> The Sound of Diamonds
>  by PropMaster
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 1 -






I awoke to the familiar sensation of warmth as the sun rose and touched my coat with tendrils of gentle heat through the window of my bedroom. I grumbled quietly to myself, rolling over in bed and burying my face in my pillows, trying to return to my dreams. The warm feeling of sunshine on my coat quickly became uncomfortable, and I sighed. I shoved the fuzzy blankets off my reclined form, sitting up slowly and stepping out of bed. I tapped my rear hooves on the tiled floor and ignited my horn, listening to the echo through my new home. I yawned unashamedly, and carefully moved to the adjoining bathroom, guided by the aura of my magic.

I paused in front of the sink and reached for the faucets, frowning slightly as I realized I’d forgotten to label them as ‘hot’ or ‘cold.’ I ran a hoof lightly through the water, testing each faucet until I was confident which was which. This was a new house, after all, with new challenges and quirks that I’d have to learn.

I ran my hooves under the cool water and splashed my face and horn a few times, washing away the last vestiges of sleep from my brain. I dampened my short mane as well, running my hoof through it and slicking it forward before shaking my head violently, drying it out and allowing it to fall as it may. Appearance didn’t really concern me.

I sighed and moved through the house and into the den. Though it had once served as a family area, with a couch and table, I’d had the room redone more to my liking. A single, overstuffed chair flanked a desk with my typewriter located centrally on the desk. Reams of paper sat stacked neatly to one side. The walls held shelves of books, thick tomes of literature, and my collection of vinyl records. I ran a hoof along the spines of my library as I passed, lightly touching my personal copies of philosophy books, varied literature, and—of course—the complete adventures of Daring Do. I paused, trying to remember where the light switch was in the dark, and then shrugged to myself. I trotted out of the den, not bothering to turn on the lights on my way to the kitchen.

I opened a door and paused for a moment, letting my sleep-addled mind take stock of what was in front of me. I shook my head, snorting. Storage closet. Not the kitchen. I cantered a few steps left and opened the other door, nodding to myself. The kitchen. This new house’s layout was a little odd, but I knew I’d get used to it eventually.

I entered the kitchen and brushed past the cluttered little table set off to the side, pointedly ignoring the dirty dishes that had built up from the past few nights. I opened my icebox, rummaged with one hoof inside, and frowned. Milk. One slice of bread. A single, mushy-feeling piece of lettuce. Four closed bottles of imported cider.

I grunted. No breakfast. I nabbed the lettuce leaf, sniffed it, and scowled, dropping it into a nearby trash bin. I winced as it splattered at the top. Garbage was full, too.

“I really don’t want to deal with this right now,” I groused and stepped away, my short tail flicking in irritation.

I stood in the center of the room, focusing myself and taking stock of the kitchen, allowing myself some additional time to consider my options. A fruit bowl... empty. A pizza box... also empty. My cupboards were bare as well, though I used my telekinesis to open them and check anyway, just in case I’d forgotten something. No luck.

There was no choice, then. I was going to have to venture out and get something to eat.

I returned to the family-room-turned-study and retrieved my saddle bags from their little custom rack next to my desk. I levitated them on, using my magic to throw the dual bags over my shoulder and secure them to my person. My horn pulsed warmly as I manipulated the item. Satisfied that I was ready, I checked the pouch holding my bits, jingling its contents lightly, and nodded to myself. Enough to get some food, anyway. On my way to the front door, I grabbed my scarf off the coat rack and put it around my neck—my only nod to some level of civility in my otherwise disheveled appearance.

I opened my front door and stepped outside, my hooves crunching on the gravel path that led to my home. I inhaled slowly, taking in the early-morning scents of Ponyville, the place that I now called ‘home.’

I shuffled my hooves slightly, allowing the scenery to come into focus. My home was a simple affair, situated near the town’s center. A small picket fence bordered my small lawn in front of my house. The gravel path ended at the cobbled road of the town, and ponies bustled about, their bouncing hooves carrying them about their business. I kept my expression neutral, my ears flicking about for a moment and gathering my senses.

I liked the privacy that the fence afforded. Ponies respected the sanctity of one’s property when there was a fence in place to reinforce that respect. They acted, in a sense, as the walls to a castle. My castle.

I smirked at the thought, imagining myself in heavy barding beneath a fluttering pennant. I had a holy quest to perform, a singular mission of great import: fill my stomach. I banished the temporary flight of fancy with a snort, and I strode down the gravel path, opening the little gate at the end, leaving the safety of my castle’s walls.

My ear flicked left and I agilely sidestepped a slender mare too busy going about her business to notice me. She giggled, and I caught a scent of flowers from her saddlebags. “Sorry, mister!” 

I didn’t respond, simply continuing on past her. I paused briefly in my trot down the road, getting my bearings. A new home in a new town meant a new place to discover. This was going to be slow going for a while. I inhaled, my ears flicking forward; I could smell something baking. My mouth watered reflexively. Cinnamon, sugar, chocolate, spices, and sweets. The smell of a true bakery. I followed my nose, moving through the streets, until I found myself standing at the doorstep of a large building. I paused, taking in the appearance. Spiraling towers that resembled the frosted toppings of cupcakes crowned the building, and I knew I was in the right place. I stepped inside, sliding out of the way and simply observing quietly as a few customers concluded their business.

The inside of the building was close-packed, with a few indoor tables and chairs, most occupied by ponies, creating a seating area. Food sat out in mountainous displays on countertops, and glass fronts hid what was no doubt an even greater bounty behind them. I inhaled the scent of fresh baked goods. Warm dough, vanilla, flour, sugar, and beneath it all the subtle scent of a mare wearing a classy, iris-scented perfume. I smiled and approached the nearest display of food. A chipper voice called to me from behind the counter. “Welcome to Sugarcube Corner! Wh—”

There was a gasp, and suddenly I was confronted by a bouncy, curly-maned blur of a pony. “Ohmygosh, you must be new in town, because I know everypony in this town and you definitely are new, because otherwise I’d know you and we’d be friends!”

I took a step backwards, startled by the speed she spoke at, my calm morning completely thrown into disarray. “Uh,” was all I managed before the bouncing mare spoke again.

“Don’t you worry, mister! I’ve got just the thing for new ponies! I’ll be back in two shakes of a filly’s tail!”

I blinked reflexively, and the mare was gone. I turned in a slow circle, trying to discover where she’d gone to, before facing the counter once more. I shrugged, and was about to approach the counter again when the mare returned, wheeling a contraption behind her. Music exploded from the device, pennants waved in random patterns, and in front of all the chaos was the fast-talking pony, dancing wildly and singing at the top of her lungs.

Welcome, welcome, welcome!
A fine welcome to you!
Welcome, welcome, welcome!
I say ‘how do you do?’
Welcome, welcome, welcome!
I say ‘hip-hip-hooray!’
Welcome, welcome, welcome,
to Ponyville today!


I winced as confetti and streamers exploded out of the top of the pipe organ device, and found something that smelled like chocolate cake with chocolate frosting thrust into my hooves. I stood perfectly still, my senses slightly overwhelmed, as the mare slid on her haunches to a halt before me, panting slightly from the exertion of her wild routine. I could practically feel her grin, it was so wide. “I’m Pinkie Pie, and I’m your first-ever friend in Ponyville! What’s your name?”

I took a step back, still completely unbalanced. “Does everypony in Ponyville get this treatment?”

Another female pony’s voice commented behind me, “Yeah, pretty much. At least she didn’t invade your house for a surprise party. Trust me, the ‘Welcome Wagon’ is a preferable alternative.”

“Aw, don’t be sore, Twilight!” The mare bounced up off her haunches and onto her hooves, trotting a quick circle around me, scrutinizing me. I frowned, turning to follow her bouncing movements as she gave me a once-over.

“So, are you gonna tell me your name, mister new-pony?”

I could tell she wasn’t the type to take ‘no’ for an answer, so I sighed. “Lower Case.”

“Nice ta meetcha, Casey!” She grabbed my foreleg and gave it a hearty shake, nearly causing me to drop the cake precariously perched in my other hoof.

“Just ‘Case,’ please.” I jerked my hoof out of her grasp and quickly moved the cake from my hooves onto my back, balancing it there carefully.

“Sure thing, Casey! Hey, you should sit here and talk to my friends! I’ve got some baked goodies to take out of the oven, but I’ll be right back!”

I found myself led over to a nearby table and thrown down into a seat, the cake on my back removed and returned in a neatly-tied pastry box that was placed on a chair next to me, and as quick as she’d arrived, the mare was gone; the only clue to her ever having existed was the scent of vanilla frosting and a dusting of flour in the air. I sneezed, my magic aura from my horn flickering briefly.

“Bless you.”

I turned to look across the table, and found myself confronted by a fellow unicorn with a straight mane. She giggled. “Sorry about Pinkie Pie. She’s very...energetic.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle. It’s good to meet you.” She nodded my way politely, and I detected the telltale hints of somepony who appreciated books in her scent. Ink, paper, and dust paramount among them. A mare after my own vices, apparently.

“I’m Lower Case. If it wasn’t obvious by now, I just moved to Ponyville. Let me guess, you’re the schoolteacher?” I smiled hesitantly.

Twilight shook her head. “I’m actually the town’s librarian. Good guess, though.”

I nodded, remembering vaguely that there was a library in town. “Ah, I see. I’ll have to come visit sometime.”

“Well, we’re open most days! Drop in anytime; I’d be glad to issue you a library card and get you set up with a lending account.”

She was very serious about her job, it seemed. I chuckled uncertainly. “Sure thing.”

I checked back towards the counter, nervously expecting the bouncing menace to return. “Is she going to be back soon? No offense, Miss Sparkle, but your friend puts me a little on edge.”

“That’s all right, Pinkie Pie is a bit of an acquired taste. Everypony eventually grows to like her, but she can go a bit overboard sometimes.” Twilight shrugged.

A second mare, sitting at a table across from where Twilight and I were seated, chimed in. “Twilight, that there might be th’ understatement of the century. Pinkie Pie means well, though, mister.”

I smirked at the almost stereotypical farm filly accent, and nodded. “I’m sure she does, ma’am.”

“Aw, shoot, you don’t have’ta ‘ma’am’ me. Just call me Applejack! Pleased to meet ya, partner.” The earth pony mare tipped the hat on her head to me, not bothering to stand up from her seat.

“Charmed, Miss Applejack.” I smiled in as genuine a manner as I could muster, though I could sense the impending return of Pinkie Pie like a gathering storm of confetti and noise. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I had a job to do, and that it wasn’t likely that I’d be able to have breakfast in peace here. I inhaled the scent of baked goods again, and caught another whiff of the iris-scented perfume from earlier—far stronger now. I focused in on the scent, trying to discern its source as subtly as possible. Another mare, a second unicorn, sat across from Applejack. I smiled at her hesitantly, focusing in on her, before Applejack spoke, interrupting my train of thought.

“I think we’d better stow the introductions for now, and let Mister Case leave before Pinkie gets back. He looks more nervous than a sheep in shearing season.” Applejack chuckled.

Twilight nodded. “Probably right.”

I snapped my thoughts away from the unicorn across from Applejack and stood up, nodding to the two mares and smiling. “Thanks for understanding. Nothing against your friend, but I like my mornings a little quieter.”

I trotted out of the bakery, took a quick turn down a side street, and left the bakery and its infernal inhabitant behind. Pinkie Pie seemed nice enough, certainly, but a pony like that should probably be encountered in small steps. Or never. I crossed one establishment off my mental list of “places to go.”

I shook my head, sighing, and trotted through the streets of Ponyville, traveling a block over, following a different scent—the smell of coffee. I located the source quickly, entering the small cottage with a sign in the shape of a cup hanging above the front door.

The inside of this shop was blissfully quiet. There were a few cushions, couches, and tables scattered around the room, and a large bar flanked the far wall. The place was empty, except for an earth pony mare wearing her mane back in a messy bun standing behind the bar. She gave me a friendly wave. “Hey there, welcome to Java Junction. I’m Mocha Java! What can I get you?”

I approached the bar, my hooves clacking gently on the wood floor of the coffee shop. I inhaled the rich aromas of different grounds, sorting them quickly in my mind. “Do you have a dark Griffonese roast?”

“Sure do! How do you want it?”

“Black and hot, please.”

Mocha Java smiled. “Right on! I’ll get that started for you. That’ll be eight bits, please!”

I retrieved some bits from my saddlebag and counted out eight for her using my telekinesis. I sat down at a nearby table, sinking into the soft and well-padded couch. I smiled to myself. This was more like it. Friendly employees, a calm atmosphere, and no confetti explosions or musical numbers to be found.

Mocha Java hummed quietly to herself behind the counter, and I could hear my coffee begin to percolate. I closed my eyes blissfully and listened to the clink of mug on plate, the wet sound of liquid being poured, and the soft tap of hooves on wood floor. My mug was set down in front of me, and Mocha Java asked happily, “All set?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

She trotted away, leaving me alone with my beverage. I sipped the coffee, enjoying the bold and rich flavors of the roast, and called to Mocha Java, “Do I smell bagels?”

“Sure do!” she replied. “Hungry?”

“You bet. One oat bagel, please.”

“Absolutely. Three bits for that. You want some jam to go with it?”

“That’s okay.” I retrieved three bits from my saddle bag and floated them from my seat to the counter. Mocha Java approached a few moments later with my bagel on a plate, setting it next to my coffee, and returned to her station behind the coffee bar, resuming her soft humming.

I grinned to myself. This place was too perfect. Not too busy, not too loud, just enough white noise to be relaxing without being distracting. I sipped my coffee and took an experimental bite of my bagel. The bagel was soft and slightly warm, with plenty of natural sweetness from the oats.

I leaned back into the chair, settling down and relaxing my mind. The stress from the encounter in the bakery was bleeding away, and I felt myself calm down as the coffee and bagel settled in my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to visualize a scene in my head. After all, how often did I find places like this where I could work without being interrupted?

The evening was dark by the time Briar Rose arrived before the cave. The wind at the top of the mountain caught the pennant on his spear, stretching out the rose motif for all to see. Shaking the rain from his rusting, plated barding, Rose called out to the cave. “I am here, as you called me, beast. Just as you called my father before me, and his father before him. Come and charge me with my duty.”

A massive, serpentine head peered forth from the burrow. Its eyes were the yellow of flame, and its scales the green of the darkest oceans. When it spoke, its voice was as thunder. “Greetings, Knight of the Rose. You do well to answer my call. All those years ago, when I rescued your ancestors and they swore to repay me, I was uncertain of their true usefulness.”

“Perhaps, dragon, when my duty is complete, you might call our debt repaid?” Rose asked, hoping that it would be so.

The dragon laughed with a sound like boulders falling. “Perhaps, pony.” Clearing its elongated throat, it gestured with a saber-curved claw to the east. “Far and away, three months of travel hence from here, there is a place where the goddesses of the sun and the moon reside. Bring me the crown of the goddess of the sun for my hoard.”

Rose reared back and his ears flattened, his mouth opening wide in shock. “I could never do such a thing! To steal from a goddess, no matter how distant, is surely to be the death of me!”

“This is the task that has been laid before you, pony. Should you choose not to do it, then there is always the alternative: you will become my servant, to toil under me for a period of no less than fifty years.” The dragon gave a razor smile, and blew iris-scented smoke towards Rose.

Rose shook his head. “I am not certain, beast. I beg you, grant me time to make my decision.”

I sniffed, my mind drifting out of its reverie. The cloying scent of irises invaded my flared nostrils. I brushed away the offending scent, tapping my hoof against the wood floor with excited agitation. I was on to something!

“Very well, pony. You have until the rise of the sun three days from now to make your choice and return with your answer.”

Iris nodded, turning—


I sneezed, shaking my head and opening my eyes, focusing on my surroundings. The coffee shop was just as perfect, Mocha working quietly behind the counter, but there was something fresh and different. Irises. I scanned the place, turning my head slowly and trying to find the flowers. Instead, I found a slender unicorn mare with a fashionably curled and carefully coiffed mane and tail that bounced as she nervously tapped her dainty hoof on the floor. Her head turned slowly, searching for something. I found myself leaning forward slightly, trying to catch a hint of... yes. Perfume. Specifically, her perfume. I remembered it from the bakery this morning.

When she caught sight of me, her eyes narrowed like a hawk in sight of its prey, and she approached me at a bouncing trot. I found myself buried in a field of flowers, drowning in the drooping petals and suffused by their pollen. It was almost intoxicating, and most certainly distracting. I sighed quietly, knowing my focused time considering my work was over, and put a genial smile on my face.

She spoke first, her voice carrying the haughty accent of the Canterlot upper-class, delivered in honeyed high tones that gave her a sound that matched her careful appearance. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mister Casey.”

I frowned. Damn that bouncing sugar-rush of a mare. “‘Case,’ actually. Lower Case.”

“Oh, I apologize! I couldn’t help but overhear Pinkie Pie—”

“Who couldn’t?”

“—and assumed that it was your name.” She chuckled gently. “Pinkie Pie is very excitable; I do hope you don’t judge the rest of us on her exuberance?”

At least this mare seemed well-spoken. I nodded, forcing a smile. “No harm done, Missus...?”

“Miss. Miss Rarity, if you must, but please, just call me Rarity.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes at me.

“Sure. What brings you out of the stormy bakery and into the calm waters of this coffee shop?” I inquired, my tone a tad more cold than was probably warranted.

“Oh! Of course, yes. You see, when you left in such a hurry, you left your cake behind. Say what you will about Pinkie Pie, but she is the best baker in Ponyville, and a dear friend of mine. Her feelings would have been terribly hurt if she thought you’d left your cake on purpose, so I took it upon myself to deliver the cake to you.” She shifted her position, and I noticed the cake box balanced on her flank.

I smiled. “That’s very generous of you to waste your time on me, Miss Rarity.”

She beamed in response. “Oh, not at all!” She chuckled gently, betraying the subtle hint of girlishness behind her ladylike appearance. “I’ll admit, it isn’t often that we get new ponies in Ponyville, so I couldn’t help but wish to introduce myself properly. So, you could say my reasons were just the tiniest bit selfish!”

I snorted, chuckling. “Sure, selfish it is.”

She slid the cake off her back and onto the table in front of me, and took a slow step back. I wasn’t sure what was happening, until I noticed her eyes narrow ever-so-briefly. “I must say, Mister Case, you have good taste in clothing.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Well, you are wearing a Toity Original Saffron and Mustard Seed Batik Scarf, from his Winter Wear Collection.” She smiled slyly.

I coughed, reaching a hoof up to my scarf. “What, this old thing?”

She giggled airily. “Oh, come now, don’t be modest. There’s no shame in a stallion taking a little pride in his appearance. It matches your grey coat quite nicely.”

I shifted in my seat self-consciously. “Y-yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Though, dear, and I hope you don’t mind, I think your fetlocks and mane could use a bit of a trim. Long manes and long fetlocks went out of style on stallions last season, I’m afraid.” She lightly reached up, gesturing to a lock of my mane that hung down, tickling my nose slightly.

“Oh. Thanks for the tip...” I smiled hesitantly, the corner of my lips threatening to curl downward, and stood up from my seat. “Pardon me, Miss Rarity, but I must be going.”

Rarity took a step towards me. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’ve embarassed you, haven’t I?”

“No! No, I’m fine, actually. Really. I’ve just got a lot to do, that’s all!” I lied through my teeth.

“Well...” Rarity scuffed a hoof on the floor; the least ladylike gesture I’d seen out of her. “You’re sure you won’t let me make it up to you?” She widened her eyes slightly and stuck out her lower lip in what I was certain was a pout.

“No, quite all right. Thank you.” I trotted past her, pausing only long enough to retrieve the cake box from the table and perch it on my back.

“If you change your mind, I live at the Carousel Boutique! I do hope you drop by sometime! I believe I could fashion you a scarf that matches your mane style a little more elegantly.”

I chuckled. As if. “Goodbye, Miss Rarity.”

I walked out the coffee shop door and left the iris perfume behind, pausing and carefully getting my bearings once I was in the clean air. I backtracked slowly down side streets, stealthily crept by the bakery, and followed the main road back to my home. I closed the gate to my little picket fence behind me and exhaled slowly. Safe behind the walls again. And, what’s more, I had a free cake for my trouble.

I wasn’t certain it was quite worth it, though... until I thought back to the coffee shop; “Java Junction.” That place had been perfect. I could envision myself ensconced there a few times a week, basking in the perfect balance of white noise and ambience. Maybe I’d even drag my typewriter along with me and do a little work there. I’d have to ask Mocha Java about that, but she didn’t seem to be the type of mare to object to a hack writer doing a little typing in the corner.

I stepped inside my castle, tapping my hooves reflexively on the tile in the entryway and listening to the empty echo return to my ears. Peace and solitude. No more distractions.

I set the cake down on the kitchen table and moved into my den, sliding into my chair and squeaking forward to my desk. I flicked my ears back and ran my front hooves over the keys of my typewriter. I ritualistically tapped the platen knob on the side, shifting it along the type guide to the far side of the page, and then settled back, assuming a pensive position.

My horn shivered and warmed to life as I enacted a spell, and the typewriter vibrated in arcane response to my call. I closed my eyes and began to work, visualizing the words in my head, aligning them. My horn pulsed and the typewriter’s keys depressed in rapid succession; far more rapid than my own hooves would have been able to achieve. Words and words and words spooled onto the page at the speed of thought. My story began to unfold once more in my mind’s eye as I worked.

A quest for Briar Rose, my newest hero. It was odd to write a stallion, strange as that may seem. For so long, I’d been writing a mare heroine, and I caught myself writing ‘mare’ in place of ‘stallion’ on occasion. Luckily, my spell could erase the ink from a page and adjust the type guide back into position for the rare correction. I chuckled to myself, focusing and letting the magic happen as words strung together into sentences, which built up line by line into paragraphs that unfolded as the page unspooled itself. My spell sensed the oncoming edge of the page and I halted, briefly, as my telekinesis tore the page free. I blew on the drying ink out of habit, even though I knew my spell had set the pigment firmly in place.

My thoughts drifted as I set a fresh page and tapped the platen knob, aligning the empty paper to the edge of the type guide. This was going to be different. No more soulless dreck. No more writing to please others. This time, it was all me.

This time would be different.

The filled page clicked, and I snapped out of my pondering, pulling the paper free and setting it aside. Two pages.

I smiled. I had at least ten more in me before I warranted any sort of break. I closed my eyes, letting my chin rest in my hooves, as I drifted into my story to the staccato tapping of the typewriter, my eyelids growing heavy.

Briar Rose trotted down the mud-soaked streets of his village, eyes downcast as the rain poured down in rivulets from the peak of his helm. He didn’t notice the wet or the cold, his mind focused inward, pondering his decision. The gentle splashing of delicate hoofsteps gave him pause, and he looked up, halting in his tracks.

“Lady Iris. What brings you out into this storm?” Rose asked gently, his eyes softening at the sight of the mare.

Lady Iris stepped forward with a coy smile, her curled mane bouncing enticingly. “I was waiting for you.”

Rose closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, taking in her blossoming flower scent, and smiled at the attractive mare. “You shouldn’t have waited. You didn’t know that I would be returning.”

“I’ll always wait for you, Rose. Even if it is a hundred days that I must wait, I will do it.” Her eyes burned with the promise she had uttered, her stance firm and unbowed by the rain as it undid the careful stylings of her mane and tail.

Rose didn’t care. She still looked beautiful...








> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 2 -













With a cough and a undignified snort, I woke up, blinking blearily and rubbing my eyes. I groaned, shifting from the odd position I’d fallen asleep in and feeling my joints creak in protest. I glanced at the last page of writing I’d done, and used a spell to read it back to me out loud. The spell filled the room with a impassive voice as it read the page back to me. “Briar Rose trotted down the mud-soaked streets of his village...”

I listened to the results of my sleep-addled writing as I stood up and shuffled tiredly into the kitchen, re-igniting my horn’s aura as I did so. I nearly opened the door to the den’s closet again, but I caught myself this time. Once I was in the kitchen, I searched for some breakfast. With a grimace, I realized that all I had available was the cake from the other day. I decided to forgo breakfast, and tapped my hooves irritatedly on the tile floor before returning to the den, just as the page finished reading itself. “...Rose didn’t care. She still looked beautiful.” 

It was rubbish, of course. This always happened when I fell asleep writing. Who was this ‘Lady Iris’ that I’d apparently added into the story? With a shake of my head, I tore away the page and threw it in a trashcan. I grumbled to myself as I rummaged for a fresh page of paper.

I almost didn’t hear the knock at my door.

I considered ignoring it, pausing in my reading only briefly. I could pretend that I hadn’t heard it. I was just about to do that, when there came a second knock.

I grunted, dismissed my spell, stood up from my chair. With a huff of annoyance, I  walked to the front door and flung it open. “What?”

“Mail for you, mister!” A bubbly voice chirped. A trio of letters were offered to me in an outstretched hoof.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the mail and asked, “What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty!”

“Thanks,” I said, slamming the door.

 A muffled yet still chipper “you’re welcome” sounded from outside the door. I shook my head and tore open the first letter in the pack and focused on it carefully, running a hoof against the edge of the paper. Sweepstakes... entrants may receive... junk mail! I tossed it to the floor.

The next letter felt important. I took it and the third letter with me back to the den. I cast a quick spell on the second letter as I sat back down in my chair, reclining in a more comfortable fashion. The letter pulsed with magic, and then began to read itself aloud.

“Lower Case! How are you doing, buddy? I know that you’re on sabbatical and all that jazz, but I was hoping you’d reconsider putting the Golden Goose on hiatus. You can still have your alone time, but—”

“Buck, how’d he find me?” I cursed. It was a letter from my publisher, the last pony that I’d hoped to hear from. My read-aloud spell managed to somehow convey the total lack of sincerity that always oozed from his voice.


“—you’ve gotta keep the fans happy, you know what I’m saying? Can’t let the fillies down! They need their role model. Just think about it and write me back. I’m sending out Sticky Wicket to check on you, so keep an ear out for him. He should be arriving five days after you get to that little podunk nowhere you now call home. Catch you on the flip side, pal! Regards, Fine Print.”

I groaned, my ears canting back as I rubbed a hoof over my now-aching skull. Well, the secret was out. Fine Print knew where I was hiding. I suppose it couldn’t have been that hard to track me down, though. At least he had the presence of mind to send me my—

I sat upright and froze in place. Had Fine Print said that Sticky Wicket would be coming five days from when I arrived?

That was today!

I quickly tore open the third letter, hoping for some good news, my horn firing off the letter-reading spell again.

“Dear Lower Case. I hope you’re doing well. I know that it’s been a while, but I wanted to try writing you again. I know you’re still an—”

My horn pulsed and the letter burst into flame. I caught the burning ashes in a quick telekinesis spell, waiting until the letter was nothing more than motes of grey dust. I hopped out of my seat, carrying the ashes, and opened my front door. With an indignant flick of my tail and a grunt, I threw the ashes out in a wide arc, scattering them over my lawn.

At least something would benefit from that manure!

I made to return to my den, but a sputtering cough interrupted my retreat. I turned around, feeling my face grow hot. “Crud, sorry, did I hit somepony with that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” groused a familiar voice. “I knew that I wasn’t going to be well-received for dropping in under orders, but that was more than I had expected.”

I beamed, stepping outside. “Wicket!” I reached forward and brushed a hoof across his messy mane, sending a cloud of ash into the air, and I straightened his loose tie and collar that hung around his neck. “Sorry about that! Bad timing on your part.”

“No kidding. How are you, you lazy slob?” Sticky Wicket shook his mane, clearing it of whatever char remained.

“Doing pretty decent, candlestick head.” I stepped to one side, motioning him towards the entry. “Come on in. Want some cake?”

“Was all the ash you threw at me all that was left of your first attempt at baking?”

“Nah, I got this from a bakery. It’s supposed to be pretty good.”

“By all means, then.”

Sticky Wicket and I stepped inside the house, and I lead him into the kitchen, gesturing to the cake box on the table. “Help yourself. Plates are... somewhere.” I scowled at the new cabinetry.

“Thanks.” Wicket pulled up one of the kitchen chairs and set himself in front of the cake box. His telekinesis went to work, searching for a clean dish, while I leaned against the doorframe leading into the den.

“So, I just got Fine Print’s letter. What brings you out here?” I asked, tapping a hoof against the tile.

“He’s making sure you aren’t going all J. D. Haylinger on us, that’s all,” Wicket stated, smiling triumphantly as he found a clean plate and began to help himself to some cake. “I told him that you were working on a new piece, but you know how he is. Hey, was this left out overnight or something?”

“He doesn’t want new. He wants what works. The soulless stuff,” I groused.

Sticky Wicket sliced a piece of cake for himself and settled it on his plate, his magic now searching around for a cutlery drawer. “On the nose. He’s hoping that he can weasel a fresh manuscript out of you in a month or two.” He retrieved a fork from a drawer.

I shook my head. “No way. I’ve gotten a good head of steam going on this work. It’s gonna take a lot of time, but I’m willing to take as long as it needs until I’ve got something that I can be proud of in my hooves.”

He grunted in reply, his mouth full of cake. I continued, “I mean, a lot of why I moved was to get away from the demands and the stress that Fine Print always kept on me... and, no offense, Wicket, but you’re part of that stress.”

He said nothing, busily chewing a fresh bite of cake. I squinted at him. “So, I’m going to keep working on this new piece, and you can tell Fine Print that I’ll deliver it to him when I’m good and ready.”

No reply. I shook my head. “And then once that happens, I’ll check myself into a mental ward and start writing about time-travelling chickens who fly in zeppelins... Are you even listening?”

“Hm? Sorry, I got distracted by this cake.” He took another bite, sighing happily. “This is super-delicious. Where’d you get it?”

I sighed. “I’m spilling my soul out to you, and you’re distracted by cake?”

“Really good cake.”

“It’s a day old!” I protested.

“And it’s still moist?! Witchcraft! You’ve gotta take me to the pony responsible for this!”

“I’m not going back there. She’s a crazy, bouncing, terror of a mare, and I don’t care how good her cakes are.”

Before I could react, I found myself assaulted by a flying slice of cake. “Have a bite!” called Wicket, pushing the piece of cake through the air with his telekinesis.

“I already ate!” I protested as the chocolate cake bumped insistently against my muzzle.

“Lies! You don’t eat breakfast!” 

Wicket’s attempt to foist the cake slice on me grew obnoxious. I sighed, giving in, and opened my mouth, taking a cautious bite of the floating pastry. The flavor of chocolate exploded across my palate, leaving me feeling woozy from sugar overload. “Sweet Celestia, that’s good cake,” I mumbled, swallowing the awesome morsel.

“Now will you take me to this mystery mare?”

For cake that good? “Fine. But we’re getting coffee afterward.”





Sticky Wicket and I stumbled out of Sugarcube Corner. Wicket glanced at me, eyes wide, and I shrugged, feeling confetti slough off my shoulders. “I told you. Now can we have some coffee?”

“Yeah, I could use a strong shot of caffeine to round out the whole... Pinkie Pie experience,” murmured Wicket, sounding a bit shell-shocked.

I chuckled and pulled an entangled rubber chicken out of Wicket’s tail hairs, leaving it on the doorstep of Sugarcube Corner. Together, we meandered down the street to Java Junction, and I nudged the door open ahead of Sticky Wicket, trotting inside. Mocha Java’s chipper voice chimed out from somewhere. “Be with you in a moment!”

Wicket took a seat at a nearby table, looking around. “This is pretty low-key. Just how you like it, eh?”

“Yeah. More my style than... whatever you’d call that bakery.” I settled onto a couch.

“If this is low-key, than that place is high strung,” said Wicket, chuckling softly.

“Hey, you’re back!” Mocha Java chirped, smiling at me from behind the counter. “Let’s see, black Griffonese roast, right? Want some cream on that?”

“Please,” I replied, smiling back. Now that was good customer service.

“How about you, sir?” Mocha Java asked Wicket.

“How about a mocha?” said Wicket.

“My favorite! Sure thing, one mocha, coming up. That’s gonna be eight bits for the coffee and six for the mocha.”

The two of us dropped our bits on the table, and within a few minutes Mocha Java swooped over, delivering our beverages and scooping up the bits with a nod of her head. True to form, she returned right back behind the counter without spontaneously bursting into song or throwing confetti or anything ridiculous. I smiled at Sticky Wicket. “This place is the best.”

“No kidding. And the mocha is pretty good, too.”

We sipped our drinks for a few moments, sitting in amiable silence, before Sticky Wicket spoke up. “So, what’s this new thing you’re working on?”

I grinned, leaning forward. “ An adventure story, written classically. Hero’s journey, intrigue, betrayal by the secondary characters, and some victory with a side of vengeance at the end. It’s gonna be good.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’ll be more than that,” I said confidently. “This is going to be the story I’m remembered for. The whole thing is based in fact, but twisted to fiction. I learned about this old record in the Canterlot archive, detailing a story about a pony that Princess Celestia encountered early after Canterlot was built. I’m using that as a basis for the tale. The best stories are rooted in fact. I’m hoping to leverage an interview with Princess Celestia; get her side of the story.”

Wicket nodded, “That’s really impressive. It sounds like you’ve done your homework on this one. So, it’s historical fiction?”

“I think it’s more of... historical fantasy, actually.”

“Like that one bestseller? The DaVinci Colt?”

I snorted. “Don’t compare me to Dam Brown.”

Wicket shook his head and took a sip of his mocha, and I leaned back in my seat, drinking my coffee contemplatively. The bell above the door to the shop jingled behind me, alerting Mocha Java that a new customer had arrived. I caught the scent of irises, and smiled to myself. “Wicket, check out the mare that just came in and tell me what you think.”

“Seriously, Case? You’re asking me to check out a mare?” complained Sticky Wicket.

“Just do it.”

“Fine,” Wicket groused, shifting in his seat to look. “Ugh, I feel like such a pig whenever I—oh. Oh, wow.”

I chuckled, my suspicions confirmed. “That good, eh?”

“Case, I wish... well, doesn’t matter what I wish. She’s gorgeous,” whispered Wicket reverently.

“Almost makes you wish you played for our team?” I said with a wink.

“No, but a stallion can be jealous. Her mane is perfect, and she’s wearing a scarf that compliments—”

Wicket’s appraisal was interrupted by a feminine voice, calling out to me. “Oh, hello, Mister Case! What a pleasant surprise to run into you again. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Wicket hunched over in his seat, covering his face in his hooves as his ears flattened in embarrassment. “She saw me checking her out!” he whimpered.

I smiled at Rarity, and waved her over with a hoof. “Yes, nice to see you again. Miss Rarity, this is Sticky Wicket. Wicket, this is Miss Rarity. She’s a fashion designer and businessmare.”

Sticky Wicket regained some level of composure, his hooves nervously reaching up to tighten his tie, and nodded to Rarity politely. “Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

“Likewise, darling. Mister Case, you didn’t tell me you had more friends in Ponyville,” said Rarity, her voice almost reproachful.

I smiled. “Wicket is just visiting. He only arrived today.”

“You’ll have to excuse my present state, Miss. I’ve had a long morning of travel,” Wicket complained, his hooves reaching up to tap his mane slightly, trying to ascertain its level of messiness.

Rarity took a step back, smiling. “No need to apologize, Mister Wicket... and stop fussing so! Your mane is fine, all things considered, and it’s my fault for making you feel self-conscious.” She giggled, one hoof reaching up and giving her curled mane a luxurious bounce, “After all, one can’t always expect to look their absolute best.”

Wicket squirmed in his seat, carefully returning his hooves to his sides and attempting to appear nonchalant. “Yes. Indeed. That’s... very kind of you.”

I quietly held in my laughter. I hadn’t seen Sticky Wicket this awkward and uncomfortable since the time we’d gone to a meet-and-greet with the Wonderbolts, and he’d gotten a hug from Soarin. I spoke up. “Would you mind joining us, Miss Rarity?”

Rarity shook her head. “Oh, terribly sorry, dear, but I can’t stay and chat. I’ve got an order at the Boutique that I’m working on that can’t wait. Thank you for your oh-so generous offer, though.”

I gave her an affable nod. “You’re quite welcome.”

“There is one thing, though,” Rarity suddenly added.

She stepped a bit closer to me, smiling warmly, and unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. With a nod, she threw it over my shoulders and secured it in a tight cravat knot at my chest. I found that I had been holding my breath, and exhaled sharply, giving her a questioning look.

“I made it for you. The fringes on the end match better with your longer mane and fetlock style, and the colors are better for the season, while still being complimentary to your coat’s coloration.” She waved a hoof. “Now, I won’t take no for an answer. It’s in my nature to want to see the best in others, and part of that is dressing properly.” She turned away with a bounce of her curled mane as I opened my mouth to protest, and trotted to the door. “Ta-ta!” With a jingle and a final wafting scent of irises, Rarity was gone, leaving me dumbstruck.

Wicket gaped after her, before turning to me. I barely noticed him, my hooves touching the scarf around my neck. I ran a hoof over the fabric, feeling the knit texture and the residual body heat Rarity had imparted to it. Wicked snorted, crossing his forelegs. “I don’t like her.”

“Don’t be jealous,” I murmured, my mouth on autopilot.

“One can’t always expect to look their absolute best? What a load. I’ll bet she spent hours getting her mane looking just-so. I had to travel.”

“Yeah, you’re jealous.”

“She made you a scarf. Does she know who you are? I’ll bet she’s figured it out, and she’s trying to get into your pocketbook.”

I snorted, finally looking up from the scarf. “Are you calling Miss Rarity a gold digger?”

“Maybe I am! Anyway, I don’t like her.”

“She’s very generous!” I argued, grinning.

“Only when it suits her!” retorted Wicket with a huff.

“And she’s beautiful.”

“Skin-deep, baby.”

I threw my hooves up in the air. “Looks like we disagree. I suppose, then, that you won’t want to join me for a visit to her boutique.”

Wicket glared. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.” I smiled, reaching out and putting a hoof on Wicket’s shoulder. “I’m a big stallion, Wicket. I can take care of things here, and I’ve been writing a lot. I’ll have that book done before you know it.”

“What about this Rarity mare? Is she going to be a distraction?” queried Wicket.

“More like an excuse. She’s nice enough, anyway, and I’ve got to try to pay her back for making this scarf for me.” I scowled slightly at the article of clothing. “I don’t like owing ponies.”

“Suit yourself.” Wicket finished his mocha and set aside his cup with a sigh. “Anything I can do for you? Otherwise, I’m going to head back home.”

I pondered for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah. Would you mind dropping by the market and grabbing some food for me? I’ll pay you back.”

Wicket shook his head, chuckling. “Sure, I don’t mind, I guess.”

We both stood up, and I dropped a few bits on the table for Mocha Java. She gave us a friendly wave from her position behind the counter. “Thanks, gentlecolts!”

“Thank you, Miss Java.” I smiled at her and led Wicket out to the street.

Wicket put a hoof on my shoulder. “Glad you’re doing okay here, Lower Case. I mean it. It’s good to see you getting out and, even though I don’t like that mare, the fact that you’re—”

“Alright, that’s enough! I get it! You’re happy for me and crud. Will you grab some cider for me, too? This place has quite the reputation for their apple products.” I shouldered away his hoof, scowling slightly.

With a wry grin, Wicket trotted away, calling over his shoulder, “Good luck, you grumpy workhorse.”

“See you later, candlestick head.” I listened to his hoofsteps recede away, sighing to myself and gathering my thoughts.

What was I doing? I didn’t have time to go visit some prissy mare at her shop! I had a book to write. I turned, about to head home, but the weight of the scarf around my neck gave me pause. I reached up and touched the tight knot that sat over my chest, and smiled slightly.

Maybe this would be okay...





After asking for directions and taking a meandering route through Ponyville, I found myself standing before the aptly-named Carousel Boutique. I approached the front door hesitantly before inhaling and reaching a shaking hoof out to knock.

Here goes nothing.

I knocked on the door, which was flung open after a moment and I was greeted by the beaming face of Rarity. “Welcome to Carousel Boutique, where the—oh! Mister Case! I didn’t expect you to drop by so soon!”

“Hello, Miss Rarity.” I cautiously mustered my most winning smile—no easy task. “I know you said you were busy, so—”

“Nonsense, sir. It would be uncouth of me to extend an invitation and then not follow through on my offer. Quite against my nature, as it were! Please, do come in.” Rarity opened the door wide and stepped aside with a welcoming gesture.

I cantered inside and halted in the middle of the room, turning slowly. Ponnyquins circled the room, draped in gowns and garments that blended together into a riot of shapes against a background of carefully organized chaos. Fabrics hung from shelves and covered work tables around the room. Sewing machines and more traditional tools of a seamstress filled any spare space. I felt instantly at home among the mess.

“Excuse my... organization. I honestly didn’t expect you to show up so quickly, so I was working on a new design.” Rarity gestured vaguely towards a piece of paper tacked to the wall.

“Nothing to excuse. This looks sort of similar to my work room, just with fabric.”

“Oh? What line of work do you pursue, Mister Case? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.” Rarity asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

I rubbed the back of my neck self-consciously. “I write,” I muttered, and changed the topic as quickly as I could. “I was just dropping by to thank you for the scarf.”

Rarity smiled, her ears perking forward in a way that told me I’d caught her interest. “Think nothing of it, darling. Did you say you were a writer? What kind of writing?”

Nothing got past this mare. I sighed. “This and that,” I said, waving a hoof in the air. “Mostly adventure. A lot of junk.”

“I appreciate creative endeavors, as is probably evident by my profession,” Rarity said, gesturing to the ponnyquins around the room. “I don’t know much about writing, I’m afraid, though its always struck me as a terribly interesting job! I do love a good book.”

I smiled. “What kind of writing do you enjoy? And don’t say ‘adventure,’ or I’ll know you’re just trying to flatter me.”

“Adventure isn’t my cup of tea, really. I’m an avid reader of romance novels and poetry. The Late Reconciliation Period is my personal favorite,” Rarity sighed, sitting down and relaxing a bit more.

I sat down facing her, deciding to put her to the test. “So, who is your favorite writer of the era? I’m a fan of Strawdelaire, personally.”

Rarity smiled. “Ah, now you’re in my territory, sir,” she said with confidence, flipping her mane. “Strawdelaire is wonderful, and his commentary on the changing nature of beauty in post-industrial Prance is stirring, but my personal favorite is Oscolt Wilde. A true romantic, if there ever was one! Though really, poetry is more my forte.”

My mouth fell slack with shock, as she lifted a hoof in the air and closed her eyes, reciting softly, “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, or emptied some dull opiate to the drains one minute past, and Luna-wards had sunk...”

I felt shivers run down my spine, and I replied without thought, “‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, but being too happy in thine happiness,—That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, in some melodious plot of beechen green and shadows numberless, singest of summer in full-throated ease.”

Rarity clapped her hooves together, beaming at me. “You know John Koats!”

“Koats is our—my favorite,” I stuttered.

Rarity’s smile turned to a more composed expression, and she stood up. “I will admit, Mister Case, I was testing you. Many stallions have said untruths to try and impress me, but I believe that you are a writer... or at the very least a lover of good poetry.”

I was surprised. I thought that I had been testing her, but the tables had been turned on me, again. I stood as well, chuckling. “I find myself caught off-guard by you consistently, Miss Rarity, and I’m not sure whether I enjoy it or find it troubling,” I said, speaking my mind.

She watched me quietly for a moment, before nodding almost imperceptibly. She took a step forward and stated evenly, “Mister Case, I find you intriguing and interesting for reasons I can’t fully articulate, and I would terribly enjoy spending an evening with you at a nice restaurant, should you find the courage to ask a lady such as myself.”

Her boldness startled a laugh out of me. “Are you asking me to dinner, Miss Rarity?”

“No,” she said, a fiercely charming smile spreading across her face. “I am asking you to ask me to dinner. There is a difference.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped short. What was I doing? I mean, sure, Rarity was intelligent and witty, and apparently enjoyed reading as much as I did, but was that all? Was I ready to jump into a dinner date with this mare? We barely knew each other... but there was something about her. Something that made me think maybe being a reclusive, jaded, extremely successful writer wasn’t all there was to life.

Maybe there was some room for something beautiful, too. 

“No.”

Rarity’s mouth fell open. “W-what?”

“No.” I grinned at her. “I won’t ask you to dinner.”

“I—oh.” Her ears lowered. “I... understand. Of course. I was too forward, and perhaps insulted you by testing your—”

I held up a hoof, silencing her. “I’ll ask you to lunch. My sire always said that dinner was for the second date.”

Rarity stared at me for a moment, confused, before biting her lip and narrowing her eyes. “You are most uncouth to lead a lady on like that, Mister Case! What makes you think I’ll say yes to your proposal after such a move?”

“Because you asked me first.” I swept myself into the most courtly bow I could muster, lowering my head until my horn nearly touched the plush, lilac-scented carpet of the Boutique, my magic aura brushing the fibres of the floor. “Lady Rarity, would you do me the honor of accompanying this uncouth writer to a luncheon?”

Rarity giggled, caught off guard by my sudden bow. “Will there be sandwiches?”

“Tiny ones. And tea, I suspect. Nothing but the tiniest of sandwiches for you, Lady.”

“Oh, stop. Enough. Get up!” Rarity stuck her nose in the air, a small grin belying her attitude. “Very well. Your courtly mannerisms have moved me, sir. I shall accompany you to... yon luncheon.”

I snorted and straightened up. “Great. Tomorrow, then? At noon? I’ll meet you here.”

Rarity nodded. “That sounds delightful, Mister Case.”

“I can’t promise delight, Miss Rarity... but perhaps you’ll accept ‘interest and intrigue?’” I said with a wink.

“Hm. It’ll have to do,” replied Rarity. “Tomorrow at noon, then.”

“Tomorrow at noon,” I promised, turned around, and walked directly into the doorframe.

Rarity giggled behind me. “Was that on purpose?”

“Yes,” I grunted, rubbing my sore nose, and I opened the door and left the boutique, walking out into the warm afternoon. I stood on the grass for a moment, my mind running over what had just happened, and I felt the urge to throw myself into the door frame a few more times.

“What did I just get myself into?”





> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 3 -














“What did I get myself into?!”

Around me, my bedroom was a mess. I normally didn’t care about clothes, but this felt like it needed something more than just, well, nothing! Rarity seemed classy, and she obviously enjoyed fashion and elegance. I didn’t really own much in the way of clothing. I had other things to worry about, and my ability to color-coordinate or wear cohesive outfits was nonexistent. I’d laid out every single one of my ties, scarves, hats, and every other article I owned. It only amounted to a single row of various articles: a paltry collection.

I gravitated towards my tie, the one that I usually wore for big events. I hesitated, though. Was it too formal?

I threw my hooves up in the air. “Buck it.”

I grabbed the scarf that Rarity had made for me and wrapped it around my neck. I ran a hoof along the softly textured fabric. It’d do for now, though I swore to pick up a new tie or two in the next few days. With a snort, I trotted outside, lifting my face to feel the warmth of the sun. It was a little before noon. Just enough time to get to the Carousel Boutique and pick up Rarity.

I shivered, despite the heat of the day. I’d barely slept last night, worrying over this date. To say I was out of practice was an understatement.

I scuffed my hooves on the road, sighing as I slid out of the way of an oncoming group of ponies heading for the nearby market. One of them stopped in front of me and lifted a hoof in greeting. “Hello there, Lower Case!”

I frowned slightly, squinting my eyes closed for a moment as I searched for a name to give the friendly mare that had just greeted me. “Er, hello... Twilight?”

“That sounded more like a question.” She giggled knowingly, and I winced. “On your way to pick up Rarity?”

Oh. Of course, she was friends with Rarity, so she’d know about our date. I nodded. “Yeah. Just... heading on over.”

“Nice to see that you’re making an effort, but I think Rarity might appreciate it if you’re a minute or two late. I actually just came from the Carousel Boutique, and Rarity... well, she’s taking her time trying to look ‘just-so.’” Twilight smirked. “I think you’ve asked her on the first serious date she’s had in months.”

“Oh, is that what she told you?” I chuckled slightly, trying to avoid the sick feeling that had settled in my stomach. “Well, I hope she isn’t expecting too much. I’m afraid I might be a bit rusty.”

Twilight waved a hoof dismissively, her smile reassuring. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ll do fine, I’m sure. I mean, you’re a young stallion, you’ve probably been on plenty of dates.”

I nodded slowly. “Twilight, how old do you think I am?”

Twilight’s ears twitched back hesitantly. “Uh... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything!”

“Just humor me. Take a guess!” I said with a smile.

“... Twenty-five?” Twilight ventured.

“Thirty-one. And I haven’t been on a date in... six years.”

“Six years?!”

“Six years. I was busy.” I shook my head and sighed. “So, you understand that when I say I’m rusty, I mean it.”

“I-I’ve got some books at the library on modern romance techniques and dating tips! Hold on, I’ll be right back!”

I chuckled, “Don’t bother, I’ll just blunder my way—”

Twilight suddenly disappeared with a clap of displaced air. My jaw dropped. Not many unicorns could tackle such an advanced spell as teleportation. I waited a moment, and sure enough, there was another crackling clap. Twilight appeared before me once more with two books balanced on her back.

“Here! These were the first two that I could—” Twilight began.

“No, that’s okay, I don’t—” I protested, speaking over her.

“—grab, but I was in a—”

“—need any help, I think—”

“—hurry! We should probably—”

“—I can handle this—”

“—get moving, though—

I put a hoof in front of Twilight’s mouth, “—on my own! I can do this, Twilight! I don’t need to be coddled like a colt!”

Twilight froze, and I moved my hoof away from her mouth. She looked down at her hooves for a moment, scuffing the dirt path. I realized what I’d done, pushing Twilight away like a rebellious young colt faced with a doting matron. Idiot. “I’m sorry, I just...” I let the statement hang awkwardly, shrugging.

Twilight shook her head, smiling gently. “No, it’s okay! I was being pushy and overthinking things.”

I sighed. “No. You were being thoughtful and concerned for me. Thank you.”

Twilight hesitated. “...So?”

“So, maybe you’re right. I might need a little help. A pointer or two wouldn't hurt.” Her smile made the awkward admission almost worth it. “How about you read while we walk?”

Twilight nodded, levitated the books off her back, and started reading aloud as she began leading me on towards Carousel Boutique. “Let’s see here. This book by Smooth Tigerlily is supposed to be fairly informative on more modern dating techniques! She says that modern stallions should be more focused on showing a mare that they appreciate their efforts towards wooing them. After all, with the population discrepancy between stallions and mares still relatively skewed, there’s not as many stallions around as many would like, so she says that...”





We arrived in front of Carousel Boutique what felt like an hour later, though I knew it had only been mere minutes. Twilight was still reading out tips from those stupid books.

“...and Tigerlily also says that stallions should be more passive during a date, or during... oh, oh my, we’ll skip that bit... but uh, yes, passive is apparently important, because coming on too strongly means that—”

“We’re here, Twilight,” I droned, hoping she’d be quiet. I’d heard more than enough about other ponies’ opinions on the modern dating scene.

“Oh! Wow, that sure flew by quickly!” Twilight said breathily, giggling.

“For some of us...” I muttered.

“What was that?” asked Twilight.

I summoned a nonchalant grin. “Oh, nothing.” I quickly knocked on Rarity’s door. Please, please be ready.

“Just a moment!” sang Rarity’s voice from inside.

I silently thanked Celestia for Rarity’s apparent punctuality and took a step back from the door. “Twilight, you might want to put those books away. Don’t want to give Rarity the impression you’ve been teaching me how to be a good date.” Not that I’d actually be using any of that advice. It was all pickup artist bunk and, to be frank, a little sleazy.

“Oh! Right, good thinking.” Twilight grinned and waved at me. “Good luck!”

I turned towards the door as it began to open, a quiet clap of air telling me that Twilight had teleported away just in time. I grinned as Rarity stepped out into the tepid afternoon. She was wearing a gracefully flowing full-body dress that was laced up her chest with a bodice, with a high neck collar that spoke of nobility. She wore long stockings and buckled shoes, as well.

My heart dropped out of my chest, the scarf around my neck suddenly feeling like a noose. I mustered a smile. “You look very nice, Miss Rarity.”

Rarity smiled, reaching a hoof up and bouncing her curled mane. “Thank you, Mister Case.”

I swallowed nervously. “I’m afraid I’m a tad underdressed.”

Rarity grinned sheepishly. “Think nothing of it! I’m afraid I got a tad excited. I believe that I’m the one who’s overdressed!” Her ears flattened back.

“No!” I held up a hoof. “You look really amazing. I’m just afraid that I don’t have anything that could possibly match your exquisite taste in clothing.”

Rarity’s smile regained some of its strength and her ears perked up. “Oh, don’t be modest. I saw that scarf you were wearing the first time we met. You’ve got a sense for fashion.”

“I’m afraid it’s an illusion. I barely pay attention to what I wear. It’s just... not that important to me,” I stated honestly.

Rarity frowned pensively. “Hmm... well, how about we compromise a bit, then? I’ve got an idea. Come inside.”

She turned and trotted into the boutique and I followed, wondering what she had in mind. The interior of the boutique was different from the last time I’d visited. Gone was the chaos, replaced with a level of neatness that almost bordered on the obsessive. The ponnyquins that had been covered with dresses that were being constructed were now bare, and tucked in a neat line along the far wall. A few racks of garments had been pulled into the room as well, displaying Rarity’s creations. The room felt far more open than it had before when it had been messy. A few mirrors had been pulled into the center of the boutique and some paneled dressing areas had been moved into place. It felt less like a studio and more like a shop. I stopped inside the doorway, wiping my hooves carefully on the rug.

“It’s nice in here,” I commented. “What happened to the organized chaos?”

“You caught me on the weekend. I try to keep the mess constrained to my workroom and out of the main studio, but on the weekend I let my creativity go where it pleases,” explained Rarity, walking further inside the boutique and towards a flight of stairs. “I’m going to dress down a bit, and I’ll also grab something nice for you to wear for our luncheon. That way, we’ll be a little more matched.”

“Sounds good,” I called as she disappeared upstairs. I waited quietly in the middle of the room for a minute before my restlessness got the better of me and I began to peruse the racks of clothing. Most of it was designed for mares: dresses, fashionable capes, and the like. There were a few outfits for stallions, mostly jackets and vests. I ran a hoof along one of them, admiring the careful stitching and the style of the cut.

“Find something you like?” murmured Rarity from behind me.

I yelped and spun around, grinning sheepishly. “Ah, yes, actually. You’ve got a lot of talent, Miss Rarity.”

Rarity was wearing a simpler dress—a single piece of flowing fabric with a plunging neckline and a hem that rode high on her flank—and had discarded the stockings, shoes, and most everything else. She had her hair done slightly differently as well, pulled up into a tangle of curly ringlets at the back of her head. She still was beautifully dressed, but I no longer felt quite so underdressed. She held up two suit jackets, smiling at me. “Which do you prefer?”

I took a step back, trying to compose myself. “Ah... I think you’d be the better judge.”

“That’s flattering, Mister Case, but I must insist you pick which one you feel suits you better.” She held them out, smiling slyly.

Another test, then. Very well. I took a step forward, running a hoof along each jacket as I examined each one carefully. One was double-breasted, with a squared shoulder look and three buttons. The other was single-breasted, with two buttons instead of three, and more rounded in the shoulders. I ran a hoof down the collar of the two-button jacket, then tapped it firmly. “This one.”

“Hmm. Interesting choice. Are you picking it because you think it will look better on you, or because it more closely matches my outfit?” she queried.

“I think both would look good on me, but the two-button jacket is a little less formal, and... yes, it matches your dress better,” I stated firmly, holding to my decision in the face of her question.

Rarity laughed, hanging up the three-button jacket as I took the other one, and she fanned her face as if she was flushed. “I must say, you’re performing admirably.”

“I’m on to your little game, Miss Rarity,” I replied with a soft chuckle. 

I shrugged into the jacket and buttoned the bottom button, leaving the top button open. Rarity gave a subtle nod of approval, and I gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

“One last thing.”

Rarity leaned in close, grabbing my scarf, and proceeded to tie it into a complex knot, before tucking it into my suit jacket like a tie. She fluffed the fabric slightly, one hoof resting gently on my chest, her head tilting to the side to examine the knot. “There we are. Much better.”

We stood there for a moment, close together, her hoof on my chest, before I chuckled awkwardly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She took a step back, smiling coyly.

Oh, she was good. I was out of my league. I shook my head slowly, trying to ease my undoubtedly goofy smile into a more neutral expression. “All right, then. Let’s head to lunch. I think you’ll like this place; I’ve heard some good things around town.”

It was my turn to have the upper hoof.





We walked towards our destination at a leisurely pace, heading towards the farther edge of Ponyville. I led Rarity to a chariot that sat in the middle of an open field. Two pegasi lounged in chairs next to the chariot, chatting animatedly with each other, while a thin unicorn with a swept-back mane and a bow tie stood before a podium. 

The unicorn smiled. “Hello there. Are you here for lunch?”

I nodded. “I am. Reservation for Lower Case.”

“Reservation? For a chariot ride? Wherever are we going?” Rarity asked with interest.

“Not far!” replied the unicorn. “I’d assume, then, that you both have never eaten here before?”

“It’s the first time for both of us,” I stated.

“All right, you’re in for a treat! Hold still a moment.” 

The unicorn’s eyes closed in concentration, and I felt a tingling sensation around my hooves. Rarity giggled, obviously experiencing a similar effect, and the unicorn opened his eyes. “All right, all set. Hey Flitter, Cloudchaser! Two customers ready to go up!”

The two pegasi hopped out of their chairs and quickly hitched themselves to the chariot. They grinned at us, and one spoke up. “Hop in! We’ll take you guys up to the dining room.”

Rarity cast me a look full of curiosity. “Dining room?”

I gestured to the chariot, my lips sealed. She snorted, her eyes narrowing briefly, before stepping into the back of the chariot. I joined her, and Flitter and Cloudchaser spread their wings. After a short running start, we were airborne. Rarity squealed and grabbed on to my waist, burying her face in my shoulder. She stayed like that for the whole five minutes we were in the air. The two pegasi were fast and the ride was smooth, and we arrived on top of a flattened plateau of white cumulonimbus. A dining room of sorts had been set up, the area filled with low tables that hummed with enchantments keeping them on top of the cloud. A few pegasus customers and a pair of earth ponies were the only patrons, leaving the rest of the large space quiet and empty. Rarity managed to remove herself from my side, grinning sheepishly. “I apologize. I’ve never been in a chariot before. It was... startling.”

I chuckled. “I’m sorry I startled you. I just wanted it to be a surprise,” I divulged, as I stepped off onto the cloud.

Rarity stiffened briefly, her hoof reaching out as if to halt me from falling to my death, but I stood firmly on the fluffy surface, enjoying the odd texture of the cloud beneath my hoof. It was dry, but cold, almost feeling wet without actually being wet. “Come on. The unicorn did his job, we’re enchanted to walk on clouds for a few hours.”

“Oh. Oh! Of course. I apologize, I’m familiar with the spell, it’s just been a while.” Rarity cautiously stepped off the chariot and onto the cloud, bouncing slightly before settling her weight.

“Enjoy your lunch!” chorused the two pegasi, and they took off with the chariot, leaving us to seat ourselves.

“So, what sort of an establishment is this?” asked Rarity, looking around as I lead her to a table nearer to the edge of the cloud.

“Classic pegasi cuisine. High in carbohydrates and protein, and very delicious. It’s similar to Bitalian food. Lots of grains and pastas.”

Rarity’s smile brightened. “Oh, I love Bitalian food.”

“It’s like Bitalian. You’ll see,” I insisted, sitting down on the cloud top before one of the low tables. The cloud molded to support my weight and body, and felt like settling into a cushion.

Rarity took a seat as well, shifting awkwardly for a moment before settling down. “My, this is comfy. I suppose I can understand why Rainbow Dash enjoys napping on these so much.”

“Friend of yours?” I asked, picking up a menu that had been left on the table and beginning to peruse the offerings, running my hoof along the edge of the menu and focusing.

“Yes, a very dear friend. She’s the town’s head weatherpony, and, well, a bit lazy on occasion.” Rarity laughed demurely.  “She’s also very loyal and supportive. A good pony to have at your side when things go awry. If she saw me up here, I’m sure she’d approve. She has quite an adventurous streak.”

I chuckled. “Sounds like a mare I know.” The words slipped out before I could think, and I inwardly winced, hoping Rarity wouldn’t ask.

“Oh? Come now, Mister Case, I’ve told you about my friend, so it’s only fair you talk about yours,” Rarity prompted, opening her own menu.

“Hardly a friend. Just a character I write about,” I stated evenly. “Well, used to write about. I’m focusing my work... elsewhere. On a new epic.”

“Really? That sounds terribly interesting,” remarked Rarity, her eyes flicking away from her menu to focus on me.

“It really isn’t, I promise.” Smirking, I changed the subject. “How about you, Rarity? You mentioned working on a project the other day. An order for a client?”

Rarity smiled, setting down her menu and leaning forward. “Well, if you must know, I was working on a dress concept for a rather famous singer, Sapphire Shores. She’s a regular client of mine and I help design many of her stage outfits, as well as the occasional piece of personal attire.”

I whistled, impressed. “Wow. Who’d have known? You being a dressmaker for Sapphire Shores, while living here in Ponyville? I mean, no offense, this place is charming and quiet, but Canterlot it ain’t.”

Rarity laughed, waving a hoof in the air. “I’m afraid you exaggerate my importance. I may be a—shall we say—rising star? But I have yet to be truly discovered. My friends have done wonders for helping my career, but at the moment I’m very happy here. I’m close to my family, I have the best friends a mare could ask for, a decent list of clients from the fabulous ponies of the upper crusts of society, and more local and dear regulars.”

I smiled at her enthusiasm. “That sounds nice. I wish I could connect so easily with my...” I hesitated, searching for the word, “... clientele?”

Rarity placed a hoof over her mouth, looking surprised. “Oh my, you can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” I questioned, surprised by her reaction.

“Well, you’re a writer, darling! You must connect more deeply with ponies than I ever could dream!” Rarity placed a hoof to her chest solemnly. “When I was a young filly, I know that much of my inspiration and creativity was driven by imagery and characters from the books I read. Classic literature is rife with interesting and novel ideas for clothing and period costume, and it was invaluable in driving my personal sense of style and love for the more refined look of past ages. Not that I have anything against modern fashion trends, but I firmly believe that there are things that will never go out of style.”

I smirked. “I doubt that I do much inspiring. Like I told you, I write lame novels for young mares. Nothing so classic or literary. Just guilty pleasures for those seeking a little escape from reality.”

Rarity smirked victoriously, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Ah, but there’s the rub! Guilty pleasure though your work may be, a little escape from reality now and again is good for the soul. We get so wrapped up in life’s drama and carrying-on, I think, that allowing ourselves a break now and again can be rejuvenating... as long as we’re taking a break by doing innocuous things like reading or enjoying a hobby.”

“Fair enough,” I replied with a shrug.

Rarity opened her mouth to continue, but was interrupted when a pegasus stallion wearing a bow-tie alighted on the cloud next to our table. “Good afternoon. Welcome to High Rise! My name is Sweet Spot and I’ll be your waiter. Can I get you started on some drinks or appetizers?”

I nodded to him, already knowing what I wanted. “I’d like a chilled glass of Electric Ale.”

Rarity raised a graceful eyebrow at me. “Electric Ale?”

Sweet Spot smiled at Rarity, taking the lead on explaining. “Electric Ale is a light alcoholic beverage, distilled with rainwater harvested only during thunderstorms. Right before serving, we send a mild jolt of electricity through the brew. It gives it a very unique flavor, and goes well with almost any dish we serve here.”

“That sounds very interesting. I’d like to try some as well, if you please,” requested Rarity.

“Excellent. Anything else?”

I glanced down at the menu, pondering quickly. “I think I’d just like some bread, please. A fresh loaf of sweet oat, if you don’t mind, with a side of your herb and olive spread.”

Sweet Spot nodded. “An excellent choice. I’ll be right back with your drinks and bread.”

He was gone in a flash, simply sliding through the cloud, leaving only a wisp of disturbed air in his place. Rarity watched him disappear with interest. “Ah, so the kitchen is below us.”

“Right. It’s probably a bit expensive to have a whole kitchen in the sky, with a restaurant like this.” I ran a hoof nervously along the edge of the table as I spoke. “Back in Manehattan, where I worked before coming here, these kinds of places started getting popular. I was always interested in going, but I never really had the time. When I heard there was a pegasus cloud restaurant here, I knew I had to go.”

Rarity smiled slowly. “Ah, so I’m an excuse?”

I grinned at her. “Yes.”

She blinked, taken aback, but then laughed merrily. “Oh my, you’re serious! How delightfully refreshing, an honest stallion!”

I laughed along with her. “I’ll admit, though, I’m finding the company more enjoyable than the novelty of eating on a cloud.”

Rarity beamed, batting her eyelashes at me, and we sat in an atmosphere of comfortable silence for a few moments before Sweet Spot returned with our drinks, bread, and the spread.

I slid my glass a little closer to myself and picked it up in one hoof, smiling as I felt the tingle of electricity set the hair of my fetlocks on end. Rarity giggled a little, examining her drink with interest. “It’s very pretty.”

“It is,” I replied, taking a slow sip.

The electric tingle became a jolt of energy that numbed my tongue and set my mane dancing briefly. I swallowed quickly and gasped, laughing. “Wow. That’s stronger than I imagined.”

“Oh really?” asked Rarity, her interested expression turning cautious.

I waved a hoof at her. “Oh, go on. Try it.”

She smiled. “Well, if you insist.” 

Shifting her weight forward slightly, she gripped the glass and took a drink. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she swallowed, setting the glass down with a giggle. “Oh my, that was an experience...”

And then her mane exploded, every careful curl tightening up briefly before frizzing out into a halo around her head, which floated ethereally before coming down straight. Rarity’s mouth dropped open, her expression horrified. I chuckled, stupidly. “Looks like yours was a little extra strong.”

She recovered from her shock, gasping. “My mane! Oh goddess, I must look a mess! I’m so sorry!”

I smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. Really! I think it actually looks nice, straight like that.”

“Nice?” She glared. “Nice?”

Oh, horseapples. I decided to take a chance and press on. “Yes. It looks very nice.”

Rarity’s face went through a few expressions ranging from rage to shock before settling on an icy, impassive look. “So, now it looks nice?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes. N-not to say that it didn’t look nice before, Miss Rarity.”

Snorting, she stood up slowly. “Why’d it look nice before, then?”

“You’d done it up. I thought it looked very good,” I insisted.

There was an awkward pause as Rarity stood quietly in front of me. I resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from my brow.

“And?” she inquired, finally.

I focused on her mane, trying to find some clue. Sweet Celestia, she’d done something else and I hadn’t noticed? Rookie mistake. I scrutinized her straightened mane for a moment before inwardly shrugging. “And that’s all. I liked that you’d done something different, because it meant you cared enough to try to impress me.”

She exhaled slowly, looking defeated for a moment, before giving me a small smile. “Very well. I’ll be right back.”

Rarity trotted away, heading for a small covered area of the cloud, no doubt a powder room for mares. I resisted the urge to smash my head into the table. Stupid! How could I have missed something? What had she done?

I grabbed a slice of bread and chewed it, contemplating how to rescue this date. I needed to do something good. She’d just been embarrassed, and I’d been stupid enough to not notice something she’d done to try to impress me. I glanced around, hoping to see Sweet Spot, but the pegasus stallion had disappeared. 

Rarity returned a minute later, having composed herself. She’d pulled her mane back and up into a loose bun that actually looked very attractive. I smiled at her hopefully. “That’s not a bad look for you.”

Rarity chuckled. “I’m afraid that ship has sailed, Mister Case. Not to worry, though, the day is still young. I apologize if I was rude to you as well. I take a lot of time to make myself look just-so, and it is a bit bothersome when somepony doesn’t recognize that.”

I nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry for laughing at you when your mane... well, for lack of a better word, exploded.”

She giggled, glancing up at a stray lock of mane and tucking it back into the bun. “It was rather spectacular, wasn’t it?”

“Very.” I sighed, feeling a little of the tension in my shoulders ease. “Try the spread, I promise it isn’t quite so exotic.”

Rarity grasped a small piece of bread and dipped it daintily into the olive and herb spread, and took a bite. Her eyes widened, then closed. “Mmm.”

“It’s a bit on the oily side, but I’ve had it before and it’s great.” I dipped my own piece of bread into the spread and took a bite, enjoying the flavor of rosemary and the slightly bitter taste of the olives. 

Rarity swallowed her bite. “It actually reminds me of marediterranean food.”

“Very similar. I suppose you could say that traditional pegasi cuisine is a fusion of bitalian and marediterranean.”

Between the two of us, we finished off most of the bread, murmuring quiet compliments on the food between bites, before Sweet Spot returned. “All right, what can I get for you two?”

Rarity smiled at me. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

My eyes widened. Tricky. “Very well.” I scrutinized the menu for a moment before spotting something that looked good. “Ah! I’ll have the baked kalamata pasta with truffle oil sauce.”

Sweet Spot scribbled down the order on a pad. “Very good! I’ll have that out for you two in a flash.”

Sweet Spot slipped through the cloud again, leaving Rarity and I alone once more. I smiled at her. “I promise, this’ll go over better than the ale did.”

Rarity nodded, smirking. “I certainly hope so.”

We sat quietly for a second as we both enjoyed the bread and spread, before Rarity spoke up. “This place really is lovely. I wasn’t certain when we first arrived, but I believe that I could enjoy living on clouds.” 

“They are quite comfortable, aren’t they?” I patted one hoof against the fluff of water vapor, feeling it’s odd wet, and yet not-wet, texture and the gentle heat of the sun-warmed liquid.

“I see the appeal, now. If only there was a way to use clouds as fabric. What an interesting textile that would be...”

Nodding, I tugged on the cloud, feeling its tensile strength. “Could be interesting…”

The silence returned as we contemplated the idea of cloud fabrics, before Rarity broke the quiet spell once more. “So, I think we’ve been avoiding the topic long enough. What did you write before you came to ponyville? And don’t say ‘adventure novels for young mares.’ I’m genuinely interested and I’d like to know more.”

I winced. “I’m afraid that for the moment, Miss Rarity, I’d rather keep that a secret. I moved to Ponyville to get away from my past work and to start in on a real story that I could be proud of.”

Rarity frowned and her lower lip stuck out in a cute pout. “Ah, come now. Not even a hint?”

I smiled. “I’ve said too much already. I’d love to tell you about my current work, though. Will that help satisfy your curiosity?”

Rarity nodded and gestured for me to continue. I closed my eyes for a moment to gather my thoughts, before I started. “What do you know about the regalia that the princesses wear, Rarity?”

She looked briefly thoughtful. “I’ve always assumed they were just the trappings of the sister’s job as diarchs of Equestria.”

“That’s part of it, certainly, but there is more to it. Not many ponies care to ask, but the regalia contains potent magic and power. The sisters have stored within their crowns and the rest of their regalia a massive amount of arcane energy, built up over the course of hundreds of years, which they can draw on in times of crisis,” I explained.

Looking surprised, Rarity leaned forward. “How interesting! I’d always assumed that they were simply pretty pieces of jewelry.”

I nodded. “Indeed, many ponies think that as well. However, that’s not the case. Now, did you know that Celestia’s crown was once stolen?”

Rarity looked shocked, her mouth dropping open briefly. “Not at all! Who could possibly do such a thing?”

“A pony, of course. A noble pony with a noble quest. Hundreds of years ago, he stole the Crown of the Sun.”

“Celestia must have caught him, of course,” Rarity stated.

I grinned. “Yes. But that’s not the end of the story; it only gets more interesting from there.” I leaned forward in my seat, speaking quietly to Rarity. “The royal archives hold two notations in the records, taken months apart. In one, there is noted that one Briar Rose, stallion, attempted to steal the Crown of the Sun, but was captured. Then, months later, it is stated in the record that the Crown of the Sun was given as a gift to one Sir Briar Rose, Knight of Canterlot.”

Rarity’s mouth dropped open. “How intriguing! I wonder what could have happened?”

“I wondered too. The story I’m writing is part fact, part fiction. A story of adventure and daring, intrigue and guile. I think that it will be my best work yet,” I said, tapping my hoof on the table for emphasis.

Rarity clapped her hooves together. “That sounds delightful, Mister Case! A story that blends truth with the tale is always an interesting one.”

“I thought as much.” I smiled at Rarity. “So, that’s me. How about you? There’s more to you than fashion and literature, yes?”

Rarity laughed demurely. “Oh, well, I suppose.” She winked at me, and I chuckled. Rarity continued, “Well, outside of my boutique and other work, I enjoy spending time with my friends. I’ve got five of the most wonderful mares as friends, and they fill the quiet spaces in my life with joy, laughter, and a bit of adventure.”

“They sound nice. I believe you’ve mentioned Rainbow Dash?” I inquired.

Rarity laughed. “Rainbow and I weren’t close until Twilight Sparkle came to town. She’s really the spark that brought our little group together.”

“Tell me a fun story about them, then. Or an embarrassing story, if you’re feeling bold!” I dared, grinning at her.

Rarity’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah ha, was that a challenge?”

I leaned forward slightly in my seat, grinning at Rarity. “Yes.”

“Very well... let me think a moment,” Rarity pondered, bringing a hoof up daintily to her chin and tapping lightly for a few seconds, before she giggled. “Ah. I know just the story. Remember how I mentioned being aware of the spell that lets you walk on clouds?”

I nodded, and she continued. “Well, I learned about the spell almost a little over a year ago, now. Rainbow Dash had entered into the Best Young Flyers Competition in Cloudsdale. Twilight and the rest of the girls wanted to see the competition, to help cheer her on, but we weren’t certain how we were going to get there. Well, Twilight found a spell that would...





Our pasta had come and been mostly devoured by the time Rarity finished her story. She wasn’t much for telling tales, deviating into other amusing anecdotes about her friend Fluttershy or Twilight Sparkle, but finally she’d arrived at the end.

“...and Rainbow Dash came streaking out of the clouds, faster than anything I’d ever seen, with a massive contrail of prismatic light streaking behind her! She grabbed myself and all three Wonderbolts before we could splatter on the rocks below, and zoomed us to safety!”

I leaned back from the edge of my seat, laughing. “Amazing.”

Rarity smiled. “I believe Dash would insist on a different ‘a’ word, but it was amazing, indeed.”

“Your friends all sound great. You’re a lucky pony,” I said honestly.

“I’m sure you have plenty of friends back in Manehattan, Mister Case,” said Rarity, waving her hoof as though I was exaggerating her good fortune.

I shrugged slightly. “Not particularly. Sticky Wicket is one of the few ponies I can really call a friend. I have many... associates, like my publisher and editors, but I enjoy being solitary,” I stated simply.

Rarity’s smile faltered. “I’m surprised, honestly. You’re perfectly charming, and an interesting stallion. Friends fill one’s life with wonder, Mister Case!”

“I keep ponies at a distance. I’ve been that way for a while now. I just enjoy the company of myself and my work, and I never felt driven to find companionship...” I faltered briefly before steeling my nerves and pressing on, “...until I met you,” I ventured, smiling gently at her.

Rarity looked down at her hooves demurely, which rested lightly on the table. “That’s very flattering.”

“I don’t mean it to be flattery. I just mean what I say. You’re different, and something drew me to you. It wasn’t your fashion, or your literary knowledge,” I smirked slightly, “though the scarf may have had something to do with it. There’s something about you, Miss Rarity, that made me want to know more about you. Celestia knows why.”

Rarity laughed softly. “Oh, come now. I’m not that interesting.”

I winked. “I disagree.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and I could tell Rarity was going to speak, so I waited for her to collect her thoughts. After a few long seconds, she spoke. “I think, Mister Case, that I’d like to get to know you better as well. Perhaps, though, we should take it slowly. Lunch was a brilliant idea, and I believe that next time we’ll do something similar... if, that is, you’d like there to be a next time.”

“I’d like that,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Rarity’s smile grew wider. “Excellent. Perhaps, if you have time in the next few days, you could come to Sugarcube Corner and meet one or two of my friends as well?”

I’d opened my mouth to agree with whatever suggestion she’d had, but I quickly closed it when what she’d said finally registered. “Sugarcube Corner?”

“Yes. Is there an issue? Not a fan of sweets, maybe?”

I snorted. “Sweets are all well and good, Miss Rarity, but I’m surprised you even deign to go to that madhouse.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Madhouse?”

“There’s a mare, a bouncing, crazy mare, that works there. She’s either insane or too smart by half, and she’s aggravating beyond belief,” I said, chuckling.

“Oh, you mean my friend, Pinkie Pie?” Rarity asked, a cold edge in her voice.

“Yes, that’s her—” I froze mid-sentence. “...Friend?”

“Indeed,” Rarity said icily.

I slowly covered my eyes with my forehooves, sinking low in my seat. Damn damn damn. “I’m... afraid I’ve put my hoof in my mouth.”

“You have indeed. There are many things I can tolerate, Mister Case. Not noticing my mane is one thing, but speaking poorly of my friends is another thing entirely.”

I reached out a hoof across the table, touching her own lightly. “I sincerely apologize... if you understand anything about me, you must understand that I’m not one for loud craziness, and your friend Pinkie Pie’s... constant state of jubilation is irritating to me, on a personal level. She’s nice enough, but just a bit too much for my sensibilities.”

Rarity frowned lightly, her hoof tapping on the table. I waited quietly, hoping she’d accept my reasoning. After a moment, she spoke.  “Well, I suppose it’s understandable, but I still don’t approve.”

I nodded. “I understand, and again, I’m sorry for speaking badly of her. I mean, I’m sure with a little time I could tolerate Pinkie in larger doses, but at the moment the idea of spending several hours at Sugarcube Corner sounds positively overwhelming.”

Rarity sighed, a small smile returning to her face. “I guess I can relate. It took me some time to really appreciate Pinkie Pie’s vivacious personality.” She leaned forward, one hoof reaching out towards my face. “Just don’t let me catch you bad-mouthing her again, hm?” She chuckled and lightly bopped my horn with her hoof before I could stop her. 

I gasped, belatedly lifting a hoof to block her contact with my horn, and froze as a flash of white darted down my skull and popped behind my eyes, the occlusion filling my vision like sleet in the middle of a Manehattan storm. I exhaled slowly, fighting my sudden panic as my ever-present arcana was shattered, leaving me a shivering stallion instead of the gentlecolt Rarity had been introduced to. I lifted one hoof up to my eyes, rubbing at them slightly, as my other hoof reached out for Rarity’s own, fumbling. She hadn’t said anything, but I could tell that she knew something was wrong. She was quiet, uncharacteristically so, as if something was straining to be said but had been held back, forcefully.

I allowed my hoof to fall, mustering a smile behind my sudden fear. How was she to know what she’d done? What it echoed for me, personally? So simple a contact, yet filled with deep significance. The contact had dispelled all my genteel mannerisms, leaving me open and vulnerable, able to be seen for what I was.

Who was I kidding? I’d walled myself off for so long, kept ponies at a distance, and for good reason. I wasn’t protecting anypony but myself, and it was safer that way. I hadn’t yearned for that contact, lost for years, until now. I slid one hoof back slightly across the thin fabric of the table cloth, brushing past a glass of Electric Ale as it retreated. “E-excuse me, Miss Rarity... I just...”

The silence, something that I’d treasured for so long, stretched uncomfortably. My long-time ally, the crux of my writing and stories, hung around me like a funeral shroud. I suddenly found it oppressive, and I worked to fill the void with the faltering sound of my own voice. “Pardon me... I just need a moment...”

She didn’t respond. The sleet filling my head began to fade, the whiteness retreating to a more comforting black. I reached out again, desperately looking for her hoof, but I stretched out across the table and found it empty, excepting a plate, half-finished. 

I was alone.

I grasped the edge of the table, fighting a torrent of conflicting emotion that threatened to pull me down like the current in an ocean. My horn pulsed with renewed strength as my focus returned and I desperately turned in a circle, standing from my chair and balancing on the clouds that threatened to pull away from beneath me and send me plunging. The other diners were silent, looking at me, but I paid them no heed. Where was she?

There. The chariot, with her inside, was pulling away, back towards the ground. She’d left. She’d seen. She’d known.

I sat down in my seat, slowly, the trembling in my extremities fading as numbness took over. I quietly finished my food, a long-standing ritual for my occasional solo outings to restaurants. Everything was just like it had always been, only there was a fresh, gaping hole that filled the air across the table from me. 

Sweet Spot appeared silently, casting a sad smile my way, and set the check down on the table before slipping back through the cloud. I reached into my jacket pocket with my magic, pulling out a one-hundred bit piece, and set it down on the table. I idly ran a hoof along the jacket, feeling the stark texture of the material, the crisp and restrictive fold of the collar. I realized, with a frown, that I’d have to return the jacket to Rarity. 

I mentally shrugged. Perhaps I could spare myself some awkwardness and simply give it to one of her friends. They could pass it along for me. 

I loosened the cravat knot Rarity had tied my scarf in, then undid it entirely, wrapping it loosely around my neck like I normally would. A few moments later, the chariot pulled up to the side of the dining area. I stepped on, nodding to the two Pegasi mares as they both threw me small smiles. I didn’t need their pity, but perhaps I had earned it.

The wind blew back my mane as I rode down to earth alone, leaving the cloudy place above me behind.





> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


- Chapter 4 -














I fumbled with my front door, cursing quietly under my breath. After a moment, I managed to get the door open. I stepped inside and I threw myself bodily against the entrance, slamming it shut with a force that shook the frame of the house. “Buck me.”

I moved into the kitchen, wincing as my shoulder painfully bumped the corner of the table, sending me limping into a nearby chair. I rubbed the aching spot, growling. Opening the refrigerator with my telekinesis, I felt inside, hoping that Sticky Wicket had remembered to grab me some groceries, including my special request. Finally, something in the fridge clinked, the sound of glass-on-glass, and I withdrew a long-necked bottle. I slid it through the air and slammed it down on the table before me with a grunt. I gripped the bottle firmly and mumbled a spell that shot the cork out of the neck of the bottle with a loud pop. Some cool liquid spattered on my hooves, but I ignored the spill, pressing the bottle to my lips. The smooth, crisp taste of apples and the sharp tang of alcohol mingled on my palette, and I swallowed a mouthful of the strong cider. I set the bottle down, sighing softly and exhaling the burn that lingered in my mouth. I tapped my hoof on the floor softly as I searched for the cork, which had gone sailing away into unknown territory. After a moment, I gave up. I didn’t really care, anyway.

I brought the bottle with me as I moved into the den, standing in the center of the room and turning in a slow circle, trying to find some meaning in the stacks of books and reams of paper. I found only an empty space, and perhaps that was what I deserved.

I took a small sip of the cider, and set it carefully down on the desk. I pulled my chair out and slumped into it with a grunt. Leaning back, I put my hooves up on the desk and reclined back. I balanced carefully for a moment before settling back onto the floor.

“What were you doing?” I spat at myself.

What had I been doing? Going out on a date? Looking for romance? Maybe just a good roll in the hay? What was I thinking?

“You’re an idiot,” my voice declared to the empty house, and it laughed without feeling.

I reached out for the bottle and took another cautious sip of cider. It tasted good. Better than the electric ale. That had been a brilliant idea. “Idiot.”

I reached out with my telekinesis, shuffling aside papers on my desk listlessly. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I felt like I just needed to occupy myself.

Maybe I should have just done what I always did: hide in my work. Bury myself in words and words and words, until I’m covered with an ocean of meaningless messages and action sequences, strung together with catchy phrases and hollow characters like rows of grave markers.

What was I doing, moving to Ponyville? Why had I left Manehattan? I could have written a damn epic without shoving my empty skull halfway across Equestria. I had to have space, and for some reason that meant more than just adding a deadbolt on my front door.

I reached for the papers in the typewriter, tapping a hoof against the most recent pages of my draft, before snatching them off the typewriter and throwing them aside. The papers scattered in a rain of fluttering noise and rustling crispness, floating to the floor. I didn’t need an epic. I just needed what worked. 

The golden goose. 

Give the ponies what they wanted. No more of the romantic notion of writing something that mattered. I didn’t matter, and neither did anything I’d ever written or would write. Young mares with a need for living vicariously through text were my crowd. Squealing fanfillies with visions of grandeur bought the manure that I shoveled hock-over-hoof to them without pause, eating up each successively more trite and banal novella. Whatever got me the bits. Artistic integrity was for starving writers and I hadn’t been one of those in a very long time.

I fed a piece of paper into the typewriter viciously, like I was punishing it for some wrongdoing. More out of force of habit than any ritualistic need, I tapped the platen knob, aligning the page’s edge with the type guide, and slumped back in my chair, kicking my hooves up onto the desk. I telekinetically grasped the bottle of cider and took a long pull from it, swallowing the burning liquid in two gulps. The heat in my head spread to the rest of me, leaving me with the comforting feeling of numbness.

I fired up my writing spell and focused on the page. The keys flickered and a word appeared. I knew without having to even think about it what sequence of letters had stained the page.

Idiot.

I laughed harshly, swirling the bottle in my telekinetic grip, listening to the liquid soporific within slosh like a confined ocean storm. Idiot. A non-poetic summation of the last few days. Who had I been trying to fool? Acting normal, like I was nobody. Hiding my identity like some kind of knock-off J. D. Haylinger. Trying to go after a mare who had more class in one hoof than I possessed in my entire being.

She deserved somepony better, and I deserved to be alone.

I took a small sip of the cider and rested the cool glass of the bottle against my cheek, trying to quell the burning sensation that filled them. 

What an idiot I had been. She was so intelligent, so sophisticated, and so interesting. She mattered to so many ponies, and I was just clinging to her like so many others undoubtedly had, trying to get some of her strength of character to rub off on me, trying to make myself matter to somepony good. Not just the ‘idea’ of good, but a truly good pony: a generous soul that would have given all of herself to a hack like me if I could have fooled her for long enough.

Because that’s what I had been doing. Fooling her, just like I had been fooling myself. Pretending to be a gentlecolt, pretending to be somepony that I wasn’t. Projecting this air of mystery, rather than the hermit-like truth of my pitiful existence. I was a nobody; a writer who stumbled onto a golden goose and got popular by pure happenstance. So many better writers than I still struggled in the dirt to be noticed, to rise above the rest and claim even half the following I had: a quarter of what I had, a fifth, even! So many would have been happy just to be read.

I began writing. Time to stop caring about epic tales of things that didn’t matter, and focus on giving the ponies what they wanted: more of the same.

I gave a bitter laugh as the words spread cancerously across the white pages. I could write anything and they’d lap it up. I could kill my heroine and they’d come crawling back for more. Maybe I’d do that. Maybe, this time, she wouldn’t duck fast enough, think a little too slowly, and...

My laugh caught in my throat and warped into something different, something nearly foreign to me.

I hadn’t cried in five years.

The realization sent me laughing again, but it was tinged with hiccuping gasps of air, and damp tracks stained the fur on my cheeks. I dismissed my writing spell, dismissed all my spells, and sat in the darkness, whimpering and sobbing in a twisted-up echo of days gone by.

It was much later that I finally moved from my seat, tipping forward to land heavily on my four unsteady legs. I gripped the bottle and shifted with it to the kitchen, leaning heavily against the doorway, using the house to support my shaking frame. I managed to open the refrigerator and slide the bottle onto a shelf without spilling it. I smirked to nopony in particular, proud of my rare case of drunken coordination, and sat down slowly. I reached up with one hoof to the scarf that still hung around my neck. I tugged one end of the fabric, slipping it off off, and held it in my hooves carefully. I ran a hoof along the material, feeling the texture of the cloth. I could still smell irises in the weave of the scarf... I could feel the care and attention to detail it was made with.

Why had she given this to me? I’d never done anything to deserve it. It matched my colors, she’d said. The longer thread at the ends of the scarf complimented my fetlocks. I chuckled grimly to myself, murmuring, “I guess I won’t need to get those trimmed anymore.”

There was nopony left to impress.

I stripped off the jacket and carefully folded it, before hanging it over the back of a chair in the kitchen. With one hoof on the wall, I slipped and staggered my way to my bedroom, spilling a few books and records from the shelf as I moved through my den. I  leaned sideways as I reached the edge of my bed, falling into the cool sheets. I gathered the blankets by my side as I shifted into a more comfortable position, and leaned against them, draping one hoof over the bunched up mound of covers at my side. It was almost comforting; like having somepony else with me. I laughed at myself. “Celestia, I’m pathetic.”

Perhaps things would look better in the morning.





Things did not look better in the morning.

I groaned as my head throbbed, a reminder of my poor choices the evening before. Everything felt out of focus and fuzzy, and my magic was sluggish as I rolled out of bed and tapped my hooves on the wood floor, wincing as the sound echoed a bit too loudly through the house. “Sweet Celestia, never again,” I swore to myself as I entered the den and shuffled through the mess.

I busied myself with tidying up the papers for a moment before the ache in my head intensified and I gave up, trotting slowly into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. I searched with my magic for a glass, found one, and levitated it to the sink and filled it with water. I brought the glass to my lips and took a cautious sip, wincing as it hit my soured stomach like a drop of acid. I fought the urge to vomit for a moment and took a larger drink of water, grimacing.

An overly-loud knocking blared through the house, emanating from the front door. I set my glass of water down and shuffled over to the door, flinging it open just as the harsh hammering began again. “Would you please stop knocking so loud?”

“Sorry, mister! I’ve got your mail!” chirped a familiarly bubbly, high-pitched voice at a wildly inappropriate volume. It was the mailmare, unfortunately on time.

I winced and took a small step back, scowling as my head throbbed. “Could you possibly talk any louder?”

There was a brief moment of blessed silence, followed by a deep inhalation. Horror swept over me just moments before the mailmare hollered at the top of her lungs, “Probably? Yeah, I think this is way louder! What do you think, mister?”

I shook my head to clear my ringing ears, my jaw hanging open, before I snorted in exasperation. “Sweet Celestia, you’re thick.”

“Well, I dunno, I guess I’ve been eating a lot of muffins lately...”

I’d had enough of this mare. “I mean you’re stupid, and obnoxious, and oblivious. Give me my mail and leave me alone.”

The mailmare recoiled slightly, before she spun to search through her bag, fumbling inside it for my mail. I waited, impatiently tapping my hoof. A few quiet sobs crossed the space between us, and I winced as her fumbling increased, letters spilling out onto the ground. I sighed and stepped forward, crouching down next to the quietly crying mare, and gathered up the spilled letters. She stopped moving, her shoulders shaking. I offered her the dropped letters in a neat bundle, my magic levitating them out to her. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, wiped a hoof across her muzzle, and delicately took the stack of letters in her mouth, tucking them away into the bag. She pulled out a few envelopes after another moment of fumbling and offered them to me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. 

We stood there in silence for a moment, before she stepped away, her wings opening up.

“Wait.”

She paused.

“What’s your name?”

“D-derpy Hooves.”

“Thank you for delivering my mail, Derpy. I’m sorry I said what I did. I had a bad night,” I said, casting a hesitant smile her way.

Derpy was quiet for a moment, before she suddenly stepped up to me and gave me a hug. I froze, slightly stunned. She released me from the embrace, giggling happily. “Anypony that had a bad night deserves a hug!”

I laughed awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

“Have a better day, Mister!”

With that, the mailmare flew away, leaving me with a vaguely warm feeling. I smiled to myself and took my mail inside, shutting the door behind me as I entered. I took a few light steps into my study before I almost slipped on the mess of papers and detritus that I had left lying in heaps the night previous. My smile slowly turned to a scowl, and I tossed the letters on my desk and slumped down in my chair, holding my head in my hooves.

I’d been such an ass to Derpy. It was obviously habit. First Rarity, now the mailmare. I hurt ponies, and I didn’t deserve to be forgiven so easily. I tapped a hoof against the stack of letters,considering opening them, but decided to leave them be. Standing, I moved back into the kitchen, towards the refrigerator. The cider was still there. I had enough time in the day to drown myself again.

The jacket that I’d thrown over the back of the chair brushed against my mane as I passed by. I paused, reaching out and running a hoof along the lapel. I stood in quiet contemplation for a moment. What to do?

I sighed and picked up the jacket carefully. I’d go to the library and give the jacket to Twilight. She seemed nice enough. I’m sure she’d be okay with returning it for me. I didn’t want to burden Rarity with another appearance so soon after the previous afternoon’s fiasco. 

I went to a nearby cabinet and opened it, using my magic to grab a few pills from a cabinet to counteract my headache. I took the tablets with another glass of water, scowling as my stomach rumbled in protest. I folded the jacket over my flank and trotted to the front door. I pulled it open and trotted out into the day, a swift flick of my magic shutting the door behind me as I left.





I made my way slowly to the library. I had gotten lost twice and had to ask for directions before I finally arrived. I frowned at the odd building, noting the branches and leaves. A library in a tree? There was something ironic about that, but I was feeling too awful to really give it much thought. I pushed open the front entrance and halted in the doorway, inhaling the scent of musty paper and parchments, along with the subtle fragrance of lilac. Rows of well organized bookshelves spread through the room, and a staircase led to a second story. I took a few steps inside, closing the door behind me. I turned to the nearer wall and was surprised by a desk, piled high with books, and a familiar straight-maned unicorn seated behind it, smiling awkwardly at me. “Er, hello, Lower Case!”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, since this was where she worked. My mind had been elsewhere, though. “Hello, Twilight,” I said, mustering a small smile in return. 

“What brings you to the library? I mean, not that there’s anything strange with you coming here, since it’s a public library! Anypony can come right on in… whenever they like! That’s, uh, what the ‘public’ part of public library means…” Her hooves tapped nervously on the desk, fumbling for a book.

She was acting a bit flighty, but I figured that it was because Rarity had recounted our disastrous date to her. I sighed, my ears flattening slightly, and levitated the jacket off of my back, setting it on the desk between us. “I’m just here to drop this off. I borrowed it from Rarity the other day, and I’d appreciate it if you could give it back to her for me.”

“Um, of course I could. No trouble at all!” Twilight said, looking down at the jacket and running a hoof along the collar, absentmindedly straightening the seam.

I nodded to her and turned a slow circle, examining the architecture of the odd structure. “This library is pretty impressive, especially for a small town.”

“Thank you. I try really hard to keep it well maintained, and I reshelve and reorganize on a weekly basis. Well, actually, Spike does most of it...” Twilight said with a small giggle.

“It shows. This place has a lot of…” love, I almost said, but I quickly chased the word out of my mind, “...care put into it.”

“Well, I do what I can.”

I nodded. “Maybe I’ll come back another day for a proper visit.”

She smiled at me. “That’d be great!”

I turned around to face her again, and she glanced up from the jacket at me. I swallowed. “Thanks for all the help you gave me the other day. I’ll see you around, Twilight.”

I made for the door, intent on running home to hide, but Twilight called out before I could escape. “Wait, Mister Case!”

I paused, one hoof on the door handle. “What do you want?”

Twilight scuffed a hoof on the desk for a moment, nervously, before she spoke. “I… I wanted to know what happened the other day. At the date.”

I jerked, surprised, and turned to face her, trying to keep my face impassive. “I’m sure you’ve heard about it from Rarity.”

Twilight turned away from me, looking away to the opposite wall. “Yes, I have. I’d like to hear about it from you, too.”

I snorted. “Why?”

She looked down at the jacket in front of her. “I don’t mean to pry, but… I think that I’d like to hear what happened from your point of view.”

I laughed bitterly. “Do you think that’s funny?”

Her head jerked up to face me and her ears flattened back. “What? No, of course not! I’m just really worried and I want to hear what happened!”

I turned away from her, considering walking away right then and there, but something in her tone caused me to hesitate. Perhaps she was sincere. I faced the younger unicorn mare, frowning. “I screwed up, Twilight.”

Twilight remained quiet, and I took her silence as an offer to continue. “I tried to be somepony that I’m not. I forgot who I am, because I thought I could be the dashing gentlecolt for Miss Rarity. I lied about things that I should have been up-front about and things fell apart, just like they always do.”

I took a step forward, knowing that I should probably just shut up and leave, but the floodgates had been opened. “I’m a fake, Twilight. A liar. I’m no gentlecolt. I’m a hack writer that got lucky with a mediocre story or two that happened to get published at the right moment. I’m a slob that can barely take care of himself, living in the dark to hide the pathetic truth of my existence.”

I had my front hooves on the desk, and I was leaning forward. I think I was shouting. I was certain that I was crying again. “I’m worthless, and when everything fell apart, Rarity ran. Just like she should have. Just like I deserved. Because all I am, all I will ever be, is a fake. She deserves better, Twilight! And I should just be alone, because that’s what I have to look forward to.”

Twilight was leaning away from me as I towered over the desk, my breathing hard and my legs trembling. I exhaled a slow, shaking sigh, and moved towards the door. “I’m sorry. I need to…I need to go.”

I turned away from her, away from her sympathy, and left the library, slamming the door on my way out. I’d apologize later, but I couldn’t let anypony, let alone Twilight, see me at my lowest.





I stumbled my way home, cursing my inept sense of direction. I needed to lock myself in my house for another day or two. There was more hard cider in that bottle in the fridge, I was sure of it, and I intended to discover exactly how much. I reached my house, eyes on the uneven road ahead of me, and threw open the gate, and slammed it closed behind me. Back behind the walls of my castle, once more. Safe from the world. The only monster in here was me.

“Lower Case?” said a voice behind me.

I froze in place. I lifted my head slowly, noticing the scent of lilac that filled my front yard. How had I missed…? “Rarity?” I breathed, taken completely off guard. What was she…?

“You… you’re an idiot,” she said, almost sounding bitter. I winced. That wasn’t a tone that a beautiful voice like hers should ever have.

She spoke again when I didn’t reply. “I was there. In the library. I was in the kitchen, hiding, because I couldn’t bare to face you after what I’d done.”

“You were there? So you heard… wait…” I turned to her, confusion writ large across my face. “What you’ve done? Rarity, I was the one that lied.”

“You think that’s why I ran away? You… you think that I was upset because you concealed something from me?” Rarity said.

“O—of course! I lied! You had every right to be upset!” I retorted, standing up.

“Every right to—?” She yelped, before she suddenly laughed and sat down heavily, her hooves covering her face. “No, Lower Case, you are very, terribly mistaken.”

“I—what?” I sputtered. What was she talking about?

“When I hit your horn, Lower Case, and I… saw you… I ran away because I was ashamed.”

That didn’t make any sense. “What?”

Rarity laughed between hiccuping breaths. She was crying? “I should have seen it, Lower Case. I’m a pony that prides herself on being able to read other ponies, to know their needs. Navigating through any social situation is a talent of mine, among many things. You’d given me so many signs, and yet I kept making blunders, getting upset with you over the silliest of things.”

“But… I thought that I had been the one making the mistakes. Slipping up. I missed so many things that I should have caught if I had been more aware,” I said, almost to myself.

“You can hardly blame yourself for that!”

“But it was my fault!” I protested, stamping a hoof on the floor.

“If it was anypony’s fault, Mister Case, it was mine. I committed the largest faux pas of all! Running away, leaving you alone? It was rude and improper and cowardly! I thought that I had ruined everything because I had been a shallow, stupid mare.”

I hesitated briefly, considering the implications of her words with a small wince. Leaving me along was cowardly? There was only one reason she’d think that, and it meant that she’d paid closer attention to what had happened to me the other night. I powered through the sinking feeling in my gut and replied, “I was the one ruining the date, Rarity. I acted inappropriately, I didn’t notice your mane, and I insulted your friend. I was the one that lied about who I am.”

We both went quiet. It was obvious that this argument was getting us nowhere, and the ponies crossing the street nearby were starting to stare, so I gestured to my front door. “Maybe we can talk inside? I’m afraid my house is not fit for company, but my entryway is clean and relatively empty.”

She nodded her assent and we stepped inside the house. I closed the door, and as an afterthought reached out and tapped a crystal lamp, brightening the entryway. Rarity and I stood awkwardly across from each other, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, Rarity spoke. “Lower Case… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d accept me.”

“Did you think I was so shallow?” Rarity questioned, no accusation in her tone.

“No, of course not… I’ve just…” I hesitated, wondering how to express the pain I’d experienced in my life. I decided that brevity was the best choice. “I’ve lost so much because of who I am. When I met you, I was scared. I wanted things to be different. When you saw me for who I was, and you ran away… I thought that I had screwed everything up.”

“When I ran away, I thought that I was the one at fault. Instead of facing you, I left. Can you forgive me?” Rarity said, leaning forward intently.

“Only if you can forgive me for hiding the truth,” I said quietly.

Rarity reached out again, and I shyed away, but she firmly placed her hoof on my chest. I found myself drawn to her, looking up and facing her fully.

“Show me. I promise I won’t run away again.”

“I… I’m not…” I stammered, but she shook her head, silencing me.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

I exhaled shakily, and I finally did it. I dropped my focus. The nearly invisible warmth of my aura, ever-present as it maintained subtle spells of illusion, of enhancements to my senses, faded, leaving me in darkness, exposed.

I could hear Rarity’s breath catch in her throat. She stayed quiet. Rarity’s hoof on my chest was a comforting weight. I could feel her close by. I could imagine her expression of… what? How did she feel? I smiled hesitantly. “So?”

“I’ll be honest. Your eyes being completely white is a little startling, but…” Rarity paused.

“But?” I asked, my insides twisting.

Rarity continued. “It makes you seem… mysterious.”

“I believe you’re confusing ‘mysterious’ with ‘completely blind,’” I said, smirking shakily.

“You can mask your casting aura?” Rarity asked, changing the subject.

“Yes. One of the first things I learned how to do,” I replied.

“Very impressive.”

“I don’t think so. It’s just all a part of the illusion. All a part of the lie,” I said, sitting down heavily. The entryway felt bigger without my aura present, without the sensory input I’d grown to rely on. Rarity’s hoof on my chest felt like an anchor, grounding me and giving me a point of reference in the otherwise barren void.

“I can’t blame you. You don’t want anypony to treat you differently,” said Rarity.

I laughed, perhaps too harshly. “I’m already treated differently, Miss Rarity. I’m an author.”

“Why should that matter?” she asked.

“Because I’m a published author. I write Daring Do.”

I felt Rarity shift back from me slightly, and the hoof resting on my chest moved away, leaving me far more alone than she probably intended. The silence stretched for a moment in the darkness, and I sighed just to fill the empty space with something other than the omnipresent nothing. I could feel her shifting awkwardly, trying to find words.

“Y-you? You’re the author of Daring Do? Why—I don’t know what to say! That’s marvelous!”

I cringed. “Thank you.”

“I’ve only read a few of your books, but I have a good friend that simply adores them! And you, a stallion, writing a mare protagonist! I always assumed you were, well, also a mare. You take such great care in making her a relatable and believable character, and such an excellent role model for young fillies!”

I sighed. “You see my issue, now?”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, obviously taken aback.

“I keep who I am a secret to avoid... what you just did. I don’t want to be the famous author. I don’t want you to be starstruck.”

Rarity’s hooves shuffled awkwardly for a moment, before she settled, perhaps sitting. “Oh, Goddesses, I’m sorry, Mister Case. I just… you have to excuse me, I promise I’ll get over this, I may just need a moment.”

I waited quietly as she composed herself, and she finally spoke up. “I do believe that I understand why you’d rather avoid this kind of attention.”

Nodding, I spoke quietly. “I want to be more than the pony writing Daring Do. I want to be more than just… what I am. I don’t want pity.”

“If you are the author of Daring Do, though, then you are extremely successful. Why would you be pitied?” asked Rarity.

“Because it’d ruin what everyone believes. I wouldn’t ever just be an author, I’d be… special. The ponies would say ‘You’re such an inspiration! You’re a writer, despite your condition. You’re so brave.’”

“Ah…” Rarity replied, and I could sense her nod. “You don’t want the fame, or the pity, or anything.”

I nodded. “I’d give anything to be… normal. I write the books to pay the bills, but I stopped believing in my writing a long time ago. Manehattan had nothing for me. I came here to try to get back my spark, find my story, and write something that I could be proud of. Instead, I found you, Miss Rarity.”

Rarity was silent, but I could feel by the way her hooves shifted against the floor that she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth,” I said.

“I’m sorry for running,” Rarity replied.

We sat quietly for a few moments before Rarity spoke up. “You don’t have to hide from me, Lower Case, or from the rest of Ponyville. The ponies here are kind and understanding. I don’t mind if you want to keep the fact that you are a famous author to yourself, but… you have nothing to be ashamed about. Our own famous DJ, Vinyl Scratch, lives here, and she’s deaf.”

“I know. I actually was inspired by how she uses her magic to ‘feel’ sound. I’ve just taken it to a new level. I can almost ‘see’ with sonic pulses emitted by my magic, and hearing enhancement spells. No color, of course, and subtle things often slip by me as well.”

“Things like my mane,” Rarity said with a small giggle.

“Exactly,” I replied, feeling a small smile cross my face. “Of course, I don’t have to see the color of your mane to know how… how beautiful you are.”

Rarity laughed, and she batted a hoof against my shoulder playfully. “Oh, stop.”

I chuckled, feeling a weight lift from my chest. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be all right. I activated my magic again, and the world swam back into being around me. Somewhat indistinct, but there again. Rarity was close enough that I could almost ‘see’ the fur on her coat, though that was probably more of my imagination. I spoke up. “So… what now?”

“I believe,” Rarity said, “that we write off yesterday as a series of unfortunate events.”

“That’s good,” I said, “because I was going to call it an unmitigated disaster.”

Rarity giggled. “Be that as it may, I believe that the only thing to do is to try again, and this time everything will be out in the open. No more hiding. No more shame.”

I winced slightly. “I... I think I can try that.”

“You’re not just going to try, Mister Case. You’re going to do it.” Rarity smiled and leaned in close to me. “You’re going to do it for me.”

I nodded slowly, dumbly, as her closeness and the scent of lilac nearly overwhelmed my senses. “Miss Rarity… I think, at this point, I might do just about anything for you. Second chances are precious, especially coming from a mare like yourself.”

Rarity giggled, leaning away. “You’d do anything, hm?”

“Just about.”

“Fine. Then come with me to my boutique. My little sister is there, and I’d like you to meet her,” Rarity said, her smile growing a little too big.

I chuckled. “I suppose that I’d be willing to do that. If she’s anything like you, I’m sure she’s a delightful young filly.”

Rarity had no response to that. She simply opened the door, a prance in her step, and beckoned me back into the warmth of the day. I followed gladly.