Coming home from a bit of late evening shopping, Mignon Croix discovers something that will change his life.
The city of Vanhoover is having the worst winter storm in generations as Mignon Croix has to make his way home from the grocery store. Along the way home, he finds something that will change his life forever, but only if he will take the chance.
Reading The Chase is helpful but not necessary to enjoy this story.
The dull yellow light of the store flickered, causing some small feeling of annoyance for Mignon Croix. With his lip curled back in a sneer, he stood back and tried to take in the dizzying amount of choices in canned vegetables before him Canned peas? he thought to himself. Well, there is canned corn too, he reminded himself.
This was the first winter since the collapse and Vanhoover was still struggling to recover. The grocery store was mostly empty. Mignon turned his head and looked around, surveying the vast quantities of nothing interspersed with the occasional something that held no interest for him.
At least there was plenty of dry goods, basic staples that would keep ponies from starving. Princess Twilight Sparkle and Prince Buckminster Bitters had seen to that, personally escorting a train up from Saddle Arabia.
A mare went sashaying past, her tail swinging, and he turned to watch her continue down the aisle. She paused near the canned beans and peered at the few cans on display.
“If you pay my price I’ll be happy to keep you warm this night,” the mare offered.
Whipping his head around, Mignon snorted and rolled his eyes. He stomped away, his hooves clomping on the tile floor of the grocery store, and he made an equine sound of disgust, nickering loudly.
“Oh come on, you look a little… blue from back here where I’m standing,” the mare teased in a coy voice. “I ain’t asking for much, just a few bits and a warm place to stay. I’ll thaw your icicle.”
Tucking his tail down, Mignon snorted again. He doubted that the mare was talking about his royal blue pelt. He turned the corner, avoiding an old mare and her cart as he did so, sidestepping skillfully away from the elder mare and her cart full of nothing.
He turned down the next aisle and looked around. Again, he saw nothing. He continued down the isle for quite some ways, looking around, his head going left and right, until he reached the cleaning supplies. Using his telekinesis, he lifted a bottle of dish soap into his saddlebags and then went along his way.
The scent of fish caught his nose and his muzzle contorted in disgust. Griffons shopped here, and there was a seafood section. Mignon found that he rather liked the griffons he knew, they were good sorts, but their food left a lot to be desired. Vanhoover was the great city that it was due in no small part because of the griffons and their fishing industry. Vanhoover made more pet food than any other city in Equestria, and fish byproducts were a major industry for the city along with maple syrup.
Sighing with disgust, Mignon Croix gave up and decided to check out.
The cold bit deeply into his nostrils, savaging his poor tender snoot as though it was a hungry beast. Prince Buckminster, the Lord of Winter, had made this winter especially cold at Princess Celestia’s request to heal the land. The cold air burned Mignon's lungs and made his eyes water, his tears freezing on his cheeks. He shivered under his heavy grey woollen cloak and the occasional gust of wind tried to lift the fabric away from his body.
Igniting his magic, Mignon Croix felt a little warmer. He made a weak bubble of pleasantly warm air around him that helped to block out some of the flesh numbing chill. He cast a simple cantrip on his hooves to keep him from slipping, and then he started his long journey home.
His steps were slow and steady, and his gait was not the dainty prance of his fellow unicorns. Mignon moved with the steady pacing of a long time wagon puller. He used what little bit of magic that he had to help him on his job, making wagons and their payload just a little lighter, allowing him to pull heavier loads longer and further.
A gust of wind ripped through his spell bubble and proceeded to slash through his flesh like a swarm of unseen razors. He winced, his face already becoming numb, and he used his magic to anchor his cloak around his body. He reactivated his spell bubble and tried to shield himself from the bone chilling cold.
Leaning forward into the storm, Mignon struggled against the wind, and tried to not get pushed backwards. Snowflakes swirled all around him, and Mignon felt as though he was living in some giant snowglobe. Some giant Tartarus frozen over snowglobe. Vanhoover had not seen a winter this bad for at least a generation or two, and many of the old timers had long pointless chats that perhaps, just maybe, the Lord of Winter had gone too far.
He stepped into a doorway to get out of the weather for just a moment. He stood there, shivering, trying to get up enough courage to step back out into the howling wind, swirling snow, and the chunks of ice which were now starting to fall. Mignon cursed to himself, it seemed a squall was coming in off of the ocean.
He heard a low cough and fell silent. He turned around, looking into the dark shadows of the doorway, saw a box, and peered inside. It was full of newspaper. He prodded it with his hoof and heard a fearful whimpering cry.
“Hello?” Mignon inquired, igniting his horn and peering into the box. He saw nothing but newspaper, and then the newspaper rustled.
“I’m so cold,” a weak low voice answered.
“It’s freezing out here… what are you doing in a box? Are you a foal?” Mignon questioned as he lowered his head. He lifted away the newspaper, rummaging down into the box, hearing whimpers as he lifted away once wet and now frozen wads of paper.
And then, Mignon felt the peculiar sensation of his heart stopping inside of his barrel. He felt a large lump come to life deep within his guts and start to crawl up his esophagus, pressing against his insides, pushing and shoving its way towards his skull, until it finally stopped in his throat and corked his airway. After a moment of not breathing, he strove to draw in one shuddering pained breath.
In the bottom of the box was foal curled into a fetal position. She was small, her ribs were showing, and she was covered in dozens of festering sores. Her ears were notched and it was as if something had been chewing on them. Even the edges of her nostrils showed signs of something gnawing on them. The foal was almost lilac in colour and her mane was a streaky shade of green that made Mignon wish for the springtime.
“We need to get you someplace warm,” Mignon announced. “I don’t know what you are doing out here, but you’re gonna die if you don’t get inside.” He lifted the foal in his magic, pulled up his cloak, and then made the worst mistake of his young life.
The foal was like ice against his damp pelt. She was cold, as cold as the winter night itself, and her body pressing up against his was painful. Mignon sucked in his breath and hissed, his eyes closing, and he pranced in place as every muscle in his body tensed up in agony. The foal was pressed up against his spine along his withers, and her icy cold snoot pressed into his neck, causing electric spikes of agony to go shooting up into the back of his skull and then explode just behind his eyes.
“Oh for the love of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s snatch that’s fecking COLD!” Mignon bellowed.
(Somewhere, far away, much further south, Princess Twilight Sparkle shivered, feeling some odd psychic twinge that only happens when an important pony’s name somehow becomes a swear word, and it caused her to drop her hot cocoa, much to her annoyance.)
He could feel the heat being leached out of his body by the frozen foal and he took a deep agonised breath of cold air, trying to regain full control of his senses. “Kid, you’re colder than a windigo's teat,” he muttered through teeth chattering so hard that Mignon actually worried that they might shatter.
Behind his head and along the base of his neck, he could both feel and hear the foal’s teeth chattering as well. Grinding his teeth together and pushing the nightmarish image of his teeth shattering like glass out of his mind, Mignon Croix stepped out of the doorway and took the first few difficult steps towards home.
The ice pellets fell from the sky with bruising intensity, and he heard a pained cry coming from under the cloak covering his back. He somehow managed to concentrate enough through the pain to summon a shield around his body, a weak shield that was intended to keep things like rain off of him. The ice chunks bounced from the olive green glow of his magic and crunched underhoof as he continued forward.
Visibility dropped and Mignon was forced to amplify the light from his horn. He was pushing what little bit of magic he had to the limits, and he could feel himself getting a hornache for his efforts. On top of being nearly frozen, now he had a splitting hornache that throbbed down into his brain and pounded just behind his eyes, making his vision fuzz over, further reducing visibility.
It was going to be difficult to make it home, and Mignon came to the painful realisation that going grocery shopping at night was a bad idea.
The stairs to his apartment were covered in sheets of treacherous ice. He planted a hoof down, glad for his magic, and then he began his climb up the stairs, grunting with each step, clouds of steam puffing from his nostrils into the whirling frozen air.
Thirty one steps. There were thirty one steps to climb. Each one felt more impossible than the last, and at the halfway point, he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. It burned in his lungs and it was getting hard to see. The temperature had dropped with the wind, the squall coming in off of the ocean had plunged the air into the sub zero range. It hadn’t been this cold when he had left home earlier.
Each grunt, each snort, each heavy breath came out as a billowing cloud of steam that was immediately snatched away by the cruel demon wind. The ice chunks coming down were grape sized, maybe larger, and the storm continued to whip itself further into a frenzy.
Finally, he reached the door at the top of the stairs and let himself in. Getting the door open was easy, getting it shut was nearly impossible, and he had to throw himself bodily into the door several times before it closed.
He staggered down the hall, panting, stumbling towards his door. He fumbled out a key from his saddlebags using his telekinesis, unlocked the door, and then made his way inside of his small apartment, which was over a small hardware store. There were two apartments up here, and his was the smaller one-bedroom.
Stomping into his living room, he flung off his cloak and allowed it to fall to the floor near the door. He dropped his saddlebags, uncinching them with his magic. There was a clunk when they hit the floor. He made his way to his small sofa, leaned down, and gently shook the foal free from his back. She fell to the sofa, bouncing once, and then lay still, her eyes closed, and her barrel barely moving.
Leaving her on the sofa, he stumbled into the bathroom with an almost drunken stuttering step, tripped over the rug in front of the bathroom sink, and took a tumble down to the floor, striking his head on the toilet.
“You no good dirty meadow muffin muncher!” Mignon cursed as he lay sprawled out on the floor. He let out a groan, shook his throbbing head, and then carefully regained his hoofing.
Once up on all fours again, he ran a bath, making the water warm but not hot. He watched the tub fill, tapping his front left hoof upon the floor the whole time, and when the tub was halfway full, he turned off the water. As he exited the bathroom, he tripped over rug again, this time striking his head on the sink as he went down.
“Bitters damnit!”
(Far off in Ponyville, a supremely puzzled Buckminster Bitters raised his head, feeling a most curious sensation, and then went back to what he was doing, which happened to be Berry Punch at the moment.)
“What is your name?” Mignon asked, sitting down on the floor in front of the sofa.
The foal, laying limp and not moving, opened one eye and looked up at her rescuer. “I’m not supposed to talk with strangers,” she uttered in a barely audible whisper.
Looking over her body, he saw tiny wings and all of the curious little sores covering her skin. He leaned in closer and examined them in the light. “Are these bites?” he asked.
“The rats chew on me,” the foal replied.
A very large icicle lodged inside of Mignon’s heart and the lump in his throat returned, and this time it brought a friend. He wasn’t quite sure he believed the foal, but it certainly looked like she had been chewed on by something. He had trouble with the idea that a foal would be in a situation or a place where rats could chew on them. A sound of equine concern formed down deep in his throat and he wickered.
“I ran away from the orphanage. Foals are dying there,” the foal whispered in a trembling frightened voice. “Are there any rats here?”
“No, there are no rats here,” Mignon replied. “What is your name? My name is Mignon Croix.”
“My name is Magnolia Warbler,” the foal said in a raspy whisper.
“Well Magnolia Warbler, I am going to give you a bath, then I am going to clean up these wounds, and afterwards, I am going to fix you something hot to eat, but it probably won’t be anything special. I ain’t got much,” Mignon announced.
The foal coughed, a wet raspy cough, and Mignon felt a growing sense of concern. He gently lifted her in his magic and carried her to the bathroom. He snarled at the bathroom rug, which he had kicked out of the bathroom, and made his way into the bathroom without falling over.
“I gotta go pee,” Magnolia whispered.
“Okay, I can set you down in there and close the door,” Mignon replied.
“I don’t think I can sit up,” Magnolia whined. “And you’re a stranger.”
“I… well, nuts… I don’t know what to do,” Mignon stated, his ears perking forward.
“I gotta go,” Magnolia moaned.
Feeling rather awkward about the whole mess, Mignon lifted the toilet lid, set the foal down on the toilet seat, kept her tail out of the water which for some reason made him feel immensely proud, steadied her with his magic, and then turned around. “Now you can tinkle and I won’t be looking.”
“But you can hear me,” Magnolia whimpered.
“I’m sorry, what do I do?” Mignon asked.
“I dunno,” Magnolia squeaked in panic.
A second later, there was the sound of tinkle trickling down into the toilet followed by the sound of a tiny tummy gurgling. After that, there was a small satisfied sigh.
“I’m done,” Magnolia announced.
Slowly turning around, Mignon flushed the toilet, lifted the foal, noticed she dripped a little, heaved a resigned sigh, and then gently lowered the squirming pegasus foal into the bath.
A second later, he realised that she really couldn’t sit up on her own and he lifted her from beneath the water, the foal coughing and sputtering, and fighting desperately, trying to suck in air. He flipped her over and let the water pour out.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking!” Mignon cried. After speaking, he started to chew on his lip from nervousness. He had nearly drowned the foal when he had released her from his magic. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
“Ack!” Magnolia coughed.
“I’m so stupid!” Mignon muttered as he gently set the foal down in the warm water, this time making sure that he held her up. Each cough, each sputter, each laboured breath made him ache with guilt, each sound she made caused him to wince in pain.
Leaning over the tub, he realised that using a scrubbing brush was a bad idea with all of the weeping sores. The warm water had caused them to open, and pus was dribbling out of some of them. Not quite sure what to do, Mignon sat down beside the bath to think about the problem.
The little pegasus flapped her tiny wings in the tub, a feeble flailing movement, and her head rolled around limply on her neck. Mignon flexed his magic and did more to hold her up, careful to not apply too much pressure. His head was still thudding from too much magic use and nearly cracking it open not once, but twice in the bathroom.
“I feel warm again,” Magnolia whispered in a wet wheezy voice. “It hurts all over.”
“I’m sorry,” Mignon said in a low voice. “So you ran away from the orphanage?”
The foal squirmed feebly in his magical grasp and tilted her head to look at her caretaker. “The orphanage is awful. There are too many orphans, not enough food, and every night, rats kill more foals,” she whispered. “You gotta believe me.”
“I do… look, I am going to lay you back a little bit so you can soak and we can clean these wounds, but I promise I won’t dunk you and nearly kill you again, okay?” Mignon said, announcing his intentions.
“Okay,” Magnolia breathed, closing her eyes. “I need to ask you something.”
“What’s that kiddo?” Mignon replied.
“I need some help cleaning my bottom. It burns and hurts so much back there, and it’s itchy. I haven’t had a bath in a long time,” Magnolia whimpered in a barely audible voice. “Please don’t hurt me… I’ve heard stories and I’m so scared. I want to believe that you are a good pony.”
“I’ve never given a filly or even a foal a bath before, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mignon said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Is there something special I need to do? I mean, I don’t have one of those and I have no idea how you clean it.”
“Very carefully,” Magnolia replied. “I’ll talk you through it.”
With the foal propped up against the arm of the sofa, Mignon stuffed a cushion down beside her to prop her up so she wouldn’t fall over. She was clean again, dried, and smelled faintly of citrus and sandalwood, because of the soap that Mignon prefered for himself. Magnolia certainly wasn’t a happy foal at the moment, and looked at him angrily, her lower lip protruding in a pout. Sighing, Mignon resigned himself to his fate. The foal had not been happy about iodine being applied to her many wounds.
“Are you warm?” Mignon inquired in a low worried voice, peering at the cranky foal who would not look him in the eye.
Nodding reluctantly, the foal continued to look everywhere but at Mignon.
“Look, I’m sorry, but those wounds had to be looked after… I know iodine stings, but you need to be an adult about this,” Mignon said in a gentle voice, his facial expression one of soft regret.
“Imma foal,” Magnolia retorted, stating the obvious. “It stung. And you didn’t even blow on it!” she accused in a whiny irate foalish voice.
“Blow on it?” Mignon asked, his muzzle wrinkling as confusion took over.
“When something stings you blow on it!” Magnolia snapped, her eyes narrowing in adorable rage.
“I didn’t know there were rules,” Mignon whimpered. “Nopony told me, this is your fault, you should have said something,” he argued. “I’ve never been around foals before. I don’t know these things.”
“I did say something, I told you that it stings,” Magnolia grumbled.
“Look, I’m sorry… I didn’t know. Next time I have to put iodine on all of your… your injuries, I’ll blow on them afterwards,” Mignon muttered.
Hearing Mignon’s words, Magnolia shrieked in fear and attempted to cover her face with her forelegs. The foal sounded very much like a tea kettle, and Mignon feared for his dwindling patience. He was never the most patient of ponies in the best of times. Finally, the foal seemed to have shrieked and squealed herself into exhaustion, and she fell silent, much to Mignon’s relief.
“I’m going to fix us something to eat,” Mignon remarked as he fled from the couch, hoping to recover his patience. The very idea of losing his temper with the foal made him feel kind of sick to his stomach.
“Thank you,” Magnolia said as Mignon walked away towards the small kitchen.
“For what?” Mignon replied as he crossed the threshold into the cramped kitchen.
“For being kind. And not hurting me. And proving you are a good pony,” Magnolia answered, her voice raspy and weak. “I feel achy all over and kinda shivery. Kinda hot and kinda cold.”
“You’ll feel better after you eat,” Mignon said, hoping his words were true.
In the kitchen, he pulled out a large paper packet of instant soup, the good kind, something he had been saving for a special occasion. This certainly seemed special enough. Split pea and lentil. He still had a few loaves of mostly fresh bread. He peered around, trying to dispel his indecision, and then he opened the fridge. He rummaged around until he found a stick of butter, which he pulled out and placed on the counter, and then he kicked the fridge door shut with his hind leg. Using his magic, he softened the butter and left it on the counter. He tore open the soup packet, which claimed to serve six ponies, but was barely enough to feed one hungry bachelour, snorted at the notion that he was eating six ponies servings worth of soup, dumped the soup into a saucepan, added water and then added some olive oil. He turned up the stove and waited for the soup to come to a boil, at which point it would need to be turned down and simmered for a while. He turned on the oven so it could begin to preheat.
While the soup was starting to come to a boil, he sliced a baguette of bread in half, the fragrant crusty loaf filling the kitchen with a pleasant yeasty smell. He cut it lengthwise, his magic pulling the blade smoothly through the bread, and he placed both sides of the sliced loaf upon the counter.
He turned down the dial on the stove, the water now boiling, and then he began to slather butter onto the bread, making sure that every inch was covered, and once it was properly buttered, he fetched some dried powdered garlic from the cupboard, unscrewed the lid, sprinkled it over the bread, screwed the lid back on, and then placed it back into the cupboard, all of it done with his telekinesis in well practiced magically agile movements.
He paused when he heard a wet wheezing cough from the living room. He felt his dock tensing from concern, and wondered if he had any cough medicine somewhere in his apartment. He didn’t like how that cough sounded at all.
When the red light on the stove went off, he stuffed the bread into the oven and stood in front of the stove, watching his soup simmer. With a swish of his tail, he turned around, opened the fridge, and peered inside, wondering what he had to drink. Beer, a bottle of wine, and a half a pint bottle of maple whiskey.
A brilliant idea flooded into his mind and Mignon pranced in place from happiness. He pulled the maple whiskey from the fridge, grabbed a juice glass, and poured an inch into the bottom of the glass, praising himself for his ingenuity. This would fix her cough.
He bounced out of the kitchen, burst into the living room, and made his way to the couch, the glass of maple whiskey held in the olive green glow of his telekinesis. “I have something that will help your cough,” Mignon announced.
“That would be nice,” Magnolia replied, looking up at Mignon with wide trusting eyes. Her mane, now clean, had curled slightly as it dried, it clung to the sides of her face like creeping ivy, and it was even the right colour, dark green, with streaks of much lighter green.
“Just drink all of this. One big gulp,” Mignon instructed, holding the glass up to the foal’s lips and tilting her head back slightly, using his magic oh so carefully. When her lips parted, he poured the drink down her gullet.
The pegasus shuddered, shook, she grimaced, her eyes squeezing shut as she did so, and finally, her orange tongue stuck out of her mouth, her lips pressed tightly around it.
“Good girl,” Mignon praised as he pranced back off to the kitchen, leaving the sputtering raspberry blowing filly on her own.
“Gah it burns!” Magnolia hacked. “That’s the worst cough syrup ever and it takes like maple syrup on fire!”
Standing near the stove again, Mignon stirred the soup with a large wooden spoon, using his telekinesis, and as he was stirring, he pulled open the oven door and peered inside. The garlic bread was toasting nicely, the butter melting and the bread turning golden brown.
“I feel funny.”
“Dinner is almost done,” Mignon replied, feeling concerned. He hoped that she didn’t have some awful incurable disease from the rats. The soup was nearing completion. He liked it when the lentils and the peas were still firm and not mushy.
“My head feels heavy.”
“Hold on Magnolia, dinner is coming,” Mignon announced. He paused, the wooden spoon going still. There was no place to serve dinner. There was no table. He always ate sitting on the sofa, holding up everything in his telekinesis, living some kind of perfect bachelour ideal. Occasionally, he scarfed and gobbled his meals over the sink.
“I feel warm on the inside.”
“Good! I want you to feel warm!” Mignon replied as he peered into the oven again. He pulled out the bread and set it on the plate that was sitting on the counter. He still didn’t have a clue about how to serve dinner, and then the thought percolated into his brain that it didn’t matter. The foal probably couldn’t feed herself anyway.
“I think I’m going blind.”
He facehoofed from the realisation that he would have to feed her somehow, a hollow “clonk!” sound filling the kitchen as he did so. He looked at the wall, his eyes lingered over the clock for a moment for lack of anything better to do, and as he stared off vacantly, he realised that it was almost midnight. He couldn’t believe how late it was or how the time had slipped away.
“I can’th feelth my lipths.”
He turned off the eye of the stove, lifted the saucepan, and poured some soup in a bowl, but not too much soup, leaving some room for bread to be dipped into bowl and not cause the soup to spill over the sides. The little details were important, careful little details that kept neurosis away.
“Lipths gone. Teehee.”
Leaving his own dinner on the kitchen counter, he traipsed off into the living room with a bowl of soup and a plate of garlic bread, the long day finally catching up to him. He saw Magnolia looking up at him with wide shimmering eyes, her head wobbling around slightly, and her mouth was pulled into a peculiar smile.
“Soup and some garlic bread,” Mignon announced, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch. He levitated the plate, the bowl, and a glass of water. A spoon darted around the bowl anxiously, awaiting action.
“You’sh gotsh shoup?” Magnolia asked.
“Sure do,” Mignon replied, furrowing his brow. The poor foal had to be exhausted. She seemed like she could barely speak or keep her eyes open. He felt a nagging sense of worry, fearful that she had some horrible contagion from the rats. He dunked a chunk of bread into the soup, eyed it carefully to see if it wasn’t too hot, and then held it out in front of the foal’s muzzle using his telekinesis.
A second later, the entire chunk of bread was gone, and the little pegasus foal’s cheeks were bulging with food. She chewed, her mouth falling open, and she dribbled soup down her chin. With a loud gulp, the foal swallowed and looked around, her eyes not quite focused.
“Hmph, pegasi,” Mignon muttered as he dipped another chunk of garlic bread and held it out for the starving foal. It was like watching a griffon eat. The little foal made no attempt to keep herself from getting messy, and there was a whole lot of slurping as well as sucking sounds as she gobbled down chunks of bread sopped in soup.
“BRAAAAAAAAP!”
“Oh… well… that was kind of adorable I suppose,” Mignon muttered after the foal belched, which was like a giant foghorn sound escaping from her small body.
Swallowing, the foal raised a front hoof weakly in front of her muzzle. “Where’sh am I shleeping tonight?” Magnolia asked in a slightly slurred voice. One eye blinked, and then the other and both of her ears had fallen down limp, framing her face, and resting upon a bed of green curls. She hiccupped, and then giggled faintly as she reached down to rub her belly.
“Oh, well, I was going to let you sleep on the couch here,” Mignon answered, dipping another piece of bread to have it ready. “It isn’t much, but it is comfortable enough,” he continued as he lifted the slice of garlic bread from the now half gone soup.
“I’sh shcared ofsh the dark,” Magnolia whispered in confession, her eyes widening. She went crosseyed for a moment as she tried to watch the bread being raised to her muzzle, then, her scabbed over nostrils flared slightly as food neared her maw. She scarfed down the bite and began to chew noisily, more soup and bits of bread dribbling from her chin as she smacked her lips together in foalish delight.
“Oh… I never even thought of that. Hrm, I’ve never been afraid of the dark because I can make light any time I have a mind to do so,” Mignon replied. He paused, reflecting on the nature of the problem, and he listened to the sound of the building groaning as the wind blew, and the tapping sounds of the sleet hitting the window. The steam radiator nearby ticked and pinged, the cast iron quite hot to keep the room warm in the bitterly cold temperatures. The whole room was filled with sounds that would probably be terrifying to a small foal that was scared of the dark. The wind moaned and he heard the sounds of the building’s timber frame creaking. He dunked the last slice of bread upon the plate, sopping up as much soup as he could, and then held it out to the foal.
Magnolia wolfed it down like she had done everything else, and then her eyes, still unfocused, peered at the bowl. Saying nothing, Mignon dipped the spoon into the bowl and spooned out the last few bites, feeding the last of the soup to the foal. He then offered her some water, she drank half of the glass, belched again, and then went limp against the back of the couch, her head sinking into the cushioned corner of the arm of the sofa and the rear cushion behind her.
“Shtuffed,” Magnolia announced after a moment of quiet.
“Good,” Mignon responded, rising up on all fours and then heading off into the kitchen to put the dirty dishes in the sink. When he got to the kitchen, he realised his own food had cooled off.
He stood in front of the sink, doing the dishes with his magic as he ate, his horn aching fiercely and fatigue finally setting in. It was now after midnight. He had worked all day today, gone home, gotten restless, had gone to the grocery store, got caught in the storm, found Magnolia Warbler, and it was now after midnight. He had the next three days off and he found himself wondering what to do with the foal. He scowled when he thought about returning her to the orphanage, that thought didn’t appeal to him at all. He chewed angrily, still having trouble believing that foals were being nibbled on by rats. The evidence was there, but the very idea itself was monstrous.
Orphanages were institutions placed by the Crown to make the lives of orphans better. They were supposed to be well funded and the philanthropists of Vanhoover spoke a great deal about the care of orphan foals being one of the cornerstones of their great Vanhooveran society, that a city was only as good as the very least of its residents, and Mignon was always reading about some high society function or soiree taking place that was raising money for the homeless, the refugees, and the orphans. He willingly gave up ten percent of his weekly pay to help all of the unfortunates of the collapse.
He sopped up the last of his soup from the bowl with a now cooled slice of garlic bread, nibbled slowly, and was at a complete loss for what to do with Magnolia. He knew nothing about foals or their care. He had nearly drowned her already. He did keep her tail out of the toilet, which was a small victory in the larger scheme of things. He had somehow fed her without jamming out one of her eyes with a spoon, choking her, or otherwise maiming her.
And now, he was contemplating taking her to bed with him, because she was afraid of the dark. He washed his own dishes absentmindedly, wondering how much time he was going to do in prison for his little good deed. He placed the last washed dish in the dishrack, turned, grabbed a towel, and headed off into the living room to wipe Magnolia’s face.
The foal was asleep, still sitting up, wedged between the arm of the sofa and a cushion, head having lolled off to one side, resting upon the arm. A wet whistling wheeze came from her lungs, a sound that filled him with worry, and he went to work, cleaning her face, wiping away pea soup, bread crumbs, and the occasional bit of whole lentil.
He tossed the towel over the arm of the couch, lifted the foal in his magic, and then he headed off to bed, turning off the lights behind him, flipping the switches with his telekinesis.
Mignon Croix awoke to the sensation of breathing on his ear. He felt his ear twitch and flicker from the annoying tickle, and he opened his eyes slowly. Magnolia was just behind his head, curled up in her own blanket, her snoot pressed into the back of his skull, directly behind his ear. The back of his head and his silvery blue mane felt damp.
He rose from the bed, shook his head, and then wiped his eyes with one folded fetlock. Sunlight shone through the window, flooding into the room. He hadn’t closed the curtains last night before going to bed. He yawned, shook his head once more, and then yawned again. He started to shuffle off to the restroom and made it almost to the door when he heard a tiny yawn from behind him.
“I’ll be back in just one moment,” Mignon grumbled.
“Okay…hurry, I gotta go,” Magnolia replied in a dry sounding voice.
Pausing in place, Mignon lifted the foal from the bed, pulled her free from her blanket cocoon, and levitated her along with him. “You can go first, and then I’ll set you on the couch. Once I go, I’ll fix cracked wheat for breakfast.”
“Ooooookay,” Magnolia yawned in squeaky voice.
Finishing the last breakfast dish, Mignon rinsed it off and placed it in the dish rack to dry. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and saw that it was almost ten o'clock in the morning. He stepped out of the kitchen, crossed the living room, and then peered out the window, down upon the street below.
Unicorns had been at work, melting some of the ice and snow from the streets. Icicles hung everywhere. Snowdrifts were piled between buildings. Several feet of snow had fallen last night, and everything had iced over. He saw ponies out below, braving the narrow icy streets, and pegasi flew overhead. A griffon was opening up his store, waving at ponies who passed by.
“Magnolia, I am going to be stepping out for a while. There is some business to take care of. I shouldn’t be gone for more than an hour. Think you will be okay all alone? I mean, you ran away from the orphanage, so you must be a big filly,” Mignon said, turning around to look at the filly on the couch as he spoke.
“I’m sleepy,” Magnolia murmured.
“Well, you can nap while I am gone,” Mignon said, taking a few steps towards the foal. “Do you want me to carry you to the bed?”
“No,” Magnolia replied. “I’m comfy here, but can I have a blanket?” The foal struggled to sit up, grunted, gave up, and went still for a moment. Once she had her breath again, she wiggled along the cushions a little bit, and then snuggled into the cozy corner where the arm of the sofa was.
Reaching out with his magic, Mignon levitated a blanket into the living room, folded it in half, and then placed it over the foal, tucking it around her carefully. “You sure you will be okay while I am gone? I’m worried,” he said in a low voice.
“Sleepy,” Magnolia mumbled, pulling her head beneath the blanket.
Lifting his saddlebags from the floor, Mignon put away the contents of what was inside, including the much needed dish soap. He strapped on his saddlebags, cinched them tightly, and then pulled on his heavy cloak.
“I’ll be right back,” Mignon whispered. Hearing no reply, he let himself out the door, shut it, and then locked it behind him.
The air was cold, but the sunshine was warm. A breeze blew, it tickled icily over Mignon’s snoot as he walked, and it made his ears sting from the damp chill. He lifted his hood up over his head and continued, moving swiftly, making his way through the streets and sidewalks that were crowded with ponies and griffons. Pony drawn cabs rumbled down the icy cobblestone streets. The gas lamps still burned, the glass dark and sooty. The air was thick with the smell of wood burning stoves, burnt coal, and the heady aroma of maple syrup being refined. As he continued, he caught a whiff of roasting chestnuts, which made him inhale deeply.
Twelve blocks later, he arrived at the orphanage.
He let himself in and stood in a wide foyer, looking around. The air was damp and filled with the smell of urine. His nose crinkled. The walls were fuzzy with black mold, the plaster was crumbling, and pieces of the ceiling were missing.
“Hello?” Mignon called out.
“Back here,” a voice replied.
Entering a doorway, Mignon saw a beat up looking desk and a mare was sitting behind it, looking at him curiously, trying to size him up. He swallowed, and then started to wonder how he was going to play this.
“I was thinking about adoption,” Mignon announced, his eyes darting around the room and taking in the dilapidated squallour.
“Want to surprise your wife with a foal for Hearth’s Warming Eve?” the mare replied.
“Yes… um, actually, that was the plan,” Mignon replied nervously, the knowledge that he was a single stallion making itself loudly known by screaming inside of his head.
“How sweet,” the mare replied. “If you will wait here, I will call somepony to show you around. It would be nice if some lucky foal had a home for Hearth’s Warming Eve,” she continued. The mare struck a bell and it rang out, a loud clear sound that pealed through the room.
Waiting, Mignon stood around, not sure what he might see or what might happen. He felt a painful tightness in his barrel. “So, um, is there like a fee for adoption or something?” he asked, trying to pass the time and learn something about the orphanage.
“The adoption processing fee is two hundred and fifty bits,” the mare answered.
“Um, isn’t that a little high? And counter productive? I mean, wouldn’t more foals be adopted if the fee was cheaper?” Mignon questioned.
The mare looked up at Mignon and tittered. “Do you think running this place is cheap?” she asked in reply, looking up along her raised muzzle at Mignon, peering at him through her reading glasses.
“I’m sure it isn’t… I bet feeding the foals costs a lot of money,” Mignon answered.
“It sure does, and we feed our foals very well,” the mare said.
Thinking about Magnolia’s visible ribs, Mignon struggled not to scowl. He peered around the room, his eyes lingering over everything, and his gaze fell to the yellowed tiles underhoof. In the corner of the room, he saw something on the floor.
Rat turds? he thought to himself.
A door behind the mare’s desk opened and a panicked looking young unicorn mare came out. She was breathing heavily and panting with distress.
“There’s been another attack… we just found him… the rats got another one in the night, that’s why he didn’t come down for the breakfast headcount!”
The older mare turned to glare at the younger mare, and the younger unicorn mare looked at Mignon, her face contorting with even more panic. She inhaled sharply and her eyes went wide with shock.
“Ooh,” the unicorn mare exhaled and then retreated through the door.
“Excuse me, just wait here sir,” the older mare requested, and then she too, went through the door.
Peering through the door, Mignon struggled to see what was beyond. He saw a white sheet stained crimson on the floor, and something lumpy lurked beneath it. As the door slowly swung shut, he saw the white sheet being lifted, and what he saw stole his breath away. What he saw was horrible. What he saw was indescribable. It was easily the worst thing he had ever seen, even worse than the time he had stumbled into the gutting room of the fish processing plant. What he saw was…
“SLAM!”
The door shut with a bang and he stood there numbly, suddenly unable to remember what was behind the door. What he had seen had troubled him, he knew that, but now, no matter how hard he tried, he could not recall what he saw. He had seen something… something unpleasant. Something that had unnerved him. His brain teased him with an image of white.
He swallowed and backed out of the office, stepped into the foyer, and then with a frightened cry, he fled the orphanage and the horror within, running screaming into the street, his cloak billowing out behind him.
Mignon Croix stumbled down the street in a daze, unable to remember what he had seen behind the door. Tears rolled down his cheeks, tears of anger, tears of frustration, tears of fright, and the freezing air made his damp cheeks sting. He made his way home, his mind reeling from whatever it was he had seen, but could no longer remember.
He paused in front of a Hearth’s Warming window display and looked at the toys on sale. Stuffy toys, action figures, dolls, My Little Pretty Princess castle playsets, which seemed to be the big gift to give this year. He looked down at four figures, his eyes lingering over each of them. Princess Twilight Sparkle, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna. Princess Luna was barely visible, tucked away in the tower of the castle playset, only her head peeking out, while the other princesses were prominently on display.
His brain, still dulled from whatever he had seen behind the door, gently offered up a thought to the rest of his conscious mind. Sweet little Magnolia might like a stuffy… oh, and a warm winter coat his brain announced. The fog in his brain cleared slightly, and he stepped inside of the store, mindful that he could not tarry for too long.
Inside of the store it was warm and inviting. The shelves were surprisingly well stocked, there were plenty of things other than food that was still available. Warm winter hats, scarves, coats, jackets, cloaks, saddlebags, there was all manner of things for sale, and a shortage of ponies and griffons buying things by the looks of it. The store was nearly deserted.
He proceeded down the toy aisles, looking around, his eyes lingering over different toys. He found another display of My Little Pretty Princesses, this time, Prince Buckminster’s wives. He saw Derpy, a little grey pegasus, and something seemed off about her. He looked the toy over, bending down to examine it closely, and realised the toy had perfect eyes. He had seen a picture of her in the paper, and she did not have perfect eyes. He felt a disquieting feeling of unease. There was Berry Punch, the earth pony, Thistle, the kelpie lake monster, Bon Bon the earth pony, and Lyra Heartstrings the unicorn. Of Buckminster Bitters, there was no sign, no indicator that there was even a toy. There was also a giant castle playset, which bothered Mignon more than he cared to admit. By all accounts, Buckminster and his family lived in a farmhouse, but this failed to surprise him. They sold a friendship castle playset for Princess Twilight Sparkle, and everypony knew that she lived in a library. As he started to move away, he couldn’t help but notice that Thistle was in the moat.
He rolled his eyes in disgust and moved on.
He came to another section, this time, stuffed Elements of Harmony. There were stuffy versions of Princess Twilight Sparkle, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and Fluttershy. He passed these by and kept moving, finally reaching a bin full of nameless random stuffed pony dolls. Using his telekinesis, he dug around in the bin, trying to find something that Magnolia might like. After much digging, he found a stuffy that sort of looked like Magnolia. Magnolia was lilac, and the stuffy was more of a bright pink. But both had a green mane and tail. He smiled and held the stuffy in his levitation field, moving off to find a coat.
Peering at the coats, Mignon realised he had no idea what size Magnolia was. She was small, skinny, and rather bony. His lip curled back in frustration as he looked around for a coat or a jacket that he thought would be perfect for her. There were a lot of pretty coats and jackets made of bright cheerful fabrics, but they seemed flimsily made and rather thin and useless. He prowled the displays, his patience dwindling, his breath coming in snorts as his emotions threatened to boil over.
“Argh, nothing,” Mignon grumbled in annoyance.
“Looking for something?”
He turned, looked, and saw an old mare with her grey mane pulled back into a bun. Her face was blank, impassive, she had seen far too many Hearth’s Warming Eve shoppers throughout her long life to even be bothered to look like she cared.
“I need a coat… something thick, heavy, practical, and none of these fit the bill. These jackets are awful,” Mignon muttered.
“Yeah they are, but these are what foals want,” the mare said in a nasal whine.
“Parents should know better!” Mignon snapped.
The mare’s stony expression cracked and a faint hint of a smile spread over her muzzle. “They should,” she agreed. Her ears perked forward.
“Is there nothing better? I need something that will keep a foal warm in heavy inclement weather, like what we had last night. I need for it to stay warm, even if it gets wet. These seem like very reasonable demands,” Mignon said, raising his eyebrow as he stared at the old mare.
“Hold on,” the mare said. “Just stay right there. I’ll be back, but it might take me a few minutes,” she added. She went teetering off, one knee crackling loudly with each step she took as she departed.
Alone, Mignon Croix’s mind began to drift, and he thought about the door and how it had slammed shut. He felt a growing feeling of concern and agitation, as though he wanted to cry again, and he somehow managed to stuff those feelings down. He tapped his hoof impatiently, he needed to get home to Magnolia. She was helpless by herself, and he didn’t want to be gone for more than an hour.
“This has been in mothballs for a while,” the mare said as she wobbled down the aisle, making her way back to Mignon. “The last time we regularly stocked coats like this one was almost twenty years ago.” She had a coat laid over her back and she turned sideways so Mignon could have a look.
The coat was navy blue wool, thick, heavy, and seemed almost the right size for Magnolia, if maybe a little large. It had a rain skirt that hung off of the back to cover the legs, a hood, and large shiny wooden buttons. Not plastic, but actual wood.
“How much?” Mignon inquired.
“Still has the price tag from about twenty years ago. Twenty three bits, which cost a bloody fortune way back then. It’s cheaper than any of this trash out on display right now. I’ll sell it at the original price,” the mare responded.
“Sold,” Mignon replied.
“You’re a special kind of father, you are. Buying your filly an ugly coat just because you love her enough to keep her warm rather than pretty. Good on you,” the old mare wheezed in a nasal voice. “If only more parents had common sense. What is this world coming to? I don’t like it. I remember a time when there were good fathers and mothers. Equestria has become an awful place.”
Nodding, Mignon followed the mare up to the cash register, his expression sheepish, and for some reason, the old mare’s praise made him feel better over the fact that he could not remember what he had seen behind the door.
The lock was always a bit fiddly in the cold weather and was in need of graphite to make it easier to turn. Mignon carefully twisted the key and turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, and then looked around. There was a blanket covered lump on the couch, and he sighed with relief. He came in, shut the door behind him, locked it, and then he hung his cloak up on the hook near the door.
He stepped into the living room a bit more, uncinched his saddlebags, tried not to think about whatever it was behind the door, and gently let his bags to the floor near the couch. He opened one and pulled out the stuffy, then opened the other to pull out the coat. Laying the coat over the arm of the couch, he smiled, and then set the stuffy on the sofa.
He moved into the kitchen, eyed the clock, and saw that it was almost a quarter past eleven. Sighing with relief, he moved through the kitchen, thinking about lunch. He opened the freezer to look around, he peered inside the winter wonderland inside of the top of the icebox, his gaze lingering over ice encrusted boxes and cartons of food. There were still baguettes to be eaten, and he planned to fix one of those, most likely with cheese.
Lifting things out to have a look, Mignon found nothing in particular that he was interested in, just frozen dinners of questionable nutrition. And then, he saw something of great interest in the back of a freezer. A small cylinder of concentrated orange juice.
“Oooh hoo hoo… what do we have hiding here?” Mignon muttered to himself, levitating out the concentrated orange juice canister. “Makes one gallon? Lovely.”
He set it down on the counter and continued to poke around, finding nothing.
“Sacré bleu,” Mignon swore in Fancy as he opened the fridge.
Much to his dismay, he saw the same items he always saw in his fridge. Scowling, he wondered what to do about the food situation. Things were bad all over, and he wasn’t starving, but food was life. There was a difference between living and surviving. His gaze fell upon a large wedge of Monster cheese, made from the finest goats terrified by the finest monsters.
He looked around his kitchen and spied his caquelon, the stoneware pot he used for making fondue. He still had some wine. He had cheese. There was butter. There was cornstarch. There were baguettes. There could theoretically be fondue.
Smiling, he went to work, pulling down the big one gallon pitcher to make orange juice as he prepared the coquelon with a measure of garlic oil. He heated the stoneware with his magic, getting it just the right temperature. He added the butter, some cornstarch, allowed it to melt, blended the mixture, and then tossed the cheese and some wine. Afterwards, he ignored it and allowed the heat from his magic to do its work.
When the orange juice was done, he stuck it in the fridge and shut the door.
“Mignon?”
He froze when he heard her voice, feeling bad that he had woke her. “Magnolia?”
“Stuffy?” Magnolia said, her single word a question, her voice dry and raspy.
“I thought you might like it,” Mignon replied, suddenly feeling a peculiar sensation all over his body. The lump from last night returned with a vengeance, making it difficult to breathe.
“You got me a stuffy,” Magnolia said in a low weak voice.
“Yes… is that okay?” Mignon inquired in a worried voice.
“You’re like the nicest pony ever,” Magnolia murmured, her voice barely audible from the living room.
Quite without warning, Mignon felt a tear escape from the confines of his eye and slide down his cheek, soaking into his pelt and vanishing before it could slide free and hit the floor. He felt his lower lip quivering uncontrollably.
“Every foal should have a stuffy,” Mignon stated, not knowing what else to say. “And a warm coat. A heavy warm coat is a necessity.”
“I forgive you for almost drowning me,” Magnolia answered.
“Thank you,” Mignon said, feeling quite relieved by her words.
“I need to go,” Magnolia announced, her tone hesitant and somewhat embarrassed.
“Okay, one moment,” Mignon replied.
“No, I really need to go, I don’t have a moment,” Magnolia warned, her voice insistent and firm. “I don’t feel good.”
“Oh dear,” Mignon grunted as he trotted into the living room, snatched the foal up off the couch, and hurried off with her to the bathroom.
The splattering sounds behind him worried Mignon a great deal. He gnawed on his lip, now chapped from the cold and his constant nervous lip chewing, and tried to keep his heart from breaking as he listened to Magnolia’s pained cries. She whimpered and grunted, and Mignon could hear the sounds of her stomach gurgling. Finally, he could take no more and turned around.
The filly foal looked at him, her eyes opening slowly when she heard the sound of him turning, and her wide eyes were pleading. “It hurts,” Magnolia whined.
“I know… I don’t know what to do,” Mignon replied, his voice becoming reedy with worry and fear. He saw that the foal was sweating profusely, her mane clinging to her face, her curls damp with perspiration. She was shivering and her small body convulsed.
“When you are done, I am going to clean you up in the shower,” Mignon said in a soft voice. “Afterwards, I am going to take you to the doctor. This scares me.”
“I’m scared too.”
Lunch had been forgotten at home, and the fondue had probably hardened in the pot without the presence of Mignon’s magic. He sat in a small examination room in an uncomfortable plastic chair watching Magnolia, who was laying on her side on a small foal sized bed. Her coat, which was just a little too large for her, lay nearby, and Mignon worried that he was going to be sick at any moment. He was nauseous with fear and worry. His symptoms had started when he had told the nurse everything, starting with finding Magnolia in a box the night before.
“Mister Croix?”
“Yes?” Mignon replied, looking up at the doctor who had just entered the room.
“Quite an interesting story you have here,” the doctor said in a warm genuine voice.
“Thanks, I suppose,” Mignon responded.
The doctor looked the foal over, just as the nurse had done, listened to her breathing with a stethoscope, checked her ears, looked into her eyes, and finally, much to Magnolia’s dismay, stuck a thermometer into a very delicate place, ignoring Magnolia’s whimpering protests. The unicorn doctor hummed for a few moments, pulled out the thermometer, peered at it, raised an eyebrow, and scowled.
“Low grade fever. Nothing too bad. Nothing to be too concerned over. A bit of medicine will fix that. She has a minor respiratory infection and a bit of an infection from the rat bites. Make no mistake, those are rat bites. I see them almost every day now.”
“Ugh,” Mignon grunted.
“Magnolia, is Mister Croix good to you?” the doctor asked.
“He’s been very kind to me. He bought me a stuffy and a nice coat. He hasn’t done anything bad to me,” Magnolia answered, looking up at the doctor with wide eyes. “You on the other hoof, you stuffed an ice cold thermometer up my backside.”
“Yes, I suppose I did,” the doctor replied. “Sorry about that. Regrettably neccessary.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Mignon questioned, his voice a soft whimper.
“She’ll be fine. She needs rest, a warm place to sleep, fluids, and a little affection from a trustworthy pony,” the doctor replied. “Look, Mister Croix, you are not her guardian. I understand she is an orphan, and if she goes back to that place in her weakened condition, she will probably die, either from infection or rats. So here is what is going to happen…”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Mignon muttered, shaking his head.
“You are going to take Magnolia and you are going to flee this place. When the authorities come, I am going to tell them that you took her, you left, and I couldn’t stop you. You are going to take with you a whole lot of pills that she needs, and you are going to make sure she takes those pills so she can get better. If I keep her here, they will take her back to the orphanage. I have to tell the authorities, or I will lose my job. So run. Lay low for a while. This is still a somewhat lawless time for Equestria, so hopefully, this will all blow over, and if you are lucky, you can work to gain custody of her. I am leaving notes in my case file that you are a doting, loving, and trustworthy parental figure,” the doctor explained.
“I don’t want to go back,” Magnolia whimpered.
“I know… I don’t know what to do,” the doctor said to Magnolia. “I’ve tried doing something about this already, I’m powerless… which is why I am trusting Mister Croix to do the right thing.” The doctor turned her head. “Please, do whatever you can, but don’t let them take her.”
“I don’t know what I can do,” Mignon replied, fear creeping through his guts as he thought about whatever it was that was behind the door, the door that was now a bright crimson in his memory. He shivered from the thought. He watched as the doctor began to load up one of his saddlebags with medicine and supplies, including a large bottle of cough syrup.
“Mister Croix, over the past six months, I lost a lot of faith in my fellow equines… please make sure my act of faith in you is well deserved,” the doctor said as she closed Mignon’s saddlebag and snapped it shut. She looked at the unicorn stallion with her lips pressed together in a flat line of worry. Blinking her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed Mignon on the cheek. “For luck,” she explained as she watched Mignon blink in surprise.
Rising up out of his chair, Mignon strapped on his saddlebags, dressed Magnolia in her coat, lifted her to his back, and then donned his cloak. He looked at the doctor, his face one of surprise and concern.
“Thank you,” Mignon said in a low husky whisper.
“No, thank you,” the doctor replied as she stepped aside to allow Mignon to exit out of the door behind her.
“Whatever the nurse gave me to drink made me feel lots better.”
Upon hearing those muffled words from beneath his cloak, relief flooded through Mignon Croix. He made his way through the streets, Magnolia Warbler upon his back, feeling utterly impervious to the cold. He blazed with inner emotion and the weight of the small filly resting upon his withers was reassuring.
“Are you my daddy now?”
Whatever burned inside of Mignon Croix now blazed with supernovaed intensity. The clopping of his hooves on the cobblestones pealed off of the walls and doorways all around him and a confused sad smile spread over his lips.
“I don’t know,” Mignon replied in a confused honest response.
“Would you like to be?” Magnolia inquired. “If you did, more mares would kiss you, just like the doctor did, because good daddies get kisses. It’s a rule I think,” the filly added.
In the distance up ahead, Mignon heard the sounds of a violin being played, an incredibly beautiful and sad sound. He continued up the hill, heading back towards his apartment, chuffing slightly from his hurried pace, his nostrils puffing clouds of steam that lingered in the frosty air.
“Magnolia, I don’t know that I am the best pony to be a daddy, but I’d sure like to try to be. I’m not the most patient pony and I don’t know what I’m doing,” Mignon responded, his words honest and forthright.
“You’ve done all of the right things so far. You even helped to clean up my messy tail in the shower and it was full of… you know, yucky stuff,” Magnolia said in a low voice.
“You were sick, it needed to be cleaned,” Mignon stated, his cheeks warming.
“But we’re still sorta strangers and that is awfully personal and I think we both cried just a little bit,” Magnolia said from beneath Mignon’s cloak.
“I didn’t cry,” Mignon retorted.
“It’s okay, I didn’t see anything, I had my eyes closed,” Magnolia replied in a tired voice. “But I know I was crying. That was awkward.”
Ahead of them was a griffoness and she was sitting on her haunches while playing a violin. Her eyes were closed and her body swayed with her music, her crest rising and falling as she drew the bow over the strings, she was lost, drifting within her music.
“Something about the music makes me feel good,” Magnolia mentioned, her voice sounding stronger as it emerged from her hiding place.
“Me too,” Mignon added.
The unicorn stallion, using telekinesis, fished a few bits out of his bag and dropped them into the hat at her side, his coins clinking in the empty space of the hat. His horn tingled in the presence of strange magic, and he came to the slow confusing conclusion that the griffoness’ music was magic.
“I don’t feel so achy,”Magnolia reported.
“It is my magic,” the griffoness admitted. “I am a skald… I mourn the passing of my kith and kin, and the death of my homeland.”
“I’m sorry,” Mignon said, offering an apology because it somehow felt like the right thing to do. He watched as the griffoness kept playing her sad song, the bow trailing over the strings and producing the most heart rending of sounds.
“I am not sorry… all things must die,” the griffoness replied. “It is the balance of things, from death comes new life. When this winter ends, new life will begin in the spring.”
“How are you making magic?” Mignon inquired, feeling spellbound by the sound he heard. His spirits lifted and even the horror of what lurked behind the door felt distant in his mind.
“Because, music is a magic all of its own, you unicorns aren’t the only ones who can control the ebb and flow of harmony magic,” the griffoness answered. “My name is Abernethy the Skald, and is a pleasure to meet you, Mignon Croix and Magnolia Warbler.”
“Wait, how did you-”
“Maaaaaagic,” Abernethy teased, her bow lingering upon the strings.
“You are the most amazing creature I have ever seen,” Mignon breathed.
“Magnolia, my little bird, what would you like for Hearth’s Warming Eve?” Abernethy questioned as her bow teased the strings into producing a creeping crescendo.
“I don’t know… I just got a stuffy, a coat, and Mignon,” Magnolia replied from beneath Mignon’s cloak.
“Surely there is something your heart desires,” Abernethy said, her crest falling, the wind rippling through her plumage.
“My sister,” Magnolia said in a pained whimpering voice. “She didn’t mean to kill mama, I don’t see why they took her away from me… I would have took care of her somehow.”
The terrible lump that was Mignon’s nemesis returned, restricting his airway and nearly causing him to painfully choke. He swallowed, trying to make it go away, but the sad music of the griffoness’ violin made it difficult. His mind posed to him a question, a fundamental inquiry that hinted at the nature of the universe.
Why must orphans be so terribly sad?
“I am very sorry to hear that,” Abernethy stated.
“Mama was sick, when Olive was born, mama got sicker and she went to sleep afterwards and didn’t wake up,” Magnolia said.
From the sound of her voice and the feeling of her hitching barrel upon his withers, Mignon knew the filly on his back was crying. He could feel her shuddering sobs and he felt an odd pain in his heart, something he had never experienced before.
“That is love you are feeling, Mignon Croix,” Abernethy said as she continued to play. “And it is making my music meaningful and beautiful. You hold on to that feeling, it will make you a better pony. Goodbye, Mignon Croix and Magnolia Warbler. I do not know if we will meet again, but I do so hope that we will. Remember that you love. It will give you strength to face the darkness.”
“I suppose I should be going home and getting Magnolia out of the cold,” Mignon agreed. He waved at the griffon skald, offered a nod of respect, and then he continued homewards, the haunting sound of the mournful violin lingering in his ears.
The fondue seemed salvageable. Mignon applied heat and waited for it to soften, watching Magnolia out in the living room. She was on the couch, hugging her stuffy, and already she seemed much better. Still weak, still mostly unable to do much of anything on her own, but she was sitting up with the stuffy’s help and she had her forelegs tightly around it.
“Would you like some orange juice?” Mignon asked.
“Yes please,” Magnolia replied, her voice an odd mix of cheerful and sad.
“Hold on, the fondue still needs time to melt. I shall fetch you a glass,” Mignon offered, willing a bit more heat into the caquelon as he opened up the fridge.
There was a knock upon the door and Mignon felt blood run cold.
He closed the fridge, moved out of the kitchen, through the living room, and stood before the door, his breathing becoming heavy and laboured. He blinked a few times, and he felt as though his guts were a writhing mass of serpents.
“Mister Croix, I can hear you in there, open up, this is the police.”
“She can’t go back,” Mignon said through the door. “She’s sick, going back will kill her,” he argued, trying to appeal to reason.
“Look, I’m just here to collect her. If you surrender her willingly, no charges will be filed and everything will be just fine.”
His horn flaring, Mignon opened the door. “I can’t let you take her… not after what I saw behind the door… I… I… I can’t remember what it was, but I can’t let you take her,” Mignon stated, his voice trembling with emotion and his ears flickering with nervous tension.
He saw the officer, a pegasus, staring at him. “Look, don’t do anything foolish,” the pegasus warned. “Just give her up so she can be in a nice warm safe bed back in the orphanage tonight. Do what is best for her,” the officer pleaded. “Ponies like you always mean well, but the orphanage is the best place for her.”
“Do what is best for her,” Mignon repeated. “Do what is best for her…” he said again, his mind lingering on what could not be remembered behind the crimson red door. “I will do what is best for her!” Mignon roared, his horn flaring with brilliant intensity as Magnolia screamed feebly on the couch just a few feet away from him.
The pegasus was slammed into the wall with impressive concussive force, cracking the plaster from the force of his impact. He slid to the floor unmoving.
“Magnolia, we gotta go,” Mignon said in a panicked voice. “I have to do what is best for you… I can’t let them take you.”
“Okay,” Magnolia squeaked in a fearful foalish voice. “I don’t want to go back!”
Moving swiftly, Mignon dressed Magnolia in her coat, placed her stuffy into a saddlebag, donned his saddlebags, placed Magnolia on his back, and then pulled his cloak on. Her medicine was still in his bags. He levitated his collection of bits out from the hiding place in the bedroom. He grabbed the thick woollen blanket from off of his bed, folded it quickly, and stuffed it into the saddlebag with the stuffy.
He fled, locking the door behind him.
Stepping out of the door that led to the rear steps that led to the street, he saw an earth pony officer climbing the steps towards him.
“Stop!” the earth pony shouted.
There would be no stopping… Mignon had committed himself to his course of action. He had to do what was best for Magnolia. With as much telekinetic force as he could muster, he slammed the officer on the stairs, bowling him over and making him tumble down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, the earth pony flailed feebly, crying out in pain.
“I’m sorry… but you didn’t see what was behind the door… I did! I can’t remember what I saw, I can’t remember! She can’t go back!” Mignon shouted as he took the stairs down. “I really am sorry,” he apologised, leaping over the rail near the bottom and landing on the street, Magnolia safely secured in his magic.
With nothing else to do, Mignon Croix galloped off, forever crossing the boundary that exists between law abiding citizens and criminals.
“I don’t remember what was beyond the door!” Mignon wailed as he ran away.
Weaving through the crowds, Mignon moved calmly, slowly, cautiously, and not as though he was a pony on the run from the law. According the ornate clock on the street, it was just after two o’clock, leaving him little time to figure out what to do for the night. It would get cold, too cold, when the sun set, far too cold for Magnolia in her condition.
“I still trust you.”
The voice that came occasionally from under his cloak was comforting and soothed his nerves. Mignon was fearful of what would happen when he was caught. Magnolia would be returned to the orphanage, and he would likely go to jail.
“You’re still a good pony.”
Flogging his brain, Mignon tried to come up with ideas. He stuck to the crowded areas as he walked, relying upon anonymity to conceal his passing. There were dozens and dozens of other ponies out and about wearing heavy cloaks just like he was. He felt the sensation of two little legs wrapping around his thick corded neck and clinging tightly to him.
“My throat is starting to tickle again.”
“Okay Magnolia. I’ll stop at a cafe so we can sit down and I will give you some more cough syrup,” Mignon acknowledged in a soft voice. “We’re approaching the griffon quarter, we’re nowhere near home, it should be safe.”
“My coat is very warm. And so are you,” Magnolia said as she buried her face into Mignon’s silver blue mane.
The cafe had mixed clientele, ponies and griffons, sitting around and drinking tea, cocoa, and coffee. Mignon was drinking a frothy cup of coffee and he had ordered a glass of mango juice for Magnolia. The foal leaned up against the table, her front hooves resting upon the edge, and she sucked her juice through a straw.
“Anything else?” a waitress asked, stopping by the table yet again to check upon them. “You had a nice lunch… perhaps a dessert?” she asked.
Thinking of the bowl of corn and potato chowder he had just eaten, Mignon shook his head no. He looked up at the mare from his low chair as she started to walk away. “Actually, if you could, I could use a pen and a piece of paper if you could find them.”
“I can do that,” the waitress replied, turning around to look at Mignon with a smile. “So nice of you to take your daughter out on a lunch date,” she said as she walked away.
“Are you full?” Mignon asked Magnolia.
“Yeah,” Magnolia replied.
“Are those pills still working? Do you need to use the bathroom?” Mignon inquired.
“No, I’m good. Tummy isn’t gurgling,” Magnolia replied. “The grilled cheese sandwich was very good.”
“Did you get enough to eat?” Mignon questioned, looking over at Magnolia in concern. He reached out one foreleg, rested his fetlock over her brow, and tried to get some kind of indication that she was okay to appease his inner sense of terror. The sense of worry that came with fatherhood did not agree with him.
“I’m stuffed,” Magnolia announced and then went back to sucking mango juice through her straw, her cheeks pinched in adorably from suction.
“Okay.”
Peering around him nervously, Mignon tried not to think about everything wrong in his life right now. The door lingered in his thoughts, and so did the fact that he had assaulted two officers using his magic. Princess Twilight Sparkle had a zero tolerance policy about unicorns hurting other ponies with magic, and the rumoured Black Cloaks dealt with violators quite harshly, the worst among them was Buckminster himself, who had a thing about not harming ponies or equines in general, and no mercy for those who did.
And Mignon was counting on it.
Eventually, the waitress returned with a sheet of paper and a pen, which Mignon gratefully accepted with a smile and a nod. He watched her go, noticing that she kept looking back over her shoulder at him, her tail swishing flirtatiously in the hopes that he was looking. He smiled over at Magnolia, smoothed out the paper upon the wooden table, and lifted the pen in his magic.
Dear Prince Buckminster Bitters,
I have heard it said that you are ‘The Reformer.’ I hope this is true. My name is Mignon Croix, and I find myself in some very mixed up circumstances. I recently came upon a foal named Magnolia Warbler. I found her in a box, mostly frozen, after she had escaped from the orphanage. I took her home. I cared for her. I fed her and I did her no harm. She is covered in rat bites and is infected from them.
The orphanage is full of rats. I saw something. I saw something behind a door, but I can’t remember what it was. I cannot explain what happened, but I know I saw something even if I can’t remember it now. The building is full of black mold, reeks of urine, and is no place for foals.
I took Magnolia to the doctor for medical attention, which proved to be my undoing.
After arriving at home, the authorities came to collect Magnolia and return her to the orphanage. I panicked, I will admit that. I couldn’t let them take her. Even the doctor said she would die if she was returned to the orphanage. She is too weak to fight back against the rats. She needs warmth. She needs love and affection. I cannot save every foal in that orphanage, but I am saving this one. She is mine, and I love her as a father might love his foal.
I understand that I am now a wanted criminal most likely, and deservedly so. I admit to what I have done. I committed a good deed and dared to do the right thing. If one good deed is enough to condemn me, then I ask that you come and deliver judgment personally.
I await you sir, and I am not afraid.
Mignon Croix.
Scowling, Mignon folded up the paper, scribbled down a few words for the editor of the newspaper, and cast a minor attraction spell on the letter to make it more noticeable and attractive to the eye.
“Magnolia, we have a lot to do, I need to drop this off at the newspaper office and then we need to find someplace to stay for the night,” Mignon said in a low voice as he looked over at Magnolia, whose mango juice was almost gone.
“Do you know where we will go?” Magnolia asked, looking up at Mignon and blinking curiously, her ears perking forward. She almost looked lost inside of her coat and the hood bunched up around her neck and the back of her head.
“I do actually have an idea, but it will be a long walk. We will need to hurry, the sun might set before we get there, and it will be cold. Hopefully, you will stay warm,” Mignon replied in a soft tone.
“Are you in a lot of trouble?” Magnolia whispered fearfully.
“Yes, I probably am in a lot of trouble and I might have just called down the thunder upon my head. We shall see. Now hurry, we must get moving.”
Fetching a few coins from his saddlebag, Mignon left the cost of their meal upon the table along with a generous tip. It didn’t leave him much to work with and he didn’t know if the hideout he had planned would have any food stockpiled. It might, but it was a gamble.
He rearranged his saddlebags, carefully folding up the blanket with his magic into a tightly folded mass, and he repacked everything, somehow managing to get everything into one bag. The head of the stuffy pony was left poking out, but that was okay. He gulped down his coffee, wiped his mouth, stuffed his letter into a pocket, and then carefully set the pen down upon the coins he had left upon the table.
“I need to pee before we go,” Magnolia announced.
Hearing her words, Mignon’s guts turned to ice as he tried to think of all of the valid reasons a stallion might have for taking a filly into the little fillies room. He nodded, unable to reply, a fearful sensation of dread creeping up his spine.
With the paper safely dropped into the ‘letters to the editor’ box, Mignon thought about the next order of business. Supplies. He had very little coin left, and he and Magnolia would need some things. He sighed, uncomfortable with what he was contemplating.
He needed to hole up for a few days, maybe a week, enough time to hopefully have everything calm down a bit. He hoped that there were bigger criminals to look after. Once some time had passed, Mignon planned to return to the outskirts of Vanhoover, board a train to Ponyville somehow, and then find himself a way to turn himself in to the one figure of authority he respected. He was hoping that his letter would be printed in the paper, letters to royalty frequently were, and he was hoping for mercy. He just needed time for it to be printed and become news.
He did not want mercy for himself, but for Magnolia. He knew from reading that Buckminster had a soft spot for foals, and Mignon was counting on Buckminster keeping Magnolia long enough for her to get well.
Overall, the plan was half baked at best, but Mignon had never been a criminal before, and this was the best plan he could think of under such short notice. He was going to have to make it work somehow.
“Be a father, they said,” Mignon mumbled to himself as he made his way down the street. “Settle down, raise a family, they said,” he grumbled sarcastically.
“When I got lonely, I talked to myself,” Magnolia said from under Mignon’s cloak. “You don’t have to be lonesome anymore, you have me,” she added in a cheerful but scratchy voice.
The hated lump crawled out of Mignon’s guts, plugged up his throat, and gloated about its triumphant return. “Thanks Magnolia,” he said in a strangled whisper.
This was a very wealthy section of Vanhoover, the area around the newspaper office. Lots of banks, lots of apartments, the well to do gathered here and Mignon was not out of place among the high society unicorns who lived in this part of the city and refused to live in other parts of the city. He was well mannered and his flowing cloak fit the part. For once, being charmingly old fashioned worked in his favour, and not fitting in with his peers in his own age group, who tended to favour modern outerwear.
Already feeling regret, Mignon entered into a small market.
The market was shockingly well stocked with a large variety of food. He felt a surge of anger, the general unease he felt when something wasn’t fair, and realised that the wealthy had no such problems with shortages. There were plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, tinned goods, fresh juice, tins of juice, tins of soups, tins of beans, and all of it was eyebrow raisingly expensive. He carried a basket in his telekinesis, prowling the aisles, wondering what would be wise to get. He quickly found the paper packets of the soup he liked, different flavours, and in large supply. The wealthy liked quick comfort foods as well.
He grabbed a small wheel of cheese covered in red wax, several tins of concentrated juice that you had to add water to, a carton of raisins, and several other odds and ends that he figured would fit into his saddlebag.
He waited, biding his time, patiently browsing the aisles until the store was empty, and the only other pony in the store was the checkout girl. He moved towards the checkout, his guts churning with fear, and he licked his lips nervously.
“Um, pardon me miss, but might I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?” Mignon asked.
“Uh, one moment,” the young mare replied, and then went rummaging around under the register. She popped up a moment later with a pen and sheet of paper in her telekinesis.
“Thank you,” Mignon said graciously, bowing his head in reply. He set the paper down, placed pen to the paper, and began writing. After several moments, he paused, lifted the paper, folded it, floated it over to the cashier, and placed her pen down upon the counter.
Lifting the paper in her own magic, the cashier opened it, saw letters, and began to read. “My name is Mignon Croix, and I do apologise. My filly is sick and there are some very trying circumstances for me right now. I can’t pay for what I have in my basket, but this is my real name, and I expect to be held accountable for this one day. Again, I apologise,” the mare read. She lowered the paper and saw Mignon heading for the door.
“Sir, Mignon, please wait!” the mare cried out.
Feeling his hooves betray him, Mignon halted near the door. He gritted his teeth, hating himself, his cheeks burning with shame for what he had just done. The goods were already in his saddlebag. In his mind, the crimson door loomed large and filled his thoughts, making his panic even worse.
“Is she under your cloak? Are you okay little one?” the young mare asked, looking concerned.
“My name is Magnolia Warbler and I’m okay. Mignon really isn’t a bad pony,” Magnolia offered. “He saved me from dying.”
“Did you actually save her?” the young mare asked.
Grunting, Mignon failed to make a sensible reply. His tail swished and he stomped nervously, and finally, he wickered in fear.
“I would have died without Mignon. He got me to the doctor,” Magnolia said from under Mignon’s cloak. “I was chewed on by rats in the orphanage and I’m sick.”
The mare, curious, lifted Mignon’s cloak to have a look at Magnolia, and she smiled when she saw the filly smiling at her. Mignon fidgeted and tried to move away. The mare studied the filly’s face, taking in every detail, noting the chewed nostrils and ears.
“Oh you are as cute as a button… I bet there is a story here… I would like to hear it sometime if it is possible, when I am not working here I’m working as a junior reporter for the Vanhoover View. I know a story when I smell one, and there is a lot going on here,” the mare said.
“Yes there is,” Mignon admitted.
“If this gets cleared up, want to talk to me about it over dinner?” the mare asked.
“Are you asking me on a date after I just got done robbing you?” Mignon asked incredulously, turning around to look the mare in the eye.
“My name is Vino Veritas, and yes, I am dying to know the whole story. I have you covered. I’ll pay for everything. But really, once this blows over, and I hope it will blow over, get in touch with me at the Vanhoover View. You are the story of a lifetime, I can sense it!”
“I owe you my thanks,” Mignon replied, unsure of what else to say. He started to open his mouth to say more when he felt two lips press against his cheek. His words died in his throat, and fell back to wherever it was the lump lurked when it wasn’t strangling him.
“You look after her, and if you get in touch with me later, I’ll kiss your other cheek so you will have a matching set,” Vino promised.
Nodding, Mignon had no words to respond with.
“Now go on, get out of here,” Vino said, shooing Mignon out the door as she lowered his cloak back down over his side. “Magnolia, take good care of him.”
“I will,” Magnolia replied. “I still need a mother!” she cried as Mignon hurried out the door and into the crowded street.
The snow was deep and the woods were silent. He moved through the slumbering maples, the naked trees waiting for the kiss of spring sun to spring back to life like a phoenix. Mignon moved purposefully, stepping through the snow, keeping a wary well practiced eye out for treacherous tree branches and widowmakers.
It would be dark soon, and Mignon was making good time.
Not knowing where else to go, Mignon was heading out to a lumber camp, a place he occasionally took work from, hauling logs back to Vanhoover to be processed in the lumber mills. The camp was populated for three fourths of the year, and closed during the winter. Mignon knew that it had a large communal kitchen and he hoped there would be food stored in the camp, but he wasn’t sure what he would find.
The maples were slowly giving way to evergreens and the heady scent of pine filled the air around Mignon. He moved with a well practiced high step of a pony used to moving through snow. The narrow trail ended and Mignon found the end of the narrow gauge railroad tracks buried in the snow. Trees were pulled out of the deep woods along the rails to this point, where they were loaded into wagons and taken to town. He peered around, saw the crane scaffolding in the distance, and saw the tiny half open to the elements lean-to that offered shade in the summer and protection from the rain.
He took off, following the rails. A faint cough from under his cloak urged him on, and he knew that Magnolia would need her medicine soon. He had her cough to worry about, the runs, which so far had not returned, her infections, which concerned him a great deal, and the need to keep her warm, which was his number one priority. Mignon moved like a stallion possessed, his hooves crunching through the thin crust of ice that capped off the snow.
Ahead of him, in the distance, he saw the dim outline of buildings. He had helped to supply this place numerous times during the early muddy spring, and he headed right for the hollow tree where he knew the master key was stored. The camp was undisturbed, he saw no signs of hoofprints in the snow as he crossed the clearing in the middle of a cluster of buildings arranged in a circle. It was dark now, and the moon was slowly rising over the treeline.
Retrieving the key, he immediately went to the forepony’s cabin, the small cabin where the camp manager lived when the camp was open. He knew it had a small wood stove, a bed, a tiny kitchenette, and it would be a cozy enough place to hide for a few days.
The cabin was dark and full of cobwebs. His horn flaring, Mignon let himself in, found a collection of oil lamps, and lit one of them with his magic, which caused a warm yellow light to fill the room. He lit a second and third, hanging them from hooks on the ceiling.
He needed to get a fire going. The room was freezing. He exited the cabin and walked around to the side, then behind the building, heading for the place where cut logs were stored to heat the camp’s many wood stoves, including the entire kitchen, which was wood burning.
Retrieving several logs, he returned to the cabin, placed them inside of the small pot bellied stove, and then thought about them burning, thinking angry thoughts to get up enough magic to make them burst into the flames.
After several minutes, one of the logs burst into the flames, lazy flames that clearly had not decided if they wanted to burn something just yet. They flickered, threatening to go out, and Mignon stood ready to make more fire if necessary.
“I’m actually quite warm,” Magnolia announced.
“Good,” Mignon responded.
The stallion lifted Magnolia out from under his cloak and set her down upon the bed. There were several quilts at one end of the bed, no pillows, and no sheets upon the mattress. She sat there blinking, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light, and looking around to check out her new environment.
“I’ll be taking care of that soon,” Mignon promised. “I’m going to leave you here while I go check out the mess hall and see what we have to work with. I don’t think we’ll have running water at this time of year, so I’ll need to melt snow or something. The toilet should still flush if we pour water down the bowl. Once I check out the kitchen, I’ll make some juice from a tin and try to fix some food. There is a little kitchen in this cabin that will serve our needs,” he explained, nervous, blurting out details that were entirely unneeded.
Looking down at the source of all of his troubles, Mignon saw that Magnolia was nearly swallowed up in her coat. She was huddled in the bed, her forelegs pulled through the sleeves and tucked up against her body, and she did indeed look warm. She wasn’t shivering, but smiling, and she didn’t look sweaty or convulsive.
He pulled her stuffy from out of his saddlebag and placed it next to her on the bed, which made her smile broaden. He watched as one lilac coloured leg crept out of the heavy coat, snaked through a sleeve, and then wrapped around the stuffed animal that was nearly as large as Magnolia was.
“I’ll be back quickly. Just relax. We’re safe here. This place is deserted. I’m going to check the kitchen and then I shall return,” Mignon said reassuringly.
“Okay,” Magnolia replied, hugging her stuffy.
The light provided by his horn was ghostly and the dining hall flickered with shadows as he moved through the wide open space. The tables were all stacked in a corner, along with the chairs. He moved though the door in the back of the room leading to the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty and dusty. Heavy cast iron pans sat in racks, shiny and well oiled in the light of Mignon’s horn, and as he moved through the kitchen they glistened in the passing light. He came to a large heavy wooden door that led to the pantry, and, using the master key, he opened the door and peered inside.
He saw food.
There wasn’t much in the way of variety, but there were large canisters of dried pancake mix. A lot of the heavier dried bulk goods had been left behind. There was a giant vat of maple syrup. There was a dust covered plastic bag of dried banana chips that Mignon knew were used in the pancakes, because he had eaten many of them. There were big tins of condensed milk, pouches of instant pudding powders, canisters of orange drink mix that contained a full day’s supply of vitamin C in every glass, large tins of beans, overly large tins of ketchup, and much to Mignon’s relief, canisters of coffee.
If Mignon had to, he could survive on coffee and condensed milk, which was better than no coffee and no milk. He continued to rummage around, finding a small cache of tea, which surprised him, because the lumberjacks typically did not drink tea. There was one giant jar of pickled eggs, covered in dust and sitting in a corner, that he was grateful to see.
Sighing with relief, Mignon was thankful that he and Magnolia would not go hungry, and consumed with guilt for the fact that he was stealing from the ponies who sometimes employed him. None of that mattered now; just keeping Magnolia warm, secure, safe, and happy. Those were his only priorities, and he would deal with the consequences later.
When Mignon returned, the small cabin was warm and Magnolia had opened her coat, somehow undoing the buttons on her own. She was smiling, happy looking, and hugging her stuffy when he had entered with a collection of goods in tow, as well as some kitchen utensils. He placed a cast iron pan and a griddle upon a table near the wood burning stove, stowed the food he had procured, and then, feeling weary, sat down in a tattered dusty chair.
Sighing from exhaustion, Mignon smiled at Magnolia to let her know that it was okay.
“What is for dinner?” Magnolia asked, her chin resting on top of her stuffy’s head.
“Do you like pancakes?” Mignon inquired in reply.
“I love pancakes,” Magnolia replied. “Before everything went wrong, my mama used to fix them.”
An aching feeling of misery settled over Mignon and his ears drooped. “The collapse affected all of us I suppose, some worse than others. I suppose I was lucky. I’m a unicorn that doesn’t mind hard labour.”
“My mother cut manes and trimmed tails,” Magnolia murmured, looking distant, her eyes staring off at nothing in particular. “We used to live in a city called Manehatten. We left before things got real bad. I had to grow up quickly. My mother kept getting fatter and fatter and weaker and weaker. We ended up here. Now she’s gone and somepony took Olive away.”
“I’m sorry Maggie,” Mignon offered, feeling useless and morose.
“My mother called me Maggie sometimes,” Magnolia whispered.
“I don’t have to call you Maggie if it hurts you,” Mignon replied, looking concerned, his face drooping, his eyes wide and glimmering in the lamplight.
“I don’t mind,” Magnolia breathed, her eyes moistening as she spoke. “It makes me happy to hear my nickname again. I thought that it went away with my mother. I never got to say bye bye or that I loved her. She was not herself when Olive came, she went to sleep and she never woke up. They wouldn’t let me near her or hug her goodbye.”
“Ugh, hrm, I’m sorry Magnolia,” Mignon apologised, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“Bad things happen,” Magnolia muttered as she squeezed her stuffy. “I learned that quickly in the orphanage. The other orphans beat each other up and steal each other’s food. If you give some of your food up willingly you are protected and everypony piled up the bed together so the rats don’t eat you. Those of us who refused to be bullied had no protection. I fought back… Imma pegasus. We fight.”
“You sure do,” Mignon agreed.
“Before I ran away, I was nearly adopted. I didn’t want to be. A stallion came in with his wife, but I don’t think they were married,” Magnolia whispered.
“What makes you say that?” Mignon asked, his eyebrow raising and his curiousity growing. He peered at Magnolia carefully, determined to believe her after doubting her about the rats.
“She was scared of him, and kept flinching when he moved,” Magnolia answered, her lips trembling as she spoke. “The marm put me in a room with both of them. He scared me. He kept touching me and telling me that he was going to put me to work so I could make money and he kept trying to lift up my tail and it made me feel funny. I didn’t know what was going on so I bit him and ran out of the room. I got in a lot of trouble… they didn’t listen to me when I tried to tell them. I got into a lot of fights with my fellow orphans and I was a troublemaker, so they probably thought I was making more trouble. I got whipped for being a bad filly and locked into a room to think about what I needed to be grateful for. They left me there for three days. When they let me out, I was really weak. I heard stories from my fellow orphans what ponies like that want from little fillies like me. I got scared. I got really scared. And I ran. I jumped out of a window and ran away.”
Not knowing what else to do, Mignon lifted Magnolia, pulling her out of her coat. She dropped her stuffy in panic, let out a cry, and Mignon levitated her across the room. A moment later, he was sitting back on his haunches, holding her, squeezing her tightly to his neck. Magnolia squirmed, unsure of what to feel or do, and then understanding she was safe, finally relaxed into Mignon’s neck, wrapping her forelegs around him and squeezing back.
“This is why you cried in the shower,” Mignon grunted in a pained voice.
“Yeah,” Magnolia admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I could feel his hooves on me and I just felt icky.”
“I’m sorry,” Mignon whispered in a strained wavering voice.
“I trust you,” Magnolia whimpered, her barrel starting to hitch. She lifted her face as a few tears started to fall and kissed Mignon on the cheek.
“I need to fix you something to eat and get your medicine in you. Then it is time to get you to bed. You need rest,” Mignon said after he felt two small lips kiss his cheek. Warmth blossomed through his body.
“I don’t mean to get scared when you touch me, a lot of bad things happened. I'm glad I took a chance on you. Thank you for everything,” Magnolia whispered as she nuzzled her cheek against Mignon’s neck. “Just hold me a minute longer, dinner can wait,” she murmured.
Mignon sighed and watched Magnolia sleeping. She was dozing, happy, looking much better. The past four days had been the best four days of Mignon’s young life. The cabin was warm, snug, and the smell of maple syrup lingered in the air from breakfast earlier.
There wasn’t much to do here, other than think, and when Magnolia was asleep, like she was now, Mignon thought about his life and the choices that had led him to this point. He regretted what he had done, but had come to the conclusion that he would do it again if he had to.
He thought of Olive Warbler, Magnolia’s sister, and it was his intention to tell Buckminster of her existence, hoping she could be found and reunited with Magnolia. Mignon doubted that he would be there for this happy reunion, but that couldn’t be helped now. He was willing to face the consequences of what he had done.
Over the past few days, as Magnolia had slumbered, Mignon had rehearsed his surrender for what seemed like a thousand times, each time trying to figure out some way to inspire some sense of pity, remorse, or mercy. It was Mignon’s most sincere hope that Buckminster would help Magnolia and locate her and her sister to a good home, a worthy home, and would make sure they were cared for. Exchanging his own freedom for their wellbeing didn’t bother Mignon as much as he thought it would.
Mignon was prepared to do the right thing and let go… he just wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Lifting the coffee pot with his telekinesis, he poured a cup of coffee and then held it in front of him, secure in an olive green glow. He breathed in the fragrant steam, the strong rich scent teasing his nostrils. He poured in a little bit of condensed milk from a tin, watched it turn his coffee a creamy shade of brown, and then took a small sip.
He watched as Magnolia fidgeted in her sleep, her ears perking, her small body twitching, probably dreaming of whatever it was that pegasus foals dreamed of after an enormous breakfast of pancakes. Magnolia, who was quite the little rascal, had drank some of the maple syrup.
She was a bit more active now, able to sit up on her own, move around a bit, and take a few steps, but any sort of activity exhausted her, leading to a long nap, very much like the one she was taking right now.
Taking another sip from his cup of coffee, his eyes never leaving the foal sleeping in the bed, Mignon hoped that Magnolia would be up for a trip to Ponyville.
“What would you like for lunch?” Mignon asked, looking up from an old tattered magazine he was reading when he heard Magnolia yawn. The magazine, called Clock, was a news magazine and he had been reading an old article about the expansion of the royal family, the restoration and redemption of Sombra’s bloodline, and a need for a masculine figure in the royal family comprised entirely of mares. Mignon found the so called journalism entirely worthless, everything was buzzwords, jargon, and cultural catch phrases. It was an utterly meaningless fluff piece.
Yawning again, Magnolia rubbed her eyes and looked around. “Pudding?” Magnolia said, her voice filled with the eternal optimism that only foals seemed to possess.
“I can make pudding, but what sort of food would you like before you are allowed to have pudding?” Mignon replied, raising his eyebrow slightly. He felt that he was getting pretty good at this fatherhood thing. He had even found a cache of toothbrushes still inside of plastic wrappers and had discovered the joys of getting a foal to brush their teeth.
The foal looked thoughtful, still rubbing her eyes occasionally, yawned hugely, and then she stretched out her forelegs while flapping her stubby wings. “I want something with cheese,” Magnolia grunted as she stretched out her skinny little body.
“I could cook some macaroni noodles, some tomato soup, and melt a little cheese over it,” Mignon replied, trying to be creative as possible with what there was to work with.
“That sounds really good,” Magnolia answered as she gave her stuffy a wake up hug. “But I really want the pudding… it sounds really good… I prolly need the cal… cal… cal… see… cal… cal-see-”
“Calcium?” Magnon finished with a faint chuckle lurking in his voice.
“Yeah… that. For strong bones. My bones feel kinda weak,” Magnolia remarked. “The box of pudding mix says it is loaded with stuff that foals need for strong bones.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Mignon stated, setting down his magazine and rising out of his chair. “A pegasus with weak bones isn’t much of a pegasus.”
“Does it bother you that I’m a pegasus and you’re a unicorn?” Magnolia asked.
“Huh?” Mignon grunted in surprise as he started to fix lunch.
“Well, I’m a pegasus, and you’re a unicorn, and I was kinda wondering,” Magnolia responded, explaining her thoughts. “I mean, my mother didn’t trust the other tribes.”
“I don’t know… I’ve never actually given it much thought. You’re a foal, a pony, and you needed my help,” Mignon muttered in a confused voice.
“In the orphanage the ponies tended to bunch together by tribe. Not all of them, just enough of them to notice,” Magnolia said, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. “Can I have some orange stuff to drink?”
“Sure Magnolia, give me a moment,” Mignon replied, moving towards the pitcher on the counter near the window, where it was rather chilly. Beside the pitcher was a few other items that needed to stay chilled, like the remains of the cheese wheel.
“My mommy said the unicorns were bad and she didn’t trust them because of what happened in Canterlot,” Magnolia continued. “She didn’t mind earth ponies too much though, and I think she was happy in Manehatten.”
“The Canterlot unicorns were very naughty,” Mignon agreed. “But that doesn’t make all unicorns bad,” he added.
“You’re a good unicorn,” Magnolia said in a worried voice. “But I’m scared that other ponies won’t see that. You were just protecting me. I’m worried that other ponies will say it was because you are a unicorn, but I think a pegasus or an earth pony might have done what you did,” she explained, trying to express her thoughts.
“I would imagine a hot blooded pegasus might have done more than I did,” Mignon said hesitantly, hoping he wouldn’t hurt Magnolia’s feelings.
The pegasus filly nodded slowly, looking up as Mignon levitated over a plastic cup full of orange drink. It floated in front of her, held in the olive green glow of Mignon’s magic. “A pegasus can get a little kicky sometimes,” Magnolia admitted. “I kicked the doctor when the nurse took Olive.”
“I bet that hurt,” Mignon replied as he filled up a saucepan with water he had melted from snow and then set it upon the wood burning stove to heat.
“I couldn’t stop them,” Magnolia said dejectedly. Frowning, she took the cup in between her front hooves, tipped it slightly, and took a drink. The cup still glowed with magic, and when Magnolia pulled away, her lips and snoot were stained orange. She smacked her lips loudly and then took another drink, this time, swallowing several times to finish the glass off.
“You must really like that awful stuff,” Mignon commented.
“I do,” Magnolia admitted, smiling a shy smile. “And you add extra orange powder to make it more extra sour because you’re perfect.”
Rolling his eyes, Mignon levitated her cup back to refill it with more orange drink.
Asleep again, Magnolia snoozed while Mignon endured the boredom. The runs had returned, but it hadn’t been as bad as the other day. It had taken a lot of effort into get enough snow into the water heater powered by burning wood. Mignon found himself on the verge of nodding off a few times now. The cabin was quite warm and cozy near the wood burning stove.
In his nearly dozing state, he thought of all of the ways that poets had tried to express the feelings of being in love, realising he felt all of those things for Magnolia. She was the center of his entire world, and it pained him greatly that he was going to have to let her go.
I suppose that is what love is though, he thought to himself. Mignon had thoroughly convinced himself that Buckminster would indeed do the right thing and look after Magnolia. I have things to answer for… perhaps when all of this is done and over, I shall see her when she is older. Perhaps she will have a loving family and a good home. She deserves better… she deserves a home… she does not deserve to be a fugitive.
Mignon awoke with a snort, realising he had dozed off for a moment. He yawned, climbed out of the chair, lifted Magnolia in his magic, scooted her over, and climbed into the bed with her. She was wrapped in a quilt, and he covered himself with a still dusty slightly musty tattered quilt. He felt the foal stirring in her sleep, her body twitching as a faint whimper escaped her lips. He could feel her settling against his back, and then Mignon felt Magnolia’s warm breath ruffling his mane.
The stallion took a deep breath, taking comfort in the feeling of another life in bed with him, so close to him, and the deep feelings he held within himself about that other life. His last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep were happy ones, he was in love, he had something he was completely unaware that he was missing, and he was happy.
There was frost coating the windows and the wind made the cabin creak, the timbers flexing when the freezing storm gusted. Snow whirled outside, the night had succumbed to a terrible storm, making the coziness and the warmth of the indoors somehow more pronounced. Mignon had piled extra wood in the corner, filled several buckets with snow, and felt prepared enough to be snowed in, which he suspected might happen if this storm was a big one. He would still probably be able to make it to the mess hall, but he suspected his planned trip to Ponyville might be delayed for a few days, maybe longer.
“Smart Cookie says the storm is going to be a doozer,” Magnolia announced, her eyes wide and fearful as the wind roared suddenly outside, making the cabin groan from the strain.
The stuffy pony, named ‘Smart Cookie,’ made all kinds of announcements. The orange drink needed more powder, growing foals needed more pistachio pudding, and now, the warning about the storm as it escalated towards howling intensity.
“Nothing to be afraid of, this cabin is sturdy and solid. Just because it creaks doesn’t mean it is going to fall over,” Mignon said in a reassuring voice.
“Fall over?” Magnolia squeaked.
“It won’t,” Mignon stated, his voice soothing.
The wind wailed around the corners and the entire cabin shook from the sudden force of the wind. Magnolia squealed in alarm and buried her face into Smart Cookie, squeezing the stuffed toy tightly.
“Smart Cookie, one of the earth ponies who founded Equestria, she survived a storm like this, in a cave, with the ponies that would eventually become her best friends. It was a trying time for them, the tribes were fighting, windigos were attacking, and it seemed the entire world was going to freeze over. They clung to one another through what seemed to be an endless night, singing songs to one another, telling jokes, and if certain stories are to be believed, Clover the Clever lit her farts on fire to keep them amused and laughing,” Mignon said, his voice loud enough to be heard clearly over the howling wind and the crackle of the fire.
Much to his relief, Magnolia began to giggle, as he had hoped that she would.
Clearing his throat, Mignon, a deep baritone, began to sing.
“The fire of friendship lives in our hearts, As long as it burns we cannot drift apart. Though quarrels arise, their numbers are few, Laughter and singing will see us through. We are a circle of pony friends, A circle of friends we'll be to the very end.”
Lifting her face away from Smart Cookie, Magnolia offered up a weak fearful smile, looking over at Mignon, her eyes wide and glimmering in the lamplight. Something blazed within her heart, something she had no words for, but she felt it, suddenly the world didn’t feel quite so scary. She knew that Mignon would keep her safe.
Mignon took a sip of his coffee, cleared his throat again, and looked at Magnolia. “Would you like a bit more pudding before going to bed?” he asked.
“Yes please,” Magnolia replied, still hugging Smart Cookie tightly.
“I will get it for you. You can lick the bowl clean if you would like. It needs to be clean so I can make more tomorrow,” Mignon stated, rising up out of his chair. He stuffed another log into the pot bellied stove, crossed the room, and went to the cool corner where the bowl was sitting on the counter, feeling the chill of the air away from the stove.
His blood froze completely when there was a solid rapping upon the door.
“No!” Magnolia cried, her voice a fearful frightened whine.
“Mignon Croix?”
The voice was loud and commanding, easily heard over the wind, and it chilled Mignon to the bone to hear it. There would be no running, not in this weather.
“Mignon, please, open the door, make this easier,” the voice commanded. “If I have to open the door, I assure you, things will be unpleasant.”
Biting his lip, Mignon made his way to the door, each of Magnolia’s whimpering cries stabbing painfully into his heart. Standing at the door, he took a deep breath and pulled the door open, backing away as he did so.
Standing in the winter storm, wearing a heavy black cloak that did not move, did not ripple, it somehow remained completely unaffected by the howling wind, was him. The long terrible bladed jagged horn. The emerald eye embedded in a plug of black glass. The scarred withered face. His hood was back, leaving his features visible.
Magnolia fell silent, ducking her head behind her stuffy, trembling with fear.
Beside him, on his left, was an orange-yellow unicorn, slightly taller than he was, also wearing a black cloak. Strands of crimson mane spilled out from beneath her covering, and her opal coloured eyes seemed to glow within the shadowy confines of her hood.
To his right was a lunar pegasus, a colt, his eyes wide and curious, his rust coloured mane blowing in the wind. The colt looked solemn, serious, and rather sad.
“You called?” the horrendously scarred unicorn said in a voice that seemed to quiet the wind. “I mean, you told me to come myself…”
Mignon could see two large figures looming just behind Prince Buckminster, enormous figures, giants, lunar pegasi wearing heavy plate mail. They moved around, shuffling in the snow, their faces unseen behind helmets.
“How did you find me?” Mignon whimpered.
“You dream,” Buckminster replied. “And I must say, your dreams have been most troubling. Are you going to invite us in?”
“Oh… yes, of course, I’m sorry…” Mignon stammered, stepping back from the door.
“Thank you,” the lunar pegasus colt said in a friendly sounding voice. “Ladies first,” he remarked to the taller figure beside his father.
“Why thank you,” the tall yellow orange unicorn responded, stepping indoors and allowing her hood to fall away from her head as she entered. She moved through the room, looking around, her horn glowing.
“Father,” the colt stated, making a gesture to encourage his father to enter.
“Why thank you Sentinel,” Buckminster replied, entering the room. He moved near Mignon and stood there, wordlessly looking around as Sentinel came in behind him and shut the door.
“This is Sunset Shimmer, and I am Squire Sentinel. I suspect you know my father,” Sentinel said with a fanged smile.
“I do,” Mignon replied, fearful, now trembling. He stumbled backwards and nearly fell, standing near the bed, looming protectively over Magnolia, who was nearly at the verge of tears. “I couldn’t let them take her… I saw something-”
“You saw something behind the door,” Buckminster interrupted. “I know what you saw behind the door. We will get to that later,” he said in low sonorous voice.
“I surrender,” Mignon said in a low pleading voice.
“I accept,” Buckminster replied.
“I only ask for one thing,” Mignon begged.
“And that is?” Buckminster inquired.
“Have mercy on Magnolia. See that she does not go back there. I am begging you,” Mignon whimpered, his head dropping low. He towered over the unicorn covered in a heavy black cloak and he tried to make himself look as small and unassuming as possible.
“I have been in the orphanage,” Buckminster said in a low strained voice, emotion creeping in and making his voice waver. “There are no longer any foals there. I requisitioned a hotel and they are staying there until something can be done. Two of my wives are with them right now, Bon Bon and Lyra are busy trying to help sort things out on that end. Which leaves me to deal with you.”
“I’m sorry… I couldn’t let them take her back to that place,” Mignon whined, his head dropping ever lower. “I know what I did was wrong, I will confess to anything you ask for me to if you will just give me your word that you will look after Magnolia until she is better or make arrangements to have her cared for… she is still very weak.”
“Two officers of the law were assaulted. This upsets me. Sparkler, my beloved Sparkler, is an officer of the law, and if somepony was to hurt her, I would be most upset. You also went and robbed a grocery store… I have spoken with Vino Veritas, she told me quite a story,” Buckminster said, turning his horrible Taint filled eye upon Mignon.
“I panicked, I was desperate, I didn’t know what else to do, I was looking after my foal,” Mignon whimpered, tears now coming down his cheeks.
“Please, don’t punish him,” Magnolia begged. “He’s a good pony.”
“I am sorry little Magnolia, but punishment must happen. When you do certain things, there are consequences. A lesson must be learned here,” Buckminster said in a soft sad voice. “Minion?”
“Yes Master?” Sunset Shimmer replied.
“Minion, I want you to correct Mignon Croix for harming other ponies with his magic,” Buckminster commanded.
A fearful cry lept out of Mignon’s throat, and Magnolia buried her face down into her stuffy again. Mignon watched as Sunset Shimmer moved towards him, his breathing now a panting whimper.
Each step she took caused her to shimmer, to move oddly, as though she was moving through short bursts of teleportation. Her outline fuzzed over and warped slightly, and she did not walk like other ponies. She walked with one hoof in front of the other, as though she was walking on an invisible tightrope. He closed his eyes and fell down to the floor, prostrating himself before the black cloaked figure about to deliver judgment. He could hear her coming closer and closer.
Finally, he could sense her standing before him, and everything in his body tensed. Mignon waited for whatever terrible fate was coming next, his breathing ragged with fear. He heard Magnolia crying, heard a rustle, a creak of the bedsprings, and a soft voice trying to comfort her.
Something lightly struck his snoot once, twice, and then a third time, tapping him lightly. Something about the snoot-tap was terrifying and he opened his eyes. Inches way from him was Sunset Shimmer’s face, her opal eyes were certainly glowing, Mignon could see it now, they blazed like furnaces. He could feel her hot breath upon his nasal bridge.
“Bad pony!” Sunset scolded in a harsh voice. “Harming another pony with your magic! Shame on you! You should be ASHAMED of what you’ve done!”
“I am,” Mignon moaned, closing his eyes again, unable to look into the blazing opal orbs of Sunset Shimmer.
“Master, I do believe he has been sufficiently chastised. Shall I continue?” Sunset inquired in a low voice.
“No Minion, I do believe that is enough,” Buckminster replied.
“So that’s it? That’s my punishment?” Mignon asked.
“Hahahahmwahahahah… oh… ah… that’s funny, you think your punishment is over,” Buckminster chuckled. “No. Your punishment is only beginning.”
Swallowing with a painful gulp, Mignon opened his eyes and looked up at Buckminster. “I suppose that was foolish of me.”
“You are going to spend your whole life paying for what you’ve done,” Buckminster said in a flat monotone. “Sentinel, wipe her face or something, she’s a mess.”
“Yes father,” Sentinel replied, lifting the corner of a blanket and wiping Magnolia’s face as he spoke. He wrapped his wing a little tighter around the smaller pegasus and tried to comfort her.
“For your crime, you are going to pay restitution,” Buckminster deadpanned. “A lifetime of restitution. I am sentencing you to the guardianship of Magnolia Warbler, effective immediately-”
“Oh thank you sir,” Mignon gasped, interrupting Buckminster.
“I am not finished!” Buckminster bellowed.
“Sorry sir,” Mignon whimpered.
“However, you assaulted two officers and robbed a grocery store. So, I am also sentencing you to the guardianship of one Olive Warbler, sister of Magnolia Warbler. You will care for these two pegasi, you will attend to their every need, and long after they have grown, you will continue to provide for their care. I think a lifetime of knowing a father’s anguish is suitable punishment," Bucky said as he pulled off his cloak.
From beneath the voluminous black folds that spilled away, two foals became visible, both wrapped in bunting. Both were sitting in saddlebag slings on Buckminster’s side. Wrapped in the blue-green glow of Buckminster’s magic, the soft pale orange foal was lifted free of her sling and floated over to the bed, where she was carefully set down before a very shocked and crying Magnolia.
The other foal, bright pink with a nubby little horn protruding from her forehead, began to cry after being uncovered.
Mignon lifted his head, sitting up, and looked at the foal on the bed beside him, his breathing ragged in his throat, it was tiny and small, and he had no idea how to care for it. He watched Magnolia kissing her sister, crying, tears running down her cheeks, and he felt a peculiar unknown sensation in his heart. He looked at Buckminster, who was trying to console the crying pink foal.
“Is that… her?” Minion inquired, lifting his head to get a better look.
“Yes,” Buckminster replied. “My precious little filly is such a pain in my backside,” he grumbled. “But I love her.”
“You gave up so much for her,” Mignon whispered. “I mean, I’ve heard a few stories… but only what I have read in the paper.”
“She is my reward,” Buckminster cooed, still trying to get the pink foal to stop squalling. “Minion, make funny faces until the Empress is appeased! Do as I command this instant!”
“Yes Master!” Sunset Shimmer replied, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes to obey her Master’s command. Sunset blew a raspberry, which did nothing to calm the foal’s crying, and she tried waggling her ears instead.
“I don’t know how to take care of a foal,” Mignon admitted.
“Oh, it’s easy,” Buckminster responded. “You feed one end and wipe the other.”
“That doesn’t sound so hard,” Mignon said, looking concerned.
“Olive is a few months old. Still in diapers. Still needs to be nursed. But don’t worry, you will have help,” Buckminster said in a cheerful voice as Sunset Shimmer stood at his side blowing raspberries and looking ridiculous.
“Help?” Mignon asked, raising his eyebrow.
“Yes, I’ve secured some help for you. I know it is kinda late, but we need to get going. Bundle Magnolia up so we can be leaving. We need to return to the hotel. There is going to be a Hearth’s Warming Eve party tomorrow, and then I really must be getting home because Thistle is going to pop any day now and give me something special for the holidays,” Buckminster said.
“But what about the storm…” Mignon said, his words trailing off when he realised he could no longer hear the storm outside.
“I had to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid, like running away in panic,” Buckminster explained, looking over at Mignon. “Minion is lazy and insolent, she hates running and taking the stairs.”
“Master!” Sunset Shimmer protested, still making funny faces to the pink foal. “Your stairs are cruel and my quarters are at the top of the tower just under your office!”
“Insolent Minion! She speaks when not spoken to!” Buckminster growled.
Sticking out her tongue yet again, Sunset Shimmer blew a raspberry at Bucky, the sound long and lingering, her cheeks puffing out from the extra effort.
“It is so hard to get good help,” Buckminster grumbled, smiling faintly when he heard a giggle from the pink foal slung to his side. “Now hurry up. We need to return. Bon Bon and Lyra are going to give you a crash course in foal care, and I promised Vino that I would get you back safely and securely. She’s been worried sick about you and Magnolia. Now GET MOVING!”
Bowing his head, Mignon began to gather up Magnolia’s coat, her medicines, his saddlebags, and his cloak. He watched Sentinel help Magnolia get her coat on and then watched as Olive was whisked away to be tucked back into the sling on Buckminster’s side.
“Master, wait,” Sunset Shimmer said, turning around to face Magnolia. She leaned down close and got snoot to snoot with Magnolia as Sentinel was buttoning her coat.
“Are you happy with Mignon?” Sunset Shimmer asked, her eyes blinking slowly. “We were so busy trying to resolve this that nopony asked you what you wanted.”
“I want to stay with him!” Magnolia cried, her eyes still teary. “I have my sister again… we can be a family.”
“Yes you can… so you are happy with Mignon? You feel safe? Secure? You trust him?” Sunset Shimmer questioned.
“Yes,” Magnolia murmured.
“Does he do anything that makes you uncomfortable?” Sunset asked.
“I know what you are asking, and no, he’s not like that,” Magnolia replied, the pace of her breathing increasing.
“I have to ask these things,” Sunset Shimmer said in a soft gentle voice. “Is there anything he does that you don’t like? It is okay to be honest, you can tell me anything, and you won’t get in trouble.”
“Well, he swears a bit, but he’s a good pony,” Magnolia said, averting her gaze away from Sunset Shimmer, her cheeks flushing crimson. “He has a potty mouth.”
Turning away from Magnolia, Sunset Shimmer looked at Mignon. “No more potty mouth!” she barked. “I have ways of knowing! You don’t want my shadow darkening your door!” The unicorn’s eyes blazed with a furious intensity, and the room became quite warm.
“Yes ma’am,” Mignon replied, bowing his head low.
“Master has a terrible potty mouth!” Sunset Shimmer snapped, daring to turn and look at Buckminster with an accusing glare.
“MINION WILL BE SILENT!” Bucky snarled.
“Yes Master,” Sunset Shimmer meekly replied, her lip curling back in reproach.
“Are they always like this?” Mignon asked Sentinel in a low voice.
“Minion is quite insolent and she continues to test Master’s patience,” Sentinel explained in a polite voice. “They bring out the worst in one another,” the colt grumbled.
“Squire, I want that foal ready to go,” Buckminster commanded.
“Aye aye,” Sentinel responded, pulling the hood over Magnolia’s head.
“Thank you,” Mignon said in an emotional raspy voice.
“Oh save it until we get back to the hotel. We need to lock this place up and secure it for the winter months. Hurry up… if there are no Hearth’s Warming cookies with the little bits of peppermint left when we return, I will be very cross,” Buckminster grumbled.
“Yes, Master is cross when he doesn’t have his cookies,” Sunset Shimmer teased.
“Urgh, Minion! Silence!”
“How will we return?” Mignon asked.
“Heated sky carriage,” Sentinel replied. “It’s parked outside and waiting for us.”
“So that’s it then? It’s over? This is my fate?” Mignon questioned.
“Sentencing you to the agony of fatherhood was pretty much the worst thing I could think of as far as punishments go,” Buckminster replied.
“Thank you… for everything,” Mignon Croix said in a voice strangled with emotion.
There was something about the scarred unicorn that was terrifying. Mignon took a deep breath and tried to relax, telling himself that everything had worked out okay so far, and that Buckminster had been nothing but good to him. Nothing he told his brain could stop him from feeling his blood was going to freeze though when he looked upon the surviving eye of Buckminster and saw the hazy purple mist drifting away from it in a lazy meandering plume.
“What you saw behind the door was very troubling,” Buckminster stated in a low voice that was hard with authority. He blinked a few times and looked unsettled.
“I can’t remember… I just remember the crimson door,” Mignon whimpered, shaking his head, the crimson door looking in his mind’s eye, large, red, and terrifying. It caused painful stabbing shivers to shoot down his spine.
“You have suffered an injury of your mind, and you are unwell Mignon. It is like a sliver, burrowing deeper and festering. This will continue to taint your happiness. Would you like for me to fix it?” Buckminster asked in a low voice.
“You can fix it?” Mignon breathed, his ears pinning back against his skull as he spoke.
“I can make it so that what was beyond the door will no longer bother you or cause your mind to repress what it was that you saw,” Buckminster answered, his nostrils flaring slightly as he spoke, because he remembered all too well what he had found in the orphanage.
“I don’t want to remember… I’m happier not knowing,” Mignon whimpered painfully.
“Yes, Mignon, ponies are happier not knowing certain things. Unfortunately, you learned something that you don’t want to know. I will make it better. I promise, it won’t hurt you and when we are done, you can go have a nice life with Magnolia and Olive. Think of this as a surgery… I am only trimming away ruined flesh that will never heal correctly,” Buckminster explained.
Nodding, Mignon’s lip trembled as his head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. “I think I’m ready,” he said, and then he took a deep breath, afterwards, he puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled slowly, trying to relax.
Relaxing was a mistake.
Moving with what seemed like supernatural speed, Buckminster was upon Mignon in a flash, and Mignon found himself completely paralysed. He saw Buckminster’s terrible horn glow with blue-green light, intense light that made Mignon’s eyes water. The stallions were almost snoot to snoot with one another, and Mignon could feel a terrible pressure just behind his eyes. For a moment, he remembered everything. The blood soaked sheet and what was beneath it, the colt who had been so chewed by rats that he no longer resembled a colt, but something entirely unrecognisable, his gender erased by gnawing teeth and ravenous hunger.
Mignon cried out, gibbering with fear, wishing that the horrible image would go away.
Blinking, Mignon realised that something had happened, but he couldn’t tell what. An image of a door loomed in his mind’s eye, a large white door. And when he thought about it, he felt a sense of pride, of accomplishment. He didn’t need to know what was behind the door, he had saved Magnolia from it and that was enough. He looked at Buckminster, feeling peculiar.
“I was going to ask you something… I was going to ask you to help me,” Mignon muttered in confusion. “You were going to do something.”
“It has already been done,” Buckminster replied, rubbing his head. “Now go. Leave me be. My head hurts and I wish for some quiet time. It is a beautiful new sunshiny day, go and be with the others. The party will be soon.”
“Before I go, might I see her?” Mignon asked.
“I suppose so,” Bucky sighed, still rubbing his head. He stepped away from the small bassinet and made a gesture to Mignon.
Fearful, slow, and cautious, knowing how strong certain feelings of fatherhood could be, Mignon approached the bassinet where the pink foal was resting. Looking down at her, he saw her lavender coloured eyes, he studied her, looking at her violet mane that was streaked with cotton candy and sunshine. The foal was smiling, she was beautiful, radiant, and her deep reflective eyes looked up at him.
The foal, seeing Mignon, stuck out her orange tongue and blew a raspberry.
“I will be going now, thank you,” Mignon whispered in a low voice, backing away. “I have my own foals to look after. I have taken enough of your time.”
“Vino is a good pony. She wants what is best for you. I would recommend that you listen to her. She will keep you out of trouble,” Buckminster suggested.
“Yes sir, I will do that,” Mignon replied.
“Go and be with your girls,” Buckminster grumbled.
“Again, thank you sir,” Mignon said graciously.
The gathering room was warm, but being near Vino made it almost too warm. Mignon squirmed uncomfortably as the mare pressed her advantage and kept coming closer. She was young, distractingly beautiful, and the air all around her smelled strongly of roses and peppermint.
“The story is front page news. Corruption, embezzlement, most of the city council and many of the big philanthropists of the city, they’re all going down because of you,” Vino said in a nervous wavering voice, scooting a little closer to Mignon. “And this is my story. All mine… I broke this story. It feels really good to see my name in big bold type. Vino Veritas.”
“I am really glad you got your story,” Mignon said, fidgeting nervously. He looked at Magnolia, watching her as she chatted away amicably with her sister, making up for lost time as the smaller foal burbled wordlessly and blew spit bubbles.
“I only got part of my story,” Vino said breathlessly.
“I don’t understand,” Mignon muttered.
“I want to be part of your story,” Vino replied bluntly, blurting out her words nervously, her eyes blinking rapidly with fretful energy. “There is still a lot more story with you. This is only the beginning… when I first met you, I felt all kinds of feelings, I worried about you and lost sleep. After our first meeting, every moment of not knowing you were okay was agonising… I want to be around to see how this story ends.”
“Are you saying that-”
“I’m just saying that I want to have a chance to see if our stories can merge together to make a satisfying whole,” Vino interrupted. Closing her eyes, she bravely planted a kiss on Mignon’s other cheek and then opened her eyes. “I told you I’d give you a matching set.”
“Aw, you two are so adorable!”
“Thank you,” Vino replied, blushing when she saw Sunset Shimmer.
“Master terrified the city looking for Olive. When he started getting the details about you and Magnolia to hunt you down, he had to find Olive. It made him grumpy. Master left behind many soiled backsides and puddles of filth among the higher ups in the foal services division. Master does not like them, not one bit. He used the Voice on a few. Eventually, Olive was brought to him to appease him and make his rampage of terror stop,” Sunset Shimmer explained, a peculiarly smug smile of satisfaction upon her muzzle.
“It was good she was found,” Vino said, looking relieved.
“Oh she was found, but the nightmares are only beginning. Master has such plans,” Sunset Shimmer announced giddily. “There’s gonna be a reckoning. They have called and he has answered!”
Unable to stop himself, Mignon shivered. Buckminster and his apprentice were absolutely terrifying. He was glad that he had gotten off so easy.
“I gotta go… ENTIRELY TOO MUCH EGGNOG!” Sunset shouted as she galloped off.
“She’s so sweet,” Vino remarked as the young mare went tearing off.
“Yeah, sweet,” Mignon agreed, feeling a bit of concern for Vino.
“When she and Buckminster showed up to speak with me, they were so perfect together. So much love and trust between student and teacher,” Vino commented.
“I suppose so,” Mignon replied, feeling nervous about the whole conversation.
“He saved her life you know,” Vino said, her eyes turning to look at Magnolia and Olive. “Her horn cracked.”
“Oh dear, I did not know that,” Mignon said, feeling alarmed.
“You know Mignon, you aren’t the most observant pony in the world,” Vino tittered.
“I suppose so,” Mignon agreed.
“Sunset placed mistletoe overhead when she stopped to talk to us,” Vino remarked.
“Oh noes,” Mignon muttered.
“Party preparations. Are you ready?” Vino questioned.
“I hope so,” Mignon answered.
“Good, because I’m ready,” Vino whispered.
The fearless mare lunged forward and pressed her muzzle against Mignon’s kissing him boldly, warmly, thawing out Mignon beneath the mistletoe. After a moment of stunned paralysis, Mignon came to life, and found himself kissing Vino back.
The pair broke apart breathlessly, staring into each other’s eyes, hearing the giggles of a little pegasus filly not far away.
“The peppermint candy you were sucking on is in my mouth,” Mignon breathed.
“Keep it, there’s more,” Vino replied in a low whisper. “Besides, you have stinky garlic breath you Fancy pony.”
“So are you going to be my mother?” Magnolia asked in an innocent foalish voice.
“I hope to make all of you part of my story, “ Vino answered, turning her head to look at Magnolia and smile.
“Is this a storybook ending?” Magnolia questioned.
“I suppose it is,” Mignon answered.
“So the plucky little pegasus is reunited with her sister, gets a mommy and a daddy, and gets to have a happy life?” Magnolia inquired, scarcely able to believe her luck.
“That does seem to be the case,” Vino answered, a broad grin spreading over her muzzle as she left Mignon’s side and went to stand next to Magnolia.
“I found the best Hearth’s Warming gift ever… it didn’t have a pretty wrapper or bows, the box was kinda ugly actually, but it had the most wonderful gift ever found inside,” Mignon mused.
“Oh, that’s good, I gotta write that down,” Vino said, pulling a notepad out from nowhere along with a pencil. She scribbled down a note, nodding as she wrote.
“But this isn’t the end of the story where everypony lives happily ever after, is it?” Magnolia questioned, her muzzle scrunching up in concentration.
“No Maggie, this is only the beginning,” Mignon stated as he crunched up the peppermint candy in his mouth.
