hurtin’ sales.”
“Eeyup,” Mac said, with his usual verbosity.
“So you’re taking over, or is she hurting sales?” Grapes asked with a grin.
“Jus’ git,” Mac uttered, gazing deadpan at Grapes. She saluted, smirking.
“So, where are we going, cousin of mine?” Grapes asked, trotting along with Applejack.
“Ta see Rarity. Ah figure she’d like ta hear yer story about tellin’ off ole Bluebritches, an’ this way you won’ have ta repeat yer story,” AJ replied.
“You were always the very model of efficiency, dear cousin,” Grapes said cheerfully.
“An’ DON’T START!”
“I said nothing,” Grapes asserted.
“Yer THINKIN’ it,” Applejack grumbled.
“I wasn’t! I swear!” Grapes asserted, earning a glare from the orange pony. “Okay, maybe I was, but I wasn’t about to say…”
They soon reached the Carousel Boutique, after their brisk trot across the town square.
“She ain’t into mares, anyhow,” Applejack observed.
“She MIGHT be, after Blueballs,” Grapes said rolling her eyes. Applejack stood there blinking for a moment. Then she collapsed, laughing her flank off. Well, not LITERALLY but she was laughing long, loud, and with total abandon. The laughter was, apparently, loud enough to be heard inside, because soon after Applejack started busting a gut, the boutique door opened, framing a concerned-looking Rarity.
“My goodness, what is going on out here?” she asked, looking from AJ who was still in hysterics to Sour Grapes who was watching her cousin with a bemused look on her face.
“I made a funny,” Grapes explained.
“Oh?” the pristine white and purple unicorn asked, her curiosity obviously intrigued. “Anything that a lady can hear?”
“Heck no, but a friend would laugh anyways, Rare.” Applejack chortled. “Long story short: Sour here suggested that any gal who met Prince Blueblood in person would have a long hard look at… which side of the fence she sits on.”
“Which side of the… OH!” Rarity’s face registered a shock tinged with a mischievous smirk.
“Darn tootin’. An’ darned if’n that didn’t put certain pictures in mah own head. Darn right silly ones too.”
“Oh… you!” Rarity chided Applejack playfully. “While I must admit MISTER Bluebood may have fallen greatly short of my masculine ideal, I have yet to see any reason to mmm… learn to ride side saddle, so-to-speak?”
“Even if the grass is greener, so to speak?” Grapes said in a kidding tone. “Anyway, I was telling AJ of my own Gala disaster, and she decided you’d want to hear the part where I told off Blueballs.”
“Oh, you did that too? OH, thank HEAVENS!” Rarity said fanning herself with a hoof. “My last tinge of worry was that there wasn’t any manner of precedent to my outburst. That is certainly a weight off my concern for my social standing.”
“Well, my grandmother had brought me there to show me that I HAD no social standing, so…” Grapes started. “Yeah, I hated it. The ponies were boring and stuffy, there was no life to the party at all, and I swear they wouldn’t know good food if it hit them square in the face.”
“Boy ain’t THAT the truth.” Applejack said, wiping her feet on the welcome mat before walking into Rarity’s shop. “Carnival Fare mah Aunt Fanny!”
“Yeah, she was always a fun one, wasn’t she?” Grapes observed, as she repeated the ritual, and followed Applejack inside.
The shop looked as it always had, clothing on display and wonderful comforts available for potential customers. What did surprise Grapes was that Rarity was dressed as she normally did when sewing.The pincushion on her foreleg, her gorgeous mane tied up and out of the way, the horn-rimmed glasses perched upon the end of her muzzle. No bags under her eyes from lost sleep, no running mascara from endless weeping, no robe, or slippers or curlers indicating a lack of desire to get out of bed. In short, Rarity looked like… Rarity.
She even brought them into the kitchen where a pot of tea sat on the stove steeping. She offered them a cup with the comforting addendum, “Redline has been expressly forbidden to suggest any blends other than base components to me. The dear is indispensable for keeping my sewing machine properly tuned up but his choice of beverages leave much to be desired.”
“I am in agreement with that assessment, Rarity. You… Okay, you do not seem as disappointed as I thought you would be. Your prince turned into a toad, and… you’ve apparently moved on,” Grapes said sounding pleasantly surprised.
“I know,” she said, sounding as surprised as Sour Grapes. “It’s astonishing but I actually feel relieved that he wasn’t my special somepony. Not for the final reasons though. No, I suppose it really hit home that a prince would be a far too high-maintenance coltfriend for me. I mean, a lady is expected to keep her husband in line some of the time, but it should not be a twenty-four hour a day chore.”
“Well he IS the biggest nothing in the Principality,” Grapes observed. “And he got told that to his face by a sixteen-year-old filly. You see, my grandmother, Pave Diamond, took me to the Gala to keep me from getting any ideas that I’m a part of that world, because of my Mother. Naturally it was horrible. Not only was the party as lifeless as stagnant water, the food bland and unappealing, and the music banal and forgettable; I spent the whole night being insulted by everypony my Grandmother could drag close, because of my mixed heritage.”
“Well. She may have a pedigree and a title but she’s certainly no lady then. Of all the gall to do that to one’s own flesh and blood,” Rarity uttered.
“The final contestant was Prince Blueblood himself. And, of course, he joins the chorus of stuffy Canterlot unicorns calling me a half-breed. By that time, of course, I was sick and tired of it, and had had enough. I looked him in the eye and said: ‘I may be a half-breed, but at least I’m not the biggest nothing in the Principality’,” Grapes continued her story, even altering her voice into an approximation of how she sounded when she was sixteen. She was hardly an actress of stage and screen but she did hold Rarity and Applejack’s attention so she must have been doing SOMETHING right. “He said: ‘What did you call me, you little creaton?!’ I got right up in his face, and then I said:
‘You are NOTHING, ‘Prince’ Blueblood. You contribute nothing to the greater good, you care nothing for those beneath you, and you offer nothing to Equestria as a whole. As far as I am concerned, the only thing you are good for are the bits you use to buy trinkets you think are important from ‘low born rabble’ like me!’ And with that I turned and stormed out of the Gala.”
“Bravah, dear Sour Grapes. Bravah to you on that.” Rarity said, applauding, that is, stomping her forehooves lightly on the ground. “I daresay I caught a glimpse of the expression you left on his face last night when I told that self absorbed, cowardly, primping, preening, popinjay where he could put that cake wreck he saddled me with.”
Grapes looked at Applejack, then back at Rarity. “Let me guess. That was Applejack’s attempt at having a fancy treat at the gala, and it got ruined? Why do I think that, somehow, a certain poly-chromatic mare is responsible?”
“It’s possible. I’m afraid I wasn’t keeping track of my friends at the time. Mercy me, I was nearly as bad as Blueblood in being self-absorbed.”
“Yeah… Ah ain’t too proud of mahself on that note. Ah was kinda self-absorbed, as well…” Applejack said quietly. She then quickly changed the subject. “So, since you ain’t gonna land yerself Prince Blueblood what’s yer new plan, Rarity?”
“Plan, dear Applejack?” Rarity asked.
“Please. If there’s one thing ah know about you, it’s that you always have a plan B for these here things. So what’s the Blueblood plan B?” Applejack replied.
“Oh. Well, it’s to find a pony of substance who would be at a lower level of standing, although no less important. Perhaps a duke, a count or even a knight. Classically speaking, any ‘landed’ pony can be granted a title by the highest royals in the land, this of course being Princess Celestia or Luna. Why… I’m certain even you could gain one if you asked politely. You ARE after all a national heroine, a bearer of an Element of Harmony, not to mention that your family has a vast expanse of property at their disposal. I believe that in square acreage you outstrip the majority of ‘rich’ ponies in town.”
“Hmm… Countess Applejack.” The earth pony said, trying the title out for size before laughing and shaking her head. “Nope. Sorry. Ah jest ain’t seein it.”
“Ser Applejack of the Acres,” Grapes deadpanned.
“What are ya talkin’ about?” Applejack asked, glaring at Grapes.
“You don’t seem to be the ‘dame’ sort, AJ,” Grapes quipped with a grin. “‘Ser’ is a gender neutral form of the old ‘sir’ title for knights. Usually female knights are called ‘dame’, but the title doesn’t seem to fit you, cuz.”
“Hmm. SER Applejack. Land sakes, Ah’d have to find mahself some fancy armor with liver on it.”
“Livery, Applejack dear.” Rarity corrected, making a face.
“Or just some fancy barding, with a nice apple motif. I bet you could come up with something appropriate, Rarity,” Grapes suggested casually.
“It would certainly give Big Macintosh something to feel jealous of his little sister about.” Rarity tittered before looking over one of her projects. “If you want, later on I’ll do some designs we can look over and share a laugh over. Just some sketches, naturally. No fittings of ANY sort. At all.” This last bit was said, with Rarity staring right at Grapes, who was looking back with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” Grapes asked, looking amused. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Sour Grapes, DAHling.” the white unicorn said, overly stressing the first syllable of the word to make it more sarcastic. “If there’s one thing you share with your cousin, Big Macintosh it’s that your silence often speaks volumes.”
“Oh, what a day, I’m being slandered by my friend, and my own cousin, and after I come all the way from Fluttershy’s, concerned about how you were taking your Gala-letdowns…” Grapes uttered dramatically. “Fluttershy’s was a Cutie Mark Failure Syndrome, from her not connecting with the animals in a city where NO creature would know her. Applejack was trying to sell treats at an event that had a free catered buffet, which I KNEW about because I sold the caterers wine…”
“... and without a vendor’s licence.” Rarity added with a smirk.
“And not only is that city full of stuck-up stuffy nobles who wouldn’t know good food if it smacked them in the face, which it came close to doing, apparently, it’s also full of bureaucrats. Mostly ponies who are doing their jobs, but some of them can be real pains in the flank,” Grapes concluded. “Get stuck with a fine, AJ, or did they let you off with a warning?”
Applejack removed her hat and let out an annoyed and very horse-like escape of air. “Princess Celestia gave me a short lecture on proper channels and the need for food regulation inside of Canterlot’s walls. Then she gave me a bag o’ hush money to keep the whole thing quiet. You know… on account of it lookin’ bad if it got out that a ‘street vendor’ had her produce destroyed bah a ‘random and deliberate act o’ vandalism bah a pony or ponies unidentified’.”
“Rainbow Dash and Blueballs?” Grapes asked with a smirk.
“Got it in one, sugarcube.” Applejack nodded. “So. Long story short… at least Ah broke even. Cart and vittles all that bought and paid fer.”
Grapes sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, AJ.”
“Eh. Sometimes you get a few bad apples in with a bushel, Sour.” She said, putting her hat back on. “Besides, before Ah left Ah managed to get Twi’ wrangle me a whole heap of paperwork for any future ‘visits’. Yessiree. Next time Ah pull somethin’ like this Ah’ll be ready for it.”
“Nothing like a thinking for the future,” Grapes said with a grin. “Okay. Got you and Rarity, Fluttershy… Not sure how Twilight’s going to be acting. The only other worst case I can think of would be Pinkie. Because it was a Canterlot ‘Party’, and I swear a lot of Canterlot Ponies are fun-vampires. They SUCK it all out of any possible event, leaving it flat and lifeless. I’d better check on her. I’m sure Mac will want to see you back at the stand… Unless you’ve got something, or somepony else to occupy your time.”
Rarity rolled her eyes and seized a length of fabric from a table and “snapped” it playfully at the heels of her friends, herding them towards the door.
“That is QUITE enough of that, Sour Grapes. You and Applejack had your moment to check up on me and to give her a mental respite from her own distraction. Now ‘shoo’. ‘Shoo’ to both of you. I have work to do and so do you, Applejack. Oh, and do tell Summer Squall his athletics bag is ready, Sour Grapes.” With that, Rarity flounced a quick about-face, and closed her door.
“Ha-UMPH!” Grapes found herself with a mouthful of Earth Pony hoof.
“Jus’ go an’ see Pinkie, already,” Applejack uttered, before removing said hoof. Grapes made a face, before turning toward Sugarcube Corner.
“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, good-naturedly, as she left. “And wash your hooves, they taste terrible.”
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Pinkie was laying on her big pink fuzzy shag carpet, holding her head in her hooves as her eyes ran back and forth along the lines of the page. She was so completely oblivious that Sour Grapes had entered her room on the top floor of Sugarcube Corner without her noticing.
Grapes peeked over Pinkie’s shoulder, curiously. She had been sent upstairs by the Cakes, because Pinkie had been kind of off since last night. The bargain bin was full to overflowing with proof of this. All of them were edible, of course; the Cakes wouldn’t sell any of their product if it wasn’t. No, they were just not as aesthetically pleasing as normal, or the flavor mixes were just strange. Sour Grapes bit into her chocolate raisin Muffin and let the way it contrasted with the bright purple lemon icing dance on her tongue. Well it was different, she had to admit. It wasn’t bad, as such, just different.
The book certainly wasn’t what Sour Grapes expected. First of all there weren’t any color pictures, and there was a lot of small print. Grapes admitted it was a great disservice to Pinkie Pie to assume she was a mental lightweight and that chances are Pinkie was probably every bit as smart her friends. Just a little… less focused. Grapes’ own eyes moved to the top of the page to see where the title of the chapter rested.
“Cutlery Placement.”
Huh. Well that was a thing. A thing that Sour Grapes probably would NEVER have guessed she’d see Pinkie reading about. She noticed her little pink ears twitching and suddenly the pink pony’s head slowly rotated 180 degrees to look back at her.
“Oh! Hi Grapes! I didn’t expect to see you here, or anypony really. I just really got into a new book.”
“About cutlery placement?” Grapes asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh no, silly! That’s only part of it.” Pinkie closed the book and flipped it over to show the cover to her visitor. “See? ‘Gallopgher‘s Guide to Parties and Celebrations in a Formal Setting’. Reading it is a lot like eating tortilla chips without any dip but it’s interesting in its own way. I had no idea that there are some ponies who really like dull, drab, and predictable parties. They eat small strange snacks or eat little pieces of food on very large plates while drinking drinks that everypony else agrees is good because they’re very expensive while they all talk about small boring things. Apparently its like an excuse to go to work without actually being ‘at work’.”
“And me, I would just say that the Canterlot snobs are fun-vampires. They suck all the fun out of everything they touch, and leave it lifeless and dull,” Grapes quipped, before going “bleh”, and showing off a purple tongue and slightly stained teeth, obviously trying for the ‘movie vampire’ sound, rather than commenting on the taste of the cupcake..
The pink mare burst out laughing and raised herself up onto her hooves. “You found my ‘factory seconds’ huh? How are they? I wasn’t paying attention that much when I was making them… I just really got so INTO this book that I got some of the ingredients or cooking instructions all mixed up.”
“They’re… interesting,” Grapes observed. “Not bad, just really different. Seriously, though, you shouldn’t worry about Canterlot Dandies.”
“I know I shouldn’t. I mean they’re them and I’m me. At least I think I’m me.” Pinkie Pie quickly prodded her own face before smiling “Yeah. I’m me. After how weird things were last night, it’s easy to forget.”
Grapes smiled, and booped Pinkie on the nose with the frosting of her cupcake. “You’re one-of-a-kind Pinkie Pie. It’s not their fault they’ve lost the ability to appreciate it.”
“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn some new tricks. That’s why I got this book from Twilight,” Pinkie replied, before deftly licking the frosting from the end of her muzzle.
“Well… You’ll know the kinds of touches Rarity is bound to enjoy at her next birthday party,” Grapes observed.
“Exactly! This book is full of ideas for new kinds of parties. I might think that they may be a little dull, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make them a little more fun. Right?”
“Of course you can. Just not sure if the fun-pires of Canterlot would appreciate your efforts, but anypony in Ponyville would love seeing your innovations in partying,” Grapes said with a grin. “Good to see you’ve come through the Gala just fine, Pinkie. I was worried about all of you.”
“Oh Grapesie!” Pinkie said, throwing herself against her with a big bearhug. “We’re not made of glass slippers you know. Sure we stumble, fall down and go boom but best thing to do is get up, dust ourselves off and get right back on the bicycle and ride.”
“I know I know… It’s just that you guys seemed to put a lot on that night, is all,” Grapes said, hugging Pinkie back. “So how’s little miss ‘I can see the universe’ doing?”
“Pretty good. I mean she did have Celestia come to the doughnut shop afterwards and let us all know that everything was okay.” She pulled Grapes a little closer and dropped her voice to a stage whisper “Turns out, Celestia thinks the Galloping Gala was a dull party too and hoped our being there would liven things up. Who knew?”
“News to me. But then Princess Celestia does seem more practical than the Canterlot Dandies that have taken over the party,” Grapes said with a grin. “And a lot more down to earth.”
“Yeah. Even Dashie seems a little better now that she knows the Wonderbolts actually know her by name.”
“Well… We can only hope that dream turns out to be all she hopes,” Grapes observed with a nod. “Not all dreams turn out how we want them.”
“Eh. She’ll be okay. One thing about Dashie is that she might hit the ground hard but she bounces right back… well not RIGHT back, but… you know what I mean.”
“Right. Sounds good,” Grapes said with a nod. “Guess I’ll head back home. Did talk to Fluttershy. She could use some reassurance.”
“Okie dokie lokie! Have fun Grapes. Let the Cakes know I’ll have my mind on my job better tomorrow after I finish my book. Ooooh. Doilies.”
“Will do, Pinkie,” Grapes said as she trotted downstairs.
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The barn on the Grapevine Hills property was certainly not the largest nor the most impressive in ponyville. In fact in the grand scheme of things it was a very plain and ordinary-looking barn. Two-floors, filled with hay and tools, covered in blistered red paint (appropriately called “Barn Red”) and highlighted with white edging. So one could easily say that there was little to set it apart from any other barn in the world. However, one foal had hei own view of the barn. In everypony else’s eyes it was a building unlike any other. To Skyhook, who currently was staring up at the structure, it outright LOOMED over her, and pretty much anypony else who was her comparatively diminutive size.
She stared up at it’s high peak, then over at the small pile of paint cans and brushes that sat to the side. She then looked up at the barn again, her eyes wide with a hint of overwhelming worry at the connotations of why her “warden” Sour Grapes had led her to this area. Sour Grapes took a little schadenfreude in seeing Skyhook’s expression as it slowly sank in that she intended to have the filly paint her barn.
“You realise I can’t fly over a certain height or I’ll get zapped. Right?” Skyhook said rather hastily, no doubt hoping to appeal to Sour Grapes’ logic.
“Yes. Yes you would. But there’s a reason somepony invented ladders you know,” Sour Grapes replied with a smirk. “Thanks to your godfather I was able to read up on the statistics and features of those inhibitor collars. They only go off when the pegasus in question is supplying the ‘lift’. The not-so-subtle act of using pegasus magic basically activates them.”
“Pegasus magic? But only unicorns have magic… don’t they?”
“You walk on clouds, manipulate the weather and technically speaking unless you could flap your wings as fast as a hummingbird’s you should be as land-locked as any other pony,” the better read pony stated with a slightly smug expression “If that’s not magical, then nothing a unicorn does counts either. This type of magic is called ‘innate’ magic, as opposed to a unicorn’s ‘overt’ magics. Earth Ponies have something similar. It’s what makes them stronger, have more endurance, and able to do more work. Never mind an Earth Pony’s earth sense, that helps them keep in rhythm with the seasons and in some cases ‘synchronise’ with them.”
“I… I didn’t know that. I just thought that only unicorns had the thingie needed to cast magic.”
“They do, but unicorn magic is overt. It directly controls things. The innate magic of pegasi and Earth Ponies affect their bodies, and how they interact with the world. Unicorns, on the other hoof, use their magic to interact with the world, directly,” Grapes explained.
“That might explain a lot,” Skyhook admitted, examining her own hooves as if never really noticing them before. “So do any ponies have a way of ‘changing up’ those magical gifts?”
“You could say I do,” Grapes said. “But it helps to have a heritage that is from multiple tribes. Me, I’m half Earth Pony, so I have connection to the innate magics of the Earth. I may be getting a slight connection to air magic, but my significant other has been taking me on imaginary flights that resemble the meditation for pegasi. Though there is only the very slightest connection, because I have no connection to the air other than him. Mostly I balance the overt magic of unicorns with the innate magic of Earth Ponies, which has some interesting bleed-over.”
“Wow… So, you want me to paint the whole barn?”
“Well I’d like you to get a start. You’ll not be alone. You’ve been offered help, but you’re to start on your own, and think about what you’ve done,” Grapes said patting Skyhook’s back. “Later, your help will come, and you will have the chance to get the socialization you sorely lacked with your previous locations.”
“Well.. okay.” The filly said quietly, her head a little lower. “At least I don’t have to do the whole thing by myself.”
“Well. Yes. But I was enjoying how adorably pathetic you looked when you thought you had to do so,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “But you know, I couldn’t just let you think so for so very long. I’m not that cruel.”
Skyhook glared at her for a brief moment but it faltered and crumbled away revealing somepony who realised that she probably would have liked pulling the same thing on somepony else. Without a word she got to work, giving Sour Grapes a chance to head down to her home where Earshot was looking at a large textbook on the meal table out front. Judging by his expression, this was probably one of the ones Cheerilee had selected to show how simple illnesses could affect cultures unprepared for them. That would no doubt make this next part easier.
“Heya, Miss Grapes. I never realised how many things were out there that could kill a pony with a poor immune system,” he said with a hint of horror in his voice. “Did you know an entire tribe of Zebras were wiped out because of one called Scarlet Fever? It says here it led directly to an old bad joke that starts with the question ‘What’s black and white and red all over?’”
“I know. I’ve read some of this, remember?” Grapes said, kindly. “And… I’ve got bad news.”
“You… you do?” he asked, his little bat-ears drooping in preparation for hearing bad news.
“You’ve got to go to the doctor. Going for a mandatory battery of tests, to follow-up your illness,” Grapes said with a nod. “Sorry, hon, but it’s necessary.”
His head hung so low that it looked like his neck had somehow retracted. No doubt his experiences with Dr. Crabapple had yet to completely erase the lies that the mysterious “Doktor Vivisection” had filled his noggin with. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t resist going to the hospital with her, or even fight the doctors, but he might worry himself sick again.
“Come on, Earshot, I’ll be with you. We’ll leave if anything makes you feel really uncomfortable,” Grapes said reassuringly.
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Earshot glanced nervously around the examination room. He had been asked to ‘“go ahead and have a seat on the table” while Sour Grapes filled out some forms in the waiting room. The room was fairly large and filled with cabinets with many drawers, with strange alien-looking silver tools of unknown purpose sitting in trays on the counter. Everything was a frighteningly odd shade of white, too. He swallowed deeply, feeling terribly conspicuous in that cold chamber. Like a shadow in the middle of the desert at midday. And then there was the smell. He had never smelled any place so clean in his life. It wasn’t even the normal kind of clean, it was a… a CHEMICAL cleanliness that cemented this room as being the philosophical and literal opposite of his home in the caverns of Stygian Cove.
He was so lost in thought that he nearly didn’t notice the door open and a unicorn in a lab coat enter. He was tall and his features were long and angular. He had a sort of pale greenish-cream tone to his body while his mane was black and cut so precisely it might have been done with a bowl as a template. He wore a blue shirt of some sort under the white coat, and his face was… inscrutable. The unicorn locked gazes with Earshot and nodded.
“Good morning, Earshot. I am Doctor Coldhoof. You probably know me through my goddaughter, Skyhook. I would like to begin by apologizing for her actions during the holidays; it was very irresponsible of her to try to deliberately expose anypony to an illness, especially as a joke.”
“S’okay.” the night pony said, his voice refusing to rise past a meek squeak.
“Good. Now. I am pleased to see that you are taking your health seriously enough to come for a proper examination. I assure you that I will be taking this very seriously and will be conducting myself in as professional a manner as possible.”
Dr. Coldhoof set up a small wax-cylinder recorder, and made certain the springs were wound tight before clicking the switch on it into the “on” position. The little black tube began to rotate and the little needle suspended above it meticulously carved a tiny groove into it as it recorded all sound in the region for posterity. He turned to the apprehensive young colt on the examination table and spoke clearly.
“This device will make an audio record of all the events transpiring during your examination. Do you have any objections to this, Earshot?”
“I... um… no? So that thing is like the opposite of a record player?
“It’s operation is not that dissimilar, yes. Now, let’s begin.” Coldhoof cleared his throat and spoke clearly towards the open cone on the device. “This is Doctor Coldhoof, chief medical researcher of the Ponyville Hospital. I am currently about to begin the examination of subject 8472, given name ‘Earshot’. Subject is a ‘variant’ pegasus colt in around ten years of age, some uncertainty on this issue as he lacks a viable birth certificate. Body colour is a light charcoal gray with a dark purple mane and tail, both thick and healthy. Cutiemark has manifested as a bat-like ear receiving three sound waves.The term ‘variant’ is to be noted that Earshot has divergent physiognomy from the garden-variety pegasus, taking the form of bat-like features such as wings, ears, and fangs, as well as gold-coloured eyes that are similar in appearance to feline eyes. All further notations of the subject’s species will be referred to by the colloquial designation ‘Night Pony’.”
He paused a moment to consider any further observations.
“Subject has indicated a lack of large-scale social interaction of his subspecies with normal ponies during the last one thousand years. This means they never received any of the immunisation treatments developed during the last 300 years. The details of which can be found in the attached file 1138 co-written by Doctor Crabapple and one Zecora, a Zebra healer living in the nearby region of the Everfree Forest. The purpose of this examination is to determine the overall health of the subject and to identify any and all variations he possesses that differ him from the average pegasus colt.”
“You… you’re not going to take me apart, are you?”
“Take you apart? Ah. You mean are my intentions to dissect you and examine the sum of your parts? The answer is no. While disassembling something is an efficient way of discovering how it works, it is not always the only or even the best of techniques. As we only have one of your breed to examine, I would rather not do anything that would result in harming, making you resentful or terminating your life. I trust we are in agreement on that point.”
“Yes sir. Very much.”
“There’s also the ‘Hippocratic Oath’ that all doctors in Equestria have to take, harkening back to one of the first doctors, by the name of Hippocrates, considered the ‘father of modern medicine. ‘First of all, do no harm in the practice of my art’,” Grapes said, with a smile.
“Well said, Miss Sour Grapes,” Coldhoof observed while Grapes entered the room. “Note: Third voice on recording will be civilian observer Sour Grapes, who is here on behalf of Earshot’s legal guardian one Captain Summer Squall.”
“Probably will be a source of historical anecdotes to help keep Earshot’s mind at ease, during the examinations, and procedures,” Grapes added. “Along with other random bits of information to help assuage the young colt’s curiosity.”
Coldhoof looked levelly at his guest before turning back to Earshot.
“Well then, that’s an added advantage to your presence, Miss Grapes. Now, let us begin with the basics.” He opened a drawer and began pulling out instruments. “Thanks to my best efforts we have access to some of the latest medical techniques and equipment here at the Ponyville hospital. We may not be anywhere near the same level as the Canterlot Medical Centre but our own resources are nothing to sneeze at.”
“Even an ultrasound machine. I’m impressed, Doctor,” Grapes observed.
“It wasn’t easy to obtain. With magic being so prevalent, any manner of technology is usually casually dismissed by the status quo. Doctor Crabapple has stated that I’d have gotten the funding easier if the ultrasound machine were a crystal ball,” Coldhoof uttered.
Grapes sighed, shaking her head. “Scrying is less accurate, especially for checking out internal organs, and the proper workings of a living body. May as well be trying to read tea leaves, or throwing bones,” she uttered with an eyeroll. “I know it’s pretty easy to dismiss technology, but it is like magic: A tool. Some unicorns seem to forget that, with their magic-centric view, but the use of technology only helps make life easier, and more safe in a lot of instances, including boosting the power of medical professionals so they can treat ponies with more accuracy. It also helps pegasi and earth pony doctors know more of what they're doing, never mind allowing earth ponies and pegasi to actually become doctors. Machines that use electricity to power them, or have magically charged energy sources, rather than depending upon a unicorn’s overt magic to help make the diagnosis.”
"How do you know all this?" Coldhoof asked.
"Oh, she reads a lot of stuff. She's got a lot of bookshelves in her house, and has even filled the bunkhouse bookcases with books she's collected," Earshot replied with a smile.
"Skyhook mentioned that you were something of an amature historian, but I had no idea your breadth of knowledge covered magic, and technology,” Coldhoof stated.
"Being only half unicorn makes me aware of my limitations, so I search for ways to work more efficiently, and make use of the magic pool I have," Grapes replied.
Coldhoof raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. Well I’d better get to the examination.”
Sour Grapes had her misgivings when Crabapple had recommended that Coldhoof be the one to do the examination, but now seeing him move quickly and efficiently through the various tests she was beginning to understand why he was nominated. Her original experiences with him and his complete lack of bedside manner had somewhat blinded her to the fact that he was highly intelligent and a complete professional. Pulse, temperature, reflexes, blood, eyes, nose, throat. He sped through them all with an astonishing swiftness and a running dialogue to the recording device. Earshot took it all like a trooper, only hesitating to ask questions on a method or item before consenting to allow it, even when asked for fresh blood samples he bit his lower lip and only winced a little when the needle pierced his skin. The only moment that seemed to have any major reaction was when Dr. Coldhoof decided to take a good look inside of Earshot’s frame with the ultrasound device.
“I am applying the ultrasound wand now and…”
“Uh? Woah!”
*THUD*
Coldhoof glanced down at where the stunned colt lay on the floor.
“Are you all right? You fell right off of the examination table.”
“I did?” Earshot said confusedly before realising he was sprawled on the floor. “Sorry… It’s just… the world got all blurry and spinny when you pointed that... thing at me, Doctor Coldhoof.”
Coldhoof looked at the wand and disengaged its spell for a moment and assisted Earshot back up onto the table.
“Curious. So your perception of the world just distorted? No other discomfort other than hitting the floor?”
“No. None at all than some bruises.”
“Let’s begin again. I am beginning the ultrasound once more, it appears that the ultrasound has an unexpected side effect upon the subject’s broad hearing range. The effect may be similar to experiencing blurred vision or even vertigo. This time I will attempt to repeat the procedure…” Coldhoof paused a moment before gently pushing Earshot down on the table. “...after the subject lays back on the table instead of sitting on its edge. This will prevent him from simply falling off onto the floor a second time.”
“What? Oh, right. Good idea, Doctor.”
“I am repeating the action again. Are you in any discomfort Earshot? Pain, disorientation, nausea?”
“I’m… feeling kinda funny here.” Earshot said, raising his voice. “My eyes are okay but I have this noise in my ears that’s making the world all funny-looking.”
Grapes chuckled. “Believe it or not, a lot of the mechanisms that govern balance are located in the ear, specifically the inner ear.”
“I’m guessing that his raising his voice indicates he’s also perceiving the subsonic sound as being very loud. We’re getting some very clear images. Heart seems fine, as are the lungs and other organs. All somewhat normal and to be expected for a pegasus colt his age bracket. Still I’d like to get him down to the X-ray room and get some permanent shots of his body while we have him here.”
“Checking out his bone structure, while he’s here?” Grapes asked, curiously.
“Definitely. To be honest I’d like to some bone and deep-tissue samples as well, however those would be somewhat painful. We do have a new gastrointestinal probe that may prove some insights into his digestive nature but again, that would cause him some discomfort, and I would rather have him return for more tests at a later time instead of traumatize him.”
“I think that’s an excellent decision. The last thing you need is to confirm the false idea given by a disgrace to the medical profession that he had encountered in a village close to his home,” Grapes said with a nod. “After all, you may call him a ‘unique specimen’, but I doubt you’d ever call him an ‘abomination’.”
“An abomination? Curious,” Coldhoof said in his usual even tone. It was always hard to guess what was going on behind those half-lidded eyes of his. “He is certainly unusual among the more multichromatic Pegasi but so far I have yet to see anything that would make him any more than an oddity. Would this ‘disgrace’ to the medical profession happen to have a name?”
“D- His name is herr Doktor Vivisection.” Earshot spoke up, apparently hesitant to say something while the ‘big ponies’ were talking. “He’s the doctor in the village closest to my home. Also the mortician. I’ve heard him say that it saves time.”
“Mmm. How efficient of him.” Coldhoof mumbled as he jotted the name down on a notepad. “The name does not bring anypony I know to mind but calling anypony an abomination without genuine empirical proof is irresponsible. I’ll see if I can learn more about the ‘Doktor’ at a later time. For now my attention is focused upon you, Mister Earshot.”
“This village seems to have quite the… prejudice against Earshot’s kind, Doctor,” Grapes said frowning. “I’ve never been fond of tribalists, of any tribe, to be honest.”
“The social sciences were never my strong suit, Miss Sour Grapes. Now… where was I? Ah yes. Attached to Subject’s file is File 42, courtesy of one Doctor Minuette D.D.S. Enclosed are x-rays and other dental records of subject. While dental surgery is not my specialty, upon review of the attached file I am in agreement with Doctor Minuette that Earshot’s teeth, while built to allow the consuming of both plant and animal tissue, are in a state of remarkable health for one who has never used a toothbrush until recently. Note to self, procure one such ‘gnawling’ for personal examination at later date.”
“They’re really pretty good. Like if you get chillwood. It has a nice aftertaste that’s kinda like stuffing your mouth full of snow.”
“I’ll leave it to you to bring me some for analysis later, Earshot,” Coldhoof directed.
“Wait… You’ve got a gnawling that tastes like wintergreen, or peppermint?” Grapes asked. “Oh, right, you haven’t had many mints… Note to self, get some mints of each flavor.”
Coldhoof examined the dental x-ray for a moment before turning to the little colt.
“I am sending the subject to radiology where technician Celluloid Negative will take several images of Earshot’s various bodily portions. Rather than be in the way of the technician, Miss Sour Grapes and myself will remain here until the procedure is complete. You will be in good hooves Earshot. Celluloid Negative has dealt with ponies your age in the past and has been briefed on your appearance. There should be no awkwardness between you two.”
“Oh. Um… thank you?”
“Your welcome, Earshot,” Coldhoof replied. He led Earshot to the door where a pony who had a curious resemblance to an x-ray of the equine body, took him away. Coldhoof then turned off the recorder and pulled out a different wax-cylinder device, and turned it on. A soft but discordant sound filled the air, sounding like heavy rain accompanied by windchimes and random pan flutes. “Counter-eavesdropping measures. In a world where magic cantrips allow for ponies to listen in, it helps to have ways to keep doctor/patient confidentiality nearby. It works on various eavesdropping mundane and magical techniques, and I see no reason it shouldn’t work on a pony with exceptional hearing.”
“Was there something you wished to discuss with me, Doctor?” Grapes asked, tilting her head, curiously.
“Yes, there is.” he said taking a seat behind the small desk in the room and motioning to the chair on the other side. “It concerns my goddaughter.”
“Skyhook? What’s going on with her? She seemed to be fine, last time I saw her,” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow, as she sat down in the indicated chair.
“I wanted to thank you for taking command of the situation the way you did. I also would like to thank you for taking control of Skyhook’s punishment. When her parents sent her into my care it was intended to be an abject lesson in tolerance of others and loving thy NEIGH bor…” he coughed into his hoof and shrugged.
Grapes blinked. “Doctor, did you just make a pun? Astonishing: you do have a sense of humor.”
“My genetic family may make a practice of setting personal displays of emotion aside but I do assure you still waters do run deep. Unfortunately that practice has become a habit for me and now I find it difficult to provide to Skyhook what she needs most. That is to say, a non-pegasus role model with the same feelings and flaws that anypony can identify with.” He turned slightly to look at the clock on the wall, its second hand clicking away with the same perfection he probably led his own life. “Skyhook’s presence has made me very aware of such shortcomings in my personal philosophies, which is why it… it pleases me that she seems to be finding that role model in you, Miss Sour Grapes.”
Grapes sat there looking astonished. “Wait… You’re saying that Skyhook… looks up to me? I… I honestly don’t know what to say. I’ve never been a role model, before.”
“You are no doubt one of the better ones available. Intelligent, well-read, strong-willed and forceful when called upon.” He paused a moment for what was no doubt dramatic effect before continuing. “And yet for all those features you also show a good deal of compassion and a surprising level-headedness. You could have gone the easy route and taken Skyhook out for... how would my colleague, Dr. Crabapple, say it? Ah yes, a ‘good old-fashioned horse-whipping’. Instead your first act was to keep her close to the subject… Earshot, and to give her chores revolving around cleaning up the mess she herself made. You forced her to witness the results of her mistake so she would learn from it, and see where senseless tribalism often takes a pony.”
“Never mind keeping Earshot’s compatriots from exerting vengeance upon her person,” Grapes added. “But if I allowed that to happen, then there would go my reputation for being tough but fair. It would have done no good to either Skyhook or Earshot to allow her to be seriously injured due to her mistake. Earshot would have felt guilty, as would the other Storm Riders. Also, Skyhook is young enough to be salvageable, so that is to her credit. Just had to show her the results of her mistake, her assumption, so the lesson could be hammered home.”
“Then on that part we are in agreement. Skyhook is my goddaughter and it does alarm me that she took her attempts at tribalism that far. According to her parents, she was lured into the circle of the Down-Lookers Organisation by a charismatic and handsome leader by the name of Inclined Doctrinaire.” He took a moment to ponder on that one. “I suspect it’s a false name but still rather prophetic. How many similar groups have arisen because one pony had a smile and the right thing to say at the right time when nopony was willing to apply reason and accountability to them?”
“That’s why they’re so successful,” Grapes said with a shrug. “They don’t appeal to reason, and logic, but to emotion, and pride.”
“And this is why my family practices the control of emotion in favor of reason. However, as I mentioned before, sometimes it is not always the advantage it seems to be. I would like to ask a personal favor of you, Sour Grapes.”
“I’d like to hear it, first, before I agree to anything,” Grapes said.
“Understood. I would like to ask you to continue what it is you are doing with Skyhook. While it may not be her parents’ original intention, perhaps the presence of more pegasi would be appropriate for her to learn tolerance. They work for you, who are either earth pony or unicorn depending on your mood, and their main source of work is definitely very un-pegasus-like in nature. I also understand they come from a broad variety of backgrounds, and yet have come to respect and even celebrate one another’s differences. It may turn out that your vineyard is the stepping stone necessary for her to grow as an individual.”
“That is something I’d be happy to do, Doctor Coldhoof,” Grapes replied, with a nod. “Nevermind more exposure to her own classmates, including Earshot, will help in that regard, as well.
“As a point of order,” he said standing up and switching the little noisemaker off. “I would very much like to test Earshot for allergies. Doctor Crabapple can be the one to apply immunisation shots as Earshot seems to trust him, but I’m better qualified for identifying if he will have any future issues with bodily reactions.”
“I think that would be a good idea, as long as he will come through said testing with little to no injury,” Grapes asserted.
“A standard skin prick test should cause no more discomfort than a scraped knee or a paper cut.” he took a moment to glance at Sour Grapes before opening the door. “He hasn’t shown any any previous reactions to anything you can remember?”
“None that I’ve observed,” Grapes said, after a moment’s thought.
“Excellent. I believe we have given your young charge enough time to riddle the radiology personnel with questions about the equipment. Shall we go see how well he takes a photo?”
“Sure, why not,” Grapes said, as she got up, and followed the doctor to Radiology.
------------------
Earshot carefully balanced himself on the silk cushion provided by Rarity as he dug into his ice cream. He hadn’t been too thrilled with the location of the immunisation shots he had received the previous day and was still rather… sore on the point. He commented that he was glad that he had the option of sleeping hanging upside down so he wouldn’t have a rude awakening when rolling over. Still, he didn’t complain about all the ice cream he got as compensation for being so brave in the face of his shots, although he quietly admitted he would have been happy with an ice pack.
Sour Grapes was impressed by the functionality of the cushion. It was the same gray and purple as its owner but the shape seemed to indicate it was created specifically for Earshot’s experience with the needles.
“Rarity does good work, doesn’t she?” Grapes asked.
“Yes Miss Grapes. She does very good work,” Earshot said, licking the lemon flavoured goop from his muzzle. “And so fast too. I mentioned I needed something really soft to sit on because I got my shots and next thing I know she was already running the silk through the sewing machine.”
“I didn’t know she could do such sturdy things as a bucking bag or speedbag,” Grapes observed.
“Oh, yes. What did she mean by enjoying the challenge? It wasn’t like her other things, you know. All sparkly and frilly. You’d think it would have been easy in comparison to a dress or a suit.”
“Yeah, but she does dresses and suits all the time,” Grapes observed. “She’s not used to making things that can take a beating.”
“Oh. I see. Yes her clothes are so beautiful but when I was wearing my suit I was always so worried I might damage it. I guess it would be a challenge to make Mister Squall’s equipment.” Earshot’s head suddenly turned to the direction of the frames and blinked. “We just got a message from Lady Weathervain, actually it’s just Firestormer. Which is kinda weird. Usually we all get one more or less at once.”
“Well, Firestormer was waiting on a message. You see, he’s getting some kind of corrective surgery,” Grapes explained.
“Correct-ive?” he asked tilting his head to the side. “Like when Miss Cheerilee corrects my homework?”
“Kind of. But you know how his jaw was broken, when he was a colt? It was never set
correctly. Minuette thinks it’ll help his teeth mesh correctly,” Grapes explained.
“Ohhh. So that’s why he never seems to really smile nice in photos? It always comes out like he knows something we don’t… which he probably does but doesn’t mean to look like it.”
“Exactly,” Grapes said with a nod.
“Well he’s coming this way now, and Mister Dusty is coming with him.” Earshot’s right ear twitched cutely. “And it sounds like his left rear wheel needs some grease.”
“He probably knows, Earshot,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “If there’s one thing I know about Dusty, it’s that he knows how to take good care of his equipment.”
The two ponies came into view. Dusty pushing his little cart along with his hind legs while Firestormer sat astride his back, looking dramatic as he commanded him in a playfully authoritative voice.
“Forward, noble steed! Mush! Mush! Onward to our gracious leader!”
“Dude. Why do I feel the ‘noble steed’ gets the raw end of the deal here,” Dusty said looking back at Firestormer with a smirk.
“I dunno. Because I’m making you do all the pushing?” Firestormer said with a chuckle. “Honestly, I’m doing this for your own good. Lets you get in some more exercise when nopony’s looking.”
“Lucky me. Oh. Hey Grapes.”
“You KNOW you aren’t supposed to be straining that leg, Dusty,” Grapes said with a frown.
“Sorry Grapes, but in Dusty’s favor he is still just pushing with his back half here. You know, plot power and all that.” Firestormer said, climbing down from his perch. “On an unrelated note I got a letter from Lady Weathervain. She’s sending us an intern to help out while my ability to communicate is… hindered.”
“Right. Figured that had to be the reason. Doesn’t excuse you from using Dusty’s hindquarters for pedal power,” Grapes said admonishingly.
“Oh don’t be such a spoilsport, dear Grapes,” Queenie said approaching from the bunkhouse. “It’s nice to see the scarecrow pulling his weight for a change.”
“He can’t pull his own weight, unless you want him to lose his leg,” Grapes quipped.
“Hello Queenie.” Dusty said, with a slight blush in his cheeks.
“Hello, Dusty,” Queenie replied, turning away from his adoring eyes to look at her bright orange associate. “On the more important topic though, when will your assistant be arriving, Firestormer?”
Firestormer checked the scroll and sighed.
“You’re not gonna believe this.”
“Try us,” Grapes said, deadpan.
“Well boss, Lady Weathervain is notorious with us Storm Riders for having a… a motherly sense of humor.” the fire specialist said rubbing the back of his neck. “You know. The ‘let you know they’re sending a family member to your place moments before they arrive’ sort of sense of humor.”
“He’s right behind us, isn’t he?” Grapes asked.
“Well not RIGHT behind you, right behind you if that’s what you mean. But he’s at the end of the driveway there. Looks like he took a cab with Checkers,” Firestormer said.
“Well let’s go and pick up the little nooblet,” Grapes said with a smirk. “Should be fun breaking him in.”
“Oh geeze… Grapes’ got that look in her eye,” Dusty uttered watching as she trotted down the driveway. “New dude’s totally going to get fewmits duty.”
The pony in question was a pegasus (big surprise there) stallion with a light blue body and a cobalt blue mane and tail trimmed to a utilitarian length. He had just finished paying Checkers and hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder when he saw them approaching. He quickly checked what looked like a photograph before dropping his bag and smartly snapping to attention. Hooves “clicked” together and he held his head up high, looking straight ahead at the horizon.
“So you’re the new guy?” Grapes asked.
“MA’AM, YES MA’AM!” the newcomer said, in not quite a shout but definitely with good strong lungs. “FRIENDLY FIRE MA’AM! SENT BY LADY WEATHERVAIN TO ASSIST FIRESTORMER, MA’AM!”
He stopped and Sour Grapes had to take a moment to recover before addressing him once more.
“I’m not a drill sergeant, kid. No need to deafen me,” Grapes said with a snort.
“Dude needs fewmits duty to take off some of the spit and polish,” Dusty whispered to those nearest. Dusty’s comment caused Queenie to titter just a bit, before she remembered herself.
“MA’AM, SORRY, MA’AM! I WAS RAISED TO RESPECT AUTHORITY, MA’AM!”
Grapes sighed and wondered how best to get to Friendly Fire when Summer Squall placed his hoof on her shoulder in a kind manner.
"Pardon me, Miss Grapes. Would you mind if'n I were to have a word with the cadet?"
"Go RIGHt ahead," Grapes uttered, stepping aside.
The older stallion coughed into his hoof, adjusted his hat, then faster than Grapes could be aware of, had somehow moved the dozen or so feet between himself and Friendly Fire, his muzzle so close to the younger pony's that there was hardly even room enough to put a piece of paper.
“CAPTAIN ON DECK, you no-good, hoof-draggin', barnacle-suckin', land-lubbin' featherduster!" His voice BOOMED in a tone that caused the already militaristic pony to somehow straighten up even further and display a look of abject terror. "I see it in yer eyes, you wanna be in the military so bad yer teeth ache. No doubt ye've been training for it your whole life but somethin' never panned out fer ya. Now you got yerself a chance to be part of something important and you wanna make a good impression. Well you've made an impression and it's tellin' me you need to lose a little bit of the spit and polish off of ya. This ain't the Royal Guard, lad, this is more 'special forces'. Bein' a Storm Rider is more than jest followin' orders. It's about usin' yer head for more than a place to hang a helmet. It's about flexibility and teamwork. It's about knowin' when to follow and when to lead. You might already know how to be a soldier but here, we're goin't to teach you how to be a civilian, if for no other reasons at all than they are the reason we do all of this. While on this property you will defer to Miss Grapes here as your superior. You may still refer to her as 'Ma'am' if you're comfortable with it but, take a hint from Gramophones and dial down yer volume control. She deserves respect but not a busted eardrum. Now, if after your first week you STILL want to play soldier, I can oblige ya. You won't so much as eat, sleep or scratch your BUM without my say-so. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal Clear... S-sir," Friendly Fire said at a somewhat lessened volume.
"Good, Now... Parrrrade REST!"
"He's all yers, Miss Grapes."
Dusty sniggered. "You showed him, Cap'in."
Squall smiled at Dusty and gave him a salute. "Just gotta know how to speak their language."
"Now... First and foremost, which is your sername?"
"Why not call him Fence? 'Cause he was as straight as a fencepost, before," suggested Dusty, with a chuckle.
"Congratulations, you've gotten your Dusty-issue nickname. Everypony, except myself and Queenie has one, apparently, now you do, too."
"FRIEND... *COUGH* I'm called Friendly Fire Ma'am." he managed to get out after a moment of adjusting his vocal output.
"I'm aware of that. Which one is your first name?" Grapes asked. "I need something yellable, Mister Spit and Polish."
"Friendly, Ma'am. I come from a long line of Friendly ponies."
"Thank Celestia for small miracles, I could only imagine the issues with having to yell out ‘FIRE’ every time I had to get your attention. Kay, Friendly, you probably think you're here for teambuilding, and getting to know your teammates. Which is fine. You can still do that. What you're here for, however, is to work for me," Grapes said in her authoritative tone. "I'm touted at 'tough but fair', and right now, you're going to see the tough part. But then you've got to show yourself able to pull your weight. Right now we're composting, fertilizing, pruning, and generally doing what we can to get ready for the summer harvest season. And since you're the low pony on the totem... You get everybody's favorite pastime."
"May I ask what that is, Ma'am?"
"You may," Grapes said snarkily. "And I'll be only TOO glad to answer." She simply turned him to face the row of outhouses. "I suggest wearing a respirator for Outhouse One."
"Ohhh maaaan. Latrine Duty."
"I should not laugh. I really shouldn't," Dusty murmured, obviously fighting his face.
"We call it 'fewmits duty' here, Mister Spit and Polish. You'll also be stirring the compost pile," Grapes said, casually.
"Yes Ma'am," Friendly said, in a tone that suggested he knew there was no getting out of this.
"Buck up, kiddo, it'll build character. Or that's what my father always told me, when I had to do it," Grapes said patting him on the back.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHA!" Dusty bust out laughing. "You channeled Uncle Champ like a pro, Cuz! Hooo... Yeah... Sorry, dude, but... Hey, sucks to be you. I'm sure I'll get a turn, when the thingamabob comes off," Dusty said gesturing to his leg brace, still chuckling.
“Thanks for volunteering in advance, Dusty,” Grapes said with a grin.
“Oh fewmits,” the blonde stallion muttered.
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Heh, anatomy charts....
Nice chapter. I loved how Grapes cheered up the main six. Also I'm glad earshot got his doctors appointment done. Now that Season 1 is done, I can't wait for season 2 to begin. With Cotton Candy weather. I can also see Dicord either messing with the Storm Riders or Discording them. Good luck with future chapters.
Conversation on anatomy.
*processing* DING
ABORT, GRAPES! ABORT BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!
This is one of my favorite stories, thanks for providing us with Sour Grapes
Squall sure does speak their language. Reminds me a lot of Silver Lining over in Calm Wind's stories.