Prologue
Prologue
It was a nice sunny day in Canterlot. Not a particularly special one, though. In fact, it was a typical Tuesday afternoon. Somepony might’ve felt a slight distortion coming from the castle, but other than that, nothing special happened. Except the arrival of a certain pony to the local golf course.
Jet Set was always early for a good game of golf every Tuesday. This was one of the few moments where he could enjoy some piece and quiet before the rest of the Canterlot elite would join him. Sure, being part of them had it’s perks but he appreciated them more when they weren’t there.
But today, there was another pony in the normally empty club lounge. Jet was more than relieved that it was his best friend, Rapidfire Type. He is a unicorn with a dark red coat. His mane used to be orange, but he had bleached it black as soon as he graduated from high school. Jet and Rapidfire grew up together and as such, he was one of the few of the Canterlot elite who didn’t irritated him to no end.
"Figured out that I’d find you there, Jet."
"Rapidfire! I thought that you were leaving for Manehattan."
"I was." said Rapidfire. "But the train is only leaving in two hours. I thought that I might say goodbye."
Rapidfire was a writer better known for his serials that came out faster than you could read them (that and having never used a quill). He owed Jet Set for having his first story published and the two kept has been working together ever since. Rapidfire, however, had a few clashes with Jet when it come to social status. Despite being part of the Canterlot elite (being a famous writer will make you part of it), Rapidfire rarely stayed in Canterlot and prefered living with his family in Manehattan. Jet has often tried to convince him to move without much success.
"Well, see you soon." said Jet, unfolding a newspaper.
Rapidfire was just folding his and was putting it in his saddlebags while something else fell. It was an old bumpy metal spoon. For some reason, it looked really antique.
"What’s that?" said Jet.
"Just a gift for my father. He collects them." said Rapidfire, trying to stuff it back in his saddlebag.
“Interesting.” said Jet with a strange smile. “Your father collects metal spoons?”
“Yeah. Keeps him occupied ever since he retired.” said Rapidfire.
“So, does he likes to share his passion, teach you the history of spoons throughout the ages.” said Jet, his grin growing bigger every second.
This time, Rapidfire couldn’t miss it. “No, Jet. Not Dad.”
Jet’s grin vanished immediately. “What?” he stammered. “I think your dad’s hobby is nice and I’m just curious.”
“And you want to invite him to your dinner tomorrow.” said Rapidfire with something that could be called a friendly death glare (if such a paradox is possible).
“What makes you think that?” said Jet, feigning innocence. “You actually imagine me, inviting my best friend’s father at a dinner game?”
The dinner game was a part of Jet that Rapidfire couldn’t help but despise. Despite being childhood friends, there were plenty of things they’d disagree with and that dinner was a combination of all of them. Rapidfire answered with a stern “Yes.”
“Really? I’m that much of a jerk?” said Jet, looking a bit worried.
“Yes.” said Rapidfire in a more playful tone.
Jet silently thanked Celestia that the club was empty. Laughing amongst friends weren’t usually looked upon favorably in the Canterlot elite. “Of course I was kidding.” said Jet after his laughing fit. “I’m still one idiot short for tomorrow.” he added under his breath.
“I really got to go, Jet” said Rapidfire.
“By the way, Rapidfire, how’s that new computer thingie I gave you last month?” said Jet.
“Don’t mention it to me.” said Rapidfire, sounding a bit angry. “I was lucky to have hidden my typewriter or my wife would’ve thrown it away.”
***
A few hours later, Rapidfire was relaxing in the passenger coach while gazing at the scenery. Normally, this would be the time to jot down some notes for his new novel, getting inspirations from the other passengers appearances, the scenery, the taste of the meal, etc. But for some reason, the inspiration didn’t seem to come. He was still a bit angry about this dinner game business “Although that would make a good novel, if I was ready to sacrifice my place in the Canterlot elite.” thought Rapidfire. He then looked over his shoulder. The other passengers didn’t felt inspiring at all. In fact, they’d make the rest of the Canterlot elite look like a filly on a sugar rush.
As if fate wanted to be a bit ironic, a young mare entered the coach. A mare unlike any other. Her coat was gray, but she was definitely far from dull. In fact, she kept crashing into ponies an apologizing in a slow awkward way. After bumping into somepony for the third time, Rapidfire could finally get a look on her face. Her mane was blond and unkept (although who could keep a good manecut while being this clumsy). But the most striking feature was her eyes. They were bright gold in color, but also completely unsynchronized with each other (although she obviously didn’t smell of cider). The combination was quasi-hypnotic.
The strange mare trotted toward the table Rapidfire was sitting at and, almost as if it was choreographed, she tripped and something fell from her saddlebag.
“Sorry.” she said. “It just fell...”
“Nevermind.” said Rapidfire. Trying to interrupt the apologetic speech that he heard at least three times already. But then, an idea sparked in his mind. “By the way, what’s that picture?”
“Oh? Not much.” said the mare in a confused manner. “Something I built in my spare time.”
“Can I see?” said Rapidfire.
“Sure. It’s the Ponyville tower entirely made with muffins.” said the mare, sounding slightly more confient. “Took me at least eighty-eight muffins just for that one.”
“Nice.” said Rapidfire with a slight smile. The muffin construction was somewhat impressive, reminiscent in style with the famous Donoutopia by Donut Joe (the fact that it is known as an unreleased masterpiece only made it sound more delicious). “You got more.” At those words, the mare’s golden eyes seemed a bit shinier.
“I do!” she shouted.
As the hours flew by, Rapidfire started to regret asking that question. The mare in front of him seemed to have completely transformed. Her slow, clumsy speech got a lot faster, sprouting facts about baking (“If the dough isn’t made with the correct amount of flour with an error margin of a tenth of a gram, the whole muffin is ruined! One tenth of a gram, you realize that?” she’d say). Even her eyes seemed to straighten at times, only to resume their usual position anything she’d talk about her family. In the span of five hours, Rapidfire had learn more about backing and model building than he ever wanted to in the first place (“First, let’s start from the beginning. What makes a good soufflé?” she said”).
The sight of the station in Manehattan was a welcome relief. “We’ve arrived.” said Rapidfire. The mare didn’t seemed to have heard him. She had been so worked out that it felt almost impossible to stop her.
“...because that’s the hardest problem you could face in such a project: the excessive use of sugar combined with...”
“We’re here!” said Rapidfire a tad louder. The new tone (as well as being bumped into by one of the passenger was enough to put the mare out of her trance.
“Woah. Time sure flied by.” she said, picking up her pictures. “If you want to talk more about muffin models, name’s Derpy Hooves. I’m a mailmare from Ponyville. I’m just here on an assignment and I’ll be back home tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” said Rapidfire, quickly (just to make sure that he doesn’t start to ramble on).
***
Finally, as Rapidfire was standing in his living room, he was reflecting on his encounter with the ditzy mailmare. The whole ordeal felt unreal. Jet once brought him to one of his horrible dinner games, but none of them could compare to...this. Rapidfire considered calling Jet about this mare, but hesitated a bit. He hated these dinner games with a passion and didn’t want to encourage Jet to keep organizing them. “But maybe...” thought Rapidfire with a grin. “I can give him more than he can chew. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll have a great plot (no pun intended) for my next book.”
Rapidfire lifted his phone’s reciever with his magic and dialed Jet’s number (using his horn on the old-fashioned dial). “Hi Jet.” said Rapidfire, trying his best to hide his excitement. “Still need an idiot? I got one. A mailmare from Ponyville.”
On the other side of the line, Jet simply asked eagerly “How is she?”
Rapidfire answered with the perfect bait. “World-class champion”.