> OC Slamjam - Round One
>  by OC Slamjam
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Love Runner vs. Hazel Luck - Winner: Hazel Luck (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Return to Sender - by Hazel Luck's Author

“This Is Love Runner with Pegasus Parcels I’ve got a package for a Hazel Luck.” The stallion on the other side of  the door stood stock still. His expression slowly faded to one of comprehension and he replied.

“Ok, I’ll go get her” turning around he entered the house closing the door behind him. Love Runner waited patiently at the door. Package and Clipboard sitting on her back. She mentally planned out the rest of her route hoping for an easy day’s work.

Love Runner could hear voices from inside, and the sounds of ponies walking around. She definitely wasn’t getting the feeling she was being ignored, and she definitely wasn’t growing bored of these pony’s rather generic porch. Finally sighing in defeat she knocked on the door again.

A brown coated filly answered the door looking up to Love Runner and greeting her with a smile. “I’ve got a package for Hazel Luck?”

The filly’s face light up with glee “ Oh awesome it finally came in!” she grabbed the package with her magic and floated a quill out to sign for it. “Oh I can’t wait to show Comet Trail! He’s going to love it” 

Despite Lover Runner’s best efforts to ignore it her cutiemark was very firm in insisting this poor mare was in a doomed relationship and would be better off dumping poor Comet Trail. Usually she’d let the mare go and live her life, but she just seemed so sweet. Why leave her happier than she could be. “Listen Hazel I’ve got a knack for this sort of thing. Even got the mark to prove it.” Love Runner paused showing off her cutie mark. “So believe me when I say this, but you and Comet Trail would be happier if you broke the whole thing off.”

The shorter mares face contorted into one of deep thought and concentration. Clearly taking in everything Love Runner had just told her. After an all too brief second she looked up to Lover Runner a smile on her face. “Well you're the expert here. It’d be rude to disregard such sound advice.”

Hazel Turned around package floating in her magic anew. “Hey Comet Tail I’m dumping you see you later probably.” Then humming to herself she trotted into town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hazel sighed it was a good day. A book to read tea to drink and any minute now Fleet Flyer would be home join her. Yes the day couldn’t get much better. Then there was a knock at the door. Excited to entertain some guests she rushed to the door.

“This is Love Runner with Pegasus Parcels. I’ve got a package here for Fleet Flyer.” 

“Oh, it’s you!”  Hazel Luck opened the door wide and gave the mare on the other side a hug. “Oh, you were just so right last time. I dumped silly old Comet Tail and the next day I met Fleet Flyer. Who’s just about the nicest stallion I’ve ever met.” she paused and her horn started glowing amber. “And now i get to surprise him with whatever this package is.” As she finished talking a quill finally floated out from the house behind her.

As Hazel Luck signed for her special somepony’s package Love Runner was performing a mental tug of war with her special talent  on the winning side. She looked Hazel over again. She looked happy, sounded happy, and presumably tasted happy, so was there really somepony better out there for her? “Hazel Honey. I hate to say it but, my cutie mark is saying leave this one as well.”

Hazel Luck’s eyes quickly narrowed in anger. “I’m sure you think being right once in awhile makes you an expert, but I’ll not have you joking about me and fleety like that.” package in tow she slammed the door.


“This is Love Runner with Pegasus Parcels. I’ve got a package here for Hazel Luck.”
The Mare on the other side of the door did not look happy to be receiving a package, nor did she seem to happy to see Love Runner.

“Look here you, not long after our last chat Fleet Flyer dumped me. So i’m going to sign this, and despite any whims you might have you’re going to leave”. Love Runner Dumbly nodded her head in agreement not wishing to agitate the Mare further.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is Love Runn-” The door slammed hard in Love Runner’s face.

> Heather Rose vs. Proper Prim - Winner: Heather Rose (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Proper Heath - by Heather Rose's Author

After the final bows had been given, the curtain closed, and the audience's hoofstomps faded.  The two black-clad stagehooves breathed a sigh of relief: opening night had gone flawlessly.

They shared a high-hoof before trotting down the stairs, eager for the stage manager to give them their release for the night. Visions of removing their sweaty black shirts and unwinding in one of the nearby taverns danced tantalizingly before them, so the last thing they wanted to see was the face of Proper Prim. Unfortunately, that—and the rest of the unicorn—was waiting for them at the base of the stairs.

"That was the worst set-dressing I've seen in years!" She didn't even wait until their hooves had touched the hallway floor. "The farmhouse flat was too far stage right—didn't you see the spikes on the floor? The split-rail fence was backwards, and it wasn't even supposed to be on stage in scene four. And don't even get me started about the flowers!"

The two stagehooves shared a glance and wisely kept their mouths shut.  They didn’t want to get her started about the flowers.

"Nothing? Argh!" Proper Prim yanked her glasses down and glared at the hapless ponies. "It's Hinny of the Hills, not Hinny of the Middenheap. When ponies come to see the play, they want to see proper flowers—fresh flowers. They want to smell them. They want the scene to evoke an open heath, not a heap of compost! I don't want to know where you found those flowers, but I want fresh flowers on stage tomorrow—I want flowers so fresh that one of the actors gets stung by a bee."

"There aren't any in town—it's some noble's wedding."

"Yeah. We looked. This was the best we could find. Maybe next weekend—"

"Next weekend? Next weekend, the house will be closed, because the critics will have all panned the show." Proper Prim rubbed a hoof across her forehead and sighed. "I'll get the flowers . . . you're going to be spending all afternoon arranging them. G'wan, get out of here!"

The two stagehooves didn't need any further prompting; they trotted past the set designer before she could find something else to gripe about.





Bright and early the next morning, Proper Prim had boarded the first train to Ponyville. If you want the right flowers, she'd thought, get them from the source. Her muzzle was stuck out the window, her head on a swivel as the the train made its way across the hilly terrain in the direction of Ponyville.

This was hardly her first trip there; much of her set design had been inspired by the traditional Ponyville landscape. She'd spent days prowling the roads around town, studying the color of the homes and the nature of the fallow fields. It had been a pleasant change from the countless hours she'd spent cooped up in the library researching the set for The Honorable Gate.

Just as the train began slowing for the Ponyville station, it rounded a gentle curve, and there in front of her muzzle was the field of her dreams. The heather was in full bloom: a lake of purple blossoms swaying dreamily in the gentle breeze, wafting their heady scent into her coach. For just a moment she thought of jumping out of the window, but luckily for her bones, sanity reared its head, and she remained seated.

There was a mare in the field, and she was sure that if she started asking around at the train station, she could find the field again. After all, this was a small town, where everypony knew everypony.


•        •        •


From her vantage point, she could have been anywhere. Looking to the north as she was, the field of heather spread in front her, waving cheerfully in the gentle breeze. Ponyville was on her left flank, and Canterlot couldn't quite be seen unless she turned her head right; from her vantage point, there was nothing but nature to be seen. Some ponies might have been bothered by the solitude, but Heather Rose wasn't. Sure, she liked spending time at the market and spa, and she liked gossiping with other mares as much as anypony else, but it was moments like this that made her feel complete—there was nothing ponymade to be seen, only her and her namesake flower.

Her gardening trowel forgotten at her hooves, she just watched her field live. Bees buzzed from the flowers to her hive, doing their part of an age-old dance that would continue long after ponies were gone. 

A distant chuffing caused her to look towards Canterlot in irritation.  This interruption was routine—trains came by all the time.  There were already four a day, and she’d heard that soon there would be another two.  That was too many trains for her liking.

She wasn’t opposed to the concept of trains, and indeed, they were convenient when she wanted to visit her family back in Canterlot, but they were just too loud and too sooty.  As often as not, the fine ash from the smokestack settled on her field; judging by the way the wind was blowing, today would not be an exception.

She caught the blur of faces peering out the windows as the train roared by, although they went too quickly for her to recognize any of them. Sometimes she wondered who they were and where they were going—and whether they were curious about her, too.

Heather Rose turned her head as the smoke cloud dissipated and settled on her field, briefly masking the scent of the flowers. She hoped it wasn’t thick enough to bother the bees.

She bent down and picked her trowel back up.  The weeds wouldn't uproot themselves, and while the heather could fend for itself, it needed a helping hoof to reach its full potential.


•        •        •


Proper Prim’s mission proved somewhat more difficult than anticipated; whether the result of an honest error or somepony with a weird sense of humor, Prim found herself directed towards the home of a skittish mare who bore a passing resemblance to her. After convincing Daisy that she was not, in fact, a long-lost sister, Prim finally got accurate directions to the heather field on the outskirts of town.

She suppressed a grimace as she knocked on the door of the small house. She could imagine the inside already—rustic would be generous, while ready to be condemned was a real possibility. Of course, nopony answered the door, and Prim flicked her tail in annoyance at her stupidity.   It stood to reason that the owner was still out standing in her field: she’d seen her there when the train passed.

Prim took one brief look at her clean Canterlot hooves, and then walked around the house towards the field of heather. Taking care to follow the narrow winding paths through the field, she made her way to the lone earth pony.

The slight breeze must have been blowing in her direction, because she was deep in the field before the earth pony took notice of her, which gave her a good chance to get a look at the mare.

Her mane and tail were a deep rosewood, and—to Prim's mind—rather disheveled. Certainly a contrast to her own manestyle, but about what she'd expect from a farm mare. However, her light magenta coat looked well-groomed, and she even had a sprig of heather for a cutie mark.

"Hello!"

Heather Rose snapped her head around at the sound of the voice. It wasn't somepony she knew, and she spent a moment taking stock of her visitor before answering. The stranger had a carnation pink coat and a lime-green mane pulled back in a loose bun. For an instant she thought Daisy had gotten dressed up for a dance, complete with a fake horn and black-framed glasses. Then the moment passed, and she realized that this was a complete stranger, who was standing in the middle of her field.

She didn't like her already. It was rude to walk in somepony else's flowers.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, I hope so." Prim pushed her glasses up her muzzle. "I think—I think you may be uniquely qualified to help me." She took a few steps towards Heather Rose and stuck out a hoof. "I'm Proper Prim—Prim to my friends."

"Heather Rose." The extended foreleg was reluctant, and covered to the fetlock in mud.

Nevertheless, Prim bumped it lightly. "I'm a set designer for the Canterlot Community Theater. We're doing a production of Hinny of the Hills. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Heather Rose nodded slowly. "Wasn't it playing in Manehattan last year? I heard Rarity talking about it at the spa."

"Yes!" Prim smiled. "We were lucky to get rights so soon after they completed their run."

"Did you come all the way out here to tell me about your play?" Heather Rose gave Prim a confused look. "That's nice of you, but—"

"No, of course not." Prim made a sweeping motion with her hoof. "Listen. When one thinks of Hinny, one thinks of the hills and dales covered with heather in bloom." Her ears drooped. "But when they see our production, all they'll see is some sorry wilted weeds that my useless set crew probably found in a dumpster behind a restaurant. It won't evoke anything from the audience, except perhaps pity for Hinny when she sings 'Paradise for Two'. What I want, Miss Rose, is actual heather in bloom. And I want a lot of it."

"A lot?"

"A lot. Let me be perfectly frank: I want my stage to look like your field."

The two mares looked across the field.  Heather Rose tried to imagine it reduced, and constrained by the wings of the stage, while Prim saw a simpler artful vision which would make ponies think beyond the confines of the stage.

They stood that way in silence for a minute, the only sounds the quiet drone of bees and whispery rustling of leaves, before Heather Rose broke into a smile. "Come back to the house; I'll make us tea."


•        •        •


While her host was in the kitchen, Prim glanced around the room. Despite its slightly bedraggled exterior—which, to be fair, was hard to avoid in a half-timbered house with a thatched roof—the interior was spotlessly clean. Almost too clean for a farmhouse. It wouldn't be believable on stage.

Heather Rose, too, was spotlessly clean. She'd rinsed her hooves obsessively on the back stoop, even using a stiff bristle brush on the bottoms to get the stubborn dirt around her shoes and frogs.  When she’d finished and proffered the brush, Prim had wordlessly followed suit, then allowed herself to be escorted into a sitting room.

While she was waiting for her host to finish in the kitchen, Prim looked around the tidy room.  A framed sepia photograph on the wall caught her attention, and she walked over to get a closer look.

It was a fairly conventional pose, with a mare and stallion bracketing their filly. The stallion was wearing a jacket which looked to be about one size too small for him, while the mare was more demure, and wore her blouse with an ethereal grace. The filly, who was unmistakably Heather Rose, had been caught mid-squirm by the photographer. Of more interest was the building in the background—even from across the room, it had looked familiar, but the address plaque beside the door sealed the deal.

"You're from Canterlot," Prim said as Heather Rose returned, a salver loaded with tea, cream, rock sugar, and biscuits balanced on her back.

"Yes." She reached around and set the tray on the table between them. "But I moved here after primary school. I thought Canterlot was too fake." Her ears fell as she realized what she'd just said, but Prim just let out a hearty laugh.

"My dear Miss Rose, you've hit the nail right on the head. But what better place for a playhouse, eh?"

"Rosie—it's Rosie to my friends."

"Of course." Prim waited until Heather Rose had poured them each a cup of tea. She watched her new friend's motions carefully: it wasn't even a conscious behavior. While Prim would never claim to be an actor, she often had to seamlessly blend into shindigs and hobnob with nobles to secure funding for a show. They always wanted to know what their bits were being spent on, and the surest way to get a polite 'no thanks' was to commit some social faux pas. So she watched, and when her turn came, she added the rock sugar, poured the cream into her tiny cup, and drank it without stirring, just as Heather Rose had.

At first sip, it was dark and bitter, but as the cream and sugar dissolved into the tea, the flavor changed. Much like meeting a new pony, Prim thought. Heather Rose had sweetened into Rosie, and the two made easy small-talk as the two took their tea together.

They didn't discuss business until the cups were empty, but Prim already knew that they would reach a deal together, and they did. Proper Prim went back to the train station in the company of a blue stallion, who was hauling a cart full of fresh-picked heather—she could attest to its freshness, since she'dnjust helped pick it. Heather Rose found herself many bits richer, with the promise of more to come during the show's run.

It was, Prim thought as the train began its climb to Canterlot, a very successful day: not only did have her flowers, but like any small-town deal, they had also parted ways with personal gifts. The unicorn was six complimentary tickets poorer, and a dozen bottles of heather ale richer. Prim intended to put one of those to good use after she'd finished redecorating the stage, since she couldn't trust the stagehooves to realize her artistic vision.





The show that night was a huge success—she'd even heard weeping during Hinny's heartfelt solo. It would have been just the perfect end to the perfect day . . . except the stagehooves set the fence backwards again.









Heather Rose vs. Proper Prim - by Proper Prim's Author

According to the critics, the Canterlot run of Hinny to the Hills had been a smash success. Record sales at the box office, multiple nominations for awards, and to top it all off, Proper Prim had received numerous letters from directors across Equestria to design their sets. What wasn’t there to celebrate?

Prim sat at the corner table of Barley Rose Brews, doodling on a napkin. All around her, the cast and crew of the show was having a great time, celebrating the closing night of the show. Across the table, a few extras were getting into an alcohol-induced debate over who was more important.

“I got a line during the bakery scene!” boasted the gray pegasus, slamming his beer stein against the table.

The blue unicorn sitting next to him scoffed at his face. “Pff. I got two lines when they were captured by the Germanes!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, how about you try saying your lines when you get your lights knocked out!” The pegasus grabbed his stein and swung it at him, knocking the unicorn to the floor. Retaliating, the unicorn hopped up and punched him square in the muzzle, landing in a furious heap on the ground.

Prim looked up and scowled at them. She would never tolerate this kind of behavior from her own build crew, so why were the directors content to have their actors going around making fools of themselves? She sighed and went back to doodling on her napkin.

It wasn’t long before an irate magenta mare walked out and stood next to the bickering pair. She grabbed them both by the neck and muttered, “I really don’t have time for this. Now, you can either start to get along like civilized ponies or I’m going to have to have my dad throw you out. Do I make myself clear?”

Grumbling, the two stallions broke apart and walked toward the door. Once they were out of the sight, the mare who had broken them apart took a seat at Prim’s table and collapsed. “Ugh. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to work the brewery. All these drunkards starting fights… how does mom deal with this every day?”

Prim ignored the mare, adding more details to the napkin. Across the table, the mare had found a discarded straw, and was listlessly twirling it around. "Have I really changed that much since I left for Ponyville? Before I left, I used to be able to handle even the rowdiest drunks. Now I’m exhausted from a couple of bickering idiots.”

“Excuse, me miss, but why are you telling me this? I know I’m quiet, but you seem awfully trustworthy of someone I just met.” Prim spat out her pencil and adjusted her glasses.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” the mare stuttered, dropping her straw. “I guess I just started talking to myself, and didn’t realize you were there, and well, once I get going…”
She quietly chuckled to herself.

Prim smirked. “Very well. I don’t mind a little chit-chat here and there. You're free to sit here, Miss… I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh! Sorry about that. The name’s Heidenröslein, but my friends call me Heather Rose.” She picked up her straw and gestured to a sign bearing the bar’s name. “I’m the owner’s daughter, but I’m only helping out because I had a delivery in Canterlot and decided to see my parents.”

Prim nodded as she picked up her pencil with her mouth and quietly continued working. As she meticulously scribbled on what little space she left on the napkin, Heather inched her way around the table until she was right next to her. “Wait a minute. If you’re a unicorn, why are you drawing with your mouth?”

Prim spat out the pencil and glared at her. “You only now just noticed that? Geez, the things only sticking right out the front of my head. I normally am a very reserved mare, but you’re very nosy.” She grumbled as she slid her chair away and grabbed another napkin out of the dispenser.

Heather sat there glumly for a few seconds, tuning out the chaotic noise of the party going on around her. She put her head down on the table, noticing that the stranger had left the napkin sitting there. Every inch of it was covered in pencil marks, which upon closer inspection were sketches of what looked like the inside of a house.

“Wow. You really are a beautiful artist. I wish I could draw like that,... what was your name again? I’ve already blurted out my life story to you, the least you could do is give me a name.”

“It’s Prim,” she said, “Proper Prim, to be precise. I’m the stage designer for Hinny to the Hills, but I doubt you’d know that. Most ponies couldn’t care less about what I do.” She sighed, put down the pencil and looked down at the table.

Heather looked at the napkin again. That wasn’t just a house she had drawn out of boredom, that was probably her working on a set for some new show. “Well, if that’s the case, then this is a really beautiful set you’ve drawn here.”

Prim rolled her eyes as a tiny grin appeared back on her face. “Oh, don’t kid yourself. This is only a rough sketch. I can’t quite figure out what to have the walls look like, but what I have here would look disgraceful on stage. But hey, what would you know about matching wall colors?”

Heather gave a hearty chuckle. “I guess so. I have a nice and tidy shop back in Ponyville, but it’s probably the plainest place in town. Not that it matters what it looks like, nobody has any use for heather anyway.”

“Well, I sure hope nobody wants to use you!” said Prim with a laugh. Heather Rose couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “All naming puns aside, don’t underestimate the value of a good design. Given what I’ve heard about Ponyville, you might want to give it a calm, cheerful feeling.”

“So like a spa? Whenever I go to the spa back in Ponyville, I always feel calm and cheery.” Proper Prim sat there dumbstruck by the odd comment. “Oh, sorry about that, Prim. Carry on.”

“Well, I guess it isn’t a bad comparison, though you may want to avoid having any hot tubs. That might be distracting to any potential customers.” Heather broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. “Oh my. I haven’t had anything to drink yet and I’m already making terrible jokes all over the place!”

Heather's eyes shot open. “Did you say you haven’t had anything to drink yet? My friend, you're missing out on the best brews this side of the pond! If I know my mother, you’re gonna love this.” She hollered to a waiter carrying a tray across the room. “Hey, Tapper! Can you get us two of mom’s best? Tell ‘em it’s on the house!”

Prim blushed. “Oh, you don’t have to do anything of that sort for me. I’m not a drinker, anyway.”

“Well, then you’ve never had my mom’s brews.” Tapper came back to the table, carrying a tray with two frothy steins of dark ale. Prim levitated a few coins out of her purse, only to be stopped by Heather. “No need for that. It’s on me.”

Prim levitated the beer steins off of the tray, taking one for herself. While Heather grabbed hers greedily and began chugging it down, Prim nervously lifted the glass to her lips and took a small sip. She swished the beer around in her mouth, absorbing the caramel flavor of the beer. “Wow, this really is quite the beer,” she said as she took another, much larger sip from her glass.

“Told you so.”  Heather raised her glass in the air triumphantly. "In my family, it's tradition to toast whenever we make a new friend. So I propose a toast. To a bloomin' new friendship?"

Prim reluctantly raised her glass to Heather's. "Yeah. To a blooming new friendship."



> Luster Lock vs. Bristle - Winner: Luster Lock (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luster Lock vs. Bristle - by Luster Lock's Author

Plug. Pins. More pins. Springs. Hull. Actuator. Body, square and black. Another spring. Shackle.

Body, square and gray. Just a simple ward lock, this one. Somepony was begging to get robbed. Spring and shackle.

Latch and lever, case and collar, disc and dial. A nice, round body, even if it was black. Shackle.

Pre-made pin-tumbler. Body square and black, but shrouded. Shack—

There came a pounding at the door.

The mare looked up from her work station and across the showroom. There was a shadow past the metal grill on the front door’s window. “Read the sign,” she called.

A moment passed soundlessly but for the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan, and the mare turned back to her desk.

The pounding came again.

The mare sighed, dropping the tools from her dim gray feathers. Off her stool, she stomped across the showroom floor and unlatched, unbolted, unlocked, and all around unsecured the door. She cracked it open, and a little chain was all that obstructed her view of the saddlebag-clad stallion outside. The dying sunlight showed her a brown earth pony, short mane with just a hint of waviness, youthful but mature, so incredibly—

She slammed the door shut, undid the chain, and ripped it open once again. “Hello,” she purred, leaning on the doorframe.

The stallion leapt back a step, eyes wide. “Er, hello.”

“What can I do for you?” The mare smirked, bringing a wing up to bounce her steel blue curls. “Interested in a love lock? It’d make a perfect gift for your wiiii…”—no change in the stallion’s expression—“…fffillyfrieee…”—nothing—“…eeescorrrr—”

A little colt—practically the stallion in miniature but for an added pair of wings—peeked around the stallion’s hooves, and the mare’s eyes shot down to him.

“Baby mama?” she tried.

“S-separated,” said the stallion, looking off. He coughed into his hoof, then met the mare’s eyes again. “Sorry to bother you so late, miss. We were at an art shop and we lost track—” He gave a little yelp, rubbing his hind leg where his son had smacked him. “I lost track of the time. But we need a locksmith.”

“Art, huh?” The mare’s smirk was shifting to become a grin, and she moved out of the doorway. “Come on in, big guy.” Her eyes drifted down past the stallion again. “And little guy.”

“It’s ‘Bristle’,” said the stallion as he walked into the store.

The colt followed slowly, staring at the mare all the while, until a brown hoof scooped him up.

“And my little fella here,” continued Bristle, ruffling his son’s mane with a free hoof, “is Swatch.”

Eyes focused despite the deteriorating state of his hair, Swatch nodded to the mare.

She giggled. Looking back up to the stallion, she said, “Luster Lock. Cool to meet you both.” Luster swept a hoof about the dimly lit showroom. “Welcome to Lock’s Locks: After Hours Edition.”

The showroom windows were doing little for the shop, so it fell to a pair of wall-mounted lanterns to breathe some life into the black tile, the white walls, the cold metal shelves, the locks and latches, hinges, catches. The lanterns were not up to the job.

Luster made her way over towards her work nook, and the boys followed. She said, “What brings you to a place like this on what I’m sure was an otherwise fine evening?”

A flittering buzz filled the air, and Bristle and Luster turned to see Swatch flying up onto his father’s back. He undid the clasp on a saddlebag there, drawing out a wooden box decorated with little doors and lots of brass. He held it up for Luster, who grabbed it with a wing.

“We got that lock box at a toy store earlier,” said Bristle, “but it turns out a couple of the parts don’t work right. Key doesn’t fit its lock, the bolt doesn’t want to move, and such.” He ran his hoof through his mane, eyes looking tired. “The store wouldn’t give us a refund, though, so we need—” Feathers.

Luster retracted her free wing from Bristle’s lips and set the lock box down on her workbench. “Have a look around the store, I guess.” In an instant, most of her primaries were wrapped around the handle of one tool or another. “This won’t take long.”

She set about it with a passion, and a storm of scratching and creaking and clacking and squeaking rose up. Swatch stared on at Luster, wide eyed. 

Bristle chuckled, turning back to the front of the room. He wandered, reading little labels that were trying their very best to tell him what all of the tiny variations between each lock actually meant. Coming around a particularly large display of doorknobs, Bristle found a section of wall decorated very differently from the rest of the shop, so much so that he stopped in his tracks.

“Are these the ‘love locks’ you mentioned?” he called back. Padlocks were arranged haphazardly, their open shackles hanging off of a chain link fence that had been brought in.

“That depends,” came the reply. “Do they only come in what a sensible pony would call ‘colors’?”

They did, Bristle observed. Not an outward hint of black, white, or anything in between. They came in all shapes, too—but mostly hearts, though there was a great deal of variation even there. “What are they for, exactly? I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re a symbol,” said Luster over the still-present noise of her work. “A couple gets one, maybe writes their names on it, then they put it up someplace—usually on a bridge, but not always—lock it, and throw away the key.”

“That’s cute.” Bristle hefted one love lock designed to look like a smiling sun, with a crescent moon for a shackle. “They sell well?”

“Ha!”

Now there was a bitter sound if Bristle had ever heard one. He turned back, saying, “What?”

The sounds of tinkering slowed. “I’ll tell you why you’ve never heard of them, Bristle: I’m having an amazing time trying to get them to be legal here.”

Bristle raised an eyebrow. “What, do they count as vandalism?”

“Yep,” said Luster, “and I did sell a few when I first started making ‘em, but as luck would have it, unbreakable love isn’t much of a match for a good set of bolt cutters. Or threats of a lawsuit.”

Bristle snickered and looked to the fence again. He leaned down to a group of simple, solid color hearts.

“But hey.” The little noises picked up their pace again. “Do you like—”

“You didn’t use primer.”

There was a tinny snap. And then Luster cleared her throat. And then came a bit of quiet but fervent whistling.

Bristle trotted back over to Luster and his son just as the former was dropping what looked like half of a thin screwdriver into a garbage bin. “Everything okay?”

Luster turned to him with a cheery smile, saying, “Yep.” She held the lock box aloft on a now tool-free wing, and Bristle’s brow raised. “I replaced a faulty spring in the pin-tumbler, cleared the rust off the slide bolt and its plate, oiled the hinges, and shined all the brass. Plus I sanded down the edges and corners a bit—they seemed kind of sharp.”

Swatch found the box dropping into his little hooves, and a gleeful grin tore across his features.

“Wow,” said Bristle with a dangling jaw. He reached into a saddlebag. “How much do I owe you?”

Luster waved a wing, a bright expression on her shaking head. “Nothing. We’ll call it even for next time.”

Bristle’s hoof paused. “Next time?”

“When you buy me dinner.”

The hoof retreated from the saddlebag, running its way once more through Bristle’s mane.









Bristle vs. Luster Lock - by Bristle's Author

It was five minutes to midnight by her best guess, but in all honesty it could’ve been four. She couldn’t stop thinking about pastries, and it was messing up her count.

The mask’s fabric itched as it brushed over her feathers, and stretching it out between her wingtips only made the amulet knock up against her collarbone. Ratty old thing--the mask was, at least. The amulet was new, its charm so fresh she could feel the rumble of dozing magic vibrating through her ribs. Miss Radium of Trottingham had bought it that morning, from a stallion who’d never asked for her name nor given his own. It would be worth the expense come night’s end. All of this would be worth it once the count in her head ran down. 

Two hundred and seventy. Four and a half minutes. She thought about taking flight, but the mask dug into her pinions before her wings could spread far enough. Why had she even brought the stupid thing along? Nobody was awake to see her. No wandering eyes wondered who’d be out at this hour. The night guard wouldn’t start his shift for another two hundred and sixty seconds, and the only things he’d find after she’d gone were an open door, an empty safe, and a perfect, intricate, exquisite silver lock swinging from its latch.

Two-forty-five. Keep the count. Focus. The lock was her father’s design, but he wasn’t here to see it guarding gaudy jewelry that’d be out of season before any real ones had passed. She knew all its thumbturns and tumblers like the hairs in her fetlocks, but she wasn’t here to let some pension-fund prick leave it to rust and rot away. She had the master keys strung on a ring inside her soon-to-be-filled saddlebags, and that was why the owner of 342 Millennium Avenue was going to regret deeming her pride and joy unworthy of the price he’d been contracted to pay for it. The Hoofington constable refused to come to Canterlot and chase after her client himself, and the guards here would’ve gone on about lawyers and civil suits and six months in court for a settlement outside of it. They would’ve taken his side and blown her off. They would’ve just wasted her time.

She wasn’t wasting time. She was doing something about it. She was making things fair.

Two-hundred-ten. Thirty seconds until the switch. Beyond the cast-iron fence ringing the estate, she could see the stallion on duty rolling his shoulders and scratching behind his ears. In moments, he’d leave his post and go home for the night, and three minutes after that his replacement would take it up himself. Both guards enjoyed a few minutes between shifts to talk in private, and neither cared much for their employer’s insistence on constant vigilance. She’d heard the household’s head groundskeeper complain about them two days ago, when she’d trimmed the back hedges in Tiptop’s clothes while Tiptop herself thought she had the day off.

One-ninety-nine. The guard’s sigh carried all the way to the fence. It had taken her half an hour to convince Tiptop she worked for the maintenance crew too. Somepony had surely seen her fumble with her clippers, or spend too much time staring at the building’s back door. That Lower Quarter warlock probably had friends all over the city, cursing amulets with security countercharms and stalking anypony fool enough to buy one. She didn’t know anything about the house’s interior. She didn’t even know where to find the safe once she got inside it.

One-ninety-one, and they didn’t know her either, nor would she give them any way of finding her out. She’d dyed her mane, changed her name, used every trick of subtlety and subterfuge Trixie’s magic shows had taught her. She’d leave no hoofprints behind tonight, no calling card, no message to even explain why she had to do this. There would be no trail of crumbs leading out of the city, snaking into a one-room locksmith shop in Hoofington, showering onto the floors and lingering in the cracks between the boards. This would be easy. This was the right thing to do.

One-eighty flat. The guard was leaving. The count hadn’t stopped, and she was thinking about pastries again.

Time to go.

With her gloved hoof inside it, the mask looked more like a fungus growing out of her sole. Splotches of green and silver shone through the pitch she’d smeared over it, enough to gleam in the full moonlight that forced her to hide behind one of the fence’s stone pillars. When she grabbed the mask’s fringe in her teeth, the stretched-out eye sockets almost looked sad, like they wished they could see what she used to see through them. She’d been sentimental bringing it, that was all. Thieves were supposed to have masks, and the Radium Maiden had only ever worn the one. She didn’t have to bother with it this late at night. She’d probably just throw it away once she finished.

One-seventy.

There was room in her saddlebag, though.

One-sixty-eight.

She couldn’t just leave it out here.

One-sixty-six.

Somepony would find it.

One-sixty-four.

Somepony would follow the crumbs.

At one-sixty-flat and with the mask halfway back in her bag, Luster Lock heard somepony clear their throat. She bit her tongue so she wouldn’t scream, and stuck out a hoof so she could catch the mask again. When the stallion standing in the street made no motion towards her, she narrowed her eyes and did her best to make them look darker than her mask.

“You didn’t see anything,” she told him. One-fifty-two. “Just walk away. This isn’t your business.”

The stallion shrugged, and as he shifted she saw a bit more of him: dark coat and mane, but both brown instead of pure black, she thought. Bulky plastic canisters hung on either side of his withers, and each of his forehooves bore some kind of tool: a flat-headed broom curled into the crook of his right hoof, and what looked like a dustpan strapped to his left.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said. “What didn’t I see, though?”

“Are you deaf?” she growled. One-forty-four. She didn’t have time for this. “I said go.”

“Because the way I see it,” he went on anyway, “320 scoops up every technomagical gadget he can find, and 353’s over there a veritable diamond mine.” The stallion tilted his chin first to the left and then to the right as he spoke, and once his gaze settled back on the house behind the fence, he shrugged again. “Not much to 342 here but the garden, and even that’s seen better days. That’s just what I see, though. Snobby rich folks with their snobby rich stuff.”

“I don’t remember asking you what you think you see,” she informed him. “And for your information, this is personal.”

He cocked his head again. “I thought it wasn’t my business.”

“I thought I told you to go away!” 

Luster cringed as the shuttered windows of 342 repeated her shout back at her. One-twenty-nine. Not that it mattered much now. “You work for Lord Zirconio, don’t you?” she asked the stallion, only for the sake of hearing him say it. “He must have kno… did he send you to stop me?”

The moonlight caught the stallion’s eyes as he glanced towards 342 again: hazel streaked with dappled beige, like cedarwood bark caught between sundown and dusk. “Is that who lives there?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Hmm. He always struck me as more of a duke.” His lips twitched, and for a moment the shadows almost made it look like a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m no guardspony, for him or anyone else.”

One-eighteen. She wasn’t convinced. “Then who are you?”

Now he was smiling. “Call me curious.”

And now she was gritting her teeth. “You ever hear what they say about curiosity?”

“No, but I’ve heard what they say about cats with nine lives.” He sounded pretty proud of that little quip, apparently enough to prop his broom under his shoulder and stick out a hoof in greeting. His mane was definitely brown, now that she could see it properly, but grown out enough to look a bit unkempt. If he’d bothered to style it, it might have looked handsome. “My name’s Bristle. I’m a street sweeper.”

“You don’t look much like a street sweeper,” she muttered.

One-oh-eight. “You don’t look much like a thief.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she snapped, stalking forward a few steps before her mind could catch up with her body or her tongue. “You don’t know who or what I am.”

Bristle gestured with his hoof before letting it drop. “You did say I didn’t see anything.”

One hundred flat. “Why are you even still here?” At least she’d managed to stop herself before she got within hoof’s reach of him. “You’re not a guard, you’re not gonna do anything, so just shut up and leave me alone!”

“Are you a thief when you’re alone?”

“I am not a thief,” she said through her teeth.

Instead of arguing, Bristle nodded as if in agreement. “Exactly. You don’t look like one.”

Ninety-five. If this was what going mad felt like, Luster felt a powerful sympathy for the mentally disturbed. “What are you even talking about? What d’you mean, I don’t look like a thief?”

“You look bored,” Bristle said.

“I… what?”

“That’s why I was curious.” With a sigh, Bristle braced his forehoof against the base of his broom and leaned into it. “You look bored. Young mare, good-looking, out in the dead of night with her wings out and her hooves tapping every time she talks. The way I don’t see it, you’re looking for something new.”

Eighty-three. Luster fluttered her wings, and forced herself to keep still as she answered him. “I… it’s personal, all right? This is between me and Zirconio, and I don’t particularly care what you have to say about it.”

“Is he the one you’re bored with?” Bristle asked, because of course that wasn’t enough for him.

“No, I…”

It was never enough for anybody, was it?

“You know what? Yes. I am bored with him. In fact, I’m tired of him.” She was inches from his nose now, and couldn’t remember when she’d gotten that close. “I’m tired of ponies like him who think they own everything they can get their greedy hooves on, I’m tired of letting ponies like him walk all over me while no one does anything to stop them, and I’m tired of sitting around yesterday and tomorrow and every day after that waiting for the same thing to happen the same way again and again and again. And most of all, I’m tired of you acting all high and mighty and trying to tell me what I should think about it!”

Bristle shrugged again, and a terrifying urge to slap him shuddered through her forelegs. “I don’t have anything to think about it.”

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake, don’t patronize me,” she snarled. “The only reason you even looked at me tonight is because you want to play the hero for some poor little girl who can’t possibly know what she’s getting herself into. So don’t stand there smirking at me like you know the last thing about why I’m doing this, when I’m the one who’s out fifteen thousand bits and you’re a moondamned street sweeper who won’t see that much money for the rest of his moondamned life!”

Her breath returned a moment after she fell silent, then left her again just as quickly. Her face burned, and ducking out of the moonlight did little to hide it. “Stars, I-I…” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… that was out of line.”

Once again, though, Bristle surprised her. “I’ve heard worse,” he said through a rough chuckle. He sounded ten years older than he looked, but not the slightest bit weary or depressed about it. “And you got me half-right. Odds are, I won’t have that much money saved up for a good long while. But I did have it once. And I do know why you’re doing this.”

Another shock followed the first: Luster’s eyes stung as she squeezed them shut, and all of a sudden Bristle knew better than to speak over her. “It’s not fair,” she murmured. “He just robbed me, after four months slaving over his stupid commission. Just up and walked off with it because he knew it’d cost me more to sue him than it would him to pay me what I’m owed. He had the gall to say I should be honored to even work for him, right there in my shop, with his pig-faced brat of a kid standing right by his side and spraying donut crumbs all over the…”

When she looked up, she couldn’t understand why the street sweeper hadn’t left. She’d lost her count again. Pastries were all she could think about. “How do you live like this? How do you do the same thing day after day, and never get any respect for it? How do you not just… snap?”

“You mean, how am I not bored?” They both nodded; her first, and him more slowly in response. “Way I see it, the sun doesn’t get bored rising. And I doubt it gets tired of setting.”

In the spare moment Bristle left between sentences, Luster straightened up and wiped her eyes. “You can’t possibly like street-sweeping that much.”

She expected a shrug, so much so that she almost didn’t noticed when one didn’t come. “I don’t get tired of it,” Bristle said. “I keep the city clean. I get to work with my hooves. I can look back when the sun gets up and see everything I accomplished while it was asleep. And when I can, I make sure the sun rises on me too.”

For the first time, Luster really looked at the mark on Bristle’s flank. At a glance, she’d seen a broom to match the one in his hoof, but the hairs in his mark’s brush looked too soft, and the handle suited for more delicate work.

“There’s a big difference between being tired and being bored. And like I said, you look bored.” With a grunt, Bristle wedged his broom between his shoulders and the dustbins on his back, and lifted a hoof in salute as he backed away. “But like I also said, I didn’t see anything. You have a good night now.”

Luster watched him go, and didn’t look back at the fence until the streetlamps in the distance grew too dim to see him by. The other night guard hadn’t appeared yet. The count was still going. She could find it again. 

And once she did, she’d never lose it again. Once she did, she’d follow it for the rest of her life.

By the time the count ended, she’d reached the next block in search of a trash can. She could at least make Bristle’s job easier and get rid of the amulet herself. As for the mask, she figured she’d kept it. It itched too much to throw away, and now that she looked at it, the paint was wearing off.

> Mizuko vs. Oddluck - Winner: Mizuko (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mizuko vs. Oddluck - by Mizuko's Author

Being one of the most densely populated cities in Equestria, Manehattan was no stranger to heavy rush hour traffic. Every day the metropolis' sidewalks and streets would be obscured by thousands of business ponies, school children, and shoppers going about their daily activities, tightly packed as they traversed the concrete jungle that was their home.

Mizuko hated being here.

The blue earth mare stood waiting among a group of ponies at a street crossing, hanging her head down so her raven black mane obscured her brown eyes. A small brown saddlebag was strapped to her barrel, holding various utilities, as well as a sizable collection of pearls she'd retrieved from her latest dive. Had it not been for the fact that the nearest jeweler was here in Manehattan, she wouldn't have set hoof in such a heavily populated city. But she did, and if one were to peek under her mane they'd see the resulting discomfort present in her eyes. As soon as she finished her business here, she'd be out of the city in a heartbeat.

At last the signal turned white and the crowd marched across the street. Mizuko took a spot against the corner building once she reached the other sidewalk, taking a deep, relaxing breath as some of her discomfort evaporated now that she was out of the crowd. She then opened up her saddlebag and fished out both a bottle of water and a map of Manehattan. Laying the map in front of her, out of the passing commuters' way, she began pouring over it while taking a large swig from her bottle.

Okay... Rock Tumbler's Jewel Emporium is on the other side of this block, so... that alleyway could be a good shortcut. She looked up from the map and to her right, easily spying the entrance a couple of buildings down from the street corner. Nodding to herself, she packed up her map and made her way down the sidewalk and into the entrance.

Newspapers and other such trash were littered throughout the alleyway, with cardboard boxes and trash cans stacked alongside each other next to every stoop. Everything was dull and gray and grimy, and an awful stench of unknown origin assaulted Mizuko's nostrils as she stepped deeper into the alley. She felt a little bile rise in her mouth in response, but quickly swallowed it back down. Taking a deep breath, she plunged onward.

She'd only made it halfway through the alley when she heard a heavy thump right behind her, followed by a scaly hand clamping around her neck and lifting her up off the ground. She instinctively thrashed her body in a futile attempt to break free, weakly pounding her front hooves against her attacker's hand. All she got for struggling was a tighter grip around her neck, making her wheeze and gasp for air.

"Now now, miss," came a gravelly, masculine voice from behind her, "let's not do anything stupid."

The alleyway's scenery shifted as Mizuko felt herself being turned around, eventually facing her attacker, and the sight of him would've made her shriek and whimper if he didn't have her in a choke hold. The blue-scaled dragon that held her in his clawed hand looked at her with piercing red eyes devoid of visible pupils, his predatory grin baring sight of his razor sharp, carnivorous teeth. A trio of horns sprouted from his head, shaped like a trident, while another one each sprouted from his cheekbones. The way he was holding Mizuko made it impossible for her to get a good look at the rest of his body, but she could see more horns peeking over his head from his back, every bit as menacing as the rest of him.

The dragon pulled Mizuko closer so the end of his long, rounded snout was just a few inches from hers. She continued to thrash and squirm against his grip, to which he only snorted. "You're only making things harder for yourself," he said. His eyes fell on her saddlebag, which swung erratically back and forth in response to her struggling. "Pretty little mare like you's gotta have some treats. How's about you gimme 'em and I'll leave you alone?" His grin widened all the way up to his cheek's horns. "Wouldn't want things to get messy, now would we?"

Mizuko said and did nothing in response other than continue to struggle against his grip, her brows furrowed and teeth gritted as she furiously pounded away at his tough hide with her front hooves. The dragon ignored her and reached for the saddlebag with his free hand.

"Unhand her you monster!"

The dragon had no time to react to the sudden exclamation before he felt something hard smash against the back of his head. Dropping Mizuko, he let out a great howl of pain as he clutched the spot where he'd been struck with both hands, stumbling a few paces forward. Mizuko fell to the ground on her haunches, cringing a little at the impact before slowly rising to all fours. After taking a moment to get her bearings, she turned around to see her rescuer.

Standing a few paces away was a green unicorn mare with a blue mane and tail, both styled in a very non-distinctive fashion. Strapped to her barrel was a saddlebag the same brand as Mizuko's, but colored beige instead of pure brown like hers. Her cutie mark was of a four leaf clover, but colored pitch black instead of green, likely so it would easily contrast against her green coat. Held in her telekinesis was a small, rust-colored box adorned with golden markings of unknown origin and a wooden lever on one side.

The mare's muzzle was set in an angry frown as she kept her gaze focused entirely on the dragon while he recovered from his injury. Her stance became guarded and her teeth gritted as a low hiss escaped through them. Wordlessly, Mizuko hid behind a nearby trashcan, peeking her head over to view the ensuing confrontation. Soon the dragon finished nursing his head and turned around to face them, balling his claws into fists while snorting a puff of steam through his nostrils.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, harshly.

The mare furrowed her brows. "I beg to differ."

The dragon suddenly charged forward, roaring as he stuck his claws out, aiming straight for the mare's head. Mizuko ducked behind the trashcan on impulse.

The mare only smiled and raised her box up to the dragon's eye level. When he was just a few paces away she pulled the lever on the box's side. The top opened, and a boxing glove on a spring shot out straight at the dragon's face. It struck right on his snout with a sickening crunch, sending him tumbling backward a few paces before falling flat on his tail.

"I'll do it again if I have to!" the mare called, glaring daggers at him.

Slowly, the dragon stood up while rubbing his snout, glaring daggers back at her. "You'll be sorry!" he shouted, and unfolded his wings. He quickly took to the air, flying up between the buildings before disappearing over one's roof.

The mare watched him retreat with a satisfied smile before her ears flicked in response to hoofsteps approaching from behind her. Turning around she saw Mizuko approaching, her mouth set into a neutral line, while her rigid leg movements made clear her caution. The other mare just smiled as she helped close the distance between them. "Are you all right?" she asked. "He didn't hurt you?"

Mizuko shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"Good to hear." The other mare held out her hoof. "I'm Oddluck, nice to meet you!"

Mizuko shook her hoof, slowly and with no vigor. "Mizuko," she said.

"Oooh, you're from Neighpon?" Oddluck asked, but continued before Mizuko could answer. "Never met too many foreign ponies here in Manehattan while I was growing up, but I've met a lot on my various travels. I've also gotten a lot of neat stuff while traveling, usually by fortunate happenstance. For example, I found this punch box-" she waggled the object in her telekinesis a bit, "-buried halfway under a creek bed in the Minotaur Nation just the other day, and it'll fetch me a decent coin at the right pawn shop. Good thing I had it with me, and that I happened to be visiting my mom here in Manehattan, and that I happened to notice you left your water bottle out on the sidewalk, cause otherwise I-"

Oddluck ceased talking in response to Mizuko's hoof pressed softly against her muzzle. Looking up, she saw Mizuko looking at her with tired eyes and brows furrowed slightly. She breathed in and out once before speaking to Oddluck.

"Listen Oddluck, believe me when I say I'm beyond grateful you saved me just now. Truly, I am." Her expression became more wistful as she continued, retracting her hoof. "But I'm in a hurry to get somewhere right now and don't have time to chat. So can I just have my water bottle back, please?" she finished.

"Oh... well, sure," Oddluck said, sounding a little disappointed. Stowing the punch box into her saddlebag, she retrieved Mizuko's water bottle and passed it to her. "So, where are you heading?" she asked. "I know Manehattan like the bottom of my hoof, so I can help you get where you're going if you want?"

Mizuko shook her head while stuffing her water bottle into her saddlebag. "It's alright, I know the way," she replied. "But thanks for the offer."

She turned around and began walking down the alley, but didn't get very far before Oddluck said, "Wait!"

Mizuko closed her eyes as an annoyed sigh, too soft to be heard by Oddluck, escaped through her lips. Slowly, she turned around to face the other mare with a deadpanned expression. "Yes, what is it?" she asked.

"Do you think we could maybe meet up sometime and just, you know, hang out?" Oddluck asked. A large, almost comical smile crossed her lips as she walked forward. "You seem like a cool girl; it'd be a shame if we never saw each other again after now." She closed the distance between them and held out a hoof. "What d'ya say? You up for it?"

Mizuko looked down at the proffered hoof, her face unreadable as she silently contemplated her answer. Eventually, she scuffed a hoof across the ground as her expression faltered. "Er, well... maybe?" she stuttered, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck. "Where would we meet?"

Oddluck shrugged. "Wherever you want. Like I said, I travel a lot, so any place you want to go is fine by me," she said with a cheery smile.

Mizuko looked aside for a few moments, lost in thought over whether having Oddluck for a companion would turn out to be a good idea. She knew almost nothing about the mare aside from a few little tidbits. The fact that she saved Mizuko from being mugged made it clear she was a good pony, but if she had the audacity to take on a dragon, there was no telling all of what trouble she could potentially land them in.

Then again, if I chose someplace where I was in total control...

"Sooo?" Oddluck asked, staring expectantly at her.

Mizuko returned her gaze. "I'm going to be swimming at Horseshoe Bay this Friday night from six to ten, so come by there if you want to hang out."

"Consider me there!" Oddluck promised, making a saluting gesture with her hoof. "I'll even bring my own flippers and snorkel!"

Please don't let this be a mistake. Mizuko nodded, and turned around to walk off again.

"Can I ask one more question before you go?" Oddluck asked.

...Pretty please? Mizuko looked over her shoulder to see Oddluck staring curiously at her backside. "...Um, Oddluck?" she asked, a little worry creeping into her voice.

Oddluck pointed at her flank. "What does your cutie mark mean?"

Mizuko glanced down at her cutie mark: a light blue water droplet with angel wings and a halo. "It means water's my safe haven," she said, neutrally.

"Oooh, so that's why you wanna meet at Horseshoe Bay." Oddluck flashed another cheery smile. "Can't wait to meet you there! Bye until then!"  

"Yeah, sure. Bye," Mizuko replied, letting out a sheepish chuckle.

The two mares both waved a hoof goodbye as they headed down opposite ends of the alley, Oddluck with an excited spring in her step while Mizuko bowed her head, feeling overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the past few minutes.









Oddluck and Mizuko - by Oddluck's Author

"HELP!" odd luck screamed. Hoping some pony will come to pull her out. Restraining her from drowning in the water.

"HELP!" She tried again. Maybe this time she will get lucky and someone hears her. She knew it was a bad idea from the start to try and cross the river even though she was hauling a humongous cart. She tried to swim up as the cart attached to her touched the bottom of the river.

If it was any deeper than she would never be able to make it out. She hardly had her head sticking out of the water. She continued thrashing. All the moving around was making things worse for her. She felt as the cart began to tilt from its rear end to its opened top. Not good.

The cart started to pull her down. With all of her might, and some magic she tried to remain above the water. Close to the air. With as much on concentration as possible she undid the straps keeping her held back.

She managed to get one off, but some left over from the cart had a whole lot of her lower body tangled. Preventing her from escaping. She needed help.

"SOMEPONY PLEASE HELP ME!" She cried. She couldn't tell if she was sobbing or having a seizure. She was going to die here and she knew very well.

From the distance she could spot another mare. The most that she could make out of the pony was that she was blue. Oddluck couldn't spot anything else about her due to her shear less amount of concentration keeping herself afloat.

"HEY," She called out to the mare. "HELP ME!" She wanted to say please, but she was afraid that if she said anything else water would get in her mouth. 

Oddluck notice that the pony was gone before she could look away. She was just going to leave her here to die! She looked right at her!

Before she knew it, the strange blue pony was in the water right next to her. Oddluck tried to say something to her, but the pony went underneath.

She felt herself slowly being untangled by the mare. Without notice, she was being dragged back to shore.

The mare set Oddluck gently on ground as she started to cough up water from her lungs.

"Hi," The mare said with a smile on her face. "I'm Mizuko."

What she really wanted to do right now was shake Mizuko's hoof, and thank her greatly for saving her life. Instead, out of exhaustion, she decided to thank her.

"Thank Celestia..." she was having trouble with her breathing. "Thank you so much."

Mizuko stared at Oddluck in curiosity. "Why were you attached to a cart in the river?"

Oddluck couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. "He heh... I kind of tried to cross it while still hauling that thing."

She knew it wasn't a very smart idea. She could of avoided all of this trouble if she just took the time to go around.
But she has been hiking for so long, she kind of got tired of taking the main trail. It took drowning to teach her about the danger of detours.

"Th-thank you..." Oddluck said. She was exhausted, but happy someone was there to save her. 

"What's your name?" Mizuko asked. Suddenly looking puzzled on who this green mare was.

"Oddluck."
> Straitjacket vs. Wispy Willow - Winner: Wispy Willow (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Come, Come... I wish to play - by Straitjacket's Author

He was tired. He didn't know how he got here.
"I wish to play! And you will play with me~!"
That voice... did he know that voice? Did the voice know anything about this place?
"Hello? Where are you? What do you want to play?" Wispy Willow asked the strange voice. "Are you a ghost?"
"Something of the sort, I wish to play a simple game. You must find me in this Maze." The voice said, directing to the maze that... just appeared. "You must find me in under 10 minutes. Otherwise, your time is up, and you lose, with your psyche stuck in mine." That didn't sound good... 
"Can I at least see what you look like so I know who I'm looking for?" Wispy asked, and there was a small huff. The mist around the maze converged into one spot just in front of the entrance. What Wispy Willow saw in front of him was pony, standing on his hind legs, with a green aura around his horn. What else he noticed about this Unicorn was that his horn was cracked in the front, and it must have wrapped around to the base of his skull. 
"There, you know what you are looking for. Now, before we begin, I have a set of rules. Rule 1: You must find me, and it has to be me. I say this because I will have quite a few Dummies around to confuse you. Rule 2: I will give you four Beacons. They will serve as your checkpoints. And finally Rule 3: This maze has a mind of its own, and if you try to cheat, you will be punished severely." 
Willow looked at the four glowstick looking objects and held them tight in his mouth.  "Now that that's done, I will introduce myself. I am Straitjacket, and I will be your host tonight. And maybe forever." Straitjacket said with an insane smile and laughed merrily before disappearing in the fog.



"Tick-Tock now! You only have 8 minutes to go before you can find me!" Straitjacket said as he taunted Wispy Willow. Willow already used two of the four checkpoints, and now he was running into dead after dead end. Every dead end there was a Dummy Straitjacket, and every time he find himself lost again and again. Actually, this pony, if he could call him that, was getting on his last nerve. 
"Why not come out and face me yourself huh?! Are you scared?" He called out and mist vibrated at his words.
Oh I would love too... but I'm not the one who needs to find you, in fact I can see you just fine from up here!" 
Willow looked up to see Straitjacket staring at him from above and he gave Wispy a wink. Wispy, being the athlete he is, jumped high enough to bite the crazed pony's tail, but it disappeared without a trace. 
"Oh hahahahaha! I love it when they do that! I always see their see their disappointed looks! Hahahahhaah!!" 



He used all of the checkpoints and the maze still kept going. There was no end is there?
"Oh... only 1 minute left... How will you ever find me in time? Oh wait... you wont. Because I'm always one step behind you!"
He was right. Willow couldn't find him in time. He was always one step behind-- 
"Wait... Behind!" Willow turned on a dime, knowing 100% that this crazed stallion was behind him. He smiled with victory, but his smile turned into a look of confusion, then into one of fear.
Hmmm, that was a nice idea, first one to ever think of that to be honest! Sadly though, I wasn't behind... and your time is up..." Straitjacket said, appearing from around the corner in front of Willow. "Did you even check all the Dummies? I saw you about a minute ago when you turned into this one. I think you stopped checking to be honest."
Willow could only stare as he felt his mind shut down. "Ya'know, I had hopes for ya. You had this... Daring Do vibe, not much anymore huh? Aw who am I kidding, you're a husk by now." He said, picking up Willow and placing him on his shoulder with his magic. "You're mine now, and luckily for you I take care of ALL my toys..."









The Dawn Reveals - by Wispy Willow's Author

With a satisfying shink as the bolt cutters did their job, the two halves of the chain fell aside, allowing the gate to swing aside easily. With a satisfied chuckle, a dark blue earth pony tucked a pair of bolt cutters into a large saddlebag at his side.
“And that’s why you never leave the bolt cutters at home,” Wisp said, pleased at his own ingenuity. He pushed open the gate and, with a conspiratorial look first one way and then the other, headed on in, pulling the gate closed behind him.
Excitement raced through his body as he barely kept from galloping along the uneven and overgrown cobbles. They slowly curved as they ascended the hill, and he had been looking forward to his goal at the top for most of his life.
As his target grew closer and closer, Wisp mentally ran through his list one last time.
Camera. He tapped the device hanging from a strap around his neck. Check.
Flashlight, big pocket. EMF detector...in the side pocket. Audio recorders, one, two, and three, in the back pocket. Water bottle and a spare, yeah. Blanket for the cold, I packed last night. And midnight snack…in my stomach.
He frowned at that last. Well, it had been a long walk from the city… And he’d missed lunch… Well, he’d do better next time.
Besides, he told himself, it won’t be necessary. With as much activity as this joint has, I won’t be here much longer than sundown!
He couldn’t help but laugh at that. Tonight would be the night he would show them all. All those idiots at school, his well-meaning but closed-minded parents, and especially his coworkers at the library. Oh yes, he was looking forward to putting them in their place.
As he reached the top of the hill, his breath caught as he looked upon the most glorious sight he had ever seen: The building was large, mostly made of old stone that was long covered in creeper vines; most of its windows had been broken, there was almost no paint left to peel, and the east wing had collapsed when a nearby tree had fallen into it. It was a wreck, had been all but forgotten for decades, and was likely incredibly unsafe.
The old Manehattan Hospital for the Mentally Ill was a palace in his eyes.
And it would be the place where Wispy Willow’s lifelong obsession with the supernatural and ghosts would be completely vindicated, once and for all.


Seven hours later saw Wisp completely disappointed, incredibly bored, and, to his annoyance, hungry. Midnight had come and gone, and there had been no sign of anything paranormal. He had nearly nodded off twice, but now the cold of the late night and the rumbling of his stomach was keeping him awake.
With a frustrated growl, he kicked at a nearby wall. Wisp had walked the entire building three times, ground floor, second floor, and basement. For the last hour he’d more or less just been playing with his flashlight, nearly killing its batteries. Where were the ghosts?!
He’d done so much research! Working that crap job at the library just because it gave him the best access to various historical records… When he’d found out about the old hospital in the rural outskirts of Manehattan, he just knew it had to be haunted. Sightings were scattered throughout newspaper records since it had closed, and for the past couple years they had skyrocketed on the occasion. And by his calculations, the place was due for an outbreak. 
And here he stood. In this rundown eyesore. Tired. Hungry. Angry.
Completely disappointed.
“It’s not fair!” he whined. “No creepy noises, no weird lights, no levitation or possessions or manifestations… Gah!”
A faint noise, likely the wind, served to emphasis the emptiness of the building, almost like taunting laughter. He kicked the wall again.
“What am I going to tell everypony? They’re all waiting for me… Ugh. Hardback will never let me hear the end of it…”
Sitting down hard, he began rubbing at his temple. The giggle-like wind was growing louder, clearer, and giving him a headache.
“Maybe they were right. Maybe it really is a stupid waste of time…” Now the noise was clearly laughter, though still somewhat faint, as if in the distance. “I wonder if they’ll give me my old job back. This is unbearable! I’m going to have to go back and...and...beg for it!” His head was pounding mercilessly. “And you just know Mom and Dad will be all supportive, without a single, ‘I told you so,’ but you’ll hear it in their voice...and would you stop that laughing?! It’s so very annoy—”
He stopped. The wheels of his brain click once, twice, then realization dawned.
Just who did he think he was talking to?
Bringing out the flashlight quickly, Wisp did a thorough scan of the room he was in. It was large and open, with a few dilapidated beds scattered about. He suspected it had once been the primary ward. It was also empty.
There was absolutely nopony there but Wisp. He was certain.
“Hello…?” he ventured, his voice trembling slightly.
A loud, off-kilter giggle responded. It sounded oddly hollow and echoed off the stone walls, magnifying and confusing where it came from.
Wispy Willow stood stock still, his wild mane and entire coat standing on edge. He flicked his ears this way and that, trying desperately to figure out the source of the laugh. This was the moment he’d been waiting all night--no, his entire life for.
“You’re mine,” he spoke quietly, his lips splitting into a smug smile. Turning off the flashlight, he headed to the main hallway at a quick trot, keeping his ears perked.
The laugh had stopped echoing around, but was now only faintly coming from what sounded like upstairs. It sounded both amused and proud of itself--if Wisp wasn’t so excited, he’d probably be ticked.
Up the stairs and down the hall to the left--the one on the right had long since collapsed--led to an old communal bathroom. He had left one of his recorders here, liking the acoustics of the room for some hopeful EVP. Moving to the little device, he picked it up and was going to turn it on and listen to it when there was a loud hissing noise and the showerheads above him started spewing out freezing cold water.
“Ah!” he cried, jumping back, but far too late. His mane was half soaked, strands of it hanging down, and he could feel his coat clinging to his skin. But what was worse was his poor recorder. It was soaked and likely ruined.
As the water died down, the ghost laughed, hard and proud of itself. Wisp glared at the empty air.
“So, we’re dealing with a poltergeist! Well I won’t be deterred by your stupid tricks!”
Shaking his mane hard, he threw down the now-useless recorder and searched the room, staying clear away from the showerheads. That was when the sound of phantom hooves and a sparkling light passed by the doorway, casting a taunting shadow that Wisp started after.
“Get back here!” he called, passing through the doorway and turning left after he saw the light pass the far bend out of the corner of his eye. The upper floor made a perfect square around the rooms in the center, and Wisp suspected he knew where the poltergeist was headed.
He rounded the corner himself and cursed when there was no light. But he headed down the hall and entered the room on his left. A worn sign next to the door barely read, ‘Activity Room.’
Yes, he thought. The perfect place for a poltergeist…
He entered carefully, going over his many hours of research into the usual methods of various types of spirit. Poltergeists went one of two ways: tricky pranksters or violent monsters. Either way, it was a very physical spirit so a little caution would go a long way.
As he stood just inside the door, the room looked deserted, as it did before. There were a few rotten tables, some chairs, and what were once the distracting playthings of the inhabitants. 
“I will find you,” Wisp said quietly, ready to lift his camera at a moment’s notice. 
“Oooh, a determined one, eh?” came a voice from the ether.
Wisp’s eyes bulged as he cried, “Show yourself!”
“Hmmm… How about, hrm, no!” cried the voice as an ethereal glow lit the room. It was a pale green and was both mildly sickening and unnerving. One of the largest tables lifted into the air and then was crushed, breaking it into a floating cloud of splinters and wooden shrapnel. Wisp was ready for it though, as it was pushed towards the door with wicked force. He leapt, landing on a crooked table, whose legs broke out from under it, sending him tumbling into a roll.
The strange voice laughed, immensely amused with itself. But Wisp had his camera ready and was taking pictures as fast as he could. Objects were floating and flying across the room. Now if only the ghost itself would manifest…
“You want pictures do you? Well come and get me!” cried the voice playfully as all of a sudden the glow faded and everything crashed to the ground. Then, frustratingly, again from the hallway Wisp caught a bright glow as it dashed away. Expecting as much, he took chase, the opposite way as from before. With practiced ease, he was still taking pictures, catching the ghost before it could pass the corner--or so he hoped. He wouldn’t know until later.
As he ran and clicked, they rounded one corner, then the next, and then the last… And that’s when he saw it.
Ahead of him, floating halfway down the hall, was a vague pony outline of almost pure white, foggy light. A stunning silver mane outlined two brilliant green orbs. In fact, the entire head was coloured with a strange green aura.
Wisp couldn’t take pictures fast enough.
“Yes!” he cried. “I’ve done it! I’ve done it! Hahahah!”
The ghost laughed and turned, flying quickly down the hall. Frowning, Wisp cried, “Wait, I need a closer shot!” and started after it. The thing was fast, so fast. It had already gone past the corner.
And that’s when the ground fell out from under Wisp’s hooves as the illusionary hallway shattered and he started tumbling down the very real collapsed wing of the building. He tumbled painfully, wrapping his body around the camera to protect it as he finally, thankfully, landed on relatively soft ground.
Wisp remained on the ground, waiting for the world to top spinning as he quickly tested his limbs. He could feel the burn of scrapes and scratches, but nothing seemed broken, thankfully. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see the barest beginning of sunrise over the horizon. Then he remembered the camera!
To his great relief, it was fine. And better yet, the treasure it held was just as safe.
“Yes!” he cried, raising the camera to the heavens. “I’ve done it! I’ve done it! Finally, proof of ghosts is within my hooves!”
His celebration was cut short by a now-familiar laugh from behind him. He turned, bringing the camera close to protect it.
There was the ghosts, now on the ground. It said, “So I’m a ghost huh? Are you so suuuuure?”
“Huh?” Wisp said, dumbfounded. What did it mean by that?
The hazy light that obscured the ghost began to fade, and a regular pony was revealed to be standing in its place. The details all came into sharp focus: the bright white coat, the silver mane, the green eyes… And a cracked horn, emitting a sputtering green aura.
The unicorn looked up, frowning. “Aw, time’s up. No more magic for a moment… But, wow, that was so funny!” He laughed, falling back on his haunches wildly. “I didn’t know anypony would be here! What a riot.”
“You… You’re…” Wisp didn’t know what to say.
“Straightjacket! There you are!” cried an angry, authoritative voice behind him.
Confused, Wisp turned to see a pony in a doctor’s coat followed by two nurse ponies running quickly from the entrance.
With a wave, the unicorn said, “Oh, heya, Doc! Didn’t take you too long to find me this time!”
The doctor said, “I knew you’d come here, Straightjacket. You’re not as random as you make yourself out to be.” To Wisp, he added, “I hope you’re alright, sir. Straightjacket isn’t violent, but he does like his games.” He gave the unicorn a glare as the orderlies began slipping on a familiar white coat with a great many black straps. “I had him in the city to see a specialist… It’s always risky taking him out, but, the art requires risk, after all.”
He instructed the nurses quietly, continuing his lecture, ignoring Wisp completely. Straightjacket, for his part, kept laughing and telling the doctor of what a fun night he had.
Finally, Wisp could take it no more.
“You’re an escaped mental patient?!” Wisp screeched, his voice reaching a far higher note than usual. “But… But… Why? All this, here, with me… Why?!”
With a creepily wide grin, the unicorn said, “Because it was fun!” Then he laughed, that same eerie, self-pleased laugh that had pulled Wisp into the chase to begin with. Thankfully it was cut short as one of the orderlies put a muzzle on his snout.
Taking the last strap firmly in his teeth, the doctor gave it a strong pull, putting the jacket on securely. The weirdly bleached pony was still laughing, based upon the shaking of his body and wide stare of his eyes, though thankfully the muzzle was keeping him quiet. With a couple words, the doctor sent the orderlies off, the insane laughing unicorn--so clearly not a ghost--on a stretcher between them. Wisp simply stared, disbelief mixed with crushing disappointment and fiery rage playing across his face. He didn’t even hear what the doctor said before following the trio.
Mechanically, Wisp opened the back of his camera, removing the film. He then pulled the entire roll out, throwing it on the ground to be erased forever with the coming sunrise. It was symbolic, the erasing of the film. Representing his absolute desire to completely forget this night.
Instead, as he tread the long, boring path back home, his thoughts were already on the next location, the next hunt. It was never going to be that easy, he realized. If it had been, he would hardly be destined to be the first pony to find irrefutable proof of ghosts. There was plenty of time, and plenty of places calling his name.
But he promised himself, from that day forward: No more abandoned mental hospitals!
> Lilligold vs. Whitewash - Winner: Lilligold (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mercurial - by Lilligold's Author

Approaching the serene storefront of Glimmering Gardens was one of the most nerve-racking experiences in Whitewash’s recent memory. He stole a few deep breaths on the opposite street corner and crossed the road. A meek suitcase trundled along behind him, rattling on the flagstones.

Just a moment before pushing the door, Whitewash paused and half-heartedly tried to smooth out his mussy mane. It flattened under his hoof but popped back up when he pulled away. He sighed through his nose and entered the store.

The bell installed above every little homey shop’s door chimed happily at Whitewash’s entry. He barely had time to register the thick sea of aromas before the mare at the counter gasped. Whitewash locked eyes with her as a quill dropped from her magic. “Oh!” she said. “You must be Mister Whitewash!” She averted her eyes and gathered her tablecloth worth of papers into a shoddy pile. “I, um… I wasn’t… You’re early!” She stuffed the papers in a drawer and put on a smile.

“Heh, am I?” Whitewash said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can come back later if you want.”

“Oh, no no no, don’t be silly!” The mare stepped around the counter and approached him. “I should’ve been ready sooner. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’m Lilligold, as you’ve likely already guessed.” She extended a hoof to him

He took it—perhaps a little too forcefully. “Nice to meet you too! I’ve been looking forward to this.” A lie. “Your letter really intrigued me.” The truth, but for none of the right reasons.

Lilligold chuckled, but it trickled away into silence. They stood there, two near-strangers from a continent apart. Lilligold cleared her throat and said, “Yes, well, I suppose we can get right to it! Make yourself comfortable. I’ll, um, go get the specimen I’d like you to look at.” She nodded and scurried into the backroom.

Whitewash meandered around the store, his eyes glazing over the esoteric jungle. His heart pounded in his throat. Nothing so much as a clock’s ticking broke the silence. Eventually his focus stuck on a flower that loomed taller than him—its four petals rotated like a windmill. A small plaque on the pot marked it at five hundred bits. “Miss Lilligold?” he called.

“Yes?” came the quiet reply.

“Just curious. What did my parents place an order for?”

“They, erm… They wanted a bouquet of quicksilver orchids. For their twenty fifth wedding anniversary, I think. They’re on display near the counter.”

True enough, Whitewash found a little garden just beyond the counter. Amid many peculiar flowers grew a few iridescent silver orchids. Drops of quicksilver gathered at the tips of its petals and fell to the soil, vanishing in a shimmer. Before the flowers lay a plaque marking them at eight hundred bits apiece. Eight thousand for a bouquet. Whitewash bit his lip hard.

He turned just as Lilligold came out of the back. “Here it is!” she said. A potted cactus levitated onto the countertop. Its spines sparked every now and again, and a dull red glow thrummed in the heart of the plant itself—like candlelight fighting through a damp cloth. “Not… well, not quite my most impressive work.” She smiled at Whitewash. “But that’s why you’re here, I suppose.”

Whitewash grinned. “Of course,” he said, taking a step closer. “Just so we’re clear though, no matter whether I can you or not, the fee for my parents’s order has been waived?”

“Oh, certainly!” Lilligold said. “It’s the very least I can do for troubling you to come all this way. I really must send them a thank-you note for recommending you. ‘Best chemist in Equestria,’ they said!” She shrank back and looked at her cactus. “I truly hope that’s the case,” she whispered.

Whitewash chuckled. Years of practice had made it sound carefree and confident even at the worst of times. “I’ll do my best.” He approached the cactus with no right idea what to do next.

The plant lifted in his magic. He pretended to scrutinize it as he rotated it, buying him a few moments to think. “You said in your letter that you thought it could be the neon interacting with the magic somehow?” Whitewash said.

Lilligold nodded. “I ran into my first complication after the initial infusion.”

Whitewash hummed—a genuine hum at that. He may have flunked his chemistry course, but he still had a skeletal understanding of the field. “That seems unlikely. Neon is a noble gas. It doesn’t react with anything.”

“That’s what has me baffled as well,” Lilligold said, watching the cactus herself. “But it seems to be the only explanation. The specific spell it seems to take issue with is the corneus enchantment. I’ve analyzed the spell dozens of times over. It’s as optimized as I can make it.” She looked past the plant at Whitewash himself. “Do you think it’s maybe a combination of the enchantments and the chemical structure of the cactus itself? Arcane gluons having an adverse effect on—” She stopped, and a faint fire lit in her cheeks. “S-sorry. I get carried away sometimes. You’re the expert.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate your input.” Whitewash nodded. Slowly, to give the illusion of thought. He raked his memories for anything he could say or do, and something struck him. His eyes flicked to Lilligold’s counter, to the drawer where she’d stuffed her papers. “Do you have any notes I could look at?”

Lilligold froze up. “Um, I… maybe a few.” She looked away, hiding behind her mane and rubbing one hoof over the other. “I’m not sure I know where they are. Do you really need to see them?”

“It would probably help.”

“Oh, okay.” Lilligold shuffled toward the backroom again. “I’ll go have a quick look.”

Once Lilligold had gone, Whitewash wasted no time. He set down the cactus and slid open the drawer as quickly as he dared. A mishmash of scattered papers—some crumpled, others scribbled and stained, others still immaculate—filled the thing. Whitewash flitted his eyes across the topmost one.



—and Violet tossed her mane back. It caught the sunlight like sheet gold. She smiled at her reflection, wondering what Stardom would think when he saw her. Of course he would compliment her like he always did, even though she so rarely deserved it.
Risking her lengthy styling process, Violet threw herself back on the bed and giggled like a schoolfilly. He wouldn’t pick her up for another two hours yet, and butterflies threatened to burst from her stomach already. She daydreamed the afternoon away.





“A perfect corsage for my perfect mare,” were Stardom’s first words at the doorstep. He bent forward with a complex flower between his perfect teeth and placed the corsage above Violet’s breast. Her heart went aflutter.
“Such a charmer,” she said, twirling a hoof through her mane.
“You look just as ravishing as ever, my dear,” Stardom said. He stepped over the threshold and stole her in an embrace. Fireworks flew when he planted his soft, sensual lips on hers. Violet melted. In that instant, she knew the night would—



A tiny gasp froze Whitewash on the spot. He slammed the drawer and whirled around. Lilligold was staring at him through quivering lenses, a few more intellectual-looking papers in her silver magic. The notes slipped from the air and slapped against the floor quietly.

Whitewash backpedaled and said, “Miss Lilligold! I’m so sorry! I just meant to help you look and I didn’t mean to… to snoop, or anything.”

Lilligold was still rooted—not moving, not speaking, hardly even breathing. Her eyes were transfixed on the drawer. Her pink cheeks flushed darker and darker red. She closed her eyes.

Despite everything, Whitewash still remained focused. He had found a way out of his predicament—not a pleasant one, but a way. “I, er… For what it’s worth, I kinda liked what I read! I mean, the Stardom guy seems a bit too perfect and cookie-cutter, but Violet seemed real! And I dunno how far in that is, but it seemed maybe a little generic—which could be okay, mind you. Depends how you spin it. But I, um… er…” He looked at Lilligold, who still hadn’t moved. “Are you okay?”

Her head twitched to one side. “I…” she began, but it fizzled out.

Whitewash swallowed the considerable lump in his throat. “Look, maybe I can help with this too! I’m a pretty good proofreader.” He slid the drawer back open. “With just an hour or two—”

Lilligold’s magic caught the drawer and slammed it shut. Dense silence gripped the store. “I…” she tried again. She bowed her head. “Please leave,” she whispered.

Whitewash blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’m sorry, but… but I need you to leave.” Her voice was a weak and whimpery, like autumn’s last trembling leaf. “I’m so sorry I brought you all the way down here. This was a big mistake. This is a sign. I—I normally work alone.” She trotted to the other side of her counter, lifting her eyelids to do so. Only then did Whitewash see the tears flooding her eyes.

His heart sank. “Miss Lilligold, I’m very sorry. I really didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, it’s fine. Sorry for your troubles.” She opened another drawer. Her magic flickered a few times, and she bit her lip. Finally she just ducked her head in the drawer and grabbed a little envelope in her mouth. She spat it across the counter and said, “Your hotel information. It’s paid for a week.” Her voice snapped. “Please. Please just go. I can’t take this.”


In complete silence, Whitewash nodded. He took the envelope and dragged himself and his suitcase to the exit. He paused, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Good luck with your project, Miss Lilligold. I hope it turns out great.”

Her back was turned, but she nodded and squeaked out something that sounded like, “Thank you.”

Whitewash left. Out on the sidewalk, he breathed a hearty sigh. He glanced at the hotel information and wandered away, doing his best to push the encounter from his mind. He was fairly sure he’d passed a comic store on one of Elmshire’s labyrinthine streets. Perhaps something there could clear his thoughts.


***


In the midday gloom of her shop, Lilligold wept softly. Her body still shook, although Whitewash had been gone nearly twenty minutes. A small part of her wanted to lash out and hit something, but the only target was the luminescent cactus she’d toiled over for months, so she bottled the impulse up.

Several quiet minutes later, she stood up and straightened herself. She approached the cactus and eyed it sadly. It still looked like a chimera of broken magic and plant life—a mere fragment of what her mind’s eye had imagined. She slid it away and sprawled herself across the desk. She sighed and blew her mane from her face.

Something tingled in her stomach. Lilligold’s eyes flicked down to the drawer that contained her story. That stupid, damned, troublesome story. She considered for a moment before sliding it open and lifting the top page out. She scanned it and hovered her quill over, jotting something in the margins:

Stardom too perfect. Plot too standard. Revise.

She stared at the note for a moment, then scratched a hard line through it. She stared longer and scribbled the note out entirely. Lastly she tapped her quill and rewrote the note in red ink. Shaking her head, she hid the page away and grabbed the cactus in her magic. She trotted into the backroom and set to work.









Whitewash & Lilligold - by Whitewash's Author

“Okay,” I say. “You must admit it was a perfectly good idea at the time. Novel, even.” 

Lilligold stares at me. Her eyes are open just a few degrees wider than is probably healthy for eyes to be. Her mouth is much the same. 

“Exterminators charge so much these days. Fumigation would’ve set you back, what: five hundred bits? More?” 

Pink coat, from what I can tell; silver mane, young, pretty… also very still. 

“And with all these plants in here, that surely would’ve caused all kinds of problems. You’d have had to empty the place right out! That’s like a day’s work right there, maybe two. And storage, looking after them… and then who knows what kind of poisons you’d have hanging around afterwards? No, hardly ideal.” 

Alive! Don’t get me wrong here. Alive and healthy. Just… still not moving. 

“Really, it was worth a try just to see if it worked.” 

I think I see a shiver. 

“Which, you know... it didn’t.” 

A twitch! Definitely a twitch. 

“I, uh… you’ve probably guessed I might have lied a bit when I said I’ve done this before.”

Man, my nose itches. I don’t want to scratch it, though. I get the feeling any movement on my part would be like poking very thin ice. With a flamethrower. 

“But the theory was sound! The theory was sound.” 

I settle for my most disarming smile.

“It seems so obvious, right? Comics are much cheaper than five hundred bits! Have you ever tried a comic book?” 

Still hasn’t moved. 

“They’re so cool. Power Ponies, Bat-Pony, Ant-Mare… man, I grew up on those. You’ve gotta try a few, miss. You’re missing out.” 

I hope those aren’t sirens I hear. 

“... you probably shouldn’t try Ant-Mare.” 

Emergency sirens, I mean. Not, like, soul-sucking singing sirens. Although I hope it’s not those either. 

“But, yeah, they have this interactive mode where you get actually sucked into the comic! And you can, like, actually join in the comic adventures. It’s such great fun. I tell ya.” 

It says a lot about my life that I have to make that distinction. 

“So, you know… put a comic in the ants’ nest, activate the interactive mode, and… voilá! Right? Genius! Anyone would have done the same.” 

Something goes glorp off the ceiling. 

“I didn’t even know these comics could overload. It’s their fault, really! There ought to be a warning about that.” 

Aah, damn it, those are sirens.

“Although I suppose if you’ve got, like, a million friends all trying to use the same comic book, you’re not the sort to read a warning label.” 

Something goes crash off the ceiling. 

“This is a beautiful shop you have.” 

I think she’s starting to breathe. 

“The windows were lovely.” 

Breathing in.  

“Well, anyway - “ 

There is a splortch noise, like the sound a hoof would make if it was lifted off the floor while covered in ant slime. 

“I can see you’re feeling better - “ 

Oh yeah, she’s moving now.

“I was going to charge a hundred bits, but in light of the circumstances - “ 

Very fast. 

“I’ll let you have fifty percent off.” 

***
And that’s why I can’t make rent this month. Also why I have a hoofprint on my groin. 










> Copper Coin vs. Price Back - Winner: Price Back (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Battle - by Copper Coin's Author

Looking up at the schedule for the final round of the Writers of the Equestrian Elite, or WEE as they were more commonly known, Price Back couldn’t have felt prouder of himself. He hadn’t expected to make it this far in the competition. He had met some fantastic writers and ponies. Some of them offering helpful advice. Others he would spend hours talking about the subject.


He glanced slightly to the right of his name to see his opponent’s name. Copper Coin, huh? Raising his hoof to his chin, he let out a slight humming sound.


A stallion approached his side looking up at the same standings. Price admitted that he noticed this stallion standing next to him, but paid no attention. At least… not at first.


“Price Back!” the stallion chuckled. “Who names their kid ‘Price Back?’ Stupid name if ever I heard one. Sounds like Bad Back or Broken Back if you ask me!” It was as if the stallion across from him wanted attention. And he got it. 


Price’s ears couldn’t have perked up faster if he tried as he turned his head to face the stallion. A green stallion with black glasses and a long purple scarf dangling from his neck. Price narrowed his eyes. “I’m Price Back.” 


The stallion glanced over to him, his expression unchanged from an slouching, narrow eyed position, as if he was uninterested in what Price was saying. A silence swept over them for a moment. Shifting his gaze, Price had hoped that this pony would say something.


And say something, the stallion did.


“What do you want? A medal?” 


Not the answer I was expecting, Price thought to himself. “And you are?”


The stallion placed his hoof on his chest, standing up straight, pride emanating from his body like pus from a zit. “I am Copper Coin! Writer extraordinaire!” With a wink and a smile, Copper continued. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”


Price shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”


Copper’s smile vanished from his face, leaving only a scowling frown. “Well, you’re going to by the end of this! This competition is as good as mine! And then, I’ll be a famed writer. Maybe the most famous in Equestria.”


A moment passed as Price thought about his opponent. This might be a good opportunity to learn about this pony who made it all the way to the finals. Even if he is a talkative pony. “What do you mean ‘you’ll be a famed writer’?” Price tilted his head. “Aren’t you one now?”


Copper glance over to the other side of the room as if to avoid Price’s gaze. “Writer’s block… That and I don’t have enough money to cover the publishing costs.”


“Why don’t you just try self-publishing?”


A howl of laughter burst from Copper’s mouth. “Good one. Why would I do something that I can pay somepony to do for me?”


If Price could have rolled his eyes any harder, it was likely his eyes would have fallen out of his skull. Instead of wasting his time, he decided to change the subject. “So, what kind of story have you written? Romance? Comedy? Thriller?”


Copper reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a stack of papers, held together by stables. “The best! That’s all it needs to be.”


Price reached out his hoof. “Mind if I take a look?”


With a shrug of his shoulders, Copper hooved over his writings. “You might as well see the story that’s going to wipe the floor with you.”


Taking Copper’s writing in his hooves, Price pulled a similar looking stack of papers from his own saddlebag. “Want to read mine?”


Copper scoffed. “Read yours? I have better things to do with my time than read somepony else’s hard work.” With those words ringing in the air, Copper rips the stack of papers from Price’s hooves. “Maybe I’ll just skim it.”


As Copper flipped through page after page, Price could only stand with his mouth agap. What kind of pony is this guy? Shaking his head, mentally declaring it nothing, he turned to Copper’s writing, flipping through the pages. As the minutes passed, Price’s heart began to sink along with the quality of the writing. 


Wow… this is actually pretty bad.



***



Wow… this is actually really good, Copper admitted as he read each page. Brilliant characters, a complex plot, commas in the right places! The more he read, the more he was convinced that his story was far inferior to this one. It might actually beat him. 


“So, what’d you think?” Price finally destroyed the silence after what seemed like so long.


Copper raised his eyes up to Price’s dark brown eyes. Sweat perspirated from his neck, his voice started to stammer as he thought of what he could say. He gave a smile and shook his head. “It sucks. You might want to burn it.”


Price’s eyebrow raised. “Burn it? For what?! Why did it suck?”


Shifting his gaze, Copper looked around the hall for anything to come and change the subject, as he gave Price’s story back. “Um… the commas. Their in the wrong place.”


The eyebrow that was once raised, fell into a narrow glare. “Really?”


Copper gave a nod.


“Well, I think that you’re story isn’t all that great either,” Price admitted. “Your premise is solid, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired. For example, your main character seems rather bland. There’s no arc to him. He doesn’t really overcome any kind of obstacle. He doesn’t have any kind of emotional journey and-”


“Well, I didn’t ask you!” Copper bleached, ripping the story from Price’s hooves.


“Yes, you did!” Price retaliated.


Copper held out his hoof. “Let’s not bicker about who said what.” Down the hall Copper trotted his head held high. “I’m going to win that competition and the trophy that comes with it!”


As Copper sneaked around the corner, hiding behind a wall disappearing from sight of Price, he quickly drew a pencil from his scarf and scratched out his name on his story. The only way I can win is to cheat. Carefully and with as much professionalism as he could muster, he wrote in ‘Price Back’ as the author for his story.


The easy part was done. Now he had to get a hold of Price’s story and put his name on it. A slightly harder part. But nothing he wasn’t completely unprepared for. 


Copper poked his head from around the corner, noting Price, simply trotting down the hall. No doubt preparing to submit his work. Copper gave a grin as he eyed his unsuspecting prey. Like a coyote chasing a gazelle.


And with the speed to match, Copper rushed down the hall. Every step carefully place to make it seem as if he was in a hurry. Not paying attention to anything around him. With that speed and carelessness combined, Copper smashed into Price’s body, sending both of them to the ground and the large stacks of paper soaring into the air.


Copper was quick to his feet and made his way to Price’s body. His eyes widened and his mouth giving a shocked gasp. “Price! I am so sorry!” He kneeled down and picked up a stack of papers closest to Price and reached out a hoof to Price. 


With Price taking his hoof, Copper helped him to his feet. “I got you all dirty,” Copper said as he began to brush his hooves against Price’s body. “Clumsy me.”


Price swatted Copper’s hooves away from him. “I’m fine. Thank you.” He glanced down to the stack of papers on the floor. Without another word, he picked up the stack and marched on his way. Ignoring Copper as he went.


Copper looked down to the story in his hooves. A wide toothy grin appeared on his face as his pencil went to work. And like magic, the story’s author had changed.



***



“And now the winner of the Writers of the Equestrian Elite is…” the well dressed stallion announced as he stood in front of the crowd of thousands of ponies. 


The anticipation was more than Copper could bear. He couldn’t wait to hear his name being heard over the mic. To see ponies all over Equestria give him the standing ovation he deserved. All his hard work and struggles to gain attention in the literary community would finally pay off on this one night.


The well dressed stallion opened the envelope and pulled out a small sleeve of paper. This is it! Copper cheered to himself.


“Price Back!” 


If those words were a sharp object, they would have stabbed at Copper’s heart a hundred times in a single second. The crowd began to cheer. Copper’s eyes diverted to his left to see Price standing up from the crowd and smiling. No! I can’t let him beat me!


As Price made his way to the well-dressed stallion to receive his trophy, Copper rushed to the stage and climbed his way on. “Wait!”


The crowd became silent as Price tilted his head towards Copper. “Copper, what are you doing?!” 


The well-dressed stallion glanced over to Copper as he conjured his explanation. “You didn’t win! I won the contest!”


Price raised his eyebrow. “What are you talking about?!”


“I changed the author of my story to you because I thought I would lose!” Copper confessed as he ripped the trophy from the well dressed stallion. “So, now, I’ve changed my mind!”


Price grabbed the handle closest to him of the trophy and pulled it towards him, Copper holding the other handle. “If that’s true, you don’t deserve it after cheating!”


Copper pulled it towards him. “I was cheating! But now I’m uncheating!”


Prince pulled it back towards him. “You don’t deserve it, you rank full-gorged codpiece!”


“Codpiece?!” A fire burst in Copper’s stomach causing him to shove the trophy with such force, it caused Price to tumble to the stage floor by the sudden shift of weight. Price’s hooves abandoned the trophy, leaving it to Copper alone.


With as much speed as his legs could muster, Copper leaped off the stage and ran through the small auditorium. As he approached the door, he heard Price’s voice coming from the stage. “Get back here!”


Turning right, Copper sped down the hall, knowing that Price was right behind him. Down the stretch of hall for 40 feet, he found a ladder. Without a second’s hesitation, he grabbed the steps of the ladder and began to scale it. Looking up, he found a metallic walkway high above him connected to the ladder. 


Reaching the top, Copper darted down the walkway to find a door. Copper opened the door to reveal the outside rooftop of the building. His eyes frantically searching for a nearby ledge he could jump to or fire escape that he could possibly use. However, glancing around, there was none. Celestia, this is why I hate being an earth pony. A Pegasus would have just flown out of this situation telling the earth pony to eat his shorts. A unicorn would have teleported away. 


An earth pony? Nothing.


Before Copper could move, a pair of hooves wrapped themselves around him and dragged him to the ground. 


The trophy flew out of Copper’s hooves as he hit the ground with a thud. Aimlessly, the trophy rolled across the rooftop, finally stopping due to its handle. 


Copper looked behind him to see Price standing straight up and rushing towards the trophy. With that sight in his eyes, his legs acted instinctively, shooting him to his feet and rushing towards the trophy with speed to rival Price. 


The two stallions dived for the trophy sliding across the rough gravel of the rooftop. Each of their hooves grabbed onto one of the handles of the trophy and began to pull. Back and forth, the trophy swayed.


“Let go! I won it fair and square!” Copper spouted. 


“You’re just a sore loser!” Price retorted.


“Yes, but I didn’t lose!”


“You don’t deserve it for trying to cheat, you dissembling boil-brained jolt-head!”


“Well, at least, I’m not a hack writer and a loser!”


With one final tug, the handles dispersed from the trophy, sending the two stallions soaring backwards and the trophy soaring into the air. A clinking sound echoed throughout the rooftop as the trophy bounced off the concrete rooftop and rolled to the ledge. 


With as much speed as he could muster, Copper rose to his feet, diving for the trophy. He wrapped his hooves around it and pulled himself up. A triumphant ‘Ha’ slipped from his lips as he hoisted it into the air. 


Suddenly, two hooves wrapped around his body, shoving him to the ground. The trophy flew out of his hooves and over the ledge. “No!” Copper screamed as he shoved Price off him.


He moved to the ledge, looking down. Below him, shattered into a dozen pieces, was the trophy. “No!” Copper whined. “My trophy.” His sobs broke up his speech. “Ruined.”


Price rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That’s what you get for cheating.”

With that, Price continued downstairs, leaving the rooftop to a groaning stallion and his destroyed dream.









Write and Wrong - by Price Back's Author

“The only cure for a large ego is a hard smack on the head.”- Star Swirl the Bearded			

The chief of police entered the hospital with a firm stride and a stern look on his face. Ponies sat quietly around the waiting room, either reading a magazine or listening to the Canterlot Symphony Orchestra playing on the speakers. Some of them glanced at the large lawstallion, but he paid them no mind.

After all, he had a job to do.

His stride took him all the way to the receptionist desk. Behind it sat a grey mare with a yellow mane and bubbles for a cutie mark. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform and seemed to be staring off into space.

“Miss Hooves?” the chief asked. The mare shook her head and turned to the chief, a friendly smile on her face.

“Yes, Mr. Chief?”

“Where’s the Deputy and the two ponies he came in with?”

“Oh, they’re down the hall, 6th door on the right,” the mare answered. “Or maybe it was the 5th…or perhaps even the 4th…” She put her hoof to her head, scratching it hard.

“Miss Hooves…”

“Well, they’re down that hallway somewhere,” she said, pointing to the hall to the chief’s left. He nodded and wandered off down the hall. It was long, but he eventually came up to the right door, where his deputy sat, his nose deep in a magazine.

“Ahem,” the chief coughed. The deputy quickly stood up.

“Uh, hey there, Chief,” the deputy stammered as he snapped to attention.

“They both in there?”

“Ah, no sir. We wanted to keep ‘em separate like you said.”

“Good.”

“Well, ol’ Copper Coin is in this door on the left, and that Price Back fella is in the one across the hall.”  

The chief nodded toward the left door. “Is he awake now?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been stirring for a few minutes now and he’s really aching to tell us the story.”

“I’ll bet he is,” the chief sighed. With that, the chief pushed the door open and walked into the room, his deputy close behind.

As the duo made their way into the room, they were greeted by an unnerving sight. In the bed lay a pony with his head completely covered in gauze, save for the eyes. His green coat was smudged with dirt, and what little of his black mane that poked through the gauze looked disheveled. His left cutie mark, a pen and paper, was nearly unrecognizable, as a bruise almost entirely covered it.  

The figure turned toward the lawstallions, and his dark aqua eyes lit up when he laid his eyes on the two.

“Chief?” the figure muttered.

“Yes, Copper, it’s me.”

“Thank Celestia,” Copper sighed with relief. “I thought you’d never get here.” The chief pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed-ridden pony.

“So, what happened?”
_____________________________________________________________________________
It began like most normal days do: with me waking up and singing a song. And who could blame me? The sun was shining so bright and the birds were chirping and I couldn’t help but start belting a tune. I think it went something like this:
La la la, this is a happy song!
La la la, won’t you sing along?

Once done singing, I realized that I was running late for work at the library. So I rushed downstairs to have some breakfast. Luckily for me, my lovely mother had already made some eggs and pancakes, which I managed to wolf down quickly. As I rushed out the door, I heard my mother call out to me.

“Have a good day, Copper!”

“Thank you, Mother!” I said with a smile and a wave. “You have a lovely day, too!”

I turned back toward the road, eager to make my way to the Saddlina Public Library to help ponies in their literary endeavors. I may just be assistant librarian, but I love helping ponies discover the wonders of Equestrian literature!

But that’s when I saw him looking at me. It took me a second to register, but I realized who he was fairly quickly by his cutie mark. After all, not many folks in this part have a black inkwell and pen as a cutie mark.

He turned away from me, but that couldn’t stop my heart from skipping a beat. I couldn’t believe it; Price Back, the renowned newspaper writer, in my town! It was just like winning the lottery! I quickly trotted on over to him.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“What do you want?” he said irritably.

“I apologize, sir, but are you Price Back?”

“Yeah, and that means what to you?”

I can positively say that I was shocked by this point. Mr. Back’s behavior seemed absolutely reprehensible! But I was quick to hold my tongue; I was raised in an understanding household, and I knew that Mr. Back had undoubtedly had a bad day of some sort. Maybe his marefriend broke up with him, or something like that.

“Mr. Back, I can see that you’re not in the best mood, and I apologize for any unfortunate circumstances that have caused you to enter this unpleasant state, but-“

“What do you want, buddy?” he interrupted.

“Well, sir, I just wanted to say hello and-“

“Well, you’ve just said hello, so beat it!” He shoved me aside and I landed roughly in the grass. My mouth was wide open as I watched him walk away; how could a pony have such horrible manners?

“You’re a very unpleasant pony!” I yelled to him. He turned to me and made an obscene gesture.

“Deal with it, you pansy!” He then started laughing.

“I’ll be sure to write to your editor! She should know who she’s got as an employee!” He stopped laughing at this and looked me dead in the eyes. Any merriment he had shown previously was gone. He started marching toward me, and I was so horrified. I wanted to move or run, but I couldn’t! The look on his face had frozen me stiff!

Eventually, I started to run, but he was able to tackle me. He then got on top of me and pinned my legs down.

“So you’re a squealer, eh?” he said coarsely.

“Get off me!” I shouted. “Help! Somepony help!”

“Sure, I’ll help you…” he said with a grin nopony would mistake for pleasant.

At this, he began to punch me, wailing punch after punch onto my face. I tried held up my legs to block the blows, but he just pinned them down with one arm and kept punching me with the other.

“Stop! Help!” I cried.

“Oh, a tough guy, huh?” he said with a foul smirk. “My master would enjoy you…”

“What?!” Suddenly, without warning, clouds gathered around us and lightning struck nearby. Smoke and sparks flew, and a horrible roar came from within the haze. Once it cleared, a horrible beast with a red body and giant horns came toward us.

“Look, Master!” Price hissed in delight. “I’ve got fresh meat for you!” The monster looked down at me and gave a toothy grin.

“Well done, Price Back! This'll be a fantastic feast!” Then from out of nowhere, he made a giant hammer appear in a flash of green fire. “But first, I need to mash him up!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” I screamed as he swung the hammer down toward my head.
__________________________________________________________________________________

The sheriff stared at Copper, his face remaining stoic.

“That’s your story?” the sheriff finally answered.

“Of course!” Copper squeaked. “I know it seems unreal, Chief, but Price Back really did do this! Him and his demon master!”

The chief nodded and stood up from his chair. “Well, thank you for your story, Copper.”

Copper nodded. “Thanks for listening, chief.”

The sheriff and deputy made their way outside, going to the room across the hall. When they entered, Price Back sat on the bed. He too looked somewhat worse for wear, though he was by no means as roughed up as Copper. His black mane seemed a little ruffled, and his legs looked like they had some scarring; however, they looked like they came from an older injury and not the recent tussle. His right hoof sat in a bowl of ice and his back legs hung loosely off the side of the bed.  

“Mr. Back?” the sheriff asked. The pony looked up at him, his dark brown eyes shimmering somewhat.  

“That’s me,” the pony affirmed.

“Mr. Coin across the hall has accused you of assault and summoning a demon to devour him.”

For a moment, Price just stared at him, no emotion registering on his face.

Then he started laughing.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” the dark colored pony cried hysterically. The sheriff and deputy looked at one another, smirking.

“I’ll take that as a no, Mr. Back?” the sheriff said with a knowing grin.

“You most certainly may, Chief,” the brown pony said, the last few chortles leaving his mouth.

“Well, regardless of his believability, we still have to get your side of the story, Mr. Price Back. Just to make sure.”

“Of course.”
_________________________________________________________________________________

I had come to town looking for any stories that would interest my newspaper, the Equestrian Grazette. It had been a rather slow news week in the surrounding towns, so I thought that Saddlina would have some sort of story that would catch some interest. So I came walking into town this morning, heading toward the center of town.  

Suddenly, I heard a giant crashing noise coming from behind me. I looked and saw a green pony with large glasses and a purple scarf come stumbling out of a house.  

“Get, get!” I heard a mare screech. “Go do your job, you bum!”

“Aw, lay off, Mom!” the pony whined.

“And try to be civilized! No mare wants to date a stallion who shuts himself in his room all day!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange. The pony looked my direction, so I snapped my head to face forward again. But soon, I heard the trampling of hooves behind me and the pony was soon beside me.

“Hey, you’re Price Back, right? The writer?”

“Uh…yes, that’s me.” I was surprised that he knew who I was, as well as slightly dismayed. Nothing ruins anonymity like a fan.

“Cool! Hey man, I’m a writer too!”

“That’s nice. Listen, I’d like to talk, but I’m on a schedule and-“

“We’ll walk and talk, dude! I’m going this way too, so it’s no problem.” I sighed internally. Just what I needed; a fan and a chit-chatter.

“So, listen, I got a ton of stories that I’ve written over the past few years, but they keep getting rejected. Freaking publishing companies, y’know? Always demanding perfection. So anyways, I was wondering if you had time to look a few of them over and give an opinion!”

“Thanks, but no can do. I’m on the move and I’m busy enough as is.” I was lying, but I really wanted to shake this guy. Besides, he probably needed an editor more than a writer.

“Aw, come on!”

“Sorry, Mr.-?

“Coin. Copper Coin.”

“Listen, Copper, if you really want to get some help on your writing, just ask somepony around here to be your editor.”

“But everypony around here is stupid! They wouldn’t know literature if it was decreed by the Princesses.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s got to be somepony around here that can give you a helping hoof.”

“Nah, man. Just a bunch of zoned out illiterates.”

“Copper, even if that’s the case, I can’t help you. I’m busy now.”

“C’mon, dude! You’ve got to know somepony!” At this point, I was getting desperate. I don’t hate talking to ponies, but he was getting on my nerves.

“Alright, if you’re really that desperate…” I stopped and reached into my sack, pulling a pen and paper out. “I’ll give you the address of my editor at the Equestrian Grazette. Her name is Written Word and she’s-“

“Woah, wait! Written Word?”

“That’s right. Something wrong?”

“Oh yeah, man! Big time! I’ve sent my stories to her plenty of times, and she always sends them back with a bunch of suggestions and crap! A real bitch, you know?”

I froze. “What did you say?”

“Huh? Dude, calm down! I’m just saying it as it is: Your editor is a bitch.”

I threw my right hoof at him. Unfortunately, I missed his face and slammed it right into his left flank.  

“OWWWWWWW!!!” he yelled. “Dude, what the hay?!” I myself stymied a scream; that punch had darn near busted my hoof! But I was still too angry to care.

“You want to call ponies names?!” He was running, but I wasn’t through. I chased him around, desperately trying to lay a hit on him.

“Man, chill out! No need to get mad over a unicorn!”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?!”

“Stop being an idiot! You know unicorns run this society! They’ve got all the magic and money, man!” I stopped chasing him and stared at him, awestruck at his stupidity.

“You’re not worth it,” I grumbled as I returned to walking.

“Yeah, get going, you little wussy!" I heard him jeer. "Go back to your unicorn bitch overlord!”

I threw my bag at him. He ducked and moved aside. Unfortunately, he bumped into a ladder during this dodge. Before I knew it, a paint can fell on his head.
______________________________________________________________________________

“…And then I was brought here.”

The chief turned to his deputy. “Deputy, does this story collaborate with the other witnesses’ reports of the incident?”

The deputy looked up from his notetaking and nodded. “Sure do, Chief. To the letter.”

“Well then, Mr. Price Back…” the chief spoke. “It would seem you’re clear of charges of assault and demon summoning.”

“Huh? I mean, yeah, I get the demon dismissal, but aren’t I still guilty of assault?”

The chief smiled. “Mr. Price Back, we’re not a bunch of tight-asses out here. This isn’t Canterlot, where every single infraction is punished. Around here, we let some things slide. Besides, most of the town probably thinks ol’ Copper Coin deserved what he got.”

Price seemed taken aback for a moment, but he soon regained his composure. “Regardless, I still think I should’ve had more self-control.”

“Maybe,” the chief nodded. “But for now, just keep that hoof on ice and get on back to your editor.” He grinned slightly. “Maybe she’ll give you a raise for fighting for her honor.”

“Hah! Written Word wouldn’t raise my pay if I was the only writer in Equestria!”

“Well, take care of yourself anyway, Price Back,” the chief replied as he and the deputy shuffled out of the room. They made their way out into hallway and walked back to the receptionist area. Miss Hooves still sat there, scratching numbers into a piece of paper.

“Well, if there’s 20 doors in the hallway, and he was 1/3 of the way down…” she wondered aloud.

“He was in the sixth door, Miss Hooves,” the chief calmly replied.

“Oh, that’s right!” Miss Hooves exclaimed, slapping her desk. “It’s always the number six!”

“Have a nice day, Miss Hooves,” the deputy said with a smile.

“You too, Deputy…er, Whatsyourface!” She waved to the two of them as they left, then looked back down at her paper. “But the sixth door isn’t exactly a third of the way down the hall! There must have been an error in the calculations somewhere…” 


> Streamline vs. Minié Ball - Winner: Minié Ball (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

How Unladylike - by Streamline's Author

"Sweet Celestia, this sucks." Streamline’s alice blue muzzle flicked back and forth as he frantically scanned the sides of the foyer for escape routes. "Where's the exit?"

"Oh no you don't." Scatterbrain’s hooves grabbed Streamline’s tie as he prepared to wander off. It tightened like a noose around his supervisor’s neck, forcing him to let out a gag. "Fantastic, now it’s wrinkled. Please hold still."

"Hurry up, they’re gonna think we’re together or something, and I wouldn’t be with anyone in a white suit." Streamline chuckled as he scanned the glamorous interior of Whinny World’s Stable 33. "The happiest place in Equestria. That's what we call ourselves."

Colt whinny’s Stable 33 was truly the embodiment of Equestrian Capitalism. The monochrome photos taken during the park’s construction hung behind ornate wooden frames. It seemed sometimes as if Colt Whinny himself were presiding over the events held inside, judging whether the occupants were worthy of carrying on his legacy.

“Here we go.” Scatterbrain looked to the ceiling letting out a sigh. “You want to sue for false advertising?”

“If the skin weren't coming off my muzzle, I'd do it in a heartbeat.” Streamline stamped at the floor, like a foal waiting in line for the big colt rides. “I’m here on work, so I will have as much fun here as I would at work.” Streamline tore away from Scatterbrain’s hooves as his last button was fastened. 

"Geeze boss,” Scatterbrain grumbled. “Just pretend to have fun, and who knows? You just might just have some for real.”

The wooden foyer doors opened to a sea of immaculately dressed ponies, glistening in their jewelry like the chandeliers hanging above their heads. They gravitated to each other like schools of fish, all hardwired to take the same cues and laugh at the same jokes.

Streamline meandered between groups, making it his business to research and catalogue the nuances of socializing in each of the cliques that had walled themselves off from each other. In truth, it was fun. Not because of the ponies he was talking to, but the challenge of bypassing the groups’ exclusivity.

During the day it seemed as if solutions found themselves. Sure it ensured Streamline remained at the upper end of the corporate food chain, but there was never any resistance - no battle. He looked at his surroundings like an arcade, full of games prepared to be mastered, though he would never admit it to anypony but himself.

As the night drug on, it seemed as though every group had lost it’s novelty. After an hour and a half had crawled by, Streamline had reached a first name basis with two thirds of the occupants with phone numbers from the remainders. The numbers and business cards would find their way to the bottom of his upper-right office drawer soon enough, or until the princesses were overthrown. He glanced over to Scatterbrain. More often than not the pony he was talking to would flee inconspicuously in the opposite direction, leaving Scatterbrain to rub the back of his head with a hoof wondering what he’d done wrong.

“Do you always take such pleasure in watching your friends flounder?”

Streamline choked on the last few drops of his drink. He quickly turned to the table behind him, swiping up a napkin as he cleared the Champagne from his throat. He turned back to face a tan mare draped in a lace dress reclining in the chair to his right. “Excuse me?”

“You’re letting your friend drown out there.” Said the mare, chuckling. “The way you’ve been playing the field, I’d dare say you have have enough experience for the both of you.”

“You might not be wrong,” Streamline said, “but me knowing how to swim won’t do him any good when he’s already in the water. He’ll learn, it just - takes him a while.”

“I saw you talking with a zebras,” the mare said twirling a dangling lock of her bunned, black mane in her hoof. “I don’t see too many of them in here often.”

“Yes, well they’re the creative team behind whinny’s newest animation film,” Streamline reminded her. “The Zebra and the Crag, it has the potential to appeal to a new aud - ”

“I have seen their pitch, Mr. Streamline,” the mare said, looking down to her rose colored drink as it swirled. “Frankly I wasn’t too impressed. I mean a Zebra princess?”

“We aren’t giving her wings and a horn if it makes you feel better.” Streamline reached to his back, swapping his emptied glass with an unclaimed one, full to the brim. His own chuckles were nervous and awkward. Who was this mare, and how did she know him? “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” said the mare, flashing a tight grin before relaxing her cheeks. She dangled a hoof in his direction. It sparkled and rattled as the pearls by her wrist clacked against one another. “Minié Ball.”

“Lovely name,” Streamline said, giving the lace swathed hoof a shake. “I must admit, it makes mine seem rather dull in comparison.”

“It does seem a tad bit conventional,” Minié admitted. “Why not just change it?”

“It fits what I do,” said the chair pony, arching a brow. “And I don’t think my parents would ever forgive me” - he shrugged his shoulders, averting his gaze to his off-gold beverage - “Farmponies.”

“Hardly an excuse,” Minié scoffed. “You aren’t the only one here who was raised on a farm.”

Streamline furrowed his brows. “You don’t seem the type.”

“Tuché.”

Both ponies jerked towards the crowd as a silk clad unicorn mare stomped away towards the exit. They traced her path back to a soaked Scatterbrain, his eyes still clenched to keep the wine in his hair from dripping into his eyes. He pursed his lips, jerking the tie from under his suit to wipe his face clean.

“Excuse me for a minute, please.” Streamline folded a mass of napkins under his wings before trotting over to a wine stained Scatterbrain. “I told you not to wear a white suit.”

“Ha ha, give me those.” Scatterbrain’s false laughter died as he pulled away the monogramed napkins. He patted at his until all the crimson streams had been soaked up. Streaks of red still covered his clothes and face, ensuring he would receive no respect for the rest of the party. “So who are you talking to? Friend of yours?”

“Minié Ball,” Streamline said. “The resident racist.”

“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun?” Scatterbrain said, tossing the ruined rags onto the nearest table. “Racism accusations are pretty serious business. You have any proof?”

“First, she says she was raised on a farm,” Streamline began, “but look at her, her skin’s too fair, and she has no moles to speak of. Judging by her accent she came from near the Dodge Junction area meaning she had and has plenty of chances to get sun. She didn’t work on the farm, her family supervised a plantation. The only sun she got was when she wasn’t under her umbrella or with her tutors.”

“That still doesn’t mean she’s a racist,” Scatterbrain said running a hoof through his hair. He let out a gust of wind through pouted lips. By the orders on his breath and his current state it was obvious he had been mixing his drinks. “That just means she’s spoiled. You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“She certainly didn’t waste any time voicing her disapproval of a zebra centric picture.”

Scatterbrain bowed his head, only looking up to his boss with vehement disapproval.

“When I come back I’m sure you’ll change your tune.” Streamline labored to his hooves and trotted back over to Minié’s table with a smirk. He shook his head, as he flashed his teeth, eliciting the same reaction from the Dixie mare. The wooden chair creaked as his flank fell to rest.

“You’re friend really is clueless.”

“I’ve tried to teach him but he just won’t learn.” “I think he’s got a bit of stripe in him.” Streamline and Minié broke into a muffled fit of laughter. They both took a sip from their drinks in an attempt to stifle their giggles.

“Do-Don’t worry,” Minié said between gasps. “Your secret's sa-safe with me!”

“Now, as customary for Colt Whinny upper management,” Streamline said adopting a serious look. It was an insult to the one he would use during interviews, his eyes cheery instead of cold. “I feel almost obligated to ask you what your favorite Winnie movie is.”

“Wow,” Minié touched a hoof to her chin. “I’m not sure. They’re all so wonderful.”

“We are in Stable 33,” Streamline said. “I expected that would be an answer. But you can’t tell me there isn’t one that’s a bit closer to your heart than all the others?”

Minié’s eyes were half lidded. With the alcohol obviously taking it’s toll, Streamline knew she would be far less choosy with her words. “I guess not.”

“Let me try guessing,” “I got hired to guess, let’s see how good I am at it. Toy Tail?”

“Nope.”

“The Reindeer King?”

“Eww, no.” Minié furrowed her brows, pulling her head back in surprise.

“Hrmmm.” Streamline arched his brows, wrinkling his forehead as he bowed in hesitation. “The Hunchbuck of Trotterdame?”

Minié made a buzzer noise with her mouth. “Nope, try again. Last chance.”

“I gotta say,” Streamline said, cocking his head to one side. “You’ve got me stumped. I guess I’ll just have to go with one of my personal favorites... Hymn of the Hills. They don’t even make it anymore, that can’t possibly be it.”

“That’s-” Minié said, her jaw dropping. “That’s your favorite too?”

“Sweet Celestia!” Streamline said, dropping his muzzle into his hooves. “It was right in front of me the whole time!”

“This has been great,” Minié said. “We’ll have to get in touch when we can fly strait. I better go find my valet. I’m sure he’s just bored to tears.”

“That’s what you pay him for.” Streamline said.

“Keep in touch,” Minié cooed.

“I will.”

Even as tipsy as the mare was she seemed to glide across the tile to the exit with unparalleled grace, like a swan on a lake. She would have no problem finding a stallion to suit her needs - and eccentricities. Streamline had his own faults, one of them being too lazy to make it work.

Streamline wandered back to a table occupied solely by a stallion in a nightmarish white suit. He was muzzle was plastered to the table, inches away from an abandoned crowd of glasses and dishes that were piling up as the emerging janitorial staff started consolidating their workloads.

“I was right,” Streamline began, “again.”

“Pwove ert.” Streamline was forced to bow towards his drunken friend to make sense of his half-sensible words. They were garbled as his lips flapped against the hard surface of the table.”

Scatterbrain heard the chair elicit a signature squeak. There was only one stallion who made a chair groan that way. Scatterbrain tilted his head back, setting crossed and unfocused eyes on the bleary visage of his supervisor.

“Only if you don’t. She hate’s The Reindeer King, loves Hymn of the Hills, and thinks you’re part Zebra.” 

“I can’t believe it.” Scatterbrain’s muzzle fell back against the table with an audible thump. “I lost all my faith in Equinity in a single night.”

“See?” Streamline shot the hobling stallion a grin. “You are learning.”









Minié Ball vs Streamline - by Minié Ball's Author

If there was any one thing Streamline hated, it was inefficiency. He had taken the Colt Whinney Corporation and pulled it out of mediocrity from the bottom listings of the Cow Pones stock exchange to the very top of the industry. He had money; he had mares on the arm; he had a legion of lawyers, accountants and office drones slaving away every day of the year to keep him on top.

So why, exactly, had he taken a twelve hour train ride from his Manehattan penthouse suite out into the boonies, to find himself standing in the boiling southern Equestrian sun, knocking on the door of a massive cloud mansion with colonial pretensions in the middle of the most fertile farmlands this side of the Applelachian Mountains?

Oh, he knew. He knew. Because, apparently, he had hired the worst negotiators of all time to broker a deal with the Mason-Dixie Agricultural Corporation and his in house food processing industries. Because, apparently, they had been so piss poor at their jobs that the heiress had been offended to the point of requiring assurances of the Executive Director that the deal was going to be beneficial to them both. Face to face.

It was inefficient. And there wasn’t anything Streamline hated more than inefficiency.

He was snapped out of his reverie by a rather attractive young Zebra in a Prench maid uniform. “Oh you must be Mistah Streamline! Please sah, let me fetch the lady of the house. If you’d like to sit a spell on the veranda, a servant will be along shortly with refreshments.” She turned with a very pleasing sashay and sauntered back into the house. Streamline cleared his throat uncomfortably before casting about for a seat.

He was not left alone in the heat for long. A veritable train of Zebras and Donkeys came out, setting out pitchers of ice cold sweet tea and rather small, delicate looking sandwiches. They disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, the result of long training, no doubt. He shook his head as he reached forward to help himself to a drink and a few nibblies, but sat up as the Prench Zebra opened the front door and waved through a striking young pegasus mare.

She took a seat, taking the time to elegantly situating her dress just so. “Oh, sirrah, you must be the Mister Streamline from Manehattan?” She drew a paper fan across her face and tittered coquettishly. “I had not been informed that the CEO would be such a handsome gentlecolt.”

“I, uh. Yes. Quite.” Streamline cleared his throat and shifted nervously in his seat. It was so hot all of a sudden. “And you must be Miss Ball?”

She giggled again from behind her fan. “Why yes I am. I trust you were not kept waiting long? Refreshments to your liking? I swear that the Princess, bless her heart, brings the sun closer to the plantations every summer.”

“Oh, yes, everything was great. Wonderful staff you have here.”

“I must say that’s awfully kind of you. We’ve always been a more open-minded and personable sort here at the Mason-Dixie estate. Our neighbors said it couldn’t be done, but we showed them that you could bring a Zebra to the most rarified of civil functions.” She leaned back in her sun chair, fanning herself lugubriously. “I tell you they can be trained.”

“Well yes, that’s—” His brain finally caught up to his ears and his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

She made an odd, dismissive motion with her fan. “Well, bless their hearts, they do try, but they can be so shiftless.” She sniffed derisively. “Why, my poor late father Mason Jar—bless his poor, departed soul—he just had to always stay on top of the field Zebras, just to keep them working through their daily rounds. Drove him to an early grave.”

“Zebras? In your fields?” Streamline stared. “Um, as an aside, about the Zebras…”

“Oh, the Zebras? I’m afraid you won’t find them in the fields anymore. After all, Celestia was very clear after the laws were passed up in Canterlot how things were going to go with the Zebras.”

Streamline sighed, visibly relieved. “That’s a weight off my chest, Ms. Ball—”

She reached forward and tapped him playfully with her folded fan. “Please, Mr. Streamline! Call me Minié. ‘Ms. Ball’ makes me feel like a cow put out to pasture!”

He smiled weakly. “Minié then—”

“And I wouldn’t be worried about any sort of violation of the labor laws here. All our Zebra workers are well paid, well respected veterans of their fields.”

“I—”

“The bulk of our Donkeys from south of the border, of course.” She nodded judiciously. “We had to find some way of keeping costs low, after all.”

Streamline nodded slowly, his face locked up in a rictus of intense concentration. “I’m sorry.” He nodded again, rubbed at his chin with a hoof as he muttered quiet little nothings to himself. He finally looked back up at Minié. “What’s this about the Donkeys?”

She began to fan herself again as she looked out over the fields, replete with bountiful harvest of fruits and vegetables and—as Streamline had just noticed to his dismay—teams of raggedy Donkey workers being watched over by burly Zebras in reflective sunglasses with rather unfriendly expression on their faces.

“Well, I know that as a big city businessman you must find our work down here rather quaint, but we still find our own little ways to cut a corner or two.” She dropped him an outrageous wink with that. “Donkeys come from the south, right out of the Burros, and we bring them to our bosom and give them a place to stay, food to eat, and work at ten percent the going rate of an Earth pony.”

Streamline stared into space. “Ten percent,” he whispered.

“Mmhmm, ten percent.” She brought the fan to her chin tapping as her brow furrowed. “I admit that Donkeys are a slovenly lot who need a lot of guidance to make them Celestia fearing, hard workers like ponies are, but with some time, some love and firm but fair policy that involves barely any whipping at all, we’ve managed to increase our productivity by two hundred percent. Two. Hundred.” She punctuated each word with a smack of her fan on the table.

“Two hundred percent.” Streamline continued his slow nodding as she rolled over his muttered remark.

“Admittedly some of them do try to run before their very generous contracts run out and we can’t call the guard to pick them up or they might ask just the rudest questions to a genteel lady like myself, but that’s nothing an Orthrus can’t handle.”


“Orthrus.” He nodded again, but then his eyes unglazed and he gawked at Minié. ”Orthrus?”

“They’re quite efficient, I assure you.”

“Now wait a minute here.” Streamline heaved himself to his hooves, and gave Minié a hard stare. “Now, I might be able to be swayed by talk of cutting costs and increased productivity, but I will not stand for any talk of, of, of hunting Donkeys with a two headed monster dog!” He began to walk away turning his head back to the seated belle. “Good day to you, Ms. Ball.” He said icily.

She looked at him calmly. “Our accountants have worked out that this deal has a projected value of 885 million bits per quarter, twice your previous projections.”

Her head cocked as Streamline’s mouth pursed and sweat beaded on his brow. 

“Now why don’t you have a seat over yonder and I’ll ask one of the house Zebras to make us a new batch of tea?”

Streamline sat.
> Silver Lining vs. Haystacks - Winner: Haystacks (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silver Lining vs. Haystacks - by Silver Lining's Author

Haystacks had a good day.

However it was not a good day due to him completing his chores or setting up the fields for the next harvest. It was simply a good day because he was outside, enjoying the tranquil outdoors. A good day because he is in the place he belonged. His trust old cart trudged along quietly, freshly oiled from a generous pony who helped when his cart broke down. He doubted that would happen in a busy city like Canterlot or Manehatten.

His thoughts were interrupted, as his eyes noticed a fork in the path. While usually he took the forward route back to his home. Haystacks decided to take the scenic route, he felt he earned it after all the hard effort he did today. Taking the unkempt road, he ventured down to, in his knowledge, a park.

The scenic path turned out for the best, as Haystacks remembered he use to play around this area a lot during his colthood, especially in the park. Petal Linings and Eclipse Celebration were his best friends; is such a shame he doesn’t know what happened to them. Maybe they moved to some stuffy city someplace else.

Clank

Haystacks froze, he knew exactly what that sound was and it bothered him a lot. Looking back, one of the cart’s wheel had snapped off (again). He gave a defeated sigh, as he realised he didn’t have the proper equipment to make a hasty repair. Thankfully the cart was empty so unless there are some cart thieves around (on which he doubted), it was relatively safe to leave it here and find some help. The park was the nearest area where ponies might be so he re-adjusted his hat and the hay stalk in his mouth in an accepted fashion. He gave one last look at his cart before bolting away to the park.

To Haystacks’ dismay, the park was absolutely empty (or so he thought). He scanned the area until he saw a small blue pony, sitting on a bench underneath an oak tree. Thinking he or she might be helpful to his cause, he set of a brisk pace towards the bench-sitter.

As he got closer to the pony (the mare he corrected himself), he started noticing features that are not common in this town. Her coat colours have an unusual tone to it compared to most other ponies in this town, consisting of shades of blue. While he did meet some residents whose hair were a shade of blue, he never met anyone that looked like she dropped from the sky. He then noticed the pair of appendages on her sides. Wings.

Pegasi were an uncommon race among these part, the occasional few dropping in for a quick night stay before leaving again. However, in all of the times Haystacks spent living here, this Pegasus was the first Pegasus filly in this area he ever saw. He was only around a few metres when he stopped, the Pegasus filly had cried. He could tell by her puffy eyes and the slight shine on cheeks as the light bounced off them.

Haystacks debated inside if whether to talk to her or leave her alone. She seemed young as her small stature showed it but leaving someone alone with their thoughts is a sign of respect. Disregarding respect, he made up his mind and decided to talk to her.

“Hello? Are you alright?” he asks cautiously. The filly seemed to have been in deep thoughts, as she snapped out her daze.

“Ah! Who’s there?” she yelled, looking around as if something was going to grab her. She noticed Haystacks presence, giving a wary smile and scooting back a bit on the bench.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you knew someone that might be able to repair my cart.” He said, pointing a hoof in the general I came from. She looked at him blankly, making Haystacks feel like he just said something wrong. “Oh right, my name is Haystacks and our family’s farm is a few kilos away from here, what’s your name?”

That question seemed to get rid of her blank look. “Um… my name is Silver Lining and I am just visiting my aunt here?” she answered doubtfully, a bit of confusion was shown on her face.

Haystacks figured she was hiding something, perhaps it was personal, perhaps she did something wrong. A question still lingered in his mind, a simple one, brought up when he first saw her. Why is she here?

“Can I ask a question?” he asked, the filly looked back at him, if unsure on what to do. He gave her some time to answer.

Silver Lining was in a turmoil, she had always been a good filly, (although a little airheaded caused her to get in trouble occasionally, she never did anything wrong purposely). She always dutifully followed her older brother’s advice, however there was one advice that stood out the most. Stranger Danger, and yet as she was confronted with a stranger, she didn’t know what to do. Maybe for this time, this stranger could answer some of her own questions. He generally seemed and looked like a nice pony.

“Err, sure… if I can… ask some of my questions?” Silver Lining replied, though less courage than she expected.

Haystacks gave a warm smile, he pointed with his hoof to the bench. A spot right next where she was sitting. Silver Lining gave a slow nod, giving the gesture that he can sit down. He walked over, sitting down with a content sigh.

“Today has been a busy day, moving the fields, helping Ol’ Wrangle put his cattle back. A little cloudy but nevertheless a sunny day. Oh right, heh, my question. Do you anyone that might be able to fix a broken cart wheel?”

“My mum can but… she is a little busy right now”

“Oh that’s alright” he said, getting up from his spot. “Well nice to meet you Miss-“

“Wait! You haven’t answer my questions!” Silver Lining shouted causing Haystacks to halt in his tracks.

“Oh sorry, Silver Lining was it?”

“Yeeup, but… you can call me Silver, everyone does”

“Alright” Sitting down on the bench, “What are your question Silver?”

A quiet pause, silent enough to hear the cicadas chirping away. “My parents,” She started. “They have been fighting a lot and now I can’t see my dad in Cloudsdale anymore. So I had to move to Manehattan, I tried asking my mum what happened but all she says ‘It’s over’ or something like that. I don’t even know what to do anymore. Can you help me?” Tears formed around her blue eyes, pleading Haystacks on whatever means to help her.

“I think… I know what’s going on Silver, your parents are going through, I’m sorry to say this, a divorce.”

“A divorce? What is that?”

“A divorce is when… how do you do put this, is when your parents don’t love each other and they want to stay apart”

“Don’t love each other… Stay apart? Wait, does they don’t love me too? I don’t want that, I want my parents to stay together!” She bawled, tears now fully running down her face. Silver felt something wrapping around, something warm and soft… and smelt too much of dirt.

“Hey, it’s alright. No need to cry,” he said gently.

“But-“

“Shh, now are you going to keep crying or are you going to do something?”

Silver looked up at him. “But what can I do?” Haystacks left her go and turned to face the sky, the look of reminiscence on his face.

“When I was younger, my mother used to get sick a lot and sometimes it seemed like she was dying. My dad and I both knew that wasn’t going to happen but we were still worried. One night, she really seemed like she was not going to make it, we called the local doctors over and there was nothing they could do about it. My mum either battled it through the night or death.”

“My dad got real upset about that, but he was a stallion who can keep face. That’s what I thought when I was younger until I found him one night, staring into starry night skies, tears dropping off from his cheeks. Sadness was a tough thing to deal with and knowing my dad was probably going through a rough night. So I did I could do, I gave my dad one of the biggest hug I could do for my age.”

“Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this Silver. Divorce is never a good thing, and it always has one thing, sadness. Your mother and dad might be in their saddest days of their lives, fear and doubt on what to do. Just like we felt on that night.

“Oh, so I should give them a really big hug?” questioned Silver.

“Well… alright that works.”

“But, I don’t even know my dad is and my mum is always in her room. She hardly ever comes out like they… abandoned me or something.”

“Silver, do you know much your parents love you?”

“I… don’t know”

“What’s your favourite food?” asked Haystacks.

“What, huh? Well, cotton candy of course! They’re so fluffy and soft and really yummy.” She announced with great enthusiasm. “They also look like pink clouds.”

“And love it a lot?”

Silver gave a quick nod.

“Image your love for cotton candy and times that by all the stars in the night sky. That is how much your parents love you.”

“Wow that is… a lot” responded Silver.

“Silver, even if your parents don’t like each other, that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”

Another silence filled the air. The horizon coloured with fiery hues as the sun lowered itself for the night. Haystacks looked at Silver and noticed she seemed more relaxed. The skies were indeed cloudy, with some cirrus clouds lazily floating by.

“I noticed your name fits a certain idiom,” said Haystacks, breaking the silence.

“Really? People mentioned that but I never knew what it meant.”

“The idiom ‘Every cloud has a silver lining’ means that something good can be made from a bad thing” explained Haystacks.

“Wow that sounds really awesome, so if I drop my ice cream, I can make something good from that?”

“Well no, but I think you’ll find out soon. Now shouldn’t you be off back your place? It’s nearly sundown and your mother might be worried sick about you.”

With a sudden realization, Silver Lining jumped from her seat. “Horsefeathers! I need to go, thanks for the chat Mister!”

“Before you go Silver, what’s your parents’ names?”

“Um, my dad’s name is Aerial Chaser and my mum’s is Petal Lining, why do you ask Mister Haystacks?”

“…oh? Nothing, if your mother ask where you were, just tell Haystack kept you company.”

“Sure thing! Cya later Mister!” With a quick farewell she launched off and flew over the tree lines, before vanishing in sight.


Haystacks woke up with a screaming rooster. Groggily rising from his sleep, he went into the kitchen, his dad working on making some breakfast. Sitting down, he found a tiny note, its bordered marked with tiny petals.

“Dad, why is there a note on the kitchen table?”

“A unicorn mare gave it to me this morning, something about helping her filly and repairing the cart or something. Honestly I was more surprised a unicorn decided to help some Earth Ponies. She did look familiar however…” he rambled, ranting about how stuffy unicorns should stay in those complication cities.

The note said in stylish writing, “Thanks for helping out! P.S Your cart wheel should be fixed now! Signed, Petal Lining.

Haystack laid back on his seat taking a sip for his favourite tea.

Today is a going to be a good day.









Haystacks vs. Silver Lining - by Haystacks' Author

It's a warm summer night. Haystacks and I meander our way through the attractions, bearing from tent to tent like two lazy bees. 

The village carnival only came once a year, he said. I was more than willing to see it myself. It'd been a while since I'd even bothered to think of having fun. It was Haystacks' idea to go together, though, and I was admittedly concerned at first. Hadn't I'd already imposed on my host enough? 

A cider tasting tent was mentioned. Haystacks went on at length about the neighbour's incredible pumpkin pies and fritters and milkshakes and sandwiches and sautees. My stomach gets growling. Food and drink are two very serious incentives - ones that shut me up pretty quickly. There's something about the taste of fresh cider and home cooking that will never leave me. It's not a thing you can just find in Canterlot these days. 

As we walk and talk, I can smell the faint aroma of pastry cooking. The clatter of cider mugs over the distant chant of music and foals squealing is a pleasant backdrop to a conversation about this year's wheat crop. 

We're halfway to the Cider hall. Neither of us are connoisseurs, but we decide to try it anyway for something to do. I'm having a ball of a time – more fun than I've had in an age. It's not the drink talking (perhaps).

He spots her after I do. He's also the first one to go over to her. She couldn't have been older than nine, maybe ten, the little pegasus filly.  She's between the coconut shies and the merry-go-round, tears leaking from foggy blue eyes, looking for all the world like a pale blue statue seated on the cold grass.

“Hullo. Are you okay?” He asks the little filly. I watch on in quiet uncertainty.

I remember feeling annoyed with myself. I was walking along, minding my own business. I noticed the little filly sitting by herself, cotton candy on the ground next to her, and carried on. Well – I say 'noticed'. I noticed her like I noticed somepony else's foal who was upset in a big Canterlot supermarket, in that I didn't notice her at all. I'd taken about five or six extra steps towards the cider tent when I realised that I wasn't talking to anyone.

It's not until he speaks that she seems to notice to him for the first time properly, the big farmer. She hiccups once, her chin quivering. The trails of her tears carve damp paths of azure down her cheeks. 

She opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it once more. She hiccups faintly, and lets a tiny sob out. Fresh tears spill from her brimming eyes. 

I then see a strange thing happen.

Haystacks removes his hat. Setting it to one side, he sits, and then lies down gently on the grass, so as to be eye level to the filly. His empty cider tankard, dangling from a woven cord around his neck, slips softly onto the ground.

“Hey, hey...” there is an assured, almost absurdly abnormal calm to his voice. “Don't cry. Are you lost?”

I canter over, feeling awkward. The filly glances up at me with teary eyes, and I quickly kneel down and  give my most sympathetic smile. Like I'm trying to offer my condolences to her, or something. I glance uneasily at Haystacks, maybe looking for some guidance. But he only has eyes for the little filly, and he smiles and speaks softly like it's the most natural thing on the world.

“Are you lost?” he asks again, after a brief pause. His voice is lowered to a gentle murmur, as though she were some sort of frightened rooster. “Where's your Mummy? Do you know where your Mummy is?”

The little filly's mane falls in blue and dark blue braids either side of her head, and they wobble from side to side as she shakes it. Then she lets out a great sniff, and looks back at the grass between the prone Haystacks and herself.

I feel a tiny peal of sadness tumble down through my heartstrings.

“My name's Haystacks,” Haystacks says. “What's your name?”

The filly's gaze follows one of Haystacks' giant hooves from the ground up until she is looking at him. She blinks once or twice, and he smiles patiently and kindly, warmly back. 

“S-Sliver,” she says, her voice a fragile squeak against the clamour of the carnival behind us.  “Sliver Lining...” she trails off, gazing uncertainly at the very big pony.

“Sliver Lining, huh?” The crows feet at the side of Haystacks' eyes wrinkle as he smiles broadly. “That's a pretty name, Sliver. It's nice to meet you.”

It clicks with me that Haystacks is clearly attempting to sooth the filly with a gentle word or two, but it doesn't seem like it has the desired effect – or at least, not at first. The tiny blue pony looks over to me, still somewhat untrustworthy. I follow suit and introduce myself as Haystacks' friend, making sure to lower my voice like he does. I say that it's a very pretty name, indeed.

She hiccups again, and uses a hoof to wipe her cheeks. The tears cease, though the corners of her distant blue eyes are still red and damp.

“So you don't know where your Mummy is?” Haystacks cooes. “I think we can help you find her, can't we?” he looks over at me hopefully, still wearing that same warm smile.

I'm taken aback. I nod my agreement and make a show of it to the filly. That seems like the right thing to do, of course. 

For whatever reason, Haystacks' eyes light up at my agreement. So do the little filly's, although they are quickly masked again under a tiny veil of sadness and mistrust.

“M-mom said I wasn't supposed to follow strangers,” she mumbles. “She said I was supposed to stay here while she went to find my brother.”

Haystacks' smile falls a touch at the thought. But like the clown ponies that we saw earlier, it falls only to spring up a little wider.

“Well, that's okay. Do you want us to sit here and wait for her to come back with your brother?”

I think that particular proposal catches the filly by as much surprise as it does me. I almost – almost – put my hoof in it by voicing some form of objection about the time, but neither the filly nor Haystacks notice me anyway.

“U-um,” she says, and I can hear the tension in her soft voice rising again. “I, um, I wandered off. I wanted to look at the rides, and I thought I wouldn't go far, and I d-don't know where she asked me to go, an-an-an-an–” she hiccups, and I can see the tears beginning anew.

“Well do you want us to try and find that then?” Haystacks asks, trying to interject before she sobs. “Would you like that?”

She bites her lip, and very quickly nods three times.

“Ok,” he says, humming thoughtfully. “Where might that be? Hmm...” He makes a show of tapping one grass-stained hoof against his chin.

“I-it's by the fairy floss stand,” she says. “But I don't k-know where that is.” 

“Aha!” Haystacks says, padding his hooves flat to the earth, overtaken by a tiny, mock-playful moment of inspiration. His eyebrows arch, and he winks broadly at the filly. “Well I saw a sign that says fairy floss back there.” He gestures over his shoulder with his head, back down through the avenue of tents and stalls that we have traversed. “It's just down there, past the big top and next to the fortune teller.”

The little filly nods uncertainly.

“If you want, we can walk with you there, if you'd like,” Haystacks says. “But you go first, okay? That way, we can just make sure that you find your Mummy, and you don't have to follow strange ponies.”

The proposal, while strange, seems to sit well with her – or at least, well enough to mollify her. The tiniest smile creeps onto her face.

“Okay,” she chirps, this time without a hiccup. She makes to stand, and notices the sticky remains of her cotton candy, lying in the grass to one side.  Half-heartedly, she reaches a hoof towards it. “Oh...”

“What's wrong?” Haystacks says. “Was that yours?”

She nods, and retracts the hoof. She stands to all fours.

“Oh, never mind then, Sliver, never mind,” Haystacks cooes, lifting his neck a bit to meet her. He makes to stand, and I follow his lead, though at the last moment he stoops, snatching his hat between his teeth. 

“Ere,” he mumbles, leaning gently towards the filly. “'Ew can wear 'ish instead.”

She shies instinctively, but Haystacks plops the warm Stesson onto her head. Several sizes too big, it droops down comically over her eyes, and after a moment of fumbling, she slips it back so that it sits flush against her outstretched ears. 

Haystacks smiles. And even though he towers over the filly, she offers a shy smile in return. 

The farmpony ushers her between us, and just in front of us so that we walk three abreast with her in front.

“Here,” he says, pointing into the middle-distance with his hoof. “Do you know where to go? The big top is that way...”

We walk off into the bustle of the carnival, pacing ourselves so that the little filly leads all of the way. It's only a few minutes of slow trotting, with us gamely following. Haystacks peppers the filly with questions whenever she looks worried. They're simple things, happy things, like if she is enjoying the carnival and what her favourite food is, and whether she had had her braids tied at the stall by the hairdresser for two bits, and what her mother's name is, and what she looks like so that we can spot her. Confidence-building, I think – I wonder. Haystacks seems to regard every answer to her question with a happy disposition. At some stage, I even lose track of where the acting ends and he begins.





The fairy floss cart is bright and strapped with balloons, and absolutely swarmed by ponies of all ages. Nonetheless, it's easy to pick Sliver's mother at a distance - a deep blue mare with a long, sleek mane of chocolate . She paces with all the frenzy of a distraught lioness, drawing endless circles around the cart, her head turning this way and that.

“Mama!” Sliver shouts, and the haggard-looking unicorn jumps in alarm. She spins her head once, twice to find the source – 

She claps eyes on us, and in particular, the little filly. With a shuddering gasp that seems to permeate the clang of carnival chimes, she all but gallops over to Sliver, skidding to a halt and scooping the little filly into a one-hoofed hug. Immediately, she bursts into an endless trail of worries.

“Sliver!” she reprimands, half-chiding, half-sobbing. “Oh my stars, you're okay! I thought you were abducted, or, or – or something, I don't know! –  you should have stayed still while I went to find your brother! But never mind, angel, I'm so happy you're safe... here, where did you get this?” Her attention turns to the hat. 

The little filly points at us both. The mare follows her hoof to me, and then Haystacks (the obvious cowpony of us), her mouth crested into a tiny 'oh'.

“Did... did you find my little Sliver?” She says, regarding us both with the same uncertain eyes of her daughter. 

Before we can even offer a response, she flings  both forehooves around both of our necks, and pulls us into a hug so unimaginably tight that stars begin to burst before my eyes.

“Oh how could I even begin to thank you!? You found my baby, thank you, thank you so so much! I'm so grateful, and – ”

This goes on for some time. At some point we are both released, and the mare continues to gush her thanks. It's not something I'm really used to, but I manage with a graceful smile. Haystacks, though, ever the solitary creature, turns a faint pink around the face and spends most of the time twisting his hoof into the grass, mumbling about how 'tweren't nothin' and other such bumpkin-isms. It's a rare moment of discomfort for him, I observe with some amusement. 

As the mare speaks we are joined by a colt, who Sliver bounds over to, nuzzling him warmly. The way he stands by the mare paints her as Sliver's brother, but he seems strangely distant from goings-on, only taking the briefest notice of his sister.

“I'm hungry,” the colt mumbles, somewhat bizarrely, pawing at his mother's leg with one hoof.

His mother pauses, casting him a fond look. “Oh, I – oh. Yes. Just a second, sweetie,” she says, nuzzling him lightly. She turns back to us, a calmer tone falling into her voice.

“Really,” she says quietly, still slightly breathless. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Haystacks, still recuperating from his bone-shatteringly tight hug, still a little pink around the cheeks from all the praise, smiles in reply. He offers an afterthought rather absent-mindedly.

“Well, ah, if you're all hungry, you could head into the fresh produce tent. It's just behind the Ferris Wheel. There's freshly cooked Pumpkin pie and Apple juice for the little ones,” he says, looking at the filly and colt, who are chattering away happily. “And, um, maybe a cider for you, Miss,” he adds, smiling sheepishly back at the mare. “But just make sure ya' tell them Haystacks sent you. I'm sure it'll be on the house that way.”

The little filly and colt give a simultaneous gasp of delight at the mere notion of fresh pumpkin pie. The unicorn mare looks more than a little baffled, her hooves halfway to her purse.

“Don't you?...” she says, still gazing at him with some degree of confusion.

I realise she's trying to pay us as some kind of reward. Haystacks waves a hoof, shaking his head.

“Ah, no, no thank you, that's alright. I don't need it. You just go and have a drink and a slice of pie and relax, okay?”

The mare offers something close to a disbelieving glance. And in the short seconds between her foals tugging at her saddlebags and her turning to them, she passes us both a priceless look of unending thanks.

The little filly returns the hat, giving Haystacks a happy grin. And then, without any further fuss or bother, they are gone. The colt and filly gambol away into the crowd, and the mare turns gamely to follow. They are gone as quickly as they came, vanished into the technicolour blur of the stalls, stands and ponies.

I turn to Haystacks. Aside from a mote of embarrassment still fresh on his cheeks, he seems unperturbed by recent events.

We travel to the cider hall, and enjoy a few well-earned drinks.

Haystacks insists that it was nothing anypony wouldn't do around these parts, anyway.

Summer nights at the village carnival.
> Candy Cane vs. Mango Leaf - Winner: Mango Leaf (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Candy Cane vs. Mango Leaf - by Candy Cane's Author

Candy Cane had nothing to do. Normally, on hot summer weekends like this, she’d be out selling lemonade and baked goods to earn a few extra bits, but nopony was coming to her stand. She’d stood outside of her house for almost two hours before giving up and walking into the center of town to find out where everyone was. Ponies usually stood in long lines at her stand just to buy some of her treats, but only one or two showed up today. It was kind of weird. Maybe there was something exciting going on that was diverting everypony’s attention away from her stand.

It didn’t take long at all to find out where all of her customers had gone. They were gathered around… something. Candy Cane couldn’t really see what exactly they were so interested it; she was too short to see over the heads of all of the other ponies. After all, she was just a filly.

“Yo!” she yelled, “what’s going on? I can’t see!” Everypony ignored her except for a colt who shoved her aside in annoyance. She almost growled at him for his rudeness, but then realized that it was probably an accident. She continued into the crowd of ponies.

“Oh hi, Candy Cane!” somepony perked up. “Have you tried this stallion’s dessert yet? It’s so cool!” Candy Cane looked over to the source of the voice and saw a colt happily licking ice cream off of a cone. Candy Cane didn’t know this colt’s name, but she recognized the face. He was one of her regular customers and always bought lots of her brownies and raspberry lemonade.

“Isn’t that just ice cream?” she asked him.

“That’s what I thought at first, too! But the stallion selling it - Mango Leaf, I think he was called - says it’s not. It’s something else, but I forget. Maybe frozen pudding? Either way, it’s delicious,” he exclaimed enthusiastically. 

“Uh… it still just looks like ice cream to me,” Candy Cane said doubtfully, eying the not-ice-cream.

“Whatever. It’s awesome, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I guess I might as well see what the big deal about all this is,” Candy Cane figured. “Can I try some of yours first?”

The colt snatched his cone to his body and glared at her. “No way!” he said defensively. “Get your own; this is my frozen thingy.”

“It’s that good, huh?”

“You bet it is,” he exclaimed. “I’m going back for seconds once I finish this one. I think I’m going to try the pumpkin flavor next, ‘cause I haven’t had anything pumpkin-flavored since October.”

As the colt turned his attention back to his slightly melted frozen thing, Candy Cane continued on through the crowd of ponies, forcing her way through and nodding her head in acknowledgement as some of them recognized and greeted her.

Finally, she reached her destination: a wagon with colorful menus plastered to the sides. The shutters of the windows were wide open, and even though she was short, Candy Cane could easily see that the inside was packed to the brim with large coolers, barely leaving any space for the orange stallion inside. He had to awkwardly maneuver around a tiny area as he joyfully levitated his frozen treats over to his customers.  

"Next up?" he called out. Candy Cane trotted up to the wagon, oblivious to the eye-rolls she was receiving from the ponies who had been standing in line for almost an hour.

"There she goes again, being ignorant. Her mother really needs to teach her proper etiquette," one mare grumbled.

Her friend silenced her. "Oh shush, it's fine. She works so hard every day running her own snack stand. Give her a break."

"She only does it to make money, you know. She makes baked goods in the wintertime with love and care, but in the summer? All she cares about is the money."

Candy Cane heard this last part, but she ignored it because it was true. She didn't see anything wrong with wanting money, though. 

Candy Cane stopped in front of the wagon's window and looked up at the smiling stallion. "Hello there, and welcome to Mango's! My name's Mango Leaf. What’s your name?” he asked.

“My name’s Candy,” Candy Cane informed him.

“Nice to meet you, Candy! Would you like to try some of our famous frozen yogurt?"

Candy Cane glanced at the menus and raised an eyebrow. "Do you even sell anything other than frozen yogurt?"

Mango Leaf scratched his head in thought.  "Hm... well, I'm currently working on a new menu item - frozen potato chips on a bed of cotton candy. Would you like to be the first customer to try some?" 

"That sounds kinda weird. I'll just have the frozen yogurt thing."

Mango Leaf chuckled. "I have 43 flavors of that. You have to pick one."

"What's your most popular flavor?" Candy Cane inquired. 

"In this town it seems to be apple, for some reason. Where I'm from, however, people know me for my BSM - that is to say, my banana-strawberry-mango flavor."

"I'll have that, then," Candy Cane decided. "And where are you from?"

"I'm from Hoofalulu," Mango Leaf told the filly as he turned around to scoop frozen yogurt out of one of his coolers.

“I’m from Canterlot. And Hoofalulu is a tropical place, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Mango Leaf confirmed. He turned back towards Candy Cane, holding a cone of multicolored froyo in his magical grasp. “It’s always really warm there, so-” suddenly, he froze, his eyes locked on something behind Candy Cane.

Candy looked around, but she couldn’t see anything that might have warranted the sudden shock from the stallion. “What?” she asked.

“Y-your cutie mark,” Mango Leaf stammered.

“What about it?” Candy Cane demanded.

“Is that… a hot chocolate cutie mark?” he demanded, not removing his eyes from her flank.

“Technically. It’s a picture of hot chocolate and a candy cane, see?” she turned herself to the side to give Mango Leaf a better view. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, it’s just… why ruin a perfectly good chocolate drink by heating it up? It’s a waste!” he cried out.

“What’s wrong with hot chocolate? It’s delicious!”

“It’s warm! I can’t stand to see a filly whose only destiny is to make terrible drinks,” Mango lamented, levitating the yogurt cone over to the frowning filly with the unfortunate cutie mark.

“It’s not-” Candy started, but she was interrupted by Mango Leaf.

“It’s simply awful. You have a wonderful personality, and you could’ve been such a great member of society! What is your main goal in life, aside from your special talent?”

“My main goal? It’s to make a lot of money and be rich. But Mango, I-”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You’ll never make any money by brewing up hot chocolate. Frozen yogurt, on the other hand, brings in a lot of profit. If only you had gotten a cutie mark in that instead…” he trailed off mournfully.

“Mango Leaf! Listen to me. My talent isn’t making hot chocolate; it’s in bringing out the magic of the winter holidays. Hot chocolate - and the candy cane, which you are still completely ignoring - are just representations of my talent,” she explained.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a lover of that accursed drink,” Mango Leaf argued.

“What does that even… okay, never mind that. Look at it this way: do you enjoy cutting mangoes in half?” the younger pony asked.

“Um, no, not really. I mean, I don’t not enjoy it, but it’s a mundane task. I- oh, now I see what you’re getting at,” Mango admitted.

“Exactly. While I may have a mug of hot chocolate as my cutie mark, that doesn’t mean I particularly enjoy it. It’s just part of what I do.” Satisfied that Mango was no longer appeared to be bothered by her cutie mark, she gave a curious lick to her froyo, and-

“Woah…” Candy Cane couldn’t say much more as her tongue exploded with an onslaught of flavors. She stood very still for a second, taking in the deliciousness, then jumped into action and completely devoured the rest of the cone at speeds that would impress even the Wonderbolts. When she finished, she looked up to see Mango Leaf grinning joyfully at her.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” he laughed.

“Oh yeah!” Candy exclaimed enthusiastically.

“That will be two bits,” Mango added. Candy Cane gladly gave Mango the money, along with an extra bit to show her appreciation.

“Oh, thanks!” he said gratefully. As he levitated the bits into his cashier, a thoughtful look crossed his face. “You mentioned that you wanted to be rich, right?” Candy Cane nodded in confirmation. “Well… how would you like to help me out this summer? I’m thinking of staying in Ponyville for a few months before resuming my travelling.  I’d give you a percentage of the money we make.”

Candy Cane’s eyes widened and she let out a small gasp. “Really?” she squeaked. Mango Leaf nodded.

“I think we’d work well together. You taught me something today, and I’d love to have you work with me this summer. You seem to have valuable advice to offer, even though you’re a foal and I’m an adult. You’d make an excellent business partner.”

“I’d love to!” Candy Cane squealed, dancing around on the tips of her hooves.

“I look forward to working with you, Candy. Your shift starts at eight tomorrow morning, okay? Don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” Candy promised, and she stepped out of line to allow the next customer to purchase something. She skipped home, thinking thoughts of frozen delights and banana-strawberry-mango. 









Mango Leaf vs. Candy Cane - by Mango Leaf's Author





Mango Leaf gazed at the poster on the wall of Sugarcube Corner, absently sipping his milkshake.

It might've been an odd sight for some ponies, him outside in nothing but a simple green scarf, sipping the cold beverage in the snow. In fact, he blended in about as well as a pair of colorful gummies in plain vanilla yogurt: an orange and green mote amid all the white.

But, with his long history of sales there, Ponyville was well-versed in his eccentricities.

As such, he was simply greeted by several ponies on their way inside. Where it was warm.

"Thinking about it?" a young voice asked, making him start, then frown. He knew that voice. He slowly craned his neck to the side, examining the small winter-wrapped pony that had approached his table. Pink coat? Check. Green eyes? Check. Red and white mane and tail? Check and check.

Even the mug of hot chocolate floating in the warm pink aura of her magic field was a spot-on imitation of the one on her flank, sans candy.

Mango Leaf snorted and turned back to his milkshake. "Long time, Candy Cane."

The filly shook her head and, without asking, sat across from him. "A year, actually. And you still owe me an apology."

"An apolo—" Mango sputtered before interrupting himself by slurping milkshake through the straw while gathering his wits. "Okay," he said once he had cooled down. "I’ll bite. An apology for what?"

"Last year's Hearth’s Warming," Candy Cane replied, pausing to sip her hot chocolate "You froze my cake."

"You threatened me."

Candy Cane shrugged. "You froze my cake. All I want is an apology. And I was thinking we could do business together."

Mango sighed, closing his eyes. "Is this another of your ideas like that one time when you tried to monetize air?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"That was not my best idea," Candy Cane grudgingly admitted.

"And I told you so."

Candy Cane's eyes narrowed. "And I never asked for input from a self-centered, twice-a-year pony that only sells a single product!"

Mango nodded. "And this is why we don’t do business together," he said, finishing the last dregs of his milkshake. "You're bright and you’re motivated, Candy, but you have a very short fuse."

He pushed the empty glass and slid back from the table. "Have a good night, Candy. Don't go home too late or your parents will be upset."

He didn't wait for a reply, trotting away and out of sight of Sugarcube Corner.





Still sour from his conversation with Candy Cane, Mango made his way back to his wagon. He'd parked right next to where the library had been a year ago. Now, a few shanks of wood poked through a hill of snow.

Reaching it, he ran a hoof along one of the sides. The little sliding windows were closed, of course, and the bar beneath them and the accompanying stools were all folded away. In warmer times, ponies would sit and make their orders, enjoying their conversations with each other and Mango.

He sighed. 

Now it was all wintery and cold. The ponies here were delicate creatures that couldn't fathom a good frozen yogurt in the middle of a cold, snowy day. 

He snorted.

It was the best time of the year for it, too! The yogurt wouldn’t melt! Obviously!

Grumbling, he opened the back door and stepped into his wagon, lighting it with his magic as he lay down on his cot and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the contest.





The next morning, Mango Leaf stood beside his wagon, stretching and shaking off the sleep. One thing he had to give to Ponyville: they had fantastic mornings. 

"Things to do!" he said cheerfully, looking at the vast expanse of snow. "Get chocolate from Bon Bon! Buy spices from Smoked Paprika!" He grinned. "Cinnamon, vanilla... hay, cumin. I feel like mixing cumin with fruits and yogurt. I bet that’ll change the way ponies look at—"

"Hey, Mango!"

Mango groaned.

"Are you entering the contest? What are you making?" Candy Cane asked.

Mango Leaf took a hesitant step back. "I don't know yet. It's not easy thinking up something original, you know?"

"Well if you do, you'll be up against some tough competition!" Candy Cane pointed out. "Bon Bon is participating, and she's amazing with hot chocolate."

Mango rolled his eyes."I know, she sells me some for my frozen, chocolate-covered fruit every few months. I know these things, Candy."

Candy Cane smirked. "Well, then you know what you're up against. Still." She patted him on the foreleg. "I'm not sure we can find anypony that likes to suck ice cubes for in the middle of winter, so maybe it's a good thing you're not in."

When Mango growled, Candy Cane shrugged. "Oh, look at the time! I guess I should get back to my project! Later!"

Mango kept smiling until she was gone. Then he frowned. "It. Is. On."





"Oh, come on!"

Candy Cane smiled from behind the table. "Hi, Mango! Are you going to sign up for my contest?"

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with a hoof. "I should've known."

The filly giggled. "Well, what did you expect? My special talent is making winter holidays special and festive! And what better way to do that and make some bits than organizing a competition fostering the core values of Ponyville?"

Mango sighed. "Okay, yes, yes, I would like to sign in." He levitated the quill.

"Great!" Candy Cane smiled and motioned with her small hoof to the list in front of him. There were several names already there, some he recognized, some he didn't. "As soon as I get your entry fee and an apology, you can sign in and select the category you want to compete in."

Mango hesitated. "What?"

"I want an apology, or you can't enter."

"That's extortion."

"That's teaching you good manners."

"Candy, you even liked the frozen cake when you ate it."

"But you didn't ask."

Mango pouted. While it was undeniable that the frozen version was superior, she had been very, very upset with him, even if she had liked it in the end. "You're right, Candy." He sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you first. Can you forgive me?"

"For-given!" She cheered. "Now sign in! And just so you know, it has to be ready by tomorrow morning, ten o’clock sharp! And I’ll be checking on everypony to make sure everything is going well."

Mango nodded and started walking away. "My wagon’s next to where the library used to be. Should be easy to spot."

"See you soon!" Candy called, waving her hoof.

"I'll be ready!"





"I'll never be ready," he told his reflection. "I have no clue. I had no intention of joining, but Candy Cane taunts me and now I'm pretty much screwed.” 

He had... fruit? Well, frozen fruit.

In fact, he had the most amazingly large frozen strawberry the size of a pony's head.

He could... cover it in chocolate?

No!

He'd turn it into a giant bowl for his best berry yogurts! Throw some gummies in!

Wait.

"No! Bad Mango! Bad!" He banged his head on the table. "That is not original! You might as well quit now if that's the best you can do!" He glared up at his reflection.

A knock on the door made him scramble. He opened it quickly and looked out then down. "Oh. Candy Cane." He chuckled nervously. "What brings you here?"

"Just checking on you!" the filly said, smile ever-present. "It's almost six, so I figured you must've done a lot already."

"Uh, yes! Of course I have! It's a thing of glory!"

Candy Cane tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "Can I see it?"

"Um. Yes! No! Okay, fine," Mango muttered, sitting down on the stairs so he could be at eye level. "I have no clue what I'm doing."

Candy Cane patted Mango's shoulder comfortingly. "If it helps, you're not the only pony having a tough time. Turns out that Bon Bon really didn't want to compete but Lyra signed her up."

Mango blinked. "What? But... Bon Bon's finest chocolatier in town! Why wouldn't she participate? She'd had the competition in the bag, especially with the Cakes not around this time."

Candy Cane shrugged. "She wasn't feeling it this year, I guess. It's too bad too... with some inspiration, both of you would be awesome." She smiled and pranced away, leaving Mango thinking alone.





Mango Leaf made it to Bonnie's Chocolates and Candies soon after, and was stopped by Ditzy Doo, who shook her head. "She's in a bad mood, I think," the pegasus whispered. "I want to get some things for Hearth's Warming but I'm afraid to walk in."

"Next time ask!" Bon Bon growled her concentration fully on the batch of chocolate at hoof. "Don't randomly sign me up! Ugh. That mare!"

"So, it's true then?" Mango asked, walking into the shop. "You're not competing?

"What, come here to gloat about it?" Bon Bon asked, giving Mango a withering look.

Mango grinned uncomfortably. "Nah, I was just surprised. I thought you'd wipe away the competition."

Bon Bon sighed. "It's just… I've been unable to think of anything! The same old desserts won't cut it."

Mango Leaf sighed, sinking into one of the the confectionary’s chairs. "I know, I'm having the same problem. I can't think of any frozen product I could make that would make the cut."

"It's too bad you can't just team up," Ditzy said, finally walking in. "Hot and cold? That would be amazing!"

Mango Leaf looked up at the exact moment Bon Bon stopped stirring. They looked to each other, then to Ditzy.





The City Hall was packed with ponies eating, drinking and discussing.

How was the day so far?

How absolutely adorable had the school play been?

How frightfully frigid was the weather?

And, of course, the food competition at hoof.

The judging panel—Mayor Mare, Rarity and Candy Cane—had already declared the winners for the entrée, drink and the main dish. The competition had been tough, with Carrot Top's Spicy-Honey Roasted Veggies winning the entree, Berry Punch's cinnamon-mint margarita the drink, and the main course being ex-Manehattanite chef Main Course's almond soup. No big surprise there.

However, the moment Mango Leaf, Bon Bon had been waiting for was finally here. The judges were going to finally decide the best dessert of the night and, although they were confident in their skills, there was always the chance defeat’s bitter taste would rest heavy on their palettes.

"How's it holding?" Bon Bon whispered nervously.

"It's holding," Mango assured her. "I'm keeping the spell carefully monitored... it's going to be okay."

"I hope so," Bon Bon whispered back.

Mango sighed. "Yeah..." He stopped talking when a competitor brought some sort of creme dessert to the judge's table. "Y’know, I bet if I froze that, it’d make an awesome—"

“No! Concentrate!” Bon Bon growled at Mango before turning to the pegasus beside her. “Ditzy, you’re sure it’ll—”

"It'll be fine, Bonnie." Ditzy giggled.

"Mango Leaf, Ditzy Doo and Bon Bon, please come forth!" Mayor Mare called.

"Well, here we go," Mango muttered, following Bon Bon up to the front. He levitated the covered platter and set it on the table.

"Tell us about your dish," Mayor Mare asked.

Mango Leaf cleared his throat. "We thought about the lessons of Hearth's Warming and how to represent them."

"So... instead of working against each other, we decided to team up with Ditzy Doo," Bon Bon added. "We think our dessert represents the unity we ponies have enjoyed since the three tribes all finally made peace."

At her nod, Mango Leaf levitated the cover off the plate. Several oohs and aaahs escaped from the crowd as the dessert was revealed. It was a huge, bright red frozen strawberry, with thin striped cuts filled with frozen yogurt floating on a fragrant cloud just big enough to nestle it.

"The cloud is infused with vanilla sugar," Mango explained, "And was made by Ditzy Doo. It's like biting into the lightest, fluffiest vanilla meringue you could ever imagine."

He paused as the judges dug in, with Candy Cane herself cutting the giant strawberry to reveal a molten, thick, creamy and dark chocolate filling, still warm and slowly oozing, mixed with raspberries and blueberries. 

"The molten chocolate filling and frozen-yogurt strawberry was a combined effort of Bon Bon and I," he explained, smiling at their looks of delight and surprise.

"This—" Mayor Mare gasped out after her first bite of all three elements combined. "This is delicious! I never thought you could have something hot and cold and fluffy all at the same time. Much less have it taste this good!"

"I love the presentation as well!" Rarity giggled. "It's so chic! And the theme is perfect!"

Candy Cane nodded, stuffing her mouth with chocolate, strawberry and vanilla cloud, before gulping it down and adding her two bits: "I love how you managed to capture a bit of each tribe with this dessert! I can't think of a more perfect example of unity between ponies!" 

She whispered to the other judges, who whispered back in return before she beamed at the three of them in between bites. "I think we have our winners!"





"Well, that was certainly something," Bon Bon sighed contentedly, hot cocoa firmly in hoof. "Thank you for talking me into this, Mango." 

"And thanks for letting me help, guys!" Ditzy added. "I can buy Dinky a new flute with my part of the prize!"

Mango Leaf shook his head, raising his milkshake in salute. "Nah, thank you for helping us on such short notice, Ditzy. Our dessert wouldn't have been half as unique without you!"

"I'm just glad everything turned out okay," Lyra muttered.

"Congrats, everypony!" Candy Cane called, hopping up to take a seat at their table.  "I knew something amazing would come out of you," she said. "I never expected you to team up, though!"

Mango chuckled. "You're the filly of the hour, Candy. If you hadn't mentioned that Bonnie was about to quit, I wouldn't have tried to convince her otherwise!"

Candy Cane nodded. "I know, I’m amazing." She smirked. "And, this Hearth's Warming dinner is going to make future ones even better with your brand new, signature dessert!" She giggled. "Now there's just one thing to do with it."

The older ponies stared in confusion.

"And what would that be, Candy?" Bon Bon finally asked.

Candy Cane grinned. "We mass-produce it!"
> Rachis Barbule vs. Obvious Question - Winner: Rachis Barbule (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rachis Barbule vs. Obvious Question - by Rachis Barbule's Author

“Mark my words, my lord butler, it shan’t be too long before the master is up to his ears in debt to these hawks he calls ‘associates.’ I tell you I live in constant fear these days that my paychecks will peter out and die on a whimper, like one of my poor tomato plants in this dreadful cold.”

“I grant you that fear, Miss Trowell, but mine is rather based on past evidence: that our incomes will die rather more like a drowning goldfish.”

The ancient theater hall rattled with the roaring laughter of four hundred and ninety-nine Canterlot unicorns, as the stage lights faded and the two actors trotted offstage for the intermission. The hall was capable of seating twice as large an audience, but for a matinee performance of last week’s satiric folly, five hundred was a good turnout.

The five-hundredth unicorn, a grey stallion named Obvious Question, wearing a dark formal business suit, didn’t get the joke, and he said so as soon as the laughing died down enough that he could be heard.

“I don’t get it,” he complained as the curtains closed, to no one in particular. “Goldfish don’t drown. That would be stupid.”

The only pony who heard him was the brown stallion in a tailored grey tuxedo who sat next to him, a stylist by the name of Rachis Barbule. Once he had wiped the tears from his eyes, Rachis leaned over to his neighbor to make himself heard over the noise of the jostling audience. “It’s a jab at Higher Learning’s goldfish story.”

“Higher Learning?” Obvious Question repeated. “Who’s that? It’s not a name I’ve heard yet in the play.”

Rachis Barbule blinked at him. “Well of course not. It’s all good fun until you say their name out loud. Then we’re just being mean. Not to mention, of course, all the legal trouble that would come with using a good citizen’s name and likeness without permission.” 

Obvious Question pursed his lips at the stage as a stallion in a white vest and top hat slipped through the curtains to step into a spotlight. The audience cheered and stomped enthusiastically, and he grinned and waved a hoof in return. Obvious frowned and opened his playbill. “Wasn’t this supposed to be an intermission?” he asked himself.

Rachis answered anyway. “It is. You can leave the theater now if you want to. I’m staying here, though. Wouldn’t miss this for anything.” The stallion on the stage began speaking to the crowd, drawing an occasional laugh. A thought suddenly occurred to Rachis and he looked at his neighbor in concern. “Is this your first time here?”

Obvious Question slouched in his seat and scowled at the theater in general, as if it had promised him something and then cheated him out of it. “It’s not my first play, but it’s definitely the strangest.”

Rachis raised his head up and nodded slowly, still frowning. His worry was confirmed. “So this is your first Folly,” he said.

“Is that why the jokes aren’t funny and there’s a guy talking to us during the intermission?”

Rachis grimaced and turned to answer the question, but he stopped when he noticed several dozen ponies in the audience around them turn in their seats to face the two of them. Obvious Question looked around in annoyed bemusement, but Rachis looked up to the stallion on the stage, who was pointing a hoof at them and smiling expectantly. Rachis’s stomach froze and his ears fell flat. He knew what was happening.

Obvious, however, had no clue. “What’s going on? Did I offend everyone or something?”

The stallion on stage beckoned with his outstretched hoof. “Come on, you two! No need to be shy! Well, I guess there might be, but just ignore that feeling!” The audience laughed, and Rachis fought down the beginnings of panic.

He stood up from his seat and used a hoof to pull his companion up with him. “Come on, he’s talking to us!”

Obvious was not happy about being pulled out of his seat, or about being the center of attention of a theater hall. “What are you doing?” he hissed at Rachis, trying to sit back down.

“The writer called us up! You’re making a scene! Come on!”

Obvious looked up to the stage, and finally gave in to the encouragements of the stallion Rachis called ‘the writer.’ The writer beamed and stomped his hooves in applause, followed by the stomping of the rest of the ponies in the hal. “There you go! Get on up here!”

Rachis and Obvious shuffled their way past the other theatergoers in their row to get to the aisle. “What’s going on?” Obvious asked Rachis.

Rachis smiled in gratitude to a large mare who did her best to pull herself out of their way. “That’s–” the two of them stumbled out into the aisle, and Rachis turned to Obvious with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, no time to explain.”

The writer led the audience in applause as his two volunteers made their way on to the stage, then stopped. The stomping lingered on for a moment, then died down just as Obvious caught back up to Rachis, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “You tell me what’s going on, or so help me, I will trip you right now.”

The four hundred and ninety-nine Canterlot socialites in the audience roared with laughter, and Obvious froze in horror as he heard his “whisper” echo around the room. Rachis halted as well in mid-step, wincing painfully and scrunching his face.

The writer was brimming with mirth. “Gotta love those sound-amplifying enchantments, right? You two are my volunteers for my intermission address. I would say it’s the best part of the evening, but this is all improv and the rest I spent hours and hours slaving over.” The audience laughed and he lit his horn and floated three wooden chairs over to him from offstage, gesturing for his volunteers to sit down. Rachis pursed his lips and didn’t look up as he took his seat, and Obvious trembled and blushed furiously, looking at something only he could see.

“So,” said the writer from his chair, cutting off the last lingering laughs from the audience, “Why don’t you introduce yourselves for us?”

Neither Rachis nor Obvious were eager to speak first, or at all. After a moment of them exchanging glances with each other, the writer made the decision for them. “Why don’t you go first, with the grey mane,” he suggested, gesturing to Obvious Question, whose eyes went even wider. He waved a hoof dismissively at the crowd. “Just pretend they aren’t here. Just you and me.” His horn lit up again, and everything outside the stage seemed to fade out of Obvious’s vision. The writer winked at him, and Obvious began to feel a little more confident.

“My name’s Obvious Question. What’s yours?” The sound of more laughter reached Obvious’s ears, but it seemed to come from a great distance. He looked around in confusion.

The writer chuckled a bit himself. “I think I can guess what your talent is. Like I said before, and like it says on the playbill, and on the sign outside…” He smiled sidelong in the direction the audience had been, and there was more distant laughter. Rachis shrank further into his seat, but Obvious just looked at the writer intently. “My name is Makepiece. What do you think of my play so far?” Rachis forgot all pretence and buried his face in his hooves. Neither of his companions on the stage paid him any mind, but the audience, beyond the perception of the three of them, did, and leaned forward to hear what he was so afraid of.

“Your play? Did you write it or direct it?”

Makepiece looked away and smiled again. “Both. Do you like it?”

“Not really, it’s really weird and doesn’t make much sense.”

A distant sound reached them, like four hundred and ninety-nine ponies saying “oooh” all at once in the next building over. Makepiece pouted dramatically, and was rewarded with more laughter. “Ouch,” he said, triggering even more laughter. “You really don’t like it? Well please, share with me what I can do to improve it!” Rachis shifted in his seat again.

“Well,” Obvious began, all of his earlier intimidation forgotten, “half of the jokes weren’t funny at all. I don’t know why everyone laughed so much.”

Makepiece tilted his head. “Really?” he asked. “Which ones? Can you give me some examples?”

“Like that last one,” Obvious said, glancing offstage to indicate the actors who had played the two servants right before the intermission. “Why would a drowning goldfish be any funnier than a dying tomato plant? The only difference is that a goldfish can’t really drown, but it’s not that much funnier than a plant dying to be worth making the last joke about it.”

The very faintest hint of booing could just be heard on the stage through Makepiece’s soundproofing enchantment. Makepiece himself raised a hoof towards where he knew the audience was to quiet them down, and then pursed his lips at Obvious. “You put me in a difficult position here, Mister Question. Theater etiquette prevents me from explaining that particular joke to you more fully, but I can assure you there’s a bit more to it than what you said.”

“Mister Makepiece?” Rachis interrupted, raising a hoof. The writer nodded and waved a hoof for him to speak. Rachis gave a nervous glance to where the audience had been a minute ago, then took a deep breath. “Obvious was just telling me before we came up here that this is his first Folly. He doesn’t know what it’s about.”

Obvious looked at him in confusion. “What? Of course I know what the play’s about. Why wouldn’t I?”

Rachis and Makepiece exchanged a quick glance, then turned back to Obvious Question. “Alright then, what’s it about?” Makepiece asked. “Without names, of course,” he added with a smile and a wink to the audience.

“No names?” Obvious shrugged. “Okay. It’s about a professor with a gambling problem. And no one likes him.” The hidden audience burst into laughter again, and Rachis laughed with them.

Makepiece grinned widely. “Remind you of anyone? And don’t say their name! He might be in the building! Oops!” He raised a hoof to cover his mouth and turned theatrically to the audience with wide eyes as they laughed even more. He leaned forward and shushed conspiratorily.

He turned back to Obvious Question with a smile, but Obvious was staring at him through narrowed eyes. A moment passed, and some chuckles came from the audience. Finally Obvious said something. “Is there something I’m not getting here?” The dam broke and the audience roared with laughter again.

Makepiece choked on a laugh and shook his head with mirth. “As a short answer, Obvious Question, yes, there is. We’re running out of time for the intermission, though, so let’s move on to our other volunteer. What’s your name, sir?”

Rachis introduced himself, wiping a tear from his eye. “Rachis Barbule. And I love the play so far.”

Makepiece nodded deeply. “That’s a relief. I was afraid for a moment there.”

Rachis smiled with him. “Yeah, I once took a class from a certain unnamed professor at Celestia’s, so I’m loving this.” His words were met with enthusiastic cheering and applause from the unseen audience.

“I’m so confused,” Obvious Question commented, causing more laughter.

“Don’t worry, Mister Question. I’m sure after the play is over Mister Barbule here can sit down with you and explain everything.”

“Definitely, you should come down to the salon. You deserve a free manecut.” Rachis raised a hoof and flicked one of Obvious’s unruly bangs. “Not to mention how much you need one.” More chuckles from the crowd.

“Oh, you’re a stylist?” Makepiece asked in interest as Obvious patted down his bangs defensively.

Rachis nodded. “To pay the bills, mostly. I’m really a preenist.”

“No kidding,” Obvious said. The crowd burst out laughing again.

“Come again?” Makepiece asked through his chuckling.

Rachis smiled patiently. “I clean and style pegasus wings. I’m the only preenist in Canterlot.”

“Oh I know that’s not true,” Obvious said with a smile to the audience, who returned his amusement with more laughter. He seemed to be loving this as much as they were.

Makepiece rolled his eyes and shook his head. “So while you’ve got our attention here, since you’ve been so supportive of my play–” he turned in his seat and looked pointedly at Obvious, who recoiled and frowned. “Why don’t you plug your business for us? Where can we find you?”

Rachis’s face lit up. “Thank you!” He turned to where he knew the audience was. “Come down to Gillette and Barbule, on Beta and Elysium above Newton and Mulberry Law Firm! Our primary focus is stallions’ manes, coats, and tails, but we are also the premiere preening salon in Equestria, as voted by Primary and Covert wing care magazine two years running! Come in for a trim yourself, and tell all the pegasi you know about us!”

Rachis looked back at Makepiece, who turned back to the audience. “Well, the actors are getting antsy, so–”

“Hang on,” Obvious Question interrupted, looking at Rachis in puzzlement.

“Yes, Obvious?” Makepiece asked, looking nervously offstage.

“You’re a unicorn,” Obvious stated, nodding at Rachis.

Rachis turned slowly to regard him, blinking at him with a straight face. “Yes.” The audience laughed and Makepiece bit his lip.

Obvious blinked back, his expression frozen in deep thought. “But… your talent is taking care of pegasus wings? How in Equestria did you end up with a talent like that as a unicorn?”

Makepiece frowned in thought. “He raises a good point, Rachis. Now I’m curious. I’d love to hear your Cutie Mark story, if you’re willing to share.” The audience cheered.

Rachis raised his eyebrows and pointedly looked away from the wall of nothingness that was cheering. “Oh believe me, you would, but I’d be too afraid of next week’s show involving a certain unnamed wing stylist, if you know what I mean. I’ve already gotten my share of the public spotlight here, thank you very much. Sorry, I’m not telling my story now.”

Makepiece and Obvious Question both slumped in disappointment, but the writer shrugged it off. “Oh well, we’re out of time anyway. Thank you, Obvious Question and Rachis Barbule. I think this has been the most interesting intermission I’ve been a part of for a long time. But hey, it is only an intermission after all! We still have half a play to enjoy! Or not enjoy, as the case may be. Let the show go on!”

Makepiece rushed offstage to thunderous applause, and Rachis and Obvious went back to their seats still the object of everyone’s attention. Obvious Question still didn’t get any of the jokes in the second act, but afterward the two of them were swarmed by Canterlot elite, who gleefully explained the idea of a satiric folly to Obvious, who didn’t much appreciate knowing.

Over the next few months business boomed for both of them as word spread, and though the Follies never performed a play with a wing stylist or a straightforward unicorn as the protagonists, every script Makepiece wrote after that night featured a very familiar comedic duo as recurring cameo characters. They were crowd favorites, and the two actors who played them went on to do their own travelling vaudeville show years later. Rachis and Obvious both received VIP tickets to Makepiece’s next play, but neither of them ever attended the Follies again.

Obvious Question never took Rachis Barbule up on his offer of a free haircut.









Let's Get down to Business - by Obvious Question's Author


C'mon, Rachis. Today is going to be great! This consultant I hired is going to make our business really take off. My friend Lilly in Ponyville used him when they set up their flower shop, and they're doing really well!"

"I don't see why we need a consultant, Gillette. We can get our business up and running by ourselves. Besides, he'll probably just laugh at us like everypony else," I grumble.

"Rachis Barbule," she says, lifting my downturned muzzle with her wing, "I'm not laughing at you. Hay, you've managed to convince me to get in on this venture with you. That has to count for something, right?"

"I guess you're right," I reply with a soft chuckle as she takes her wing back, and I feel a bit calmer.

"All that said, I've heard this guy is a tough customer. If you can sell this idea to him, you could sell mud to an earth pony. In other words," she says with a wink and a grin, "we'll be ready for business.

"Now go out there, and work your magic!" she says as she flicks my horn with a midnight blue wing.

"He's not here yet."

"Not here yet?" she says incredulously as she rises to the ceiling of my office. "But  the meeting was scheduled to start  ten minutes ago! Are you sure you haven't been keeping him waiting?"

"Well, nopony has buzzed the doorspell, so I don't think he's here yet. Besides, you know how Canterlot morning hoof traffic is. Didn't you say he was from Ponyville? He probably hasn't seen streets this crowded before."

"Ok. I guess you ground pounders have to have some excuse for never getting anyplace on time," she says as she alights to the side of the door to the storefront. "Even so, you should probably be out there for when he actually does show up. Wouldn't want to give Obvious Question a bad first impression, right?"

"Right." I let out a nervous chuckle as I walk through the door to the front room of what will become my salon. Our salon. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it, but good luck anyway!"

I see a flick of her powder blue tail as she closes the door behind me to continue going through paperwork. Nopony ever said getting a business started in Canterlot would be easy. I'm glad to have somepony like her her on my side.





A few minutes later, a gray stallion with a short and shaggy, nearly black mane and bright, neon-green eyes. My eyes linger a little uncomfortably on his sharp little... stub of a horn, and then snap to his cutie mark: one of those question mark exclamation point thingies in a circle in the same eye-searing green as his eyes. I feel a buzz in my horn as he passes through the door, confirming that the doorspell I bought  actually works.

'Relax, Rachis. Just be friendly, show him you know your stuff and take his advice to heart, and everything is going to be just fine.'

"Hi, I'm Rachis Barbule! Would you happen to be Obvious Question?"

"Ah yes, the obvious question," he says, giving a quiet chuckle. "I am he. Terribly sorry I'm late. Traffic was—”

"Say no more," I interject. "I know better than a lot of ponies how hard it is to keep a schedule in a strange place."

"Thank you. Now that we're both here, why don't we get down to business? Do you have some sort of office we could meet in?"

"Right this way, sir."

Since Gillette is in my office scaling Mt. Paperwork, bless her soul, I take him to her office instead. We'd only just moved in here to start our business, so it's still bare aside from a standing desk with a photo of Gillette with her parents resting on it.

"So, Mr. Barbule," he says as we take our positions on either side of the desk. "Shall we begin?"





"Sure!" the tan unicorn behind the desk replies. "Where should we start?"

Not a bad question. Heh. Thankfully, I have a ready answer.

"I find, when somepony is setting out to start a business, it helps me to help them if I know who they are and what they want to do. You would be surprised how often ponies forget that part. So, Rachis Barbule, what is your special talent?"

He turns a little to display his flank, saying, "I got my cutie mark for preening pegasus wings. I've even come up with a few spells to help me with caring for feathers. My brother always joked that I should have been born with a pair of wings instead of a horn, but then I wouldn't be nearly as good at caring for those magnificent appendages as I am."

"Ok. Now that I know a little about who you are, what do you want? What is it you're trying to do with this business?"

He thinks for a minute before replying. That's promising: It implies he cares what the answer is. It also implies he's going to give me a philosophical answer, but I can work with that.

"There are a couple of things that I really love: beauty, and pegasi. I love to see beautiful things, and the way a pegasus soars through the skies, the way their wings work... I can't think of a more beautiful thing in the world. If I can enhance a pony's beauty, even my own, then I leap at the chance."

He clearly believes in what he's saying. I mean, he keeps his coat and mane exceptionally shiny and well-coiffed, even for a Canterlot unicorn. The stallion is a walking advertisement for his skills.

"And that is why I'm opening a pegasus beauty salon!"

Ah yes, this is the part of my job that I hate. It's just about the most important part of it, though. If you let a pony keep their head up in the clouds while their hooves are still on the ground, they're going to trip and fall, hard.

And he looks so hopeful, too.

I turn to the nearest window and walk towards it.

"Take a look through this window, Mr. Barbule. It has a wonderful view of Canterlot."

"Ok..." he says as he walks up beside me.

"This is prime real-estate. A view like this can't come cheap."

"We do pay through the nose for this place, but it's got to be a great place to do business. I'm sure our customers will appreciate the location, too."

"About those customers. Tell me, Rachis, how many pegasi do you see out this window?"

"I don't see any out there, but that doesn't mean there aren't any around," he replies, a little nervously. "My partner had to come from somewhere, right?"

I shake my head and ask again. "Have you seen enough winged customers in this city of unicorns to pay for this wonderful view?"

His jaw opens, as if to supply an answer, but instead he deflates like a captive, untied balloon. Idealists always come down the hardest. I feel like I just bucked a puppy in the face. Well, I'd best not let up now...





"I hope you consider my questions, Mr. Barbule. I do want to see your business succeed. See you tomorrow," Obvious Question says as he leaves the building, tripping the doorspell on the way out.

I trudge back into my office to find a softly humming Gillette still hock-deep in paperwork, but a lot more of it is signed and filled-out now.

"Well, at least one of us is having a good day," I grumble.

"Oh. Hey, Rachis! I take it things with the consultant didn't fly so smooth?"

"You could say that, I guess." I plop myself down in a pile of filled-out but still disorganized paperwork. There's just something relaxing about the printed page.

Gillette smirks at me and my antics. "So, he shot you down?"

"Yes, but it's the way he did it. I want to hate him for it, but all he did was just... just..."

"Ask obvious questions?"

"Yeah. The  kinds of questions I really should have been asking myself the whole time. Questions like 'How are we going to pay for this place if we only cater to pegasi?' Have you ever realized just how few pegasi live in Canterlot?"

"Idunno," she says while shrugging her wings, "I kinda like being the only one around who can fly."

I facehoof, and continue to wallow in paper.

"But yeah, I'd been kinda wondering about that myself."

"Well, I hadn't, and now I feel very, very dumb for that."

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure that consultant didn't just come here to tear you down and trample your dreams. What else did you two talk about?"

I spend a few minutes going over our conversation with her.

"Remember that question, about how we could make money while serving just pegasi?" she asks, after having digested the conversation for a couple minutes.

"Hard not to. What about it?"

"I think that the answer's in the question."

She looks around for a bit before finding what she's looking for, and waves me over as she walks up to the full-length mirror I keep in my office. What? A stallion has to look good in this business!

"What do you see here?" she asks, pointing at the mirror with a wing.

"It's a mirror," I deadpan.

"Ok, I flew right into that hillside. What do you see in the mirror?"

"The kind of fool who doesn't think plans through very well?"

"No, I'm looking for something a little more superficial. Pretend that stallion in the mirror is somepony else. What does he look like?"

I take a good, honest, evaluating look at that stallion in the mirror, and I like what I see.

"I see a dark tan unicorn with a brown mane streaked with gray. His mane is expertly styled, and his coat is so fine you could polish semi-precious stones on it. I wonder who does his grooming."

"Who indeed," she says with a knowing grin.

"So... The answer's in the question, huh?"

"Yep."

"Gillette, do I tell you often enough how much of a genius you are?"

"Nope."

"Well, you're a genius."





'This really is a lovely part of Canterlot where they have their prospective salon,' I think to myself. 'It's a shame that stallion probably hates me now for crushing his dreams. He definitely was not taking those doses of reality well.

'I do hope he can still benefit from my consultation,' I continue to think as I let myself in to their storefront. 'He clearly has potential. If only I can get him to see it the right way...'

Ok, I'm inside with Rachis Barbule, and he's not looking at me like I ate all of his pudding in front of him. In fact, he's smiling. Is he... happy to see me?"

"Hi, Obvious Question! It took some time, and some nudging from my partner Gillette, but I finally came up with an answer to your question about how we were going to make money while serving just pegasi in a city of unicorns."

This is unexpected. Color me intrigued.

"Really? What is it?"

"It's simple, really: We don't!" he shouts confusingly gleefully.

"Wait, what? So you're just giving up?!"

That isn't the direction I'd hoped things would take at all.

"No no no no no," he says, applying forehoof to face. "What I mean to say is we were setting our sights too narrow before, and were selling ourselves short in the process. We're still going to be serving pegasi, but we'll be serving other ponies, too. Specifically, stallions. There may not be many pegasi here in Canterlot, but there are just as many stallions here as anywhere else. Hay, maybe even a little more than in most places. And if there's something different about Canterlot stallions, it's that they always want to look their best.

"If you hadn't asked me those 'obvious questions,' I might never have figured that out in time. Thanks!"

I'm so glad to hear him say that, to hear that I'd done what I came to do and everything was going to to work out right. I'm so happy, I could just— Aww, why the hay not!

I glomp him hard.

"Hey, Questy, watch the mane. It took me a full ten minutes to make it look this good!"

"Oops, sorry."
> Summer Heat vs. Spring Blaze - Winner: Summer Heat (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spring Blooms - by Summer Heat's Author

A brown-on-maroon earth pony still wearing her animal team jersey greeted Spring Blaze with a wave as they crossed paths. “Nice job today, Blaze!” she said, swerving to avoid a freshly melted puddle.

“You too, Broad Leaf!” Spring Blaze said with a firm nod. And then he smiled. The chilly evening air—the chilly spring air, as of tonight—was perfect for cooling down after the hardest workout of the year. The streets were emptying out and windows were darkening as Ponyville collectively turned in for a well-earned rest.

However, sleep wasn’t on the night's agenda for Spring Blaze. This year’s Winter Wrap-Up had fallen on his birthday, and some good friends from the weather team had invited him to what they called an “after-party” that he was now old enough to be allowed into. So, after a short rest at home, Spring was on his hooves again and ready for whatever it was his friends were planning.





“What took you?” Autumn half-shouted.

Autumn Flare had a stocky olive-furred body, a red-brown-yellow striped mane to match his namesake, and one of the widest, most impressive pairs of wings on the Ponyville weather team. He was a Winter Wrap-Up powerhouse who made every job go by faster, and he had been a good friend since Spring Blaze’s first day in Ponyville.

Spring shook his head at that question, and answered a bit too quickly. “Just doing some drawing.” Then he cleared his throat and spoke up. “What’s going on in there? Is… is that the ‘after-party’ you told me about? Where’s the rest of the team?”

“I told them to go in without us. Besides, you only need one wingpony. No need for a whole squad.” At that, Autumn’s usually guileless grin turned just the slightest bit crooked. “You’re officially a big pony as of tonight, right? Come on!"

Before Spring could ask any of the hundred questions that sprang up in response, Autumn Flare trotted right up behind, placed the top of his head against Spring’s rear end, and started pushing.

Standing guard next to the door was a heavy-set green stallion wearing a formal vest and a pair of mirror shades. When he spotted Spring, he grinned. “Happy birthday, Spring Blaze,” the bouncer said with a nod. When he moved, his green plant team vest peeked out from beneath his neat black collar.

Spring waved back with an awkward smile. “Nice to see you, Whetstone,” he said, just before being pushed through the door and into the strobing darkness of the club.





The music had already been noticeable from two streets away, and inside, the volume level was downright violent. Spring Blaze felt each pounding beat with his chest instead of his ears, because his eardrums were busy being assaulted by a blasting synthetic wail, alternating between soaring harmony and grinding dissonance from beat to beat. It was almost pitch dark, but angry flashes of white and darting pools of colored light gave a chaotic, flickering view of how the room was filled from wall to wall with swaying, twisting, bouncing pony bodies. “Dancing” was a misnomer; the contents of the club were flailing and gyrating against each other as if the music was forcibly moving them like so many marionettes.

Spring Blaze felt Autumn Flare sidle up next to him, so close that their wings brushed against each other.

“Come on!” Autumn shouted in his ear, barely loud enough to be heard. Spring felt the heat of his friend's breath against the side of his face even though the air was so damp and hot that the walls themselves seemed to be sweating. "Let's get to the stage!" Autumn forged ahead, into the crowd. 

Spring had attended untold dozens of parties in Ponyville, but as he squeezed through the churning chaos, occasionally bumping his head against Autumn’s side or wing in order to stay close, he realized that his heart was pounding with the intoxicating energy. A thought crossed his mind that made him chuckle: it was one heck of a way to commemorate his first night as an official “big pony.”

Autumn came to a stop at the foot of an incline in the wooden floor that rose to an oval-shaped plateau, along with a full ring of mostly stallions whose attention was on the mare who had claimed the small “stage” as hers.

As Spring took his place at the perimeter, the mare on the stage reared up and extended her hooves to the ceiling. Her dark mane fell in dramatic waves as she bent her spine backward, leapt into the air, and landed on her forehooves in a show of freakish strength and flexibility. The onlookers cheered, their voices in unison overpowering the music and causing more heads to turn and see the show. The dancer’s rear legs flew up and over in a neat arc, and then she hurled herself backward again, repeating her acrobatic stunt with perfect, fluid momentum. This time, when she landed, she lifted her forehooves and bicycled them in the air while throwing her head back and whooping along with her rapidly growing audience. 

Spring leaned in to talk into Autumn's ear. “Is this what we’re here for?” was what he started to say, but before the second syllable left his mouth, the speakers drowned him out with five synthetic "D" sounds in rapid succession. The dancer started to trot a slow circuit around the edge of her island, bobbing her head with the escalating intensity of the treble. As she started her second lap, the music grew to a percussive rapid-fire of monotone D-D-D-D-D sets in a constant, frantic stream, and the heartbeat of the song accelerated to an aggressive quadruple time, and every light in the club went into a violent, synchronized strobe pattern as the dancer closed in on Spring--a pink foreleg dipped toward him, hooked him by the front knee, pulled him onto the stage--

She allowed him to stand face-to-face with her, breaking the flow of her dance for a few precious seconds. The lights, the music, the ponies surrounding them, everything was throwing itself into a manic, delirious build to a climax, but the dancer, seemingly unaffected, stared into Spring's eyes with a gaze as hard as sapphire.

The music suddenly cut to a sharp silence, and the club was plunged into opaque darkness.

“Hey there.” she said. Her voice was a low, smooth tenor.

The club’s pent-up energy detonated into a bone-rattling climax.

The cheers of the crowd were audible even over the consuming roar of the speakers sending out a blast so powerful that Spring thought he could taste it. He felt her warmth as she glided her head, then neck, flank, haunch, across his chest, finally flicking his nose with a vertical up-down flip of her tail. The crowd whooped. They had started to stomp rhythmically, a hungry boom boom boom beneath the pounding bass and the relentless treble, as the dancer settled into a grind against Spring’s chest.

“Uh--” said Spring Blaze.

Spring glanced around for where Autumn would be standing at the edge of the incline, but the lights made it impossible to see much of anything, let alone individual faces. He felt her lifting him into an upright stance, and he was staring into her eyes again as she guided him into a whirl, making him part of her dance and part of the music itself with her just-firm-enough grip. After three turns, she released him for just one and a half beats of the song, long enough to pivot a half-turn on two legs, reach behind her, and steady him in place by taking his hooves and holding them against her body. And then she was dancing with him, rolling and stroking her body warmly against his chest and belly with catlike fluidity.

“Wait--”

Spring Blaze’s partner either heard the protest or sensed it, because she reached up to loop her wrists behind Spring’s head, stretched her neck so that she could rub her cheek against his, and spoke to him in an intimate whisper. 

“Don’t worry. Just leave it all to me.”

She dipped away again, letting Spring fall forward onto her back as she dropped to all fours. The crowd cheered again as she backed up underneath him, gyrating gently with her rum and sliding into a position with Spring mounting her...

Something lurched in Spring Blaze’s stomach. “No... I...”

She must have heard that, because she turned her head to look up at Spring’s distressed, shifting expression, and then frowned. On the next downbeat she bucked violently, like a rodeo bull, so hard that it sent Spring airborne for exactly one beat. When he came to a four-point landing, she was already on top of him in a lazy embrace, laying her forelegs across his back and locking eyes with him again. The sultry performance was gone, at least from her face, replaced by something like worry. She kissed him on the cheek, then pushed off of him, hard enough to force him to take a step backward--which almost made him fall into the crowd, because she had pushed him off of the stage’s plateau. 

When Spring looked up, she was thrashing her head and tail and stomping a lap around the stage. This time, the pony she chose was stocky, olive-furred, well-muscled and every inch a desirable pegasus stallion, whose red-yellow-brown striped mane made for a striking contrast in the flashing colored lights as he was welcomed onto the stage. Something stirred in his chest as he watched the way Autumn's tail flicked with excitement--he could imagine the way he must be breathing hard, his breath coming in hot bursts, confidence and power rolling off his body with every shake of his head and stomp of his hooves.

He turned his back on the stage and headed for the door, weaving his way back through the chaos, alone this time.



Lovely weather on the day after Winter Wrap-Up was always a guarantee. Warm, breezy, partly cloudy with a chance of brief showers. It was Spring Blaze’s second favorite day of the year, and that was why he was doing game-design work outside at one of the cafe’s tables, instead of locking himself in his room and refusing to let anyone in under any circumstances. The best of both worlds, he reasoned--this way he could sit and be absorbed in his personal work without missing out on the weather. For now, though, his charcoal and sketchbook were sitting inert on the table while he contemplated the rough surface of his fresh alfafa sandwich.

“Hey.” Her voice was a dark tenor, low and rich.

His throat tightened as he looked up. Even though he knew who he would see, meeting her brilliant blue eyes still made his gut twist.

“... hey.” He lowered his head and picked up his sandwich in his teeth.

“You’re the birthday boy from last night, right? You have fun at your birthday party?”

Spring Blaze took a moment to chew and swallow before answering. Then he gave a long, exaggerated shrug. “It wasn’t really my birthday party, was it? It was a Winter Wrap-Up party.”

“It was your birthday and you were out to have fun,” she said. When Spring looked up, he saw that she was leaning on the counter and resting her cheek on one hoof. “Besides, it’s a pretty cool coincidence, having the start of spring happen on the day you were born." 

She shrugged lazily. "Besides, I really did want to dance with you. Was all set to have you be the one I took home, too.”

Spring leaned away from the table and folded his forelegs across his chest. “Yeah, well, I’m not like that. I’m not into... that kind of thing.” The words came out harder than he meant. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Into what? Sex?”

“No!” Spring snapped back. “I mean the party! The whole... thing! It’s all so pointless. I don’t want to do it that way. I’m better than that.” He realized that he was glaring. He scooted back toward the table and reached for his sandwich.

She grimaced at that, but she didn’t take those dark blue eyes off of him. “Better, huh?” she said, as if she had never heard such a thing before, and needed to contemplate it. “There something wrong with what all your friends and neighbors were doin’ in there? Seemed to me like they were havin’ a lot of fun. Everyone lets that energy out somehow, honey.” She was smiling, not angry, by the end of her statement. In fact, she even managed a surprisingly genuine laugh.

Spring rested his hooves on the edge of his plate. Suddenly, defending his position against this mystery mare was more important than eating his sandwich. “Well, I don’t,” he said, still glaring. “I draw for my game, I play the drums, and I work hard for the weather team. I don’t need to do that stuff.”

Again she appeared to contemplate Spring’s words.

“An artist, huh?”

He nodded firmly. “I’m going to develop a game. In fact, I was doing some good concept work right before you showed up.” He pointed to his notebook.

She nodded slowly, then gestured toward the notebook. “May I?”

He mirrored her gesture, more forcefully. She reached for the notebook, picked it up, and opened to a page near the middle.

"Who's this guy?"

She placed the open notebook back on the table.

“His name is Captain Ironshod," said Spring proudly. "He’s going to be a major NPC. That's short for 'non-player character.' It means--”

“He’s wearing bondage gear,” she interrupted, leaning forward to look closer. Then she gave a low whistle. “And just lookit the muscles on him...”

Spring grit his teeth. The glare came right back, and he barely kept from shouting. “It’s armor, not bondage gear! The straps are for--ugh, you wouldn’t get it.”

"He looks kind of like the stallion you were with last night," she said. "Except even more buff. And with leather straps."

Spring opened his mouth, then closed it when the proper expression of outrage wouldn’t come to his lips.

"Don't worry,” she said, still smiling. “You're a good artist. And that stallion you were with was pretty sexy. He told me all about you."

The silence lingered as the dancer shook out her mane, scooted her chair back from the table, and made to leave. She placed her hoof on Spring Blaze’s shoulder as she walked past, and then she was gone.
> Static Shower vs. Iron Curtain - Winner: Iron Curtain (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Visitor from Stalliongrad - by Static Shower's Author

Through the windows of the train car, one could watch the immense expanse of Unicorn Range pass by. Each field was filled with immaculate rows of crops which, when viewed at such speed, made for a mesmerizing sight.

Yet this beauty was lost on a certain stallion sitting in this train car. He sat facing the table in front of him, oblivious to the changing scenery, as he pored over one of the many official-looking documents carefully laid out before him.

Let’s see… “Annual revenues from Stalliongrad exports to Equestria”…

One amber eye travelled quickly over the page as he committed its contents to memory, the other useless beneath its eyepatch. The frown on his furry brown brow remained firmly in place, even once he’d reached the document’s end. His black hooves deftly switched pages, presenting him with a new wealth of information to absorb. On the bench beside him sat a ushaka, one that was normally found on the stallion’s black coiffe. Finally, his grey trench coat, big enough to properly cover his large frame, made him stand out as one of the few ponies in that car wearing full-length garments.

Two years, back profits were less than ideal… last year, profits surpassed acceptable standards…

After reordering the pages, Iron Curtain placed the ‘exports’ documents back on one of the piles on the table, before picking up a new set from another pile. As he had been doing for the last hour, he began reading in earnest once more, going over more information pertaining to both his home country and Equestria.

So focused was he that he failed to register the light clopping of small hooves approaching his bench. He could not, however, ignore the light tap he felt on his side.

Tearing his gaze away from his work, he looked to his right to see a small, pale-yellow pegasus colt, staring up at him with wide, excited eyes. The little one’s wings were buzzing quickly, threatening to get his small body airborne. His light blue mane, streaked with cyan, fluttered in their wake.

“Are you a pirate?” an enthusiastic young voice asked.

A deep, gravelly one responded, “No.”

Wings stopped buzzing as a slightly disappointed expression crossed the colt’s face. “Oh. Why not?”

What manner of question is that? Iron Curtain thought, before responding, “Because I am an ambassador.”

A confused frown appeared on the young flier’s face. “But… if you’re an am… amba… the thing you said you were, why do you have an eyepatch?”

“What?” Now, the stallion’s expression matched the colt’s.

“Pirates have eyepatches. If you’re not a pirate, why do you have an eyepatch?”

Iron stared at the colt for a moment. What a foolish little colt, thinking eyepatches are exclusive to pirates. Typical pegasus ignorance. “What is your name, child?”

The colt puffed out his chest as he brightly answered, “My name is Static Shower!”

“Well Static, I’m busy with important matters. You should go back to your parents now.” He tried shooing the pegasus away with a wave of his hoof.

“But why do you have an eyepatch?” Static asked again, undeterred.

Iron sighed, irritated. “Do you know what eyepatches are for?”

“Uhhh… they make you look cool?”

He really IS that ignorant… “No. Usually, they’re used to hide the fact that somepony is missing an eye.” the stallion supplied in a firm tone. 

Static gasped in horror. “You’re missing an eye!? Did it fall out? I didn’t know eyes could do that!” He immediately brought a hoof up to his face to make sure his eyes were still in their sockets.

“Eyes don’t just fall out. If somepony is missing an eye, it’s usually because they got in a bad fight.” Iron replied, rolling his eye at the colt’s antics.

Static looked back up to big stallion. “In a bad fight?”

A nod. “That’s why pirates often have eyepatches: they frequently get into bad fights.”

“What does ‘frequently’ mean?”

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Iron answered, “It means it happens a lot.” Why am I conversing with such an uneducated individual? I was never so clueless as a colt; I always had my father to instruct me on matters of importance… 

“Does that mean that I have to get into a lot of fights if I want to be a pirate?”

“Why do you want to be a pirate?”

“Because Nightmare Night is coming up soon, and I want to be the best pirate in Ponyville!” Static answered excitedly, wings buzzing again.

“What’s Nightmare Night?”

The little colt’s eyes got huge and he gasped loudly in shock. “You don’t know what Nightmare Night is!? It’s the bestest holiday EVER!”

“Ah.” Right. I recall Equestrians seem to have a number of these pointless celebrations throughout the year. Such a waste of time and money, no good for the economy. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be… an amusing little affair, but I must finish—” He was interrupted by Static launching himself into an explanation.

“Nightmare Night only happens once a year and only on the last day of… uhhh… octagon! No, October! Ponies wear all kinds of amazing costumes and then you go and get candy! You have to make sure you say ‘Trick or Treat!’ just like that each time otherwise you won’t get any. Last year, I was a bumblebee and I got soooo much candy, but Mommy kept telling me not to eat it all or I was going to get a tummy ache. Oh, and you can’t go to houses that don’t have their lights on. Mommy says the ponies in those houses won’t give you candy, even if you do say ‘Trick or Treat!’ the right way. I don’t like those ponies; they’re not nice.”

Throughout the tirade, Iron’s face remained in his hoof as he silently cursed his bad luck. I haven’t the time for this. I’d expect such useless banter from a unicorn, not a pegasus. And by the Great Leaders, what manner of asinine holiday IS this!? Everypony simply gives out candy freely to those who come asking? Ridiculous! Looking up, he finally addressed the colt, intent on getting back to his business.

“Look, pegasus,” he nearly growled, irritation evident on his face, “I don’t have the time to hear about silly holidays in Equestria. I’ve got a lot to read up on for the Nations’ Summit, so why don’t you run along back to your parents?”

But instead of heading off, Static remained, curious about something the stallion had said.

“What’s the Nation’s Summit?”

At this, Iron Curtain’s jaw dropped.

“Wha… You don’t know what the Nations’ Summit is!? Are you truly so oblivious to all matters of significance that you’d be unaware of such a monumental event!?”

The colt took a half step back at his outburst, causing Iron to check himself. He realized he was leaning almost menacingly towards the little one, jaw taut and eyes wide. He returned to his previous position with a grunt, doing his best to relax.

“Excuse me.”

“Um... you said a lot of words that I don’t know what they mean.”

Irritation returning, Iron sighed, “Of course you wouldn’t.”

A hesitant pause. “So what’s the Nations’ Summit?”

Unbelievable. “It’s a very important meeting for very important people that are all coming from different countries.” A derisive sneer adorned the earth pony’s expression as he responded.

“Oh! That makes sense!” Static said, oblivious to the Iron’s raised brow at his reaction. “Are you one of the important people?”

“Yes.”

“Wow!” The colt’s wings began buzzing anew. “So are you famous?”

“In a way.”

“Cool! And are you—”

“More than anything,” Iron interrupted, patience completely worn out at this point, “I am very, very busy. I need to work. You are stopping me from doing my work. You need to leave.” If THIS doesn’t get through to this insufferable pegasus…

Thankfully, the straightforward words had the desired effect.

“Oh! Okay. Bye!” And with that, the Static took off to find his parents and tell them all about the important not-pirate he’d spoken to.

As the colt took off, Iron wondered how it was possible for the young one to have known so little about the going-ons of his own country. He’d always been taught about the importance of learning all he could about Stalliongrad; only with that knowledge could somepony hope to improve the great land. And one must always strive to improve their home. Why wasn’t Static focused on making Equestria the best country it could be? Why was he so concerned with pointless frivolities?

How is he so different than I was as a colt?

Iron shook his head, clearing it of its aimless thoughts and inquiries. He a task to complete, a summit to attend, a country to better.

Returning his gaze and focus to the documents laid out before him, Iron Curtain resumed his work, and the train continued on its way to Canterlot.









Iron Curtain vs. Static Shower - by Iron Curtain's Author

“What do you mean she is not available?!” 

“I mean she's not available. She's busy.” 

“Busy?! Do you know who I am, little dragon?!” The massive brown earth pony scowled at the tiny drake, his one good eye boring a hole right in his purple forehead. 

“Uh… Iron Curtain? You said it, like, ten times dude. You need to relax.” 

“I am the relax!” Iron Curtain stomped his hooves, the dark grey unhanka billowing behind him. He had traveled hundreds of miles from his motherland of Stalliongrad to meet with the newest princess of Equestria, only to find the newest princess was not home doing her job, but on a picnic—a bloody picnic, on a weekday!—leaving him here to deal with her assistant, a lowly dragon. 

“When will she be back?!” Iron Curtain demanded, stomping his hoof into the ground. 

“I don’t know. Maybe a few hours?” Spike said with a shrug, taking a step back. “Look, I don’t know and you're kinda creeping me out. Go get something to eat, and maybe she'll be back afterwards.”

“I don’t need to eat, you devil! I need—” Before Iron Curtain could finish, the little dragon slammed the door on him. The brown earth pony stood there for a second, his left eye wide and twitching slightly. “Did he…  Nyet!” Iron Curtain shouted, as he raised his hoof and began to pound on the door. “I am Iron Curtain, Ambassador of Stalliongrad! You do not shut door on me!” He continued to shout, pounding the on the door as he did. 

“Why are you angry?” Iron Curtain whipped around at the sudden voice, his nostrils flared as he glared at whoever was talking to him. Hovering in the air behind him was a yellow pegasus colt with a blue mane, his wings buzzing like that of a humming bird. His head was cocked to the side slightly as he looked up at Iron Curtain.

The large pony looked down at the smaller pony, his one eye focused on the young colt, who was constantly hovering from one side to the other, seemingly unable to stay stationary.

“Shoo,” Iron Curtain gave a flick of his hoof, trying to get the colt away from him. However, the young pegasus kept looking up at Iron Curtain. “Uhh… how you say… leave?” 

“Why do you have a eyepatch? Are you a pirate?” The colt fired another question, aggravating Iron Curtain even further.  

“No. I am not pirate. Long story, no time to tell little colt. Now go.”

“Hehehe, You talk funny! Why?” Iron Curtain gave a low growl while the colt giggled to himself. He ran a massive hoof down his face, his one good eye fixated on the colt, glaring at him. 

“Yes. I am from other country. I have accent. Now… off with you. You have school, yes? Go there,” Iron Curtain growled as he turned from the young colt, trying to figure out a way to meet the princess. He only made it a few steps when the insufferable colt buzzed in front of him. 

“Nope! It’s the weekend! There is no school, silly,” the colt once again giggled as his little wings buzzed, keeping him a few inches above the ground. “Why are you angry?” He asked again, not seeming to notice, or even care, how the large pony tried to get away. 

“I am not angry!” Iron Curtain bellowed, his eye wide with anger. At once the pegasus fell to the ground, landing on his flank with an audible thud. 

“Yes, you are! And you're a meanie!” The small colt shouted back, this time invoking a reaction from Iron Curtain who took a step back from the pegasus. 

“I am what?”

“A meanie! A big, angry meanie!” the colt shouted again, his wings now flared as he got to his hooves, staring up at Iron Curtain. The Stalliongrad pony just watched the anger rise in the young pegasus, who was trying to stare down a pony ten times his size and with much more experience. For a weak, feather-brained, lazy pegasus, Iron Curtain could not help but see some of the fire of a true Stalliongrad stallion in the colt. 

“Tell me, what is name?” Iron Curtain asked, raising a hoof to his chin and scratching it.

“Static Shower,” the colt mumbled, crossing his forelegs and looking away from Iron Curtain. 

“Static Shower…” Iron Curtain mumbled to himself, looking up into the sky as he thought. 

“Yeah! Don’t make fun of it! I like my name!” Static shouted, glaring up at Iron Curtain. “Don’t be like those other bullies!” 

“Bullies?” Iron Curtain looked back down at Static Shower, a small grin forming as he eyed the little colt. “You have bullies?” 

“Ya, and they're  meanies, just like you!” Iron Curtain gave out a boisterous laugh at this, throwing his head back as he laughed. 

“Oh, no, little one. I am not bully or this, how you say, meanie? No, I am Iron Curtain, and I like your spirit,” he laughed, causing Static’s face to light up slightly, as he got back to his hooves and looked up at the larger pony. 

“Y-you do?” 

“Da! You have spirit of fighter, and I want to help you with these bullies,” Iron Curtain laughed, rubbing the top of Static’s head, ruffling up his mane. “Do you want me to teach you?” At these words, the young colt’s face lit up, as he started to jump in around Iron Curtain, his wings flapping with joy. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Static Shower shouted happily, laughing as he did so. “This is going to be so cool! No more bullies! I am going to be like a superhero, saving the day! And getting free ice cream for being a hero!  And ponies will like me! And getting more toys! And be tough! And—” Before he could make another lap around Iron Curtain, the large earth pony pushed him down by the back. 

“No… no more of that. Now, come with me, it is time to train. Woods good for training,” Iron Curtain said, lifting his large hoof off of Static Shower, and leading him outside of town. The young colt shook his head slightly as he watched Iron Curtain march off, before following him, still bouncing up and down happily. 

--

“Now, why would bullies pick on you?” Iron Curtain asked, pacing in front of Static Shower, like he was a drill sergeant addressing troops. 

“Because they are meanies!” Static shouted back, jumping off the log and hovering. “Big stupid, poopy face, dumb—”

“Nyet!” Iron Curtain shouted, causing Static to fall from the air. “It’s because they are are weak!” Iron Curtain said, stomping his hoof in the ground and facing Static Shower. 

“But if they're weak… how can they bully me?” 

“Because! They think you are weaker. You have silly name, no?” 

“I don’t think my name is—” 

“And you have no mark! Much ammunition to use on you. They see weakness and they pounce on it like timber wolves on wounded animal.” Iron Curtain advanced on Static, who shrunk at the imposing figure. 

“How is this supposed to help! Why do you need to make me feel bad? They already do that!” Static shouted, pushing himself back up and and hovering in the air. “This is not helping,” he muttered, as he gave a loud sniff, fighting back the tears.

“No! No crying! Today you are stallion!” Iron Curtain shouted, as he pushed Static back down to the ground with his hoof. “No flying! If you want to be strong, be strong like earth pony!” 

“But I’m not a—”

“I tell you this so you know what your enemies know. To understand why they target you.” Iron Curtain looked down at the young colt and smiled. “Now, do you know why they use words to hurt?” 

“Because if they get into a fight, they will get in trouble with their parents and the teacher?” Static Shower replied, as his wings shifted. 

“Uhh… yes. That is good reason,” Iron Curtain said, his voice cracking slightly. “But not reason I was getting to. No. They use words because they are afraid. Afraid of violence, afraid of retaliation like diplomats. Lots of fancy words to avoid fight. Why? Because they are weak!” Iron Curtain laughed as he backed up from Static Shower and began to draw a ring in the dirt. 

“But… we learned that violence is bad. That good ponies use their words to figure things out,” Static Shower said, remembering his parents teaching him to be nice to other ponies, and how in school they were taught to be kind to one another. “Why are you drawing a circle?” 

Iron Curtain just laughed in response, as he kept drawing the circle. Static moved closer to the circle, watching Iron Curtain drag his hoof against the ground, till he had reached his starting point. After that, he started to take off his hat and trench coat, tossing them to a log. With his coat gone, Static was able to see Iron Curtain’s cutie mark for the first time, a red hammer and sickle crossed over one another.  

“What is your cutie mark?” Iron Curtain turned to the young pegasus who was looking at his cutie mark. 

“You ask many questions,” Iron Curtain mumbled as he looked at his mark. “And we do not call it ‘cuite mark’, as you do. To us, it is our mark, to show what we can do to make the motherland stronger!” 

“Why?” Iron Curtain slowly exhaled the air from his lungs, closing his one eye before turning to Static Shower. 

“Why must you keep asking questions? Listen now. Yes? Good!” Iron Curtain shook his head, mumbling under his breath as he got into the ring. 

“Why do you always shout?” 

“Why do you ask many questions? Hmm?! Get in ring!” 

“I thought it was a circle.”

“Ring! Circle! Same thing! Get in now!” Iron Curtain barked, causing the young colt to jump, before scurrying into the ring, his head low as he entered. Iron Curtain gave a growl of annoyance at Static Shower’s appearance, like he was a puppy that was just struck for being bad. “Stop that! Do not look like coward! Hold head high like stallion!” At once, Static Shower straightened up, like a bolt of electricity had gone through him. 

Once both ponies were inside the ring, Iron Curtain took a few steps closer to Static so he was once again looking down at him. Static looked right up at him, his wings fidgeting as he did so, but he kept his head up high, not shrinking in the slightest. 

“Good, you can hold ground. Now, I will teach you simple way to stop bullies,” Iron Curtain said, smiling at Static, who looked right up at him. “By time I am done with you, nopony will ever want to bully you again.” 

“Really?!”

“Da. You will be stronger than them, more powerful!” Iron Curtain laughed, holding a hoof to his chest, as he imagined what he was to turn this young colt into. “By time I am done with you, they shall fear you like a—”

“Like a thunderstorm?!” Static Shower asked, his eyes gleaming as he did so. 

Iron Curtain looked down at Static Shower, his left eye wide as he watched the small colt seem to glow at the idea, his wings trembling with excitement. Pressing his lips together, Iron Curtain began to nod at the strange idea. 

“Da, like thunderstorm,” Iron Curtain continue to nod, as Static Shower bounced up and down. “Stop with bouncing! Stallions do not bounce!” Iron Curtain barked, bringing Shower to a full stop. “Now, we begin training…” 

--

“Nevous?” 

“A little…” 

“Good. Never go into battle cocky. Better to overestimate then under. Now go to war.” Static Shower gave an audible gulp as he stood next to the much larger Iron Curtain. For the past few hours they had been out in the woods training, and he still wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to take on those bullies. Now they stood at the playground they were always at, the one they kicked him out of due to bullying him. 

“What if we trained for a bit longer. That way I can have time to—”

“Nyet! Do not put off! More delay will make less hesitate to fight! Now go!” Iron Curtain gave Static a hard shove, pushing him forward onto the playground, causing many ponies to take notice, especially one colt, who began to walk towards the newcomer. 

“Well, look who's back,” Static shuddered slightly at the voice, he recognized it anywhere: Meathead. He was a red unicorn colt that was much bigger than other colts his age. “I thought I told you never to come back here.” He sneered, as he stood over Static Shower. 

“Mo-mommy said this playground was for—” 

“Come on! Speak up Static Loser,” 

“That's not my—” 

“No cutie mark and a stupid name. No wonder you have no friends,” Meathead laughed, causing a few other colts and fillies to laugh as well, just so they would not be targeted as well. 

Static Shower hunched over as the three bullies laughed at him. Every fiber in his being told him to turn tail and run. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Iron Curtain still standing there, watching him. Turning back and looking at Meathead, Static took a deep breath, and started to act like Iron Curtain wanted him to. 

“Ragh!” From his hunched over position, Static Shower shot his head forward into Meathead’s face with all the force he could muster up. The laughing of the other colts and fillies dissipated in a flash as Meathead fell backwards to the sudden headbutt. However, the bullies torment was not over yet as Shower jumped onto Meathead’s chest and started to punch his bully over and over. 

“Good! Good!” Iron Curtain laughed, as parents started to take notice and started to shout at the pair. Iron Curtain just counted to laugh deeply, cutting out some of the parent’s shrieks of horror as Static kept punching Meathead. 

“What is going on?!” A more feminine voice cried out. “You two! Stop this right now!” From the corner of Iron Curtain’s eye he saw the owner of the voice move forward. 

“Nyet,” Iron Curtain said, throwing his foreleg out in front of the mare before she could move forward. “Let them fight it out. Good for colts to fight! Builds character,” he said, watching his young pupil dominate the fight, showing the ferocity of a powerful thunderstorm in every strike. “Keep up, Static Shower!” 

“That’s Static Shower! What happened to him?” The mare shouted, only causing another bond of laughter from Iron Curtain. 

“I taught him to be stallion! To stand up for self! Good, yes?” Iron Curtain turned to the mare he had stopped, only to come face to face with the newest princess herself. “Oh! Princess Twilight! Good to finally meet you. I am Iron Curtain, and I am here to—”

“Y-you savage!” 

“Huh?” Iron Curtain could only blink in confusion, as Twilight stomped over to him her own eyes wide with anger as she glared at him. 

“What have you done to that sweet colt?! How did you turn him into such a… a…. I have no words to describe this audacity!” Twilight shouted, before pushing past Iron Curtain and to the two fighting colts, her horn glowing as she did. A purple aura surrounded both of the young colts and pulled them away from one another. “You two come with me this instant! We'll get your injuries looked at before you tell me what led to this.” She then whipped around and glared at the stunned Iron Curtain. “And you… I never want to see you in Ponyville again. Good day!” Twilight said, turning away from the stallion with a huff, before walking back to her home with both colts still suspended in air. 

As she walked away, Static Shower looked back at Iron Curtain and began to wave to him, a wide toothy grin spreading across his face. “Thank you Iron Curtain! You're the best pirate ever!” He shouted, as he was carried off. 

Iron Curtain could only watch, his mouth slightly open as he watched the three walk away. Never had he seen such a thing. Back in his own country when colts fought, it was normal to watch and give praise to the victor for proving they were a true stallion. Here, they are both treated like newborns, and given a timeout? 

“What strange country,” Iron Curtain mumbling till Static Shower was out of sight. Suddenly, realization of what Twilight had said came over the larger pony. “Der’mo! Vovo is going to kill me!” 
> Minx vs. Quick Study - Winner: Quick Study (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minx vs. Quick Study - by Minx's Author

“Hey Minx!” Minx blew a puff of air into her purple and blue mane and looked up from mopping the floor to her boss. The boss of the nightclub was a tall and burly white-coated Pegasus with a fire red mane. On his flank were a couple of Martini glasses with olives.

“Yeah bosth?” Minx asked, putting the mop down and walked over to him, being mindful of her step as the floor was still drying.

“Seeming that all you do around here during the day is to constantly clean, I have a different job for you. I want you to deliver a crate of hard apple cider to our branch in Baltimare. They need a quick restock as their regular suppliers can’t do it until Wednesday.” He said to Minx, smiling at her. Minx saluted and went to the back to grab a crate.

“You want thith delivered to Baltimare? I can do that for you.” She called out. She flicked on a light and ruffled her wings a bit to keep herself warm in the chilly back room. Grabbing a metal trolley, Minx pushed it to the correct aisle and after taking a deep breath, heaved a crate of the requested cider off the bottom shelf and on to the trolley. Breathing out slowly, Minx slowly walked out of the room and out the door, waving to her boss as she went past him.

“I’ll be back when I can. No telling how long thith can take.” Minx said to him and went to the hot air balloon that was parked out back. She managed to lift the heavy wooden crate into the balloon by using her wings to lift herself and the crate up and over the lip of the basket.

Having set down the crate and steadied the balloon, Minx flew back out to the metal trolley and quickly sent it back to the storage room. Putting it back in its place, Minx smiled to herself and flew back out to the balloon. ‘I have to get this to Baltimare and be back to finish up cleaning.’ Minx reminded herself as she lifted off and piloted the delivery balloon to Baltimare.



Quick Study, a mare with a light amber coat and a creamy mane and tail with the both of them being braided in a dutch knot style, has just returned home from a long week of happily repairing books at Equestria’s Ministry of Archives. Her saddlebags were full to the brim with notes and note-taking materials.

Walking through the crowds, she looked up to gauge the sun’s position only to find it being blocked by a descending hot air balloon. Wondering why a hot air balloon was descending in Baltimare, Quick Study followed its descent until it disappeared behind a row of buildings. Seeing it disappeared from view, Quick immediately ran to where she thought the balloon ended up. Arriving at the location, she was very surprised at the sight of an angry mare between two downed ponies.

“Argh! I shouldn’t have thrown that crate of Cider at them! Now I have to go back and get more.” The mare sounded disappointed at the crate being broken into pieces, along with the cider bottles. Looking up from the fight, she glared at Quick and slowly walked up to her. “What did you see?” She asked through gritted teeth.

“N-nothing.” Quick immediately said, slightly scared of the black mare. She watched her blow into her purple and blue mane before seeing a nod. After a quick glance at her head, the mare smiled.

“Good. Now before she gets control of her body back, help move the unconscious colts.” She replied as she walked towards the two ponies she must have fought. “Oh yeah. Before the switch happens, my name is Devilinx.” She added as she looked back over her shoulder to Quick.

Gulping nervously, Quick followed and suddenly understood why Devilinx looked at her head. She must have been counting on her to levitate the ponies. Not wanting to incur Devilinx’s rage, Quick wordlessly lit her horn and slowly moved one pony at a time into the alley next to the nightclub. When she was finished, she looked up to see the hot air balloon from earlier.

In front of the nightclub, Devilinx shuddered as she looked at the remains of the crate and its contents.

“Uuhhh.” Minx groaned as she closed her eyes and held a hoof to her head. She shook it, trying to get rid of a confusing headache. “What- oh no.” Minx’s eyes turned to pinpricks as she looked at the remains of her delivery. “No no no no no no. I’m going to get so fired for this.” Minx panicked and went into the alleyway where she had parked her hot air balloon earlier.

When Quick had finished, she looked up to see the hot air balloon from earlier. She walked up to it and as she was about to climb inside, she heard running hoofsteps. Quick turned around and saw Devilinx running towards her.

“This isn’t what it looks like! I was only looking!” Quick protested as Devilinx slowed down to a stop and let out a gasp at the two bodies lying next to the balloon.

“Did you do that?” Minx asked, pointing to the bodies. She saw the mare shake her head quickly. “If not you, then who?” Minx asked and stepped closer to the bodies.

.Quick Study cocked her head to the side and looked at Devilinx curiously. “You did. You asked me to help you move the bodies into the alley.” Quick said slowly. She looked between the bodies and the mare before her. “You don’t remember that?”

Minx shook her head, finally figuring out why that confused feeling had appeared. “No I don’t. Sorry. It must have been one of my split personalities.” Minx mumbled, walking towards the bodies. She poked them to see if they were still breathing. “I don’t think she killed them though. My name’s Minx. What’s yours?” Minx said a bit louder than before, turning towards the amber mare.

Quick had a confused look while Minx was talking. She shook her head and told Minx her name. “My name is Quick Study. I - are you alright though?” Quick questioned when she realised Minx hadn’t stopped staring at the bodies.

Minx nodded and stepped back from the colts. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Devilinx didn’t kill them, did she?” Minx asked, too afraid to step any closer than a stick-length away. She flapped her wings and stepped over towards Quick. She opened her mouth to say something when she was interrupted by groans and grunts of pain. ‘Please don’t tell me …” Minx thought as she turned around.

“Uh, Minx? Maybe we should go before they wake and mistake you for Devilinx.” Quick said hurriedly and backed away from the balloon.

“Right.” Minx agreed and ran after Quick Study to the sounds of stallions shouting angrily at her.



After having run a long while, both mares finally slowed. Minx looked behind to see if their pursuers had given up. Seeing that they have, she sped up a bit to speak to Quick.

“They’ve given up. I think we can slow down now!” Minx told her. Quick nodded and began to slow down. Minx looked up as shouts could be heard from above. Frustrated that they couldn’t leave well enough alone, Minx flapped her wings and took off into the air, leaving Quick Study to slow down and watch from the ground. Reaching the balloon, Minx flapped in place so that she could see eye to eye with them.

“Why do you keep chasing us!?” Devilinx questioned angrily, glaring at them.

The two colts looked at each other and snickered. “Simple. You bashed us over the head with cider. Now we want to do the same to you.” The one on the left, a dark blue colt with a purple and green mane said. 

“Oh really?” Devilinx rhetorically. “Now why would that be.” She added, flapping higher till she was level with the balloon itself. Grinning, she bit into the balloon and tore a piece away, making it fly away as air shot out of it. Devilinx and Quick heard the stallions’ screams until they disappeared behind a row of houses.

“Thometimes I really hate doing deliveriesth.” Devilinx muttered. She glided down until she was next to Quick, giving her a wide smile. Quick shook her head, still looking at where the hot air balloon was last seen. Looking at Devilinx, she smiled back weakly and backed away slowly; clearly scared of her.

“When you were up there, near the balloon, you switched personalities so quickly. I thought that the ‘host’ personality had to react to something for a switch to take effect.” Quick said curiously once she had backed up to be just within ear shot range. Her eyes widened though when she saw Devilinx shudder slightly before giving a confused look.

“Why are you backing away? Did I do thomething to offend you?” Minx asked as she took a step forward. When Quick took a step back, Minx stopped and sighed. “It’th my thplit personality ithn’t it? It happened when my father died. I developed two other perthonalilties and got a cutie mark to show for it.” Minx said sadly and turned to the side to show Quick her cutie mark. “Your cutie mark ith of a book with multiple bookmarksth. That would mean you’re a what? A scholar? A bookkeeper?” Minx asked.

“It means I am efficient at helping take care of books for Equestria’s Ministry of Archives.” Quick said quickly, taking a cautionary step forward. “What do you do for a job?”

“I work at a nightclub in Cloudsdale. Is there someplace else we can talk? It’s getting kind of chilly out here.” Minx suggested, glad that Quick wasn’t scared by her.

“Yes, but I’m not sure if inviting you to my house will be good for me.” Quick said skeptically. Minx sighed and nodded, understanding why.

“I understand why. It’s fine. I’ll just fly back to Cloudsdale and warm up there. It was nice meeting you though.” Minx said, smiled and waved before taking off, flying towards Cloudsdale. ‘How am I going to explain to my boss that I lost the balloon AND the delivery? He will not like this. Not at all.’ Minx thought worryingly.

Watching Minx fly off, Quick sighed and turned around, walking down the streets towards her house. ‘She seems like a nice mare but she’s way too unstable.’









Quick Study vs. Minx - by Quick Study's Author

        This is the story of a Pegasus mare named ‘Minx’. She works at the ‘Screaming Eagle’ nightclub, one of the premier establishments in Cloudsdale. She sees many ponies stop by for dancing or drinking. Some even share stories or secrets, for as we all know, what the bartender hears is confidential isn’t it?

-----

        So I’m standing at the bar, just finished an order for a party of ten, when in trots in this nerdy looking unicorn carrying these very overstuffed saddlebags. Which is strange enough as Cloudsdale doesn’t have many unicorns walking around, the whole falling through the floor and to your death being the major reason why. So she must have been here for one of two reasons, business or pleasure. And seeing as how the mare had a small frown etched on her face as she sat at the bar, I had to wager it was the former. Ponies only had that expression when they were deep in thought about their lives, and only trouble in the workplace could cause that particular reaction.

        I walked over and took her order, a strawberry maretini, and quickly made it. She downed that drink faster than I had made it with the constitution most sailors would be jealous of. I politely waited a moment to see what she would do next, and to my thanks, she decided to speak first.

        “I hate ponies.” she voiced dully whilst staring straight at her drink.

        “Well, that’s a bit much.” I responded “Why the long face?” I had a tingling in the back in my mind that I had somehow made a horrible joke, however I couldn’t quite figure out why and seeing as the mare showed no reaction, I decided it must have been my own imagination.

        The mare shook her head, clearing it from whatever troubled her, before she turned to me and with a small smile introduced herself. “Sorry, I’m Quick Study. And I guess I’m just a bit ornery after work today.”

        “Must be pretty bad if you want to write off the whole pony race like that.” I quipped. “Name’s Minx. So, what’s got you so riled up?”

        Quick apparently was a skittish one, she looked over both her shoulders to see if there were any eavesdroppers before she leaned in towards me, as if she was about to deliver some world shattering news. “You see, the thing is,” she whispered, “ponies just have zero respect for books anymore.”

        “Really?” I responded automatically. I found that what many ponies wanted to complain or talk about usually wasn’t as big a deal as they made it out to be. However after years of doing this, I found it was easier for them to just talk about it out loud and have them get it out of their system was better in the long run. So really it was just a case of nodding and responding at the right moments to carry the conversation. However, this was by far one of the more unusual things I had heard a mare complain about. Usually it was just relationship or job troubles, but ponies not reading enough is apparently a big deal to her. I decided this time maybe it’d be interesting to actually pay attention for once.

        “Yeah!” she continued excitedly, “I mean, I understand that not everypony likes sitting down and reading as much as I do, but when it comes down to not even knowing some basic facts about Equestrian history, or even the simple inner workings of our government, I start to wonder just what they teaching foals in school these days.”

        “Oh, I can understand that.” I replied, “You wouldn’t believe the number of patrons who come in here not understanding that just because you think you can down a whole keg of hard cider, it doesn't mean you should… or that I should be responsible for making them clean it up.”

        Quick chuckled a bit at my joke, but I was quite serious. After I saw Thunder Folds lose his lunch all over my bar and he told a joke that ‘the bar-wench will clean this up’, I sorta blacked out and the next thing I know is I’m watching him mop up the mess with a rag and he’s sporting some new bruises to match his already haggard appearance. Must have changed his mind or something, I never found out and he refused to elaborate.

        “The worst part of it all,” continued Quick Study, “was when I arrived at the Cloudsdale archives today.” That raised an eyebrow with me. The Cloudsdale archives, for all intents and purposes, was a veritable dumping ground for all manner of bureaucratic nightmares in this town. I had to venture down there a couple times to renew the liquor licence for the club, and those memories of what I experienced there will stay nice and repressed thank you very much.

        “You work for the archives?” I asked guessing by how the conversation had been going.

        She nodded happily before pointing to a pin adorning the saddle bags she had brought in with her. “Scribe and Keeper of Books for the Equestria’s Ministry of Archives, that’s me.” She proclaimed in a chipper tone. “Though honestly it isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.”

        “Kinda sounds like a captain of a secret society or something.” I added.

        “Oh nothing like that.” she tittered, “Really, all my responsibilities involve going through the records and keeping them up to date. Things like, repairing the books, organizing the books, reshelving the books, ordering the new books, dealing with books possessed by the spirits of the Tinagrack the ever-knowing, and keeping all the records organized.”

        “What was that—?”

        “So really, the whole thing is really just simple normal stuff.” Quick Study affirmed.

        “So... if it's really that simple, why are you so angry right now?” I inquired.

        “It’s because of just how badly the books here in Cloudsdale were!” she exclaimed “Usually Soaring Sun handles the pegasus cities, but he was out with the trots for the past week and is still recovering.”

        “A whole week?” I questioned very surprised at her claim.

        “Yeah, word of advice. Don’t ever order the MuchoQuesanriadiado with suprise sauce next time you’re in Mexicolt.”

        “Point taken.” I acknowledge as my intestines seemed to quiver at the mean mention of whatever that was.

        “Anyway, usually when I arrived to start my archiving job, there is normally one maybe two bins of books that need to be repaired.” Quick Study elaborated. “But when I came to the archives in Cloudsdale, there were forty bins full of damaged items! That’s as many as four tens!”

        “Wow, sounds terrible.” I commented.

        “So I do a little digging and it turns out that this isn’t a backlog, this is how many damaged items were returned in the last month alone!” proclaimed Quick Study. “It just makes me so… ugh, to see ponies mistreat books like this. But thankfully I have a plan.”

        “You do?” I asked curious as to what this mare had come up with to fix a rather serious problem in hindsight.

        “Oh yes. For every damaged item that a Pegasus returns to the Cloudsdale archives, a primary feather will be forcefully removed as restitution.” she happily stated. I however, had my jaw unhinged in shock and it hit the floor with such intensity it went through it. Of course, that’s what you get when you make it out of cheap stratocumulmus.

        “Isn’t that a bit… harsh, maybe?” I questioned. “Breaking a few books is one thing, but nearly clipping some pony's wings? That’s going a bit too far.”

        “You can never go too far to preserve the sanctity of knowledge!” shouted Quick Study as she leapt to standing on her stool. “And it’s not just Pegasi, Earth Ponies would be forced to carry around heavy weights, and unicorns would have limiter ring put on their horn.” Slowly Quick Study started looking more and more manic as time passed. “And if it was minotaur, their horns would be filed down, a diamond dog, their claws clipped, and if it was a seapony, they… Well, actually they use tablets, paper and water don’t really mix that well.”

        It was at this point I felt like I was staring at the Nightmare Moon of the Librarum and that unless this mare’s mind was changed, she’s lead ponykind into a totalitarian rule under her book stamp of doom. However, it was her final words that helped me formulate an idea.

        “Wait!” I interjected. “Maybe it's a bit hasty, but I think know why so many items are damaged.”

        “What, really?!” she exclaimed, “Was it secretly old man Jenkins who was wearing a wolf costume to scare all the ponies away so he could destroy the archives and put up a new canning factory?”

        “Yes it was— wait what? NO! Where the heck did you come up with that?”

-----

        Unbeknownst to both of our characters, old man Jenkins had been listening in on the conversation. At the discovery of his sinister plot, he ran for the window and tearing it open shouted “You’ll never take me alive!” and dove out the window. Which was thankfully made entirely out of cloud so there was no shattering of glass that would have lead to a case of scattered showers of sharp death raining down on the village below. Jenkins himself was later arrested that night on an unrelated charge involving a pineapple and a yoyo and their highly inappropriate use in public.

-----

        Both Quick Study and I were quite shocked by the sudden outburst of the elderly Pegasus, but I decided it was best not to ask question about what just happened. I could only take so much crazy in one night at this club and it was only 1 AM.

        “But back to what I was saying,” I continued, “The reason why you’re having so many damaged items is obvious.”

        “Pegasi are lazy and uneducated?”

        “That’s racist.”

        “It’s all the stallions fault at not doing their jobs?”

        “That’s sexist.”

        “The Philosopher's stone did it?”

        “That’s Alchemist.”

        “So it’s nopony’s fault and I should just give up?!”

        “That’s defeatist.”

        “Okay then, what is it!” demanded an impatient Quick Study who was becoming quite annoyed at the length of this gag.

        “What kind of damage do these books suffer from most?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

        “Water damage mostly.” Quick Study responded.

        “And what are the buildings in Cloudsdale made most of?”

        “Duh, clouds.”

        “And clouds are made of, what, exactly?”

        “Water of course! Jeeze this is what… I’m… ohhhhhhhhh, right.” Quick Study droned before slowly realising what I was getting at. “I can’t believed I overlooked something so obvious!”

        “Yeah, so unless you have a plan for changing the very nature of clouds, I don’t think your plan is going to work. If anything, nopony will check out any books if that’s the punishment.” I explained to her. Quick Study then leaned on the counter and seemed to stare off into space. She must have been thinking really deeply, because I swore I saw a fly zoom in one nostril of hers and out the other.

        “Wait a moment!” Quick Study exclaimed for the nth time that evening causing many patrons to tell her to knock it off. “If I can’t change the archives, I’ll just change the books so they can’t be damaged anymore!”

        “Sounds like a lot of work,” I added, “That place is just filled with stuff, it’d take a pony ages to copy everything to new material.”

        “Not if I use transmutation!” she cheered as she bounded out the door. I could hear her hooting and hollering as she rounded the corner and headed for her place of employment eager to help change the world for the better.

        I was happy for her that things were turning around. As for me however, I realised she forgot to pay. So, I sighed in contemplation, at least it couldn’t have gotten worse.

-----

        Three days later the entire City of Cloudsdale was awoken to the sounds of 25,000 tomes and scrolls falling through the archives cloud floor and raining educational doom on the unsuspecting citizens below. It was unfortunate that while nylon is completely waterproof, it is also completely magic proof and all existing wards on the books keeping them held on the cloud shelves were erased the moment the chemical composition changed.

        On a positive note however, the city of Cloudsdale was hovering over a Diamond Dog enclave at that moment and the sudden deluge of texts led to a dramatic increase in literacy for the entire community. Sadly, it also sent the diamond dog local toilet paper industry completely bankrupt as the ‘92 Omnibus Guide to Griffin Tax Law’ was enough paper to last everydog a lifetime.
        

> Booster Bones vs. Mist Whisp - Winner: Booster Bones (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Booster Bones vs. Mist Whisp - by Booster Bones' Author

That day, like any other day for the extraordinary detective Booster Bones, began with him hiding in the shadows of some trash can as he cast a critical eye on the townsfolk that passed by him. His hiding spot was perfect, since no one had yet discovered his location, even when the trashcan had been emptied and filled several times already with him still by it. In fact, he hadn’t moved from that very spot for days, but the payoff was too sweet to miss out on. It offered the view of the entire market square along with all the juicy gossip that poured through it like a river of knowledge where he was the lone fisherpony. Sure, he hadn’t exactly caught any fish, and anyone else would have surely have died of hunger at this point, but he was sure that eventually something would pop up. Something…

Illegally decisive to the very case he had been stuck on!

Booster’s ears shot up like a net when a few murmurs floated in the breeze into his grasp.

“Did you hear about the ghost haunting the town?” a mare with ample makeup but little beauty asked her companion.

“Oh, I believe so,” the other mare answered. “But apparently its dropped under the radar for the past week or so.”

“I heard it’d surprise random ponies and ask them a bunch of nonsense questions.”

“And how exactly is that a haunting?”

The dolled-up mare shrugged. “I’dunno. I heard it was super-annoying though. I heard that even the police were called but the ghost disappeared before they could get to the bottom of it.”

As the two mares passed on by, those very specific words reverberated in Booster Bone’s head: get to the bottom of it, the bottom of it, it… That’s it!         His case he’s apparently forgotten about would surely have to involve what those two mares just said!

“A haunting, eh?” Booster said to himself, comforted by the suave yet rugged sound of his own voice. “That must be why I’m here. The police couldn’t do anything about this, which surely means that a private eye is operating in this neck of the woods. Yes, yes, it’s all coming back to me.” Booster took a drag on his cheap cigarette and nodded to himself, just as a stallion passing by accidentally knocked over the trashcan Booster was hiding behind, which completely passed through Booster’s spectral form. “A ghost can only mean trouble, and looks like trouble just gave me a VIP invitation to clock it to next Tuesday.”

Booster picked up a discarded banana that had gone right through his ghostly skull and squinted at it. “Unless it was Wednesday. Or Friday. Perhaps Monday? Wait, yeah, of course.” Booster scowled and shook the banana with a quiet fury in his hoof. “Mondays are the worse.”

Throwing away the rotten fruit peel and rising from the gutter of trash and used cigarette butts, Booster Bones inspected his surroundings. He was still in his stake-out area of a shadow-clogged alleyway filled with litter and discarded dreams—along with an ice machine that smelled kind of mildewy. Outside it was the market grounds. There, drenched in the unforgiving daylight, the ponies of this cutthroat town (it was a village Booster didn’t bother to remember the name of, but really, who cares) made about their day in solace and shifty looks. Oh yes, anyone of them could be the… was it a murderer? Thief? Carriage-jacker?

Booster knocked a hoof his temple and laughed. “Wait, no, it’s a ghost! Now I remember.”

Okay, so anyone in the market could be the phantom he was looking for. Each of them was guilty until proven guilty, Booster Bones knew this well enough, and even if he had to interrogate each and every one of them, he’d gladly be obliged. But where to begin…

“Children and elderly!” Booster said, a wicked grin spreading like wildfire on his cheeks. “Everypony knows that’s usually who did it. Also, the butler. But I’m pretty sure in this desolate abyss of hope and the absence of the sanctities of modern society, butlers would be nowhere to be seen.”

Already the shouts of the ghastly reached Booster’s ears. Checking for a peek from outside of his alleyway, Booster spotted a truly horrifying sight that sent shivers up, down, and side to side his phantasmal spine: foals playing hopscotch and laughing. Each of their skips and giggles was another twist of the knife into the back of all things treasured and righteous in this world. Each of those laughing, snot-nosed, little abominations could have been the ghoul he was after. No doubt their haunting had already corrupted this pimple on the oversized nose of society that was a town into a wart.

“But looks like the wart removing cream just came in,” Booster said, already sneaking up to the group of foolishly foul foal fiends. “And it’s extra-strength, antiseptic, twenty-four relief for ages twelve and up.” He was nearly upon them, and already the adrenaline of the case hit his unbeating heart in a surge of excitement. “And looks like you dastardly deviants aren’t the correct age. Too bad for you, there are no refunds on the unsightly facial oddity removing cream train!”

“What are you doing?”

Booster stopped in his tracks, immediate rage consuming his soul. “I’m trying to get some internal monologue down over here, goooooosh.”

Booster turned to confront the rude interrupter of foal-punishers and was met with a jackpot. It was a mare, but not just any mare! No, it was some crockety-looking old wench with a grey coat and a grey mane… or was it white? Eh, it didn’t matter. What really made a statement was the fact that her eyes were pale blue, almost with a glassy appearance on them. Booster had seen enough dead bodies—some caused by him both on purpose and by accident (mostly on accident)—to know those were the eyes to a stiff. Also, she had what was clearly a ghost cutie mark on her surprisingly youthful looking butt.

The ghostly apparition arched a brow at Booster, appearing much less crotchety and more like a disapproving random bystander than anything else. “Well, it looks like you were about to jump those foals over there instead.”

“Don’t you mean you were gonna jump those foals over there?” Booster asked. For added effect, he raised the stakes on the eyebrow game and gave it a go with a wiggle followed by a disgruntled frown.

She backed down to his challenge and merely sighed in content instead. “No, I mean you were quite literally sneaking up on those foals like you were going to pounce on them.”

“Aha, so you’ve revealed your mordo operambo!”

“You mean modus operandi?”

Booster pointed his trademark accusing hoof right in the mare’s muzzle. “So you admit it again! Double the proof, double the jeopardy! You’re gonna get it in the big house now, missy!” Booster took a long drag on his cigarette, blew some of the smoke obnoxiously in her face, and sighed in content for another job well done. “Dear Celestia’s sunny butt I’m good.”

The mare coughed and waved the smoke out of her face. “Whoa, what’s the big idea here?”

Booster cocked a grin. “The big idea is that I, Booster Bones, private eye extraordinaire, caught yet another criminal on the case!” He glanced down at his hoof and couldn’t help but chuckle. “And did it in record time, too. Less than five minutes from finally figuring out why I’ve been here for a week I already found the criminal. Or should I say, the crimin-apperation...spook...shade...banshee…” Booster coughed into his hoof and swallowed a seemingly out of nowhere lump in his throat. “It sounded better in my head, okay.”

The mare arched another brow—really, at this point she could build a bridge over his forehead with those things—and said, “Well, from my point of view, you appear to be the ghost, not me.”

Booster Bones guffawed. Then he snickered, followed by a hearty sneer and ending in an gut-clenching snort. “Me? A ghost? And how did you reach that conclusion, Miss Ghostly Ghostington from Ghostville, Ghostia?”

“Well, for starters, my name is Mist Whisp, not whatever…” she shrugged, “you just said. Secondly, I’m not see-through like you appear to be.”

“Oh, so you’re insulting me weight now, huh?” Booster said. He sniffled and looked down at his near skeletal appearance. “I mean, I could do for some added weight, but a private eye’s salary is pretty thin, and sometimes—”

“Listen,” Mist Whisp cut in, “can we move this along? I need to get back home. I’m planning to make some pancakes this morning and only came to the market to get some maple syrup.”

Booster’s downtrodden spirits picked themselves up from their roadkill endings and were breathed new life from the breath of divine mercy at the mere mention of the word ‘maple’ along with ‘syrup,’ but especially when in such close proximity to one another to spell ‘maple syrup.’

Eyeing the saddlebag to her side, Booster passed right through Mist, causing the mare to shudder and spasm uncontrollably from Booster’s ethereal touch. With a flick of his wrist Booster opened up Mist’s saddlebags and pulled out the prize inside: maple syrup.

Still shuddering, Mist shook her head and snapped out of her disgust. “What in the… hey, that’s my maple syrup!”

“Empty,” Booster said, turning the uncorked bottle and finding nary a single drop pouring out. “Just as I thought. I had heard reports from amongst the denizens of this crime ridden hovel that a syrup thief was on the loose. And it looks like that trail led right to the ghost all along.” Booster ripped his hat back and smiled as smug as ghostly possible. “Damn, I am super duper good.”

“First off, I bought that syrup. Secondly, you have syrup covering your mouth,” Mist pointed out. “Thirdly, and probably the most disgusting, there’s a puddle of syrup around your hooves, because apparently ghosts are both stupid and can’t even drink syrup! All that syrup, gone to waste because of you.”

“Whoa now, missy, are you accusing a federal officer of the law?” Booster asked, getting uncomfortably close to her both in a physical and spectral sense. “Because I’m not one of those guys. I’m private law.” Booster shrugged and backed up. “However, I don’t take kindly to unjust accusations.”

“I just saw you drink all the syrup.”

“Lies! Vile lies and slander!”

“It’s still on your face!”

Booster wiped his stubble-covered muzzle, the sticky residue of the syrup still fresh on his cheeks. “That could have been anyone’s maple syrup.”

“It’s all over the ground around you.”

“What? Seriously?!” Booster eyed the syrup underneath his hooves and licked his lips. “Sweet! Five second rule!”

“Oh please no.” Mist closed her eyes and clenched her teeth as Booster went to town on the syrup like a dog to a water bowl on a hot day. However, whatever syrup Booster consumed just passed through his stomach and added back to the puddle once more. This process would have repeated until the end of time if Mist Whisp hadn’t just attempted to sneak away while Booster was busy. And by sneak away, she actually raced for her very life.

However, she only made it down the alleyway Booster had previously called his stake-out point before the ghostly nuisance himself popped out of a wall right by Mist’s head.

“Ahhhhh!” Mist screamed. She backed away from the wall as fast as her hooves could take it, but while simultaneously running this caused her to just trip all over herself and land in a heap of bruised limbs and an even more bruised dignity.

“Huh, that’s the first time a pegasus tried to cheese it without flying,” Booster noted over the pile of pain that was now Mist Whisp.

“That’s because I don’t know how to fly,” Mist muttered darkly. She was just getting back to all fours, still aching all over but nothing broken.

“How in the hell does a pegasus not know how to fly?”

Mist Whisp frowned. “I… was born in an underground village of pegasi. It’s cut away from the surface completely long ago—”

“And, like, no one was horrifically inbred over centuries of a low diversity gene pool?” Booster asked.

Mist Whisp shrugged. “I’dunno. Anyway, since we never had a sky to fly in we just depended on underground weather conditions instead, like mist, and over the years who even learned how to walk on water.”

“Wait… you can already fly. What possible use of walking on water could there be when you could just fly over it?” Booster asked, scratching the side of his cheek. “I mean, I can understand the walking on water bit being useful for nearly anyone else who doesn’t have wings, but even if you only have, let’s say, six feet of space, you could still just fly instead of walking on water.”

“Uh…” Mist Whisp blinked, and then coughed slightly. “Anyway, I lived there with my younger brother and parents, until one day some diamond dog attacked the village and—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up now.” Booster raised a hoof. “I need to tell you this right here and right now to save us both some time: your life story sounds extremely boring, and I just can’t dig up the needed ‘damns’ to give some to you. I’m drastically low on ‘damns,’ it being a finite resource and all, so typically I try to keep my consumption low, and I definitely don’t want to blow on this very, very, very tedious angst-filled origins story.”

Mist Whip scowled at him. Her face was actually visibly becoming redder and redder the longer in Booster’s presence she remained.

“Anyway, since you’re the ghost that’s been terrorizing this town, I’ll have to put you in jail. Probably call an exorcist. Although they sure aren’t cheap…” Booster Bones hummed to himself and rubbed his maple-covered chin. “Eh, some holy water and a cheese grater would have to do.”

“But I’m not a ghost.”

“And I’m not the best detective in the entire world, but c’mon,” he flashed her a stunning smile on maple syrup coated teeth, “we both know that’s a lie.”

“I’m not going with you, and that’s final,” Mist Whisp said. And with that she took a step forward, physically passed through Booster once again with only minor goosebumps and indigestion, and made her way out of the alley.

“Oh no you don’t!” Booster cried out, attempting to grab onto her. Yet all his attempts were foiled since he just passed right through her. 

After the third dozen or so tries, he just laid in a heap on the ground to give up. He had failed to apprehend his perp, he had failed to solve his case, and worst off—since it had now been approximately five minutes—he had failed to remember what his case was about in the first place.

Standing back up, he picked up his hat from his head and scratched his permanently ruffled mane. “Wait… what type of criminal was I chasing after again?”

An elderly mare passed right by him, taking no notice since she was fully focused on trying to feebly shuffle along using just her cane for support.

“Oh riiiiiiiiiight,” Booster Bones said, confident grin breaking out like acne on a pubescent colt on his cheeks. “The elderly are the criminals this time! Well, better get to work.”

Needless to say, the town’s ghost problem wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

> Lucky Stars vs. Foxglove - Winner: Foxglove (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

New Lesson - by Lucky Stars' Author

"I don't wanna be tootored," Figgy pouted as she sat at the wooden table, staring at the paper before her. Her father— Foxglove— sat next to her, his brown eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm sorry Figgy, but do you want to end up like Daddy?" he said, pressing his hoof on the clear black 'F' beside 'Math'. She curled her lip and mimicked Daddy's face.

"I. don't. want. a. tootor."

Foxglove's face fell into his hooves. He rubbed and pinched at the bridge of his muzzle several times before bringing his forelegs back down, allowing his eyes to meet those of his daughter.

"Ms. Stars will be here any minute now," he said, leaning in toward her, "You will be nice to her. You will not give her a hard time."

He paused.

"What will you do?"

Before she could have answered, both of their ears were drawn to the knocking of the door.

"She's here," he said as he got up, "Be nice."

Figgy ignored him as he approached the door, which was only several meters away. She pushed the paper down the table and plopped her chin on its wooden surface. Through her left ear, she heard the door open and some voices.

"Good afternoon Foxglove."

"You too. Come on in. She's at the table."

Ms. Stars and Foxglove trotted to the table to notice the filly crunched forward, the table serving as the only thing holding her up. Ms. Stars's eyes were drawn to her and her mind began contemplating a response.

"Hello," she said, perking up a smile, "You must be Figgy," she then sat down in the chair next to her. Figgy's eyes glanced at Ms. Stars but her face remained frozen. Ms. Stars sat there, though, never lost her reassuring grin and waited for an answer from her friend. The result of the two ponies' behaviors was a long, agonizing silence. The air that had previously been swirling in motion had slowed to a cruise.

"Answer the question," Foxglove said as he leered at Figgy with his cold lavender eyes.

"Foxglove," Ms. Stars said, "it's not good to yell at her."

"I didn't ask for your thoughts."

Figgy stared at her father, who was beside her. His bold, stern stare penetrated her mind, leaving her with a burning feeling in her mind. Moving her head proved to be difficult but she managed to turn her head away from him and toward Ms. Stars, whose calm face and smile extinguished much of those sensations. The muscles in her own face relaxed and mirror those of the one sitting before her.

"Yes..." she said while holding a straight face "I am Figgy."

"I'm really glad to meet you, Figgy. My name is Lucky and I'm going to be helping you with math," she then extended her hoof out toward the filly, "I think we can be really good friends. What do you think about that?"

Figgy looked at the white hoof before her, raised her own, and gripped it. She smiled as the warm feeling touched her for the first time.

"I'm your friend now," Figgy said as she wrapped her other hoof around Lucky's, "and you're my tootor now."

Lucky's smile widened.

"Very well. Shall we get started?" she asked her.

Figgy nodded her head. Afterward, Lucky looked to her left and saw the piece of paper on the table. She picked it up and flipped it over to reveal a blank side. Lucky gave Figgy a look before placing the paper before her blank side up.

"Okay then," Lucky said. She then pulled out a pencil and placed it in her mouth. She went over to the paper and wrote "3+5" on it. Upon finishing, she opened her jaw, allowing the pencil to rest on the table.

"Can you tell me what that is?" Lucky asked her.

Figgy's eyes narrowed and focused exclusively on the numbers that were written by her new friend. She tried to string together bits and pieces of the things she heard at school but nothing made for a tangible solution; the teacher's words were gibberish and the homework was little more than coloring sheets.

"No," Figgy finally said. Her entire face tensed up and her eyes became clouded with worry. But Lucky's disposition never faltered for even a moment.

"That's okay," she said. She placed her hoof on the pencil and held it directly over the paper, "I can help you."

Using the pencil, Lucky wrote down the numbers one through ten on the left end of the paper. Beside each of them, she drew a series of tiny circles whose quantity was equal to the number it was next to.

"Now these are some numbers we use in math. Have you seen them before?"

Thoughts of her teacher writing down numbers on the chalkboard struck a chord with Figgy. In response, she nodded her head.

"Yes," she said, "I know one," she then pointed to its marking on the paper, "two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten."

"Good," Lucky said, "now let's add them," she hovered her hoof over the number three, "now it looks like the question wants us to take three and do something with five. It wants us to add them because," she then moved her hoof over to the sign between the three and the five, "there is a plus sign between the two of them," she then looked at a concentrating Figgy, "so how do we add them?"

"I don't know," Figgy answered, "I took a test on it and I didn't know how to do it. That's why Daddy is having you come here."

"Well it's very simple," Lucky said, "you put three and five together so," she then wrote down three dots, "One, two, three, plus five: one, two, three, four, five."

Lucky placed down the pencil and looked at the row of eight circles.

"Now how many is that?" she asked.

Figgy looked at the line of dots before her and counted up from one. Lucky couldn't help but notice how concentrated Figgy was at counting all of them; her brows were furrowed and her hooves were pressed against the table.

"Eight?" she said, looking up at her.

Lucky gave her a smile and said "That's right."

Figgy mirrored that exact grin on her tutor's face and looked down at the sheet. After looking at all of the numbers and the circles again, she looked back up at Lucky.

"Do you want to do another one?" Lucky asked.

Figgy jolted her head up and down until she was certain her head would come off. To Lucky, such joy was as blissful as the sun on a summer day.





"Have we finished up for the day?" Foxglove asked Lucky.

"I believe we have," she said as she gave him a look. After a moment, she turned to Figgy.

"Well," she said, "I have to leave now."

Figgy's face, which was mostly encompassed by a grin, took a hit. Although it wasn't enough to completely destroy it, the change was particularly noticeable.

"Will you be coming back?" she asked.

Lucky, noticing the filly's concern, placed a hoof on her shoulder.

"Yes, I will see you every Wednesday. We can have more fun then."

"I would..." Foxglove said. His face was merely blank at this point, "thank you for helping her today."

"You're very welcome," Lucky answered, "Figgy is just wonderful."

Lucky walked to the door, turned its knob, and swung it open. As she was about to walk through it, she turned to Figgy.

"Goodbye, Figgy!"

"Bye Lucky!" she exclaimed, waving her hoof in her air.

She smiled once more before moving through the doorway and shutting it behind her. As he heard the click, Foxglove turned to her.

"Figgy," he said, "there's something very special waiting for you in your room."

Figgy's eyes widened as her mind ran through the endless possibilities. Among them included dolls, play sets,  and— now— paper and penicls.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Well let's go see," he said as he started walking to her bedroom. Much like the main door, it was a short ways away. Foxglove went ahead and opened the door for her. Upon having the doorway cleared, she dashed into her room. On her bed was a small green doll: a unicorn dressed in a white coat and hat— which had a red cross sewn on it. Figgy believed that if her lips stretched any further, they would have froze in that very position.

"The new Polly Pony doll! Now she's a nurse!"

"Yep," he replied as a smile of his own painted itself on his face.

Figgy grabbed the doll from the bed and carried it over to the other side of the room. On the window sill were several other dolls that looked identical aside from the clothing. One of them wore a pink dress and a tiara, another wore a trench coat and a fedora, and the other sported a purple sweater. Figgy placed the nurse beside them.

"Hi, everypony," she said, "meet Polly Nurse. I think you'll really get to like her. Did I tell you about the new friend I made today?"









Little Toy Train - by Foxglove's Author

Eight hooves echoed off twin brick walls that encased the world in a narrow corridor between buildings.

The figures walked, briskly – the one ahead swathed in a dark cloak to match the night skies; the former with a dark ponytail swaying as she kept pace.

All it took were three words for the two to stop walking.

“I saw you,” the young mare said, shakily, less of accusation and more of an affirmation for her own benefit.

The stallion in the cloak skidded to a stop over uneven blue cobblestones, drenching them in silence for the barest of moments, the low hum of the crowd on the main streets unable to penetrate this far down the alleyway.

The lights danced, shadows cast, their world a duotone kaleidoscope where streetlamps on either end were blocked out by passersby.

The stallion turned.

He looked, up and down, gave the mare his regard for the first serious time in their walk from the toy store to this location.

The stallion took his time to observe her, and in his stillness the mare could see a pale grey face poking out from behind his defenses. His colours were remarkably similar to hers, with coats of whites and manes of darks. She could feel him try to read her, as his eyes ran over her little suit shirt and dress tie.

But they pulled away. Perhaps he had given up. Perhaps he had found all he was looking for. Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that she had seen him.

“Ya saw me, did ya?” the stallion said, thick and rough, as he raised his brow. “What of, then?”

“The toy.” She breathed in. “I saw you take it from the shop. You sneaked it under your cloak. You left without paying.”

The response warranted another look from the stallion, up and down, up and down.

“Brave lass,” he muttered, tilting his head to the side, speaking in short guttural bursts. “Earth mare chasin’ down a mean old unicorn stallion like meself.”

“No, listen.” She took a step back, just in case. “I wanted to talk. That’s all. But I will scream, if you give me reason to. I will scream, and others will come running.”

“A threat?”

“A scenario.” She breathed out, her chest quietly quivering to itself. “One that we need not approach if… if we don’t need to.”

“Mmm,” the stallion grunted, his head nodding up and down in some sort of understanding.

“W-what?” the mare spurted out.

“I’ll say again, lass. Brave.” The stallion flicked his head at her with indication. “A bit daft, maybe, but let me understand what ya want, yeah?”

“I want to talk. That’s all.”

“Right. And I got no interest in that, so say I choose t’ walk. And if I do this, then...?”

“Then I shall scream, and ponies will come in from either side. You will have no place to run, and you will be caught by the police.”

The stallion flicked his head to the side once more, while the mare stood firm, straight, upright.

“Mmm,” he grunted once more. “Right, for this, then.”

His cloak flew aside and a small wooden train flew out from behind the folds of cloth, enveloped in a small swathe of magic, moving carefully towards the point between him and her.

He stepped forward.

She stepped back.

The little toy train, polished and lacquered, of the finest craft, complete with a painted red steam tower and intricate detail on the doors and windows, came with a tiny little carved acorn that stood in as a driver of sorts.

Carried along in a cloud of dull grey, the toy was deposited unceremoniously on its side upon the dry cobblestone.

The stallion’s horn stopped glowing a moment after.

“Right. So. Fair’s fair,” the stallion said, coughing. “Ya caught me, eh. But I’d like to be on me way now, so if ya wanna scream go ahead and scream.”

The mare dropped her jaw, raising it again soon after, as if it would have betrayed the obvious confusion on her face.

“But… aren’t you worried about being caught?” she blurted out.

“Caught doing what?”

“Stea–”

“Lissen, lass. I’m jus’ an honest stallion makin’ my way. I saw a lady much like yerself steal a toy train from that store, an’ I followed her to this alley. That train right there.” the stallion nodded toward it. “You know, the one that dropped in th’ struggle when I tried to do my duty to apprehend a thief. Of course, the lady screamed, but it was only natural, innit?”

“But… that…”

“D’ya see? It’s yer word against mine, eh?”

“But they’ll never believe you,” the mare whispered, more shocked than anything else at the oddness of the situation.

“Well, if ya really think so, you ought ta get shoutin’ soon, aye?” The stallion shrugged. “But just like you, I don’t want the hassle. So, beggin’ yer pardon, but I think I’ll go now.”

“But don’t you… want this?” She looked at the train.

“Would be nice, yeah? But you got me at a bit of a… you know. Whatever this is.” The stallion waved his hoof back and forth between them. “So why don’t we both just call it even and be on our way? Now, you have yerself a good night, ey?”

He turned. Not a moment passed before he began walking to the other end of the alley. And once the corner was turned, he would be gone.

The mare stood, lower lip shaking as much as her breath was unsteady, her lungs ready to react to a decision that she had to make.

She watched as the figure walked, step by step, sure and steady in his gait, and reminded herself of how unsure her footing was in this predicament.

But her brow furrowed as she reminded herself of the reason she had even decided to embark on this foolhardy confrontation in the first place.

There was always a good way out.

She yelled.

But it wasn’t a call for help, nor a cause for alarm.

It was merely a raising of the voice, just so that he could hear.

“I-It’s for your daughter, isn’t it?” she called out, words unsteady, unsure.

His gait slowed.

“It’s a gift!” she continued. “Perhaps for a… a celebration, or as a reward? Maybe some occasion? M-must be for someone close. A son or daughter, then!”

The stallion stepped back quickly, closing the gap. This time, the mare did not move from her place, allowing her voice to fill the gaps in her courage.

“It’s a lovely gift, really. But these toys, they’re so outrageously priced, aren’t they? I mean… they do make for wonderful presents. I can’t really blame you for wanting one so badly. You must really love whomever it is… you’re…”

The rattling stopped when she realised that she was speaking mostly to the floor. She peeked up a little, catching glimpse of the stallion who was standing there as he was before, across from her, with the little toy train between. A bit further and she saw his expression that was caught between bemusement and pity.

“Ya done?” he asked, softly, not a trickle of anger or impatience felt in his tone.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” she replied.

“So, I’m now thinkin’ that you’re quite wrong up there.” The stallion tapped his temple.

“Maybe.”

“Why d’ya want to provoke me for, lady? Is that a good idea? Piss off a thief?”

“Yeah… that wouldn’t be a good idea, but I thought… I thought we could just have a–”

“ – a talk. Right,” the stallion finished.

“Ah… yes. And you’re right. It would probably be a bad idea to upset a criminal, but I didn’t think… that is to say… I don’t think you’re a thief.”

“Right. So you think the bloke you… caught… stealing… from a shop isn’t a thief.” The stallion rolled his hoof through the air.

“Yes. Well, no. Not when you put it that way! But… oh. Listen. Please. Just give me a few minutes. That’s all I ask. I know. It’s strange. It’s an odd request. But I just want to…” the mare held her hoof up to her head.

“Yeah?”

“I want to help.”

“With?”

“With the toy.”

The stallion stood and stared.

“With why you took it,” the mare clarified. “With… your situation.”

The stallion stared.

The crowd passed by on the outskirts, none the wiser.

“Ah… Um… Well. Let’s be civil. My name is Lucky Sta–”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Um… and you are?”

The stallion continued to stare, as it were his duty.

“R-right. Well. The reason why I decided to follow you was because I did notice something quite off, as it were.” Lucky tapped her hoof against the side of her head. “See, why does anyone steal?”

The stallion waited patiently.

“Well, there are many reasons, of course, but… but it’s… well, you have theft for necessity, right? Or for pure want, or curiosity, or boredom, or… whatever you have. But one thing’s quite the same, and it’s aways that the thief usually steals for him or herself.”

The stallion blinked, face devoid of any other reaction.

“But well. This… this toy. It’s for somepony else, isn’t it? You’re not stealing for your own benefit. At least, not directly. Surely this must be a gift, and that–”

“Wot, I can’t just like trains?” The stallion frowned, the first time he showed any sign of upset.

“Well… no, but…”

“And what if I was tryin’ t’ impress someone with a gift? What if I was stealin’ this to bribe someone? Means to an end, right? Still selfish, innit?”

“Well…” the mare started feeling a knot bunch up in her stomach.

“You said your name was ‘Lucky’, eh?” The stallion said with an ounce of frustration.

She nodded slightly.

“Yeah. You are.” The stallion breathed out with due heaviness.

“But…”

“No buts, ye daft quince!” he continued his voice raising ever louder. “If I was anyone else, d’ya know what might happen to ya? D’ya know how much pain ye’d be in? The sorts of things ponies get up to these days?”

Lucky Stars shifted her eyes down.

“And all because you say you want to ‘help’?”

“That’s not untrue!” Lucky shot in.

“Oh, really. Listen, lass, you don’t expect me to believe that, do ye? You got some angle, and trust me when I’m sayin’ that I’m only sticking around to make sure you ain’t gonna be some future pain up my ar–”

“It’s true!”

The stallion rolled his eyes, throwing his head back. “And in what universe do ye think we live in that ponies just help other ponies for th’ sake of it?”

“I do. Me.” Lucky growled, demanding her truth be heard.

The stallion stopped, his expression blank.

“And that’s all it took then, aye?” he asked. “For ye to start gallivanting after thieves despite the wholesome idiocy of it all?”

“I guess so.”

He sighed. He gave his best breath. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m sure ye know what I’m gunna say, but I’m gunna say it anyhows. My problems are my own business. I don’t want help, I don’t need help, and you sure as anythin’ ain’t the one who can help me. There are a hundred thieves in this city, and I ain’t any different than the rest of ‘em. You don’t know my story. You don’t know nothin’, and I ain’t about to tell you none.”

“I’m not asking for your story.”

“Then what is all this about, lass? You’re tryin’ me, you know?”

“Well, I believe that I can help. All I’m asking is that you let me take a chance.”

“And where is this belief comin’ from?” The stallion gasped, exasperated.

“Well, as you said. If it were anyone else… who knows. But I’m alive and well. And all this… all that we did, you just wanted to end it. Never wanted to take advantage. You got angry that I might have been hurt. I don’t see this sort of thing if you weren’t any sort of good pony, mister.”

The stallions eyebrows dropped backward. “Listen…”

“And… look, I’m not saying I know your story. I’m not saying that you have to tell me now in this alley. I just want to have a chance to talk to you and learn. Maybe… maybe somehow convince you that there’s something that can be done.”

“Listen, now…”

“I don’t know you at all. But when I feel there’s someone who can be helped. I never sit and let them pass.”

“Look.” The stallion sighed again, a longer, more wistful one this time. “I’m sorry, lass. I just don’t live in that world. Thank ye, really, for tryin’, but you’d just be wastin’ time on me.”

He stared at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and turned.

He stopped for a while, but made to move.

A voice called from behind.

“Hey.”

The stallion turned back.

“You forgot this.” Lucky Stars was standing there, a little toy train sitting neatly in her upturned leg.

“What? Listen, lady, if you think charity–”

“No. You stole it, right? But you didn’t steal it from the toy shop. You stole it from me.”

The stallion shook his head. “What?”

“If all you care about is the theft, then steal it from me. I’ll go back and buy this. I’ll explain it to the shop owner. It was my error. I forgot to pay. I’m going to leave this train here in this alley no matter what, and I’m going to pay for it no matter what. So if you don’t steal it from me, it’ll just lay here until someone else comes and takes it.”

“Are you… absolutely off your rocker?”

“Maybe. But what does it matter to you? You’re just a thief.”

“And who in Equestria are you?”

“I’m just a teacher from the local high school.”

“Figures.” The stallion frowned.

“So, are you going to take it or not?” Lucky held the train forward.

For a while, the stallion stood there, staring at it as if it were a bright hot star.

Moments passed.

Lucky kept her stand.

Finally, with an utterance of an angry mutt, the stallion snatched the toy, returning it to the folds of his cloak.

He turned away instantly, beating a path to the edge of the alley.

And Lucky waited.

Halfway down, the stallion stopped, looking back.

“Hey. Lucky whatever from the local school, right?”

“Right!” she called back.

“Name’s Foxglove.”

And then he was gone.

Lucky smiled, a little, standing in the middle of the dark alley.

She was hopeful that she would see him again.

> Glyph Dance vs. Loud Mouth - Winner: Loud Mouth (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Follow your dreams - by Glyph Dance's Author

The sun was low over Manehatten, the late afternoon preparing to bleed the last of its light into dusk. The din of the city did not abate, but within the mish-mash of sounds, a voice called out.
“See ya tomorrow, Glyph!” A construction worker called out to a departing stallion.
“See you tomorrow, Hard Hat!” the pony replied, waving a hoof at the rest of the off-duty crew. He received various calls from them as well, before he headed off into the city.
Glyph Dance was a cobalt coated Unicorn stallion, with an aquamarine mane and tail, the former neat with slight bangs, while the tail was cropped short to avoid it snagging on something in the construction yard. His Cutie Mark was a simple silver cube wrapped in an aura an identical color to his own lavender one, which matched his eyes. Around his waist a dark brown tool belt hung, an assortment of items stuck inside, including a hammer, nails, screw driver, and a pair of daggers, carefully concealed to avoid a scene with the local guard. You could never be too careful, especially in Manehatten.
The construction yard had been close to Timeless Triangle, and Glyph could hear the sounds of somepony talking through a megaphone. It wasn’t unusual for performances or speeches to take place in Timeless Triangle, and they were often worth a laugh, if not something to pass the time. Like that blue unicorn illusionist with the wacky hat and “better than you” spiel, or the extremely loud and bombastic minotaur who clearly thought the word “subtle” referred to some kind of unground turtle. Intrigued, Glyph found himself angling towards it, drawn to the event for a reason he couldn’t quite place, and found himself in the midst of a crowd listening to a Pegasus giving a motivational speech.
She was pretty, in a way, with her tan coat and blonde mane that probably was called “dirty blonde” for whatever reason. Her mane looked messy, and her wings looked fluffy, the feathers seeming to stand out at random, as if she hadn’t preened them recently, but that gave her a sort of wild look, and for the ponies who were usually out at this time, the young club-and-bar hoppers generally, it appealed to them. Her Cutie Mark was a radio microphone with silver colored sound waves coming from it, and a big smile was on her face as she spoke to the crowd that had gathered.
Glyph listened, and felt himself nodding along with some of what she said. A lot of what the mare was saying was more or less standard; “dream big,” “believe in yourself,” “don’t give up.” The sort of things that were Motivational 101. But the way she said them resonated with Glyph. She spoke with conviction and in a way that told him she too believed in what she was saying. And that made it resonate with the young unicorn all the more strongly. 
Her speech ended after a while, and an Earth Pony walked up to the stage beside her amidst the applause. “Thank you for that! A hearty round of applause for Miss Loud Mouth!” the Earth Pony said, waving and smiling. “Our next guest…” Glyph tuned it out, the show over, for him at least, and he wandered out of the crowd to find dinner somewhere.
But even as he trotted away, something in him had sparked to life. Hearing the mare, Loud Mouth as she had been introduced, had rekindled a desire in him that had lain dormant for a long time. Glyph Dance had spent several years on the road, learning about his magic, testing its limits, and exploring the vastness of Equestria. It had been a wonderful experience, but he’d eventually settled down in Manehatten after five years being more or less a vagabond. By day, he worked with the Big Building Construction Co., using his abnormally strong telekinesis to move heavy loads quickly and safely. And at night on the weekends he moonlighted as a bouncer for the Strobe Light dance club, tossing out unruly or drunk ponies. And it was a good life, he wasn’t complaining. He had friends, good co-workers and bosses, and he made a decent amount of bits. But recently, he’d been feeling cooped up in Manehatten. His years of wandering had given him itchy hooves, he supposed, though he’d never worked up the courage to do anything about it. After listening to Loud Mouth’s speech, his desires burned brightly once more, and he felt his courage grow.
The night was here fully now, the moon hanging high in the star speckled sky, and after finishing a quick meal at a nearby diner, Glyph Dance found himself walking through the park outside of Timeless Triangle. He felt it would do him good to get some training in. Glyph made his way to the edge of the small lake in the park, and closed his eyes, his horn glowing. Soon, large blobs of water lifted out of the lake, gripped in a lavender magic field, and began to dance about. Opening his eyes, Glyph carefully moved his water around, sometimes separating the larger blobs into smaller ones, and other times merging small ones into bigger ones. It took a lot of concentration to merge telekinetic fields quickly and easily, and if you weren’t careful, the objects being manipulated could become damaged. That was why Glyph practiced with water. 
In the moderate darkness, the park lit by lamps, distant neon signs, and the bright moon, Glyphs lavender-glowing water blobs were quite visible, and their dance almost mesmerizing. After a few minutes, Glyph could feel his magic being strained. Merging and separating magic fields was taxing for any unicorn, and he felt that this was enough training for one night. He released his magic, and the water fell back into the lake with soft splashes.
The sound of clapping broke the silence, and Glyph jumped in surprise, spinning around to face the audience. Behind him, seated on a nearby bench, was the Pegasus from earlier, Loud Mouth. She gave him a sheepish grin, one that Glyph returned with a hint more embarrassment, and trotted over.
“I didn’t see you when I came over,” he said, awkwardly, and she nodded.
“I came a bit after you started. It was really impressive! You’ve got a lot of control!”
“Thank you, miss. Do you mind if I sit down?” Loud Mouth shook her head, and scooted over a bit, letting Glyph take a seat on the bench next to her.
“I heard your speech earlier. It was really good,” he began, and he saw her smile become a bit forced.
“Really? Thank you.”
“In fact,” Glyph continued, “you inspired me to try and do something I’d been wanting to do for a while.”
“I’m glad to have been of help.” They lapsed into silence for a while, Glyph unsure of what to talk about. After an awkward few moments, he glanced over to look at Loud Mouth. She was staring through the trees, her gaze latched onto the semi-visible billboard that stood near the entrance to the park. It was showing an advertisement for the city’s premier radio station, Manehatten 93.6 “The Mane Event.”  There was a hungry, longing look in Loud Mouth’s eyes, one that surprised Glyph.
“You’re interested in radio?” he hazarded, and she nodded. 
“It’s how I got my Cutie Mark. I was working as an errand runner for the Cloudsdale radio station, 97.4 “the Bolt,” when a freak storm struck and no one was around to deliver the emergency weather bulletin. I ended up taking the initiative, and wound up giving updates and warnings, as well as general news, for six hours straight. It was exhilarating, and then I got this.” She wiggled her flank a bit, showing off her Cutie Mark. “My dream then became to host a radio show, just talking and being listened to by hundreds. But no one would hire me. I’ve tried to get into the business, but I’m always offered menial jobs, or bit pieces, and while I worked them, they just weren’t giving me any satisfaction. After a while, I wound up working for a friend, giving motivational speeches around Equestria. It’s alright, but again I just don’t enjoy it as much as I wish I could. Now here I am, 31 years old, and unhappy with my life.” Loud Mouth sighed, and Glyph felt a pang of sympathy for her. 
“While I don’t know how that feels exactly, I do understand how it is to be unappreciated.” Glyph began. “You see, I only know one spell; telekinesis. My Cutie Mark displays that fact. And my family is all unicorns, and they all have varied spells. Not a lot of variation, but being a one-trick unicorn is, well, unusual.”
“Were you bullied a lot?” Loud Mouth asked, curious about where this was going. 
“Yup. Other Unicorns made fun of my lack of spells, and generally gave me grief. It was hard.” Glyph sighed, thinking back on his past. “But you know what? It made me stronger, in a way. I only have telekinesis, but my power has been honed to be one of the strongest, if not the strongest, telekinesis-fields in Equestria. I can lift over a ton at once, or lift dozens of smaller things simultaneously. And I practice my skills everyday, so I get better and better.”
“Well, that’s nice and all…”
“There’s no one job I can do, is what I’m getting at,” Glyph said, interrupting the Pegasus mare. “I don’t know what I want with my life, or what I want to do with my talents. Sure, there’s a lot I can use it for, but why would I?” At this, Glyph turned to Loud Mouth. “But you? You know what you want to do! You know what you can do with your gift! And even though it isn’t what you may want exactly, you still do it, and do it well! When I heard you speaking, it encouraged me to go out and find a purpose.”  There was silence once more, but it was a contemplative sort. Eventually, Loud Mouth smiled.
“Maybe you should get into the motivational speech business, with that kind of talk.”
Glyph snorted in amusement. “Maybe I will!” The pair shared a laugh, all tension gone, replaced with a smooth sort of comradery. Time passed, and eventually Glyph got off the bench, preparing to head home.
“I wish you all the luck in the world for you dreams to come true, Loud Mouth. And even if they don’t, well, at least you tried!”
“Thank you. I never got your name, by the way.”
“It’s Glyph Dance.”
“Well, Glyph Dance, since you know my dream, it’s only fair you share yours.” Glyph paused, before smirking.
“Well, if you insist.” Glyph turned to face the moon, and stood up on his hind legs, forelegs thrown wide open. “My dream is to one day have the telekinetic power to move the sun and moon all on my own!”
Loud Mouth stared at him, before bursting into peals of laughter. “That’s… really? Eh-heh… wow, you’ve got a long way to go!” Glyph got back on all fours, and turned back to Loud Mouth with a wide smile. 
“Indeed I do! And even if it’s impossible, Guess what?” He leaned forward. “It’s still my dream!” With a laugh, he turned away, walking off into the night, leaving behind a chuckling mare to her own thoughts.

“So, you’re really leaving?”
“’Fraid so, Hard Hat. I’ve got the itchy hooves, and I just can’t sit still anymore.” Glyph Dance was standing in a small office, face to face with Hard Hat, his boss. The Earth Pony sighed, but gave the younger unicorn an encouraging smile. 
“You’re a good worker, and a better pony. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. And if you ever need a job, well, just stop on by, and we’ll find something for ya.”
“Thank you Hard Hat. It’s been a pleasure working with you,” Glyph said, giving his ex-boss a hoof-bump. 
“Back at ya.”
Leaving the tiny building that served as the office complex, Glyph found himself taking a deep breath of the morning air. He’d given his leave notice to the Strobe Light, and now was free from the construction job. He’d paid several months’ rent on his tiny apartment in order to keep it under his name for a year, since he didn’t want carry all of his belongings around with him. Instead, Glyph had only a duffle bag filled with some basic necessities and bits, and of course, his tool belt around his waist. 
Smiling to himself Glyph trotted out to the train station, ready to begin the next leg of his journey. He didn’t know what he would find, but he was certain it would be an adventure.
Elsewhere in the city, Loud Mouth was humming happily to herself, her mood noticeably better since before.
“So, did something happen last night?” One of her co-workers asked, sidling up next to her. “Meet a special pony out and about?”
“I did, actually. And he gave me something I hadn’t expected.”
“Oh?” her friend asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
“He gave me inspiration.” Smiling to herself at the memory of last night, Loud Mouth looked out a nearby window at Manehatten, briefly wondering what Glyph Dance was doing.
“I hope he has a good trip.” With a spring in her step, Loud Mouth trotted off, ready to face another day.









Loud Mouth vs. Glyph Dance - by Loud Mouth's Author

Loud Mouth could have sworn she saw blood on the daggers. They were scattered across the table, mixed in with the hammers and nails, as if they were just another construction tool. Hay, maybe they were just another tool. Loud Mouth certainly didn’t know anything about construction—she didn’t know much about anything that involved sweat, really. All she knew about was talking, and even that she didn’t consider herself very good at.

But there was just something about these daggers that looked very… stabby. Like at any moment a pony could snatch one up and plunge it into her chest. She would be a victim, a helpless damsel, just like in the radio dramas. And no one would hear her scream…

It took her a moment to realize that she was gripping her cup so tightly that the coffee was spilling out onto her wing. She flinched at the flash of pain and shook the dampness away, before taking a deep breath and walking to the doorway, headed off to deliver the coffee to the pony who had asked for it.

What was his name again? Loud asked herself, scrunching up her muzzle. Glitter, Glam…? Glyph? Glyph Dance, right!

The name sounded like something out of one of those Daring Do novels her niece was always reading. It was the kind of name an archaeologist would have. Is that why he carried around daggers with all of his construction tools? So he could fight off grave robbers? Why in the world would a radio station hire an archaeologist to build a new studio for them?

Maybe the station was built on a Buffalo Burial Ground or something. Loud shivered. Maybe that’s why my lunch keeps disappearing from the break room…

Keeping an eye out for strange markings on the walls, Loud Mouth rounded a corner which led her into a small plot of land that had been cordoned off with some rope. The noontime sun was harsh, spilling out across the makeshift construction site like a searchlight. Loud shaded her eyes with a wing and gazed out upon the clearing.

Glyph Dance stuck out like a black hole. The sun glimmered off of his deep blue fur, giving him the look of a giant rain drop. Actually, there was a good chance that “giant” was an understatement; from where she stood, a few yards away, Glyph looked nearly as tall as Princess Luna. Yet, despite his height, he was skinny and gangly, like a collection of sticks. Loud had never seen a horn so sharp. He stood at the other end of the clearing, staring down at some blueprints. His face was set in a solid frown.

Loud lifted her hoof to take a step forward, but stopped when she saw the belt wrapped around Glyph’s barrel—more daggers. Why? She stepped back and gulped. Don’t question it, Loud. You want to keep this job.

“Uh, excuse me?” Loud squeaked. Her voice was barely more than air.

Glyph sniffed and pushed the blueprint away, only to levitate another over.

Loud opened her mouth again, but her words died with another look at the daggers. Gripping the coffee cup again, she looked around at the various tools scattered along the ground. There were wrenches, hammers, nails… no knives or spears, luckily.

She took a deep breath and aimed her gaze at Glyph. Pointing her shaking hooves in the right direction, she walked forward.

A pale white light wrapped around Glyph’s horn. Loud only barely noticed as the same white light surrounded a socket wrench, right in front of her.

Loud Mouth yelped as the socket wrench leaped upwards, smacking into her muzzle. She dropped the coffee cup and stumbled backwards, pain roaring through her face. She threw both hooves to her snout and swore under her breath.

The light around the wrench disappeared, and it fell to the ground with a thud. Glyph Dance spun around, eyes going wide as he realized what he had just done. Barking a few choice words of his own, he galloped up to Loud Mouth and bent down to meet her gaze. Loud flinched as he pushed his face uncomfortably close to her own.

“Horseapples,” he muttered, ogling her wounded snout. His frown hadn’t softened at all. “Sorry about that. You alright, girl?”

Loud ogled him back, hooves pressed firmly into her nose. The sunlight glinted off of the daggers in his belt, shining in her eyes. “Uh, yeah!” she said, forcing a smile and shuffling a few paces back. “Fine, fine! It’s no problem! I’m perfectly okay.”

Glyph matched her steps. “You’re bleedin’.”

Loud lifted her hooves from her nose, only to choke on air as she realized her tan hooves were painted red. A thin trickle of blood ran from both nostrils, matting down the fur above her mouth.

She took a few long breaths. “Oh, hey. Look at that.”

“I thought I put a caution sign in the doorway,” Glyph said, eyes narrowing. “Can’t work with mares runnin’ every which way around the construction site!”

“I didn’t see it!” Loud babbled, throwing up her hooves defensively. “I swear, I didn’t! I’m sorr—”

“Aw, save it,” Glyph said, backing away. “It ain’t your fault. You didn’t do nothin’.”

Loud tried to respond, but her cheeks were set ablaze as she felt Glyph’s tingling magic wrap around her legs, her neck, her flanks. She could only squirm as Glyph hoisted her into the air.

“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring her flails. “We’re gettin’ you patched up.”

With Loud hanging in the air next to him, Glyph trotted out of the lot and back into the radio station. The two of them were silent as they made their trek, with Glyph keeping his gaze forward, and Loud doing what she could do avoid the sharp knives hanging from his belt, jingling just a few inches away from her still-vulnerable chest.

Glyph stepped into the storage room where he had been keeping the rest of his things and levitated Loud off of his back and into a nearby chair. The blood was coming faster now, and her fetlocks were soaked. He cast one last glance at her snout before heading over to a satchel that was laying on the table.

Loud fidgeted in her chair, trying and failing to keep her wings in place. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. “Really, I didn’t mean to—”

“What’s your name?” Glyph asked, rummaging through the sack.

“Um, Loud. Loud Mouth.”

Glyph snorted and shook his head, smiling for the first time since the two had met. “Next time you see ‘em, tell your folks I said ‘thanks for the laugh.’”

Loud frowned, but stayed silent, eyes cast to the ground.

“Aw, I’m just teasin’ you,” Glyph said. “Certainly not the worst name I’ve ever heard. Name’s Glyph Dance, by the way.”

“I know,” Loud said. Her ears went flat. “I was, uh, supposed to deliver you some coffee.”

“Were you? Weird. I don’t remember orderin’ anything.” Glyph pulled a long strip of white cloth out of the bag. “Here we go.”

“What are you doing?” Loud asked, craning her neck. “What is—”

Glyph whipped out one of his daggers, stabbing it high into the air.

You’re dead.

Loud’s wings flared open, nearly sending her tumbling off the chair. As Glyph spun around and walked toward her, dagger level with her throat, she tried to scoot away, but could only get so far before her chair clunked against the wall. She shrank into the seat, trying to escape, trying to save herself from the madpony about to slaughter her—

Glyph stopped a few paces away. With one quick motion, he used the dagger to slice through the cloth, cutting it into two equal parts.

He levitated one over to where Loud was cowering. “Clean yourself up.”

Loud hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Oh,” she stammered, staring at the towel. She dabbed at her bleeding nose. “Thanks.”

Glyph didn’t answer, but drew close to Loud once again, staring intently at her snout. Just as Loud was about to ask him what he was doing, he backed away again. “Your muzzle don’t look like it's broken or anythin',” he said. He smiled. “And trust me, I know my broken noses. Hoofed a few of ‘em out myself.”

Loud was frozen. “Uh-huh.”

“Here, lean forward and use your wing or somethin’ to pinch your snout. It’ll help stop the bleedin’,” Glyph explained. As Loud followed his instructions, he pulled up another chair and sat down in it, just across from Loud. “Keep doin’ that for a few minutes, and you’ll be fine.”

“Great.” Loud nodded. “Thanks again—”

“Oh, stop thankin’ me!” Glyph groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m the one who whacked you, ain’t I?”

Loud rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry.”

Her words faded quickly, leaving the room to flood with a thick, viscous silence. Loud could feel Glyph’s gaze boring into her face, drilling into her soul. She kept her eyes locked to the carpet, not daring to look up. Whenever Glyph breathed, his belt jingled, making Loud’s legs tense up. She closed her eyes and forced her breaths to steady—

“Y’know,” Glyph said, “for a mare named Loud Mouth, you ain’t very loud.”

“And you’re not an archaeologist,” Loud murmured, all steadiness lost.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Loud piped, waving her words away. “I get that a lot. I guess I was pretty crazy when I was a kid, but I quieted down as I got older. When your parents are both snowflake builders, you kinda have to be quiet, y’know?” She waited for a response, but Glyph just stared. “If you yell at a snowflake, it’ll crack.”

“Oh.” Glyph’s blank expression stayed static. “Too bad. You’ve got a nice voice.”

“Really? Uh, thanks.” Loud paused, cheeks heating once again. “I mean, I can still be loud when I want to be! I have to give speeches a lot for my job.”

“That sounds important,” Glyph said, his smirk returning. He leaned forward in his seat. “So what’s a pretty mare like you doin’ here, havin’ to run coffee to stallions that don’t even want ‘em?”

“I'm just an assistant,” Loud said, allowing herself a smile of her own. "They don't really look for 'pretty' in the radio business."

“Well, I said you had a nice voice, didn’t I? What’s the problem?”

“Because… that’s just the way it is, I guess.” Loud sighed. “Some ponies make it big and some don’t. No one really wants me on the radio, even if it is my special talent. I don’t know why.”

“What, you never asked ‘em?”

“Huh?” Loud frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You never asked ‘em what the problem was? Why you’re out here makin’ coffee runs when some nasally foal’s up at the mic screamin’ about pop music?” Glyph asked. When Loud shook her head, Glyph growled and stood up. “Well, why not? Why are you out here gettin’ whacked by wrenches, instead of on the radio?”

Loud flinched into her seat. “I, uh, um—”

“Say somethin’!” Glyph said. “You said talkin’ on the radio was your special talent; why can’t you talk now? Give me one of those speeches!”

“I haven’t asked because I don’t want to lose my job!” Loud sputtered. “This is the fourth radio station I’ve worked at this year, all because I keep messing things up. For the first time I’ve got a boss and co-workers that actually kinda like me. I’m not gonna risk that just because I want to talk more. Besides, it’s not like I’m even good at it—”

“Oh, that’s a load of horseapples. Bein’ on the radio is your special talent, right? So you’re better for the job than anypony!” Glyph jabbed at hoof at the doorway. “When I was comin’ in this morning, I got a look at the guy who runs the morning show here. His cutie mark is an hourglass. Yours is a microphone! How could he possibly be better than you?”

“I don’t know!” Loud said, looking away. “Even if I am better than him, it doesn’t matter. Nopony wants to hear me.”

“So you gotta make ‘em want to hear you.”

Loud lidded her eyes. “Uh-huh. And how should I do that?”

Glyph chuckled. “Your name is Loud Mouth, ain’t it? Be loud! Let everypony know what you want, and what you’re gonna do to get it. You gotta be strong! You gotta—”

“I get it, I get it,” Loud said, holding up a hoof to stop him. “Listen, Mr. Dance: those speeches I said I give? I hold motivational seminars at night. When it comes to pep talks, I’ve heard every line in the book.”

Glyph narrowed his eyes. “Oh, yeah? Well then, why don’t you hear this: I may not look it, but I’ve had ponies tellin’ me what I could and couldn’t do my entire life. When I was a kid, all my folks wanted was for me to become a lawyer just like them. So y’know what I did? I said screw that, and I went to go make my own destiny. Now, I’m usin’ my talents every day. Sure, I’ve still got goals, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. You get that?”

Loud’s throat suddenly felt like a desert. She nodded. “Yeah?”

“Sure, you’ve got wings and I’ve got a horn, but we’re both ponies. We’ve both got talents, and we’ve both got a duty to use ‘em. That’s the way I see it.” Glyph smiled again and gave Loud a soft shove. “I like you, girl. You seem like a good pony, and that’s why I’m helpin’ you. But I ain’t got no respect for a pony that knows their special talent, but chooses not to use it. That’s just wrong.”

“Mhm.” That was all Loud could muster. There was a tightness in her chest, as if her lungs were being tied together. And yet, at the center of it all, there was a sort of warmth—a glint in the dark. She managed a smile. “That… makes a lot of sense.”

Glyph laughed. “Well, if a mare whose special talent is talkin’ says what I said made sense, it must be good, right?”

Loud giggled. “Yeah.”

It was at that point that she noticed the bleeding had stopped; in fact, it had probably stopped a while ago. She lifted the rag from her stained snout, which Glyph took in his magic and threw into a wastebasket nearby.

“I gotta get back to work buildin’ that new studio of yours,” Glyph said, jerking his head towards the door. “Hay, maybe someday you’ll be workin’ in that studio.”

“Thanks,” Loud said, hopping off of her chair. “For the talk, I mean. Not the maybe-broken nose.”

“It ain’t no problem.” Glyph picked up his satchel and moved to the door. “You go get yourself cleaned up. And remember: be loud! You gotta earn that weird name of yours.” He trotted out.

Loud watched him go. The heat in her chest had spread to her face, settling in for a comfortable warmth. She took a long breath and walked out of the room, headed back to her boss. As she went, her gaze passed over the daggers, which were still scattered out across the table—and yet, they didn’t make her feel a bit nervous.
> Crisp Dawn vs. Loam - Winner: Loam (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just Another Night in Old Canterlot - by Loam's Author

Crisp Dawn walked down the streets of Canterlot, aimlessly searching for something to do. He was Stuck in town till tomorrow afternoon, when his Airship would depart back to his port, where is ship awaited him. He’d come to Canterlot for an award ceremony, after which his captain had told him to go out and have some fun while here.

Problem was, he didn’t know anypony here, nor did he know where anything was. He’d left his hotel and asked a few of the locals where the bars were, thinking he could at least sit and have a pint or two.

His hooves carried him past countless streets and buildings, each a marvel of architecture, until he reached an area less ornate. The buildings looked half normal here, and seemed like normal ponies might live and work around them.

Hearing music, he followed the sound. After a few turns, he found himself on a street full of music and light. The buildings seemed to all be bars, and ponies laughed and drank all over. A few bands had even set up in the street, and were playing fast, flighty music.

He walked through the crowd, looking for a place that caught his eye. A small little pub that had a Gryphon and Pegasus fighting painted on the window caught his attention. The name under the picture read ‘The Fighting Flyers Pub’.

Good place as any. He thought, and and stepped inside. The interior was dim, and smelled of whiskey. There were an assortment of ponies at the bar and at tables scattered about. Mostly working class by the looks of them. A row of booths along one wall was mostly empty, with only what appeared to be a few couples sitting and drinking, involved their own conversations.

He walked to the bar, and gestured for a pint from the bartender. The bartender nodded and continued his work, serving drinks to the ponies that had come before him. He stood at the bar, waiting for his drink, and looked around. There were three stallions at the end of the bar, all with several empties in front of them. They seemed to be talking to a short mare next to them. From the expression on her face she seemed to not be enjoying the comments.

The bartender put his drink down in front of him, getting his attention. He passed over the bits for it, and looked back to the end of the bar. The short brown mare had stood up and seemed to be angry. She tried to get away from the three, only to have one of them grab her, and pull her close.

“Woah, hey!” He shouted as he ran over, pulling her out of the stallions and getting between the mare and the stallions. “Whats going on here?”

“Thiss ain't none o’ your business, get oudda here!” One of the stallions said, a slur to his words.

“Yea, us and this girl here were just talkin.” Another said

“She doesn’t seem like she wants to talk to you.” Crisp said, with a look behind him at Loam, who had backed away a bit.. Her face wore an expression of annoyance. When he met her eyes, the annoyance turned to embarrassment, and she looked down at the ground.

“You want me to get rid of these guys for you?” Crisp asked.

“Hey, you can’t just step in here and…” One of the stallion began to say. His sentence was cut short when a rather large Stallion with a scar across his face and a vest with the name of the pub on it walked up to them.

“Do we have a problem here?” The newcomer asked in a deep voice.

“Yes, we do. These three stallions were harassing this mare.” Crisp said, before any of the stallions could react.

“Were they?” The large stallion growled. He looked at the three drunks, and glared.”I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Now.”

“Who do you think you a-” One of the stallions tried to say, before his companions grabbed him and jerked him towards the door.

“Fine, we’re going. Aint no need for that.” One said, as he pulled his friend out the door.

“Sorry about that,” The large Pony said in a more normal voice. “We’ll make sure they don’t come back anytime soon.” With that he nodded to Loam and Crisp, and walked away.

“Well, um, that was....” Crisp said, looking at Loam.

“Nice of you. It was nice of you.” Loam said smiling at him. “Would you sit with me at that booth? She asked pointing at an empty booth. “You can ward off anymore drunks for me.”

“Um, sure.” He said, as Loam walked over and sat down. He slid into the booth opposite of her. An uncomfortable silence fell as they sat there.

“So, What brings you down to a place like this?” He asked, trying to ease the awkward tension.

“I came here to meet a friend of mine, but she’s late. This place was her idea.” Loam said, then sighed. “I’d rather be back at work honestly.”

.“Oh? What do you do for a living?“ he asked

“Well, I’m a grave digger.” Loam said. “I dig graves at the Lower City Graveyard.”

“Really? I know some ponies from there. Not the graveyard, but the Lower Quarter. I sent one or two back there too, for burials.” Crisp said, a frown coming to his face, as he thought back to his fallen friends.

“Oh,” Loam looked down at her mug, and awkwardly took a sip. “Well, If you come by tomorrow, I could find them for you pretty easily. I’ve memorized the names there pretty well.”

“That would be nice actually.” Crisp said, smiling at the thought of getting to pay his respects before he left. “Thanks.”

“So, are you in the military?” Loam asked. There were only two professions you sent ponys home dead from, and the military was the far more likely of the two.

“Yeah. I’m a Lieutenant in the R.E.N.” He said.

“Oh, A sailor…” Loam said, her ears drooping a little.

Crisp Dawn Noticed, and asked “What’s wrong”

“Well, see, um,” Loam stammered, trying to find the words. “Well, I guess I just don’t understand how you can go sailing like that.”

“What do you mean?” Crisp asked, his head tilting to the side.

“How can you stand to be off land? Out on the water. With it everywhere. Nothing under your hooves but a few sheets of metal and a watery abyss…” Loam shuddered, and stomped on the floor a few times, for reassurance.

“Well, the ships are pretty sturdy. And we all learn to swim. SO even if we do fall over board, we can still swim back to the ship.”

“I could never do that. Leave land I mean. The earth under my hooves is what keeps me sane. Knowing it’s always there, no matter what. It’s there, so so is everything else.”

“I, uh, Guess I never had to think about it. I’ve always wanted to be a sailor. I grew up in a port town, so I could always see the ocean. I’ve dreamed of riding the swells since I was tiny. The ocean has never bothered me.”

“Well, you’re crazy then. The ocean is terrifying. Not as bad as the sky, but still, ugh.” Loam said, with another shudder, and a glance at the ceiling.

“Wait, the sky? Why is that scary?”

“Oh hey look it’s my friend!” Loam said, quickly changing the subject. “Hey, Wild Thyme! Over here.”

A Green pegasus pony walked to their table from the door, and smiled at them. “Hey Loam, who’s this cutie.” She said, with a wink at Crisp.

Loam rolled her eyes as a faint blush came to Crisp Dawns face. “He chased off some unwanted attention I was getting. Figured he’d be better company while I waited for you than THEM.” She said with a gesture to the bar, where several stallions were laughing and drinking.

“Well, Glad he showed up then. Wouldn’t want poor defenseless Loam to get prayed upon now would we?” The pegasus said, then slid into their booth next to Crisp, making him scoot over a little bit. “So are you gonna introduce me or am just gonna have to call him Handsome all night?”

“Ah, my names Crisp Dawn. She makes It sound far cooler than it was. I just told some Drunks to shove off.”

“Well, I’m Wild Thyme, and If that’s what you’re looking for tonight, just stick by Loam and me. Once we get a few drink in her we’ll have her dancing on tables.”

Loam Blushed and Put her head down on the table. “Goddess, one time. One time, and your labeled for life.”

“Heh, Ladies, I’m sure you had your own plans. I wouldn’t want to intrude on them.” Crisp said, with a small laugh.

“Nonsence. We came out here to meet stallions, and we seem to have found one.” Thyme said with a grin.

“You CONVINCED me to come out here tonight, with the promises of free drinks and chocolate. Never said anything about meeting no ponies.” Loam said, still with her head down.

“Well what else would we be coming to THIS place for, other than meeting handsome stallions?” Thyme retorted.

“Free Drinks.” Was Loams reply.

“Well, those come with the stallions.” Thyme said. “So how ‘bout it handsome, You wanna tag along for the night? There’s this lovely club I’ve been wanting to check out, and you’d make a lovely addition to our party.”

“Well, I guess I didn’t have any other plans..” Crisp Dawn said, then shrugged. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

Loam picked her head up from the table and smiled. “That mean we’re leaving this hovel?”

“Yes, yes, We’ll go now.” Wild thyme said, Getting up, and letting Crisp follow her.” And it’s not a hovel. It’s a perfectly nice pub.”

“If by respectable you mean filthy, and by pub you mean hovel, then you’re spot on.” Loam said as she got up and followed her friend and Crisp towards the door Leaving a few bits on the table. “So, Are we going to another one of those Jazz clubs, or are we going to listen to good music?”

“Jazz IS good music you uncultured swine. Tell her Crisp, tell her jazz is great.” Thyme said, with a ‘hmph’.  They kept bickering about music as they walked out the door.

What have I gotten myself into? Crisp thought, then grinned, and followed.
> Ace Artisan vs. Staccato Spark - Winner: Ace Artisan (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ace Artisan vs. Staccato Spark - by Ace Artisan's Author

The cool light from the gem lamps bathed the streets of Canterlot in a soft, purple glow. The shops had posted their "Closed" signs, replete with pictures of smiling ponies and promises of returning in the morning. A stiff breeze rolled through the nigh deserted streets, and many of the wooden buildings whined about their age. The moon was a waning crescent, shining its light down on the few ponies whose hooves still clacked against the worn cobblestones. The city slept.

It was the kind of night that Ace Artisan would normally have enjoyed, but the day had been unkind. He wound through the main roads, eyes cast downward and brows furrowed. His quick, deep breaths sounded like growls, and his heavy steps pounded against the street while thoughts of his work at the architecture firm still lingered in his head.

'Should I push harder on widening the hallways, at least?' he thought. 'True, it would be more expensive, but it's a damn hospital! When a pony's life is on the line, what does it matter? Ugh, writing that proposal would take all night. Boss would probably just shoot it down, anyway.'

Ace paused his trudge and sat in front of a large, ornate building. 'And I probably look like Tartarus, too.' He rubbed his bloodshot eyes with a purplish-gray fetlock, then shook out his midnight blue mane. Looking down at his disheveled shirt and jacket, he straightened out the collar and refastened one of the buttons that had come undone.

With a deep breath, he cleared his throat and looked up to see his destination, the Autumn Melody Memorial Conservatory. 'Built eighty years ago. Canterlot Construction, Inc. Head architect Perfect Scale. First building in Canterlot to incorporate both beveled glass and curved steel for solely aesthetic purposes.' With a sigh, he stood up, a weak smile on his face. 'And concert hall for the prettiest mare in Equestria.'

Ace rushed up two flights of stone stairs, stopping just in front of the green glass doors that bubbled out toward him, as if the building was struggling to contain all the music within. He reached for the handle, but he stopped when he saw a murky shape inside quickly growing larger.

Very quickly.

"Gah!" Ace shouted as a pegasus burst out of the door, knocking him onto his flanks. "Hey! Watch it!"

The streak of grayish blue and yellow halted in midair and whipped around at him. "Y-you watch it!" Her voice shook. "Some of us have places to be!"

Ace hopped to his hooves, his fur bristling. "Yeah, and we'd like to get there in one piece! You don't need to…" He stood up straight when he noticed the pegasus repeatedly blinking and rubbing at her eyes. "Uh… Are you alright, ma'am?"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, turning away.

"Really? Because you look like you've been crying."

The pegasus threw her forehooves up in the air and turned away. "This stupid committee won't let me perform! My show's one-of-a-kind, but it's like they don't even care! And it's so hard for soloists to find performance halls! But whatever! I don't want to be in such a stuck up place full of namby-pamby classical frou-frou performers that don't know what real music is, anyway!"

Ace narrowed his gaze at the pegasus, and his voice became flat. "Some ponies prefer singing the namby-pamby stuff. Like… my marefriend, for instance."

The pegasus' limbs went rigid, and she looked over her shoulder with wide eyes. "Oh! Uh…" She floated down to the ground and averted her gaze. "S-sorry. I didn't mean, like, your marefriend. I'm sure she's great." 

Ace sat down and stared at the building. He felt a pull towards it – he'd promised to pick up Nocturne from her rehearsal in a few minutes, but truthfully, he didn't want to deal with the rest of the singers, either. It didn't help that they were almost all unicorns. Ace patted the flask in his jacket and thought to himself, 'It's, what, Tuesday? Take a drink whenever somepony asks if I work here.'

Ace turned back to his new acquaintance. "It's alright." He extended a hoof. "I'm Ace Artisan, by the way. What's your name?"

The pegasus perked up. "Staccato Spark, Stunt Violinist Extraordinaire!" She extended a wing and used it to shake Ace's hoof.

Ace hid a sneer, wondering to himself why a regular hoofshake wasn't good enough. 

He let that thought roll out of his mind and tried to empathize with his new acquaintance. Nocturne had come home worrying about auditions plenty of times, and it was never easy on her to get a rejection after what she'd considered an excellent performance. It wasn't much different from losing an architectural bid, he figured. "Sorry the audition didn't go well. Did you feel good about it, at least?" 

Staccato rolled her eyes and went right back to ranting. "That's the thing!" Staccato leapt into the air and flew in a small, tight loop. "I nailed all my stunts, and I even pulled off the double-barrel dive bomb, which I know they haven't seen before. I was great!" She hovered in place, but after a moment, her features drooped. "At least, I thought I was."

Ace's head involuntarily shook, and he tried to blink away his confusion. "What? Stunts?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I play violin while I fly. Pretty neat, huh?" Her chest puffed out.

Ace cocked his head to the side, still trying to wrap his head around how flying would even work while playing a stringed instrument. "No, I meant, how do you feel about your music? Did you play it well?"

"Totally." She dropped back to the ground and took a few steps forward. "I even debuted a new song. I mean, yeah, I kinda threw it together when my sister got me the audition out of nowhere, but it rocked! It was a violin rendition of Meghan Trotter's new single, 'Dear Future Stallion.' You know it?"

Ace nodded. "I do, but…" He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to find the right words. "That doesn't really seem appropriate." He shrugged his shoulders. "They play more classical stuff here, like you said." 

Ace looked out over the city. When he squinted, he could see his office. Memories of his day came flooding back: his coworkers dismissing his new designs, the managers recommending the same treatment as the previous hospital despite the known issues, and the looks everypony gave him when he pushed for something new. "They were probably insulted that you didn't want to do things their way."

"How would you know?" Staccato spat. "You a janitor here or somethin'?"

Ace quietly reached into his jacket, drew out his flask, and took a drink.

Returning the flask to his pocket, he looked back at Staccato. "No, but ponies get bent out of shape when you don't conform to their expectations."

For a moment, the only sound was the breeze blowing through Staccato's wings, which hung at her sides. Her voice cooled. "Feh. You don't know the half of it."

"Actually, I do. I'm not a janitor. I'm an architect."

Staccato raised an eyebrow. "Sounds boring."

Ace flashed her a glare. "It's not. You have to deal with a lot of the same stuff. There's a way that ponies are used to doing things, and if you want to try something new, you get shut down. You have to learn to deal with it."

Staccato was quiet for a moment before her cheeks flushed red. "Well, it's not my fault if they've got bad taste in music!"

Ace snorted and set his shoulders. "No, but it is your decision to show up with a song they'd never showcase."

"So what?" Staccato shot daggers with her eyes. "So I should just give in a-and do whatever everypony else wants me to do?" She hopped into the air and hovered above Ace, looking down at him. "You really think that's better than trying to be the best?"

Ace's breathing picked up, and his heart felt knotted. He tried to tell her to that there would be other auditions and that she should just move on, but whenever he opened his mouth, he remembered how wrong it felt to give up his designs for the hospital, and the words caught in his throat. It didn't help that she was literally looking down at him, and it took all of Ace's willpower not to shout her down and put her in her place.

Staccato didn't wait for him to respond. "You don't get it. You're just like those snooty unicorns. You're just a stupid earth pony architect that doesn't know the first thing about music or flying or anything!"

Ace felt something in his brain snap. His blood boiled. He stomped, lowered his head, and cast an icy glare at Staccato. "Yeah? Well, at least I'm not so delusional that I expect everything on a silver platter!"

His voice bounced around the staircase, eventually fading to a deafening quiet. 

Staccato stared at him, eyes wide, as she slowly sunk down to the ground. Her lip quivered, and she hid behind her wings. The two ponies stood there, frozen for several seconds.

The heat vanished from Ace's veins, and he cursed himself for yelling at the shivering pony in front of him. 

Ace sat down and rubbed his temples. "Sorry, sorry... I shouldn't have yelled." Word spilled out of his mouth, and he felt like he couldn't control his tongue. "Rough day. We're designing a new wing for Canterlot General, and everypony thinks my designs are too expensive to implement, even though we'll get bigger patient rooms and wider hallways that way. They think I'm just trying to be a big shot. And, yeah, maybe I am, but it still seems like a good idea. They don't even want to give me a chance, and I'm stuck wondering if I should risk ticking somepony off or–"

"You really think I'm delusional?"

Ace looked up to see Staccato staring at him and frowning.

"I…" Ace looked her in the eye and felt a stab in his chest. He realized how easy it would be to backpedal or outright lie, but something about Staccato told him she could handle the truth. "If you think you're going to perform here, then yeah, you're fooling yourself." His insides began to untangle.

Staccato slumped. "I just–"

"I mean, if you've got a dream – and it sounds like you do – then pursue it ruthlessly. I have no idea how you would even begin to make the acoustics work with stunt flying, but if you can make it happen, then, well…" He shrugged his shoulders again. "I have a lot of respect for your tenacity. The world needs more ponies that can take those risks." 

Staccato looked up, a small smile on her lips.

"But this?" Ace gestured to the conservatory. "This isn't the place to make it happen. You can't just show up at the last minute and expect everything to go your way. Instead, you need to pick your battles and think hard about how to solve your problems." He took a moment to reflect on his own battles, everything from his job to his ever-deepening relationship with Nocturne, and he smiled. "The best things in life take work."

Staccato looked up at the building for a long time. She rolled her head back and forth, and it took her a few tries to say anything. "Big rooms and hallways are important, right?"

Ace cocked his head to the side, and he felt his left ear flick. "Uh… Yes. They are. The patients will be more comfortable, and it will be safer to quickly transport sick or injured ponies between rooms."

"Better rooms will help everypony." Staccato flapped her wings once. "When my sister was in the hospital, the room was cramped, and it made it tough for the doctors to do everything they needed to." Staccato nodded at Ace. "I know you said that I shouldn't push too hard for this one, but you totally should."

Ace sighed. "Yeah, probably, but I don't want to cause any unnecessary delays. That sort of thing drives me crazy."

"So?" Staccato's voice was sharp. "You've got a good idea. Take it from me, you don't get anywhere playing it safe. You gotta stand out."

"Heh. Even if I'm one of the new guys?" His protest lacked force, which felt oddly satisfying.

"Especially if you're one of the new guys." Staccato reached over and poked him in the chest. "Trust me, you get respect taking life by the horns. Your coworkers are being stupid."

Ace looked down at the ground below him. He pictured himself back at the office, having to slog through more meetings and discussions and excuses about how the bigger spaces weren't worth it. 

But then he pictured all the ponies that would be using the hospital, how every single one that came through the door would be more comfortable in a bigger room. He thought about ponies on hospital beds getting shuffled around during an emergency, and if his design helped improve their chances of recovery even a little bit…

Ace chuckled and met Staccato's gaze. "You know what? You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Ponies should really listen to me more often." Staccato jumped to her hooves, flared out her wings, and looked up at the moon. "I'm gonna go vent to a friend for a while, and I should probably start working on my stunts for that birthday party next week, so, uh…" With a smirk, she looked back at Ace. "Thanks for whatever the heck this was."

Ace gave her a large grin and a quick nod. "You, too, and good luck with your job."

"Same to you, buddy. Catch you later!" Staccato hopped into the air and sped off. Ace watched her fly away until she disappeared into the dark blue canopy above. 

Taking a breath of the cool air, Ace looked out over Canterlot again. He wondered how many other ponies would be up all night, working on one project or another and resisting the siren call of the warm covers. He sat there until he noticed the time on the clock tower. Eleven o'clock – Nocturne would be done any second. After standing up and stretching out his neck, Ace walked through the doors of the conservatory, already thinking about how to word his new proposal.









Staccato Spark vs. Ace Artisan - by Staccato Spark's Author

Failure. The worst part of being an artist.

Staccato staggered up the mountain of a hill, lugging a violin case over her shoulders. By the time she reached the top she was panting, a thin film of sweat covering her heaving body.

The moon had already climbed the ladder of the sky and was glowing with an ethereal light. Flopping onto the thick, soft grass, she sighed, letting her frustrations loose.

“Tonight was rough Moony. You know my sister’s friend Octavia? Octavia, the best cello player around? She was there. At the club. Of all the nights she chooses this one.” A pained expression appeared, lingering.

“Vinny was there too. I just got so nervous…  I messed up big time and at the climax of the piece.  Th-they just… got up and walked out.”

A pause, wiping a salty, hot tear that had snuck down her slate blue face.

“I bet you’ve never felt the pain of disappointing your older sister Moony,” sighed the forlorn and depressed pegasus.

Sounds of annoyance and rustling came from an unnoticed bundle of cloth and fur a ways away, lying on the grass. Grey earth pony popped, fuming, out of the blanket, a pretty unicorn following close after.

“Will you please quiet down?” he snapped. “You’re ruining my date! I didn’t take time off of work to listen to complaints about how your life sucks all night! This was supposed to be a peaceful date with Nocturne!”

“What are you doing on my hill?” The startled and bewildered musician asked forcefully. “This is my spot!”

Ace bristled, quick taking offense. “Your hill? Oh! You think you can just kick us off a public park? Who do you think you are? What makes you better than us? Your wings? You… you racist pigeon!” He ended yelling, taking out all his frustration of the past week on the poor pegasi. The unicorn next to him comfortingly put her hoof on his shoulder.

“Wait-- what? I didn’t mean that… I didn’t even say that!” Confusion and alarm crossed her face as Staccato slowly stepped back, ears pressed flat against her bright mane.

“Than what did you mean?” prompted the silky voice of the unicorn, interrupting her boyfriend and trying to smooth over the situation.

“I just ment --... sorry. It’s just I come here so often it feels like home. I didn’t mean to offend you… but I guess that just goes to prove what a klutz I am.”

Chagrined and realizing he was the one in fault, Ace awkwardly held out a hoof. “Sorry… it’s just been… quite a week. Can you forgive me for lashing out?”

Staccato numbly accepted the hoof and quickly dropped it. The awkward silence was deafening as the ponies searched for something to say.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do out here on your own?” Nocturne asked pleasantly, attempting to create conversation.

“I play the violin… to the moon.” Staccato replied, mentally kicking herself, embarrassed at how child-like that sounded.

“Would you mind playing for us?” Nocturne prompted, relieved, she had found something they may have in common.

Staccato looked up startled. “Really? You want me to play?”

“Sure. Why not?” Ace Artisan sighed.

Staccato taking that as a yes, lovingly unpacked her precious instrument, tuning it with ease. With a nod of reassurance, she started playing.

A haunting melody stirred up from the well-used violin, drifting through the sky and with the wind. It tugged at Ace’s heart, stirring a longing he had never known. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift, taking in the beauty of the wandering tune. A sweet kiss interrupted his quiet, entranced state.  He opened his eyes slowly, and closed them again. Taking his girlfriend into his forelegs, he slid to the ground not breaking the contact. They embraced each other and the simple beauty of the night.

As Staccato brought her song to a close, peace filled the air, the stars brightened, and the moon shined as never before, as if applauding the incredible performance.

Maybe-just maybe… life gives second chances at dreams.
> Dreamer vs. Wind Whistler - Winner: Wind Whistler (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wind Whistler vs. Dreamer - by Wind Whistler's Author

Dreamer glanced at the clock outside his cell for the umpteenth time, even though he knew exactly how much time he had left until midnight. It was a talent he had developed out of necessity. When it becomes the difference between collapsing in a heap outside or quietly slipping to sleep inside one’s bed, a keen sense of time can make all the difference between a productive night of work and a day nursing a large bump. Five minutes left to go until it was lights out. 

The creamy white stallion sighed, knowing from several hours and countless attempts that the guards outside were not all that enthusiastic about letting him go. They had made it very clear that he was not leaving his cell until the morning. Another glance towards the clock told him that he still had about four and a half minutes left. 

With time running out until midnight, he had to start making some decisions, and fast. Should he try something drastic? They’d only fitted him with a very basic magic inhibitor, the kind typically used to prevent drunks from setting themselves on fire, he was certain he could overpower it. Then again, that might land him back in jail for an even longer time, which would lead to even more nights of nothing productive happening. Might be best to just toss this night away and keep searching once he was out. 

Dreamer snorted when he recalled how he’d even gotten there. Since he was a bit of a night owl (until midnight, anyway), he typically frequented places like bars and other establishments that kept their doors open until the early hours of the morning. One of the advantages was that he could ask ponies about her, and they’d probably not even remember a thing. The drunks, on the other hoof, were a definite downside. 

One moment he’d been asking a rather pretty earth pony mare if she’d seen anyone matching her description, and the next he was muzzle to muzzle with one of the largest unicorns he’d ever seen. Turns out the unicorn had mistaken him as somepony hitting on ‘his’ mare. A quick scuffle later they were both in separate drunk tanks. Unfortunately for Dreamer, claiming ‘he’s not using it for much anyway’ is no excuse for conking another stallion over the head with a drink tray. 

Three minutes left, may as well try one last time to reason with the guards. At the very least he might be able to collapse outside of a cell filled with intoxicated ponies. 

“Please, you don’t understand,” Dreamer implored the guards. “If I don’t go soon, I’ll miss my chance to find her!”

“Who’s this ‘her’?” one of the guards asked. She’d been switched in after his most previous attempt at reasoning. 

The other guard shrugged his massive shoulders. “Who knows? Could be one of them Nightmare cultists, sort of fits the profile, doesn’t he?” Both guards turned to scrutinize him, going back forth about what parts of him did or didn’t seem cultish.  

Dreamer sighed. It was rare that he was mistaken for those fanatics, but it happened. He regarded the clock once more. Less than a minute left. 

“I am not a Nightmare Cultist,” he informed the guards after clearing his throat loudly. “I am a law abiding citizen who-” Sleep overtook him before he could finish. Luckily for him, he was leaned forward enough that he simply slumped against the bars, rather than falling over on his head. 

The two guards stared at the unresponsive stallion for several moments. The newer guard cleared her throat nervously. “So… uh… what was protocol for this?” 

Her partner sighed. “We have a suspected Nightmare Cultist who’s now passed out in a cell with a bunch of drunken hooligans. Get him out of there, then send word to the castle,”

The mare paused by the cell door. “Who do we contact?”

“Ever since the fiasco we had with the Changelings, any incidents regarding them, discordians, and the like go straight to the top,” 

“But Captain Armor’s in Ponyville right now visiting his sister,” the mare pointed out. 

The stallion pondered his partner’s words. “In that case, we send it to one of the Lieutenants,”

The mare gulped. “They’re likely sleeping or busy right now, who do we bother?”

“Send it to Whistler,” The other guard replied over his shoulder, trotting away. 

“Why him? And where are you going?” Hauling Dreamer out of the cell and closing it by herself was not an easy task without magic, but the earth pony made do. 

“He’s less likely to eat us alive for waking him up,” Came the response. “And I’m going to find a pie,” 

“...Might want to get a second one just in case,” He added to himself, glancing back at the practically comatose form of Dreamer. 



First Lieutenant Wind Whistler was not much of a morning pony. He was, however, a pie pony, so he supposed he could forgive the nervous looking duo of guards in front of him. That is, if he was able to have that pie held in the stallion’s magic all to himself. Forgiveness pies were not meant to be shared, and Whistler had no intentions on breaking tradition. 

“So, remind me,” he said, taking a bite out of the small pie. Apple, but rather small. It was really more like a largish tart if one wanted to get picky.  “What was so important about an unconscious drunk that you had to wake me up?” 

“Well…” The mare began. “He wasn’t actually drunk. The only reason he was in there was so he could think about what he’d done. There weren’t even any charges we were going to press him with,”

“This is seeming less and less like something I would’ve been needed for,” the pie-eating pegasus remarked. “But I got a late night snack out of it, so I’ll keep listening,”

“Thank you sir,” the earth pony continued her report. “After being detained, he kept going on and on about a ‘her’ that he needed to find, and then at exactly midnight, he passed out, and we have been unable to get a response from him since,” 

“We believe that he was is a possible Nightmare Cultist,” The unicorn added. 

“And since Shining’s out of town, you have to bother me because I probably won’t assign you to door duty for waking me up since I’ve gotten pie, right?” Wind Whistler asked. 

“Pretty much, sir,” The duo chorused. 

“Well, you were right to get someone of my rank, and you were also right that pie would save you from door duty,” Whistler said, yawning after finishing the first pie-tart. He pushed the other one aside for later. “Now, let’s talk about this possible cultist,”

“For starters, none of the standard techniques have gotten any sort of response out of him,” the stallion told him. “Wake up spells, small shocks, loud noises, and even vigorous applications of friction to the limbs have all proven ineffective,”

“We’ve had the medical staff examine him, and they agree that he’s non-responsive, but otherwise completely fine,” the mare added. “Strange, considering he’s in fairly good health and by the witness accounts was untouched in the scuffle that landed him here,” 

“Not to mention he seemed completely sober when he arrived,” the unicorn chimed back in. 

“That is pretty odd,” Whistler agreed. “I’ll send a message to Princess Luna, but she won’t be able to get to it until the morning. Until then, we’ll observe him,”

“Yes sir,” the two guards saluted. “Anything else?” The earth pony asked. 

“I’ll need a small bucket of warm water,” Wind Whistler replied. “While the pies saved you two, he’s still the reason I’m up at this hour. I need a good laugh, and it’s been ages since an opportunity this good’s come along,”

Both guards were immediately very thankful that they’d been able to get a hold of a peace offering. Saluting, they headed off to gather the bucket and water. 

Wind Whistler watched them leave, before pulling over the second pie-tart. Five minutes counted as later in his books. It was going to be a long night, he could feel it. 


When Dreamer regained consciousness, he became acutely aware of several rather important details. Chief among them was that the magic suppressor on his horn had been replaced by a much stronger model. Dreamer wasn’t sure if he’d be able to break it even if he put his full power into it. Second was that he seemed to have a chain around his ankle securing him to the bed he was currently resting on. Odd, especially since he’d only been in a bar brawl. There was a drowsy looking pegasus at a desk a few meters away from the bed. He seemed to be mid-yawn when Dreamer woke up, and so hadn’t noticed that he was awake yet. 

Dreamer’s right foreleg also seemed to be immersed in a bucket of room temperature water, but that didn’t seem important compared to the other details at the moment. 

The pegasus finished yawning, and noticed that his charge was awake. “Oh good, you’ve woken up,” he said, another small yawn escaping from his mouth. “The other guards were starting to place bets on when you’d wake up, if ever,”

“What time is it?” Dreamer asked, even though he knew it was exactly eight in the morning. Ever since he’d been able to convince that Unicorn to curse him, his sleep cycle had been midnight to eight, without fail. 

“Eight in the morning~” Came the expected reply. “Which means that I was the closest,” the guard said jovially. “Now up and at em, we’ve got a busy few hours ahead of us,” 

“Why is that?” Dreamer asked. “Shouldn’t I be able to go now?” 

“Normally, yes,” the pegasus replied. “But your behaviour last night raised some red flags for the guards watching over the drunk tank. You are currently under suspicion of being part of the Nightmare Cult, and we are on our way to meet with Princess Luna before she heads off to bed,” 

“But I’m not a cultist!” Dreamer protested. If this kept up, he might have another wasted night on his hooves. 

The guard raised a hoof to silence him. “I don’t think so either, but it’s protocol to check these days,” He patted Dreamer on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, if things go well, this’ll just take another couple hours, and then you’ll be a free stallion.”

“Great,” Dreamer muttered. 

The guard unlocked the chain around his ankle, and gestured towards the door with a hoof. 

Dreamer stumbled a little when he took his hoof out of the bucket, and followed the guard’s lead. 

“A quick question before we leave,” He asked. “Why was my hoof in a bucket?”

“That’s easy,” the guard said over his shoulder. “I was bored. I gotta say though, when you sleep, you sleep hard. That bucket prank didn’t even work on you,”

Dreamer was puzzled, but followed the chatty pegasus to the carriage used to transport criminals, witnesses, and suspects. 



Wind Whistler studied the odd unicorn sitting across from him. He was almost certain that the other stallion wasn’t a Nightmare Cultist. Dreamer didn’t have the usual air of madness that most of the cultists possessed, and when confronted with a sudden booming “PRAISE THE SUN!”, the only reaction he’d given was a raised eyebrow. Most cultists would have blown a pupil in rage at any inklings of sun-worship. 

All that being said, there was still something about him that suggested not all was normal. Whistler could tell that the creamy unicorn was hiding something. He couldn’t say what for sure, but there was definitely something, and he was definitely going to find out. 

“So…” He began, looking idly out the (barred) window of the carriage. “Who is this ‘she’ you were talking about earlier?” 

“I don’t know,” Dreamer replied. “That’s what I want to find out. She appeared in my dreams, and I knew I had to find her for real,” 

“You’re sure she wasn’t just a dream?” Whistler asked, amused. Who hadn’t dreamt about a beautiful and mysterious mare?

“I am,” Dreamer’s tone suggested that he wasn’t going to elaborate much. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“I’ve been studying Dream Walking ever since,” the unicorn replied, sighing. “I knew from the beginning that it was more than just a dream, but since then I’ve confirmed it. She was walking in my dreams,” 

“Well, even if you’re not a Nightmare Cultist, it’s a good thing we’re going to see Princess Luna,” Whistler mused. 

“Why’s that?” Dreamer asked. 

“Well, dream walking still falls into a really odd area as far as the law goes,” came the response. “It’s not strictly forbidden, but the Princess doesn’t really like ponies walking around in each other’s dreams unsupervised. If this mare’s been dreamwalking, either Princess Luna knows about it, or will make sure we’re able to track her down,”

“Track her down and do what, exactly?” Dreamer asked, somewhat glad he hadn’t mentioned anything beyond him studying dreamwalking. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking,” Whistler laughed. “Since there are certain dangers associated with dreamwalking, she’d make sure that this mystery mare was able to go about what she’s doing safely,” 

Dreamer was silent. He knew that whoever she was, she was definitely good enough to be safe about dreamwalking. She might even be better than the princess at it. 

It didn’t matter, so long as he was able to find her. 

“See?” Whistler said after they’d left the rather uneventful meeting with the Princess. She’d only given Dreamer a quick once-over with a spell that had left him tasting blueberries before declaring him ‘as much a cultist as mine sister is a turnip’, and turning the rest of her attention the the guard. “Just a quick visit,”

Whistler had briefly explained about Dreamer’s mystery mare, requesting to be allowed to lead an investigation to find the unregistered dreamwalker. 

Luna had agreed, on the condition that Whistler send daily reports, which the pegasus had agreed to with a grimace. 

“Thanks,” Dreamer said, glad that he’d finally be able to make some progress towards finding her. 

“Don’t mention it,” Whistler said over his shoulder, leading the two of them away from the throne room. “Oh, that’s right,” the guard stopped so suddenly that Dreamer almost walked right into his tail. 
“We haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he extended a hoof. “Name’s Wind Whistler, First Lieutenant of the Royal Guard,” 

“Dreamer,” the unicorn bumped the hoof offered. 

“Well, Mr. Dreamer, we’re probably going to be seeing quite a bit of each other until this mystery mare of yours is found,” Wind Whistler said. 

“Indeed,” Dreamer agreed. “I look forward to working with you,”

“Likewise,” the duo made their way towards Whistler’s office, both with ideas on how to proceed next already forming.  
> Azure vs. Redwood - Winner: Redwood (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strange Bedfellows - by Redwood's Author

The sound of a hoof banging on the hotel door woke Azure from her slumber, causing her to flop about and try to kick the covers off of herself. The only light in the darkness came from the glare of the neon lights outside, which peaked in through the gaps in the curtains and illuminated her pale blue form. Grumbling, she eased out of bed and navigated across the tiled floor as best she could in her half-asleep state. She threw open the door, giving the pony on the other side a disdainful look.

Her brother froze in place, still holding his hoof inches from where the door would've been, his eyes widened in surprise. Azure looked him up and down, taking in his ruffled orange mane and matted blue coat, both much darker shades than hers. She wrinkled her nose slightly as she noticed how sweaty he was, but chose not to comment on it.

"Where've you been?" she asked, turning her back to him and heading into the hotel room. "Do you even know what time it is?"

Arrow followed in after her.

"I'm sorry, Az. I lost my key."

The electric lights flickered on as Azure punched the switch on the wall next to her, and the door slammed shut shortly after. Picking up the covers from the floor, she flopped back onto her bed and began fixing her pillows.

"So why were you out so late?"

Arrow leaned against the far wall. "Met a mare. Got into an impromptu archery competition. Things escalated from there. Lost track of time. I'm sorry for leaving you back at the carnival."

"What were you doing in an archery competition? You don't do archery."

"Yeah, that's what I told her, but she talked me into it anyway." He shrugged. "I guess she thought that the name must've had some significance."

Satisfied with her pillows, Azure pulled a book from her bedside table and opened it up to the midway point.

"Must've been quite some competition. You've been away for at least six hours."

"Seven," said Arrow, his eyes darting over the corner of the room. 

Azure stopped and lowered her book to give him a raised eyebrow. The corner of her lip curled up in a smile.

"So what was her name?"

Arrow cleared his throat. "Uh... Redwood. She was called Redwood."

As his sister returned to the book, Arrow gestured towards the bathroom.

"I'm sorry if it keeps you up, but I'm going to go take a shower before bed, if that's alright?"

"That's why I'm reading, little bro."

With an appreciative nod, Arrow left to run his shower. Azure just smiled and shook her head.



In the summer sun, the desert just outside of Las Pegasus was intensely hot, but still ponies gathered in droves for the day's events. Large marquee tents and hastily-assembled structures were set up around the place, and in the centre of it all, there was the rodeo. It had not yet begun in earnest, but already ponies were filling up the stands that circled most of the arena. There were families, enthusiasts from other towns, and citizens of Las Pegasus who'd come out to enjoy the festivities.

Azure was in the second category. She navigated the crowd with a wide smile on her face, despite the sweat forming on her brow in the midday sun. She noted that most of the crowd were earth ponies, like her, many of them sharing her lighter shades. She looked back over her shoulder towards her brother, the pegasus, who was caught trying to get around a group of stallions. Courtesy dictated that he couldn't just fly over them, but he obviously wanted to. He wasn't hiding his frustration well.

Soon he caught up again, and the pair continued onwards until they eventually made it to a tent where refreshments were being served. Ponies lined up to get a mug of cool apple cider from one of the many tables at the edge of the room, where the salesponies stacked up barrels of the stuff. In the centre of the tent, more saleponies offered assorted snacks from yet more tables, tempting the foals to annoy their parents into buying something.

The siblings queued up together for one of the cider tables.

"Busy here today," Arrow commented. "This one's huge compared to Dodge."

"Well, these big city rodeos can afford more promotion, can't they? Makes for a great spectacle, though."

"If you say so, sis. But you know that rodeo's never been my sport. I'll always be a racer."

At that moment, a reddish brown mare popped up behind Arrow and leaned over his back, grinning at him. He recoiled at the unexpected contact, his eyes widening. 

"But that's not the only thing you're good at, is it, Mister Fifty Seconds?" she said.

Azure raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Meanwhile, a slight blush crept over Arrow's features.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered, furtively glancing towards his sister for a brief moment.

The new mare lifted a wing over and in front of Arrow, a key dangling the tip. She gave him a slightly more subdued smile.

"You left your key behind."

Arrow released a breath he'd been holding and took the key with his teeth.

"Thank you," he said, stuffing them into a saddlebag.

The new mare didn't remove herself from his personal space, however. Instead, she relaxed her wing and turned her attention to Azure.

"He's a keeper, this one. Good aim. Strong legs."

"He's my brother," Azure said flatly.

"I can tell. You're Azure, right? He talked about you."

"Yes, I am. And I'm guessing you're Redwood."

At that point, the line moved forward, and Redwood was forced to let go and stand beside the siblings. Azure's eyes darted down and noticed a brace on one of her hind legs. She was tempted to ask, but did not want to risk appearing impolite. So instead, she turned to her brother.

"So... Mister Fifty Seconds?"

"It's not referring to what you think it is," Arrow muttered, before trying to redirect the conversation back to Redwood. "How did you even find me here?"

"You said you were coming here last night, remember? And it wasn't hard to pick you out of a crowd. Not many pegasi at the Las Pegasus rodeo. Odd, really. You wouldn't expect that from the name."

"You still didn't need to come find me. I could've gone back for the keys this afternoon."

"Pfft. I doubt you even remember where it was. Besides, this is more fun."

"You know..." Azure shifted in place. "I think I'm gonna go find a place in the stands before the good seats are all taken. Leave you two to catch up. Come find me after."

"Oh, no need for that!" Redwood said, cheerfully. "I'll come with you! Arrow's a strong colt. He can get ciders for the three of us, can't you, Arrow?"

"Uh..."

"Great! Come on then!"

And before Azure could protest, she was being ushered towards the tent exit by her brother's strange new friend, who followed her out all the way.



Azure and Redwood sat on the top row of their stand, the former sitting in place rigidly while occasionally fidgeting, and the latter reclining against the back of the stand with a look of contentment on her face.

"I've never been to a rodeo before," said Redwood, sitting up. "I knew they were here when I was a kid, but I never wanted to go."

"You live around Las Pegasus then?"

"Nah. Just visiting my mom while I'm on leave. I live up in Canterlot."

Azure turned her head, furrowing her brow.

"On leave? No way you're in the Guard."

"Eh..." Redwood looked up and made circular motions with her hoof as she searched for the words. "It's... something like that. I can't go into specifics, but yeah, it's a branch of the EUP Guard."

Azure blinked.

"You don't come off like a guardspony."

"Yeah, well, I'm not on duty. I can have fun on my own time if I want." She pointed down to the arena. "Is that a clown? There are clowns here?"

Azure looked in the direction Redwood was pointing and noticed a gaggle of rodeo clowns off to the side of the arena, seemingly preparing for their later act.

"Uh, yeah. There are. They come on at the end after the main performances."

"Cool..." Redwood leaned forward more to get a better view. "Do you go to a lot of these?"

"My little brother and I sort of tour the country and follow the major rodeos. And when we don't, we're following racing competitions, because he competes in those."

"I know. He told me all about his racing. He showed me some, too."

"Yeah, I'll bet he did," Azure muttered. "I might regret asking, but what is 'Mister Fifty Seconds' in reference to?"

Redwood grinned. "His speed when I challenged him to a race around the block. What did you think it was?"

Azure stifled a smirk.

"I should've expected as much. What else did you two get up to? An archery competition was mentioned when he got back last night."

"A lot of things. Archery at the carnival, left and went to a bar, drunken flying race, my place..."

"Why did he come back to me if the night ended at your place?"

Redwood rolled her eyes. "Said you'd be worried about him, since he didn't tell you that he'd be spending the night away. And to be fair, I don't think he was expecting to not come home when you two parted ways. He's kind of clueless."

"Hey, watch what you say about him."

"Didn't mean anything by it."

Looking around, Azure noticed that the stands were filling up. The show would be starting soon, and still there was no sign of her brother. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and leaned back, putting a hoof over her forehead to block the glare from the sun. Celestia was apparently feeling wrathful today.

"So where do you two live if you travel so often?" asked Redwood.

"On the road, I guess. Arrow does his racing and I do odd jobs, and we just stay wherever we can find a place. Our parents live up north, and so do my older brothers, but we haven't lived with them in years now. Though, I have always wanted to settle in Appleloosa."

Redwood nodded. "Must be fun, living so free."

"It's got its perks."

"I can imagine it must be nice having no fixed job. If you don't like your boss, you don't have to put up with him for long. Me? I can't stand my C.O. Guy's a total grump, and I'm stuck with him until I get promoted out of his little task force. Can't tell him what I really think of him, either, 'cause you're not supposed to mouth off to a superior, and I don't want to get disciplined."

Azure frowned.

"Again, you really don't seem like a guard. Isn't military life meant to be highly regimented and orderly? You seem like kind of a... free spirit."

"Well, that's what I get for following my father's hoofsteps. But it's not all bad. My division is kind of informal, all things considered. No marching in lockstep or anything. Though it does have a much stricter dress code."

"What division is that, exactly?"

"I really can't discuss it with you any further. Official Secrets Act and all that."

"Well now you're just teasing."

At that moment, Arrow returned, precariously balancing three mugs of apple cider on his back. He gave them an uneasy smile as he distributed them one at a time by hoof.

"You two having a nice talk?" he asked.

Azure looked sideways at Redwood, who had already begun taking a long gulp of cider.

"You know, I think we are."



Coming out of the rodeo in the evening sun, three ponies laughed together, Redwood in particular being almost in hysterics. Her wings draped over both of her companions' backs as she walked between them, but it was Azure she leaned into while she cried in laughter.

"I should've come to a rodeo years ago!" she said, finally calming down. "That big guy was hilarious! Most circuses don't have clowns that good!"

Azure, also just gaining control of herself, wiped away a tear of her own. "I know! Wasn't he great? He wasn't here last year. He was really something."

"The clowns are always my favourite parts," said Arrow. "Sometimes I sit through these rodeos just for those guys."

Redwood let out a long, content sigh.

"Welp, it's been fun, you guys, but I need to get going." She let go of Azure and Arrow, walked forward several paces, and turned to face them both. "How long are you going to be in town for?"

"Not much longer," said Azure. "One day left, and then we're heading up to Rainbow Falls."

"Ah, shoot. And I gotta spend tomorrow with my mom and grandma."

"Dang, that sucks," said Arrow. "I was hoping we'd get to see you again before we left."

"Well, we can always see each other some other time. My job takes me travelling a lot, too. If we're ever in the same area again, maybe we can meet up. You got a, uh...?"

Redwood made a gesture with her hooves, and Arrow, immediately understanding, reached into his saddlebags and retrieved a small notepad with a pencil. Redwood took the pencil with her mouth and scrawled an address on it, which she gave back to Arrow.

"Send a postcard to this address or something, and they'll direct it to wherever I am at the time."

"Sure thing." Arrow smiled and pulled her into a quick embrace. "It's been fun."

"Same to you." Redwood looked to Azure briefly, before pulling her into a similar hug. "And you weren't a bad time, either."

Upon breaking away from the pair, Redwood spread her wings and took flight. With one last wave goodbye, she flew away into the distance, heading back in the direction of the city, where the neon lights of the casinos were just beginning to glow.

"I like her," said Azure. "That whole encounter was a lot less awkward than I thought it'd be."

"Yep. I should run off with strange mares more often."

Azure playfully punched her brother in the shoulder.

"Come on, you. Let's hit the Fremount one last time while we're still in town. I'm feeling lucky tonight."

"Sounds like a plan."

> Evergreen vs. Lunar Glint - Winner: Evergreen (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Stargazer and the Ranger - by Evergreen's Author

There was writing in the stars. He simply had to transcribe it.

The evening had come swift and cool, the sun shading the sky a deep and fiery red as it dipped toward the horizon. For miles around, the mountains shone orange, the pine trees deep and black against the pale glow. There were no clouds out tonight, and the wind was still; this was his best opportunity yet.

Lunar Glint was not a pegasus to miss an opportunity. Not when the Canterlot Astronomers’ Guild had given him a research position, not when he’d been given the tools and funding to man his own expedition to the northern Unicorn Range, not when he was finally given the chance to prove his theories about the power of the stars were true.

He double checked his instruments. The precision telescope was level and firmly stationed on the rock shelf; the weather wheel was charged and ready to take account of the atmospherics; the thaumometer was ready to listen in on the glowing spots far above. Everything was in place, and for the foreseeable future, he could foresee no problems.

“Well, hallo there, neighbor!”

Ah, right. The Ranger. How could he forget her?

Tilting his head upward and adjusting his glasses, Glint saw a familiar silhouette occupying a familiar space in the sky. It had four legs, a pine-green coat, wings, and most importantly, a uniform as red as the surrounding sky.

He took a deep breath, like a ship captain about to face a storm. “Evening, Sergeant,” he called.

Sergeant Evergreen fluttered down to him, her hooves squishing into the moss growing from the rock. She straightened her tan campaign hat and gave him a professionally-friendly grin. “Evenin’ Mr. Glint. How’s the wilderness treatin’ ya?”

“Same as yesterday. And the day before.”

“Yah, good to hear. Just thought I’d check in before the sun went down.”

“Much appreciated, thanks.” He turned back to his instruments, even though there was no need to triple-check.

“It’s going to be a good night for stargazing,” she said, looking up.

“That it is.”
 
The last of the sun's glow finally fled the heavens, painting the entire night sky in a deep blue hue. And then the stars were out in force. Countless spots of light shone against the tapestry, a few hazy clouds of stardust visible in the upper reaches of the sky.
 
Quickly, he settled his telescope's eyepiece around his right eye, and began his scan. Starting with Polaris, he swept it down, looking for the hazy cloud he'd seen so long ago. The patch of stardust he knew to contain his destiny. Just a little further—there! The viewfinder settled perfectly on the glowing haze; with a few adjustments, he focused in on the individual stars which made it up.
 
Why were there so many little spots in this one section of sky? There had to be some significance to it. He looked at them closely, trying to spot any patterns or something else to hint at their purpose. There had to be a reason for a blotch of stars to inhabit this particular patch of sky.

Astounding. He turned back, looking back at the cloud. It was still flashing with the same steady beat. The same pattern. This was incredible! Now he just had to decipher what the stars were trying to say.
 
He turned back to the thaumometer, and frowned. It was beating more intensely, now. Each spike was higher, and they came more rapidly. It was beating like his heart after a marathon flight. Turning back to look at his telescope, he found the stars were still blinking as they had been. Was his instrument malfunctioning?

“Hm,” he said, more to himself than anything.

“Eh?” said Evergreen.

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just… Something’s going awry with my instrument.”

He tapped the thing with a hoof. It didn't seem to affect it at all. There was some sort of interference in the air—that had to be it. Was it the moon, perhaps? He turned, looking at the huge glowing disk above him, uttering a silent curse to it. All this effort was going to go to waste thanks to its meddling.

“Maybe it's not malfunctioning,” she said. “What does this thing pick up, exactly?”
 
“It's calibrated to pick up astral energies. Unless there's been a sudden change in the night sky, there shouldn't be any issue.”

She suddenly went very still. “Wait, so you’re telling me this thing picks up star magic?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Is it possible it’s picking up something from the ground?”

“I suppose. But unless something's bouncing the magic from above, I don't see how—”
 
She held up a hoof, a sudden fire in her eyes. “We hafta go. Now.”
 
“What?” He frowned. “Why?”
 
“Ursa Major.”
 
“What? No. We've been looking at Capricornus this whole time.”
 
“No, I mean—”
 
She cut off as the trees below parted like a wave around a rock. A very large rock. A very large, very mobile rock. One with saber teeth, glowing purple fur, and a rather miffed look in its yellow eyes.
 
“What in the name of—”
 
“Ursa Major! Hit the skies!”
 
“Wait, but what about the equipment?!”
 
“Forget it and move it, ya hoser!”

Grabbing him under the foreleg, she hoisted him into the air; it took him a moment to remember to flap his own wings. As the pair soared up, he heard the beast roar, and the sound of something scraping on rock. Looking back, he saw the thing hauling itself up the cliff face like it was stepping up a set of stairs, its claws and nose sweeping through his campsite in a single motion.

“Wh-what’s it doing?!”

“It didn’t like your scent, boyo. That’s the problem with camping in one spot. Some critters don’t like anypony moving in on their territory. Ursas are one a’ dose.”

He could hear the instruments break with a sound like shattering glass. He grimaced.

“All that work, all for nothing.”

Her face twisted in a sympathetic frown. “Well, ya still got your notes, don’tcha?”

The beast loosed another roar, into which came the sounds of fluttering and shredding paper.

Her frown disappeared, replaced by remorse. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

“Thanks for the sympathy,” he said, sighing.

“I know it’s no real help, but as my great-grandpa always used to say, ‘If you’re looking back at the things you missed, you won’t see what hit ya.’ There’ll be other nights and other chances, eh?”

He pondered that for a moment, his gaze still drifting toward his ruined campsite. He looked back up at the stars; their twinkling lights surrounding him.

They had something to tell him. But perhaps he’d transcribe them another day.









Observation - by Lunar Glint's Author



Evergreen touched down in the small clearing and fluttered her wings before folding them smartly against her side. “We'll have to walk from here.”

“We can’t fly there?” asked Lunar Glint, landing beside her, though slightly less gracefully.

“Where we’re going has a thick canopy, and it’d tear our wings off if we tried to land there,” she replied, gesturing upwards.

Glint nodded, peering around at the forest. This forest was nowhere near as deadly as the infamous Everfree, but he still suppressed a shudder. He readjusted the scarf around his neck and laid it flat; even though it was officially spring, the evenings still weren’t warm enough to go without one.

She glanced up at the disappearing sun for a moment before looking down at compass she procured from a pocked. “It’s this way,” she said, stepping forward.

“Right behind you,” said Glint, jogging until he was next to her. He matched her pace. “I really do appreciate this, you know.”

She smiled out of the corner of her mouth. “Just doing my job.”

“Just doing your job? Do you know how many favors I called in to even find a pony who might have possibly seen a Duskvine, remembered where it was, and bothered to take me there?”

She chuckled. “It’s nothing. I’ll take any excuse to be outdoors.”

“Really?” Glint picked up his forehoof and frowned at the offending mud that was already caking his hooves.

“It grows on you. We should keep moving if we want to be there by nightfall, though.” She nodded her head to the side and totted between a pair of thick trees.

He sighed and continued after her, once again jogging to catch up.

“So what is it that you do, exactly, that makes you want to see a Duskvine?” asked Evergreen, ducking under seemingly nothing. A second later, Glint ran face-first through a spiderweb.

“I’m a scientist,” he said, violently spitting out parts of the web. “I usually look at the night sky and observe plenty of spectacular phenomenon in the depths of space, but I figured it would be an interesting change of pace to see the effects that the heavens have right here in Equestria.” He wiped his face with his wing, finally clearing the web. “After a colleague of mine showed me the recent discovery of Duskvines, I decided to, ah, I suppose you know the rest.”

“Having fun?” she chuckled.

“Sure.” Glint flapped his wing, unsuccessfully attempting to remove the web, then folded it back against his side. “Though, to be honest, I’m not sure I see the appeal yet. How did you get hooked?”

“Eh—” she shrugged “—just liked it, I suppose.”

Glint nodded, letting the silence grow. He followed her for about half an hour, noting how quickly the forest darkened. The little amount of fauna he saw earlier was disappearing quickly, and he could hear the insects of the night singing to each other.

She stopped in a small clearing with a single rock and looked around. A tiny hole in the canopy showed a deep-blue sky.

“We aren’t lost, are we?”

She shook her head, the shadow under the brim of her hat casting her in almost complete darkness. “We’re here. We actually made better time than I thought.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” he asked.

Her teeth flashed once in the gloom. “Yes.”

“If we are waiting, mind if I sit?” Glint asked, pointing to the rock.

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

He sat on the conveniently sized rock and sighed happily; his sigh turned into a frown when he saw that Evergreen was still standing. “Do you want to join me?” he asked, sliding over. 

“I’m okay, but thanks.” She leaned up against a tree.

“There’s plenty of room, you know.”

“Well . . .”

“You’ve probably already been on your hooves for hours today.” Glint patted the rock. “I insist.”

She rolled her eyes. “Easy there, I’m coming.” Evergreen trotted up next to him and eyed the rock for a second then turned and sat down slowly. He gave her as much room as possible, but they still ended up uncomfortably close, pressed wing to wing. She raised her eyebrow. “Plenty of room?”

“. . . Sufficient room?” He scratched his head when she raised her eyebrow higher. “Hmm, you’re right. I doubt Princess Celestia would even be able to fit one cheek.”

She let out a short bark of laughter. “Lunar—”

“Glint, please. I never did like the way Lunar rolls off the tongue.”

“Glint,” she said, shaking her head, “that was wrong.”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. You laughed, though.”

She smirked. “I wouldn't say that.”

“I won't tell if you don't,” he said. 

“Tell about what?” she asked, winking. “I didn’t hear anything.”

Glint chuckled. “Me neither.” He glanced around. “It’s getting pretty dark out. Are you sure this is where you saw it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed. “I only caught a glimpse from a distance, but I know it was right here. After what you’ve told me, it makes sense that I haven’t seen it since then. After the first night, I always came during the day or really late.” She shivered, unconsciously sliding closer, as an unexpected gust of cool wind blew through the clearing. “I’m looking forward to seeing it up close.”

“Me too. I hope that—”

“Shh,” Evergreen said, pointing to the base of the tree in front of them. A matte black tip poked out of the soil. The stem waited, testing the air, before more of the vine slid out. It curved upward, slowly circling the base of the tree, as it sprouted small silver leaves every few inches. The tip bloomed, revealing a dainty iridescent flower.

Higher and higher it went, wrapping itself tightly around the tree, until the flower breached the forest canopy and left their sight. The pair held their breath as light flowed down the plant, illuminating each of the leaves in turn. The plant glimmered in the black, seeming to coat the tree in stars.

Glint gave a low whistle. 

“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” whispered Evergreen.

“Astonishing,” he said. His notebook lay forgotten in his saddlebag.

They sat, side by side, until moments later when the leaves went out, one by one, plunging the forest into complete darkness. As quickly as it came, it left, retreating down the tree and into the soil once more, but neither Glint nor Evergreen moved, content. Eventually, they stirred, the cool wind reaching a temperature that caused them to shiver simultaneously.

He stood up, saying, “We should probably go now.” She nodded and joined him. “I can hardly see my hoof in front of my face, though.”

She slid a long, thin rod out of a pocket and tapped it off the ground. After a few seconds, it glowed with a warm light, illuminating her face. “Follow me.” She tucked the light into the brim of her hat and set off the way the came, Glint in tow.

The cold black forest did nothing to ease Glint, and he found himself inching closer and closer to Evergreen and her light. Nonetheless, each time he broke a twig underhoof, his breath caught, and he looked around, wishing that he was with a larger group, but the feeling quickly subsided when he saw Evergreen’s head constantly scanning the forest. 

Far, far too long later, they reached the area where they had landed, and Glint sighed in relief. “I want to thank you once again for taking me out here tonight, Evergreen.”

Evergreen nodded, smiling. “My pleasure, Glint.”

“Do, uh, you think we could do this again sometime? I never did take any notes.” He grinned sheepishly.

“. . . How about tomorrow?” she asked. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

“That . . . sounds great.” He smiled.

He held his hoof low, offering his hoof to shake, but she raised hers high, offering a hoof bump. They quickly switched, each trying to mirror the other, but in doing so, failing miserably. Mentally shrugging, they reached forward, meeting at an awkward hoofshake that ended with a limp bump.

She chuckled as he facehoof. “Until tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded and waved as he jumped into the air and flew out of the forest. As he soared above the sea of green on his way back to his house, he couldn’t help but remember the pleasant feeling of her wing against his as they talked.
> Calluna vs. Fillygree - Winner: Fillygree (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flowers Forever - by Fillygree's Author

Calluna squinted at the tiny white flower, turning it around in her magic and watching the light glint off its metallic petals. Every wrinkle, every crease of a gardenia’s waxy petals, even drops of dew were rendered perfectly in white gold. “It’s beautiful. It looks almost alive.” She glanced at Fillygree and asked, “Where are the rest of them?”

“Oh,” said Fillygree, pushing a stray lock of blond hair behind one ear, “I only made the one earring. Well, and the one rose for the boutonniere cufflinks.”

Calluna dropped the flower out of her magic, catching it in her lilac hooves as she stammered, “One? J-just one! It took you five days to make one? Thistledown’s wedding is the day after tomorrow and there are three hundred guests. I’m supposed to make a corsage or boutonniere for every guest, and each one is supposed to be graced with a pair of your fake little flowers and—”

“Excuse me? These” —Fillygree thrust a miniature rose up to Calluna’s muzzle, turning her cross-eyed— “will be beautiful long after your silly weeds have turned to dust. Everypony is going to throw the flowers in the trash on their way out the door, but these cufflinks and earrings will be passed down to their…”

Fillygree trailed off, still holding the glittering pink flower on her hoof. Calluna’s green eyes had dropped to the floor along with her flank, and she was crushing a bouquet to her chest. Silence filled the room, broken only by the crinkling of cellophane as Calluna’s halting breaths pushed against the bundle of daisies. She managed to stop the trembling in her lip long enough to say, “Nothing is going to get passed down if everypony has to share half a pair of earrings.”

Fillygree nodded, returning the tiny jewels to their case as quietly as she could. Without looking at the other mare, she spoke, barely above a whisper. “I’ll get them done on time, but if you’re really worried, you could lend a hoof at my shop.”

Calluna shook her head with a bounce of her powder-blue curls and said, “I have… flowery things to do.” She began nibbling on the edge of a daisy.

Without a word, Fillygree dropped the case into her saddlebag and shuffled out the door. Calluna took a deep breath, then held the squished bouquet out for inspection with a frown. She turned to the racks of flowers filling up most of the room and reached out one hoof to caress a gardenia. “Don’t worry, baby, she didn’t mean those things she said.”











Fillygree didn’t look up when she heard the bell above the door chime. Although the sign out front said “closed,” the sound of hoofsteps made their way through the showroom and behind the counter.

“You’re a hard mare to find.”

Fillygree looked up without raising her head. “My name’s on the building.”

Calluna looked back toward the door. “I’ve never been to Canterlot before.”

“So,” Fillygree said, scraping a blob of wax off a white block, “what brings you here?”

“I finished with my flower stuff for now. I can’t make the corsages and boutonnieres until tomorrow, or they’d wilt before the wedding. I thought I’d come help you out.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Calluna held up a white paperboard box in her magic and lifted the lid for Fillygree to see inside. “I brought strawberry shortcake.”

Fillygree sat up, leaning forward until her pale blue muzzle was almost touching the edge of the box. A dozen petite square cakes lay inside, soaked in pink syrup, with a few scraps of cream smeared here and there. There were no strawberries to be seen. Fillygree looked at Calluna and raised an eyebrow.

Calluna blushed. “I, uh, I have a weakness for strawberries.”

“Cake is cake.” Fillygree pulled a sticky cake out of the box and nodded toward a few miniature gardenias, identical to the earring but made of wax. “You can start making models if you’re worried.”

Calluna waited for Fillygree to take a bite, then said, “Do you always make your clients do all the work?”

Fillygree narrowed her eyes and chewed the crumbly cake while Calluna grinned and said, “You can’t yell at me with a mouthful of cake.”

“Ib habdoo aghoo,” Fillygree said with one hoof in the air, spraying crumbs across the workbench. She swallowed, then said, “It’s hard to argue with cake.”

Calluna slid the box onto the workbench, then looked at the other mare. “Why were you so mean to me?”

Without breaking eye contact, Fillygree crammed the entire cake into her mouth at once.

“Yeah. Look, this is my big chance. My opportunity to build my business bigger than some street corner flower cart. I only got this gig because Thistledown is my aunt. She took a big risk hiring me for this wedding. If you screw this up for me, I won't have a business to go back to in Fillydelphia.” She put her hooves together and leaned on the workbench. “So please, pleeeeeeaaaaaase take this seriously.”

Fillygree’s orange eyes wandered across the walls and ceiling while she chewed, before settling on the lilac mare in front of her. She finally swallowed, then licked her lips and sighed. “I never didn’t take this seriously. Why did you get so upset?”

“I literally just told you. Why did you get so upset?”

With a sigh, Fillygree resumed her work, mechanically squishing bits of wax into a depression on a square block, scraping off the excess, and poking a short section of wire through a hole from the back, then dropping the half-a-flower-on-a-stick onto the table. Without looking up, she said, “You insulted my work ethic and my art at the same time.”

“Ah,” Calluna said, stepping up to the workbench. “I thought you had to carve them all instead of… What is it you’re doing?”

“I pour a plaster mold around the wax models, then melt out the wax. I pour the molten metal in the mold. It makes all the earrings at once. Same with the cufflinks.”

Calluna poked at a soft lump of warm wax. “So I freaked out for no reason?”

“Well,” Fillygree said, “pretty much.”

“Wax models, huh?” Calluna lifted a tiny glob of wax in her magic and stuffed it into a depression on one plaster block, then glanced up at Fillygree. Upon receiving a smile, Calluna scraped away the excess wax and turned the block over. “There’s no hole in this one. How do you get the flower out?”

“You stick one of those on it.” Fillygree pointed at the half-flowers that came out of her own block and watched Calluna align one onto the wax in her block. “Just like that. No, jam it on there, so it sticks to the other half.”

Calluna squealed and clopped her hooves, holding up a tiny wax flower. Fillygree rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin that crawled its way across her face. Calluna cleared her throat and began manufacturing gardenia tops. As the pile of flowers grew, she stole a glance at Fillygree and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Still, though. Most ponies don’t react like that. You don’t strike me as a grumpy pony. Something was already bothering you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fillygree pause. “I think you don’t like weddings.”

“As a matter of fact,” Fillygree said, her hooves cycling through the motions, “I think they’re dumb. For the price of a typical wedding, you could’ve bought a house - something that will last.”

“Nothing lasts forever. If we think anything is permanent, then we’re just fooling ourselves.”

The mares sat in silence a while, adding to the pile of wax gardenias. Fillygree paused, crossing her hooves on the workbench. “Love is forever.”

“I thought you didn’t like weddings?”

“I’m not opposed to them on principle, but I’m not talking about the wedding. You love your family, and you pass that love on to your foals, and they pass it on to theirs. And when you see a necklace that your great-granddad bought your great-grandma, it reminds you of the love they passed down.”

“Wow,” Calluna said, “Who knew you could be sweet?”

Fillygree rolled her eyes, but chuckled anyway as she broke off another blob of wax. She nodded toward the pastry box and said, “Cake me,” with a few chomps of her teeth.

Calluna lifted a cake and held it up for Fillygree to take a bite, but when she opened her mouth, Calluna shoved the entire cake into Fillygree’s face. As Fillygree fell over backwards sputtering, Calluna fell over laughing.

Fillygree sat up with crumbly pink cake across her entire muzzle. “I owe you for that one.”

“Heehee, no, you owe me a few dozen,” Calluna said, pointing to the pile of wax earrings.

“Yeah, but who’s counting?”

“Heh, I guess you’re right, we—”

“No, seriously,” Fillygree said, wiping her face with a fetlock, “who’s counting? We need three hundred of these.”

“Oh! Hahaha…”

Both mares laughed as Calluna began separating the earrings into sets of ten.











“Thanks for helping me with the flowers,” Calluna said as she trotted alongside the cart.

Fillygree smiled and shifted the cart’s harness on her midsection. “It’s the least I could do after keeping you up all night doing my job.”

“It wasn’t exactly my idea of a girl’s night, but it was fun in its own kind of way.”

“Heh. You just liked playing with all the cute little flowers.”

Calluna looked back at the cart, full of flower arrangements and boxes upon boxes of corsages and boutonierres. “They’re not exactly my kind of flowers, but I understand why you like them.”

“What I don’t understand is why you do what you do,” Fillygree said, panting as she looked at the wedding chapel up ahead. “I mean, you put a lot of work into something that’s going to be gone in a few days. How does that not bother you?”

Calluna pulled a pink rose from the cart, then turned to Fillygree with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “A flower is like a moment of happiness. It can’t last forever.” Her magic glowed brighter as the rose lost its color, shriveling to a sad brown state.

She held the flower in front of Fillygree and said, “You can try to make it last forever, but…” She stopped and took a couple steps backward, then plucked a yellow daisy that had sprouted from a crack in the road. “You’ll miss the next one.”

Fillygree smiled and blushed while Calluna slid the flower behind her ear. “Thanks.”

A few moments later, Calluna watched Fillygree wrinkle her brow as she pulled the cart up next to some caterers carrying tables into a gazebo. As Fillygree waited for Calluna to unhook her from the harness, she turned around and said, “Can you handle the rest by yourself?”

“Oh, sure. The wedding’s still a couple hours away.”

“Good, good.” Fillygree stared at the flowers for a moment, then swept her eyes across the festive scene, avoiding Calluna’s eyes. “I’ve got something to do. I’ll see you after the wedding?”

“Sure. Thanks for the help.” Calluna watched Fillygree wander off before turning back to her cart and pulling out a giant vase.











“I thought I’d find you here,” Fillygree said.

“Hmmm?” Calluna turned around and smiled around the strawberry stem sticking out of her mouth.

Fillygree sat on the bench next to her, watching distant partygoers shake their flanks in unison as others laughed and ate cake. Calluna held up a silver platter with a few chocolate-covered strawberries remaining on white paper doilies. “Strawberry?”

“Sure!” Fillygree grabbed one of the confections, then paused and patted her tummy. “This is a moment of happiness that will become all-too-permanent.”

Calluna rolled her eyes, but snuck a glance at her own belly.

“Soooooo,” Fillygree said, rolling the strawberry around on her hooves, “I was thinking about what you said, about how a single happy moment is like a flower.”

“Yeah?”

“What is life, if not a process of moving from one moment to the next?”

“Mmmhmm,” Calluna said, then spit a stem into the grass and swallowed. “You could even say that we’re permanently a part of this process.”

Fillygree chuckled. “I suppose so. I know we got off on the wrong hoof, but I really enjoyed getting to know you.” She reached into her mane, digging through her sloppy bun until she pulled something out. “I made this for you.”

Calluna picked up the tiny sparkling item in her magic, then dropped it in her hooves. It was a brilliant yellow flower, with five oblong petals that glistened even in the shade. “Is this… This kind of looks like a strawberry flower, but those are white.”

“It’s a wild strawberry. They grow like weeds in my tiny little lawn. I had to invent my own special gold alloy to get that color of yellow.” Fillygree picked it up from Calluna’s hooves, and tucked it behind the unicorn’s ear. “I wanted this to remind you that that, even though we only spent a few moments together, I’ll remember you forever.”

“Awwwwww,” Calluna said with a blush, “That’s so sweet.” She wrapped Fillygree in a hug. “And this is to remind you to keep your eyes open for that next happy moment.”

Both mares giggled before turning back to watch the wedding. As Fillygree took a bite of strawberry, Calluna leaned over and said, “You are going to write me, though, right?”


> Gross Product vs. Casey Regulator Trotterson - Winner: Gross Product (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


> Melon Rind vs. Firefly - Winner: Firefly (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melon Rind/Firefly - by Melon Rind's Author

His hoofsteps reverberated off the towering crystals, turned against the stalactites hanging from the far-off ceiling and curled around the pocks and crevices in the stone walls.  Firefly ruffled his wings, adjusting the panniers strapped around his midsection.  His ears swiveled to catch the echoes.  He thought he could barely make out another set of hooves clicking through the caves, independent of his own echoes.  It could just have been his own pulse thrumming through his ears, though.  Since he had slipped away from the tour group his heart had been under the delusion that he was flying a marathon.

He came to a fork.  Both passages were nearly the same as far as he could see, jagged rock and luminous crystal.  He turned to face the way he had come from.  He slid the dark goggles on his forehead over his gold eyes, and suddenly a trail of mist marked the path where he had trod.  His chest felt a little looser when he saw it.  The charm was working well.  The cave network itself was already a complex maze, and the magic crystals sprouting from the stone turned even each individual cavern into a winding headache, so he had known he would need a breadcrumb trail to let him find his way back.  For all that the concept was simple, the charm itself had been tricky to design, and he'd run into trouble with it a few times in the testing stages.  The mist had only lasted a few minutes, or it had been in the visible spectrum, or his goggles hadn't been able to pick it up.  He had already checked it four times on his way down, but he still had difficulty shaking the feeling that something was going to go wrong.  Was breaking laws supposed to be this stressful?

He looked back to the fork.  Any maps that might exist were hidden in the castle library out of public sight, and the books were all annoyingly vague about the caverns' structure.  “Deep” was the most description they ever granted the subject.  One had gone for “labyrinthine” instead.  He didn't hold it against the authors—they were writing histories, not atlases—but he didn't know how long he had before the tour guide did a headcount and realized he had lost one pony.  Maybe Firefly would get lucky, and the guide would miscount.  He did have a pretty large group—more than thirty ponies.  With the first royal wedding in generations coming up in less than a week, ponies and foreigners from all over were flooding Canterlot.  One less pegasus might not be noticed.

Dawdling there wouldn't do him any good either, though.  He decided on the left path, which seemed to slant down slightly more, and nearly trotted right into a crystal showing his distorted reflection.  His reflection startled at seeing him and reflexively swung the hammer gripped in her mouth.

The anti-Crusader charm he always kept hidden in his feathers automatically reacted to the fast-approaching object.  More than half of Firefly's magic drained into it to fuel the teleportation spell, and in the next blink he was standing ten feet away, watching the earth mare catch her swing.

Firefly's mind finally caught up.  He threw himself backwards, his wings reaching for the absent sky, and fled back the way he had come, following the mist trail wavering on the ground.  A pony, there shouldn't have been ponies down there, and she'd seen him--

A golden shield spell flickered into existence around him, followed by a dull thunk from behind as something impacted it.  The shield came from a charm on his other wing, another product of his status as a regular victim of the Cutie Mark Crusaders' accidents.  The second massive magic drain in as many seconds exhausted him completely.  His wings beat down and then would not rise for the next flap.  When he fell to the ground his legs collapsed under him.

“What was that?”  His aggressor sounded utterly baffled.  Even lifting his head off the ground was beyond him in that state, so he could only listen as she approached.  “Oh hay, you're not moving.  Are you dead?  I didn't just kill a pony, you had better still be-- oh, good, you're hyperventilating.”  A pause, and when she spoke again her voice was muffled.  “Hate it when ponies die on me.  Always takes so long to clean up.”

Strength was slowly returning to his limbs.  He might be able to twitch a hoof now, if he tried hard enough.  A unicorn would have recovered enough to walk by then, but pegasus bodies simply weren't designed to use magic in sudden spurts the way unicorns did.  Firefly estimated another three minutes before he could even sit up.  

That was what he was there for, ironically.  The caves in Canterlot Mountain were the only place in the world to find objects capable of storing magic.  He didn't know why the crystals here could do that, but he knew that they could, and that the ones deeper down were more efficient.  Considering the princess had shut the mine down and banned trading of the crystals centuries ago, it hadn't been easy even to dig up that much information.  If he could figure out how to use them, he could have them constantly store the excess magic his body generated but never used and let his charms draw on that supply, instead of tearing the magic directly out of him as they did now.  

“I didn't think there would be anyone else down here,” Firefly muttered into the rocky floor.  At least she wasn't a guard.  She had probably just as much permission to be there as Firefly did.

Her hoofsteps stopped for a second.  “Well, your mommy and daddy were wrong.” she said, her voice muffled.  She sounded like he had been the one to launch an unprovoked attack with a hammer on her.  “You're not a special little snowflake after all.  Do you need help getting up, or can you manage that all by yourself?”

“I'll be able to stand in a minute.”  Cordially he added, “I'm Firefly.”

A dark yellow hoof landed near his cheek.  “So that's what that bug on your flank is.  Thought it was a doorknob.”

“How could you possibly--”  He cut himself off, took a breath, then went on, calmer, “I'm making an effort to overlook the fact that you just threw a hammer at me, but you're not making this easy.  And my cutie mark is a scarab, if you please.”

“Obviously a dung beetle's much better than a firefly,” said the mare.

Firefly hauled himself into a sitting position.  His legs trembled at the strain, but they didn't give out again.

He got his first good luck at the mare.  She was...  Firefly usually tried not to judge a pony's appearance, but even if he hadn't been feeling particularly uncharitable towards her it would have been difficult to ignore just how thuggish she looked.  Her coat was a muddy yellow color, her tail was cut nearly to the bone, her face was heavy and blocky.  Even her cutie mark was jarring, as a black anvil and hammer set against a much lighter palette.  But her most unpleasant feature was her expression, which brought up all the memories Firefly didn't care for from his school days.

“You at least owe me a name,” he said.  The mare wasn't even looking at him, too preoccupied with tucking the hammer clenched between her teeth beneath the strap on her panniers.  “An apology would be better, but my hopes for that ever happening aren't optimistically high.”

She finished putting her weapon away and glanced back at him.  “I don't owe you anything.”

“You threw a hammer at me,” Firefly pointed out for the second time.  It bore repeating.  “That's not even an actual projectile!”

“Well you shouldn't have surprised me!  What kind of pegasus can teleport?”

“Any pegasus who wants to,” Firefly snapped.  “Whose first reaction to someone flying away is to throw a hammer at them?”

He had to lean back when she shoved her muzzle far too close to his.  “Mine.  It's my first reaction, and I wouldn't change it if I could.  Anything else you can't whine about on your own, or am I allowed to leave now?”

Firefly gestured expansively to the side with his foreleg.  “You have my permission.”

She snorted in his face.  As she turned away, what little tail she had flicked him across the muzzle, but with ease of experience he ignored the natural temptation to bite it and pull.  Bullies only ever used that trick when they wanted to claim self defense afterwards.

She started towards the right path in the fork, but suddenly a cacophonous sound rang through the cave.  The mare stopped in her tracks.  Firefly's eyes narrowed, and his ears pricked up, turning to follow the echoes.  The sound was so distorted that it took a moment for him to identify it.

It took minutes for the anguished scream to die away.  “Some idiot's gotten lost,” the mare commented.

Firefly ignored her.  “Where...?”

“Sounds like she's down this way.”  The mare nodded in the direction she had come from.  “You gonna to fly to your damsel in distress?”

That got his attention.  He stared at her, more disgusted than he had ever been in his life.  “You aren't going to help her.”

“It's her own fault she didn't bring a compass or trail markers,” the mare said airily.  “Anyway, she only needs one knight in shining armor, and I've got more important things to do.”

She vanished down the path Firefly had chosen not to take, whistling quietly.









Fismits - by Firefly's Author

Firefly sighed. Plate Pauldron was late, as usual. 

He swirled the ice in his tumbler, reflections from him bright orange hoof provided the only color left in the glass. The gesture exposed scars that scored his coat on the inside of his leg. He absentmindedly placed his hoof frog-side down on the table, reducing the visibility of the marks. 

Feeling self conscious, he glanced over his shoulder to see if his wings were presentable. They were, minimally so. A few secondaries didn’t lie quite flat. Still, he didn’t want to be caught preening in public when Paulie and his friends arrived. He hated the whole cooler than thou attitude some pegasi wore like second skin. He would rather look like a shabby vagrant than be mistaken for that kind of stallion. He also noticed bright wisps of his fire-red mane as he moved his head. 

At least you could've looked in the mirror before trotting out the door! he thought to himself. Another stellar start to a blind date on a Friday night. Good going, Casaneighva!

The bar itself was barely occupied. It was early yet, but Firefly had an early shift in the morning. An unforeseen low front was coming in off the Everfree. The thought of spending the morning alone with the weather brigade boss, Rainbow Dash, soured his stomach. 

A commotion at the entrance caught his attention. He stood as Paulie finally trotted up to his table, followed at a slower pace by a short, heavyset earth pony mare. She looked like what he imagined a pony left in a dungeon way too long would look like: her coat a faded dirty yellow, a washed out green mane, and tail that looked as if they had been hacked short with a machete. To cap it all off, she sported an expression on her muzzle that clearly showed both foreboding and disappointment in equal measures. 

“You didn’t say he was a pegasus,” she commented in a low voice full of gravel.

“I didn’t?” said Paulie as if surprised that he hadn’t. “Don’t worry.” He smiled greasily. “He’s kind of low key for a pegasus stallion.” He winked at her. “That’s kind of why I thought I’d introduce the two of you.”

Resentful yellow eyes probed into Firefly’s golden irises.

“Lemon... uh, I mean Melon Rind here, is the sister of a friend of mine. She’s visiting from Canterlot, here to do some custom work for Princess Twilight’s new guard detachment. She’s a blacksmith. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Firefly was at a loss as to how to respond. He had no interest in smithing, other than the aspects of it related to alchemy. The silence stretched on a bit too long. 

The mare sighed. “Let’s get this over with,” she rasped. Without another word she sat down in the booth as far as she could from the pegasus.

Firefly finally found his voice. “Where’s Tour deForce?” 

“Couldn’t make it.” Paulie grinned sheepishly. “Come to think of it, I’ve got a few things I need to take care of myself. I’m sure you two won’t mind if I just leave you to get to know each other!”  

He took the utter silence from the booth as assent, and moved back a step. “Great!” He waved a hoof. “Tootles!” Spinning on his rear hooves he hightailed for the exit.

Firefly’s quick glance across the table showed that Paulie’s abrupt exit hadn’t improved the mare’s mood, either. There was no mistaking the look of pure hatred she gave the departing stallion. Once Plate Pauldron was out the door, she turned a lidded gaze onto Firefly. 

Yeah, thought Firefly. This is just great!

The two ponies stared at each other.




Melon gritted her teeth. Why do you keep letting yourself get talked into these disasters? Better cut him off at the pass, before he ends up wasting any more of my wonderful life droning on about those stupid stunt flyers. She leaned forward.

“I have no interest in the...” she began.

“... Wonderbolts!” he finished for her. The interruption left her feeling more than a little annoyed. However the stallion’s tone had been more amused than abrasive.

His fiddled with his empty drink glass. “You’re not the first earth pony mare Paulie’s introduced to me who started the conversation that way.” He blew air through his lips while keeping his eyes on his empty glass. “This is mostly an earth pony town after all.”

Embarrassment took some of the edge off of her anger. She crossed her forelegs. “So I hear.” 

“If it’s any consolation,” he said with a tentative grin, “I don’t much care for them either.”

Her eyebrows rose. Well. This is new!

The stallion’s eyebrows rose. He leaned forward.

“Look, Paulie means well,” he said, “even if he hasn’t quite mastered the art of introducing ponies to each other.” He held out a hoof. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss Rind.” 

She glanced down at the orange limb. Noticing the jagged scars on his pelt, she hesitated a moment before proffering her own.

His ears drooped as he pulled the limb slowly back. “They’re scars,” he said softly. “I’m not contagious.”

Melon felt her face grew hot. “I wasn’t repelled, really!” she blurted out. “It’s just that I know scars when I see them!” She raised her own right forelimb to the light, showing multiple angry red lines and bald patches in her yellow coat.

She shook his hoof in greeting. “Pleasure’s mine.” 

She bared teeth in what she hoped was a grin. “So, how in the world does a pegasus get scars like that?”

The stallions’ eyebrows rose. She again felt the heat of embarrassment. “I mean, you rarely see a pegasus blacksmith!” she added breathlessly. “They just typically don’t have the upper body strength needed.” She winced internally. This guy’s gonna think I’m some sort of specieist!

“I got these scars practicing magic,” he said laconically.

“As if a pegasus can do magic!” Melon heard her voice speak and was already cringing by the time her brain finally caught up with her treasonous mouth. Her ears drooped as she sighed and waited for the stallion’s reaction. I fully deserve whatever he dishes out! She was too embarrassed to look him in the eye. 

A dry chuckle caused her to look up. “I’ve had that reaction before, too! But even pegassi can do magic, given the right tools,” he lifted his other foreleg showing similar scars on its pelt, “although there can be... complications.”

She raised her own left foreleg showing more of her own scars. “Complications? We smiths just call them artistic license.”

“Really?” His smile widened. “So, tell me about your art.”

Melon straightened up, her mood improving for the first time that evening. She launched into a description of metalworking while taking a closer look at the stallion. He’s definitely different! she thought. And earnest. And not too shabby looking! 




Firefly wasn’t sure whether to be amused or appalled. The mare was disarmingly honest and straightforward in her opinions. She seemed like a different pony as soon as she started talking him about her trade, her discourse punctuated with shy little grins that made her look sweet. He grinned inwardly. A disarming armorer! The thought made him snort. 

Melon’s smiled faded. “Did I say something amusing?” She leaned back from the table, her ears drooping.

“No!” his own grin disappeared. He shook his head. “I mean, yes! Er, I mean I what you said made me think of something funny.”

Her eyes narrowed over compressed lips.

You blew it, idiot! His withers slumped. “I meant that in a good way... and yes, I was paying attention.” She did not appear convinced. “It’s just, sometimes, I get these thoughts out of the blue.”

Her expression softened. “What do you know, I do that too.” She grinned ruefully. “I love smithing partly because it doesn’t involve much talking. Sometimes I’m working a piece in front of a customer, and I realize I’ve been thinking out loud the entire time! It’s gotten me into trouble before, especially on jobs like these.”

“Jobs like what?”

“Doing custom armor plate fittings in the field.” 

“That doesn’t sound so bad!”

“Granted. But at least you don’t have to spend your whole workday pandering to a bunch of hot-shot flyers, each one jabbering away about how they're Celestia’s gift to ponydom!”

He flapped a wing lightly, making her eyes widen. 

“No offense!” The shock  on her face made him laugh out loud. 

“None taken! I work for the weather brigade. I know exactly what you mean!” She blushed brightly, making him laugh again. 

Time to change subjects! He called to a passing waiter. “Another, please, and a hard Apple cider for the lady.”

“Why do you think a lady like me would like hard cider?

“You’re a blacksmith, and an earth pony.” He winked. “I figure you can handle it!”

She stuck out her tongue, and pointed at his empty glass. “So what are you drinking? Lemonaid?”

He nodded mock seriously. “I learned my lesson at the welcome party Pinkie Pie threw me when I moved here.” He suddenly scanned the room. “You weren’t approached by a rather hyper pink earth mare with a frizzy pink mane, were you?”

Her gaze turned inwards. “Not that I recall.”

He sighed in relief. “Oh, good. If you’re in Ponyville for more than a day or two she’ll find you. Just remember, you’ve been warned.”

Her laugh was unexpectedly musical. “I’ll watch my step!” 

They paused as the waiter delivered their drinks. She examined the amber contents of hers.

“I’ve heard so much about the Apples’ famous cider. I’m distantly related. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could just go to a local bar and give a try.” She raised her glass in a silent toast. He clinked his to hers, and they both took a sip. 

Her eyes shot wide open. “Hoooo-wee!”

Firefly chuckled. “Ayyyup! My boss goes gaga over the stuff! I’ve heard her friends make sure she never gets her hooves on too much of it.”

Melon straightened up. “Omigosh! Your boss is Rainbow Dash! The element bearer!”

“Yes, she sure is.” He put his glass down, expression neutral.

A look of concern crossed her face. “Something tells me you aren’t exactly overjoyed about it.”

He flicked an ear. What the hay! She’s just visiting anyway. He looked her in the eye. “Dash is pretty competitive, even for a pegasus. She pushes everypony hard, including herself. But, despite having another grounder as a best friends, she seems incapable of understanding that not all pegasi aspire to become ace flyers.”

“Grounder?”

“A pegasus that prefers living on the ground instead of in the clouds. One of the other element bearers, Fluttershy, is like me. She lives in a house near Ponyville. I have an apartment down the street I share with two unicorn stallions.”

“Oh? Why unicorns?”

He sighed. In for a bit... 

“I’ve always been interested in magic since I was a foal. In Cloudsdale I saw unicorns do large scale industrial magic in the factories, so I decided that I wanted to do magic myself. In school, I found out how enchanted objects and alchemy let anypony do magic, and that’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do since.”

“Anypony?”

“Uh-huh, anypony! Or do you think some unicorn hiding in the closet casts a spell every time somepony turns on a glowlight or uses a kitchen appliance?”

“Everypony uses magical appliances every day. I guess I hadn’t put much thought to how they worked.”

He grinned. “Well, I do. I just work with more powerful spell substrates and control objects. The only thing I can’t do is generate a mana field like a unicorn does.”

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure if it was just out of politeness.

“So how come you ended up in Ponyville’s weather brigade?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Well. My parents weren’t too hot on the whole magic thing They wanted me to join the family sleet business. So I went to weather school and got pretty good grades, until finally I graduated and came here to join the brigade.”

“Were you peeved to have been sent to such a small town?”

“Not at all! I like it here. I'm free to learn about magic, and have  access to a whole bunch of magic practitioners.” He grinned wolfishly. “But the only one amongst them even mildly interested in teaching magic is Princess Twilight.”

Melon’s jaw dropped. “You’ve met the Princess?!”

He nodded. “I see her in the castle library all the time. She’s real eager to discuss magic.” He grinned sheepishly. “But then she’s so far ahead of me that her explanations often go straight over my head. Still, she tries.”

“You’re not just pulling my leg?”

He shook his head. “Hey, this is a small kingdom! Live here for a while and you’re likely to meet pretty much everypony!”

She nodded, deep in thought.

“What about you?” he asked. “Didn’t you say you were related to the Apples?”

“Distantly. Our families split a few hundred years ago. Our branch are not so fond of digging in the dirt, though. We tend to be crafts-ponies. We’re a pretty quiet bunch, comparatively.”

A noise caused them both to look towards the entrance. Plate Pauldron approached, looking both pleased and puzzled. “I just knew you two would hit it off!” He squeezed-in next to Melon Rind. “So how was your evening?”

“It was...” began Firefly raising an eyebrow.

“... pleasantly quiet,” finished Melon with a grin.

Paulie looked confused for moment. But the smiles on their muzzles proved contagious.

Firefly looked at the clock in surprise. “Past ten already? I’ve got to get up before dawn tomorrow.” He turned to the mare. “Hey, it was a blast meeting you, Melon.”

“Really?!" Her eyes widened. "I mean, the pleasure was mine!” she corrected with a cough. 

“Really!” he said. Her shy smile returned. That smile, more than anything else, gave him the courage to speak up. He licked his lips. “Are... are you free tomorrow night?”

She nodded. “I suppose I am,” she said, sounding very serious.

They stared at each other. 

On impulse, he rose and took her scared limb in his own, leaned over and planted a kiss on her hoof. “Then let us meet here again on the morrow! Good night, shield maiden!”

She chuckled. “And a good night to you, flying mage!”

He was whistling when he left the bar.
> Dala vs. Trinket - Winner: Trinket (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dala, First Entry - by Dala's Author

An orange unicorn wearing a ragged purple scarf trotted through the halls of the Crystal Empire Castle. His eyes wandered to and fro as he traversed the empty corridors, his loud hoofsteps echoing on the spotless, mirror-like floors. An old pair of saddlebags were at his sides, dirtied with the dust and grime of many days’ travel. In his purple aura he held a scroll, rolled up tightly and tied with blue ribbon, and every time the his eyes flickered to it, his expression became curiously pensive.

The unicorn navigated the pristine corridors before arriving at a tall, intricate set of doors. They  were swung wide open, but guarding them were a pair of burly crystal guards. Both of them turned their heads as one to the newcomer, but their attention quickly switched to the scroll.

“Ah, you’re the one the Guildmaster sent word about,” one of the guards said. She looked the newcomer up and down. “What was your name again? Turnip, or something?”

The orange unicorn fidgeted. “Trinket, ma’am.”

“Right.” The guard reached out and plucked the scroll out of the air, glancing at it once before rolling it back up. “You’ll find Alchemist Dala in the Athenaeum. First door on the left.”

“Though you might wanna keep it brief,” the other guard advised, chuckling. “She’s cranky in the mornings.” 

Trinket felt a sudden sense of foreboding, but pressed on. He tucked the scroll in his bags and followed the guard’s directions, stepping into the new hallway and entering the first set of doors on the left.
 
The Athenaeum was an immense, open room lined with high, ancient bookshelves hewn from the Castle’s very walls. It was big enough that, had Trinket yelled out, he would’ve heard his voice resonate like if he was at the base of a canyon. A beautiful chandelier set with white, glowing crystals hung from the ceiling, and the whole place smelled of dried paper.

Trinket’s eye was drawn to the only activity in the room--a blazing fire crackling in a hearth by one of the windows. Beside it was an earth pony mare, short, thin and frail, robed in the royal blue of an alchemist and poring over a thick, dusty tome. Her aqua bangs hid her face from view as she muttered softly to herself, her voice lost to the fire’s merry crackling.

Trinket approached the mare quietly, although his hoofsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. He saw that there were several books scattered on the tables beside the mare, all of which were open to pages displaying pictures of herbs and plants. He could also hear a dull bubbling noise, and noticed that a large pewter cauldron was resting in the heated coals of the fireplace. Its bottom half was a brilliant, cherry-red. Copious steam wafted out from an unknown boiling liquid within that smelled of crushed pine needles.

Trinket’s movements became jittery. He tried to ignore the pit in his stomach, but didn’t succeed any more than he ever did. Which is to say, that he failed miserably. He figured that his presence would be noticed, but evidently, the mare was utterly absorbed in her work. Her only movement was to brush her mane out of her face, revealing a pair of green, bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them.

Trinket halted and cleared his throat, taking a moment to adjust his own messy mane. ““Uh… s-sorry, but… a-are you Dala?”

No response. The mare flipped the page of her book, shivering as she pulled her robe tighter around herself.

Trinket tapped his hoof and cleared his throat again, louder this time. “Excuse me--”

“I heard you,” the mare said. Her voice was flat and heavy with fatigue. “Give me a minute.”

“Erm…” Trinket swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m here because--”

“I said hold on!”  the mare snapped.

“Eep!” Trinket feel back on his haunches. He did as he was told and fell silent, and tensely, he watched as the mare continued examining her mysterious book. A few minutes passed, and Trinket began to fear that he was being blown off, but then a moment later, the mare reached for a small beaker on the table. She carefully measured out three drops of a smoking, yellow liquid, turned around to the cauldron, and smoothly poured them in. 

There was a crackling hiss. The room became filled with a harsh, acrid smell. 

“Ack!” Trinket gagged and coughed. His eyes began to tear up from the odor, and he took several steps back in alarm. He tripped over his own hooves and fell backwards onto the unforgiving floor, gasping for breath.

The mare slammed her hoof against the wall. “DAMN IT!” She reached for a bucket of thick, brown goop beside the hearth. She dumped the whole thing into the cauldron, and the appalling smell vanished. “Damn, damn, damn! Every thrice-damned time! Why can’t I make any freaking progress?!”

Trinket lay on the ground, gasping for air. Whatever had been brewing in that cauldron had left him lightheaded, and now the room was spinning. He groaned as he tried to get back up on his haunches, but fell right back down. His limbs suddenly felt like lead, and it was getting hard to breathe.

The mare turned to him and inhaled sharply. “Oh, for crying out--those bucking IDIOTS!” She went back over to the table, grabbed a sprig of a long stemmed weed with silver leaves, then limped over to the fallen stallion. “I’m reporting them to the Prince for this… I’ll get them both put on latrine duty until the Crystal Heart expires...”

She bent down and held the weed under Trinket’s nose. His nose wiggled, and he caught a clean, sweet scent, like peppermint. A moment later, his head slowly began to clear, and his muscles relaxed. Gradually, he sat back up and looked at her woozily.

“Thank… you…”.

The mare held him steady and began to measure his pulse. “You all right?”

Trinket nodded. “Please tell me… you’re Dala...”

“That’d be me,” the frail mare said. “Try not to get up too fast. Who are you, and who sent you?”

Trinket met her eyes for a moment, but something in them made him quickly look away. His attention remained on the floor as he spoke. “Trinket. Cady--er, Princess Cadance sent me. I need you to transmute some truesteel.”

Dala raised an eyebrow. “Truesteel? For what?”

“Crown.” Trinket pulled out the scroll and showed it to her. “Making a new one for the Princess.”

Dala took the scroll and gave it a quick glance-over. “Commission for new regalia… to be crafted by artisan Trinket of Stockhoof… referred to Guildmaster Pestle of the Royal Alchemist’s Guild… transmute request approved, Alchemist Dala to perform...”

Trinket smiled sheepishly and put a hoof behind his neck. “They’ve, uh… been having me run around all morning. Didn’t think I’d need to sign so many things.”

“Hmph.” Dala tossed the scroll onto the table. “Of course he’d have me do it. Not like I’m in the middle of my research or anything… oh, this is his payback for me using up all the Wraithroot last week, I just know it. Still, I suppose it’s about time. I’ve been telling the Princess she needs to get that dented thing replaced for months…”

“Erm…” Trinket shifted back and forth.

Dala glanced at him. “I hope you’ve got the materials on you. I can’t exactly do a transmutation without the base components.”

“I think I do.” Trinket reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a thick, black bag inlaid with azure runes. “This should be everything.”

Dala took the bag and looked inside it for a few seconds. “Hmph. So you do. All right, then.” She satisfied, she swung it over her back and limped to the center of the room. “Follow me.”

“Um…” Trinket said, noticing her limp. “Are you all right?” 

Dala grunted. “As alright as I can be.”

“What were you working on, if you don’t mind my asking?” Trinket looked back at the fireplace, wrinkling his nose. “It smelled terrible.”

“A potion I’ve been trying to develop for a while, now.” Dala stopped in the center of the room, just beneath the chandelier. “It wasn’t supposed to smell like that. Wasn’t supposed to knock ponies on their rumps, either. Still working on that.”

“Oh.” Trinket was curious to know more, but somehow, he doubted that she would humor him. He could tell she’d been up all night, and remembering the guard’s advice, he decided to stand back by the table and watch her work, quietly observing the complicated runes she’d begun to draw on the floor.

It took a few minutes for Dala to set everything up. Once ready, she stood amongst the symbols she’d drawn, muttering something to herself and turned to Trinket.

“Turn around, close your eyes, and don’t move until I tell you.”

Trinket obeyed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once he was situated, Dala cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and opened the bag. A swirling, glittering rain of ground metals instantly flew out in a cloud, swirling around her like a multicolored funnel. She closed her eyes as well and focused, and the runes began to glow. The air hummed with the sizzle of gathering magic. Dala raised a hoof, and in her grasp, the grains of metal began to merge into a single bar.

“Wow,” Trinket breathed, feeling his skin tingle. He desperately wanted to look, but did as Dala instructed and stayed put.

The fragments continued to coalesce, the bar growing in size, luster, and beauty. Dala remained utterly focused throughout her task, her posture never shifting even a single inch. It took about five minutes for the entire process to be completed, but when it was done, the result was truly something to behold. In Dala’s hoof was an ingot of pristine white metal, immaculate and shining like the very sun. It was about the size of an apple, but didn’t seem to weigh very much, as she held it without issue. 

Upon hearing the runes power down, Dala felt around for the black bag she’d dropped and delicately placed the truesteel ingot inside, and once she cinched the bag up, the blinding light from the metal vanished completely.

 “All clear,” Dala said, opening her eyes. She went over to Trinket and gave him the bag, not meeting his eyes as she went back over to the hearth. “Now, normally I’d give you a whole spiel about the hazards of truesteel and how to safely handle it, but seeing as your request’s been approved by the Guildmaster, I think we can skip that part. Just don’t open that bag without proper eye protection, unless you want to fry your Celestia-damned retinas. Okay?”

Trinket eyed the bag in his aura like it contained a poisonous snake. “G-got it.”

“Grand.” Dala closed the book she’d been reading, put it back on the shelf, then wearily stepped past Trinket and made for the exit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my pillow is calling my name.”

“Huh?” Trinket did a double take. “Oh! Er… t-thank you!”

Dala’s gave him a beleaguered wave. “Make Cadance a nice crown. She deserves it.”

“I will!”

Dala left. Trinket was left alone in the Athenaeum, his prize secured and safely in his bags. He pumped his hoof in victory and chuckled to himself, his mind already planning out how best to use such a precious resource.

Unfortunately, his musings were interrupted by a sudden, ear-splitting shout.

“YOU BUCKING MORONS! WHAT PART OF ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! I’M GONNA PUT GHANZ’AA LEAF IN YOUR CANTEENS SO THAT YOU LOSE YOUR SENSE OF TASTE!”









Trinket vs. Dala - by Trinket's Author

Tucked away in a corner of the Crystal Empire’s Spire, right across the hall from the kitchen was the castle’s laboratory. It was modestly sized and full of the latest instruments, but the Crystal Empire currently lacked the reasons to make full use of it. It was usually empty this late in the evening besides, but the light dribbling out through the cracks in the door told otherwise.

A small gemstone protruded from the ceiling, emanating a light that colored the crystal walls a soft blue. Cumbersome machines stuck to the walls beside heavy cabinets and various desks were scattered about the center, clean and sparkling. A few of them were etched with arcane symbols and sigils. One such table was currently being occupied, its etchings aglow with a faint orange.

Dala stood over the table, wearing a lab coat and crushing various herbs in a small bowl with her hooves. She added a few salts and some water, then gave the mixture a good sniff. Her head snapped back then as it suddenly blew up with a puff of smoke, staining her nose a darker shade of orange and making her blue mane resemble a sunset. With a sigh, she dropped the little bowl on the table and walked across the room to clean her face.

As she stuck her head under a faucet and grabbed for a towel, the door opened.

“This is cool,” said a random unicorn as he took a few steps into the room and passed his eyes over it.

A crystal guardspony held the door open for him, and gave a few words before leaving. “Everything you’ll need is in here,” he said. He motioned over to Dala, who was currently trying to dry herself as quickly as possible. “Dala there should be able to help you if you need anything. I’ll be outside when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” said the unicorn, and the door shut behind him.

He quickly looked towards Dala, who was busy running her hooves through her mane to try and straighten it out. She stole a look at the newcomer out of the corner of her eye, and when they met she turned away and started wringing the towel out in the sink.

“Hello,” said the unicorn as he walked over to her. He used one hoof to loosen the purplish scarf around his neck. “Uh, my name’s Trinket. And you’re... Dala? Are you the lab director?”

“No,” she said flatly. She hung the towel up and gave him an unamused, sideways glance. “What are you doing here?”

The question stopped him. “Um, I’m here to repair Princess Cadance’s neckpiece,” he said. 

His horn then lit up a kind orange, opening the flap of a small satchel on his back and floating out a bundle of white cloth. It delicately unraveled to reveal the golden band that was Princess Cadance’s neckpiece. Dala’s eyes widened at that, but then they narrowed on the large crack running straight across it and the few gold chips beside it.

“It got damaged during the battle with King Sombra,” he continued. “Probably. At least, Cadance couldn’t think of why else it would just break like this. She accidentally dropped it yesterday morning and, well...”

“I see,” Dala mused, and then shrugged. “Have at it, then,” she said. She then bothered to take the long way back to her table.

Trinket blinked. “Hey, wait!” he said, following after her. “Can you show me where the furnace is?”

“It’s in that corner,” Dala said, pointing to a table on the near wall. A large, black box sat on top of it.

“Oh.” Trinket stopped right beside it. “Thanks.”

If Dala had a response, she kept to herself. A few strides later and she was back at her table, doing her best to remain preoccupied and shut out the new pony. She didn’t know what he was doing here and not that she cared, but she already found herself wishing him gone. There was a reason she liked coming here in the evening, she thought to herself, failing to hide a small frown.

But she kept it out of sight. Her nose was aimed at the small bowl. She still had work to do. Using a little chisel she scraped off all the residue she could. Reaching over the arcane symbols, she grabbed a vial of red goop and delicately poured a small amount of the powder into it. She eyed it and gave it a shake, half-expecting it to explode in her face again.

Instead she nearly dropped it, when a sharp crack! erupted over her shoulder.

Hastily setting the vial down, she turned to see Trinket had turned the furnace on and found a crucible. His scarf was discarded and he was holding Princess Cadance’s neckpiece with his magic, which was currently in two separate chunks.

He then bent the segments at odd angles and they broke in half as well.

“What are you doing?!” Dala snapped at him.

Trinket stuck the pieces in the crucible and proceeded to stick it in the furnace. “What?”

“You just—!” She stared at him, caught between her desk and running up to him. Her frown became clear. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t tell how many microscopic or internal cracks there are,” he said slowly. “It’d be better to just make Cadance a new one.”

“And you think you can just do that?”

“I’m the one who made it in the first place,” he remarked, “twelve years ago when she first became a princess. I can easily make it again. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, well, just...” Dala caught her breath before she could say anything else, and it came trickling out as a sigh. “Just don’t screw it up, alright? Princess Cadance is... she’s important to me. I’d hate to see her get upset.”

Trinket chuckled. “You and me both.” He blinked. “Uh, your thing is glowing.”

She gave him a look and said, “What?” before turning back towards the desk. 

The vial of goop sat motionless, but over her shoulder she could see her lab coat beginning to shine with white light, like a hundred little suns were hidden underneath it. Then they started to tingle, and it wouldn’t be long before they really did start to burn.

“Ah, jeez, not now,” she hissed under breath, leaning herself up against the desk as the nerves across her back began contracting. Her lab coat acted like a lamp shade, covering the points of light as they started to fluctuate and sparkle.

Trinket took a few steps towards her. “Dala?”

“I’m fine,” she growled, lifting a hoof to push him away. But a sudden seize across her shoulder took away her grip on the table, and she collapsed onto the floor.

“Hey!” Trinket shouted, running up to her.

A vicious popping noise started as she curled up into a ball, her back still glowing with some arcane magic. “I sa-aid I’m fine!” she hissed at him, even as she cradled her head in her hooves.

Trinket ignored her and grabbed her with his magic, at least taking her a few inches off the floor before she hurt herself. Another thought and he pulled off the lab coat, revealing an intricate pattern of scars across her back, which her glowing hot-white. He started at them blankly, mystified, when Dala suddenly stopped convulsing. A second later she kicked out, freeing herself from his magic and bringing herself to her hooves.

Trinket stood beside her. “Are you alright?”

“I said...” Dala started, grabbing her lab coat and throwing it back on. The scars were still alight, but slowly dissipating.

“You’re not fine,” he remarked. “Not with... whatever that is.”

“I’m working on it,” she grumbled, taking in a deep breath. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey, I—”

“I said,”—she pushed him back, away from the desk—“leave me alone!” She waved him off and went back to her work. “Go... go back to your furnace. I’m fine.”

Trinket stared at her, and she simply tuned him out. A little reluctant and confused, he walked away back towards his work. A few more minutes later and he opened the furnace, revealing the crucible. He took it out with his magic and then lifted the glob of molten gold out itself. It hovered like a bubble in the air, where he then started spinning it around and stretching it. Slowly, it began to take on the familiar shape of a ring.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dala glancing his way. She turned before he did, sticking her nose back down at her work. She had produced a mess of wires and was currently putting together a small circuit, with two metal prongs sticking into the vial of goop. At the other end she had a battery and a meter, which still needed to be hooked up.

The second time she glanced out of the corner of her eye, Trinket wasn’t by the furnace. Instead, he was standing right beside her, watching her work and twirling the molten ring of gold over his head.

“What’cha workin’ on?” he asked.

She sighed. “What’s it to you?”

“Just trying to be friendly,” he said, walking around her. “Also, I’m curious. I’m not well educated with the sciences. What’s this, chemistry?”

“Alchemy,” she deadpanned. “Would please give me some space?”

Trinket kindly took one small step back, and again Dala sighed.

“So...” he tried again, “what’re you doing?”

“You know,” Dala started, “I’ve worked with Princess Cadance for many years now. I can respect how she decided to get her neckpiece fixed. I can respect you for doing that. But, please, that doesn’t mean I have to associate with you.” She stared at him. “Please, leave me alone.”

Trinket hummed. “Yeah, thanks, but you kind of look like somepony who doesn’t want to be left alone.”

Her stare flattened. “Trust me. I do.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean, I bet you’re just harking for someone to talk with. Get your ideas out, y’know? I do it all the time.” He lifted his hooves up. “I... talk to my hooves sometimes. When I make things.” He pointed over his head. “You?”

Her stare became a confused one. Trinket took the opportunity to give her work on the table a closer look. “What are you making?” He poked the vial. “Some sort of new paint?”

“It’s not paint,” Dala muttered, slapping his hoof away. “It’s my bl...” She paused, and then repeated in a low voice, “It’s my blood.”

“That’s cool,” he said matter-of-factly, which startled her. “Working on a vaccine or something? What’s electricity got to do with that?”

“I don’t know,” she said plainly. “I’m just experimenting.”

“What’s it for?”

“I...” She sighed. Slowly, she pulled down a part of her lab coat to expose the scars on her withers. They weren’t glowing, but they were still a discolored white and blue. “Long story short, I’ve got a disease and these runes keep me from collapsing.”

“Like you did?”

“No. Worse.” She sighed again and pulled up her coat. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to cure it for a couple of years now. I like being by myself. It gives me peace of mind and lets me actually work. So while I appreciate your apparent concern, would you please leave me alone?”

Trinket clicked his tongue. “Sure, I guess.” He looked up at the glowing band, which was finally starting to cool. He pinched one end of it with his magic to give it that simple design it had before, and slowly began stretching it at ends. “But you still want to talk, though?” he asked as he walked away.

Dala didn’t say anything.

“Eh, I can talk. I do that,” he said, wandering over to the sink. “You’re friends with Cadance, I assume? Well, I grew up with her in Canterlot, and we’re still pretty close. Want to hear about the time Shining Armor thought Cadance broke up with him when she didn’t even know they were going out?”

Dala paused, but again didn’t say anything.

He turned on the faucet and let the sink fill. 

“I think we were all, like, in elementary school then,”  he continued. “Cadance and Shining were the only two who had their cutie marks at the time. Shining thought this automatically meant they were dating for one reason or another.”

The sink quickly filled, where he then gently lowered the hot band of gold into. It hissed loudly and erupted a cloud of steam, and after letting it sit for a few seconds he took it back out.

“Needs a polish,” he said to himself, giving it a closer look. He reached over to grab it with his hooves. “Anyways, Shining was—Gaugh!”

The neckpiece fell back into the sink with a steamy hiss. Seething, Trinket fell onto his rump and gripped his hoof, which was notably a shade of red darker than his fur coat.

“Everytime,” he muttered.

“Here,” he heard Dala say. Looking up, he found her standing right over him, holding a small first-aid kit.

“Aw, you care,” he joked.

She rolled her eyes and tossed the kit at him. “Pain is one of the few things I know how to manage,” she said. “Do you need any help?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I could.”

Dala sat down on the floor beside him and took his hoof. Trinket happily opened the first-aid kit, which Dala sifted through for a roll of gauze and some ointment. As gently as she could, she squirted some out onto the burn and start rubbing it in.

Trinket hissed. “You didn’t say it was going to sting like that.”

“You didn’t ask.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

She hummed to that and started wrapping his hoof with gauze. The next minute was spent in silence as she cleaned everything up and closed the first-aid kit. But she didn’t stand yet, choosing to sit on the floor there with him, deep in thought.

“So,” she said after a long pause, “What was Shining Armor doing?”

Trinket blinked at her and smiled.
> Mild Manners vs. Clue Seeker - Winner: Mild Manners (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mild Manners vs. Clue Seeker - by Mild Manners' Author

It was a case like any other.

The client was Mild Manners, a student at Canterlot University. He was an earth pony. He arrived at my office door late that afternoon  wearing a necktie, a tweed jacket, and a frown upon his face. He had a certain definition to his jawline that immediately pegged him as one of the “Canterlot Elite”, although his facial expression wasn’t quite as snooty as other ponies would have imagined an aristocrat would look. 

He knocked, three times, sharp and brisk. Was he in a rush, or did he want to make a good impression?

As he entered my office and closed the door behind him, his hoof reached up and tugged at the collar of his jacket. He looked uncomfortable in tweed. He probably didn’t wear it very often. That made sense, then – he wanted to make a good impression.

I glanced around at my office. It was dusty, barebones, and existed in the middle of a downtown apartment complex. It was not an office owned by a member of the upper-class, in short.

The client must have realised this as well – his nose twitched a little bit as he took in my empty little office, although he tried very hard to hide it.

Mild Manners retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and cleared his throat into it. “Excuse me, sir?” he spoke, in a polite, friendly manner. “You are Private Detective Clue Seeker, yes?” He was smiling.

I smiled at him. “Yes, that’s me. I must infer that you are Mr Mild Manners, who arranged a meeting with me earlier today.”

As I spoke, Manners’ smile became more subdued. Had I slighted him, or made him uncomfortable? Or was it related to his issue? “That would be me.” He stepped up to my desk and stuck out his hoof. “I was told that you were very good at your job, Mr Seeker.”

I took his proffered hoof and shook it. “Yes, well, I–”

“Although you wouldn’t have known it, seeing the state of your office.” He laughed at that. I didn’t know whether he meant it as a joke or not. “I mean, for a moment there I thought I had been mistaken! I think it might have been the clothes.” He pointed at my coat with a look of plain distaste. “You should really try picking something a bit more professional. Ponies might take you more seriously, then. I mean, I already feel rather silly for wearing tweed, you understand.”

And with that, he sat down and smiled at me innocently. I decided, then, that I quite disliked Mild Manners. 

“I see,” I responded. “Anyway, if we could get back on topic…”

“Oh, right, of course. I have an issue I need your assistance with, Mr Seeker.”

“I inferred as much.”

He chuckled. “Right. Now, my issue is rather... domestic. I’ve lost something important.” He paused. 

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Go on. What did you lose?”

“A dog,” he admitted, eventually, in one quick exhale of breath. Was he embarrassed about this?

“Did you lose it, or has it simply gone missing?” I asked.

“The latter,” he told me. “I went off to my classes this morning, and when I returned at around midday, it was gone.”

I sighed internally. “Did you leave the door open?”

He looked almost offended at that. “Of course I didn’t!” He managed to maintain the expression for approximately three seconds before it collapsed into general anxiety. “At least, I don’t think I did…”

“Right.” I got to my hooves. “Well, the only place I can think to look would be your apartment, Mr Manners, unless you can think of anywhere else?”

Manners got to his feet too, and gave me a smile that was not quite grateful but definitely relieved. “Sounds like a good plan of action to me, Detective. Follow me, it’s not a very long walk, I assure you.”

I couldn’t really think of anything else to say, so I simply opened the door for my client and tried not to dwell on the disappointment swelling in my chest.

Another day, another dog disappearance, it seems.





The walk to Mild Manners’ apartment was exactly as uneventful as I had imagined it would be. 

The ten or fifteen minutes we spent walking to Manners’ place of accommodation was mostly spent in not-quite-awkward silence, spotted here and there with a halfhearted question regarding the case from myself and a few attempts at light conversation from Manners. Both lines of dialogue didn’t really go anywhere – the case seemed incredibly cut-and-dry, so there was little for me to ask about that wasn’t self-evident or irrelevant, and Mild Manners was also not somepony I particularly wished to speak to, so Manners tended to hold conversations with himself most of the time. 

“Are you always like this?” he asked me, at one point.

I blinked. The question caught me off-guard. “What? Always like what?”

“I don’t know.” He peered at me. “Are you daydreaming? Or just distracted by some musings on esoteric philosophy? You’re quite distant, is what I’m saying.”

“I was just thinking about the case, Mr Manners. That’s kind of my job.”

He looked quite scathed at that. “Hey, come on, I just–” He paused, took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice had regained that annoying, wrong-generation register. “Sorry, Detective. You are a professional, and I respect that.”

I grunted, and we continued on.

Eventually, as we drew closer to his apartment, Manners stopped, turned to me, and said, “Uh, just before we go inside…”

“Yes?” I responded. He looked a bit uneasy. Was there actually more to this than there seemed? Or was I just looking for something interesting to think about?

“You… will keep this whole ‘case’ between ourselves, won’t you? Is client confidentiality part of your, ah, modus operandi?” 

I raised an eyebrow. “If you want me to. Are you hiding something from me, Mr Manners? Because we both probably want to sort this out sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, yes, sorry, I just… It’s nothing. Let’s go inside, shall we?” And with that, he cantered forward to the entrance to the building, urging me to follow suit with a somewhat synthetic smile.

We climbed the stairs at a brisk pace, up to the third floor. There was hardly anypony else around, so I assumed that they were taking their classes still. Nevertheless, Mild Manners ushered me into his apartment quickly, as if he didn’t want me to be seen. Or maybe he



Mild Manners’ apartment was, to say the least, not what I had expected. There was soft, white, fluffy carpet padding the floor, and the room itself was larger than my office and apartment put together. A soft pink bed sat in the far corner, and the kitchen, dining area, and lounge made up the rest of the apartment, all of them polished and practically luxurious.

I sniffed the air. It smelled of… perfume?

“Strange taste in decor,” I commented, with a glance at Manners, who just gave me a rather nervous-looking smile that was probably intended to reassure, and did nothing of the sort. 

“What can I say? Strange tastes for a strange pony, I suppose.” And he laughed. I waited for him to stop, then asked him to show me where the dog slept.

It took him a suspiciously long time to find the dog’s bed – it sat in one corner of the lounge, near a glass sliding door that led to the balcony. The bed was worn from years of use. A little food bowl before it had a name etched into it lovingly – “Maisie,” it said.

“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” I peered at the bed and shot a question to Manners over my shoulder. “What colour is Maisie’s fur?”

I could hear him pacing back and forth next to the dining table. “Um. Black, I think. It’s quite short and curly, too. Why?” 

“There’s some of it here.” I lifted a hoof and prodded at a bit of curled black fur that had gotten caught on a nearby piece of furniture. It was the only hair I could see from a quick examination of the rest of the living area – even the bed itself seemed quite clean of dog hair for how lived-in it looked. “How often do you clean this place? It seems quite spotless.”

“Rather often, yes,” Mild said.

I took a quick sniff of the tuft of hair. It smelled and felt very fresh, still. “In that case…” I walked back to the front door and took a closer look at it. Lowering my head, I spotted another small tuft of hair caught in the doorframe. “Well, that solves that.”

“What?” I heard Manners get to his hooves. “I’m telling you, I didn’t leave the door open. It can’t have gotten out that way.”

“Did you lock the door?” I asked. “You didn’t when you left to come to my office. Might you have forgotten this morning, as well?”

He blinked. “Um.”

I scratched my chin. “Actually, a better question: does your dog know how to open doors?” 

“Dogs can’t open doors. They’re dogs, not ponies.”

I gave him a blank look. “Dogs can learn how to open doors with handles, Mr Manners. I wouldn’t normally consider it, but I’m confident by now that you don’t know anything about this dog. It’s not yours, is it? Do you even own a dog?”

Manners shrank back a bit. “Well, I…”

“In fact, I’m also quite sure that this isn’t even your apartment.”

Mild Manners sighed. “Alright, alright, I get it. I lied. This isn’t my apartment, and we’re not looking for my dog.” He ran a hoof through his mane. “It’s my… friend’s dog. This is her apartment – she wanted to me to look after her dog for a day while she and her class are in Ponyville studying and working around some important apple farm. Something Apple Acres.”

I tried to avoid rolling my eyes at how he hung his head like a fallen hero. “Mr Manners, it’s not the end of the world. I doubt the dog has gone very far, and pet thievery is absurdly unlikely.”

He gave me a sour look. “I know. I’m as aware of the statistics as you are, Mr Seeker.” Mild Manners looked as if he was going to say something else, then just sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry if you believe I’m wasting your time, detective. I just… I panicked. Sunny is coming back any minute now, and I don’t want to imagine what would happen if she found out her dog disappeared.”

I chewed my lip absently for a moment. “Hm. How long has the dog been gone?”

He looked at me in surprise. “Oh, well, less than a hour, easily.”

“Let’s ask around and see if we can find it. There’s no reason for me to quit now, and I have a job to do.”

He smiled at me, then, a genuinely grateful one. “Thanks, Clue. I owe you one.”

“Thanks. Though, I really would prefer it if you didn’t call me Clue.”

“Fine. Let’s hurry now, chop chop!”

We left the apartment and hurried down the steps to the front door. I decided, then, that this might not have been a particularly interesting case, by any means, and while I still found that most of everything about Mr Mild Manners rubbed me the wrong way, I could at least concede, at this point, that he had good intentions. I felt optimistic, then, which was a pleasant surprise.

And in fact, we almost made it out the front door before everything went entirely wrong.

“Mild?” a demure voice called out. We froze. "Mild, what are you doing?”

We turned, slowly. A petite pegasus mare – a very noble-looking one, with a pale coat and that same telltale quality of the jaw – as giving Manners a severe frown. Her back was laden with saddlebags full of papers and notes. She looked tired. “Care to explain?”

“Sunny! There you are!” Mild Manners said, stepping towards her. “So glad to see you back! Do you want me to help with your bags?”



“No! No, she was an angel.” Mild smiled at her. It was a heartfelt expression. “Just like you.”

I turned my nose up at that. Pretty cheesy line. Evidently, Sunny thought the same thing – she snorted, then tugged open the clasp to her bag. A little dog with long, curly, black fur poked its head, and barked happily. 

Mild’s jaw dropped. “Maisie?”

“I found her wandering around, digging through other pony’s rubbish.” Sunny shook her head. “If you have any excuses, I don’t want to hear them. It was pretty obvious that you were going to try and keep it hidden from me anyway.” And with that, she turned away and started climbing the steps. 

Manners let out a cry of equal parts shock and frustration. “Sunny, please, I just didn’t want to worry you–”

Sunny turned her head sharply. Her eyes had the beginning of angry tears in them. “Face it, Mild Manners. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something stupid and insensitive over something like this – not by a long shot. And I’m sick of it. We’re done.”

Mild Manners didn’t say anything for a long, long moment. Eventually, he simply turned around, and walked out of the building.

I went to follow him. “Wait,” the mare said. I stopped, mostly out of complete surprise – somehow I had completely forgotten that I was even in the same room – and I turned to look back. 

The mare looked me over, then sighed and walked back down the steps toward me. “You’re Clue Seeker, right? I’m really sorry about all this. Here, this is for all the trouble.” She held out a few bits – about enough as Mild Manners promised me for the case in the first place.

I accepted them gladly. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” I glanced at the open door behind me. “Although… Don’t you think you were a bit harsh? He was being stupid, yes, but his heart was in the right place.”

Sunny followed my gaze. “Mm. Maybe.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. Mild Manners is… I don’t know how to feel about him. But that’s not really something for you to worry about. Take care.” 

I watched her go, for a moment, before leaving.





Mild Manners looked very silly sitting there on the flagstones outside the building. I came to the conclusion that this was either due to his rather red cheeks, or it was because of his rather ridiculous tweed jacket.

I stood next to him and looked down at him. He continued to stare at the stones beneath him. “C’mon, Mr Manners. No point in hanging around here.”

“Oh, just call me Miles, like everyone else. Please.” Mild Manners pulled off his jacket and folded it under his arm. “This was a shambles. A complete and utter shambles.”

I just hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His voice had changed – it lacked the affected formal register. I wondered if he was even aware of it, or if that speaking style had just become a subconscious tic on his part.

“Urgh. This is going to be all over Canterlot soon.” He rubbed his eyes with his fetlocks. “And I’m supposed to be a model student too…”

“Are you going to be alright?” I asked him, somewhat hesitantly. I wasn’t really used to these kinds of conversations. 

He looked at me and smiled a somewhat bitter smile. “Yeah. I’ll get over it eventually” He climbed to his hooves. “We should both be getting back home. I’m sure we both have work to do. It was nice meeting you, Mr Seeker. Really.”

I tried on a smile of my own. “Likewise.” And I’m sure somewhere in my heart, I meant it.

And that was how I met Mild Manners. It was a case like any other.

> Dawn Gleam vs. Merry Weather - Winner: Merry Weather (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


> Tidy Till vs. Bibidi Boo - Winner: Tidy Till (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Bargain Before Nightmare Night - by Tidy Till's Author

Nightmare Night was always a hectic time for Rich's Barnyard Bargains, but it was also one of the most profitable nights of the year. Ponies would be rushing through the aisles searching for that one costume piece, bag of candy or spooky prop to make the holiday perfect. Though there would no doubt be a demand for merchandise up to and even beyond the start of the festivities, it was RBB policy to close up shop an hour before sundown to let his employees prepare for their own celebrations. Though this rule allowed his business associates time off for the evening to spend however they wished, it had the unfortunate side effect of working the mob of customers into a mad charge for the checkouts as those final minutes counted down.

Tidy Till ran one such register on this most wonderful and stressful of nights. Tidy was a unicorn stallion with a faded purple coat, a white mane and tail, each streaked with black down the center, and greyish blue eyes. His standard RBB uniform, which consisted of beige khaki pants, a white, leg-length button-up shirt and a navy blue vest, did well to hide his blank flank.

“Alrighty, then! Here's your receipt! Thanks for shopping at Rich's and have a happy Nightmare Night!”

It was an arduous evening, but Tidy had survived through sheer patience and force of will. Sore, tired and eager to rest, he bid the last customer in his line goodbye.

Whew. That's that. They're all gone. Now all I have to do is turn my register light off, and I'm ho-

“Ho there! Such a sight's divine! Bibidi spies and empty line!”

A dark violet coated mare whose eyes were hidden by a tall, wide-brimmed, deep blue witch's hat seemed to materialize from the ether with several full carts of Nightmare Night goodies. Her pitch black mane flowed from beneath her hat, with purple streaks like jagged lightning bolts. While she was still several hooves away, her horn lit up an eerily bright orange as item after item flew onto his unprepared conveyor belt.

Wha-? N-No!

“You! Cashier! I've cleared your shelves! Now! These pumpkins won't scan themselves!”

Poor Tidy recoiled at the daunting volume of Bibidi's purchase and froze in place, visibly sweating. 

Celestia's sun had already met the horizon, and most of his fellow cashiers had already left to be with their families or to otherwise party the night away. While he had yet to make any actual friends amongst his coworkers well enough to be invited to such a shindig, that didn't mean he wanted to stay any longer than he had to.

The fact that he was caught off-guard only served to make matters worse.

“What is this look upon your face?! Am I...not welcome in this place!?”

Time stood still in Tidy's mind. He'd been caught napping past his allotted breaks far too often as of late, and his supervisors had made it clear to him that the sole reason for his continued employment was his stellar performance in Customer Satisfaction.

He was barely keeping his head above water with his landlord, who'd graciously offered him an extension for his rent, and with no family to speak of in the area, he'd been exhausting all of his accounts just to stay afloat. Without a special talent to call his own, the only job he could get was entry level cashiering that any unicorn with a basic grasp on telekinesis could do. It was a fact that his upper managers made sure to drill into him every time they pulled him aside for taking a bit too long to unwind on his breaks. If this boisterous mare voiced even a single word of complaint, and if that word somehow made its way up to those managers, Tidy knew he could kiss his gainful employment goodbye.

His only source of income...shot.

EMERGENCY!! EMERGENCY!! Prepare the Diffusion Subset Greeting Script! Set Vocal Tone to Maximum Pleasantness!

“Th-That couldn't be f-further from the truth, Ma'am! Sorry for hesitating, I'd be -happy- to check you out tonight!”

Deploy the Tactical Smile!

Unbeknownst to Tidy, his sudden burst of Dread and Panic suffused into the air as a gold and orange miasma. One that only the dark mare before him could see. She greedily drank it all in.

Prime the Product Code Auto-Record and Levitation Spells!

Tidy's own horn came to life with a steady grayish glow.

“So! I trust you found everything you needed this evening?”

An audible moan of pleasure reached the cashier's ears. He only had a second to dwell on his Shock as his customer spoke up to answer his question.

“M-MM! Delicious~! Oh, yes indeed! I believe I have found...all I need! WHAAAHAHA-HAHAHAHAA!!”

Tidy balked for just a moment.

I'm sure she's just...imagining all the tasty Nightmare Night treats she's going to make with all-

He spared a glance at the river of orange that was his register's conveyor belt.

...all...those...pumpkins...

Then, after a cleansing shake of the head and a mental reminder of the stakes at play, Tidy Till launched himself into his work.

Now! GET SCANNING!!





More than an hour later, a weary, raven striped white tail dragged through the front doors of Rich's Barnyard Bargains, its owner trudging home. By this point in the night, the festivities had already begun in Ponyville proper. All manner of Nightmare Night frivolities were in full swing, but Tidy couldn't bring himself to join in on the fun.

For one, he didn't have a costume.

For two-

"Uuughhh..."

-he was hearse-bound on his hooves.

"Finally clocked out. Finally...done."

He wound his way around town to his home apartment complex. He tiredly noticed a marked lack of landlord.

"Weird. Eh...who cares? He's probably at some party right now."

Tidy clambered up the stairs to the second level of apartments where he continued his labored pace, not stopping for anything until he saw that most welcoming of sights.

Door number 297. His home. He levitated his keys out of his right khakis pocket.

"Just a few more minutes, and it'll all be over. I'll be asleep, and I won't have to worry about any more customers..."

His key clicked in the lock.

"...or bits..."

The knob clacked loose from its latch.

"...or managers breathing down my neck..."

The door creaked open on its hinges.

"...or..."

Tidy ventured into his apartment. However, something was wrong. The shadows in the unlit room were all different, as though the room were full to bursting with bulbous mounds.

Suddenly, the lights snapped on, and once Tidy could see what they were, only one word could reach his lips.

"...p-p-pumpkins?!"

The door slammed shut!

The lights dimmed low.

The wind howled through the open window.

And Tidy's eyes were drawn to a particularly orange glow.

"BOO!!"









Campaign of Terror - by Bibidi Boo's Author

Bibidi Boo trotted towards Barnyard Bargains quickly as everypony got out of her way. She didn’t have anything to buy per se, though more Pumpkins certainly didn’t hurt.

No. She was here for “lunch”. 

And by lunch she meant Tidy Till. 

She had recently made him her personal project, memorized his break patterns and knew when he got off. Looking towards the counter it appeared he was still taking an extended break. Oh well. She could just take an extended shopping session.


Tidy Till got to the counter and sat down smiling. The smile quickly turned to a frown and returned just as quickly when he saw the black mane and witch hat in the back. Every day the customer from Tartarus came by and bothered him. ‘Possibly literally’, he mused. ‘A gate was close by, and she was a witch. Literally.’ 

He wondered why the Princesses let her run loose, he just didn’t know.

‘Maybe,’ he mused, ‘I should try to get an audience with Princess Twilight to run her out of town - ok, maybe just the mayor.’

The mare trotted up to the counter. ‘Great,’ Tidy Till thought. ‘She’s walking up now. Celestia be merciful - let this end quickly.’ He put on his best smile and examined each object in turn.

The witch smirked. “Oh. I don’t want that one.”

“Of course.” Tidy Till put it back This was new. She always knows what she wants. At least her daily visits had that much mercy. But now she doesn’t want something... Worry gnawed at him.

And a few items later, it happened again. And again. And again. 

‘She’d never even buy this stuff. Did she just...add it to her cart to make me ring it up? Is she just trying to get a rise out of me?’

“You never buy that,” he asked. “Why now?”

“Why what?” She smiled wryly.

“Are you just messing with me?” he asked. “You don’t buy this. You come here every day on the hour. Like clockwork! Why? just why?” His smile cracked.

Bibidi grinned. It was a vulpine smile. “You’re afraid.”

“Half the town is scared of you! Why me?”

“Because you’re afraid.” 

“That’s not an answer! Why single me out?” Tidy Till whimpered.

“As you said, being afraid of me isn’t special.” Bibidi’s predatory grin widened. “Lots of ponies are. Nope, you’re afraid of this place. Being here tomorrow. The day after. The day after that. On and on and on. It’s delicious. Little old me is nothing.” Every inch of her face beamed.

“So you are just going to rub it in?” Tidy Till snapped. “What, is this some kind of sadistic witch game?”

“The best kind of game!” She grinned, tell-tale black magic spilling out of her eyes. The shadows lengthened and darkened, lapping at the corners of the room like rising tide.  “Here, let me show you! Just how scary the sadistic witch can be.”

Tidy Till jumped over the counter and ran. His hooves hammered on the floor and his legs pumped like pistons and he scrunched his eyes tight. Whatever the witch was going to do, he wasn’t about to find out how scary she could be at the thought of a 9-to-5 being worse.


“Pumpkin Pumpernickel?” Bibidi asked the cowering Tidy Till in a sweet voice. He was bent over in the bushes and shaking like a leaf.

Tidy Till bolted upright, hit his head, and landed in a heap on the ground. “W-what?” he blurted. His eyes were wide with terror.

“I asked if you wanted a Pumpkin Pumpernickel muffin.”

Tidy Till’s eyes bulged even wider. “How did you find me?” he demanded. “You were all scary a moment ago! Now you’ve gone all sweet! What’s your game?”

“Oh, I won the game. You ran right out of the shop screaming. Lost your job, I’m sad to say.” Such a bold lie should have cracked the sky in half. “I just followed the smell of fear. Go on, have the muffin; it’s good for you!” It floated towards Tidy Till.

“My-” Tidy Till’s mouth worked silently. “My job? I lost my job?” He slumped down on his hooves and bit down absently on the muffin. “What. What am I - I’ve got nothing left - What am I going to do?”

“Dunno.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Guess you’ll just have to find out yourself. Here! A present!” A pair of saddlebags joined the muffin and plopped down in front of him.

Tidy Till rifled through them - filled to overflowing with the wares she’d bought today, and days besides. Someone had clearly been stockpiling these a while.

He looked up at her. “Why?” he asked weakly. “Just, Why? none of this makes any sense.”

“Because life’s an adventure Tidy, and you weren't just afraid. You weren't having any fun.” Bibidi grinned, a warmer grin this time. “Somebody had to scare you so bad you forgot to be afraid.”

Tidy Till just looked at her astonished. This had been to help him? 

A great deal more happened to Tidy Till after that. But that is a story for another time.
> Falcata vs. Minnie Milk - Winner: Falcata (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ponies you Meet when Making Milkshakes - by Falcata's Author

The cool summer’s day was bad for Minnie Milk and her café. The sole proprietor and employee of the recently bought business at the edge of the town market square was feeling the lack of heat, as she half-heartedly polished her milkshake glasses. Although Minnie offered a variety of treats, her talent, and thus her cafe’s speciality was in serving what critics had dubbed, “the best milkshakes of Equestria.” On a hot summer’s day, her milkshakes would have ponies lining up in droves, but today, nopony was here.

Groaning, Minnie placed her hooves at the side of her mouth and began adjust her dentures. They had an annoying habit of shifting at inopportune moments. So engrossed she was in trying to get them to fit though that she was caught off guard when the doorway bell tinkled.

A friendly smile sprang to Minnie’s features. “Welcome to Minnie Milk’s Café. What would you like to order?”

Only after did she finish her customary greeting did Minnie take in her customer’s appearance.

The customer was a mare, and a strange one at that. She had blue eyes and a golden-yellow coat. Her silver-grey mane was done up into a bun. She had clearly come from out of town, as she wore a red travelling cloak fastened with an old-looking bronze pin. 

Strangely, the mare carried what looked like a rectangular shield fastened over her backpack, and despite the weight, she seemed to move comfortably. This was quite the feat considering she only had three legs. Where her customer’s left foreleg should be was a stump that ended shortly after the shoulder.

Then the mare spoke.

“A barrel of your finest wine, serving wench.”

Minnie Milk’s jaw dropped open.

“If you are too weak to fetch that barrel for me, wench, then all you have to do is ask and I will help,” said the strange mare, her eyebrow raised.

Minnie did not deal well with insults, and the implication that she needed to rely on anybody to run her business infuriated her.

“Excuse me! I can handle my own things! And we don’t sell wine here!” snapped Minnie. She expected to be answered by another rude reply, but the mare balked instead.

“I’m sorry. What drinks do you serve in this place?” 

“Milkshakes, tea, and coffee,” said Minnie, watching the edge of the mare’s lip twitch.

“Um, no ale, beer, or mead?” the stranger’s eyes uneasily glanced left and right.

Minnie shook her head. “I’m afraid we do not serve those drinks, or any alcoholic beverages. I’d suggest you go to the nearby bar—”

“I can’t!”

Minnie frowned. “Why not?”

The mare sighed. “I got kicked out last night.” As Minnie’s eyes narrowed once more, the mare shook her head. “It was not my fault! A stallion was trying to forcefully proposition a mare, so I challenged him to single combat on the mare’s behalf. He fought like a coward, but the tavern owner threw us both out at the end.”

“Well you can’t just challenge ponies to fights. This isn’t the middle ages,” pointed out Minnie.

“Well, n-no...” spluttered the mare.

Minnie blinked. “And you do know a wench means the equivalent to… scarlet mare, right?”

The mare’s jaw fell agape. “You mean a… oh.”  Groaning, the mare’s head dropped so low, it looked as if she wanted to bury it into the ground. Then, her head still bowed, she started to limp back out of the café.

“I’ll not bother you any longer.”

Though Minnie was quite perplexed by the actions of the stranger, she easily recognized the mare’s shambling walk, or in this case, limp. It was the walk of a pony who really just needed something to cheer them up.

Darting around her kitchen counter, Minnie caught up to the mare before she exited the door.

“Wait. You seem tired. Why don’t you sit down for a while?”

Her head shooting up, the stranger fixed Minnie with a look like that of a foal about to receive her Hearth’s Warming gifts early.

“Really?”

Minnie nodded. “Really. Come along now.” Pulling aside a chair, Minnie quickly darted off to fetched a menu. As she trotted back, she paused for a moment.

The mare had pulled off her cloak, and sat down, revealing her cutie mark: a red square shield, like the one she carried, crossed with an oddly curved sword. The thing that caught Minnie’s eye though was the sword the mare wore on her side.

The missing foreleg now made far more sense now.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, by the way,” said Minnie as she placed the menu on the table.

“Falcata. For the sword in my cutie mark,” explained the mare as she examined the items on the menu intently.

“Well, Falcata, would you like to order anything?” asked Minnie.

The mare glanced at the menu. “It says that the signature drinks of your café are “milkshakes.” What are they?”

As Minnie wondered exactly what rock Falcata had been living in for the last few years, it dawned on her that she could be the first to explain to Falcata what her favourite drink was. A grin stretched across her face.

“A milkshake is a sweet beverage of crushed ice and milk, often flavoured with different fruits—or a sweetener like chocolate or caramel.”

“And making them is your special talent?” asked Falcata.

“Yes. I had a rather bad accident when I was younger.” Minnie tapped her dentures. “A cow kicked me in the face when I was milking her, knocking out my teeth. I had to get them all replaced.”

Falcata’s eyes widened, but Minnie waved her off. “For a while, I couldn’t chew anything, and so to make myself feel better, I made milkshakes. Next thing I knew, I found my cutie mark.” Minnie gestured to her café, her smile widening. “And I’ve never been happier!”

Falcata smiled. “I’m glad you found your calling from such sadness.” Turning back to the menu, Falcata pursed her lips. “I’d like to try the Rainbow Blitzer.”

“Excellent choice.” Minnie’s eyes twinkled. “It does have a bit of a kick though.”

“I’ve survived a powerful spell from an evil sorceress. I’m pretty sure I can endure a little kick,” said Falcata with a snort.

Minnie, despite trying to stop herself, found her eyes shooting to Falcata’s missing leg, something that the pegasus did not miss.

“If you get me that milkshake, I’ll tell you that story, but not before,” said Falcata with a smirk.

Minnie did her best to disguise her interest, but curiosity lent her speed as she rushed around her kitchen to make the shake. A few minutes later, she had placed a rainbow-striped milkshake, topped with frothy cream and some sliced strawberries, kiwis, pineapples, and mangos, onto the table. Minnie had designed the milkshake to be a visual experience as well as a culinary one; Falcata took a moment to simply look at the beverage before taking a tentative sip through the red and white straw. 

Only when the glass was half-empty did Falcata finally pull her lips away from the straw.

“It’s so good!” she squealed. Immediately afterward, Falcata covered her mouth with her hoof, her cheeks a light red, much to Minnie’s amusement. “I’m sorry. We never had drinks like this back in…” Falcata coughed. “Well you can tell that I’m not from around here.”

“Oh yes,” said Minnie with a chuckle.

Falcata her eyes glancing at the table, Falcata sighed. “You won’t believe me, but I’m more than a thousand years from Equestria’s past.”

Minnie stared at Falcata for a moment, and promptly burst out laughing. But when Falcata groaned and buried her head in her only remaining forehoof, Minnie’s laughter trickled away.

“You were serious,” she said. Falcata, raising her head from her hoof, nodded. “How did you get here then?” asked Minnie.

“I was petrified.” At Minnie’s blink, Falcata pointed to her shield. “I was a pegasus legionary. Shortly after the tribes were unified, I was given an assignment to protect a unicorn spellcaster named Clover on his mission to track down and arrest the Witch of the Everfree Forest, a mad unicorn spellcaster.”

“Wait, Clover? As in ‘Clover the Clever’ from the Hearth’s Warming Tales?” interrupted Minnie.

“That’s what Princess Cadance told me.” Falcata then covered her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her snicker. “I’m not sure why they call him “the Clever.” He wasn’t the smartest of stallions after all.”

Minnie frowned, “Really?”

Glancing around, Falcata lowered her voice. “Really. The doofus couldn’t tell the difference between a daisy flower or poison joke. So one day, he makes what he thinks is a daisy sandwich, and the next thing he knows, he’s a mare for an entire day.”

The image of one of the most famous unicorn stallions in history being turned into a mare made Minnie burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Falcata’s more raucous guffaw added to the din, and for a while the pair couldn’t sit straight.

Swallowing hard, Falcata managed to control her laughter enough to continue. “Anyway, we got along rather well as we hunted down this witch. He wasn’t as prissy as most unicorns are, and he had a pegasus’s sense of adventure. We scoured the Everfree Forest for nearly a month before we found her hole and attempted to arrest her.”

It was then that Falcata’s smile was replaced by a pained grimace, and her eyes became unfocused, as if she wasn’t really seeing what was in front of her. Concerned, Minnie hesitantly touched Falcata’s hoof.

The pegasus’s suddenly pulled her leg out of Minnie’s grasp and her wings flared up. Her eyes wide, Falcata shook her head as if waking from a dream.

“I’m sorry, where was I?”

“You had begun to fight the witch,” said Minnie softly.

Falcata nodded and swallowed. “Yeah. We underestimated her. She knew that we were coming. One of her spells headed straight for Clover and I dove into its path to try to stop it.” Wincing, Falcata pointed to her stump. “That’s how I lost my leg.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for—”

“Don’t be. I do not regret it. I saved his life after all,” said Falcata firmly, although Minnie didn’t miss the way Falcata massaged her stump. 

“Okay,” said Minnie. It was not her place to pry after all.

“Clover ran then, dragging me with him. He may not have been the cleverest unicorn, but he was good at thinking on his hooves.” Falcata shook her head and snorted. “The doofus found a cockatrice and used it to petrify me. I was surprised, but I was gushing blood and he wanted to save my life,

“I think I get the picture,” croaked Minnie.The thought of the pony in front of her bleeding out from her stump made her sick to her stomach.

Falta shrugged. “I don’t know what happened after that, or why Clover never came back for me. Maybe the witch caught up to him and he lost me, but a thousand years later, Princess Cadance woke me up and patched me up. Apparently my statue had ended up in what you folks call a ‘mausoleum.’”

“You mean a ‘museum’?”

“Oh. Yes, that. Anyway, she then taught me a few things about Equestria as it is now, like how the bits work and such. But I wanted to travel Equestria, so she set me up with a… dispensation they called it. I got free bits, this shield, and this sword as part of it.”

With one hoof, Falcata drew her sword so quickly that by the time Minnie had realized there was a sharp pointy object closer her face, she was transfixed by the hypnotic gleam of the weapon as it glinted in the summer sun.

“Pretty, eh? Not as good as my own sword, but I lost that to the witch.” Falcata sheathed the blade and finished off her milkshake. Setting the glass down, she licked the froth off of her lips and smiled in satisfaction.

“So that’s how I ended up here, a thousand years in the future.”

Minnie didn’t quite know how to respond, but she couldn’t help but look at her customer with awestruck eyes.

“Wow. Kind of makes my cutie mark story seem a bit small,” Minnie said with a laugh.

“Maybe, but you found your happy ending and your talent after all,” said Falcata. She winced. “I’m still looking for mine.”

“And I’m sure you’ll find it on your travels, Falcata,” said Minnie, a small but sincere smile on her face.

Falcata returned that smile before she frowned and put her hoof to her chin. Minnie was about to ask what was wrong, when Falcata loosed a loud burp, followed by a satisfied sigh.

“Just to let you know for the future, burping is considered rude, so you’re supposed to cover your mouth,” said Minnie in an understanding but somewhat reproving tone.

Falcata blushed. “Oh, pardon me. Burping is—was polite back then. Shows that you think the food cooked or the drink brewed is good.” Pursing her lips for a moment, Falcata’s eyes swung back to the menu on the table.

“Can I have another one?” she asked, pointing to the Gobstone Gut Buster.

Minnie grinned. “Sure!”





They talked for a while: about various Equestrian mannerisms, current news, and on one of Minnie’s favorite topics, dental hygiene, which Minnie had picked up as a result of wearing dentures. When Falcata had to return to her room at the town inn, Minnie had waved her strange customer, away into the orange-lit streets before closing up shop.

The next day, Falcata had stopped over at Minnie’s in the morning to have breakfast. After saying goodbye, the pegasus had lofted into the sky, heading for the next town, while yelling to Minnie that she would be back someday.

Minnie had also waved Falcata off, though not for so long. She had quite a few morning regulars to take care of. Yet shortly after she grabbed the ingredients for another milkshake, Minnie stopped for a moment and grinned.

“I love my job!” Minnie declared to the street. Her regulars jumped and stared at her, but she paid no attention to that as she bounced to the next table to take their order. She had cheered up a pony and made a new friend with her milkshakes after all.
	

> Caps Lock vs. Loosestrife - Winner: Caps Lock (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caps Lock vs. Loosestrife - by Caps Lock's Author

Though it was late in the evening, there was still a decent amount of bustle left in the train station.

“Wait! Wait, please! I’m supposed to be on that train!”

A panting, slightly sweaty mare slid to a halt just before running right into the train conductor stallion. Her pink mane was disheveled, and her light grey coat streaked with sweat from her run across four blocks. The saddlebags she wore were now only half secured, leaving them to rest over her cutie mark—a keyboard’s exclamation key—where the bags had slid to.

“I— Am I too late?” The mare panted, leaning over far enough to nearly be resting her head on the concrete, but not stopping the panicked dancing of her hooves.

The aged stallion’s bushy eyebrows raised in alarm at the sudden presence of the mare, whose hooves moved faster than he could track.

“O-Oh, uh— well no. You’re just in—”

"Terrific! Augh, I can't believe I got lost in my own town. Caps Lock, you are such a ditz." Caps thunked a hoof against her head as she brushed past the conductor, still panting slightly from her mad dash. “Thanks mister!” 

She heard a grumbley reply of some sort and was more than satisfied with just that. Right now, she just wanted a seat to collapse into.

The inside of the train was cramped, but being on the small side she and had little difficulty trotting down the narrow aisle through the passenger car. Now that she was onboard and all set, she found a seat near the middle and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Phew, made it..."

With the critical nature of her return trip to Hoofington, and the urgency of her being on this particular train ride out of the city, it was a breath of fresh air to no longer be responsible for how quickly she got to where she needed going.

Caps laid her head back, eyes closed, until her breathing finally slowed. Her messy pink mane was tangled about her horn and resting against her face, which she subconsciously fixed lazily with her magic.

"Wow, I really thought I wasn't going to make it time." She glanced up, chuckling in relief, and took a cursory look around the car. She blinked in surprise at what she saw, namely that it was all but barren of other ponies. "Huh, wow, I got the place to myself."

Caps turned her head, jerking to a stop as she spotted a lone other pony in the car across the aisle from herself. In her defense, the stranger had been terribly hard to spot, given the dark brown cloak that they wore, blending them in with the car's wood paneling.

Upon closer inspection she was a mare, seemed to have quite the intimidating size, and had a peculiar air about her.

Caps murmured to herself, studying the individual. "Huh, well, I almost have the place to myself." She looked up and down at the stranger, who seemed to be an earth pony, though she wondered if there could be wings hiding under her wide cloak. She stared a good minute on accident, only to jump when a perturbed look was suddenly passed back at her.

"Can I help you?" the other mare asked tersely.

"Eep!" Caps squeaked in surprise. "No! No no no. Ehheh, sorry, I was staring, I guess? My bad." She laughed some more and gave a sheepish wave of a hoof. "It's, uh, just that it looks like we have the whole car to ourselves, so I guess I kind of noticed that and..."

The other mare had been slowly raising an eyebrow, until Caps finally trailed off.

"Verily." The other mare turned away, her unreadable look never shifting.

Caps cleared her throat and turned to stare forward again. Yikes. She's super uptight. Reminds me of my boss. She snuck another quick look across the aisle at the mare. Kind of looks like him, too... Heh, ooh, good thing you didn't say that out loud, Caps. Geez. What was with that accent though?

It took Caps a moment to realize it, but there was an unsettling feeling that had fallen on the train compartment. She patted her hooves rhythmically in her lap in an effort to shake the feeling, but it still lasted right up until the train began moving, an the conductor appeared in the door.

Despite being inside of the train, the loud clacking from outside could be clearly heard throughout the cars, giving the air itself a sharp rhythm as it began to move.

"Tickets please." The old stallion held out a hoof to the mare across the aisle first.

“Of course, engine master,” the other mare answered.

Caps raised her blinked at that. Still, she held out her own ticket readily, only to catch sight of the strange mare's even stranger cutie mark while her cloak was moved out of the way; it was one of the most beautiful marks she'd ever seen, and the oddest. There was a sword, which looked super weird, and some kind of flower, which looked super tasty. Together, they made a pretty unique sight.

An almost audible click sound rattled through Caps' head, and she made a face of understanding, eyes widened. Oooooh, she's a cosplayer! It all makes sense, that accent, the fake fantasy cutie mark... yup, I'll bet she's way into adventure books. A grin split her face, then slowly she slid from her window seat to the aisle seat. After that, she leaned out into the aisle itself.

"Hi."

The other mare's ears visibly stood up through her cloak, and ever so slowly she turned around from the window to look at Caps.

The strange mare’s blank stare and plum colored features were shadowed by her hood. "Yes...?" she murmured. Even better, her thick, old timey accent stayed intact along with her character's 'personality'.

Wow. She is good! Caps grinned more. "My name's Caps Lock!" She held out her hoof for a shake, or a hoofbump, whatever was good. "I was just curious if you were into swords and stories? Maybe you're big into the game scene for the new—"

"Please, stop speaking to me." The other mare wrinkled her brow deeply, a light frown on her muzzle. "I'm not... in the mood."

Caps blinked. "Oh." She slid back to her original spot in a flash, watching as the other mare faced away. "Huh, was it my breath?" she whispered.

I wonder what that look was for? She’s, preeetty scary. She didn’t look that upset, but her eyes were wicked. With a shrug, Caps pulled her bag around to her front and began to dig around for something to keep her entertained. So, is she just a foreigner? I could've sworn that was a 'ye olden time' accent. Ah, whatever. "Ah hah! Come to momma."

Caps giggled in anticipation as she pulled out her pride and joy, and imported, jail-house broken Joyboy Color, with a custom magic supply—its warranty was quite voided, but technically they weren't sold on shelves yet, anyway.

"Yesss." The game cartridge that her magic picked out and slid into the back of the hoof-held game device was one of her favorites.

The jingle of the the games company played just before two jagged looking polygonal swords swung out of the black ether of the screen, showering the floor with sparks.

Caps quickly lost herself in the game after loading her save file. Monsters screamed, enemy soldiers died, and she completely lost herself to a world of fantastic violence the likes of which most ponies from her generation and prior not only scoffed at, but were downright afraid of.

"Miss, excuse me."

Caps' ears twitched, certain she'd heard something.

Seriously, what the hay? Can't those old fogies understand it's just a game? If there wasn't so much resistance to change, the technology we have available to us could be—

"Miss... Cups?  I wanted to apolo—"

"WAH!" Caps jumped as something moved, dangerously close, in the corner of her eye. Once she calmed down, she realized it was Miss Grumpy-mare. "Oh my gosh, sorry, sorry, you startled me, and I had at least three double-shot espressos today."

The other mare, whoever she was, had a lost look on her face. Her cloak was pulled back, though, so it could be seen now at least. Her mane was a light beige, and cut short with natural looking curls. 

"I... see. Well, Miss, I apologize for startling you. As well, I wished to apologize for being short before. I am not very... 'in my element' in public, I believe it is called. I typically prefer to be left alone."

Caps blew her lips out and shrugged. "Hey, it's okay! I figured maybe you were just having a rough day. Oh, hey, and you called me Miss Cups. It's Caps, actually! Like on a keyboard? Or a buttonboard, if you're a purist. Pft, those guys are ridiculous though, amiright? And don't get me started on those ponies that insist it be called a hoofboard, like we don't already call a dozen other things that. That’s what I do, by the way, I work at a game studio. What about you?"

Caps chuckled at the various topics she'd brought up, but did actually remember to pause before going on further. Buuuut… the lost look that had been on the strange mare's face seemed to return, and with a vengeance.

The silence only broke itself once Caps remembered something she'd rudely forgotten. "Oh, and what's your name?"

“Loosestrife,” she answered simply. The other mare’s back seemed to straighten even further, if that were possible. “And I do not have employment right now.”

Caps almost felt like she was shrinking under the other pony’s gaze, which was starting to remind her of a really serious actor from an action film or something. This mare is awesome, she thought, and giddily answered, “Cooool. Oh, uh, not the joblessness, though. But you’re name is epic, Loosestrife.” She giggled, then coughed and forced herself to chill out a little.

“I see. Well, you are a lively one, Miss Caps.” Loose began to relax further back, as if to end the conversation there, only to stop and turn back from the window. “Earlier, you said that you… shot something called an Especto? That made you this... alert? I have never heard of such a beast. As I understand it, monsters are not so common these days. I mean… around the cities.”

Caps stared a moment, until a smile cracked her muzzle, and she burst out with a laugh. "Haah, good one. Especto, hehe." Her flaugh petered out when a scowl returned her way. "Uhm, sorry, I think I'm missing something. Or were you serious?"

Loose turned away, pulling her cloak close. “Nevermind.”

“Woah, wait, I’m sorry.” Caps slid back into the aisle seat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I just thought you heard me okay.”

The other mare glanced at her from the corner of her eye, but just for a moment. “It is fine,” she answered.

Caps Lock scratched a hoof through her hair. What is her deal? At first she’d thought she was grumpy, then hard of hearing, now she just wasn’t sure. Hm, she looks kind of old and tired, so maybe… 

She waited a moment more for Loosestrife—which really was an awesome name, that obviously came from awesome parents—to continue the conversation. When she didn’t, her Joyboy came out once again to play.

“What is that?”

Caps almost jumped out of her skin again. 

“Hello who what!?” She whirled to faced the stranger mare. “Hi there!” she greeted anew.

“Hello…” Loosestrife raised another eyebrow. There almost seemed to be a sign of a smirk, as well, but it was gone before it could be confirmed. “I am curious. Is… Is that the sound of battle coming from that thing you’re holding?”

Cap raised an eyebrow over at the other mare then looked down at her game. “Ohhh, you mean my Joyboy? Hah, yeah, I’m playing Battlemare : Knightsworn. Ever play it?”

“A knight? Play it? I’m not even sure what it is, to be honest with you.” The other mare’s voice and body language remained terse, but there were a few small chinks in her demeanor now that were definitely evident.

Caps Lock grinned encouragingly, fully intending to take advantage of what she saw. Excellent, another pony to corrupt to the side of modern entertainment! She leaned out into the aisle and nodded down to her handheld. “Mind if I sit next to you and show it off? I’d be happy to tell you all about it.”

There was a good ten second silence, but, eventually, Loosestrife gave a nod.

“I would… not mind that.”

Caps giggled. “That’s the spirit. Okay, so I’m guessing you’re new to games. This one’s simple, it’s a fighting game cross with some fantasy rpg elements. RPG meaning Roleplaying, now this is how you—”








Caps was fairly certain she had completely lost Loosestrife at several intervals, but once she got the other mare up to speed with the fighting basics, she’d gotten a lot more into the spirit of the game.

“Your blood will soak the earth crimson, foals!” Loosestrife cackled as she hammered away at the Joyboy’s attack button. “Your empire will be but dust for daring to stand before the Earth Ponies!”

Caps chuckled to herself. “It’s a good thing we have the car to ourselves. Yeah, the Earth Ponies in this game are totally the best race to pick. Having that higher stamina gauge really helps you maintain your battle momentum, as well as re-engage the troops.”

Loosestrife nodded along, despite not taking one ounce of attention from her dominating performance on the game. “You speak wise words, Miss Caps. You would have made an insightful tactician, I think.”

Caps Lock tittered into her hoof. “Me? Nooo. Besides, we haven’t had a real war in centuries near Equestria. Which is why I like these games so much, but nooo, most ponies think they’re awful. I’m actually surprised someone your age that never even knew about games seems to like them!”

Loosestrife paused in her battle frenzy to look over. “My age?” She punctuated her words by raising an eyebrow sharply.

“Oh, heh, I-I didn’t mean anything by it. I—” Caps cracked a smile, and was about to crack under the pressure too, until a surprising expression—and rather scary looking—smile appeared on the other mare’s muzzle.

“I am jesting.” Loosestrife chuckled—a gravelly sound that was almost painful to the ears—and patted Caps on the back. “I think I like you.”

Caps Lock oofed loudly under the treatment from the other mare. “G-Great! haha… hey, so I saw that you have a sword over there.” She pointed to a tall object leaning against the wall, under the window. She hadn’t recognized what it was at first, but was almost certain after some study.

Loosestrife stopped fast from returning to the game. “It is.” She said her reply simply, almost coldly, as if wary of the question.

Caps grinned. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m a collector, too. I won’t rat you out to anypony. It’s stupid that they outlaw those things in most cities.”

Loosestrife visibly relaxed at that, though she maintained her outer look of wariness. “I see. Why do you ask, then? Are you not a ‘computer pony’ as you told me? Or do your talents extend past these amusing games?”

Caps’ grin grew a bit. “Well, I was just wondering… if you know how to use that sword?”

Loose’s expression shifted to mild confusion. “I do,” she answered hesitantly.

“Niiice.” Caps giggled in anticipation. “Ever hear of Movement Capture? Because… my studio reaaally needs somepony good to fill the job for our next fighting game. Are you interested?”









Lines - by Loosestrife's Author

It was lines that defined the modern world. Painted lines separated one arbitrary lane of asphalt concourse from the other. The sharp lines of skyscrapers, Manehattan's great forest of concrete, glass and steel, provided earth pony and unicorn alike a taste of pegasus life. Most of all, no matter where one went in a modern city, one would inevitably find oneself standing in line.

But Loosestrife's usual morning line for coffee was absent on this day. Somepony meant to repair or maintain the lines of the skyscraper rising above Java Joe's had dropped a long metal platform onto the humble coffee shop's awning. Debris was strewn up and down the sidewalk, the area cordoned off and declared unsafe for ponies lacking hardened hats. Lines creased Loosestrife's face as she stared into the carnage.

Nopony a thousand years ago had heard of coffee. The earth ponies' homeland was too far north to trade with the zebras and donkeys of more tropic climes. But of all the frivolities of this noisy, fast-paced, high-energy, ridiculous modern world, it was coffee Loosestrife had found most agreeable. It made the morning sun shine brighter. It gave her the drive to see the day through when the line-defined modern world spun too fast for her. It warmed and soothed her in the night.

But it seemed her enjoyment of coffee went beyond simple desire. The more she stared at the coffee shop, the more she realized she did not want coffee. She needed it. Now.

Glowering at Java Joe's, however, was not speeding the removal of the wreckage. Also, her back right was twitching in a most bothersome manner, not something that happened previously. The scent of freshly brewed, likely soon to be wasted coffee floated from the store, enticing her like a siren's song.

Perhaps such comparison is apt. Methinks I have been bewitched by this brew. This morning groweth more irritating than any hath right to be.

Faced with the impassable yellow line separating her from her needs and lacking alternatives, she staggered off down the sidewalk.

There were no easy methods to become un-lost in a city. Street signs helpfully showed where one was, but were meaningless when one had no idea where one wished to go. Her self-recriminations for not taking time to to learn the city's routes were broken by a perky greeting.

"Good morning, madam! Can I interest you in a technological revolution?"

If there was one thing Loosestrife did not miss alongside her morning coffee, it was the chance to stand in line with the Tartarus known as other ponies. Bad enough that pegasus and unicorn alike frequented an upstanding earth pony establishment like Java Joe's. Mustn't deny harmony, the dulcet voice of Princess Celestia remonstrated her, unbidden. That she must be expected to interact with the odd pony who actually enjoyed waiting in a line was beyond the pale. Such cheer was inexcusable at this hour. Her back right nagged at her.

Cheerful ponies standing in front of boutiques might know where to find coffee.

"Nay." She turned to see a grey horn emerging from pink-striped curls—Stars above, why do single colors not satisfy ponies of this age?—and tilted her head down. "I require only that thou directest me to the nearest establishment whereat I may purchase freshly brewed coffee."

The unicorn blinked at her for less time than ponies tended to when first meeting her. "Well, Java Joe's is just a block thattaway, miss." The unicorn pointed back the way Loosestrife had come.

She frowned. "Had I not travelled from that direction, knave, I'd not have asked thee."

The unicorn's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before she said, "Weeeeell, we usually have a pot brewing in the early morning. But I can't offer any unless you're interested in a technological revolutioooon!"

The singsong lilt in the unicorn's voice set Loosestrife's eye twitching in time with her leg. Typical of unicorns to be so cunning. "Then for the moment, I am."

"Great! Just follow me inside, miss..."

"Loosestrife."

"Nice to meet you, Loosestrife! I'm Caps Lock. Gosh, I love your dress. SCA fan?"

Neither offering nor asking for explanations was the best way to weather these conversations. "Aye."

"Cool!" Caps Lock hop-skipped and chuckled. "I figured, with how you talk. Totally nailing the Princess Luna, by the way. Anyhow, welcome to Personal Pony Computing!"

There were not many Manehattan boutiques Loosestrife deigned to visit, thus she had no way of knowing whether the extreme brightness of the interior was normal. The walls were flat white, the counters of polished, light wood. Everything was too neat, too straight-lined, too bright. She was squinting by the time they stopped before a high counter set to one side. Caps Lock lit her horn, placing a small paper cup beneath a tiny coffee maker. A few moments later, Loosestrife held a steaming cup whose scent made her heart soar.

"There's your coffee! Trust me, I know the feeling." She winked. "Now you just stand there and enjoy your morning caffeine kick, while I tell you all about the amazing features of the all-new PPC!"

The coffee was terrible. Nevertheless, drinking it made weathering the unicorn's animated prattle a not insurmountable task. Loosestrife did try to pay attention—it was only fair—but Caps Lock lost her both through fast talking and the innumerable list of erudite features. Also, she wondered what 'caffeine' was and what it had to do with kicking.

Still, it seemed any coffee, regardless of the taste, was adequate for making her feel like a real mare again.

"Hold," she said, draining the cup and setting it on the counter. "I'll wager thy contraption seemeth impressive, but pray tell, what doth it do?"

"Why, anything at all, really!" Caps Lock said, not missing a beat. "I'll admit, it's about as far from creative anachronisms as a pony can get, but you could always keep track of—" The unicorn glanced at something over Loosestrife's shoulder. "—your sword swings per minute! While you, ah, train, I'm sure!"

Though obviously out of her depth, Caps Lock recovered with aplomb. "Of course, its primary applications are geared towards business, finance, stock trading... You'll never miss a weather report! What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Do?"

"As a career, your job. When you're not..." The unicorn waved a hoof at her.

"'Tis of no import." Loosestrife cleared her throat. "Thy coffee, though tasting of hoof pickings after a day's march, hath invigorated me. The mare of words passeth into dotage, leaving daughter action to carry her sword." She straightened herself, watching down the end of her nose as the unicorn took a tiny step backward.

If there was any sign the unicorns had been victorious over their cousin tribes sometime in the past, it was the cold, hard bit. Dead and buried was the time of creating for the good of the tribe; colder still, the days of uneasy intertribal barter. Loosestrife had made a point to familiarize herself with the modern monetary economy and to provide her own way once she had, though the inherent worth of the bit sometimes eluded her. But she had been offered a royal stipend before settling in Manehattan and knew how much she had to pay monthly for rent, and those sufficed as bellwethers.

"Tell me, merchant, what price dost thou ask for this contraption?"

Caps Lock smiled. "Well, right now, we're having a startup special. Two-ninety-nine gets you the basic model, a year of warranty, 24 hour support through our customer service hotline, and a pack of our magifiber cleaning cloths!"

"Wait." Loosestrife's eyes flicked left and right as she sorted through the dross, cutting to the heart of the unicorn's statement. "Two hundred ninety-nine? Bits?"

"Aye." Caps Lock did a double-take. "Uh, I mean yes."

Lest I face harmony's wrath in mortal form, I shall not address thee as 'conniving needlehead'. Loosestrife turned on her heel and strode for the door, fast as her shaking legs could take her.

"Wait!" The unicorn's hooves pounded the floor behind her. "If I said something to upset you, ma'am, I apologize! Don't go!"

"Thou didst take me for but an earth pony simpleton the moment thou clapped'st eyes upon me!"

Caps Lock held the PPC in her magic as she tried to catch up. "I-I-I promise, I didn't mean any—"

"Trust unicorns to act without honor. Would that I had slain enough of thy ancestors on the field of battle to forestall this outrage!" Loosestrife reached the door, surging out into the bustle of the day, the unicorn hot on her heels.

"You're angry and confused, I understand." Caps Lock was obviously battling to keep her tone level. "I could throw in a durable carry case, no charge! An extra six months on the warranty? I'll personally clean your—"

Loosestrife's ear twitched at a sound from above. Acting without thought, she snatched the PPC from Caps Lock's magic. In the same fluid motion, she pressed the unicorn's head down with her other hoof and swung the computer in an arc over their heads. Its screen smacked into a tin pail, tipping it and spilling water across the sidewalk before them. With the clatter of metal against pavement, the modern world resumed its usual pace.

"Aah!" Caps Lock shouted into the concrete.

"Sweet Celestia, Rail!" shouted a voice above them. "You nearly killed somepony!"

A pegasus in a grey uniform appeared before them, apology in his smile and words spilling from his mouth like water over a fall.

"Sorry, ladies. New guy, y'know how it is." He scooped up the pail and rocketed back into the air, shouting, "Luna's fetlocks, Rail, that's twice already this morning, and if you can't..."

His voice trailed off, leaving only the wet sidewalk as evidence of any happenstance. Passersby gave them a wide berth, not a few eyes turning skyward.

Letting out a breath, Loosestrife turned to the unicorn beside her. Though cowering and shaking, she appeared otherwise unharmed.

"I apologize," Loosestrife said, her voice low, "if I have caused thee injury."

"N-n-no," Caps Lock said, unable to stand for her quivering knees. "I th-think you s-saved my l-l-life!"

"Aye, well." Loosestrife cleared her throat. "I shall apologize instead for my words earlier. They were spoken in a fit of pique and undeserved by thee."

"D-d-don't mention it."

Loosestrife remembered the computer, still clutched in her hoof. "I shall not, nor speak further of this morn, if thou wish'st it so." Turning it over, she noted the soft brush lines of the metal casing, which likewise appeared unscathed by the event. Her eyes lit up.

"By my grandsire's beard! Fair Cap o' the Loch, thou didst not mention this device was durable!" She held it up, knocking it with her hoof. "After so strong a blow, it yet hath nary a scratch upon the pretty side! With proper strapping, 'twould serve as a fine buckler! Hmm, or perhaps I could use it to prop open the door to my balcony..."

"Y-you can have it," Caps Lock said, a wan smile on her face. "Take it, n-no charge. I don't think I'll be..." She swallowed, her face taking a slight green hue. "Be s-selling that one. Excuse me!" She disappeared back into the boutique, slamming the door behind her.

Loosestrife peered in the window after her, but it was rather too reflective for her to see anything. She frowned at her reflection, turned, and placed her new doorstop in her saddlebag. It was quite the bargain, obtaining a thing so valuable at no charge; her good fortune, indeed. The pattern of lines across the black, shiny side would make it a suitable decoration for her home.