A Literal Basket Case
It was a dark and rather normal morning, at least to ponies who considered 5 AM to be in the morning. Octavia didn’t count herself among that number no matter what timekeepers claimed. Soon, the sun would start eking out its light over the low horizon. Sunrise always came up a little earlier in Canterlot compared to less elevated places, which left the sneaking mare with precious little time to make her clandestine preparations.
The grey earth pony carefully crept through the alabaster hallway, brushing errant strands of black hair from her unkempt morning mane that occasionally blocked her vision. There was very little light to work with emanating from her tiny nightstand candle to illuminate where her hooves fell. She couldn’t risk making a clack upon the cold checkered marble floors, so she kept to the royal purple carpet whenever possible as she sneaked carefully through the house.
The shadows cast by the little flame danced across the pale walls decorated with paintings, nicknacks, and music memorabilia matching the mare’s treble clef cutie mark. Each passing second felt like an eternity as Octavia crept silently down the opulent stairs. She knew she couldn’t afford being caught this morning by her husband’s heightened hearing. Why every townhouse in Canterlot had to model itself after the castle, she could never quite figure out.
Rarely did she know Steeplechase’s schedule with the odd hours he kept at the Equestrian Society of Performing Arts. Steeplechase, being both the ESPA’s historian and stacks librarian, always kept his schedule shifting depending upon the clientele. Musicians and professional members kept him busy throughout the day while procrastinating music students could easily have him stuck in the stacks all night, which he usually found refreshing being naturally nocturnal.
Last evening was an exception though, the once in a blue moon she knew when he’d be home. A particularly problematic student came in late last evening asking if Steeple could reopen the stacks for her. Steeplechase was known for being strict when it came to procrastinators’ last minute pleas, usually turning them away for a tough love lesson. However, Steeplechase was easily swayed when the prepared unicorn produced a bowl of fresh mangoes.
It seemed Princess Luna herself was aligning the stars just for Octavia and a private outing. Taking advantage of the unique situation, she counted on the nocturne being too exhausted from the obvious all-nighter to get his insufferable batty flank out of bed today. She knew she couldn’t let a golden opportunity like this pass her by. All she had to do was sneak out of the house.
Nearing the next objective, Octavia slipped quietly into the kitchen to double check last night’s pantry tally for accuracy. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before risking a little more light with a backup candle she kept in the kitchen for emergencies and for going behind Steeple’s back. Admittedly, the second use was more of a recent development circa this morning.
Simple counting proved to be quite difficult for the mare who could barely function without a morning cup of coffee. The coffee machine in her peripheral vision sang its siren song of sweet indulgence, beckoning her closer to brew just one quick cup. Nearly succumbing to a near primal desire, she managed banishing the notion from her mind with the elements of irritation, a less-than-magical power only used by grumpy ponies that did not believe in 5 AM.
Satisfied with her groggy mathematics, Octavia blew out the candles and tip-hoofed to the living room. The goal was almost in sight until a quick jog of her memory kicked in taking her back to the kitchen to plant a misleading sticky note. Grumbling to herself about how terrible she was at everything in the mornings, she tacked the misdirection on the household message board of a fake ensemble practice before continuing with her mission.
Operation Early Bird Special neared completion as Octavia approached her escape route, the front door. Pulling slowly on the knob, the cunning mare cracked a small smirk when no creak or crackles were to be heard from the generously lubricated door she had prepped the day before. Not risking anymore than she needed to, Octavia squeezed through the door, setting her hooves firmly upon front porch with the door shutting silently behind her. Just one simple turn of the key and Octavia would be home free, or rather free from her home. She reached her forehoof over to the pocket of her saddlebag and…
Her saddlebag!
The cellist felt her blood chill, paling when noticing the lack of a particular packing weight across her back. The damning realization dawned on her like the approaching sunrise: she’d left the stupid thing on her nightstand. Objective one: get saddlebag, and she’d managed to screw it up royally!
“Forgetting something, fruit cup?” a voice sounded from behind, foisting her forgotten pack in front of her.
She lightly squee’d with delight at the sight of her saddlebags. “Oh! Thank you so much dear, I’d almost…”
Octavia’s voice was caught in her throat as she slowly turned around to see Steeplechase hanging upside down from his lanky legs from the covered patio. He smiled a fangy grin stretching from ear to ear. His slitted yellow eyes shining like a cuddly kitten in the pale morning light met Octavia’s purple glower while his tail, the color of dark amethysts, wagged back and forth as excitedly as a puppy ready to go for a walk down his favorite street. The ashen blue stallion plopped down next to the love of his life, buckled the saddlebag to her flank, and leaned closely asking the one question the mare wished would never cross his lips.
“Going for groceries?”
There was a time when grocery shopping was fun; finding specials and clipping store coupons out of newspapers for fantastic deals. Octavia specifically remembered there was a point in her life where the simple routine brought a little relaxation to her usually stress-filled days of practicing, studying, and then more practicing. She’d sometimes run into her friends in her excursions and they’d all make a little outing of it.
That was until she married a certain self-proclaimed foodie…
There was so much to love about her stallion. Steeplechase shared her love for the classics, he bore an unrelenting passion with students and scholars of the ESPA despite any racial prejudice some of his colleagues still harbored, and, with his rare talent working with old literature and languages, he had selflessly helped her through one of the most troubling times of her life.
Though some would complain about his exotic looks and rather gangly appearance, he bore a dignified academic stride with his jewel-encrusted tome cutie mark proudly plastered on his flank; a prowess more frowned upon by other members of his subspecies.
At the moment, that same bookish mark was completely unbearable to glare at as it hung up in the air in the produce department of their local Marketier. It was the only chain grocer in Canterlot that her picky husband ever approved for the two to patron. If only she had succeeded in getting out of the house without arousing her husband. He, who always had an aggravating opinion that he should keep to himself when they went shopping together.
The frustration was only intensified with the store’s tiered set up. The chain formed out of Cloudsdale clearly catered to flying clients. It was several floors of store stacked on top of each other, fitting an entire supermarket of varying foodstuffs in less than a block’s worth of commercial space.
Each department was given its own floor, creating a seven story shopping center. Being one of the few stores that allowed flight indoors, there was a large central opening allowing any flyer to easily hover between the departments. It would be the perfect height to throw unbearable shopping spouses to their death if not for their wings.
Octavia rested her head on their cart, filled with nonperishables as she waited for Steeple to make a selection. She found it hard to maintain her demeanor of aloof indifference after an hour of idly sitting among the fresh fruit while her husband continued making his careful selections. She swore the bat-brain put more effort into picking the perfect melon than most magi-physicists did when calculating unstable ley lines running under the Everfree Forest.
Even the extra grande mocha frappuccino failed to stave off the draining feeling that accompanied waiting upon the stallion’s self-proclaimed “fresh sense” to kick in. She thought for sure that the extra three shots of espresso would help, but nothing was more tiring than the prolonged infuriation that accompanied spousal shopping trips. It was absolutely maddening to watch when he nearly made a selection, only to take it back and go return to his musings.
“Octavia, what do you think,” Steeplechase started asking while cradling two identical looking cantaloupes in his forelegs, “which would you say is fresher?”
She grumbled, not even bothering to make eye contact with her husband. This wasn’t a question that called for her opinion. He probably already had his mind set on one of them and wasn’t aware of it yet. She wasn’t sure if he always asked just to make her feel included in the decision process or just quizzing her on the finer points of fruit. She answered by banging her head on the cart’s handle.
“Come on Tavi,” Steeplechase huffed in reply to his indignant wife. “It’s vitally important to make informed decisions while out and about. Now which one do you think is better?”
“Just put them both in the cart,” Octavia grumbled half-heartedly, slightly muffled from her face being buried in her forelegs.
“Darling,” he scoffed matter-of-factly with a patronizing shake of his head, “we only need one cantaloupe. All that is to be done is simply figuring out which is the better buy and—”
Steeplechase buckled with a pathetic whimper under the overwhelming pressure of Octavia’s vicious scowl she shot at him. He wasn’t sure how the fairer gender managed to weaponize their facial expression, but he was certain the fire in her eyes could leave a burn mark on the sun. Several nearby pegasi shrunk as well just being close the heated glare, most opting to hide behind fruit stalls or duck into nearby aisles until the storm blew over.
“Both. In the cart. Now,” Octavia seethed through her gritted teeth. Steeple silently obeyed with a wince as he pondered if his wife’s clenched molars could shatter diamonds. Her ire didn’t stop him from fluttering over to the bananas to make another informed decision. She heaved an exasperated sigh before taking another generous sip from her coffee, prompting Steeple to be a bit quicker with his deliberations.
Another twenty minutes passed with the couple’s fruity needs nearly satiated for the near future.
“Now for the peaches!” Steeple bubbled excitedly as he swooped over to the rows of his absolute favorite deliciously fuzzy fruit.
Octavia felt waves of relief wash over her knowing she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Though he was the pickiest about peaches, at least his familiarity with the fruit always made for faster deduction than other fruit. She sometimes wondered if his cutie mark should’ve been a bushel of peaches bathed in cream with how much he adored the particular treat.
Even Octavia knew what qualities he looked for when it came to peaches: supple and firm, a reddish tinge around the base of the fruit, and a curvature that was not too round. She’d learned his preferences back when she found his knowledge of fruit fascinating.
Oh, how times had changed...
Still, she followed Steeplechase to speed up his deliberation. Feeling his wife close to help compare, he flourished a warm and welcoming smile, prompting her own sweet smile as the two performed one his favorite activities together. The joy was short-lived however as a familiar cadence of smug hoofsteps approached from the direction of the escalator.
“Please, anypony but him! We were almost out of here,” Octavia begged silently, hoping she misheard the proud trot of another particularly picky pony. Hearing the stallion stop on the other side of the stall, Octavia bit her lip as she rose slowly to peer over the divider and confirm her suspicions.
It was a familiar, prim alabaster stallion, apparently too stuck up his own flank to let plebeians at the castle make their fruit selections for him. Adorned with his royal blue bowtie and the tuxedo top hanging around his neck, the stallion ran a hoof through his perfectly brushed mane as he surveyed the stall. A pair of beautiful pegasus maids wearing stoic faces hovered closely behind him lugging around reusable shopping bags of his “private selections” from the store.
To her dismay, her husband had noticed the “fellow foodie” as well.
“Prince Blueblood…” Steeplechase distantly regarded. He held his private stash a little closer to himself as he continued his shopping.
“Steeplechase…” Prince Blueblood coldly regarded in kind while pondering a peculiar peach for proper peachiness.
The two barely knew each other. Octavia had the misfortune of witnessing their first meeting at the open-air market during the last “Local Grower’s Garden Extravaganza” a little over two months ago. The first shots were fired on both sides when their hooves crossed over the same lime. From there, the event spiraled out of control as both food fanatics rushed about the market, securing the best selections for themselves with little regard for the vendors or their stalls.
She could still hear the pitiful cries of the poor filly selling horn-picked cranberries.
Octavia couldn’t claim to know Prince Blueblood very well. Most everything she knew about the stallion was through overhearing gossiping nobles at venues and the rare idle compliment he threw out to keep up appearances at parties. There were only two things she’d figured out: one, Prince was his name rather than his status despite being the adopted nephew of Princess Celestia; two, never strike up a conversation with the pompous minister of finance when the opportunity presented itself.
There was no way to tell if either foodie had run into each other since their initial encounter, but the nerve-wracked mare took Blueblood’s retention of Steeplechase’s name as a bad sign.
One of the more familiar maids idly glanced over towards Octavia’s spying from the other side of the stand. Apparently a fan of the cellist’s dinner performances at the Blueblood estate, the magenta pegasus’ emerald eyes beamed as she happily waved to the prowling performer. Octavia responded with an uneasy smile and hoof wave as she ducked down, trying to stay as little as possible. She clandestinely perused peaches from the safety of the divide.
“Miss Melody, It’s so nice to see you again!” Apparently the bubbly pegasus couldn’t read the tension in the air, as she peeked her head around the corner with a wide grin to greet the panicked performer. Octavia popped up instantly from the floor, straightening up and adjusting her pink bowtie. She ran a quick hoof through her mane to flatten any stray strands and calm her down as she assumed her public persona.
“Ah…” Octavia started warmly as she stole a quick glance at the mare’s cutie mark: a red gemstone resting at the bottom of a wine glass. “Ruby Daiquiri! I hope your shopping trip with the minister is going well,” she said with a forced smile.
Daiquiri’s grin somehow grew wider upon hearing her name. She nodded quickly, her short lime green mane bobbing up and down matching the young mare’s enthusiasm. “Y-yes, it’s going really well! This is my first time accompanying the Minister Prince on one of his weekly fruit runs.”
“Of course it is.”
“Silver Streak says this is the only grocer in town Minister Prince trusts for his produce. He doesn’t even let anypony else pick out the fruit for him.”
“Well, only the best will do for such a… dignified palate,” Octavia chuckled tepidly, seeing Blueblood glancing up at the two’s conversation.
She leaned in, raising a hoof to cover her mouth as she maintained eye contact with Blueblood to make sure he didn’t overhear. “Between you and me, I just think he’s a Picky McPickington when it comes to what he eats,” she whispered in an obviously hushed tone to ensure Blueblood could easily deduce Ruby was gossiping about him. A quick giggle from the maid only made Prince’s pompous frown more pronounced.
“Daiquiri,” Blueblood called with a warning tone.
“C-coming your Excellency!”
With a quick flap of her wings, Daiquiri resumed her position, hovering at Blueblood’s side with her reusable grocery bag at the ready to receive a small selection of peaches. Octavia quietly sighed in relief before returning to her selections.
“Fruit Cup!” Octavia nearly shrieked with a startled jump with Steeple suddenly popped up beside her wearing his “inspection face” as Octavia lovingly called it. “Have you found any good—Oh marvelous specimens, Tavi!”
“…Really?” she questioned, flabbergasted by her husband’s rare approval when it came to her judgment with fruit.
“I knew I was starting to rub off on you, dear. You’ll be picking out from bushels of the best in no time!”
“Steeple, darling, I don’t think I’ll ever be as bad as you,” Octavia deadpanned with a slight smirk.
With the fruits finally behind them, Octavia was ready to get to the dairy floor as fast as possible so she could finally continue with the day. She began pushing the cart, giving a friendly glance towards the two maids as they passed the royal entourage. A ponderous “hmmm” sounded from Prince before the familiar shimmering sound of magic gently sounded from the peaches.
Now, normally such a sound would be perfectly commonplace. Nopony would give it a second thought knowing the familiar tone elicited from a levitation spell. However Octavia knew better as, to a fruit fanatic, such a resonance in a fresh produce section was a capital offense.
A silence hung in the air as Octavia didn’t even bother turning around to see the angry, horrified expression crossing Steeple’s face. The silence was broken by the harsh thunk of Octavia’s head bashing the cart handle.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, Blueblood?!” Steeple cried indignantly, dashing over to the violated victim of unicorn magic.
“What?” Blueblood scoffed dismissively.
“You of all ponies should know better than to cast a levitation spell on a tree borne fruit! Everypony knows it is only acceptable when handling vine grown produce!”
“I was simply returning it to the stall after spotting a superior selection.”
“So…” Steeple started darkly, gently laying the peach down on the side of the stall. “So instead of putting it back gently, you magically grope the poor peach like a common strawberry!”
Ruby Daiquiri found herself slowly fluttering to the ground with her wing flaps waning. Confused and slightly scared, she looked to Silver Streak for answers, but the beige mare was busying herself with her flowing silver mane and ignoring the two. Glancing back towards Octavia, she saw the mare rip the top off of a large Buckstar frappe to guzzle its contents in several swift gulps for strength.
“It was an inferior fruit to begin with, Steeplechase,” Blueblood sneered with condescending veneer.
“Well, now it is, Blueblood,” the bitter nocturne replied coupled with an exaggerated flippant eye roll “What gives you the right to condemn this once magnificent peach to the mediocrity of a cooking fruit?”
Ruby fluttered over to the fruit quizzically, picking it up inspecting it for some sign of disease or destruction. She gawked back at the arguing stallions in disbelief after seeing nothing aside from a perfectly plump peach. She nearly asked the bickering foodies what was wrong with it until Octavia shook her head disapprovingly, shushing the naïve pegasus from across the aisle.
“But I… I don’t understand,” Ruby mouthed silently to Octavia. Octavia solemnly nodded after reading the mare’s lips.
“I know,” she silently assured the bewildered maid. Octavia rested her head on a hoof, making herself comfortable for the long haul. The stallions carried on their fruit-filled discussion in angered tones causing a small scene as their voices rose higher and higher.
“I shop here because I know for a fact the produce has been properly handled by earth ponies and pegasi without being tarnished by horn or hoof of a blundering unicorn!”
“How dare you!” Blueblood shouted resentfully. “Some of the finest fruits are farmed by unicorns, you ignorant thestral!”
“Thestral?” the nocturne responded in kind at the racial slur accompanied an abhorrent grimace. “Well, it seems I expected too much from an adopted royal.”
“W-what’s a thestral?” Ruby accidentally voiced aloud, having lost any ability to fathom how the two could have such strong passion towards the finer points of produce.
“You stay out of this!” both stallions barked back before returning to their yelling match.
The poor pegasus shrank in horror, just wishing for it to end while Octavia lost all patience with either stallion and trotted off to finish the rest of the excursion alone.
“You clearly have unrefined tastes if you can claim for a second that Appleoosan Reds are better than Ponyville’s own Sweet Apple blend,” Blueblood scoffed.
“You aren’t factoring in Appleoosa’s unique growing conditions,” Steeplechase bounced back. “Despite the arid climate, the soil is rich in nutrients, perfect for giving their cider an admirably dry crispness to it despite both apples sharing the same origin.”
Octavia wasn’t sure when the argument stopped, or if it actually had. After several minutes of roaring back and forth, the bickering stallions had convened to a table, opting to argue while seated. The married mare had given up on the two, leaving them to their fruity frustrations to obtain the remaining items for their grocery trip that had already taken far too long. She returned to collect Steeple only to find the two stallions convening over a shared bottle of apple cider.
Ruby was seated at a nearby table with Silver, who was glazed over a magazine she’d purchased from a stand. Ruby, on the other hoof, still gaped at the two stallions in disbelief. Octavia took a seat seeing Ruby was equally confused by the stallions almost holding a pleasant conversation. Though she witnessed the entire exchange, the poor young mare hadn’t been able to keep up.
After a few more curious moments, Blueblood took a large swig of the cider from a food court plastic cup before harrumphing while turning his head up to his present company.
“Silver Streak, Ruby Daiquiri. Come, we’re leaving,” he stated with little emotion. The three trotted away, fruit in tow towards the registers. Prince paused a moment, narrowing his gaze towards the unbearable bat chugging the last bit of cider from the bottle. “The next Garden Extravaganza is at the beginning of next month.”
“Yes it is,” Steeple agreed plainly, wiping his muzzle clean with a napkin.
Without another word uttered between the two, Blueblood and his entourage departed, leaving Octavia with far more questions than answers.
“Tavi! You finished the shopping,” Steeplechase chimed in, draping a leathery wing across her back.
“Buh… what the… you just… how…” Octavia stammered in confusion as her face bounced through a flurry of confused emotions. “What the hay was all that about?”
Steeplechase put a hoof up to his chin, giving an over-the-top quizzical “hmmm” as he considered the younger mare’s question. He simply shrugged and pulled his wife closer into a warm embrace, causing the smaller pony to blush from the sudden display of affection. “Mutual respect I suppose.”
Octavia’s mouth moved, but no words came forth.
“You know, he’s a lot younger than I thought he was,” Steeple commented.
Steeplechase felt a familiar chill run down his spine from Octavia’s frustrated and incredulous glower which was just the tip of the iceberg for how deeply in trouble he was for having to endure his frustrating fruity antics for nearly four hours.
“Oh, and you remembered the cream,” Steeple said trying to shift the subject away as he held his favorite brand of sweet cream in hoof.
Octavia replied simply with a glare that could shatter glass.
“Well, I suppose I can start by offering to pull the cart home?”
His attempt to cool her temper wasn’t very effective.
“And unload the groceries by myself?” he added meekly still fishing for a response from the angry wife.
She was still shooting daggers at his soul with those deep purple irises.
“Then I could buy us lunch at Summervale Salads—”
“Amedeo’s” she tersely corrected with her favorite Istallian restaurant.
“Right, Amedeo’s it is then.”
“It’s a start,” she replied, shifting to the side to let Steeple push the cart. With a sigh, he released Octavia from the hug, taking the cart in hoof towards the front of the store.
“Hey, I didn’t say you could let go,” Octavia objected with a light jab to his side, keeping his wing unfurled. She gave a soft smile as she leaned back into his side, letting his wing fall back over her like a warm blanket. “The pegasi always keep this place so cold, I’m surprised it isn’t snowing.”
Steeple only offered an amiable nod in reply.
The couple slowly trotted side by side towards escalators leading to the checkout lanes a few floors down. Steeple kept careful pace making sure he was the best blanket he could be while maintaining a firm grip on the grocery cart which was on the cart escalator next to them.
“I’m still angry, Steeple,” Octavia grumbled sleepily, finally relaxing after the stressful morning
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, fruit cup.”