• Published 18th Apr 2013
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Ponywatching - ThunderTempest



Stories from TMP prompts

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FFAF #2-Tradition

Fancy Pants strolled through Canterlot Park, his breath coming out in small clouds of steam. This time of year, like the rest of the city, it was covered with snow, lending what the stallion thought was a wonderfully fresh atmosphere to the already peaceful park. Many ponies would have called him insane for going out in this weather, but the elegant stallion was a creature of habit, and he went for a walk like this every week. No hanger-ons, no crowds, not even his fiancée, Fleur de Lis, came with him on these walks of his, though that was mostly at his insistence. It was just Fancy Pants, and the soft crunch of snow under his hooves. His usual bowtie had been exchanged for a knitted scarf, which had been a gift from Rarity, of all ponies. Fancy would never had guessed that the mare was so gifted at knitting, given her self-proclaimed love of haute couture.

But as Fancy Pants continued on his walk, the cold air settling through his mane and behind his ears, he could hear the sounds of a violin and somepony singing. Adjusting his course, he followed his ears to the source of the sound. There, just outside the entrance to the Canterlot Orphanage were two mares. He couldn’t see their cutie marks, nor much of their coats, given that the two were wrapped in at least one old blanket each, but for some odd reason, they seemed vaguely familiar to Fancy. The two were just standing there, playing a well known Hearth’s Warming song, and Fancy had to admit that the two were good. As he drew closer, the two mares finished the song, and paused for a moment to shake their hooves to get feeling back into them after standing still in the snow for so long. Fancy watched as the mare with the violin then stood back up onto her hind legs, and he got a good look at her mane-a dirty mess of blue, and her coat was white and unkempt, and stained with Celestia knew what. Her companion, the singer, was in a similar condition. Her grey mane was rough and tangled, and her coat alternated between slicked down from the snow and matted from whatever the mare had slept on, or in, the previous night.

But as Fancy got closer and closer, and the two started up another song, he noticed that the two didn’t smell nearly as bad as the rest of the few homeless that resided in Canterlot. Not that the city had a huge problem with them, as they were almost always found, cleaned up and then given some form of employment after a while, but there were a few, and their smell was particularly noticeable. And as Fancy watched and listened to the two play and sing, he was again struck with a sense of familiarity. He knew these two ponies, yet for the life of him, Fancy could not remember where he had seen them before.

[Time]

He was still standing there when the two mares finished another song, and then watched as the whiteish one packed up the violin, and magicked onto her back. He hadn’t noticed that she had been a unicorn, as she hadn’t used her magic to play the instrument, as many unicorn musicians did. As the two mares walked away, one of the blankets slipped on the mare that had been singing, and revealed a cutie mark of a treble clef, and before Fancy Pants could halt his tongue, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Octavia?”

****

Octavia had her front hooves wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate in Fancy Pants’ living room, while Vinyl Scratch sat beside her, blowing on her own mug. Their fake homeless outfits were in a pile beside the couch, and the violin rested on top.

“What were you two doing out there in the cold like that, Octavia?”

“We do this every year, Fancy. Its a little tradition of ours,” explained Octavia, “Both Vinyl and I are orphans, Fancy. We were raised in that building, so every year, we go and play for the fillies and colts there. A little way we can give something back.”

“But why the ridiculous getup? Surely the children know who you two are.”

“Yeah, they do. We’re a bit of a success story for them,” said Vinyl, “when Hearth’s Warming Day rolls around, we go in, dressed like you saw us, we play for a bit, and then we show who we are. The kids eat it up every year.”

“We may not be able to help them the rest of the year, Fancy, but we can at least make sure they have a happy Hearth’s Warming,” said Octavia.

Author's Note:

Written for Free For All Friday-no prompt given

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