> OC SlamJam - Round Two
>  by OC Slamjam
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Vanilla Skies vs. Hazel Luck - Winner: Vanilla Skies (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vanilla Skies x Hazel Luck - by Vanilla Skies' Author

“Miss Skies?”

The door to her small office opened. Well, office: it was more of a glorified broomcloset. And here, in this glorified, stuffy broomcloset it was where she did all her paperwork, on the small clouddesk littered with paper. The paper Vanilla was holding in her hoof, the proposal for a new schedule, was put down on the desk. 

“Yes?” she said, looking up in the eyes of the intruding pegasus. The brown stallion smiled awkwardly before he continued. 

“Uh, there’s somepony asking around for a job. Figured I’d knock on your door.”

Vanilla Skies nodded. Her soft yellow mane with brighter yellow streaks, bobbed short, danced around her cheeks. “Sure.” She picked up the roster again and a pencil to take some notes. “Bring her in.”

The pegasus stallion nervously scratched behind his ear. “Uhm… I… can’t. She’s, well, kindof… a unicorn.”

Vanilla Skies looked up, surprised, and put down everything she had in her hooves entirely. She frowned, confused. “What? Why would a unicorn apply for a job in the weather?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, I tried to tell her but she said she was promised a job here, so she wouldn’t go away!”

Vanilla lifted an orange hoof to her forehead and face-hoofed. “Ugh… I’ll go to her, then. Better set things straight before they go out of hoof.” 

She put the rest of the papers away in their rightful places and walked past the messenger out of the door. He followed her towards the edge of the cloud Vanilla’s office was build on. Together, they spread their wings and glided down, he pointing the way towards the unicorn. With a soft thud, they landed on the ever-busy Manehattan streets below.

In front of the two pegasi was a dark-orange unicorn mare, with honey-colored mane and tail, cut short, and bright green eyes that confidently looked towards the two. She nodded and took a step forward. 
“Hello,” she said to Vanilla, “My name is Hazel Luck.” 

She turned to the brown stallion. “Uh,” she said, hopeful, “do I have the job?”

The brown stallion gulped and looked towards the mare standing next to him. She looked back at him and nodded, dismissing him. With a last apologetic glance in Hazel’s direction, he turned around and flew back. Vanilla looked towards the unicorn mare and sighed. 

“Listen, Hazel, was it?” The unicorn nodded. “Right. My name is Vanilla Skies, and I’m currently in charge of monitoring the shifts, so to say. I make the schedules and make sure everypony’s in on time.”

Hazel Luck nodded. “Okay.”

Vanilla looked her in te eye. “Ponies in my shifts need to kick or collect clouds, make it rain, hail or snow, and encourage the wind to blow in certain speeds and directions according to the weather schedule. Sometimes even make it storm, and conjure up twisters and hurricanes.”

Hazel Luck blinked. “Okay.”

“Can you do that?” Vanilla asked, seemingly calm.

“Uh…” Hazel frowned. “No, but - “

Vanilla cut her off. “Then what - or who - made you think you you could get a job in the weather department?”

Hazel took a deep breath. “Well, there was this mare I met in a bar, and she was a pegasus, and she’s really nice - though she was kindof giggly and I didn’t like that, but I thought she was pretty good at telling stuff and she knew a lot and I needed a job so I asked her about that, and she told me about her job, and then I said I was looking around for a job, and then she turned around and laughed with her friends and…”


Vanilla waved with her hoof. “Breathe, Hazel, breathe.” 

Hazel Luck stopped for a bit and took a deep breath in, and breathed out again. Then, Vanilla motioned for her to continue. 

“So, anyway, she turned around and said to me, ‘so you’re looking for a job?’ and I said ‘yes’. Then, she asked me why I wouldn’t take a job in the weather department as well. I was a bit confused at first, after all, how can unicorns work on clouds?”

Vanilla nodded. “I’m  curious as well. What did she say?”

“Well, she then started to tell me about special spells, one that would enable non-pegasi-ponies to fly. According to her, it wasn’t a cloud-walking-spell, and nor was it a wing-making-spell; it was a spell that would enable ponies to just, float and fly.”

Vanilla frowned. “I’d never heard of that before.”

Hazel shrugged. “Me neither. But she started to tell me this story about a unicorn - I believe it was Mage Meadowbrook - who had enchanted an item that, whoever carries the item, would be able to fly. Only the most noble of pegasi knew of the item.”

Vanilla lifted her eyebrow, sceptically. “Let me guess. She was one of the nobles?”

Hazel opened her mouth, closed it and frowned. “...yes.” she said, softly. 

Vanilla sighed and shook her head. “Hazel… you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, okay?” she said, a bit softly, and Hazel looked down at her hooves. “You should think for yourself, listen to your common sense.” 

Hazel nodded, still looking down. 
“Now, I hope you can understand that it’s physically impossible to give you the job, seeing that you aren’t a pegasus.” Vanilla continued. Hazel nodded again, her ears drooping. 

“But…” 

Hazel looked up. 

“If you really, really need a job, you could always walk past the administrative section.” Vanilla said, with a slight smile. “That is here, on the ground, I think over there…” She pointed towards the north, where a lot of tall office buildings were situated. “Even though a part of the administration is situated in the clouds, a lot of paperwork is handled over there. They always need more ponies. Just tell them I send you and you’ll have a job.” 

Hazel grinned happily. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said, and she sped off to the prospect of a new job. 
“Thank you! See ya later!” she said, and she disappeared past the corner. 

Vanilla chuckled, spread her wings and took off towards her job, back to the paperwork that awaited her. 

~

The nameless brown pegasus hovered in the air for a moment, before taking off. A single note was in his hoof. 

The secret was discovered. 

> Heather Rose vs. Luster Lock - Winner: Luster Lock (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steam, Snow, Salt, Stamps - by Heather Rose's Author

Luster Lock looked up in minor annoyance as the bell over her door tinkled. She flipped her loupe up with a wingtip and winced as a blast of cold air whistled through the door.

An adolescent stallion wearing a knit cap and the navy vest of the Equestrian RPO stepped into her store and pushed the door shut behind him. She sighed and slid her current project—a cylindrical-key padlock—to the top of her workbench. She hadn't figured out how to pick it yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Which door?”

He blinked in surprise. “Um, to the mailroom. From the platform. Stamps—“

“Lost the key,” Luster finished. “Again.” She slid her lockpicks into a roll pouch and tucked them under her wing. This time when I make a key, I'm going to make a spare. For me.

But she wouldn't. Not because it was against the rules: she knew as well as any mare that sometimes rules were made to be broken. Instead, she wouldn’t bother because the lock was laughably easy to pick.

“Let's go,” she ordered. She flipped the sign on the window and practically shoved him out the door, closing and locking it securely behind them.





One more leg, and the trip’s over. Coming home after Hearth’s Warming was always bittersweet for Heather Rose: she already missed her family, but she longed to be back home.

She shifted around on her bench and glanced up and down the coach. A few new ponies had boarded, but nopony she recognized. Up in front, a foal started squalling, and she pinned her ears back.To think, I thought he was cute when his mother brought him aboard.

His shrieks were answered by the howl of the locomotive's whistle. She felt the familiar jerk as the locomotive took the slack out, and then she felt the pulsing of the drive wheels as it tugged the train. 

Heather's ears turned forward as the pulses became erratic; in a lull between the child’s wails, she heard the locomotive's usual chuff-chuff replaced with a chuff-wheeze. Then there was more banging as the railroad cars bumped to a stop.

The train was mocking her. It had only moved forward far enough to frame the HOOFINGTON sign with her window. She stuck her muzzle to the pane, then pressed her cheek sideways against the cold glass, trying to see down the length of the train. Did it come off the tracks?

There was nothing obvious, so she got out of her seat and went to the vestibule, squeezing between a pair of ponies who already had their heads out the window. 

The train didn't look to have come off the rails—newspaper pictures of derailments invariably showed the railroad cars lying all cattywampus around the tracks. Her train’s were all upright and in their proper order.

As she watched, a soot-streaked mare climbed down from the locomotive and walked into the cloud of steam and smoke which constantly emanated from the front of the beast. When she re-emerged, head down, Heather Rose sighed. I guess I won't be meeting the girls at the spa tonight.





It was a short trip to the train station; when Luster got there she threaded through the cluster of last-minute passengers boarding the waiting train. A single trolley sat by the door in question, two full sacks of mail leaned up against the front bulkhead.

“Lucky we got the outgoing mail loaded before the key got lost,” the stallion commented. “Or else the train would have to wait.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” She walked up to the door and sat on her haunches just as Stamps rounded the corner, a lecherous grin on his face.

“I'm so glad you could make it. I loaned my key to one of the mail stallions, and he lost it, can you believe that? You just can't trust teenagers.” He moved so close she could have counted the hairs in his thinning brush-cut.

“I'll have it open in no time,” she muttered, opening her wing to drop her tool roll on the ground. At the conductor's call, she glanced back at the train. I'll have an audience for once—let's see if I can get this opened before the train leaves. With practiced familiarity, she slid the tension wrench and snake rake out of their pouches and set to work.

“I think they might have jammed it somehow,” Stamps offered as she twisted the tension wrench. Sure enough, the rake didn't move the tumblers at all. Luster Lock sighed, set the rake down, and grabbed a diamond pick, almost dropping it as the train’s whistle howled.

She scraped the pick through the lock several times, finally withdrawing it and examining the fine powder on the very end.

Luster sniffed it.  Smelling nothing she stuck her tongue on the pick. Cold and totally tasteless—it was ice.

Her ears fell. Picking a lock was one thing; picking a frozen lock was impossible. Even if she'd had a key, it wouldn't unlock. She glanced over at Stamps, who was leering at her. Clever stallion.

“Can I get you anything?” he offered solicitously.

She was about to tell him off, when a hiss of escaping steam caught her ear. They both turned their heads, and immediately noticed the prodigious quantities of steam escaping from the exhaust valve on their side of the locomotive.

While Stamps gaped at it, Luster lock turned back to the door. How in Equestria am I going to melt this ice?





Heather Rose hesitated on the boarding step. Her luggage was safely tucked away in the baggage car, where it would be safe—but if for some reason she didn't get back before the train was repaired, it would leave without her, and who knew where her baggage might wind up?

One look at the crew gathering by the locomotive reassured her that this train would be going nowhere soon, and she hopped down to the platform, her thoughts already on how to spend the delay. Hearth's Warming softened her purse strings; not only for family and friends, but for herself as well. This year, nothing had caught her fancy, but she felt almost obligated to spend something, and this was the perfect opportunity.

She was halfway down the platform when she noticed a dim grey pegasus crouched next to a trolley and working on a door, while a balding stallion watched her intently.

It was none of her business, and she almost passed by, thinking about how a necklace would feel around her neck. Nothing fancy, a simple setting with a semi-precious stone, something practical she could wear whenever she got dressed up.

It was none of her business, but when the stallion slid slightly closer to the pegasus, kicking a slim blade across the platform, it bothered her, and she bent down and picked it up before moving over to return it to its rightful owner.

She wedged her way between the pair, directing an insincere “excuse me” at the stallion.

“You dropped thif,” she said, tilting her head towards the mare, and pushing the stallion a bit further back with her rump.

“Hey,” he muttered, and she turned her head to face him, not seeing the locksmith's wingtip come up and reach for the wayward tool. Heather wrinkled her nostrils as Luster's primaries tickled at the slender rake, and then both were gone as the locksmith turned back towards the door.

“Didja lose the key?”

“He did.” Luster tilted her head towards the stallion, who had the grace to blush slightly. “And then somehow, the lock got filled with water, and it froze.”

“Oh.” Heather looked at the platform—under the overhang of the station roof, there was barely more than a little snow-grit that the wind had blown around. She sidestepped, bumping the stallion again, then sat down beside the door. “So you need to melt the ice out of it. You could put salt in it.”

Luster flinched as if she'd been slapped. She let go of her tools and flexed her wings, while she took her first real look at her visitor. If her time touring with Trixie had taught her anything, it was how to read ponies. Flower cutie mark, windblown mane and tail, slightly shaggy winter coat, and scrapes and scuffs on her hooves no hooficure could ever remove—this was a farmer. She might as well have worn a sign about her neck.

“You could weed your garden by salting the ground, too.”

Now it was Heather Rose's turn to wince. “Okay, bad idea.” She tapped her hoof to her chin in thought.

Luster didn't reply, just went back to working a slender screwdriver against the pins. Half the battle was to get them to move, then it would just be a question of whether she could put enough force on the tension wrench to make the cylinder turn.

“If you could catch some of the steam from the locomotive and bring it over to the lock,” Heather mused out loud, “that would melt the ice.”

“Is there a steam hose at the station?” The pegasus looked up from her work, and glanced over at Stamps.

“I don't know,” he said honestly.

“Why don't you go look?” Heather offered. “Since you're not doing anything useful.”

He got reluctantly to his hooves and looked up and down the platform, as if one might materialize within eyeshot. When it didn’t, he trotted towards the locomotive and the cluster of mechanics gathered there.

“You don't have a bottle of light oil, do you?” Luster brushed a curl of steel-blue mane out of her face and jabbed the screwdriver back at the lock. She'd gotten the first two pins free, and was working on the third.

“What, in case I was planning on baking a batch of cookies on the train?”

“Sorry.” The locksmith pulled the screwdriver out and blew into the lock to dislodge the ice she'd chipped off.

“I could maybe get some from the engine oiler.”

“She’s only got heavy stuff. Too viscous, especially when it's cold.” She went back to work with the screwdriver, turning her body to get better leverage with her wing. “Alcohol?”

“In my trunk. Does the station sell it?”

“Nothing strong enough.” She sighed. “I've got a bottle back at my shop, but didn't bring it. Should’ve thought Stamps'd be clever enough to try something like this, just to keep me out here. where he could gawk at my pretty flank.”

“He's old enough to be your father.” Heather Rose scrunched her muzzle.

“Grandfather.”

“Ew.” Heather got back to her hooves, brushing the grit off her rump with her tail. “Think he'll find a steam hose?”

“If he does, it'll have a hole by the time it gets here, or the coupler will be broken.” Her ears fell. “Probably what's taking him so long. I'd like to have this lock open before he gets back.”

“What if . . . “ Heather moved close to the lock to examine it. “I could ask the attendant to get my trunk, maybe make a little funnel out of a piece of paper.” She looked back at the stationary train, and the baggage car coupled behind the tender. “It's a shame that there's a big iron boiler right there, but no way of getting the heat here, where it’s needed. Pegasi can't grab steam clouds, can they?”

“Not unless we want to burn our hooves.”

“What about a coal from the fire?”

“Again, the hoof-burning. You're welcome to try.”

“I bet there's a shovel in the locomotive.” Heather turned and trotted to the stationary locomotive, pulling herself halfway into the cab. Luster watched with interest, waiting to see what developed.

It only took a minute before the earth pony backed down off the steps, moving carefully on three hooves—when she turned, Luster saw that she now wore a thick hoof-mitt on her right foreleg.

She walked over to the door and unceremoniously jammed her mitted hoof against the lockplate. Instantly, a muffled hissing came from the lock.

Heather held it there until the small puffs of steam had totally subsided, then pulled back and let the ember drop to the station platform.

Luster kicked it out of the way with the toe of her hoof, then stuck the snake rake and tension wrench in the keyhole. A moment of practiced wiggling, and the lock surrendered with a final click. She pushed the door slightly ajar, just to make sure, then the two mares exchanged a high-hoof.

Just then Stamps huffed up to the duo. “I found a hose,” he said proudly.

“Took you long enough,” Luster sneered. “I got the lock open without it.”

“What? How?” He took a step forward, landing on the hot ember with a painful-sounding sizzle. His pupils shrank, and he started dancing on his hooves before galloping towards a snowbank.

Luster slid her tools back into her roll-pouch and slipped it back under her wing. “Now all I've got to do is make a new key, and I can do that back at my workshop.” She looked back at the door: the paint was slightly discolored around the keyplate, but it was otherwise undamaged. “Want to come with me? You might find something you’d like.”


•        •        •


“That's a lot of locks.”

“Can't be too careful.” Luster let the keyring fall on its lanyard and nosed the door open. The guttering lanterns inside barely illuminated the workshop, so Heather stayed back as Luster turned their wicks up.

It wasn't much of an improvement.

Nevertheless, Heather entered, closing the door tightly behind her. And just stared around the room.

She'd never seen so many locks in one place, although it stood to reason that being a locksmith's shop, it'd be full of locks.

She'd never seen so many different varieties, either. Various kinds of padlocks hung from pegs, nails pounded into the wall, and a short section of chain-link fence. Boxes stacked around the shop contained locks for doors and chests, if the drawings on the ends of the boxes were to be believed.

The whole shop smelled of metal and oil and meals eaten at the workbench. It was cluttered, confining—Heather couldn't imagine how a pegasus could stand it. Her house was cozy and neat, and had big windows that looked over her fields.

Back at the bench, Luster hunched over a key blank, carefully filing teeth into the key’s bit . She'd jotted down the pin-lengths while she worked, and the measurements were familiar enough that she barely needed to use calipers.

Satisfied with her work, she set down her tools, ruffled her primaries, and rolled her neck. Then she picked up the key, blew the shavings off it, buffed the raw edges with a cloth soaked in linseed oil, looped a length of ribbon through the bow, and draped it around her neck.

Luster spun on her stool and hopped to her hooves. She used a foxtail brush to sweep the bronze shavings into a bin, and then walked over to the earth pony.

Heather Rose was studying one of the love locks clipped to the chain-link. Luster rolled her eyes. “You don't want one of those. Nopony wants one of those.”

“Why not? I like the color.” She brushed it with her hoof. The pale magenta was a near match to her coat. “It's a love lock, isn't it?”

“How do you know about those?”

Heather blushed. “Um, I watched The Bridge of Love in Canterlot, and the pegasus soldier had one. He tossed the key down a well to show how unbreakable his love was.”

“Trust me, it's a lot less romantic when police ponies have bolt-cutters and lawyers.”

“But you could use it someplace where nopony would be bothered by it,” Heather insisted.

“You might find hoofcuffs more enjoyable. I have some for sale, if you or your coltfriend is an adventurous sort.”

Heather scuffed her hoof on the floor. “I don't actually have a special somepony.” 

“Me, either,” Luster muttered. “Not for a lack of trying.” She thought back to her last dinner date—he was cute, but like so many others, he was gone too soon.

Heather Rose brightened. “But I still want the lock.”

“You don’t have to take pity on me.”

“I’m not.”

Luster looked into the guileless green eyes of the farmer and nodded. “Well, hope springs eternal.” She reached up and unlocked the heart-shaped padlock, handing it and the key to the earth pony. “Five bits—I'm giving you a deal, 'cause you figured out how to thaw the lock at the train station.”

It was more than Heather wanted to spend, but it was rude to make a deal and then back out, so she reached into her coinpurse and pulled out a six-bit coin, flinching back slightly as Luster again brushed her lips with a wingtip.


•        •        •


Heather Rose trudged through the deserted Ponyville streets, forcing her way through the drifts forming across the road. She didn’t mind so much; it was nice to be home, even if she wouldn’t get to see her friends until tomorrow.

She dropped her trunk on her front stoop, but instead of going into her house right away, she went around behind her house and looked over the gate. She stood on her hind hooves, leaning against the top of the rough-split wood, and just watched her field slumber under its blanket of snow. 

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, she pulled the gate's latch back, and then used the love lock to fasten it permanently open.









The Facts of Ponyville - by Luster Lock's Author

Heather loved the feel of the comb—the knowledge that each tooth was slowly working her mane into neat, tidy rows of rosy hair, like flowers lined precisely in a field. Even if it wouldn’t stick for any longer than an hour or two.

“Und meine Mutter,” said Lotus, behind her, “sie hat diesen winzigen Hut getragen, und sie sagte, ‘Was ist los, Kinder? Zu groß?’” She tittered, nearly dropping the comb.

Heather giggled herself, but felt a pang of guilt, recalling her own mother. She’d have to send a letter soon. The farm had just been so hectic recently…

Lotus hummed and took away that blessed comb, and already Heather’s scalp missed it. “Fertig,” said the spa pony, coming around and offering Heather a hoof down from the table.

The delightful sound of hooves on tile spread out through the heavy air as the duo made their way to the front room. Lotus walked around to the back of the counter while Heather waited in front, coin purse in hoof and a smile on her face. This part was well rehearsed. As Lotus scribbled in a ledger, Heather measured out some bits and passed them over the counter.

“Danke schön, Röslein,” said Lotus, smiling brightly. “Come back soon, ja?”

Heather mirrored the smile. “Bitte,” she said, and she accepted the complimentary soap Lotus offered. “And I will. Give the others my best.” She started towards the door, calling back, “Tschüs!”

“Tschüs!”

Out the door, and the afternoon sun was shining bright. The warmth and cheer in the air of the (relatively) bustling thoroughfare sent a giggly shiver up Heather’s spine. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to drink in the little town she called home, and all of its perf—

She was on the ground now, a light twinge in her shoulder. She could feel the dirt worming its way into her not-so-groomed-anymore mane. Not two minutes. It must have been a new record.

Groaning, Heather opened her eyes to find a set of grayish hindquarters. That wasn’t the least common thing to see after getting knocked over in Ponyville, but… This other pony—while she was indeed a pegasus—had a lock for a mark rather than bubbles, and hair that was far from blonde.

The other pony turned, frowning, and offered Heather a hoof. “Sorry ’bout that,” she said, her voice boyish in manner if not in timbre.

Heather took the hoof and stood, saying, “Danke.”

“You’re”—the other pony raised an eyebrow—“‘wel-ke’?”

Heather shook her head. “You want ‘bitte’. Sorry, habits.” She took in the sight of the pegasus, from curly hair (unkempt, but clearly for longer than Heather’s own—it was practically encrusted with sweat), to over-the-shoulder knapsack, to dusty hooves. This pony was a traveller, and unless Heather had forgotten a face, new to town. “So,” said Heather, “what has you walking backwards down our little town’s main street?”

The other pony snorted. “What’s got you standing still on it?”

There’d been a bit of a sneering edge to that question, and Heather didn’t like it one bit. She couldn’t help but frown.

“Er.” The pegasus cringed. “Sorry. My business, is all—plus I had kind of a long trip. Luster Lock.” She offered her hoof once again, her knapsack balanced awkwardly now with nothing holding it.

Heather shook it, saying, “Heather Rose.”

Luster’s eyes widened, and suddenly Heather’s flank was the unwilling subject of a rather focused (and creepy) bout of peering. “You’re just what I need!” the mare shouted.

Looking all about, Heather grimaced at just how many of the town’s eyes had turned their way. She hissed through her teeth, “And you’re in public!”

But Luster had a grin that wouldn’t quit. “Your cutie mark,” she said. “Bunch of heather. What’s it mean? Flower farmer or something, right?”

Oh. A potential customer? “That’s it precisely,” said Heather, “minus how it symbolizes my—”

Luster waved a hoof. “Doesn’t matter. You’re perfect.”

“Perfect for what, exactly?” Heather was frowning too much today—it was market day, for goodness sake! But that might have been the big issue. She needed to go set up her stall and start making her bits, yet here she was, waylaid by a strange—

“I need info from somepony who’s really boring,” said Luster, still grinning. “Somepony who’s really small-town, really scared of big disasters—and, like, change in general, preferably.”

Heather felt her eye twitch, and she turned away. It was time go fetch her cart and her wares for the day.

“Hey!” Luster called after her. “Aw, come on! Do you at least know any other flower farmers, or some old-timey farriers, or anything? Ugh.”





After all those years, Heather’s stall still wasn’t popular enough.

Ponies didn’t realize (yet) just what they were getting when they bought themselves a batch of Heather’s Heath brand heather honey. Or heather honey in general, for that matter, but good luck finding any other brands around Ponyville.

Heather itself is a stubborn plant, only blooming naturally for a scant few weeks out of the year—the real sort, anyway—so heather honey has to be extracted from bees feasting on it during that brief window. As an earth pony, Heather could widen that window, coaxing the heather to bloom for upwards of about a month and a half, but any longer and the excess of magic needed would bother the bees—which themselves were on loan for that period, and not Heather’s to bother.

So heather honey is a rarity, so what? It’s just another kind of honey, right? Wrong. Aside from being darker and richer in flavor than most other honeys, heather honey is so packed with protein that it’s practically solid until you stir it. Add to that all of the carbohydrates, nutrients, antioxidants, und so weiter that you get from any honey, and heather honey is the good-tasting health food.

And Luster Lock, standing before Heather’s stall in the local market—with a full range of heather honeys, meads, beers, bread (Oma’s recipe), jams, jellies, and bare, tasty flowers laid out before her eyes—said, “Let me get a couple of those dried ones. They look tasty.”

The ‘dried ones’ were a decorative heather wreath, and she’d been perfectly earnest in her request, Heather was sure.

“Please go away,” said Heather, voice and face made painstakingly neutral.

Luster sighed. “I’m sorry for insulting you before.” She rubbed a wing—odd as that looked to Heather—through her still-dirty mane. “I really would appreciate your help.”

Luster’s eyes seemed so sincere, even if it looked like her mouth was about to creep into some kind of smirk. Plus, it wasn’t like there was a line forming behind her. “Fine,” Heather grumbled. “How can I help?”

“Like I mentioned before, I need info,” said Luster, lighting up and leaning on the stall’s counter. “Somepony as bor—” She froze as Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Ahem. Somepony like you, a  small-town flower farmer, probably does her best to avoid big, awful disasters and such, right?”

“Right,” said Heather with brow raised. For all that she loved Ponyville most of the time, she did hate it whenever monsters attacked, or a local said heather was too bitter a plant, or ancient evils resurfaced in town. Did that really go hoof in hoof with her occupation…?

Luster continued, “And you’ve lived in Ponyville—a place pretty much infamous for exactly that kind of thing—for how long, now?”

“A little under five years.”

“Great!” Luster beamed. “I figure, that attitude and all that experience, you’ve got to have a disaster sense by now, right? When’s the next one coming?”

Friendly chattering and the rolling of cart wheels over cobblestone and the heated sounds of bartering filled the silence.

“What?” said Heather.

Luster didn’t falter. “When do you think Ponyville is due for trouble?”

“That’s the most ridiculous—” But it wasn’t, Heather realized as the word left her mouth. It wasn’t ridiculous at all. There was an equation forming in her head—or, no, not forming. It had been there, invisible, in the back of her mind.

Market days were her favorite days of the week, and this was true for most of the town’s many farmers. Likewise the weather, sunny and comfortably warm. But there was a balance to be maintained there: get some good, get some bad. Harmony. Though, there had been plenty enough bad today, in the form of the quirky pony with whom she was talking—her hair had even been ruined much sooner than the norm, she recalled.

But… No, there were two equations. Her personal unpleasant experiences today only balanced out personal enjoyments, like the—she now remembered—extra long and entertaining spa visit. The perfection of the day on a town-wide scale had yet to be checked by…

“Today,” Heather breathed. “Within twenty-four hours for sure. Oh, großartige Schwestern…”

“Today?” said Luster. She shot up from the counter. “Perfect!”

Heather watched as Luster set her knapsack down and used her wings to widen the drawstrings. From within, she pulled out a length of thin but remarkably sturdy-looking iron chain. And pulled. And pulled. She wound it around a foreleg and, after no more came out, she withdrew also an ornately carved—was that a dragon face?—and solid-seeming lock. She left it open, but with its clasp bridging the first link of the chain to the last and holding the whole heavy, menacing arrangement taut against her hoof.

And then… she started pulling out more chain, for her other foreleg. What an uncomfortable burden that knapsack must have been.

It was about when a second lock reared its vaguely leonine face that Heather summoned the presence of mind to ask, “What in Equestria are you doing?”

Lock in place, Luster danced a little jig, rattling the chains to her giggling satisfaction—and everypony else around’s sweat-beaded consternation—and looked back up to Heather. “Getting ready,” she said, grinning like predator, “to whup and or restrain and or sell some custom locks to the trouble.”

“So you came to Ponyville to throw yourself at disasters…?” At Luster’s nod, Heather could only shake her head. “‘Du spinnst,’ my Oma would say. You’re going to fit right in, I’m sure.”

As misfortune would have it, there came a sudden roar from the other side of town, and the local birds loudly flapped and cawed their way off. Heather’s mind froze even as her body kicked into practiced action, frantically beginning to pack up her wares along with all of the saner stall owners around the market.

Luster’s grin had magnified tenfold, but Heather saw her make a concerted effort of reining it back into a quivering smile-smirk. The pegasus drew some bits out from her somehow-still-not-empty knapsack, tossed them onto the stall counter, and grabbed a bottle of heather mead with a wing. She popped the cork and took a good many swigs.

“Ahh,” sighed Luster, slamming the bottle back down onto the counter like she was cool instead of just hurting the wood. “My compliments to the brewer.”

“Danke,” said Heather with an absent mind.

Luster turned her smirk back to Heather, saying, “You’re bitte.”

Heather winced, rolled her eyes, and just barely managed to correct Luster and pack away her things before the stomping said that it was time to be anywhere else.





The town of Ponyville’s collective palate still somehow managed to overlook the strikingly crisp flavor of a fine heather ale, with its notes of floral, even vaguely sweet—

Oh, who even cared? The Thirsty Draft had it on tap, and that was all that really mattered right then.

Of course, it was Heather’s Heath brand heather ale, but The Thirsty Draft was the most wonderful sort of pub that Heather could imagine; they charged a local supplier only slightly more than what they paid that supplier in the first place for the same amount of stock. For coppers on the bit, Heather got to drink her ale at a better temperature and out of a nicer glass than what she could manage at home, and the atmosphere—warm and loud and littered with ponies, but rarely any of it to an unpleasant degree—came free.

And so of course the only open seat at the bar was next to a battered but radiant Luster Lock. After all, it had already been such a train wreck of a—no, such an average, balanced day—that Ponyville couldn’t let it be over just yet.

“Did you win?” said Heather as she sat. The bartender, without even needing to meet her eyes, had already laid down a frothing glass for her. Almost everything was right with the world.

Luster turned Heather’s way and smiled, and she served up a light punch of recognition to an already aching shoulder. “Not really,” she said. “No lock sales today. And he sure was better at doling out a whupping.” Her smile went a little soft. “Had fun, though.”

Heather giggled lightly, and she asked, “What was the other thing you were going to try? ‘Restraining the trouble’?”

Grayish wings rose up in some kind of gesture—a shrug, maybe? “Opening locks is more my thing, I guess,” said Luster, smile back to its earlier… luster.

There Heather went giggling again, even if there wasn't much call for it—but she realized it was the first time she’d laughed since leaving the spa, and it felt good. Though, she supposed it was hard not to be happy when half a glass of ale had made its way down her throat while Luster had been talking. And no sense in leaving the other half waiting.

Luster whistled. “You sure can put it away, huh?” She held up her own glass, eyeing what was left. “And I guess I can kind of see why.”

What did—Oh! That hazy gold color, and that earthy nose! “You’re drinking my beer?”

Luster nodded, taking another pull.

“Oh, danke schön, Luster! Ponies here rarely even give it a chance.” Heather raised her own glass high—full again, that wonderful bartender. “How does it taste?”

Emptying the glass and setting it down, Luster shot Heather one final, all-enraging smirk. With a tone of the utmost self-satisfaction, she uttered, “Bitter.”

There were times, however rare, when The Thirsty Draft did get to be too hot and loud for Heather’s liking. During the occasional good-natured bar fight, for instance.
> Mizuko vs. Wispy Willow - Winner: Wispy Willow (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This time for sure! - by Mizuko's Author

Wispy Willow navigated the streets of Trottingham’s outskirts en route to his next haunted destination, his packed saddlebag bouncing against his side in response to his merry gait while his camera swayed wildly around his neck.

The cloudless sky allowed the full moon to shine brightest, bathing the landscape in an eerie, yet majestic glow. It was fitting, Wispy decided. He was embarking on the most promising lead in his entire tenure as a semi-professional paranormal investigator — it should be as spooky as naturally possible.

At one point he passed by an old cemetery nestled in front of a dense-looking forest. A slight mist rose through the trees, giving the entire scene a delightfully nightmarish appearance. Through the fence’s iron bars, he could make out some names on the front-most tombstones.

Static Shower… Proper Prim… Candy Ca—

Wispy was interrupted by a sudden impact from his front, causing him to stumble backwards before landing on his rump in a daze. His saddlebag popped open in the scuffle, spilling all his ghost-hunting gear over the sidewalk in a brief cacophony of clinks and clanks.

“NO!” he shouted.

He quickly got up to all fours, shaking his head to clear the stars from his vision. He saw a blue, earth pony mare in front of him — college-aged by her appearance — rubbing her head with a hoof, her mouth set in a pained grimace. After a few seconds she recovered, getting up and facing him with an apologetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hanging her head so her bangs obscured one eye. “I didn’t see you coming.”

But Wispy was too busy gathering his equipment and inspecting each piece for damage to pay her any attention. Everything he found appeared to be unharmed, but panicked when he couldn’t find his EMF detector. Frantically, he jerked his head every which way, trying in vain to find his most important device.

“Um, here it is?”

He turned toward the mare, and smiled wide at the sight of his detector balanced on her hoof.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” he said, and took it back from her. “This is the only EMF detector I have; I’d be well beyond screwed without it.”

The mare tilted her head, confusion rising in response to what he’d called the device. Why would anypony need an electromagnetic field detector so late at night, or at all outside of a science lab?

Satisfied that the detector was also undamaged, Wispy stowed it back into his saddlebag — making sure it was closed extra tight this time — and stood up, facing past the mare with a smile that looked almost maniacal in the pale moonlight. “Glen Oaks manor, here I come!” he said, and started walking forward.

The mare’s eyes bulged and her mouth opened in shock. “Wait, you’re not actually thinking of going into that place, are you?” she asked, her voice coming out in a half-whisper.

“Yep,” Wispy said, not even looking at her as he passed by. “Sorry I can’t stay to chat, I gotta get there with enough time to set everything up long before dawn.”

“But you can’t go there!”

Wispy glanced over his shoulder with a confident smile. “Anyplace that has ghosts is a place for me,” he said, and resumed his merry gait.

“Wait!” the mare shouted, and began following him.

She followed Wispy all the way to Glen Oaks manor, constantly pleading for him not to go inside. It’s too dangerous, she said. Ponies have gotten hurt from entering, she argued. All pops and buzzers to Wispy’s ears. Everything he’d learned about the place had him convinced he’d find substantial proof that ghosts exist if he went inside, and nothing short of the Apocalypse would stop him from his mission to do just that.

His face broke into a wide smile the instant Glen Oaks manor came into view. Everything about the place screamed ‘Haunted!’. Ornate architecture. Decrepit walls. Miles upon miles of ivy coating said walls. Broken windows everywhere. If there was ever a place for ghosts to haunt, it was here.

“Alright, first things first,” he said upon reaching the locked front gate. He opened his saddlebag and dug around for a second before pulling out his bolt cutters.

“Are you crazy!?” the mare asked, alarmed. Her expression was a mix between incredulity and panic as she watched Wispy apply the bolt cutters to the gate’s lock. “What if you get caught?”

“You’re the only person who knows what I’m doing, and besides, no one’s gonna care if I break into an abandoned house,” Wispy replied. He pressed hard on the cutters, to which the chain locking the fence easily broke with a sharp, metallic snap and clattered to the ground. Smiling, he put the bolt cutters back in his saddlebag and opened the gate.

“But why do you need to go into this specific house?” The mare stepped in front of Wispy, forcing him to look at her and see the genuine worry in her eyes. “Isn’t there an alternative?”

Wispy stared at her for a good long moment, silently wondering why she was so insistent on convincing him to abandon his mission. It wouldn’t work, he knew, but the thought nagged him regardless.

Finally, after breathing an exasperated sigh, he gave a reply. “Listen, Miss…?”

“Mizuko.”

“Listen Mizuko, I have a task to perform. Finding proof of ghosts is my special talent, see?” He pointed to his wispy film strip cutie mark. “Everything I’ve read about that house says it’s inhabited by ghosts, and I won’t leave until I’ve found and obtained proof of their existence!” he shouted with a hard, passionate stomp against the pavement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He trotted past her, keeping his gaze focused squarely on the manor ahead, his face beaming as he began imagining what sorts of phenomena he might witness inside.

Frowning, Mizuko looked to the front gate and the street beyond. Then she looked to the stallion walking up to the manor. Then back to the gate. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity to her before she finally decided on what to do.

She followed him.





Another quick use of the bolt cutters was enough to dispatch the front door’s lock, to which it easily creaked open.

Stepping inside, Wispy and Mizuko gave the entrance foyer a cursory observation. Cobwebs in every corner. Dust covering every surface. A few cracked picture frames hanging on the walls. At the top of the stairs in front of them was a shattered stained-glass window, through which the moon shone, lighting up the foyer in its radiant glow. On either side of them was an entrance to another room. The large, cloth-covered table through the left one indicated it was the dining room, while the various armchairs and bookshelf through the right entrance suggested a study of sorts.

Wispy sucked in a deep, dust-ridden breath of air, then let it out with a contented sigh as a satisfied smile stretched across his face. “Yes, this is perfect.” He slipped off his saddlebag and let it drop to the floor. The vibration it made caused a small lick of plastering to drop from the ceiling a few feet away.

“I’ve heard this place hasn’t been maintained since the original owners passed away about thirty years ago,” Mizuko said. Her gaze trailed up to the ceiling where she spied several cracks in the plastering, to which a worried frown crossed her lips. “This place could fall down on us if we aren’t careful.”

“I’ve been in many run down houses before,” Wispy replied while he pulled a few audio recorders out of his saddlebag, carefully stacking them on his back. “I know what I’m doing.” He turned and headed toward the dining room.

“Where are you going?” Mizuko asked.

“To set these—” He gestured to his audio recorders, “—up around this place.”

Mizuko stepped forward. “I’ll come with you,” she said, softly.

Wispy shrugged. “Sure, whatever.” He continued onward into the dining room, Mizuko following right behind.

Wispy walked around the table before stopping near the center. After blowing away some accumulated dust, he gently set down the first audio recorder and pressed ‘Rec’.

“That's one down,” he said.

“How many more do you need to set up?” Mizuko asked.

“I’ve got seven more recorders,” Wispy replied. He rubbed his chin, staring inquisitively around the room, or rather, at the rest of the manor beyond. “Should be enough to cover all the important rooms here,” he muttered.

Mizuko nodded. “Alright then.”

They spent the next hour traveling from room to room, stopping occasionally to place a recorder in places Wispy deemed significant enough. The floor kept creaking and groaning under their hooves as they walked, and the fear of it opening up and dropping them to their deaths stayed with Mizuko the whole time, whereas Wispy never so much as glanced downward. Every now and then he would excitedly rattle on about paranormal mumbo-jumbo that always flew right over Mizuko’s head. Most of the time, however, she was too busy observing the manor — keeping her eyes peeled for any potential hazards — as they went along to pay him any real attention. She didn’t care whether ghosts were real or not, but if he managed to find proof of their existence here, then she’d be happy for him.

Finally, they came full circle into the study next to the entrance foyer. Wispy set the last recorder down on a table and turned it on.

“Alright, I’m all set on that front,” he said with a satisfactory nod. He then opened up his saddlebag and pulled out his EMF detector. “Now for the main course.”

Turning the device on, he exited the study into the foyer, Mizuko still following him. The numbers displayed on the device changed constantly as he moved, but always stayed within the standard range for EMF readings. Only when he pointed it towards the ceiling did the numbers show a significant increase.

Wispy’s face lit with joy. “Oh yeah, now we're getting somewhere!” he shouted, rearing his hooves back in his excitement.

The force of his hooves hitting the floor shook the whole room, causing another, larger lick of plaster to fall from the ceiling. Mizuko shot her panicked gaze up, ready to cover her head if the ceiling fell, but it stayed intact. She breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to Wispy. “How much longer is this going to take?” she asked, exasperated.

“Until I get my proof,” he answered, and began walking toward the stairs. “And if these numbers are anything to go by—” he waved the EMF detector a little, “—I’ll find it directly upstairs.”

“But it isn’t safe!” Mizuko quickly trotted ahead and cut off Wispy, to which he leveled an annoyed stare at her. She pointed above to the various cracks lining the ceiling, some of which were now larger and farther spread than they’d been when the two first entered the manor. “The floor above is clearly unstable; any more weight could send us crashing through.”

Wispy rubbed the bridge of his muzzle while his features scrunched up, showing off his growing frustration. “If you’re so concerned that it isn’t safe then just leave,” he said.

“If I left and something bad happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” Mizuko’s eyes turned downcast for a moment, her entire face gaining a sorrowful edge, before looking back up to him. “Is finding proof of ghosts really worth risking your life over?”

“Yes,” Wispy said, flatly.

Mizuko’s eyes bulged out. “Wha—HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT!?” A sudden onslaught of exhaustion washed over her; it was the first time she’d shouted in a long while. She continued at a lower volume. “How can you put so little value in your own life!?”

Wispy rolled his eyes. “You’re talking like it’s a guarantee that I’ll die if I go up there.” He tried to walk around her, but Mizuko stepped in his way again, to which he glared daggers at her. “I’ll do what I want with my own life,” he said, his tone one of finality.

Mizuko’s eyebrows furrowed a little as she gave her reply. “Even if it’s spent chasing something that may or may not even exist?”

Time seemed to slow down as Wispy processed what she'd just said. Before long, a roaring inferno lit in his eyes while his mouth twisted into a deep scowl that revealed his gritted teeth, through which his seething breaths blew at Mizuko's bangs. His breaking point had finally been reached.

“Ghosts. Are. Real!” He punctuated the last word by rearing his front hooves back and slamming them hard against the floor.

crack

Both ponies’ ears flicked upwards at the sound. They craned their necks up just in time to see a large section of the ceiling plummeting down towards them. Mizuko shrieked, ducking with her head covered, while Wispy rolled to the side. The section of ceiling crashed to the ground right in between them, kicking up a large cloud of accumulated dust that obscured everything for several seconds.

“Are you alright?” Mizuko asked once the dust settled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wispy replied between some coughs. Getting back to his hooves, he fetched his flashlight from his saddlebag and clicked it on, pointing it at the new gaping hole in the ceiling. “Crap,” he said, breathing a frustrated sigh.

“At least we weren’t hurt,” Mizuko said, getting to her hooves as well and looking up towards the hole. The room above was pitch black, and even Wispy’s flashlight wasn’t able to breach it to illuminate the space inside. “How come your light isn’t getting through?” she asked, perplexed.

“I don’t know,” he replied. He shined his flashlight all across the hole, inspecting the damage and trying to gauge whether the rest of the floor above was safe to traverse. “Probably just a—”

He froze. His jaw fell as he stared, awestruck, at what his light was shining at. Mizuko’s eyes shrank to pinpricks, and she began muttering nonsensical ramblings under her breath at the subject of Wispy’s awe.

A pony face.

A pony face with empty black eyes and a pasty white coat.

It peered over the hole’s edge, right down at them, unmoving except for its mouth which opened and closed rhythmically, like a goldfish. Silence reigned for several seconds, broken only by the wind whistling through the nearest broken windows.

Finally, Wispy’s mouth turned up into a smile that almost eclipsed his face. “Jackpot!” he said. He set down his EMF detector and grabbed his camera, pointing it up to the ghost pony, but it quickly slunk out of his sight before he could take any pictures. “So you’re a shy one, huh?” Wispy turned toward the staircase, but was again stopped by Mizuko. He was about to demand she let him go when he saw her point upwards with a shaking hoof. Looking up, he found himself confused, but amazed nonetheless, at what he saw.

A wall of moving, undulating shadows — illuminated well by the moonlight — crawled from the hole down the wall. Individual sections of the shadowy mass pulsed and bobbed as it moved down, quickly reaching the floor where it continued to spread. It cut off the space in front of the staircase, and then began heading toward the ponies.

“We need to get out of here,” Mizuko stammered. She grabbed Wispy’s hooves and urged him toward the door, but he shook away and took a step toward the shadows. “No, don’t!” she cried.

“They’re just shadows!” Wispy said. The shadowy mass was now a few feet from his face. “What harm can they possibly do?”

As if to answer his question, the glass casing of his flashlight burst, killing the light instantly. Startled, he let it drop to the floor right next to his EMF detector. Looking down, his eyes bulged at the numbers it was displaying.

“Let’s get outta here!”





They both swore the adrenaline literally rang in their ears while they ran outside. They never looked back, nor did they say a word to each other. They didn’t stop until they’d reached the front gate, whereupon they both used it for support while they waited to catch their breath.

“Are you alright?” Mizuko asked once they’d both calmed down.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wispy replied. He slammed a hoof against the ground. “But dammit! I was so close to getting my proof!” He slumped against the gate, falling to the pavement and burying his face in his hooves. “Hardback will never let me live this down, now...”

Mizuko stared at him, mulling over what he’d just said, before realization struck. “You wanted to prove it to your friends, didn’t you?” she asked with a sympathetic frown

Wispy nodded. “And my parents. To everyone I know, really, but they’ll think I’m a liar in addition to a fool if I tell them what happened here without proof,” he said, slumping a little more

Mizuko smiled. “I’ll vouch for you.”

Wispy lifted his gaze to her, eyes wide with surprise. “Y-you would?” he stuttered.

“I promise to.” She reached down and helped him to his hooves. “It's the truth, after all.”

Wispy was dumbfounded. This mare hadn't known him for more than a couple hours, yet she was willing to testify on his behalf about what just happened? “I-I… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” After giving the manor one last, worrying glance, she gestured to the gate. “We’d better tell the city council about all this.”

Nodding, Wispy moved to open the gate, but paused as a thought occurred to him. “I never did give you my name, did I?”

Mizuko looked aside in thought for a moment. “... No, you didn’t, actually.”

Wispy laughed, and extended a hoof. “Wispy Willow; 'Wisp' to my friends.”

Mizuko accepted his hoof after a moment’s hesitation, shaking it with no vigor while her face split into a shy smile. “Erm, nice to meet you, Wispy.”

He smiled. “Please… call me Wisp.”









Wooden Wails - by Wispy Willow's Author

Manehattan. The largest modern city in all Equestria.
Canterlot may have been the crown jewel of the nation, and Las Pegasus the entertainment capital, but nowhere compared to the city’s towering skyscrapers and urbanity. Though ponykind celebrated harmony with nature, and its cities reflected that, here was their focus on the artificial.
However, what many ponies who had never visited the city didn’t know was that, once you left the city’s edge, the surrounding countryside was as verdant and beautiful as any other. Scattered farms fed the city, and the coast supported various trades. One of these was a tradition of pearl diving.
Manehattan pearls were known for their fine luster and blue tinge, and a great many pearl divers operated along the coast as a result. It was a competitive business, but with the developed market in the city, one could make a living with a little hard work.
One pony, however, suspected she could take an easier route.
Since coming here, Mizuko hadn’t had the best time. Yes, it was interesting, but the layout was confusing, the atmosphere stifling, and the ponies! So many ponies, everywhere, crowding and pushing… She’d come here on vacation, with plans to spend most of her time diving for pearls in between seeing the sights. Though the dives she’d taken so far had been relaxing and successful, it wasn’t enough to make staying here worth it.
Which is why she had a new plan.
Though the Manehattan coasts had lived up to their reputation in the quality of their pearls, there were still too many other divers for Mizuko’s liking. So she’d bought a map of the local geography. And there, just as she’d hoped, was a river a little north of the city, dumping into the ocean. It was risky, but with how everypony focused on the coastal pearl beds, the river was possibly a goldmine of untapped potential. Not to mention she would  be alone.
So, she’d bought herself some supplies for a few days and a simple tent, wrapped the whole bundle on her back and headed north for the the river. She’d make her way inland, looking for freshwater pearls and enjoying the countryside. It was perfect.


All went according to plan for the first few days, and Mizuko sat next to her tent, enjoying breakfast. She looked to the two small satchels filled with pearls, most of impressive quality. This was definitely an untapped source, although the beds were scattered. But the walk along the river’s path was nice. She’d only come across the occasional fisher, which actually provided a pleasant little break from solitude, rather than an annoyance.
Everything considered, as she started the third day, Mizuko found herself in high spirits, pleased with the decision to leave the city.  It was for this reason that she dove again and again, walking down the coast until she found another promising spot, paying little heed to the passing hours or the greying skies. Her world was her own body and the waters of the river; the pressure and release of air in her lungs surrounded by the cool, secure envelope of safety.
Safety that was shattered with a massive crakOOm as the dark skies flashed and rumbled, snapping Mizuko’s attention from the water before her to the impending shower from above.
You idiot, you didn’t plan for this... She frowned, judging the storm would be too much for her little tent. You should’ve checked the forecast!
Worse was the fact she hadn’t seen any sign of habitation in a while. What was she going to do?
Quickly, she climbed up the bank, secured her bundle to her back and headed further up the river. She knew there wasn’t anything for some distance down it, so this was her best bet. And probably about ten minutes away she could see a small forest. If all else failed, that would provide some protection.
Moving at a quick trot, she kept one eye on the woods and the other on the sky. A cool wind had picked up, and she caught a whiff of rain on it. It wouldn’t be long before it started pouring. And with increasing frequency, the flash of lightning made her flinch with every strike.
As she felt the first drops of rain hit her, Mizuko passed the first trees. She wasn’t sure how far they went, or if anypony lived nearby. It seemed unlikely, and the drops were increasing in frequency.
She’d decided to find a particularly thick copse to take shelter under when she saw something unexpected. There, straddling the river amongst the woods, was a huge wooden building. Based upon the broken windows and thick foliage growing up its walls, it was long since abandoned. It was a miracle.
Although it doesn’t look very safe… She did worry about just how safe the place was—
A particularly close bolt of lightning was followed by a terrifying BOOM, causing Mizuko to leap into the air and decide to risk it. She shot forward, struggling to find the door under the thick creepers. Running a hoof along the side, she circled the building as the rain started coming down, hard. Her coat and mane soaked through, chilling her.
At last her hoof hit a bump, and she tore away the creepers to find a door. Praying it wasn’t locked, she twisted the knob and slipped inside, slamming it behind her. She leaned against the door, breathing heavy and dripping, until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The room was large, rectangular. Across from her were stacks of cut lumber. Combined with the fact that it was built over the river and within the surrounding woods, she guessed this was an old lumber mill. Saws and planers lay strewn about, which she found odd. It was like the place had just suddenly been abandoned.
Ignoring that thought, she attempted to wring out her mane, then headed deeper inside. The next room she entered was even larger, and seemed to be two floors. The river cut through it, with a massive saw hanging above it. It disturbed her, so she kept looking for a better spot. She passed through another doorway and set her bundle down. Outside the storm raged, but this must’ve been close to the building’s center, as the pounding wind and rain were faint background noise. She could stay the night here, she decided.
She undid her bundle and ate a little supper. Then she wrapped the bundle around her tightly and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll go back to the city and then home. I have definitely been away too long.
Sleep found her quickly.


Wispy Willow clutched his camera tightly, anticipation making the hairs on his neck stand on end. He’d gone through so much to get to this point. He’d traversed the most dangerous terrain, his goal the most haunted castle in the nation. And here he was, at the highest room, in the tallest tower.
Down below were the remains of traps he’d trashed, monsters he’d mashed, and dangers he’d destroyed. If he went home now, he’d have a story to tell, likely bringing him fame and fortune.
But none of that mattered. It wasn’t what he’d come for, and he didn’t plan on leaving until his true goal was accomplished.
As he shouldered open the massive doors and entered the king’s chamber, his eyes scanned right and left. The room was empty, the tattered remains of a red carpet leading up to two ornate thrones. It was just as the books he’d studied had said. Now he hoped what they said about its previous owner was just as true.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Wisp could feel the castle shake, a result of its age and treacherous construction. In all honesty, the smart thing to do would be to throw down his camera and leave. It’s what his parents would tell him to do; what his ex-coworkers would tell him to do; what all those naysayers would tell him to do.
“But it’s never what Wispy Willow would do,” he said confidently, stepping into the middle of the room. “Now show yourself, Phantom King! Give me my proof!”
A raspy laugh responded, but he saw nothing. Camera ready, he circled, determined to not miss the shot. The air chilled, and he could see his breath. The ghost was manifesting… This was the most important moment and the most dangerous. Based upon the records, Wispy hadn’t been able to determine what type of ghost the king was.
A loud thump from behind made him spin, clicking his camera as fast as he could. He rushed over to a ratty curtain, still swinging where it had been disturbed. He pulled it aside, revealing a dirty window but little else. Again the laugh filled the room, taunting and irritating Wisp.
Patience, he told himself. Remember what’s at stake. This is who you are. What you do.
Ignoring the curtain, Wispy headed towards the far end of the room, suspecting the throne would be his best bet. It wasn’t much to look at, but he suspected that in its heydey the silver fixtures shone brilliantly against the soft purple cushioning, now nearly black and clearly moth-eaten.
As Wispy approached, he noticed it was growing colder and colder. And, though it could’ve been a trick of the light, his imaginings of the throne in the past seemed to be coming true. Colour was restored, and intricate wooden carvings seem to grow from their rotted present.
This is it! This is it this is it this is it!
With mounting excitement, Wispy framed the throne in his sights perfectly, just waiting for the ghost to fully manifest. Whatever happened afterwards, he would have his proof. His entire life would be vindicated. Finally.
There! That faint outline… But he paused. Something told him to wait for the full manifestation. Any sooner and he would miss his chance, forever.
Slowly, the outline began glowing a brighter, eerie blue. Just a few more seconds and he would go down in history as the first pony to capture irrefutable evidence of spiritual activity!
Kracka-BOOM!
Wispy awoke with a start, the terribly close lightning strike and its following thunder waking him. He let out a sigh as he got to his hooves. He’d had that dream for as long as he could remember. And it ended in the same place, every time.
Another flash of lightning explained what had woken him. It was storming, well, up a storm outside. He chuckled at his joke, then looked around. He saw a few tables, rusty tools and half-worked wood scattered on them.
Then it hit him.
“Oh no!” he cried. “I fell asleep!” He started fidgeting, striding back and forth, mentally beating himself up. What had he missed while he slept? There had probably been all sorts of activity, and he’d just been dreaming away, like an idiot.
After his last failure at the asylum, Wispy had decided he wasn’t ready to go to some of the more exotic places on his list. Staying within a couple days travel from Manehattan seemed safest, at least for now. He’d just have to be careful, in case of crazed, escapee unicorns…
I wonder what time it is, he thought, scratching at his back leg. He itched all over, likely from the sawdust he’d fallen asleep in. He had underestimated just how rundown the place was. But that was all the more promising. The place looked haunted, and had quite a history, so surely it was. Even though he hadn’t seen anything so far.
He decided it was nearly night and thus showtime. “First step, check the equipment,” he reminded himself as he toured the building. He’d replaced the recorder he’d lost and had all three scattered. They were still running, though he’d need to put in a new tape soon.
Everything was exactly as he left it.
Except for a strange, white shape in a small room towards the center of the mill.
He saw it from the next room and almost continued on, but, though there were some tarps and sheets in the place, they were all full of holes. This one seemed new.
It couldn’t be this easy?...could it?
He readied his camera and snuck as quietly as possible towards it. It was just a pile of white, but he could see it slowly moving.
Well, it made sense, didn’t it? Why did foals use a sheet to dress as a ghost if somepony hadn’t seen one like that before?
So he lined up the shot and decided surprise was his best move. His hoof ready to press the button, he gave a loud, wordless cry.
The shape rose up with a terrified wail and took off, running into a nearby wall. Meanwhile, Wispy’s camera was snapping like crazy as he got almost every second on film.
The shape kept moving, wailing and screaming. And that was when the sheet caught a loose nail and was pulled off, revealing the terrified pony below it.
Almost immediately, Wisp stopped taking pictures, staring and not believing his eyes. Finally, his rage overcame his disbelief and he threw his camera down, or rather he tried as it was still on the strap around his neck. He cried, “Not again!”
The sound of his voice stopped Mizuko in her tracks as she turned to stare fearfully at him. Her eyes were wide, but she was still half-asleep. When the earth pony came into focus, she screamed again, shouting, “Get away from me!” With that, she ran past him, headed for the outside door.
“Wait!” he cried, chasing after her. They ran through a pair of rooms, heading towards the exit, but he finally managed to pass her and get in her way, saying, “Stop, I’m not going to hurt you!”
“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked quickly, tiredly.
Slowly, he replied, “My name is Wispy, but most ponies call me Wisp. I’m a ghost hunter and I’m here to find the spirits of the loggers who disappeared here.”
“Spirits?” she asked, confused.
“Yes, their ghosts.”
“That’s…” Finally her heart slowed and her mind started catching up. She had heard about this. Ponies from her home nation of Neighpon--a culture filled with ghost stories and hauntings--would often try and prove the truth of the legends. She’d never heard of an Equestrian pony doing something like that. Then something strange caught her eyes. “You mean ghosts, like, strange lights and stuff?”
“Yeah!” he replied with a smile. “But I’m after a fully materialized ghost, which would look a lot like an actual pony.”
“No, I mean, j-just look!” she cried, pointing behind him.
Wisp turned and froze. Outside, faintly leaking through the cracked wooden walls, was a sickly green glow. As they watched, the glow spread to their right and left and seemed to gently pulse.
“Does that correspond to any ghosts in your research?” Mizuko hissed at Wispy.
“Green glows, yeah,” he replied in a whisper, “but nothing specifically like this.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We go outside and take a look!” And with that, he headed over to the door, bringing his camera up as he gripped the doorknob.
“No!’ cried Mizuko. “Wait!”
But it was too late, Wispy had already opened the door and brought up his camera with a bright flash as he snapped a half dozen quick pictures. “Hah! Gotcha!”
“Wisp, that’s not a ghost,” breathed Mizuko, terror clear in her voice.
He turned, cocking an eyebrow. “Huh?” She pointed back with a hoof, and he turned. The green glow was emanating from two angled points, shining bright and menacing. Then the sky lit up as lightning fell and it illuminated the creature on the other side of the doorway.
It was a timberwolf.
“Oh. ...Mizuko?” he asked slowly.
“Yes?”
“Run!”
With that, he slammed the door just as the predator leapt for his throat. It hit the door, and Wispy could hear the clinking of wood as it broke to pieces. But the door burst open as three more timberwolves chased in. Both Wispy and Mizuko were already running to the other room, looking for anywhere to get away.
The timberwolves let out a bloodcurdling howl, which was drowned by the clap of thunder as the storm outside continued.
They ran into the much larger lumber storage room. With quick, graceful steps, Mizuko shot up the mismatched stack like a peculiar staircase, Wispy hot on her hooves, though not nearly as dextrously. With a curse, he stepped on a board awkwardly, pushing it back and away as it tumbled, knocking other boards down with it.
This worked to their advantage, however, as now they were on a pile of lumber and had knocked the way up down. The timberwolves--with their reformed fourth--rushed into the room and launched themselves at the pile, their jaws snapping.
Both ponies were breathing heavy, not from the exertion, but sheer terror. With sudden clarity, Mizuko looked at Wispy and snapped, “You just had to open the door?!”
“Well, sorry! I thought they were ghosts!”
“Oooooh, no, no, no. We’re going to die, alone, in the middle of nowhere!” she wailed, covering her eyes and trying to imagine a happier place.
“We’re not going to die,” Wispy said. “They’ll get bored and leave us alone, don’t you worry.”
“And how long will that take?”
“...I don’t know,” he replied, haltingly.
“Well that’s helpful!” she snapped again, so he snapped back with, “I don’t see you coming up with anything to get us out of here!”
“Let me think,” she said, wracking her brain for anything they might do to save themselves. Oddly, her mind turned to the giant saw over the river she had seen earlier. A desperate plan ran through her mind. She asked, “Can you distract them somehow?”
Wispy thought for a moment, then lifted up his camera. “Do you think an overpowered flash might help?”
“Worth a shot.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked, confused.
“Just flash them and then follow me when I run!”
“OK…” he said and then started the camera’s flash to charge. When it gave a satisfying hum, he pointed it at the snarling wolves, shouting, “Say cheese!”
The flash went off, and it was blindingly bright. The timberwolves howled in pain and hid their eyes as Mizuko cried, “Jump and run!”
She jumped, Wispy right behind her, and landed on the ground, scrambling for the main mill. Once there, she waited and turned. It took a moment, but the timberwolves got to their feet and, with an angry bark, started chasing them again.
“Up the stairs!” she cried and then followed her own order, not noticing if Wisp was following.
The sound of hooves clattering on wood echoed, then the sound of scratching wood on wood as the wolves were right on their tails. The stairs went up along the wall. It circled the room fully, then turned towards the middle of the room, right over the saw.
Mizuko stopped and was glad to see Wispy next to her, at the end of the walkway. She looked down at the dark water below, such a tiny target...
“We’re trapped again!” he cried in a mix of fear and anger. 
“No, wait for it! And when I give the order, jump!”
“Jump?! Are you crazy?”
“Trust me!” She turned back and barely had time to yell, “Jump!”
Both ponies leapt, heading down towards the water below, just ahead of the timberwolves, who yelped at the sudden drop and barely skidded to a stop.
They looked down just in time to see a pair of splashes and gave out barks and howls of frustration.


Half a mile downstream from the mill, two waterlogged ponies climbed up on the bank, Mizuko helping the struggling Wispy. They collapsed on the muddy ground, thankful that the storm seemed to be breaking up above.
Turning to her back, Mizuko started laughing, the rush of being alive and safe giving her a sense of euphoria.
Wispy turned to her, shook his head, and mumbled, “Why do I keep running into crazy ponies?!”
	
> Lilligold vs. Price Back - Winner: Lilligold (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Intraview - by Lilligold's Author

Price Back rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. “You want me to write about plants,” he said.

“These aren’t just any old plants, Price,” Written Word—his editor—said. “You’ve never seen anything like them! Hardly anyone in Equestria has! That’s the point.”

“How did you even wind up seeing them?”

“My sister’s wedding.” Written Word rifled through a stack of paperwork. She pulled out a manila envelope and levitated a few photos from it. “She commissioned a bunch of things from Glimmering Gardens after her work trip to Elmshire. Cost her a brass bit, but…” She finished with a low whistle.

Price spread the photos over the desk. The floral arrangements looked like they’d been plucked straight from a child’s imagination. He glanced over a few of the more eye-catching pieces—translucent flowers of some description, floating white gourds with flames tipping their stems, and an entire tree of cherry blossoms glowing every colour of the rainbow.

“They’re pretty,” Price said, “you got me there, Writ. But enchanted plants are still just plants! I already did that exposé on the Tree of Harmony a few weeks back. Next to that, who’s gonna care about some roses made of glass? It’s a neat gimmick, sure, but a whole piece?” He shook his head. “I can’t spin that.”

“They’re not made of glass,” Writ said as she straightened her papers. “They’re made of water.”

Despite himself, Price raised an eyebrow. “How does that even work?”

Writ shrugged. “You have to see it.”

Price waved a hoof as if brushing the topic away. “That’s besides the point. There’s no story here, Writ. What am I supposed to do? Just describe a bunch of plants and write about how gorgeous they are? That’s a catalogue, not a story.”

Looking over her glasses, Writ cupped her hooves together and said, “Look, Price, I can’t make you write anything. But I’ve been mailing back and forth with the shop owner, and she’s more than thrilled about us showcasing her store. I don’t wanna disappoint her. The Grazette’s already arranged for you to head down to Elmshire next week anyway. All expenses paid.”

“Whole lotta not-my-problem,” Price said.

Written stayed him with a hoof. “Let me finish. I think you should at least go to Elmshire. Even if the story doesn’t pan out, it’s a big, foreign city! And it’s a cultural goldmine to boot.” She slid a tourist brochure across the desk. “The astral art gallery, Swan Song’s Amphitheater, the Duchess’s Archives. You’re bound to find something worth writing about. Just try Glimmering Gardens first—that’s all I’m asking.”

She levitated an envelope over to Price. It had PB Travel Info scrawled on the front. “Call it a favour to me, if nothing else” she said.

The envelope hung in the air between them. Price looked past it at Written Word’s gentle smirk. He sighed and swiped up the envelope. “You drive a hard bargain, Writ.”


***


One week and one eighteen-hour train ride later, followed by far too little sleep—hotel sleep at that—Price Back wanted nothing more than to hole up in his room and lose himself in a book for the day. Elmshire could wait. But he’d made a promise, and he was rarely one to go back on his word. So just before noon, Price donned his hat and saddlebags and set out into the maze of a city.

It took longer than he’d hoped, and he passed many notable landmarks he reminded himself to visit once this story fell through, but Price eventually found himself looking up at the Glimmering Gardens storefront. The windows revealed little—the glass was tinted. And the letters of the shop’s name were stylized to look like flowering vines. It reminded Price of some cheezy flower shop in a fairy tale picture book.

He sighed through his nose. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled. He pushed the door open.

A bell jingled above Price’s head—and promptly fell from its perch and slapped him in the muzzle. It clattered like brass but had none of the impact; it felt more like a tulip head. Price watched it slip from his face and fall limply to the floor.

“Oh, so sorry!” called the mare behind the counter. She rushed forward and took the bell in her magic, silencing it. “Seems to be time for a new one of these.” She chuckled uneasily.

Price watched the bell crumple in on itself. “Was that a plant?” he asked.

The mare nodded. “Brass bellbottom. My very own design.” She placed the flower on her desk and levitated over an identical one from amid the gardens dotting the store. It snaked its way into the pot cemented above the door.

Price tapped his muzzle, where a real bell surely would’ve left a nasty bruise. He smirked. “Heh, clever. Suppose I should count myself lucky.” He extended a hoof. “Price Back with the Equestrian Grazette. You must be Lilligold.”

Lilligold smiled and lightly took his hoof. “Pleased to meet you. I must say, I am rather looking forward to this! I’ve heard nothing but great things from your editor. I’m so glad you’ve taken an interest in my little shop.”

Price forced his best smile. “The pleasure’s all mine! The Grazette’s real interested in showcasing this place. I hope we can make a great story here.” He glanced around the store. Fragrance and colour and motion and shine overwhelmed his senses wherever he looked, like he were lost inside a botanical puzzle box. He turned to Lilligold and said, “Well, might as well get to it! Why don’t we start with a tour of the place? Give me the lay of the land, y’know?”

For a moment, Lilligold just looked at him. She blinked into action quick enough. “Yes! Yes, of course. Erm… where shall we begin?” She looked this way and that, seeming greatly overwhelmed herself.

The silence dragged on. As it trickled into graveyard stillness, Price cleared his throat and said, “How about you start by just describing a specific plant or two?” He pointed to a display at random. “These ones here, for instance.”

Lilligold smiled. She stepped up to the display and said, “Ah, yes! This one is my seasonal garden. You can perhaps see why it’s named as such.” She waved a hoof over it and looked hopefully at Price.

He looked the garden over. It housed five miniature trees: a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, a palm tree complete with tiny coconuts, a maple tree with flaming autumnal leaves, and a snowcapped evergreen. The fifth tree was a standard oak that cycled between all four of its seasonal patterns in a matter of seconds. “Pretty neat,” Price said. “How’d you make these?”

“I combined the five kinds of trees with standard pegasus magic, some rather tricky time dilation spells, and the strunkus charm. The minutiae are rather complex, so I’ll spare you the boredom.” Lilligold grinned—it looked out of place on her soft features. “Essentially, it’s magic!” 

“Huh. Fascinating.” Price took out his notepad and jotted something down. He looked around and spotted a daffodil spouting water like a sprinkler. “How about this one?”

Much of the next hour proceeded in the same way. Lilligold remained animated and excited as she described her many creations, the glimmer never leaving her eyes. Her enthusiasm failed to be contagious, though, as Price’s interest quickly dwindled. Every plant was interesting and unique in its own right, but the details behind them remained much the same—Lilligold could only use so many descriptors to describe another zany flower or glitzy weed. Each minute grated on Price Back further, and he could feel his patience reaching its limit. Over an hour in and he had little more than a page of notes in his notepad.

“This one was one of my very first creations,” Lilligold said, gesturing to a vine growing from a pot of sand. It curved in random directions as it slithered around like an entranced cobra. “I call it the sandsnare.”

“Right,” Price said. “And what does this one do, besides move?”

Lilligold giggled gently. “See for yourself.” 

Her magic flared, and the vine curled in on itself and moved towards Price. He stood stock still as the vine brushed past his shoulder. It coiled behind his neck, snaked through his mane, and wrapped itself around his ear. “Uh, Lilligold?” Price said. “Is this supposed to—”

The vine froze in its tracks. It glowed snow white and suddenly turned into sand. A track of sand tumbled to the floor around Price Back, and some of it caught in his hair. An ethereal breeze picked up and carried the sand back to its pot, flowing like water to a drain. Once it had recollected, a new vine sprouted and began its random course.

“It’s popular at tropical-themed parties,” Lilligold said, beaming.

Price blinked. The phantom feeling of sand in his mane lingered—and a question struck him like lightning. “How do you think these things up, Lilligold?”

Lilligold’s smile faltered. She blanched and said, “Euhm… What do you mean?”

An intense spark lit in Price’s eyes. He grabbed his notepad and said, “I mean, like, what’s the thought process that goes into making something like the sandsnare? The inspiration for it? That’s something readers would want to know. The method behind the madness.”

“Oh, um…” Lilligold averted her eyes. Her voice came out soft and shaky—a far cry from the proud one she’d been using. “I’m… not so sure about that. Surely we should keep the focus on the plants themselves, not on me.”

If one were quiet enough, they could’ve heard the gears at work inside Price Back’s head. “No, no, I think that’s exactly where the focus should be.” He grinned broadly and bonked himself on the head. “Of course! I’ve been looking at this all wrong! Look, I can’t make a story about your plants on their own—there’s just not enough substance. But there’s something they all have in common. A side that nopony knows. And that’s you, Lilligold! That’s where our story is.”

Lilligold withered. “N-Not enough substance?” she said. “But… But all of your notes…”

Price dropped his notepad to the floor and stomped on it. “I’ll be frank with you, Lilligold. Your plants are all beautiful and magical and yadda yadda, but there’s nothing more to them than that. You already summarized my notes in just three words: ‘Essentially, it’s magic!’ That story’s a flop, but your story is one I wanna tell.”

“Well… but… I don’t want to tell it.”

The hope in Price’s eyes crumbled away. “Say what?”

Lilligold hid further behind her mane, looking anywhere but at Price. “I… This was meant to be a showcase of my store, not of myself. I’m not at all comfortable with that idea.”

Price grimaced. A familiar fire smoldered in his gut. “Why not?” he pressed. “This is a good idea!”

Lilligold shook her head. “I’m just… uncomfortable with it. It’s far too personal. Can we please go back to the plants?” Her eyes darted sideways and landed on a spherical cactus. It flashed vibrant colours like a neon sign. “L-Like this one!” Lilligold said. “I call it—”

Price groaned. “I don’t care!” The fire in his gut went wild, burning all the way up to his tongue. “I already told you there’s no story there! And then the one actually salvageable story I find in all of this, you shoot down! I’m fed up!”

Recoiling as far as she could, Lilligold said, “I… I don’t understand, Mister Price Back. Written Word assured me you could do my store justice.”

Price’s glare hardened. All of his teeth showed as he spat out his words. “Writ wanted me to do this story because it’s one she wanted to see. I didn’t want to do it because I knew this is exactly how it would go! It’s a gimmick! Nothing more! The best damn writer in the world couldn’t spin a story from it!”

Tears wetted Lilligold’s eyes. She blinked quickly and said, “P-Ponies tend to love my plants. I-I thought—”

“You thought wrong!” Price barked. “I knew this was a waste of time right from the start. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt—the chance to prove me wrong. But no! You and your stupid plants have no hook! No intrigue! No point! All this time spent listening to you ramble on, and for what?! Nothing!” He lashed out his hoof on impulse. It struck the nearby cactus, sending a thousand tiny pains up his leg. He roared and grasped his hoof.

There was a tiny gasp. Lilligold shoved her way past Price Back and scrambled towards her cactus—which had fallen from its table. Its pot was smashed, and the light within it strobed frantically before fizzling out entirely. Lilligold lifted it in her silver aura and slowly rotated it through the air. She placed it on the table and bowed her head.

As his tirading tongue cooled, Price Back watched. He looked from his hoof—where the pain was rapidly subsiding—to the ruined cactus, and to Lilligold’s broken expression. He blinked. “Lilligold, I—”

“Now see here, Price Back!” Lilligold rasped. She glared daggers at him through teary lenses, making Price stumble back. She advanced on him and said, “I invited you here today because I assumed this would be a wonderful opportunity for both my shop and your magazine. I absolutely did not invite you to storm in, verbally assault me, slander my plants, and outright destroy my work!” Her voice cracked on this last. “If you didn’t believe there was a story to be had here, you should have spared us both the trouble and never have come in the first place!”

Price’s mouth worked wordlessly. “I didn’t—”

“I am not done!” Lilligold wiped an eye and continued, “Now I may not be the most confident pony in the world, but I have enough pride in my work to know that I don’t deserve to be treated this way. So I’ll choose to forget that you’ve just ruined my most difficult project to date and ask you this once politely: please take yourself and your savage demeanor and leave my store.” She whipped a hoof at the door and stood firm.

For his part, Price stood there dumbly and stared at her. He blinked once, then again, then broke into a broad smirk. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

The rigidity bled from Lilligold’s stance. “Er… I don’t follow.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Out!”

“No, no, Lilligold. Listen. I’ll leave without another word if you just hear me out on this.”

It took her a moment’s thought, but Lilligold lowered her hoof. She sighed and said, “I’m listening.”

Price grinned. “Thanks. Now, you probably could’ve guessed, but that’s not exactly the first time I’ve gone off on somepony for wasting my time. But you, Lilligold. You’re one of the only ones who’s ever fought back like that. That’s why I’m saying you should be the focus of this story—not your plants.”

Lilligold quirked an eyebrow.

“I mean, look at this place!” Price swept a hoof over the storybook jungle of a store. “It speaks for itself. You’re talented, obviously have one heck of an imagination, and if that little speech didn’t speak to how passionate you are about this, I don’t know what would. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable sharing that—hay, you should be proud! And you said it yourself: ponies love your plants! If that’s true, why wouldn’t they love you too?”

He set a hoof on her shoulder. “That’s why I want to write about you. To give ponies a different side of the story. The best side. Your side.”

Lilligold pursed her lips. She looked away and said, in a much quieter tone, “Are you done?”

Price’s smile faded. “Uh, yeah,” he said, lowering his hoof.

“Well, none of those words sounded quite like an apology, so I must ask again that you leave my shop.” Lilligold nodded and whispered, “Good day, Price Back.” Lifting the broken cactus in her magic, she strode past Price and behind her counter. She set the plant in front of herself, sat down, and frowned.

For a moment, Price didn’t move. As the silence stretched on, he clumsily put away his notepad. A pile of business cards sat buried in his saddlebag. On a whim, he pulled one out and placed it on Lilligold’s desk. “My address,” he said, “in case you ever change your mind.”

“I’m quite sure I won’t need it,” Lilligold said. She never looked away from the cactus. “Thank you anyway. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Elmshire.”

Price nodded. He turned to leave but caught himself just shy. “Sorry about the cactus, by the way.” Lilligold bit her lip, but she said nothing. Price left the store without another word, the brass bellbottom singing him goodbye.

Back on the street, Price adjusted his hat and sighed. He considered the laundry list of other places he could search for a story in Elmshire. Certainly he could make something great out of one of the many tourist attractions—probably better than Lilligold’s story would’ve been. And without the drama.

Instead, he started back towards his hotel. He needed to pack.


***


Several weeks passed, and Lilligold’s life returned to its beaten track. Just her and her plants and the occasional customer who paid her little mind so long as she delivered. Exactly how she liked it—alone and unnoticed.

Sitting at her counter, Lilligold absently watered a desktop pitcher plant while looking over an order form. The pitcher plant giggled, and Lilligold couldn’t help but smile. She sighed airily and opened one of her drawers. She slid the form over and filed it away.

Deep in the crevice between paper and wood, something caught Lilligold’s eye. She levitated the object out—a tiny rectangle of cardstock with a Canterlot address printed on its face. Lilligold’s heart missed a beat. She set the card down and looked her store over.

She was alone with her plants—all of which she loved like children. All of which had some story or another behind their inception. All of which only she knew—her customers only saw novel decorations. Just how she liked it.

Lilligold frowned. She looked down at the business card again. Opening a different drawer, she stowed it carefully with her own business cards, where it wouldn’t be lost. She closed and locked the drawer.

Today wasn’t the day, but perhaps she’d want her story told another day.









Self-Respect - by Price Back's Author

The reception dinner was in full swing now. All over the hall, ponies chatted and munched on the various snacks provided. The Cantertucky Cadbury cake seemed to be of particular interest, with guests lining up by the dozens just to get even the tiniest sliver of the delicacy. Those who were not preoccupied with discussion or desserts made their way over to the newlyweds’ table, congratulating them on their betrothal. 

However, away from the hustle and bustle, there stood a lone mare in the corner. Her fur was as pink as bubblegum, contrasting greatly with the bland grey wall she leaned on. Her mane, perfectly prim and brushed for the occasion, hung softly from her head and neck. A small green barrette held her mane together, creating a sort of ponytail. The hair ornament stood out greatly in her mane, which was stuck in a color between shimmering silver and pure white. 

The mare carefully sipped her drink, careful to not spill it on her dress. The magenta gown had set her back 100 bits, after all. And while she was most certainly not a greedy pony, she certainly wasn’t one to toss her bits around willy nilly like some Canterlot snob. 

The mare looked around. All around her, a sea of red crashed about. Crimson ribbons hung across the ceiling, while wreaths of coral flowers adorned the windows. Ruby table sheets covered the tables and the stage lights shone a soft maroon. The guests themselves also seemed to have the scarlet fever, with their gowns and suits ranging from the light burgundy to the intensely garnet. 

“Think they have enough red?” a deep voice said playfully.

“Eep!” the mare squeaked, hopping in surprise. Moving quickly, she turned to face the voice. 

She immediately came face-to-face with a stallion. His coat was a very faint brown, and he wore a light rosy tuxedo over the upper half of his body. His hair was long and dark black, clashing with the tuxedo’s relatively lighter color. Along his flank, the mare could see that he had a distinctive (if not somewhat generic) cutie mark: A black pen dipping into an inkwell. 

But something else was there... 

Scars. Many scars. 

They were all very thin, but still noticeable to the naked eye. They were long and red, running up the length of the stallion’s back legs. They criss-crossed in places and formed odd patterns on the stallion’s hindquarters. The mare could not help but stare at them, a sense of unease suddenly being thrust upon her. They just looked so-  

“I’m sorry!” the stallion said, stifling a chuckle. “Did I scare you?” 

The mare drew a few tense breaths, then cracked a nervous smile. “No, oh no. You just surprised me.”

“Well, sorry about that,” he said, still suppressing an amused grin. “I didn’t think you would be that...er, surprised.” 

“It’s alright,” the mare replied. “I just didn’t see you standing there.”

“Well, now that you do, perhaps we should do some proper introductions.” He stuck out his hoof. “Price Back’s my name.” 

The mare stuck out her own hoof and took hold of his. 

“Lilligold.” 

“Lilligold, eh?” the stallion mused. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The mare bowed her head. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re very welcome,” Price replied. “So...you a friend of the bride’s?”

“Oh, no,” Lilligold quickly stammered. “I’m just the, urm...plant planner.”

“Plant planner? What’s that?”

“Well, I’m basically the one who, well...plans where to put the plants.” She motioned toward the various greenery (or ‘rederry’, as the case was here) strung about the room. 

“Ah. Did you, ah...grow the plants?”

“Oh yes!” Lilligold happily chirped. “It was a big order, but I pulled it off.” 

“Indeed,” Price remarked, staring around the hall at the various carefully place foliage. His head bobbed up and down in approval. “It all looks very...good.” 

“Mm-hmm,” Lilligold nodded, staring out at the plants as well. 

“Did the groom hire you?”

“No, it was a mare named Written Word.”

“Written Word?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of her?”

“Oh yes. Yes, I have.” 

For a few moments, the two continued to gaze out at the crowd. The guests continued to shuffle about, making chit chat about the various topics that came to mind. The cake was noticably smaller now, along with the line of well-doers at the married couple’s table.

“Erm…” Lilligold started. 

“Yes?” Price said. 

“I’m curious...why did you come over here?”

For a moment, Price seemed surprised at the question. But his eyes soon narrowed in understanding.

“Oh, I see. You wanted to be alone.” 

“Oh, no no! Well...actually yes...but I mean…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that came off rather rude.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse,” Price said with a smile.

“What I meant was: Did you come over here to talk, or were you just wandering about, or...what?” 

“I came over here to talk,” Price said, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Oh. Alright…”

“You looked like you were kind of lonely and just sort of hanging around, so… viola.” 

“Ah.” Lilligold returned her gaze back to the front of the room, where the bride and groom continued to receive commendations. 

“And don’t feel bad about wanting to be alone,” Price said as he leaned toward her. “I wanted to be alone, too. That’s why I was standing in the other corner.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Honestly, I only really came out of employee obligation. The groom up there owns the newspaper that I work for, so it sort of was expected that I-”   

“Price, you scoundrel!” a playful voice chimed. Lilligold and Price both turned their heads in time to see a white unicorn mare with a purple mane bounding toward them. A dark crimson dress lined her body, along with the extreme cherry-colored slippers she wore on her hooves. A few streaks of grey ran through her mane, but she could hardly be called old (‘middle-aged’ would likely be a more appropriate term). “Trying to seduce a poor mare for your own nefarious desires?”

Price rolled his eyes. “Hello, Writ…”

“Oh, hush up,” the mare ordered, reaching her hooves out to Lilligold. “And hello to you too, Lilligold.”

Lilligold took both of the mare’s hooves and smiled back at her. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Miss Written Word.” 

“Tsk, tsk,” Written Word said with a shake of the head. “Nopony is ‘Miss’ or ‘Mr’ or ‘Prince Lord Ultimate Baron’ at a party, Liligold. Just call me Writ like everypony else.” 

“Alright,” Lilligold nervously affirmed. 

“So, Price, I see you’ve met our plant planner for the evening. Think she did an adequate job?”

“Oh, it looks more than adequate, Writ. I’m no wedding planner, but I’d certainly say that this is fit for a wedding.” 
 
“That seems to be the general agreement. Worthy of an invitation to the event itself, no?” 

“Very much so.”

“Well, it’s what I’d expect from Hoofston’s best gardener.” She turned to Lilligold. “This ought to drum up business for you, huh?” 

Lilligold nodded. “Oh yes. But honestly, I really don’t need that much of an influx. Glimmering Gardens is doing fairly well as is.”

Writ shook her head. “Listen to her; so modest in her grand achievement. No wonder you’re trying to steal her away, Price,” she said with a wink. Lilligold blushed slightly, while Price just rolled his eyes again. 

“I’m not trying to steal her away. I’m just trying to create pleasant conversation.” 

“That’s what they all say,” Writ said, winking towards Lilligold, who couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Hoo, boy,” Price sighed. 

“But don’t worry, Lilligold,” Writ began. “If you two seem to go beyond ‘pleasent conversation’, you can rest easy knowing you’ve got yourself a white knight.”

“Oh Celestia, Writ! Will you stop?!”

“No no no, listen! He got into a fight last week over some wannabe writer calling me names! Darn near broke his hoof for the trouble!” She pointed down to his right hoof, where small tints of black and blue lined the edges where the hoof and leg met. 

“Oh my goddess…” Price mumbled, attempting to hide his right hoof. 

“Such tenacity for a nomadic reporter! I tell you, if I was younger and not his boss, I’d have leaped into his arms a week ago and let him carry me off into the sunset.” Lilligold’s giggles reached fever pitch, while Price’s annoyed grunts died away into modest groans. 

“Wait,” Lilligold gasped between her giggles. “You’re his boss?”

“Sure am! I’ve been his editor for the past 5 years. Made sure he doesn’t ever give the Grazette a boring story. And I’ll tell you, his little scuffle in Saddlina was certainly not a bore.”

“Knock it off, Writ!” Price said angrily. “You’re over exaggerating it!” 

“Look at him,” Writ gaped. “Modest as well! I’m surrounded by the morally uncorrupt!” She shook her head and started walking towards the stage. “I’ll talk to you two later. I’ve got to go find some ponies that’ll stop being a bunch of Boy Scouts!” 

“You do that,” Price replied irritably. 

Lilligold looked at Price worriedly. “Price? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Lilligold. Just...not in the mood for Writ’s jests tonight.” 

“Oh.” She paused. “It’s about that fight, isn’t it?” 

Price sighed. “It’s not the noble act Writ was saying it was, Lilligold. That pony was calling her names, yeah, but in the end, I just got really angry and punched him. Simple as that.”  

“Oh,” Lilligold quietly said. 

“I pride myself on being a lot of things, Lilligold. Being thin-skinned is not one of them. Hell, I’m lucky I wasn’t arrested.” 

“...Well, I still think it is kind of noble.” 

Price looked back at her, an annoyed expression on his face. “You going to call me a knight as well?” 

“No,” Lilligold laughed. “But I think I will call you very considerate.” 

“Coming from ‘Hoofston’s best gardener’, I’ll take that as a compliment. Speaking of which… we’ve been talking a lot about me; what about you, Lilligold?”

“Me? Oh, well, I’m just a gardener.”

Price shook his head. “Writ was right; you are modest. Really, what is it that makes you who you are?” 

“Well...gardening!” 

“Other than that!” he moaned exasperatedly. 

“I’m sorry!” she laughed. “But I really am focused on gardening and gardening only!” 

“I’m focused on writing; that doesn’t mean I base my entire personality off it!” 

“Well...here, c’mon!”

“What?”

“C’mon! I need to show you something!” She took off towards the other side of the hall. She winded through the various guests, letting out a flurry of ‘excuse mes’ and ‘pardon mes’. Eventually, she led him to the other side of the room, where a lone table stood near the wall. On it, a small plant rested. 

“Here, take a look,” Lilligold beamed as she pointed toward the plant. “A purewater lilly. Created yesterday, by yours truly, for this very occasion!” 

Price leaned in to inspect the flower, and an audible gasp escaped his lips. 

“It’s made of water! And...and the water’s moving!” he exclaimed. 

“Yes, it is,” Lilligold said, her smile growing wider as she saw his astonishment. “Purewater lillies aren’t just made of water...they flow like water too!” 

Price couldn’t help but shake his head. “Incredible…” He turned back to Lilligold. “Honestly, this is really something. Deserves to be in the papers.”

“Oh, it was a few years back. Back when I made my first few as a young child.”

“And they were this good?”

“Hah! Heavens no. They all dissolved after a few days when the enchantment wore off. This one is a more perfected specimen, which will last as long as it is watered every day.”

Price looked back at the plant, his eyes still enamored with the sparkling lilly. It continued to move and shimmer, all while still keeping the basic shape of a flower. The red colors around the room passed through the water. The mixture of reds looked akin to a kaleidoscope; they molded and fleshed together at some points while completely separating at others. 

There was only one word for it.

“Amazing,” he uttered. “Just amazing.” 

“This is why I’m a gardener. This right here gave me my cutie mark and my sole focus in life.” 

“I can see why. I wouldn’t want to do anything else if I could create such beauty.” 

Lilligold patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you write just as wonderfully as I grow plants.” 

“Heh. You’re doing yourself a disservice. I write about current events or silly fantasies. There’s no beauty to those-”

“Nonsense! Surely you’ve written something grand before…”

“Lilligold, thank you for your praises, but-”

“Price.” Lilligold grabbed his head and forced his attention away from the plant back to her. “Stop it.”

“What are you-”

“Price, listen. You may have more of a talent with words, but I've got to tell you something.” She sighed softly, then straightened herself. “You’ve been taught throughout your life to be humble and unselfish. And while those are very important things, where I grew up, I was taught that there was one other thing more important than those. Do you know what that was?”

Price shook his head. 

“Self-respect. It is not a selfish or evil kind of love, but a basic love; a love that lets a pony live with himself each day. It is a love that allows a pony to love others. After all, how can a pony love and cherish others if he can not bring himself to love himself?”

“I don’t know who you are outside of this party, Price. I’m not sure what you’ve done or what you’ve said. Who you hurt or loved or...whatever it is that reporters do when they write about things. But for now, I believe you to be a good pony. It may not be entirely true, but I believe it. Writ believes it, and she knows you far better than I do. 

“Now, you need to believe it yourself. Because frankly, I can’t stand seeing a pony hate himself for everything he does, even if what he does is right.”  

She stopped and took a deep breath, closing her eyes as the air rushed into her lungs. Price stood motionless, his head still firmly in her hooves. His mouth hung open slightly, astonishment plastered on his face. 

“Wow,” he said as Lilligold opened her eyes. “You sure your special talent isn’t in motivational speaking?” 

“That depends,” she said with a smile. “You feeling very motivated?” 

“I’m not sure...I’m still trying to process that, for the first time tonight, you spoke more than 10 words in a single sentence.”

She quickly brought her hooves to her mouth, desperate to muffle her laughter. 

Price grinned back. “Well, if I’m not a good pony, I’m at least a funny one.” He stood up straight, looking her straight in the eyes. “But seriously, Lilligold...Wow. That...that was way deeper than I thought it would be…”

Lilligold reached out and put her hoof on his. “Don’t worry. A lot of us ponies can think we’re undeserving of recognition. It’s normal. I just...just don’t want you to leave tonight hating yourself because I made you feel bad or inferior.”

“Oh, trust me, you wouldn’t be the reason I’d hate myself. But thanks regardless.” 

Lilligold smiled. “Well, that’s what friends are for, right?” 

Price stared at her a moment. “Is that what we are now? Friends?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Hmm...Yes, I don’t see why not, either.” He returned his gaze back to her. “So, Lilligold, my friend, would you like another drink?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But only if you call me Lilly from now on.” 

“Alright...Lilly.” 

“Fillies and Gentlecolts,” a loud voice called out. The guests all turned their heads toward the stage, where the groom stood tall in his red tuxedo. “I want to thank you all for coming and celebrating Scarlet and I’s wedding. But alas, the time has come and we must all leave. Please have a safe journey home, and I wish you well.” 

Lilligold and Price looked at each other. 

“Well, this party was getting dull anyway,” Price said with a knowing smile. 

The two made their way toward the doors of the hall, which now were crowded as the guests all pushed their way out. Eventually, the two ponies made their way out the doors and towards the street. It was dark now, and the streetlights were glowing as hard as they could. The crowd disbanded, going every which way back to their homes and hotel rooms. 

As Lilly and Price reached the corner of Maple and 1st, they stopped. 

“Well, I’m going to head on back to my hotel,” Price said softly. 

Lilly nodded, then stuck out her hoof. “It was nice to meet you, Price Back.” He took hold of the hoof.

“Likewise, Lilligold.” He released his grip and took a deep breath. “I’ll try to be the pony you believe me to be.” 

Lilligold shrugged. “Self-respect is like water, Price; pour it on a plant enough and the plant will grow up strong.” 

“Wow. Now I’m impressed that you waited this long to make a gardening pun.” 

Lilligold smiled. “See you later, Price.” She turned toward 1st Street and began to walk down it. Price stared, watching her get smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Hey, Lilly!” he called out. She turned back toward him. 

“Yeah?” she called out. 

“Is Glimmering Gardens open tomorrow?” 

No answer.

“Lilly? Is Glimmering Gardens open tomorrow?”

“Yes...but for friends only.” 

Price smiled. “Thank you.” He waved, and she returned the gesture. Then, she continued her walk down 1st Street. He watched her for several minutes, looking on as she grew smaller ansd smaller in the distance. Eventually, he could see her no more; she was so deep into the darkness that not even the Moon made her visible.

“Well,” Price said to nopony in particular. “I guess I’d better write something beautiful. Something beautiful...for my friend.” 
      

> Minié Ball vs. Haystacks - Winner: Haystacks (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pecans, Passions, and Propriety - by Minié Ball's Author

The filly sat, in her frilly dress, next to the elder pecan tree. She idly poked at the storybook her father had left her before walking the grounds with the steadcropper. She could barely make out the pair as they strolled through fields of sorghum and wheat. They were no doubt discussing crop yields and rent payments and all sorts of important, necessary, utterly dull business that adults were wont to do. She snorted, but demurely. 

She flumped down onto her back and kicked her hooves into the air. Her eyes closed as she imagined what her parent’s friends would say. Some would say she was acting like a petulant child, but Minié Ball was the very image of sleek sophistication and her hooves were kicking with all the grace of a ballet dancer.

“Howdy.” 

Minié snapped into a most ladylike sitting position with commendable speed, the purest expression of young fillyhood if one ignored the stray blades of grass hanging from her mane. She gave the sandy maned colt who had approached her a cold, even glare. He returned it with an easy smile.

“Excuse me?” Minié asked, tone frosty.

The colt tipped his oversized hat, unperturbed by her cold demeanor. “Begging your pardon, miss. Mama always said that I should be neighborly with everyone who comes on the farmstead, so I reckoned I ought to greet you.” He gestured back toward the farmer’s house with a flick of his head. “If you’re so inclined, we got sweet tea and pecan pie laid out on the veranda.”

Minié gave a haughty laugh, hoof hiding her her mouth. As a lady should—as a lady must. “I think you will find, sirrah, that I have neither the time nor the inclination to participate in your little tea party. I am a lady.”

The colt laughed at that, a rough sort at odds with his innocent face. “Well, if you do find yourself so inclined, you’re welcome to it.” He gave her a sloppy bow, if it could be called that. Minié was the gracious sort and accepted it with a cursory nod as he laughed and turned away. She looked away with a derisive sniff as she listened to his whistling departure.

She pawed through her storybook. She sat straight and true, ignoring the paltry temptations of iced sweet tea and moist, freshly baked pecan pie.

Yes.

Ignoring. 

Sweet, delicious pie. Cold, refreshing tea.

She clutched her book to her chest with a wing as she made her way down the hill.






Haystacks looked up as a figure stood on his veranda, silhouetted against the setting summer sun. He smiled as he took in the scent of peaches and magnolias. He knew that scent well.

“Minié.” His voice was soft, loving. He swept her up into his arms, holding her close against her chest. She stiffened at first, before collapsing into his grasp. They stood in the orange sunlight tightly embraced.

With a sigh, Haystacks released the mare and motioned her to take a seat before taking his own. “You talked to your pa about…?” He trailed off, the expression on her face answering him.

“He—” Her voice hitched for a moment, before continuing on with the determination of a doctor delivering a death sentence. “He said that no daughter of his is going to marry any lowdown sharecropper that don’t even have an acre of land to his name.” She collapsed in on herself, cradling her head in her hooves. “I just—I just don’t know what to do anymore, Hay. I can’t go against him, he’s my father!”

He got up from his and pulled her once more into his arms. “I know, I know. I understand. I ain’t asking you to go against your kin.”

“Haystacks, you know I love you, right?” She sounded so nervous, so unsure. Entirely unlike the steel shod mare he’d fallen for. 

“Course.”

“Will you stand by me, then? As long as it takes?”

Haystack’s smiled at that. “Course.”

She turned her face up, and they shared a kiss.

In that timeless moment, lips pushed together, framed against an orange sun over verdant fields, Haystacks knew they’d be together forever, family be damned.

He pulled her into the house, and she followed.





“Of course, I could never marry him, Jubilee, think of the scandal!” Minié looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was subtle, her coat without flaw and her mane fell in ringlets about her just so. Truly, she was perfection made manifest. She gave herself a wink. She’d earned it.
Grouse Jubilee seemed largely unimpressed. “What do you mean you’ll never marry him?” She tilted her head, eyebrow raised. “You’ve been stepping out with your young gentleman caller for nigh on ten years now, since you were nothing but a filly.”

Minié shook her head with kindhearted disbelief. Her dearest friend Jubilee was to be forgiven for her strange notions of marrying outside of one’s standing in life. She had been raised partially in far off Manehattan where things were more, say, cosmopolitan than in the gentrified southern Equestrian counties. 

“Jubilee,” she began, “Do you want me to slave away in poverty and labor for the rest of my life? I could never marry a stallion that doesn’t own a lick of property nor employ a single stripe or ass. It just isn’t done ‘round these parts.”

Jubilee had her back to Minié, eyes carefully fixed at some point far in the distance. “You have no intention of marrying him?” Minié made some small noise of consent and Jubilee rounded on her, hoof pointed in accusation.  “Why would you treat him so cruelly, after all you’ve been through? Why would you play with his affection?”

Minié stopped fussing with her hair, face immobile and the eyes of her reflection staring, boring, into her own. “Because I love him,” she said, oh so quietly. “Because I love him with everything I am, and I could never let him go.”

Jubilee never heard those words, whispered as they were. When Minié looked at her window in the mirror and spied that familiar hat, no longer oversized on his sandy brow, galloping away, she knew that he hadn’t heard them either. 

She ran out of the room with a despairing cry, as Jubilee stood in confusion, still clutching the lady’s dress.





Haystacks sat underneath that old pecan tree, folded in on himself. He had never been a crying sort. Not even when his mother had—not even then. But right then, with the sun gone from the sky and his heart breaking in his chest? He felt like weeping.

His spine stiffened as he heard her tromping through the thick bushes, calling out his name. She stumbled out of the undergrowth, her mane drawn ragged by clutching branches, coat sullied by mud and sweat. Her eyes were desperate, full of tears. 

He couldn’t bear the sight of her, she was so beautiful.

“What is it?” His voice was husky with unshed tears, quivering with barely contained anger. “What do you want?”
“Hay, please, it’s not what you think—”She began, but he spoke over her mewling protestations.

“Not what I think?” His voice rose with every word. “What should I think then? That you love me? That you ever truly loved me like I loved you? That you even could hold in that spoilt, rich girl heart of yours?” He shook his head, breathing heavily as tried to contain himself. “I just—I can’t do this, Minié. I thought, I thought I could be strong for you. That even if we couldn’t be married, that we could still be together, that I could be satisfied with that.”

His whole body seemed to sag inward as he uttered the words, finally making real the idea that had broken his spirit. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.”

“Hay—”

“No, Minié. Just. Just no. It’s done. It’s over, between us. All I’ve been to you is the dumb farmcolt, always chasing after your heart.” His shoulders squared, braced against the tumult of emotion that threatened to boil forth as he turned away from her. “I wonder. Did you ever really love me? Or were you just in it for the storybook romance? The dumb farmer and the cruel debutante?”

He walked down that lonely hilltop. “Hay, Hay please—” He ignored her pleading cries. “Hay, don’t, don’t do this to me, Hay, please, I love you, I love you—” He paid no attention to her tears as he walked away. 

He paid no attention to the pain in his chest.

He left her weeping, alone, under that old pecan tree.





“Miss Ball?”

Minié’s eyes snapped open, jolted out of her empty reverie by the concerned tones of Jabalaa, one of the house zebras that had served her family for generations. The young zebra’s eyes welled with concern as she scanned her mistress’s face for the source of her distress.

Minié cleared her throat, giving the zebra a hollow smile. “I’m fine, Jabalaa, thank you.”

Jabalaa gave Minié a steady look before eventually giving a smile of her own. “That’s good, miss, that’s just fine.”

They sat in a companionable silence as the zebra set out a new glass of sweet tea and slice of pecan pie. Her ear flicked as she picked up the sound of church bells from the township not far from the manor front. “That must be the wedding wrapping up,” Jabalaa said, enthusiastically as Minié remained silent. “Young Mister Haystacks and Miss Jubilee, if you can believe that. A storybook affair. They’re friends of yours, ain’t they, miss?”

Minié nodded, slowly. “Yes, Jabalaa.”

“It’s good to see young hearts finding love, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Jabalaa paused, looking over the spread she had prepared and giving a satisfied nod. She looked to the miss one last time. “If there’s nothing else, miss?”

Minié shook her head. “That will be all, Jabalaa, thank you.”

The zebra inclined her head as she headed back into the manor, leaving the mare upon the veranda. 

Minié listened to the sound of church bells in personal silence before taking a bite of her slice of pecan pie. She chewed thoughtfully before swallowing and downing it with a sip of sweet tea.

How strange. They tasted like ash.









Haystacks vs. Minié Ball - by Haystacks' Author

The sharp quilltip pricked against her tongue, and she sucked it thoughtfully. Not that there was a great deal to be thoughtful about. Her reasoning for the offer was simple. If he took it, he took it, and if not, well ― then it was no skin off her muzzle. Green River Farm was a mere hundred and fifty acres, and not ones she needed, either. 

Her eyes paced back and forth over the cheque. Green River fell within that luxurious category of something she desired, and she was willing to spend as much to show it. A pittance, but enough to satisfy him, of that she was sure.

The knock at the door came twice, paced and gentle. 

"Miz Ball?" hummed a bassy voice, muffled by two inches of polished oak. 

"Yes, Cotton?" she called back.

"Mister Hay is here, askin' for a moment of yo' time."	

So he'd come, then. She'd seriously wondered whether or not he would. Perhaps Hay Bale had finally acknowledged his age.

She removed the quilltip from her mouth and began to sign the small rectangular slip, not bothering to look up at the door. Preparedness was vital, if nothing else. She applied her most winning smile, and carried the same energy through to her voice.

"But of course!" she spoke, folding the small slip away into one of her sleeves. "Do show him in!" 

The door opened with a gentle sigh, and Cotton entered. The zebra's beckoning murmur to the visitor was barely audible over the tapping of hooves on polished oak.

She'd thought gloating was beyond her. All the same, she allowed her nose a slight crinkle of smug satisfaction.

"So, you got my letter, did you?" she said, resting her head lazily in one hoof.

The stallion that followed behind Cotton was not Hay Bale at all. He looked up as he entered, somewhat confused at being hailed.

Oh. She sat upright. Uncertainty flashed across her mind as she took stock of the newcomer, a tall and solidly built earth pony with eyes like glassy azure plates. Or at least, such was the surprise on his face. 

She hid her own adeptly. The stallion was a far cry from the half withered fool she had been expecting, though he bore a strangely familiar face. Among other more pleasing features.

"Oh, forgive my manners!" she uttered, standing quickly. "I was anticipating Hay Bale." 

The perplexed expression on the earth pony's face slowly gave way to a smile. "Oh, I see," he said, before bowing his head politely. "I'm his son, Haystacks. I own the farm now." 

The words poured over her ears like scotch on cubes of ice, melodious and pleasing. It took a second for the homespun accent and wheat-gold fur to click with her memory, but not too long. After all, Minié Ball could scarcely forget him, standing at his father’s knee, all stony faced like the big ponies were during their little 'business chats'. 

Like so many colts her age, he had borne that flimsy, lanky appearance that said he was not quite a stallion or a colt at all. And even then, he had been the cause of an unusual fixation on her part.

Things had clearly changed in the last six years. A tiny ripple of predatory delight slunk its way down her spine as she drank him in.	

"Charmed, Haystacks.” her smile was a little less feigned than she had intended. “...I believe we've met before?"

The stallion removed his hat, and held it to his chest with one hoof. Behind him, the zebra quietly departed. 

"We have, Miss Ball," he replied, flashing her a quick grin. "But we’ve both done a bit of growing, I think! I hardly recognise you."

He was right. He had grown since she'd last seen him. And for the better, she thought. Usually, she was more discerning about such ponderings ― but there was no crime in a few guilty pleasures every now and again. After all, there had always been something about the Mason-Dixie stableponies that had struck her as particularly robust. Perhaps, she mused, she just had a weakness for blondes, even if they were of a less exquisite lineage.

Idly, she entertained the fantasy of a pure blooded earth pony suitor. That wasn’t too out of the question, was it? He was a landowner, after all. 

She laughed, and fluttered her eyes shamelessly. "Oh my," she purred, offering him a hoof to kiss. "Miss Ball?" A gentle burble of laughter escaped her lips. "Well that won't do at all, Hay. You simply must call me Minié."

He smiled, took her hoof in his own, and... shook it firmly.

"Good to see you again, then, Minié.” He smiled, still oblivious, and took a seat on the far side of the desk. 

Ah. Well then. Some hopefully meandering part of her mind fell a short way back to earth. Truthfully, she didn't really know what she'd been expecting out of a simple farmpony. Her thoughts returned to the task at hoof.

Her desk was large and rectangular, and she slipped around it to the side that Haystacks was on.

“I take it that Hay Bale has retired?” she said, smoothing the many ruffles of her dress before taking the second seat.

The farmpony’s reply was simple. “Yes, that’s right. He left the farm to me, though I still ask for his opinion from time to time.”

“A shame," she lied, not missing a beat. "...And does he know of your plans to sell up?”

There was a pregnant pause. Haystack’s hoof found its way up his chest, where it scratched nervously underneath his chin.

“Well… I haven't spoken to him about it, if that’s what you mean.”

And that was all she needed to hear. 

Before her Green River counterpart could even think to offer anything further, her hooves clattered together twice, a pair of castanets in the dance of trade.

“Cotton! Drinks for my guest and I, if you please!”

The chance to be the only pony whispering things in Haystacks’ ear was highly appealing in many respects. The sudden reality that Hay Bale was no longer in the picture was just one of them. 

Without hesitation, she tapped into old history. 

There was always something wonderfully meaningful about old business acquaintances, she observed, halfway through discussing her father’s untimely demise. Haystacks seemed more gripped by her and her words than any immediate business deal, in that good natured, benign way that all farmfolk were. For all he seemed to care or notice, the visit might have been a social one.

At some stage in recanting the year that had been, drinks were poured by a spectral Cotton, who floated in and around the room with practiced quietness, a silver platter between his teeth. Her guest watched him come and go, even offering a cursory ‘thank you’. 

Much to her pleasure, Cotton knew better than to reply with anything other then ‘Yessir.’

The bourbon was silky and rich ― three years aged, with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon. Her favourite, of course. Just one mouthful left her licking the inside of her muzzle. It scorched all the way down.

The glass left her lips, and she felt herself smile. She glanced up at the stallion, whose near silence she had been thoroughly enjoying. She noticed he was still gazing at the zebra as he left through the door.

"...But Haystacks, I must confess, this all a bit nostalgic of me. Forgive me for pushing to the point, but I don't want to waste your time. I assume you're here because you wished to hear my offer." 

The stallion paused, bringing his attention to bear on her. "Yes," he uttered. "I'm the owner now, so it's up to me, but..." his voice trailed off.

"But it's a big move to sell the farm, undoubtedly." 

He pursed his lips together, his gaze fallen on the broad brimmed hat in his lap. He said nothing.

Minié leaned towards him, placing her hooves together. The stallion looked up, breaking from his thoughtful reverie.

"Haystacks," she softly spoke. "Let me be sincere, for a moment. We're quite alike, aren't we?" The rather generous admission rolled off her tongue. "We're both the executors of substantial parcels of land, we both had fathers of substantial character. We both know what it means to work hard; I'd be lying to your face if I said otherwise!" She allowed herself the tiniest of titters. "I understand your concerns. I'm like you, you see. I know I'd have reservations if someone wanted to buy Mason-Dixie. But you can rest assured knowing that it would go into good hooves."

The small paper slip tucked up her sleeve itched and poked at her fur. She decided, in the end, that there was little point in cajoling him any further.

"I'm making this offer on the notion that our families go back a little way." She smiled, slipping a hoof up past her cuff and producing the paper slip. It was remarkable how often she could use that excuse. "And besides," she added, turning her attention to her drink as he plucked the cheque from her hooves. "I think it might present an attractive proposition to a young, enterprising stallion such as yourself. Perhaps you'd consider the opportunity to do something else? Perhaps consider a move on up to the city?"

Another delicious buzz of pleasure found its roots in the sudden and complete silence that filled the room, as if somepony had suddenly ceased to breathe. She swirled the glass a few times, enjoying the smell of bourbon. Enjoying the moment.

She glanced up at him once she'd had her fill of it.

The farmpony stared down at the thing, cradling it in his hooves. Seven digits in length, it was more money than he would have seen or held in his life. She knew he was too young to have ever seen real money before. And, well ― she would be quite honest with herself ― it was unlikely that he would ever see it again. Not with his family.

"This?" he all but whispered. She could hear the shaking in his voice, see it in those pallid blue eyes that kept reading over that figure again and again and again.

She smiled, inwardly and outwardly, and nodded. A lock of dark mane slipped over her eyes, and she replaced it behind her ears idly.

They always had second thoughts after the money came out. Hay Bale had been no different, though his answer had ultimately been something along the lines of ‘not on his life’.	

The seconds ticked by harmlessly. She gave him the precious moments he wanted.

He raised his head. The stallion was clearly shaken, and thinking hard about something. 

“Minié, the offer is…” he paused again to search for words. “More than enough.”

And there it was. The subtle satisfaction of another pony won washed over her. She took another sip of the delightfully heady bourbon, savouring the moment.

"But I must ask...” he hesitated slightly. “...What do you pay them?"

She blinked, and coughed slightly. A bit of her drink had missed the mark. With one hoof held before her mouth daintily, she lowered her glass back onto the side table. 

"I'm ― ahem ― I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring to." 

For a moment, only the grandfather clock against the far wall broke the contemplative silence of the office. 

"The donkeys," Haystacks continued. "The ones I saw in the fields on the way here. How much do you pay them?"

His voice was even, and his expression impassive, but there was a dead weight that hung on the end of his demand, like a zebra on a noose―a careful absence of anything even resembling a question.

It was only then that she noticed that his glass of bourbon was untouched.

Slowly, she placed her hooftips together. She did not smile.

"They are paid well," she replied. "Enough to support themselves. Less than the minimum wage, but we also give them a place to stay and live and eat. It is better than what they are paid in the Burros, Mr. Hay. I can tell you that much."

The answer seemed to mollify him, though she was sure it was not the one he wanted to hear. 

"And the mules I saw? Are they taken care of?" he asked. 

"Half-castes, you mean?" she replied idly.

The farmer paused, and then nodded once more.

Minié's pout and furrowed brow was genuine, for once. She had never really lent a thought to the animal instincts that sometimes lent a regular pony to cross paths ― and tails, for that matter ― with a Burro. She dropped a hoof to her drink again.

"Well," she murmured, her hooftip circling the crystal tumbler's rim. "To be honest, I am not sure yet. Our decision to house Burros is only a recent one. I suppose, in time, they will join hooves with their parents in the fields." She sniffed, and wrinkled her nose slightly. "There are half-caste foals born here, and they are a wholly unpleasant matter, Mr. Haystacks. Reprehensible breeding, one might say. We treat them as fairly as we treat their parents, though we often dismiss the pony responsible. We do not need workers that cannot keep their thoughts away from..." she paused. "Their beasts of burden, if you'll forgive my wording."  

He nodded again to show his understanding, the cheque still clasped between his hooves. As she had been speaking, his gaze had fallen to a spot on the floor between them, where it searched for some greater answer. 

"Of course," He murmured, not really looking at anything. "That's fine."

Minié was no stranger to the sensation that something was awry. She had been hoping that Haystacks would be more malleable than his father, and so far that had proven true. After all, the golden farmpony did not seem overtly bothered by anything she had said. Not like Hay Bale had. 

Perhaps pushing the envelope was the way forward.

"So," she said, resisting the urge to retrieve her glass for a toast. That would be a bit too much. "Do we have a deal?"

Had his ear not twitched slightly, she would have been sure that he didn't hear her. He glanced up at her, his smile present, but muted. There was a dreadful absence of the joviality that had accompanied him through the door. 

And it would be at least another one of the same, all encompassing moments of silence before he responded.

"Well, I think I've made up my mind," he replied. With a gentle purpose, he drew his hooves together, folding the little slip of paper in half.  He ran one hoof across the spine of the fold a few times, as if sealing it shut, before placing it next to his untouched glass, all the while still bearing that almost laughably empty smile.

"I'm afraid this land is not for sale right now," he said. There was a certain degree of finality to his voice, one given all the more presence by his making to stand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business in town."

Minié's mind raced. Years of her father's business acumen had lent her a certain adeptness with salvaging the losing scenario, and this one was rapidly slipping through her hooves.  

She quickly drew back her frown, giving way to homely smile that had seemed to resonate with him before, and slid a hoof across the gap between them, placing it gently on his. It did not seem to have the desired effect ― at the merest touch, she felt him tense up.

"Haystacks," she began, her voice sweet once more. "If I may explain further―"

A very large hoof settled over hers, and she fell silent. She felt a slight pressure against it ― the gentlest of squeezes, and nothing more. 

She let go.

When he spoke, she heard only a gentle voice. There was not a thing about him that resonated indignity or outrage. He even had the audacity to offer her a tiny smile from that haggard, common face, as if all was well, as if she might have better luck next time. But she recognised the distant look his eyes, one that offered no warmth, yet spread no farther than two pale blue irises for the sake of plausible deniability. 

"No, Miss Ball." His voice was barely audible above the deafening silence. "I'm very sorry. But you may not."





The halls of the hospital were graced by the familiar aroma of iodine and disinfectant. He had trodden them so many times that he could guide himself around by pure repetition, allowing his limbs to do all the work. He nodded to the one or two of the orderlies that he recognised, though their smiles felt distant and spectral. 

He found her room empty, barring the occupant of the bed against the wall. The hinny looked up as he entered, and after a moment of recognition, her face lit up like dawn across the valley.

"Hello, love. How are you?"

Haystacks nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt. Still fueled and swept onwards by a mad wind, he trotted slowly to the hospital bed's side, and took a seat, his head bowed. As was his default, he removed his hat, and laid it on the pristine white bedsheets, the partly drawn blinds throwing playful lashes of shadow across it.

"Your father's down the street, buying some fresh bread from the bakery." 

A pause heralded a moment of uncertainty. He did not notice it until the soft clicking of knitting needles stopped, giving him cause to glance up. 

She peered back at him through half-moon glasses. Her eyes and face were worn with lines, a mix of love and weariness, though her smile was still bright and full of life.

"You look tired, dear," she murmured. "Are you sleeping well?"

"Such reprehensible breeding," a coquettish mare's voice said, in the far off reaches of his mind. An equally attractive figure kept repeating itself over and over to him, one with seven digits. One that whispered the unknown truth that, perhaps, there was life to be had outside the farm.

The corners of her lips fell. "Haystacks?" she asked gently. "Is something wrong?"

He swallowed. 

"No," he replied, smiling faintly. There was little sense in telling her, he decided. He took one of her greyed hooves between his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Nothing at all, Mother."
> Mango Leaf vs. Rachis Barbule - Winner: Mango Leaf (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mango Leaf vs. Rachis Barbule - by Mango Leaf's Author

Rachis Barbule levitated the map up to hover next to his head and looked from it to the sign, then back to the map before he rotated it 90 degrees, only to frown and rotate it again. "Huh."

He looked to the busy streets of the city and nodded to himself. "I think I'm lost."

He could imagine a miniature Gillette, standing on his shoulder shaking her head sadly. Already her voice was echoing in his head. Remember to get a tour, Rachis, Gillette's voice lectured. Don't go exploring on your own the first day! You always get lost!

It didn't help that she had decided to go explore on her own, and that the heat was unbearable and that he had forgotten his water bottle back in his room. But, he was here now, might as well spend some bits and get something to cool down and figure out where he was exactly.

He made his way down the single street, enjoying the myriad voices and walking among the locals. The best part of visiting a place away from Canterlot, was definitely the opportunity to smell the food, feel the breeze, and simply enjoy the culture around him. So different from his own, and yet, somehow similar. Maybe it was the language, mixed with words he did not understand, yet still his own for the most part, or maybe it was just having seen a mane salon along the road, or the familiar posters of an upcoming Wonderbolts show.

He noticed a wagon off the road, where several locals had gathered. Surprisingly, it wasn't the regular shaved ice that he had tried the day before when he had arrived in the island of Haywaii, but rather frozen yogurt. And it seemed to be doing well.

"So what do you want in the Fro-yo, auntie?" the unicorn behind the window asked his customer, who was apparently his aunt.

It was weird, how ponies here had so many cousins, uncles and aunts. Families must have been huge all over Haywaii.

"Oh, just throw da kine on it, Mango!" the customer said. "You know I don't care!"

Mango nodded and added three different things to it. Rachis tilted his head, trying to figure out what the ingredients were. He could only recognize the strawberries.

The customer picked up the cup with the fro-yo in it and happily made her way into the city.

"Oh, hey!" Mango called, smiling at Rachis. "You're not from around here, are you, cuz?" 

Rachis frowned. "Are we related?"

Mango laughed. "No, no, sorry! I tend to go native when I stay here for a few days, we call just about anypony here 'cousin'. We're all a big family, you see."

"Ah!" Rachis nodded, as comprehension dawned on him. "So it's not that you have huge families!"

"That too," Mango said. "But it's a cultural thing, you'll get the hang of it."

Rachis nodded. "Well, yes, I'm a regular world-traveler, once I get some hints of how a culture works, I master it in no time!"

Mango grinned amiably. "I do detect a Canterlot accent," he said. "Are you from our dear capital?"

Rachis nodded. "Yes, me and my business partner, Gillette, decided to come visit Haywaii, now that winter is setting down in the main land." He blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry, my name is Rachis Barbule. I run a stallion's mane and tail salon in Canterlot."

"Pleasure to meet you," Mango said, extending his hoof out of the window and shaking Rachis' energetically. "Mango Leaf, fro-yo vendor at your service! And speaking of which, what can I get for you today?"

"Well, I'd like a yogurt with... what was it? Da kine on it? It looked good!"

"Da kine?" Mango Leaf blinked in confusion, then opened his mouth in realization. "Oh, you mean the strawberry, kiwi, mango mix I put on the one from earlier? Sure! That'll be five bits, please!"

Rachis nodded and reached for his saddlebag, and paused. His eyes widened and he twirled around, confirming his fears. His water wasn't the only thing left in his room. "Oh. Oh no. Mr. Mango? I'm afraid I'll have to cancel that order, I left my bits in the hotel room."

Mango shrugged and finished serving the fro-yo. "Here. On the house. Or on the wagon, whichever you prefer."

"Oh, but I simply couldn't—"

"Just try it," Mango interrupted. "You'll change your mind, I guarantee."

Not wanting to insult the vendor, Rachis nodded and tried the fro-yo. Once more, his eyes widened. An explosion of flavors waged war in his tongue. The sweetness of the strawberry, the tart flavor of the kiwi, the balancing effect of the mango, all combined in the amazing goodness of the yogurt's natural flavor, smooth and rich. Before he knew it, he was already trying another spoonful and humming in appreciation at the flavors.

"This is amazing!" He finally exclaimed, turning to look at Mango Leaf in awe.

Mango's grin hadn't left his face at all. "And that is what makes selling fro-yo worth it! That expression, right there!"

"You should mass-produce this!"

"I'll let Candy Cane know." Mango chuckled, watching Rachis finish the rest of his fro-yo. "So, how do you like Hoofululu so far?"

Rachis finished licking the bottom of the cup and nodded. "I like it! It's a beautiful city with... did you say Hoofululu?"

Mango nodded.

"But... I walked here from my hotel."

"I don't see how that's much of a problem," Mango said, tilting his head curiously. "We like to walk places here."

"But my hotel is in the island of Haywaii," Rachis explained.

It took a moment for Mango Leaf to process what he had just heard. "Wait, hold on. How exactly did you walk from another island to here? Did you cast some sort of spell?"

"No!" Rachis shook his head. "I didn't even notice any water on the way here!"

Mango slowly closed his mouth and pondered. "Wow, when you get lost, you get lost for real, don't you?"

Rachis opened his mouth to complain, but had to grimace and nod. "No wonder I couldn't find this city in my map!"

"Do you know..." Mango arched an eyebrow. "How to get back?"

"No. Well, yes! Actually, I do! I just walk back." Rachis replied, nodding firmly. He slumped. "Across the ocean."

Mango Leaf chuckled and nodded. "I'll help you out, cuz." He pulled inside his wagon, closing all the windows before walking out and folding down the bar and stools. "Anyway, since we're going makai, let's get some food. I'm starving!"

Rachis gave Mango a look. "I told you I left my bits in the hotel... I don't mind joining you for some food, but I'd rather not just watch you eat."

"Hey, you can pay me later, no worries," Mango said, waving his hoof. "Like I said, I'm going native. I need some Canterlot talk or the next time I'm in Ponyville or Baltimare I might call one of my friends 'auntie'. Won't that be confusing!" Mango said, taking the lead. "Anyway, how does a loco moco sound to you?"

"Questionable?"

"Perfect! I know the best place!"





"Soggy Patty!" Mango called, dragging Rachis into a small hut with several tables outside. "Two loco mocos!"

The bulky earth pony behind the counter nodded. "Coming right up!" he shouted back, throwing two patties onto the grill. He stared at them for a moment, then glanced over at Mango. "Cuz! You sure you want this hot as pele? Or should I freeze it for you?"

"Sure, the next time you want your fro-yo warmed up!" Mango called back.

His only answer was a laugh.

Rachis looked from the cook to the unicorn across in confusion. "But who would eat warm yogurt?" he finally asked.

Mango shrugged. "The same ponies that'd order a frozen loco moco." When he noticed the bewildered expression still on Rachis' face, he relented. "It's a joke at my expense: ponies think I only eat food that's either cold or frozen."

Rachis arched an eyebrow. "Do they, now? Why?"

"Because I think some things can be better served cold."

Before Rachis could reply to that, two steaming plates full of rice with a patty, gravy and an egg on top were placed in front of them. He looked at the plate in surprise and slight confusion. "This looks more messy than Soarin's wings after the gala."

"It does?" Mango asked, looking down at his plate. "I guess it might? I only read about it in the paper, and they didn't have pictures."

"I had to clean them." Rachis groaned at the memory.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mango said shrugging. "But, hey, at least you seem to be on a first name basis with a Wonderbolt." He grinned. "I'll still bet that this tastes better than Soarin'."

Rachis rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'll try it. I'll have you know that, having experienced dishes from all over Equestria during my travels, I've developed quite the palette for foreign food."

Conversation ceased as they both ponies dug into their dishes with gusto, enjoying the contrasting flavors and consistency of the ingredients as they cleaned their plates. The silence, broken only by munching, continued for a few minutes until at last, both unicorns pushed back and released a sigh of contentment.

"So! Whatja think?" Soggy Patty called from the grill, giving them both a confident grin.

"Broke da mouth!" Mango called back, rubbing his belly.

Rachis' eyes widened. "Oh, my! Does it hurt that much?"





"You can stop laughing now," Rachis grumbled, glaring at Mango Leaf. "And don't deny it. I can hear you chuckling."

"Sorry, sorry," Mango put up a hoof in surrender. "It just took me by surprise you misinterpreted  that one."

"Well, excuse me for worrying."

Mango shook his head, but continued walking until they cleared the forested area they had been walking through.

Rachis stared in wonder. They were overlooking a lagoon, where the gem like quality of the water met powdery sand and then, as if that were not enough, all of it was surrounded by lush, vibrant green vegetation. "This is beautiful!"

"It never gets old," Mango agreed. "As much as I love travelling the world and taking fro-yo to the ends of Equestria, coming back home to sights like these is something I will always cherish." He pointed down to the other side of their vantage point, where Rachis could now see a small harbor. "Let's go down there, buy da kine to drink, and set out to your correct island!"

The pair made their way down a beaten path, with Rachis admiring the plumage of several birds he spotted. "What did you say that was called? An Orange Bishop?" he asked rhetorically. "Look at those colors! I wonder if I could make up a spell to imitate them?"

Mango chuckled. "You're really into the wings, aren't you?"

Rachis shrugged, studying the gray, black and yellow wings of another bird. "It's how I found my talent," he said. "I even invented a few spells for taking care of feathers and preening. Not that anypony cares."

"Hey," Mango said, looking up at him with a serious face. "You should always do what you love, and I'm sure the pegasi you take care of do care."

Rachis laughed, nodding. "They do," he agreed.

Soon, they reached the beach, and walked to one of the small huts close to the beach. "Hey cuz," Mango greeted a green-coated pegasus. "My friend and I would like two lava flows and a ride to Hawaii."

The pegasus blinked. "You know, Mango, my fishing boat is not a ferry service. And I know you don't want to pay for the trip."

"Ah, but that's because I have something better than money!" Mango chortled. "You have that big date with auntie Alani tonight, right?"

The pegasus frowned. "Yes?"

"Well, wouldn't you want to look amazing for her?" Mango asked, pushing Rachis a bit forward. "My friend Rachis happens to be an expert at preening! I'm sure he could give you some pointers so that you look maika`i!"

The pegasus stole a glance at Rachis. "He doesn't seem to enthusiastic about it."

Mango elbowed Rachis.





"I have to admit," Mango said as the coast of Hawaii approached slowly. "I have never seen my cousin looking that presentable. Whatever magic you used, Rachis, it was a work of art."

"Thank you, Mango," Rachis said with an acknowledging nod. "Although next time, please tell me in advance you intend to use my skills as a form of payment."

Mango laughed. "But your expression was worth it!"

Rachis rolled his eyes and started sipping his third Lava Flow of the night. "Damn, it's getting too soggy."

"Here," Mango's horn flashed and the cold consistency of the Lava Flow returned to it. "I specialize in fro-yo, but I can cool drinks like a pro."

Rachis was about to reply when he spotted something on the beach and paled. "Oh no."

Mango blinked and followed his gaze to the beach, where a female pegasus hovered angrily over the sand, staring in their direction.

"What, you know her?"

"That's Gillette, she's my business partner I told you about earlier, remember?"

Mango looked pensive. "But you never mentioned she was pretty, or that she was a mare at all."

Rachis blinked.

"Let me grab another Lava Flow," Mango Leaf said with a nod. "That filly needs a drink! And I need to get to know her better!"

Rachis watched with some detachment as Mango Leaf offered a drink to Gillette, just as she was about to make her way towards him. The pair talked for a moment, with the pegasus making motions in Rachis' direction, until Mango seemed to finally convince her to accept the drink.

Once Gillette had calmed down and stopped waving in Rachis' direction, she and Mango kept talking a little bit, and she seemed suddenly a bit shy. For a moment, he wondered if she was simply going to fly up to him and punch him, but when Rachis saw Gillette land, he knew Mango had somehow gotten through.

"Hey, Rachis!" Mango called, turning and sliding a hoof comfortably around Gillette's shoulders, who did not complain. "We're hitting the bar scene, want to come?"

"I will, but I'll head to the hotel first," Rachis shouted back, looking at the building in question, just a few blocks in. "Need my bits, after all!"

"Okay!" Mango said, starting to walk Gillette away from the boat. "Catch you later!"

Rachis nodded, finishing his Lava Flow before jumping onto the pier and starting to walk back to his hotel. A few minutes passed and he slowed down, blinking in confusion. "Wait. Where did the real lava come from?"

He pulled his map out and looked at it, then at the flowing lava, then back at the map.

"Huh." He put the map away and looked around him. "I think I'm lost."


The End










Rachis Barbule vs. Mango Leaf - by Rachis Barbule's Author


---------(-<@>-)---------

Gather around, little zebras, and I'll tell you a story.
It's time to learn history, your ancestors’ glory!

-----<@>-----

You all know the tale of the Dark Thousandth Year,
When Kingdom and Princess were bested by fear.
---<>---
For two decades more the Sun hid her face,
Until the six Elements restored her to place.
---<>---
But the story I tell you today is more common.
I speak of a zebra, Zecora the Shaman.
---<>---
One night the Moon said she was guilty of crime,
The details of which have been long lost to time.
---<>---
The dungeons of Nightmare were dark and quite cold,
And too many ponies within it grew old.
---<>---
But she did not complain and she did not despair,
Zecora brought comfort to cold prison air.
---<>---
She helped the poor inmates, gave them sound, good advice,
And helped them feel happy as they payed out their price.
---<>---
Two such poor souls came together one night,
Servants the Queen had sent out of her sight.

-----<@>-----

One was named Mango Leaf, a preparer of treats,
Who so loved to freeze things he hated hot sweets.
---<>---
His passion was Yogurt, a more recent invention
For which the Dark Queen would spare no attention.
---<>---
Her passion was Coffee, served fresh every night,
Which Mango thought wasn’t entirely right.
---<>---
Weary grew Mango of serving drinks hot,
So one night he concocted a drink-cooling plot.
---<>---
Unfortunately he forgot his Empress required
Her coffee be warm, and fresh from the fire.
---<>---
But on Mango went, chilled the drink with a smile.
“Iced Coffee!” he called it, with flourish and style.
---<>---
Needless to say, Nightmare Moon was fair cross!
Poor Mango straight into the dungeons was tossed!

-----<@>-----

The other new inmate had once served his Queen
By using his magic to keep her wings clean.
---<>---
This poor unicorn’s name was Rachis Barbule,
And he’d gone to great lengths to procure the best tools.
---<>---
He had combs, he had brushes, and spells well-prepared.
Her wings were his life, no expense had been spared.
---<>---
But one day, after applying perhaps too much oil,
The Queen met a spark, and his career met a foil.
---<>---
The Moon’s flaming wings were a breathtaking sight,
But in truth they caused Nightmare no lack of sheer fright!
---<>---
A charge of high treason found Rachis thereafter,
And he thought he had met with the end of his laughter.
---<>---
But his hope was rekindled, alongside Mango Leaf.
The kind words of a zebra put an end to their grief.

-----<@>-----

One night both woke sweating, and sat up in their beds.
Both had had Nightmares, dark dreams in their heads.
---<>---
They went to Zecora, who was known to make sense
When the Empress of Dreams a message dispensed.
---<>---
The Nightmare was wont to create fearful dreams
For her prisoners, for she loved the sound of their screams.
---<>---
But Zecora had found that much could be gleaned
From the nature and features of every such dream.
---<>---
To some the Queen gloated, and laughed at their luck.
Others she yelled at and tortured and struck.
---<>---
But in dreams, it would seem, you meet the true pony,
And the Queen of the Dreamworld could sort true from phony.
---<>---
These she would pity, it seemed from their visions,
As soon after waking they were frankly forgiven.
---<>---
And Zecora could tell, once a dream had been told,
If the dream was a pardon, a mock, or a scold.
---<>---
So when the moon rose up high and the inmates awoke,
To Zecora the two disgraced serving staff spoke:
---<>---
“Dear zebra, please help us and give our minds peace.
Are the two of us fated for early release?”
---<>---
“Calm yourselves, ponies! Speak one at a time,”
Zecora began, unerring in rhyme.
---<>---
“Tell me your dreams, but first tell me your crimes.
Your fortune may sink, but let’s see if it climbs.”

-----<@>-----

Rachis went first, telling tale of his life,
And how his profession was the cause of much strife.
---<>---
“The Queen was to meet with a King, old and grand,
The ruler of Haissan, a large far-off land.
---<>---
Now the preenist before me was jailed just as I.
His only crime? Failure! I just had to try!
---<>---
It was a special occasion, so I pulled all the stops.
I used my best oil, and squeezed six extra drops!
---<>---
By the end of my session, the Queen’s feathers shined!
The light off her wings near left me half-blind!
---<>---
It was really quite something, the best I could do,
And though I shook in my horseshoes, I hoped that she knew.
---<>---
But she sat at the head of the table that night,
A little too close to the hearth’s heat and light!
---<>---
Or maybe a candle she carelessly brushed
That took issue with oil that made her wings lush. 
---<>---
Regardless of cause, her wings took to flame!
An assassin's attack? Was poor Rachis to blame?
---<>---
She accused me of treason, enchanting the oil,
To dethrone the tyrant, or bring war to boil! 
---<>---
I should have plead innocent, it was none of it right! 
But fear of the Empress kept my mouth shut tight."

-----<@>-----

"That's how I got here, now on to my dream.
In my sleep, wings of pegasi did I preen.
---<>---
How they shined! How we laughed! Oh, this had I missed!
I’d forgot just how much my old job brought me bliss.
---<>---
These years have I served her, and no one but her,
How I hate her black feathers, black hooves and black fur!
---<>---
In my dream I was free to serve whom I chose!
To my shop came the Wonderbolts, standing in pose!
---<>---
They promised me bits, and I sat them all down,
But behind them came Nightmare, through Canterlot town.
---<>---
She asked me to serve her, so I gave her a chair,
And told her that once I was done, I’d be there.
---<>---
But she would not wait! It had to be then!
She told me to abandon the Wonderbolt Ten!
---<>---
I told her I couldn’t, their business was good.
She ordered my service, but her voice I withstood.
---<>---
I helped all the Wonderbolts, no feather astray,
But to my sheer amazement, they flew off without pay!
---<>---
The Queen sat there waiting, as upwards they flew.
They gathered an army, a great bloody coup!
---<>---
I sobbed as I watched my dear Canterlot burn,
And the whole while the Nightmare watched beside me, astern.
---<>---
‘This whole thing might just not have happened, you know,’
She whispered as ash fell from high, just like snow.
---<>---
‘If you had just served me, and never looked back,
Your world would have order, and your life stayed on track.’
---<>---
I whimpered and groveled, as flames swept around me,
And promised I’d serve her my whole life, quite gladly.
---<>---
It was then I awoke, and I came when I could.
Now tell me please, zebra, does my outlook look good?”
---<>---
Zecora sat silent, and watched him with pity.
Too many, she thought, like him in this city.
---<>---
“I would not fear too much, my dear humble stylist.
Of the dreams I have heard, yours is by far not the vilest.
---<>---
In your case, you may have a pardon in store,
If you question the Empress’s rule here no more.
---<>---
I may not agree with the choice that you made,
But it may be what causes her anger to fade.”
---<>---
Rachis hugged Mango, and started to cry,
And from that moment onward did his spirits fly.

-----<@>-----

Then Mango Leaf turned to the kind, wise Zecora,
Still beaming from sharing in Rachis’s aura.
---<>---
“Oh zebra, please tell me my fate is the same!
My crime was much milder, involving no flame.
---<>---
I served the Queen coffee, night in and night out,
I spent all my time pouring it black from the spout.
---<>---
The kitchen staff is prone to Her Majesty’s vex,
And we all questioned constantly whom we would lose next.
---<>---
We worked very hard to keep the Queen’s favor.
In case we might bore her, we’d try out new flavors.
---<>---
My coffee was average, I feared, not the best,
And only got worse as my nights there progressed.
---<>---
My own little changes were met with distaste,
And Nightmare Moon told me ‘Improve it, posthaste!’”
---<>---
I despaired for my life, and my poor coffee skill,
And I longed for my old job, of making things chilled.
---<>---
My talent was wasted on brewing hot coffee!
I’m born for froze yogurt, iced tea, and cold toffee!
---<>---
I needed a way to twist talent to need.
In desperation, I followed my one simple lead.
---<>---
I’d serve her cold coffee, though my life might be ended!
It’d taste beyond better, be beverage transcended!
---<>---
My powers with cold stuff left other cooks wanting.
I knew if she’d try it, the Queen would be fawning!
---<>---
But that was the trick, as my shaking attested,
When I knocked on her door, my hope in hoof rested.
---<>---
She stared at the mug, and its sad lack of steam,
The ice cubes held within, and the layer of whipped cream.
---<>---
‘What callest thou this?’ she asked, o’er my tray,
And I felt all my confidence melting away.
---<>---
‘Iced coffee, Your Highness,’ I stammered in fear.
‘I’ll gladly explain, if you’ll lend me your ear.
---<>---
‘The coffee I make, as you surely have noted,
Is hardly redeemed by the stuff in it floated.
---<>---
‘My talent, you see, is more suited to freezing.
When I’m forced to brew hot, my skill is left wheezing.
---<>---
‘But when left to brew cold, as you’ll see if you taste,
My talent can shine through, and not go to waste!
---<>---
‘I promise this coffee, though cold and on ice,
Is the best that you’ve tasted, and brings out the spice!
---<>---
Well, that’s what I would say, if only I could,
But I was arrested as soon as she stood.
---<>---
So that’s how I got here, now on to my dream.
Dear zebra, please tell me, am I also redeemed?"

-----<@>-----

"In my dream I was home, Hoofolulu restored!
The sun shone down brightly, and I was happy once more.
---<>---
I sold treats from my cart, to the young and the old,
Gave relief from the heat with a snack that was cold.
---<>---
My family was there, and my friends all as well,
All the faces I think of as I sit in my cell.
---<>---
I cried as I served them, for I knew in my heart
That in the waking world Nightmare Moon kept us apart.
---<>---
And just as I thought this, the Sun sank down low,
and the Moon took its place with a far colder glow.
---<>---
A chill filled my bones that did not come from ice,
And my loved ones all scrambled, like cat-fleeing mice.
---<>---
I followed, not wanting to be left alone,
And we locked ourselves into my old family home.
---<>---
We waited together, our spirits quite dire,
And tried to keep cheer as we sat round the fire.
---<>---
I tried to serve yogurt, but no one was willing.
Without the sun, no one had want for my chilling.
---<>---
I went into the kitchen to clean up my mess,
And cried by myself for unbearable stress.
---<>---
When I came back to the fire, to my outrage and anger,
My family was gone! In their place sat a stranger!
---<>---
An old nag, as dark as the space between stars,
Who gave out a sad wheezing that rattles and jars.
---<>---
She cackled at my protests and grinned at my scowls,
And I gagged at the spittle that flew from her jowls.
---<>---
‘What’s wrong, boy?’ she asked me. ‘Do you not like the night?
Do you not love the respite from the sun shining bright?’
---<>---
‘Not really,’ I answered. ‘Each night it grows colder.
Can we not have it back, ere I grow too much older?’
---<>---
‘I’m afraid we cannot,’ the nag said with a leer.
‘You’ll learn not to miss it, inside of a year.’
---<>---
‘But my friends and my family have all gone away,
And my home is now darkened and cold without day.’
---<>---
‘If it’s home that you want, I think I can find
A place you’ll be useful, with others of kind.’
---<>---
‘Oh please, not to coffee,’ I begged the old housewife.
‘A life without passion is not hardly a life.’
---<>---
‘Are you sure you’ll not do it, and give it your best?
I promise you good work, you’ve not failed your test.’
---<>---
I stood there and pondered, my hoof to my chin,
Of chances and changes, and favors to win.
---<>---
Suddenly on top of the mantle I saw
In a mirror, a cup with a mango and straw.
---<>---
My Cutie Mark! My very own talent and passion!
My whole reason for living! My soul, in a fashion.
---<>---
I turned away from the Nightmare, for Nightmare she was,
And bucked her right out of my dream, just because.
---<>---
I woke straight away, and I came straight to you.
Now tell me please, zebra, will I go free too?”

-----<@>-----

Zecora was crying, as all free folk should,
When they meet such a pony, so valiant and good.
---<>---
But her crying was bitter along with the sweet,
The air grew so tense, she could hear her heartbeat.
---<>---
She smiled and she sniffed, and she rubbed at her eye,
For she knew she would soon have to bid him goodbye.
---<>---
This wasn’t the first time she’d heard such a dream,
With such courage and passion and love in its theme,
---<>---
And every last pony a dream like this had
Was gone the next day, to a fate that was bad.
---<>---
The Moon would not stand for defiance, not a bit.
Not even in prison, in the darkest of pits.
---<>---
In court, she passed sentence, or so it was claimed,
But true judgment came after, in the dreamscape she tamed.
---<>---
The Nightmares decided the fate of each soul,
From the most hardened criminal to the freshly-born foal.
---<>---
The nighttime brought darkness, o’er land and o’er life.
And under, dark feelings in the world had grown rife.
---<>---
Zecora knew, more than most, what was wrong with the world.
That is why she could tell how these things would unfurl.

-----<@>-----

She told Mango his fate, but she told him with pride,
For no matter his end, he stayed on the right side.

---------(-<@>-)---------

> Summer Heat vs. Iron Curtain - Winner: Summer Heat (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Summer in Stalliongrad - by Summer Heat's Author

The bartender looks up from his work as a grinding squeak from the front door’s aging hinges alerts him to my presence. The aging grey unicorn’s eyes flick rapidly over my face, my hat, my coat, my face again— before even crossing the few steps between doorway and counter, I am appraised in detail.

“Fine evening to you, comrade,” he says with a frown and a raised eyebrow. "It is rare that we entertain government stallions here. Are you here to drink with us, or to investigate us?"

His words draw alarmed glances from the few ponies seated at the bar. Most, however, are gathered around the lamplit room's mismatched collection of tables and chairs, too occupied by food, drink, and company to notice my entrance.

I quickly remove my ushanka, and am sure to open my coat before reaching into my inner pocket and retrieving a golden coin, which I lay on the counter. "A round of your finest," I say, loudly enough to be heard by the nearest tables.

The bartender snatches the coin with a sweep of his foreleg. He smiles, albeit dryly, then places a hoof to his lips and fires off a piercing whistle.

The sound summons a lime green pegasus mare who reports to the counter with a nasal "Eh?" and a stretch of her wings. The bartender barks orders at her in husky Pegastan pidgin— I hear the words do 'em big and 'round the house, but little else.

"'Kay!" the server says, nodding once. Then she leaps over the bar with a flap of her wings and disappears into a back room, leaving me to survey the room.

At first glance, the pub appears to be like any other; only a cultured eye would detect anything out of the ordinary. The ponies crowded around the tables are Stalliongrad born and bred, but the specialty food of the night seems to be kabocha from Neighpon, the music playing on the room’s lone gramophone is a lilting crystalflute ballad, and the bottles that the server mare is distributing are unmistakably filled with red wine from southern Prance.

"My friends refer to this place as ‘the trade show,’ and only in hushed tones,” I say to the bartender. “Was it you who invented this name?”

He chuckles. “A fitting euphemism, don’t you think? See how proudly our comrades raise mugs of imported spirits, toasting the health of the very leader who would outlaw such disloyalty. They are good and honest ponies, most of them, and they enjoy the thrill of the forbidden as much as they do the taste of imported food.”

The serving mare places a goblet before me and fills it with wine. I nod to her in thanks as I lift the glass, then swirl it. The smell is dry, very dry, with surprisingly complex undertones— the kind of wine usually reserved for connoisseurs and collectors. I take the first sip, and am not disappointed.

The aftertaste unfolds on my tongue as I nod my approval to the bartender. “Fortunate for us, then, that not all foreign pleasures are outlawed just yet.”

A soft laugh, almost a giggle, comes from my left.

“Please. I’m ‘exotic,’ not ‘foreign.’”

I turn, and find myself looking into a pair of smiling eyes, deep blue and reflective like the glass resting against her lips. Her mane is full and wavy, almost black in the uneven lamplight, and her coat is a hot tulip-pink. As she lowers the glass, her mouth curls into a smirk.

“So you’re the big spender, huh? Fancy tastes you’ve got.”

“My tastes are, in your words, exotic,” I reply, rotating to properly face her where she sits with her elbow resting on the counter. “A result of a long career in foreign diplomacy. But such is the reason for coming here tonight, is it not?”

She tilts her head to the side and spreads her hooves for a long, exaggerated shrug. Her words come out in a rolling singsong. “I’m nothin’ but a passer-by who knows a party when she sees one.”

“Ah, but not just any passer-by,” I say, mirroring her smirk. “I recognize well the sound of an Equestrian accent such as yours. You are very far from home indeed.”

She shakes her head, but still holds onto a small smile. “Long as there’s good weather, good drink, and good company, I’m not far from home at all.”

“Respectable words to live by.” I raise my glass.

Our goblets make a delicate ding, like the chime of a bell, as the rims touch. Her eyes close as she takes a long, slow drink.

"Tell me, then,” I say as the sharp taste fades to its finish, “is Stalliongrad a home for you?"

She places a hoof beneath her chin and purses her lips in a pose of mock contemplation. "Well, let’s see. The weather was nicer in the Fillypines, the drink was better in Germaneigh... and it took me until tonight to find any Stalliongrad ponies who can appreciate something exotic." At the end of her statement, her eyes are half-lidded and her smirk has returned. “I think I’m gonna need some convincing.”

An involuntary grin comes to my face. The intent of her words is unmistakable, and I puff out my chest to meet her advances with confidence. “Such admirable honesty!” I say, laughing between words. “I think it must be love for our Motherland that prevents my comrades from speaking their minds about Stalliongrad weather and Stalliongrad vodka. Perhaps Stalliongrad ‘convincing’ will be more enjoyable?”

Initially, she grins along with me, but her expression falls gradually until her brow is furrowed in an expression of vague concern. Instead of replying, she leans several inches to the left, as if I were blocking her view of some unfolding sequence of events.

It is then that I notice the pony-shaped shadow looming over me, along with the distinctive smell of cheap vodka.

“Enjoying yourself, comrade?” booms an all too familiar voice, inches behind my head.

The confidence that I had been enjoying melts like a snowbank beneath a flamethrower. My heart pounds as I snatch my ushanka from where it sits on the counter, place it on my head, pivot in place, and straighten my neck to stand at attention. With my gaze locked straight ahead in proper posture, I am treated to a good view of my superior’s broad chest and muscular neck.

“Greetings, Comrade Iron Curt--”

“Sorry for interrupt, comrade.” His voice booms from his chest, dangerously calm and decidedly unapologetic. “You had words about Stalliongrad vodka?”

"Yes! Ah, no! This young mare and I were simply discussing--" I turn to gesture toward my companion, but her place at the bar is empty, showing no trace that anypony had ever been there. Even her glass of wine has disappeared.

I turn back around, and see Iron Curtain holding my own glass up to the light, squinting at it with his good eye.

“Legally imported wine, comrade," I say hastily. "I have no reason to suspect this establishment of--”

Iron Curtain ignores me as he lowers the glass to his nose, sniffs loudly, then lets out a harrumph.

"What is this weak, Equestrian drink?"

"If I may correct you, comrade, the wine is from--"

"In Stalliongrad we have real Hooviet drink!” Iron Curtain roars. He raises one hoof, then brings it down on the counter like a sledgehammer, so hard that my drink jumps in place. “Bartender!”

The bartender, who has likely been watching from a distance from the moment Iron Curtain opened the front door, appears all but instantaneously.

“Yes, comrade?”

Iron Curtain flicks his hoof toward my hardly touched glass of wine, as if it were all he could do to keep from hurling it instead. “Remove this watery swill and bring vodka as powerful as Communism!”

The bartender glances at my glass, then frowns. “I will fetch the vodka, but allow our friend to finish his glass, perhaps? I hate to see it go to waste.”

Iron Curtain slowly, slowly turns toward me with a bone-piercing chill in his eyes. When he speaks, he forms each word with deliberate, icy precision.

“My comrade is finished with his wine.”

The bartender shows no reaction save for a terse nod as he takes the more than half-full glass of fine wine and carries it with him into the back room. I watch it go with some regret, only to be shocked out of my wistful mood by another explosive, spittle-flying roar.

“Have you no shame? No pride in our great Motherland? Were you not taught to fight for beloved Stalliongrad? Peace has made us weak and lazy like tiny baby foal!”

My ears are left ringing, and nearly every patron in the bar is watching. Some of them are gathering their things, preparing to flee.

“I lost right eye fighting capitalist pigs, and now with left eye I see comrade who drinks foreign, capitalist poison and lusts after foreign, capitalist zhopa!”

“Oh please. My zhopa speaks a universal language. Sounds like you need a drink or five, comrade.”

Her Equestrian accent momentarily vanishes as the word comrade rolls off her tongue with near-perfect pronunciation. Every eye in the bar falls upon the lone mare leaning against the edge of an unoccupied table, smirking as she tilts back the last of her wine. 

Every eye, of course, except for one. Iron Curtain continues to glare at me, letting the mystery Equestrian mare speak to his back. It is an ingenious way to berate me while also replying to her taunts.

“I see no drink here, only thin juice harvested by slaves of exploitative regime and left to rot!”

“Easy fix. You want vodka, right? I’ll get the first round, if you drink with me.” Despite Iron Curtain’s menacing bulk blocking most of my view, I can see her turn toward the bar with a wave and a nod.

“I do not drink with capitalists!”

Again I am uncertain of whom Iron Curtain means to berate more— me, or the mare challenging him.

“Oh c’mon,” she replies, all too sweetly. “How about a game, then? Friendly round of table-jumping?”

The gramophone plays a few more bars of Crystal Waltz, then cuts off with a warbling scratch as somepony pulls the needle from the record. Moments later, the silence is broken by the clomping of Iron Curtain’s hooves as he finally turns his back on me and faces her.

“You dare challenge a Stalliongrad stallion to great Stalliongrad tradition of table-jumping?”

Even from where I stand, the deviousness in the challenger's crooked smile is obvious. She answers the question by trotting a tight circle, stepping onto a chair and then onto the table as easily as if climbing a set of stairs.

“Finally, somepony who knows how to have fun!”

She rears up and shakes out her mane with a long whoop. The audience starts to murmur.

“Typical Equestrian arrogance!” Iron Curtain shouts.

“Just don’t go easy on me!” the mystery mare replies.

“You! By the magnitofon!” Iron Curtain snaps, and the pony nearest to the gramophone stands at attention as if he had been physically yanked into position.

“Play song worthy of glorious Hooviet victory!”

There is an awkward silence as the target of Iron Curtain’s order shuffles through a cabinet set against the back wall. When a song finally starts playing, it is a driving piano march with a brass and accordion accompaniment, the sort that must have accompanied Hooviet propaganda films in the days of Iron Curtain’s youth. Underscoring the music is a faint dry crackle, betraying the age and condition of the vinyl..

Iron Curtain charges down the center of the room at a full gallop, causing ponies to shove and jostle each other to get out of his path. He mounts the farthest table in a single powerful leap, and stares across the battlefield of cleared-out tables.

On one side stands Iron Curtain in coat and ushanka, his brow creased into a steely one-eyed glare forged in hardship, hardened by battle, and refined by age to project a presence like the living avatar of Winter itself.

Across from him stands a nameless young mare from a faraway land, wearing nothing but a smirk. Her stance has a lazy sway to it, neither kowtowing before Iron Curtain nor standing in opposition; it is as if the glint in her eye creates a pocket of warmth immune to his icy fury.

“In Stalliongrad rules, if falling off table or spilling drink, then is losing immediately! There will be no second chances, no helpers, no outside interference--nopony to save capitalist scum from her folly!”

Iron Curtain starts pacing back and forth while shouting with the full force of his basso voice, like a general giving a speech to his troops. As he does, the server trots from table to table, laying out shots of vodka on each one.

“After jumping to new table and drinking, we are stomping with music sixteen counts! In this time, opposing side must make own jump and swallow entire drink! We continue until capitalist scum falls behind, falls from table, or falls victim to own foolish attempt to drink against proud defender of Stalliongrad! Now..." begin!”

Iron Curtain backs up by a half-step, then surges forward and leaps, easily launching himself over the heads of the crowd. The gramophone blares out chords like the battle cry of the Revolution as Iron Curtain's bulk comes down with a crushing wham! such that the heavy wooden table shudders beneath him.

Whooping cheers rise from the audience as everypony in the room starts stomping to the tempo of the music. Without realizing it, I find that my own forehoof has started to tap as well, carried along by the rising thrill of traditional alcoholic warfare. 

Iron Curtain bends down, picks up the shot in his teeth, throws the contents to the back of his throat with a jerking motion, then drops the empty glass. He looks expectantly to his adversary with chin raised in challenge as he begins stomping along with the rest of the crowd.

The mare hardly spares Iron Curtain a glance. She sways happily to the music for fully half of her allotted sixteen counts, then crosses the gap to the nearest table with a kind of bounding leap. Unlike Iron Curtain, she snatches the shot with her hoof before rearing up and knocking the contents back.

“Nice jump!” she shouts. “Don’t tire yourself out, comrade!”

The music drives on, and instead of stomping out the sixteen-beat countdown, the unnamed competitor sways and bounces to the music as naturally as if dancing were her normal mode of movement.

Iron Curtain makes his next jump and drink with plenty of time. He strikes his commanding stance once more. “No simpering Equestrian capitalist is a comrade of mine! I am unstoppable, like Stalliongrad winter!" 

The pink mare, still paying more attention to the bystanders than her opponent, prances a lap around the rim of her table, winking and blowing kisses. She makes the next hop barely in time to twirl like a dervish and sweep up her shot before being disqualified by the sixteenth beat.

Iron Curtain barely waits for her to swallow before he takes off on his next launch. “I am mighty, like Stalliongrad bear! I am General Winter, and you are lone spring flower before fearsome blizzard!” He jumps, and his hooves dig indents in the next table as he pounds into it.

The ‘flower’ on the table across from Iron Curtain spends precious hoofbeats rearing up and extending her forehooves into the air in a come-get-it stance. She calls out in a pitch-perfect mockery of Iron Curtain's accent:

“General Winter? Ha! I am seeing only 'floppy like Stalliongrad pierogi' and 'depressing like Stalliongrad hangover!'"

An uproar of laughter mixes with a surge of cheering and whistling as Summer takes off at a full gallop, launches herself onto the next table--then bounds off to another table on the next beat. On the third table, she doesn't just run; she plants her forehooves, flips head over heels like a tumbling acrobat, and flies across a gap easily twice the size of any crossed by either her or Iron Curtain thus far. By the time she lands, the cheers have become deafening and the rhythm on the floor has been nearly lost in the excitement.

She nicks the shot from the table between the fourteenth and fifteenth beats, then swallows and drops the glass on the sixteenth.

"Ever met a capitalist who can do that?"

Iron Curtain's nostrils flare and his eye burns in its socket like a lone coal in a snowed-over firepit.

"You think to impress me with such foalish circus feats? You are nothing! All will witness true show of Communist superiority over capitalist swine!"

He rears up, then roars at the top of his lungs as he charges full-force toward the edge of his table. 

"For the Motherland! URAAAAAAA!"





It takes some time before I am able to nudge and squeeze my way through the still buzzing crowd, but as soon as I am able, I hurry to the disaster zone on the far end of the room. Finding Iron Curtain is easy enough; neither he nor the collateral damage from his spectacular last stand have moved at all. 

I kneel down next to him.

“ty poryadke, comrade?”

“Ish sad day for Communisht party,” Iron Curtain slurs. The words are barely audible thanks to how his cheek rests on the floor.

“You fought valiantly, comrade,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. He reaches up and brushes my hoof away.

Somepony trots up behind me. "Friend of yours?"

"Co-worker," I reply, rising to all fours.

"He okay?"

"He has hurt nothing except his pride, I think. Now, as for us--another drink, perhaps?"

She snorts in amusement. "Only if you let me get this one. I wanna see how you do with Equestrian bourbon."

Iron Curtain groans something into the floor as the two of us leave him, but the only intelligible word is "pierogi."









The Ambassador and the Dancer - by Iron Curtain's Author

A hot-pink mare ran through the empty city streets. Her reddish mane, once well-kept, was knotted and clinging to her face. She looked over her shoulder, her cold-blue eyes full of terror as she ran aimlessly. She seemed to be guided by sheer instinct alone. 

Behind her was a pack of at least four ponies. They were not normal ponies. They were not even considered ponies anymore. Their eyes were sunken in, decayed lips revealing rotten and jagged teeth with bits of flesh caught between. Saliva ran freely from their mouths as they pursued the mare relentlessly. Unlike their prey, zombies never tired. 

The mare ran between long-abandoned carts, trash scattered throughout the streets, and the remains of victims to the undead. Her maneuvers seemed to do little good. The pack of zombies kept charging forward, climbing or breaking through the carts. The trash that scattered the street did not hinder their charge. The remains of past meals held no allure compared to a fresh prize. 

The mare saw a small opening nearby that looked like it lead to another street. Looking over her shoulder again at her attackers, the chances of survival seemed the same no matter what. After jumping over a trash can and giving it a hard buck towards her chasers, she took off with all her might, desperate to find a way out of this horrific nightmare. 

Luck did not smile upon her. Her escape turned out to be an alleyway, one blocked off by a high fence. Before she could even turn back to the main street, she heard the moans and groans of the undead coming up from behind.

Two of them were already inside the alley with her, the other two coming in close behind. She scanned the buildings around her, but it was no use. The alley was a dead end—a fate she would likely meet now. 

Backing up, she watched as the zombies approached. She had hurt one with her trash trick, as its leg was notably broken., Still it moved forward, unable to feel the pain.

There was no escape, and the mare’s luck had finally run out. 

She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. 

A stallion's voice broke her from her thoughts. Her eyes shot open. From behind the small group of zombie ponies came a brown stallion. The stallion barreled through and tackled one of the creatures with tremendous force. She watched in shock as the stallion raised his head high into the sky. She noticed he was holding something in his mouth.

Before she could recognize the object, the stallion brought it down upon the zombie, ending the monster’s undead life. 

The stallion jumped off the dead beast and faced off against the undead around him. They roared and growled at the newcomer, their terrible teeth gnashing as they charged, hungry for his flesh as well.

The next few moments were a blur. The stallion performed a series of throws, countering the zombified ponies’ weight and disorganizing them. Whenever he had one of them down, he would attempt to take their head as he had with the first. 

Slowly, the mysterious stallion overcame the odds, each zombie put back to rest by his blade. As the last zombie fell, the mare could only see the backside of the stallion. He was hunched over, his breathing ragged. He wore a dark-grey trench coat, which was tattered at the end and showed a bit of his red cutie mark. Upon his head sat a strange hat, one the mare had only seen during the winter, which also looked heavily tattered. 

Heaving a deep sigh, the stallion sheathed his weapon. “Bit of adventure we had, da?” The stallion laughed, but before he could turn fully around, the mare had already drawn a small knife.

“Who are you?!” the mare demanded, holding the knife firmly in her teeth. She kept low to the ground, ready to pounce on the strange stallion. She had learned long ago that everything came with a price .In her line of work, she knew what stallions wanted, and was not interested in giving it. 

The stallion just blinked at her, cocking his head before breaking into a grin. “Da. I understand. We are strangers, and even before this, it is hard to trust.” The stallion laughed as he sat down before her, not seeming the least bit concerned. “I am Iron Curtain. Like you, survivor of this. Former ambassador of Stalliongrad. I like to drink, and do not care for walks on beach by moonlight.” He laughed at his own little joke. “Now, you?”

The mare did not say a word as she glared at Iron Curtain. He was not the first survivor she had came across who still seemed to be friendly in this hostile environment. All of them wanted something from her. “Why should I?”

“Because!” Iron Curtain laughed as he reached inside his coat again, making the mare tense. “Who will drink with me?”

Iron Curtain pulled out a bottle of clear liquid from his coat and placed it on the ground on its side. Giving it a light kick with his hoof, he rolled the bottle over to her for inspection. “Never opened.” 

The bottle rolled ever so slowly over to her.She kept her gaze fixated on him in case he tried to move. As the bottle hit her hoof, she glanced down at it. 

Ruskova: True Stalliongrad Vodka

“Why do you want to drink with me?” the mare asked.  She set the bottle upright with one hoof, testing the lid to see if it was truly never opened. 

“Lonely, mostly,” Iron Curtain said. He took the sheath of his weapon out and tossed it over to her. “Sweeten pot, as they say,” he added when he saw her eyes widen. “Last few days I have seen nopony alive. I see you, about to be eaten, and I saw chance for company. Does one need more reasons to enjoy drink?” Iron Curtain shrugged his broad shoulders, smiling all the same. 

The mare looked at the bottle once again, then to the disarmed stallion. It had been a long time since she could let her guard down. If company was all he truly wanted, she had done that many times in the past. 

“Summer Heart.” Summer unscrewed the top of the bottle with an audible click of the foil breaking apart. Iron Curtain continued to smile as he watched her lower her knife and take a swig, only to start coughing. 

“That is real vodka you drink. Not watered-down version,” he said with a laugh as he approached her. “Not something a mare such as you would be—”

Summer brought the drink back to her lips and took a few large gulps before pulling it away. 

“You were saying?” Summer flipped her disheveled mane as she set the bottle down in front of her. Iron Curtain’s mouth just hung open.

Finally, with a shake of his head, he said, “Well… it is good, da?” He moved past the undead bodies and sat up against a wall in the alleyway, resting his head against the building. “Come, sit and drink. Good to refresh oneself.” 

Summer looked over to him and then back at the bottle. He was still a stranger to her, but either the fact that he had saved her or the strong vodka running through her veins made her oblige. However, she made sure to sit on his blind side, just in case.  

The two sat together against the wall in silence for a few moments, exchanging sips of vodka. “So, what is it you do before this?” Iron Curtain finally asked, breaking the silence as he took another sip. As he did, Summer looked down at the ground before them as she thought about her last day of a normal life, and how it was shattered by a zombie attack. 

“Does it matter anymore?” She replied, as she took the bottle from him. “It is all gone now. Why dwell on it?” 

“Because,” Iron Curtain said, looking to her as she took her own sip of vodka. “To survive here one must be calm,” he said before cracking his neck slightly. “And sometimes, memories keep us calm,” 

“What keeps you calm?” At those words, Summer watched a small grin start to spread upon Iron Curtain’s face. Something about it sent a chill down her spine. 

“Me?” Iron Curtain brought the bottle to his lips and took an audible gulp of the strong liquid. Pulling it away, he ran a hoof across his lips and turned to face her fully.

Summer had to hold back a shudder as she looked into Iron Curtain’s face. Just a few moments ago, his demeanor had calmed her. Now, he seemed so cold and dead, like the monsters around them.

“It’s just another layer of Hell!” Iron Curtain shouted before he burst into thunderous laughter. 

Summer Heat sat in stunned silence. He laughed as though he was not in the middle of the apocalypse but at a bar surrounded by friends who had just told a funny story. He seemed so out of place with the world around them.

Slowly, Iron Curtain started to calm down. He took a shorter sip of the bottle before setting it down between them again. 

“Another… layer of Hell?” Every fiber in Summer Heat's body was telling her to get away from him—that he was not the savior that she had seen. But her body didn’t respond like she was used to.

Back when the world was still sane, when she was a dancer at a club and the dead remained dead, she could have simply gotten up. With a bat of  her eyes, she would have left the conversation without the stallion knowing she was disappearing for good. This was not the world as it was a week ago. Somehow, this stallion had her trapped with his words, rather than the other way around. 

“Da,” Iron Curtain replied, licking his lips. “ I was once soldier of Red Army for Stalliongrad. I fought in two wars for the motherland, resulting in much death and sacrifice.”

Summer Heat looked up at Iron Curtain, and though she saw his eyepatch, it seemed as though he was staring out into a memory.

“Ask any soldier who saw combat what it is like to fight. They will tell you same thing. At first, they were afraid, terrified of all around. Then, something happens. A sudden change and training takes over. Still afraid they are, but something drives them forward. Muscle reflex, many call, and they do what they have to do.

“Not ‘till after battle does it all hit you again. As you wake up from that almost-sleepwalk state to see what has happened. What comrades did to the enemy.” Summer watched as Iron Curtain looked down at the ground between them again, staring at the bottle of vodka, now half-empty. “To see what you did to enemy.”

For what felt like hours, Summer Heat stared at Iron Curtain as he just looked at the bottle. His good eye was now visible to her, but seemed to be as dull as those of the undead.

“A part of soul feels lost. The part that was innocent at one point.” 

With his golden eye still fixated on the bottle, Summer Heat could only sit there and absorb what he had just said. In a way, she could relate to Iron Curtain about losing a part of one’s soul to tragedy. She had seen much of it in her own life. The images of her hometown being destroyed by the earth itself, ponies being crushed by the places they had called homes, and those left to mourn the dead still haunted her thoughts. It was why she could never stay in a single place for long. She never wanted to relive that. 

It might have been part of the reason why she became a dancer in clubs—to never have to show her true self, to let it all be an act. That way, she could keep from making attachments as she separated the world into customers and co-workers. It would keep her from having to forge relationships. Keeping her heart safe from further pain. 

Still, she could not understand how this kept Iron Curtain calm. How did memories of war, death, and tragedy keep him from going insane during these times? Without realizing it, Summer Heat’s mouth began to move. 

“How does that keep you calm?” 

Iron Curtain looked up at her as she realized what she asked. At once, she began to curse herself for the question; she didn’t know if she wanted to know what helped this strange pony to stay calm. 

“It’s like I said. I was soldier. Even though I was made ambassador, never did I let training go. Nyet. Training I continued, just in case.” She watched as a grin broke out across his face once again. He waved his hoof at the deserted buildings around them. “Good thing, for we are now at war. A war for survival.”

Iron Curtain got to his hooves and smiled as he looked around. “Matter not if we live or die. Nyet! For this is what keeps me calm. War! Job behind desk, filing papers, looking over trades, discussing peace, much I hated!” 

Iron Curtain stomped his hoof on the stone road, the sound echoing off the buildings and down the deserted streets. Summer Heat got to her hooves as well—not from being startled at Iron Curtain’s stomp, but at what could follow after it. 

“You see now? What keeps me calm, is the war.” Iron Curtain laughed as he looked at Summer Heat. She just looked back at the larger stallion, looking to see if anything had heard his stomping around, but the only undead that remained had already been dealt with. 

He seemed to have everything in order, that he was going to survive this ordeal no matter how high the odds were stacked against him. That seemed to be the way he wanted it to be. Iron Curtain could be her best chance of making it out of this alive and able to see another sunrise. 

“You know, we could always work together,” Summer Heat batted her eyes at him, playing upon the tricks she had learned from her years as a dancer. “You could supply the means to survive and I…” She pushed her mane behind her ear and smiled. “Could always provide a bit of entertain—” 

“Nyet!” Iron Curtain shouted, stomping his hoof. “It is time for war. Must keep head clear. No mare troubles!” He glared at her. “If you want to join, you may. Cause trouble, it will be your own doing.” Iron Curtain spat, then turned towards the entrance to the alley. “Now, it is time to move on. War is upon us!” 


> Quick Study vs. Booster Bones - Winner: Quick Study (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quick Study vs. Booster Bones - by Quick Study's Author

        Quick Study was a mare of science and fact. Throughout all her life she believed that knowledge and understanding of the world would solve any and all problems that she encountered. Throughout her life, rarely was she ever on the losing side, with logic and facts always helping her triumph in the end. However... this was not one of those days.

        It had been a seemingly ordinary Tuesday afternoon in the Baltimare City Archives. Aside from the sound of a few lone visitors in the cavernous building, the place was as quiet as a church. Or at least it was until the sound of an entire bookshelf depositing its contents on the ground was heard throughout the structure. Quick Study had been busying herself with rebinding the damaged articles when she heard the commotion, and being the only archivist on duty that day, rushed to see what had unfolded.What she discovered would horrify booklovers everywhere and cause a young purple pony princess in Ponyville to faint in shock.

        On the ground lay scattered an entire shelving of tomes. Considering that the shelves in the archives were about ten feet tall and sixty feet long, it was a horrific mess. The shelf from which the objects fell sat at an angle against a support pylon, which thankfully prevented it from falling completely over. Quick stepped lightly between the fallen articles as she surveyed the damages. From her observations thankfully most—if not all—of the tomes remained undamaged. Before she could examine the mess further, a gruff voice from the other side of a pile of books caught her attention.

        “Gah, so they thought they’d try to knock me off the trail with homicide by book avalanche?” grumbled a gravely masculine voice. “Fortunately, it looks like their attempt was past due.”
        
        “Um, excuse me sir, are you okay?” asked Quick Study as she came around the pile of books blocking her view of the unknown speaker. As the owner of the voice came into view, Quick’s mouth fell into an open gape at the sight of a earth pony stallion in a duster and bowler cap. It wasn’t because he was exceedingly handsome or repulsive, nor was he a garish color of bright red and chartreuse. The reason for her shock was because he was see-through and floating a few inches off the ground. “G-g-g...gho-”

        “I’m fine ma’am,” said the specter as he dusted off his coat. “Or should I say, Ms. Guilty Pants!” The ghost floated up close to Quick Study’s face with an accusatory glare.

        “G-guilty?!” exclaimed a shocked Quick Study.

        “That’s right,” elaborated the spook as he floated around her. “You thought that by burying me under a pile of papers that I’d get knocked off the case. Well shame to say little lady, but your aim is as poor as me after a two-for-one sale on maple syrup.”

        “B-But I didn’t-,” she responded before gasping in realization. “Your body!” With frantic hooves and telekinetic magic, Quick Study dug away the enormous pile of tomes that lay on the floor, frantically looking for what she dreaded was the body of one very dead accusatory pony. The ghost, however, hovered in place, watching the spectacle before clicking his ghostly tongue and sighing.

        “Trying to escape by digging to Chineigh won’t save you from the long leg of the law, and attempting to buy my silence with compliments about my amazing figure won’t work either: I’m incorrigible!” he announced as the pile rapidly disappeared. Soon Quick Study had reached the bottom, but had not found any dead bodies buried under the mess.

        “Wait… don’t you mean incorruptible? And where is your body?” Quick Study expressed with confusion.

        “Are you blind or something?” asked the ghost. “The body of Booster Bones, Private Investigator Supreme, stands before you about to dispense two cold cans of justice!”

        Quick Study, though she was relieved that she knew now that she wouldn’t have to worry about explaining a dead body to the police, was still confused about what the ghost was talking about. “Justice? What for?! I didn’t do anything!” she protested.

        “Denying the facts, eh?” Booster replied as he pulled out a ghostly cigarette and lit it. “I was out on the street hunting down clues on the evil ice cream stallion thanks to a clue involving a chalk outline and a melting cornetto. The sounds of foals screaming alerted me to it, meaning only one thing: that the Ice Cream Crusher was loose and looking for his next victim!”

        “...Are you serious?” questioned a dumbfounded Quick Study.

        “So I chased after the music of the Ice Cream Crusher throughout the town, he thought he had given me the slip, but his trail lead me right here, and after this attempt to ‘crush’ the law under the weight of knowledge, it must mean that you are the culprit all along!”

        “What!?” roared Quick Study with both disbelief and contempt. “I’m an archivist… and a mare!”

        “The perfect disguise!” retorted Booster Bones. “Who would think a mild mannered mare would be the Ice Cream Crusher, no one would ever pin it on you!”

        “...This is ridiculous,” groaned an exasperated Quick Study. “All I did was come over here after I heard the shelf fall, I was no where near it when this happened.”

        “A likely story if I ever heard one!” expressed Booster, taking a deep puff of his cigarette. “Then what were you doing here if your story is to be believed?”

        Quick Study looked at Booster Bones incredulously and then glanced over to the very large sign hanging on the wall saying ‘No Smoking’ as she flatly stated, “I told you, I’m an archivist. I work here.”

        “Oh really? I find that hard to believe,” accused Booster Bones. Quick Study responded by using her telekinesis to levitate her ID badge up to Booster’s face. He studied the card, eyeing every inch of of it. Suddenly he jabbed his hoof at the photo in the ID and shouted, “Ah ha! This is just an poorly made forgery! Obviously the mare in this photo is completely different. Your manes look nothing alike!”

        “That’s impos-!” Quick Study exclaimed as she looked at the card herself. Her expression fell at examining her ID and her patience grew all the more thin with Booster. “My mane was cut short that day, it’s still me,” she flatly pointed out.

        “Yet another likely story,”Booster Bones bantered. “But so far I’ve been hearing a lot of that from you lately.”

        “Ugh, that’s it!” exclaimed Quick Study as she began to trot away.

        “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” shouted Booster Bones as he levitated after her. “Don’t think you can run from me!”

        “Oh, I’m not running. I’m just looking up something,” responded Quick with a devilish smile.

        “Trying to lawyer up on me?” assumed Booster as he trailed behind her. “Don’t think that will stop me from discovering your dark secrets.”

        “The only secret I care about is how to get rid of you,” mumbled Quick Study as she scanned through the aisles of literature.

While she searched for her objective, Booster came face to face with yet another no smoking sign. Grumbling about ‘stupid laws’ he dropped the ethereal cancer stick to the ground and crushed it under his hoof.

Quick Study saw this out of the corner of her eye, and while she had the strongest urge to cuss out this annoying ghost for his aborhant behavior, she knew that if she could find what she was looking for she wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer. Her quest was soon achieved, however, when she spied a familiar red omnibus on the shelves.

        “Ah, found it,” she spoke to herself with satisfaction. “The Passimino Pamphlet on Phantoms and Poltergeists.”

        “What’s with the spook book?” questioned Booster Bones. “Cause I doubt it’ll give ya a ghost of a chance escaping your date with justice.”

        “One, that was terrible,” deadpanned Quick Study. “Two, if there is one thing life taught me, is that a little research always reveals the answers you seek… and here they are!” Quick Study exclaimed jubilantly at the section of the book she had found. “How to rid yourself of a ghost… hrm… looks tricky.”

        Booster Bones had grown impatient with Quick Study’s actions and stood tall as he pulled out a pair of ghostly handcuffs. “Listen here doll, you might be three muffins short of a batch, but I’m gonna have to take you in anyway.” He moved closer upon her, but Quick made no movement to escape, far too engrossed in her book to be aware of the phantom looming over her. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used in an amusing anecdote around the water cooler later and I have total dibbs on stretching some of the details. You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford an attorney, I know a guy who does great consolidation, has a very low interest rate and is only ¼ shark-sea-pony. You have the right to not answer any questions I give without an attorney present, or without a costumed mascot dancing to disco… wait, I think I got this messed up again.” Booster pulled out a ghostly notebook and flipped to the section he had bookmarked in his own sloppy hoofwrtiing titled ‘Reading the rights.’

        As he mumbled over his notes, Quick Study left the aisle and went towards the back end of the archives. She returned moments later with a small collection of items and a determined look upon her face. Booster still was looking over his notes and grumbling about something as he didn’t hear or notice Quick Study laying out the objects on the floor.

        “Okay, item number one: Ghosts are ethereal beings,” recited Quick Study from her memory of what she read in the book. “Wrought iron contains elements that disrupt ethereal energy. Simply attack the ghost’s form with any wrought iron to dispel it from your presence.” Picking up a ugly looking frying pan with her magic, Quick Study swung the pan in a fast arc right towards Booster Bones’ face. The pan effortlessly breezed through his non-corporeal form with no resistance or reaction from him. Aggravated, Quick Study swung a second and a third time for good measure before examining the pan in detail. She found on the back of the handle a small engraving stating ‘100% cast iron’. Quick Study promptly sighed in annoyance before throwing the pan to the side.

        “What!? Who!? Where!?” yelled a startled Booster Bones, the sound of the pan crashing  on the ground making him jump. Quick Study ignored his panicked questions and instead picked up another item from the group: a saltshaker.

        “Okay, item two: salt,” Quick Study once again reiterated to herself. “Like iron, salt should have a dispelling effect on any specter as the pure element disrupts all ethereal bonds.” When she finished speaking, Quick Study took the shaker and dashed a large amount of salt down on Booster Bones’ head. It too, like the pan before it, fell through his body and onto the ground like a disappointing snowfall.

        “Bleagh,” blanched Booster Bones. “What is this, salt? Are you trying to season me up or something?” As the words left his mouth his eyes lit up with a predatory flare. “Of course, it all makes sense!” he shouted, pointing at Quick Study with an accusatory hoof. “You are obviously the Butcher of Baltimare!”

        For yet a third time that evening, Quick Study’s mind was battered by the sheer stupidity that she was encountering, freezing up her brain and having her utter only one word in disbelief, “...What?”

        Booster floated back and forth in a pacing fashion as he explained his hypothesis, “Trying to make me your next deliciously tasty victim eh? Well it won’t work: I’m 30% tough. 80% muscle, and 100% completely ready to take you on, you freaky cannibal,” he challenged as he jumped into a boxing pose and threw a few fake punches for good measure.

        Quick however looked at this spectacle with the wondering thought that Booster Bones must have suffered brain damage before he died. She then had a realization about what he was talking about and her confidence reappeared. “Oh, the Butcher of Baltimare, huh? I remember reading about that in the newspaper archives-”

        “So, you’re an egomaniac as well? Reading about how the populace reacts to your sick appetite, does evil know no bounds?” interrupted Booster Bones.

        “As I was saying,” continued Quick Study with ever increasing annoyance at her unwanted guest, “that was in the paper over 50 years ago. When they caught the culprit?” She let the question hang in the air.

        Slowly Booster Bones’ expression changed from confidence to disgusted horror. “Sweet Celestia’s sunny butt…” he softly proclaimed.

        Quick Study took his expression for the realization of the facts and continued, “Right, so obviously I’m-”

        “A zombie!”

        “...WHAT!?” Quick cried out in indignation. She was slowly losing her mind to this madpony, and she started to fear for her ever degrading sanity.

        “Risen from the grave because the world of the dead offered you no rest?” scoffed Booster Bones as he began to float threateningly towards Quick Study. “Well, sorry gal, but justice never sleeps on my watch. Unless I stepped on my watch again, or it’s after a considerable amount of maple syrup has been consumed, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, you are under arrest!”

        “WHAT!?” Quick Study repeated. “I am not a zombie... and on what grounds!?”

        “For defying the laws of nature and ‘a salting’ an officer of the law!” Booster shouted as he slowly floated towards her. In a mad panic, Quick Study threw every object she had at him as he approached, but all of them sailed through with no reaction whatsoever. Soon, Quick Study found herself without ammo or any defences. As Booster once again pulled out his ghostly handcuffs, Quick grabbed a large book and shielded herself from him. To her, there was no escape: knowledge had failed her, books had failed her, and she was going to be arrested or killed or something horrible done to her by a crazy ghost.

        ♪ ♫*Ding-dong-ding-dong*♪ ♫  Sounded a chime from one of the speakers in the building. “Thank you for visiting the Baltimare Archives,” came an automated voice over the sound system broadcasting its message to everyone inside. “The time is now 8 pm and we are now closed. Please exit through the front of the building in a neat and orderly fashion. We hope to see you again soon.”

        Quick Study had heard the message but had payed it no mind out of the sheer terror she was experiencing. However when nothing happened for a full minute, she was curious as to why she didn’t feel dead, hurt or in handcuffs. When she looked up from her impromptu shield, she found the reason was because Booster Bones was flying away towards the front exit. Curious as to his behavior, she followed him all the way to the front of the Archives and watched as he floated right out the front doors.

        He turned around and began shaking a ghostly hoof. “You may have won this round, you zombie ice cream butcher!” he proclaimed. “But I’ll find you when the law isn’t on your side, and on that day I’ll bring justice to your door in 30 minutes or less or it’s free!” With that he turned around and floated down the steps of the archives and out of her sight.

Quick Study stood in place for a long moment contemplating the events she just experienced. After carefully reviewing the evidence that there is an afterlife, and that it’s still inhabited by idiots, she reasoned the only answer to this discovery was to flip the sign from open to closed, lock the doors and windows, power down the lights in the building, and head over to Whiskey Cider’s pub and drink until the adventure of today was erased from her conscious mind with liberal amounts of alcohol.

Booster Bones, however, sat on the steps waiting for the archives to open in the morning. “If she thinks I can’t wait one measly night to track down criminal scum then she’s got another thing coming,” he narrated to himself in a gravelly tone. “I’m like a stalwart vessel in the night, drifting ever closer to my goal in the endzone of life that is justice. And I’m about to score a hat trick… wait, that’s not right.” Booster winced at his words and pulling out his ghostly notebook opened up to the bookmarked chapter on ‘good quips to use’. “Dang it, I confused football and lacrosse with each other. Well, I never was much of a jock anyways… what was I doing here again?”

It was at that exact moment that familiar music floated through the air as an ice cream van passed right in front of the archives. Booster leapt to his ghostly feet and gave a shout, “HA! Of course! Where there is ice cream there are children! The Ice Cream Crusher will not escape me this time!” and flew off down the street in pursuit of the brightly colored vehicle all in the name of peace, justice, and the Equestrian way!









Detective Novels Are A Dame A Dozen - by Booster Bones' Author

Baltimare. It was a city spoken in hushed whispers and furtive glances. Across its cobblestone paths and seedy alleys lay a shadow that drenched the entire city in darkness. The slimy underbelly beneath the streets and around every corner was rife with crime and mischief. It was a desolate city perched precariously on the fine line between a tourist trap and a powderkeg of treachery that could explode at but a moment’s notice.

For a hard-boiled detective like Booster Bones, it was a city he could call his own.

He filled his nonexistent lungs with the various wafts that permeated the streets: sewage was first and foremost, which was followed soon after by cat piss, and then, of course, trash… mostly because garbage day was tomorrow. But one particular smell overthrew the rest for Booster’s scrupulous attention: books.

Yes indeed, it was literature that this city had finally corrupted with its devilish tendrils that would tear out each and every page just to replace it with its own vile brand of villainy. Only a few days traversing the city and Booster knew well enough what was going on. 

He had made several jaunts about the place in the past, when he had just been a fledging young private eye hot on the trail of one case to the next, but not after only a few years the area had transformed beyond even his most horrible of nightmares to a truly despicable pit of debauchery and misery. No longer did foals hide in their homes to avoid the danger of the streets, but instead they frollicked on the sidewalk and then the numerous playgrounds and even a park! Those weren’t even around a few years ago, but here they were now, just filled with loving couples walking alongside each other and old stallions feeding pigeons from benches. And nearly all of them had a book by their side, reading it for whatever nefarious reason.

“But it looks like Booster Bones is gonna put a stop to it,” Booster Bones said to himself, immediately agreeing with his statement. For he had tracked down after countless hours the seed within the bitter fruit that was this city, and it filled him with dread just being at its doorstep. Ponies walked in and out holding books of all sort, smiling all the while, with some even humming a merry tune. It was all too clear what was going on. “So, looks like books are the new hot-ticket contraband around here, huh? Well, those dastardly dubs of a devious design ain’t gonna harm this city anymore. And I’m gonna start with this here ‘Baltimare Public Library’ and I won’t stop until this book charade is put a stop to!”

With a confident step, Booster Bones made his way into the shadowy confines of the ‘library.’ Even the name sickened him, and from what he was seeing, so did the rest of the interior: the carpet reminded him of cat puke, ponies milled around aimlessly, and all around shelves upon shelves filled with books were just open for the taking. No wonder the criminal activity had disappeared almost completely from the streets from when last Booster was in town. It had transported itself in this ‘library’ in the form of books which ponies could read whenever they wanted, which Booster knew could mean only one thing. It was all a front, with the books obviously gutted out and filled with who knew what illegal substance. Salt licks, sugarcubes, peanut butter, maple syrup (especially that!), and who knew what else!

“I need to find the head of this ‘library’ and see what sorts of juicy details I can scoop from when they spill the beans,” Booster said, his eyes on cue for any obvious criminal activity. And without missing a beat he spotted the head of this operation, using of course his outstanding detective skills and ability to read name tags.

It was some mare who looked so uptight that unknotting her braid would probably make her explode. Her coat reminded Booster of maple syrup, which immediately made him start salivating. Didn’t hurt she was a shapely dame too, but Booster knew all about these types. They’d try to honeypot him to get away with their crimes, as is per the usual with a dame. But joke’s on them, because Booster Bones isn’t going to fall for that the twentieth time!

The mare—whose name tag was Quick Study and also indicated her as a Keeper of some Archives—was carefully studying an ancient tome from centuries ago with a careful eye and bated breath so as to not disturb the delicate pages. This was all ruined, however, when Booster Bones slammed the tome closed with a dusty smacked and shouted, “Aha! Gotcha now, the jig is up, your evil-doing days are over, you have the right to remain silent and call your lawyer, etc!”

Quick Study’s jaw dropped to scream, but the merest peep out of her caused the nearest librarian to shoot her a glare and “shhhhh!” so instead she held a hoof against her still-beating chest and breathed in deep gulps of air as the initial terror began to subside.

“So, you thought you could get away with it, huh?” Booster said, flicking his still lit cigarette atop the tome as he pulled out yet another cigarette from inside his coat. Lighting it with a match, he breathed in a deep gulp of sweet nicotine release, and then blew it directly at Quick Study’s face. “Well, ya didn’t have me fooled. But still, gotta hand it to youse for the set-up. Never would have thought a book-exchange program called a ‘library’ would be the center of the largest illegal substance directory in the entire city… until now.”

Quick Study merely stared at Booster with eyes wide and pupils as small as pinpricks. “What,” she began, clearing her voice, “what in Celestia’s name are you possibly talking about?”

Booster slammed his hoof on the table and leaned in close, his eyeballs eyeing her’s with just an inch to spare. “Oh, don’t play the dumb damsel in distress. I’ve seen this sorta work before. Dame acts as a front so a cop don’t see too deep into it, but lucky for this city, I ain’t one.” Booster tipped his bowler hat and smirked. “I’m Booster Bones, a detective, and you’re darn right I’m the best there is.”

“I never said that.”

“Well... others have.”

“Who?”

“Uh… others. Youse probably haven’t heard of them. They’re really big experts in the field... and junk.”

Quick Study—whose earlier near heart attack had gone and passed—was finally able to compose herself so she could glare at Booster with a glower that could make teeth rot and earwax squirm. “Firstly, no smoking in the library.” Quick Study smacked the cigarette out of Booster’s lips. “Secondly, I don’t care if you’re a detective or the Princess of Equestria herself, you will respect the rules of the library, which means you won’t disrupt others or make a nuisance of yourself. Which you are clearly doing here by disturbing my personal space, so begone with you.”

Just as Quick was about to shove Booster away, her hooves passed right through him, and the only result for all her troubles was an icy shiver running up her forelegs and directly to her spine, causing her to shiver all over.

Booster stared at her as goosebumps crawled up her flesh while she squirmed in her seat. Taking another drag on his cigarette, Booster said, “Yeah, no, see, as an peace-keeper of the law, I can break those rules, especially if they’re rules held up by some seedy smuggling operation.”

“This isn’t a seedy smuggling operation!” Quick Study snapped at him. This was immediately followed by a chorus of “shhhhhh!” all around her. Blushing intensely, she said in a hushed voice, “And how… how exactly did my hooves pass right through you? And where did you get that other cigarette from?”

Booster held his cigarette, shrugged, then flicked it on the table like the other. “I’dunno.”

Quick Study stared at the still-lit cigarette, then back at Booster, with a fresh one on his lips in but a second. She didn’t even catch him moving when it appeared. “But… how in the… what?”

“Enough stalling. I know what your operation is all about,” Booster said, both hooves on the table. “Now tell me where you’re getting the salt licks. Was it the Griffon Triad? Or perhaps the Minotaur Cartel? I know for a fact those sugarcubes are coming from somewhere in the Donkey Mafia hierarchy, but where? And the peanut butter, oh boy, the peanut butter. I know the New Diamonds are all up in that. All youse needs to tell me is where the shipments are coming in and maybe, maybe, I can help you get a plea bargain.”

However, Quick Study had wisely stopped paying attention to Booster Bones, and was instead rifling in her satchel through various notes and books.

“Hey, I’m tryin’ to talk over here!”

“Aha,” Quick said, withdrawing a particularly burdensome novel. “I knew it’d be in here somewhere. Ghostly Specters and You. Just what I needed.”

Now it was Booster’s turn to stare at Quick with his jaw slack.

Flipping through a couple of pages and adjusting her glasses, Quick read aloud: “Ghosts, otherwise known as ghouls and even living-challenged, are often the result of a devastating death coupled with unfinished business in their previous life. A ghost will only be able to move on once this business is done and they find peace with themselves.”

“Why are you reading about ghosts now?” Booster asked, his head popping up through the table. “Trying to wiseguy me outta my job by distracting me with mumbo-jumbo?”

“Nothing of the sort! This is just my first time seeing a ghost is all, so I need to brush up on some more information, which this book I have conveniently stored away is providing me,” Quick Study replied. “Oh, here’s something else. Apparently ghosts can pass through nearly any physical substance and are practically invisible to everyone unless they choose to interact with one of the living. Along with this, ghosts can levitate and change their form into whatever they want, though typically they keep their appearance of when they just died.”

“So what?” Booster said, lazily floating on his back just as he slid right through a random passerby, who crumbled in a ball on the floor as they experienced a terrible brain freeze. “I don’t see no ghosts around here.”

“Booster… you’re the ghost.”

Booster got back on all fours and blew nicotine-laden smoke out of his nostrils. “Oh, so just ‘cause I’m skinny apparently I’m some type of ghost. Well, well, well, I see the criminals around here have just gotten worse over the years!”

Quick Study met his anger with a deadpan look. “Booster, drop the act. You’re obviously some type of ghost who is doomed to this mortal realm because of some incident in your previous life. Probably related to your death or job.”

“Ha, joke’s on you, I’m not dead!” Booster scratched the side of his face. “Although… there was this one time I came really close to dying. It had something to do with a soda machine and ripping me off… and then shaking…” Rubbing his head, Booster reached into the large conspicuous hole in his hat and withdrew a soda bottle. “Oh hey, Cream Beet Fizz! My favorite!”

“Well… then it obviously has to do with something about unfinished business.” Tapping her temple, Quick Study asked, “Booster, can you recall the last case you were on before your untimely death.”

“But I didn’t die.”

“But you’re a ghost.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Fine! Then what was your last case?”

Booster opened his mouth for a few seconds, closed it, pouted, flicked his bottom lip a couple of times, groaned even longer, and finally just shrugged. “I’dunno. I thought this sting operation with the smuggling and books was it.”

Quick Study sighed with deep contempt in her breath. “So… you can’t even remember what case you were on?”

“Oh, wait!” Booster pulled out a crumpled note from one of his coat pockets. “I had this handy-dandy note written down before I went to do my rounds. And…” Booster sucked in a dramatic gasp. “Holy slimy snails on a stinky salt lick!”

“What is it?” Quick Study said, eyes immediately drawn to the note.

“It says right here I have to buy more catfood and turn off the oven at my house.” Booster squinted as he reread the note. “Huh, I didn’t even remember having a cat. Or oven. Or a house. You think they’ll be alright?”

“Uh… suuuuuuuure.”

“Whew, that’s a relief.” Crumpling the note and discarding it to the side, Booster regarded Quick Study with a contemplative look. “But that doesn’t get youse off the hook just yet. I’m still interested in what gang your ‘library’ organization works for.”

“I work for Equestria’s Ministry of Archives.”

“What type of whacko name for a gang is that?”

Quick Study tilted her head. “A… gang? In Baltimare? Why, there hasn’t been a gang in this city in over thirty years. All thanks to higher-paid police force and those child labor laws.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on… the police got a pay raise here?” Booster rubbed his chin. “Damn, I’ve been in the wrong field all this time...”

“Uh, excuse me, Booster,” Quick Study said. She was about to poke him with her hoof, but remembering her last experience with that, she merely knocked her hoof on the table. “What year was it when you last visited Baltimare?”

Booster shrugged. “Heck, why should I know? I usually don’t even know the date today. Plus, well, uh…” Booster whistled and adjusted his hat. “I was hitting the syrup preeeeeeeeeetty hard back in the day.”

“Syrup?”

“Maple, to be exact.” Booster patted his chest with a hoof and grinned. “But never fear, I’ve cut myself down to a bottle or six a day. But from what I remember… there definitely weren’t any parks in the city. Or playgrounds. Or child labor laws. And most definitely not whatever this ‘library’ thingy is.”

“...You’ve never been inside a library, have you?”

“Weeeeeell, technically I’m in one right now. Although last I remember this exact same spot was some abandoned warehouse that used to sell illegal fireworks.” Booster stared bleakly into the distance of some unseen past, a gulp the only thing breaking the icy look in his eyes. “Highly illegal fireworks. I never could get the smell of burning hair out of my nose ever since that day…”

“Booster, don’t you see? The reason everything is so different is because you’ve been dead for so many years. That’s why you’ve never seen a library before—even though I’m pretty sure during your time period they had them, in which I’m just chalking that up to poor education. There’s no smuggling ring going on here, just ponies going about their day reading books to their hearts’ content.” Quick Study patted her ghost book and smiled warmly to Booster. “Like I am right now. Amazing what decades of literacy rates going higher does to a city, isn’t it?”

“Hmmmmm…” Booster Bones inhaled deeply on his cigarette, then slowly exhaled it out of his nose. He nodded a few times. “Mmmmmhmmm.” Finally, he pulled his cigarette out of his mouth and said, “Wow, you’re one heck of a loony dame.”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“Tryin’ to convince me I’m a ghost? Really? I’ve seen desperate dames do a buncha whacko things before to get away with their crimes, but thus far you’re the craziest.” Booster shrugged with a smug smirk. “And also the most creative, so points there.”

Quick’s teeth started to grind together as that infernal smirk dug right into her vision. “Listen, you ghostly buffoon, I’m trying to help you. You’re a ghost. You died many years ago and haven’t realized it, even though it should be glaringly obvious to even the most moronic of ponies. Do. You. Understand?”

“Oh, I understand plenty,” Booster replied. He slid his bowler hat forward so that it shrouded his face in the shadows, with only his golden irises seen in the dimness. “Your honeypot routine is absolutely outstanding. For any lesser detective or stallion you might have gotten away with it. Might have, that is. But you didn’t count on Booster Bones, did’ya? I’ve dealt with dames a dozen who would practically throw themselves on top of me just to avoid a parking ticket. So sorry to burst your bubble, but Booster Bones don’t work that way. ‘Cause I have somethin’ better than that. Something deeper. I gots a badge.” Booster parted his coat to reveal a grimy looking badge with whatever name of the city it belonged to scratched out after years of wear and tear. “And I’m married to it. A deep, passionate kinship a two-bit floozy like yourself would never understand.”

“...Did you just call me a floozy?!” Quick Study asked, her voice a couple of octaves higher than was permitted in the library, but no one dared “shhhhhh!” her due to the rage in her eyes.

“Well, I ain’t callin’ youse to dinner.” Booster winked. “Unless, of course, when youse get outta prison you turn around your evil-doing ways and decide a fresh start would do youse good. A fresh start with an exceptionally handsome detective who is considered the best in his field is definitely what I would have in mind.”

Quick Study was visibly shaking with rage, but she had enough composure to instead of beating her hooves against Booster (which would have been useless anyway) to point to the library’s exit and say, “You know what? Forget about helping you. I’m not going to deal with the headache of some big-headed, undead idiot. Just get out!”

Booster shrugged and started on his way his way. “Pfft, whatever. When I get to the police station this entire vile book operation is going down! And you with it, missy!”

However, when Booster Bones walked outside, he pondered why he went in there in the first place. Also he had trouble recalling what he had been doing the last five minutes. Actually, now that he was on the subject, what city was he in anyway? It smelled like cat piss and garbage.

With all these questions piling up on him, Booster Bones could only smile in glee.

Looks like another mystery to solve.

> Foxglove vs. Loud Mouth - Winner: Loud Mouth (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Misplaced Enthusiasm - by Foxglove's Author

The applause was boisterous.

She would have also described it as ‘raucous’ or ‘gratifying’ or one of the other dozen or so words that bounced around inside her head – words that she had but never used thanks to the ironic nature of her job.

Loud Mouth was paid to speak. The simpler she spoke, the easier it was to get an idea across.

Efficient and plain was the only way about it, and so did she think upon the words unspoken as she walked back to her little dressing room, from the stage of the Brairshire Town Auditorium On-The-Hill – a quaint little place with a quaint little name that sat enough ponies for her to feel like she made a difference.

The corners were rounded, and the dim, shadow-flecked hallways were walked; her musings flew smoothly from her lips in hushed tones as she threw open her door and stepped into her personal space, ready to pack up for the night.

“Oh.”

She smiled to the pony in the room.

The stallion, clad in a blue shirt and tie, licked his lips in return, a light dusting of unshorn beard dotting his chin in patches; he coughed to himself and gave the slightest of nods.

“You’re that guard from earlier,” Loud remarked, closing the door as she pushed in. There was a slight shine to her eyes.

“Yes ma’am,” the guard replied.

“Mister… Foxglove?” she asked, glancing at the tag attached to his lapel.

“Oh… uh…” Foxglove muttered, looking down at it as well. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“I uh… I thought you were standing outside when I left for the stage earlier,” Loud stated, tilting her head as she walked to her table.

“Yeah. I was. Sorry ‘bout that.” The stallion looked away, shifting his eyes to the corners, but flicked his head in the direction of the far wall.

Loud’s own eyes trailed to the location, coming to rest on the television that was bolted there. “Ahh.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” the guard grunted. “Ain’t no live feed out there. And I… ah… I wanted to hear, yeah? And I figured, bein’ in here’s probably better’n bein’ out there, you know, for t’ keep an eye on things and whatnot... ”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Loud winked, reinforcing her smile, which was genuine, please believe me. “I don’t mind. No one sneak in here while I was out there, eh?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Great, so… nothing more I could ask for then, right?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Loud threw her hoof through the air in a sort of punching fashion, the smile on her face slowly losing a touch of lustre.

“So…” The guard muttered. “I best be…”

“Um… what did you think?” Loud suddenly blurted out.

“Wuzzat?”

“The seminar. What… whad’ya think?” Loud asked, her lips pursing slightly and her eyes turning hopeful.

“Oh, um…” Foxglove muttered. “You’re… asking me?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I mean… sure! Why not? You saw the whole thing, right?” The pegasus slid into her seat, pulling bottles of make-up remover toward her.

“I missed the first ten minutes, I reckon. But, um… yeah. Gives ya somethin’ t’ think about, for sure.”

“Yeah? What about?” Loud started dabbing at her face with a soaked ball of cotton.

“Well, I liked the story bits, really. Was ah… you know. Made stuff easy t’ understand and… put to my own stuff. You know?”

“Ah…”

“And the topic was… quite inspirin’, I reckon. It’s like… it’s like ‘do what you need’ and all that. ‘Go all the way’ and ‘be different’. It’s… ah… the kind of stuff that everyone oughta know, but you really did knock it in, yeah.” Foxglove tapped the side of his head.

Loud spun in her chair, dropping the cotton swab on the table, now stained with a light shade of brown. “Well, thank you.”

“I’m sure a lot of ponies out there’ll be inclined t’ go and do what they like now, aye.”

“And what about you?” Loud tilted her head.

“Uh....” the stallion looked to the side.

“Oh, sorry!” Loud held up a hoof. “I didn’t mean to come across…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Foxglove rumbled, quickly shaking his head. “I wasn’t… uh… you know. Or whatever.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Just… took me from behind, I guess.”

“Oh. Um… something on your mind?” Loud asked.

“Well.” Foxglove smacked his lips once more, his head bobbing around rhythmically as he thought of an answer. “What you said on stage… A lot to think about. I mean, it’s not an easy question, innit? Thinkin’ if I could do the same.”

“But isn’t it, though?” Loud raised her eyebrows, giving herself a small shrug. “I mean, let’s just take a look at it. You’re… what, a guard?”

“Yeah. I do a bit of… this ‘n that. You know. Here ‘n there.” Foxglove nodded slowly. “Different venues. Different scale. But otherwise more or less the same thing.”

“And what do you think about what you do?”

“What I think?”

“Yeah.”

“I…” Foxglove shrugged. “Another difficult question, lass.”

“But what would you say about it?”

“I… dunno. It’s complicated.”

The stallion shuffled slightly in place.

“Well, that’s still something!” Loud stuck her hoof out, as she spoke with more exuberance than was necessary. “You see, complications just mean that there’s something bothering you about it, whatever that might be. If there’s reason for you to be unhappy, then all you need to do is fi–”

“Yeah,” Foxglove cut in. “Find the source of the unhappiness and cut it out and all that. I was listenin’.”

“Well, good. Then I don’t have to tell you again,” Loud Mouth beamed.

“But the thing is, I think what’s goin’ on here is a bit… different to the usual troubles.”

“Opposite?” Loud raised an eyebrow, letting her hooves drop between her legs as she dangled off the edge of the chair.

“Yeah. See, thing is, right, your seminar’s for those chaps what can do… better for themselves, innit? You’re sayin’, we should do what we like and make ourselves happy, yeah?”

“Yes, that’s the gist of it, yes.”

“See, for me… the… thing I do is good. Kind of. I am happy with it. It makes others happy. No real issues. Still thinking maybe I ought not be doing it anyways.”

“But why not?”

“Because maybe… maybe it ain’t the best way to do things.”

Loud put on a quizzical expression.

“Wait, are we still talking about your job as a guard?” she asked.

“Listen.” Foxglove coughed, stepping quickly to the door. “Thankin’ ye kindly, but I think I overstayed a titch. I’ll be on me way, and–”

“No, no, wait. Listen. Please!” Loud jumped off her chair. “Give me a minute.”

Foxglove stopped in his tracks. “Uh.”

“You don’t have to go into details. It’s fine. I’m not here to pry. But before you go, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes.” Loud stated 

“Really, ma’am. You don’t need to…”

“But I want to. I want to inspire you. I want to show you that whatever it is that troubles you, you have the power to overcome it.”

“I don’t really have the 79 bits to buy a ticket, yeah?”

“No, no.” Loud was quick to hold a hoof up to that. “Listen. We all have to survive. Money’s just… money. We do what we need to get along. It doesn’t mean that I won’t help others if I can. One pony or a crowd, there’s no difference.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Really. Absolutely.” Loud pumped her hoof in the air. “And that’s really what it’s about, isn’t it? I do this because… I want to. It’s not for personal gain. It’s not for… power. I do what I do because I want to help others. And is that not why you do what you do?”

“Huh?” Foxglove stuttered. “Oh. Yeah. Of course, innit. I mean, why else, right? It’s dangerous. You could be caught by the wrong sort at any time. There’s always a risk. Personal danger. But… yeah. It’s always for someone else.”

“Right.” Loud nodded. “And what you have to ask yourself is, is that more important to you than these doubts you face?”

“Yes. Definitely.” Foxglove frowned.

“Well, you sound very confident about that much. So I’ll say that I think there are always other ways to get around your doubts.”

“And that’s all it is?”

“Well, everypony is different.” Loud mused, hoof on her chin. “The one thing I can say is that we all do things for many different reasons. But see… I had you pegged, I think!”

Foxglove raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, considering what you just said, and what you do, certainly, what’s important to you is helping others, right? Maybe a little bit like myself. Maybe.” Loud smiled gently. “But I think that makes it easier, in a way.”

“Easier, you say.” Foxglove grunted. “I don’t know rightly ‘bout that.”

“Well… what’s the problem exactly?”

“I mean, there’s just a lot of things t’ consider, really. Like I said, it’s complicated. I don’t reckon it’s simple to know what you oughta do or not just like that. I mean, how do you even figure to choose when there’s too much to think on?”

“It’s funny you should ask that. Come over here. This is what I wanted to show you.” Loud waved him over.

Foxglove approached with a slight tedium, a hesitation of will. He stepped lightly, cautiously, approaching a bag that Loud wrenched open and up-turned over her make-up counter table.

Things scattered every which way, like a colourful assortment of decorations. They were all pieces of bric-a-brac, none of which seemed to share anything in common – like the small teaspoon with the bent handle, or the half-empty bottle of fragrant oil, or that little felt-stitched stuffed bunny.

Foxglove looked from the table to Loud for answers.

She was staring not at her guest, but at the table, and when she spoke, her gaze didn’t move away.

“Before I did what I do now, I was in quite a different industry.”

She paused a while, perhaps for effect. Perhaps for recollection.

“Radio. I was… trying to be a DJ. Maybe. Or at least someone who had some kind of on-air presence. Now, the thing is, and quite rightly so, I tried for… years, I think, to find a station thatwould let me do what I wanted.

“But as it turned out, radio isn’t a place for those trying to spread messages of goodwill or encouragement. It’s… a machine, as I found. Not to say that segments of hope didn’t exist, but they normally had a motive or… well.”

The pegasus finally turned to look at Foxglove’s slightly dour expression, responding to with a cheeky little grin. “That’s beside the point. The point is, I moved from place to place with the pitch to create a show that was simply about helping others for the sake of helping others. But the problems came. It was always one thing after another. It was always about money, or entertainment value, or finding experts to talk about specific subjects.

“I was told, more times than not, that I just couldn’t go on-air and help ponies in general. That sort of thing wasn’t feasible. The show wouldn’t carry. But I kept on trying. Over and over. Stubbornly, as I was young, and I had ideals and goals. Just like everyone else, I suppose.”

Loud pointed down at the items on the table. “Every time I was turned down, I would go into the nearest shop and buy something. Anything. It didn’t really matter. But it would then stand to represent that failure. I kept them, watching them pile up, letting these items collect.

“They loomed heavy on my mind, like weights. I wasn’t sure why I had even collected them in the first place. Maybe as a form of motivation. Maybe as a way to remember my failures. But it was a burden.

“And one night, I remember, after my final rejection, and I had bought one of these things – I can’t even remember which it was now – I gave everything a good thought. I sat down, looked at my life, and just… thought. What did I want to do this for? In the end, I had realised something very important. In my attempt to do what I wanted, I lost the plot. I forgot what I was really looking for, and chased a job which ultimately didn’t really matter.

“So I focused on that, instead. You know – what I wanted to do. I wanted to speak to the world and help others find themselves. And in fact, a lot of this experience is what eventually formed the base of my current seminars, amongst all the other topics I speak about.”

Loud Mouth nodded, her story done. For a moment the two ponies stared at the items on the table, a quiet blanket forming until Foxglove’s gruff voice broke through.

“So, why do you keep these, then?” he asked.

“So that I can tell others this story.” Loud smiled. “They no longer represent what they once did. They’re now something I can use to help others. It’s all about perspective, I think. That, and understanding what anyone does anything for.”

Foxglove nodded, his eyelids dropping slightly. Perhaps he was just tired. It was hard for her to tell.

“So… in the end, whatever it is that you’re having problems with, strip everything else away. Understand what it is you’re doing it for, and that will guide you to discover what you think you need to do to keep it going.”

The stallion’s head bobbled as he stared through the wall. “My daughter. I do it for my daughter.”

“Then continue to do it for her.” Loud smiled.

“You know what? I think… I think I will,” Foxglove muttered. “Thank you, lass. Maybe a bit more thought when I get home but… ah… yeah. Yeah. I think you’re right.”

“Listen, it’s always a pleasure. And I do hope you find your path.” Loud bowed slightly. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I do need to visit the washroom really quickly.”

“Oh, of course. Don’t let me keep ya,” Foxglove said, stepping away quickly. “I best be on my way as well. I’m ta check in with the staff.”

“Then be on your way!”

“Have a good night, ma’am,” he said, as he left.

When the door closed, her chest swelled. She looked to the ceiling and took in a big breath, releasing it with due passion.

It felt good.

It always did.

The knowledge that one was set down the right path was something that was always rewarding to her – be it a single pony or a large crowd.

She would go home that night, charged, enthusiastic, and as she swept her things back into her bag, she never noticed that the little felt bunny was not amongst them.

A week later, in a different venue, she would blame herself again, having been careless to leave it at the Brairshire Town Auditorium On-The-Hill by accident.

But she wasn’t too bothered. It was a small deal. For that night she also helped a nice stallion find the courage to seek his happiness.

And that was all that mattered.









Loud Mouth vs. Foxglove - by Loud Mouth's Author

In the past few months, Foxglove had learned quite a few new skills—picking locks, however, was not one of them.

Foxglove muttered a curse as his paperclip snapped in half. Even with magic, he had never been good at sensing the organs of a lock; no matter how much he practiced, he still couldn’t tell his bolts from his latches and his spindles from his plates. This was his third attempt—and his third failure—in only five minutes. He snatched the doorknob in his magic and jostled it a few times, more out of frustration than any real attempt to open it up.

With a snort, Foxglove threw the paperclip to the carpet and moved on to the next door in the hall. What was so classified in a radio station that they had to lock the doors? When he had been hired to temp as a security guard there, he had figured it would be easy pickings. Celebrities were usually careless, and left their things laying around, as if they were daring somepony to come and snatch them away. Even if they were only radio celebrities…

Foxglove hated the radio. Didn’t see the point of it. It certainly didn’t help that the radio he and his daughter owned was busted; no matter how much he turned the dial, all it could pick up were political talk shows. Not exactly his cup of tea.

His breath went short as an image of his daughter, Figgy, leapt through his mind. It was a memory from months ago: the two of them at a street fair, with the smell of popcorn light in the air. He remembered Figgy twirling, skipping, dancing to the music that drifted through the street. He’d love to have a way to let her listen to all the music she’d like. Anything to hear her laugh.

He shook the thought away and moved to pick the lock of the next door in the hall—only to freeze as he realized that it wasn’t locked. Smirking, he walked inside.

Lighting his horn illuminate the room, Foxglove trotted up to the wide desk at the end of the room and slid open one of the drawers. He reached inside.

His legs tensed as a door he hadn’t even noticed creaked open, and a gangly, tan pegasus stepped into the room.







Loud Mouth felt pathetic.

She smacked her hooves against her head and scowled. This was wrong. She was strong, beautiful, smart! As long as she believed in herself, anything could happen. She knew that. She was sure of that. Words like ‘pathetic’ wouldn’t get her anywhere.

Not that she was getting anywhere right now.

Groaning, she forced herself to lift her head from the desk again. She originally had a motivational seminar to speak at that night, but the rec center that had invited her decided to cancel. “Not enough interest,” they had said. So instead, she was sitting here in an empty studio, glaring at her one true love: the microphone.

She did this from time to time. She would ask her friend, Whammy Bar—host of Whammy’s Rock Universe on 103.4, “The Chimera”—if Whammy could leave her studio open for Loud to use. Whammy never asked questions, although Loud suspected that she knew what was going on.

Loud would sit in the studio and dream of having a show to call her own. She would whisper into the mic and practice her catchphrases. She would make lists in her head of what songs she would play, and how she would introduce them. She would giggle as she thought of all the funny sound effects she would play.

It was pathetic.

She took a deep breath, trying to crush the nausea flickering through her stomach. A glance at the clock up on the wall showed that it was nearly ten o’clock—it was high time for her to stop playing radio host and head home. She flicked off the small lamp that sat on the host’s desk and headed for the door.

Whammy Bar was lucky enough to have her studio be connected to her office. She had often joked that Loud should have her own set of keys, she used the studio so much. Loud just smiled and laughed along.

She walked into Whammy’s office and tried to picture what the office looked like so she could navigate in the dark—but her thoughts froze as she saw that another pony was in the room. She yelped and threw herself against the wall as the strange unicorn stumbled back a few steps.

The grey stallion was at least twice her size. A few stringy brown bangs fell over his face, nearly obscuring his eyes. Loud could just barely see his cutie mark, a bronze bell, half of which was covered by the thick blue jacket he wore. The jacket was the only thing about him that was familiar.

“Oh,” she sputtered, throwing a hoof to her heaving chest. “A security guard! I’m so sorry for shouting like that, Mr.”—she glanced at his nametag—“Foxglove!”

Foxglove’s eyes were wide. He took a few breaths before brushing the hair out of his face and smiling. “No problem at all, Miss…?”

“Loud Mouth.”

“Mhm.” Foxglove chuckled. His voice was gravelly, and he spoke with some strange mix of a Manehattan and Trottingham accent. “I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be knocking about here so late. Especially not a fine lass like yourself…”

I don’t think ‘fine lasses’ spend their nights babbling to themselves in empty studios…

Loud threw the thought away, even as a thick heat flooded her cheeks. Looking away, she said, “I just forgot something in Whammy’s studio and came back to get it. It was, uh…” She pointed to the tiny gem hanging from her right ear; the cheapest diamond her ex-coltfriend's money could buy. “I forgot my earring. I’m just so disorganized. Heh.”

At that, Foxglove’s eyes seemed to flash. Loud felt a chill crawl up her spine as Foxglove scanned her, hoof-to-mane, muzzle-to-flank, his purple eyes beady and solid. She bit her lip—but pushed the feeling away. This was someone specifically hired to keep the building safe; she had no reason to be nervous.

Foxglove’s smile faded a bit. “A lass like yourself shouldn’t be creeping around out. Wouldn’t do to see you get hurt. Head home, get some rest.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Loud said, forcing a laugh. She nodded and took a step toward the exit. “Have a good—“

She froze mid-step. From her new angle, she could now see more of Whammy Bar’s desk… and she could see that one of the drawers had been pulled open. She could see all of Whammy Bar’s things scattered about inside: personal notes and files, photos. Jewelry she kept in case she managed to snag a date during her lunch break.

And Foxglove was standing above it all. Any trace of a smile on his face had disappeared.

What was a security guard doing standing around in somepony’s office? And why was the drawer…?

She flicked her eyes back up at him, only to jump as she realized that he was staring straight at her. His gaze jabbed into her like a syringe. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out of her tightening throat.

“Let me guess,” Foxglove said, startling the wind from Loud’s lungs. “You’re wondering why I’m in your friend’s office?”

Loud paused for a moment before nodding.

Foxglove’s smile came back. He jerked his head toward the open drawer. “Your mate—Whammy asked me to check on her stuff, make sure it hadn’t been moved.”

Memories of Whammy Bar yelling at ponies who dared to go through her desk flew through Loud’s mind. Not even her best friends were allowed to touch the things she kept in there.

Loud Mouth choked out a laugh and put on a grin. “Okay!” she chirped, nodding. She took another step toward the door. “That… that’s fine. Now, if you’ll just excuse me—“

“Do you need someone to walk you to the exit?” Foxglove asked. His voice slid across the room like ice.

“No!” Loud yelped. Seeing Foxglove raise an eyebrow, she bit down the curses in her throat and stammered, “I know the way. I’m fine.”

A wave of calm rested upon Foxglove’s face, and Loud felt her lungs begin to loosen. She reached for the doorknob.

That was when Foxglove walked towards her. “Before you go,” he muttered, moving towards the door. 

Loud’s entire body was rigid as he passed, his shaggy coat bristling against hers. The heavy smell of pickles wafted from him in waves, pooling in her nostrils and choking out her breath. She could see the muscles bulging in his legs, the gleam off of his sharpened horseshoes—she tried to swallow, but her throat felt like she had just eaten a boulder.

“If you’re not too busy,” Foxglove said, closing the door and locking it, “might you help me with something?”

It took Loud a moment to jerk her head into some version of a nod. “What?”

“Just thought it might be nice to have some company. Guarding is lonely work,” Foxglove said, walking back to the desk. From where he stood, he cast a glance back at Loud. “Got any family? Kids?”

Loud took a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking in her legs. “No.”

“So you don’t have anyone you need to provide for,” Foxglove said. He jerked the desk drawer open wider. “Anyone who’s counting on you.”

Loud watched as a purple glow sparked to life in Whammy Bar’s drawer. She could hear Foxglove moving her things around, pushing them aside—she gritted her teeth. “No, I don’t.”

Foxglove’s gaze tightened. “Mhm.” He pulled out a weathered photo of Whammy and her brother—

“Don’t touch that!” Loud yelled, wings flaring. Foxglove glared at her, and she flinched back, bumping into the wall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Foxglove laughed and put the picture back in the drawer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got no reason to touch something like that.” He shook his head and went back to rummaging. “I’m guessing you know the lass who owns this office?”

“She’s my friend,” Loud said in a shaking voice. Loud had worked at that station for six months, and Whammy had been the only one who ever talked to her, ever laughed with her, who ever cared about her. When Loud called her a friend, she wasn’t using the term lightly.

But if Whammy was really her friend, why wasn’t Loud doing anything to protect her things...?

“It’s great that a lass like you has a lot of friends,” Foxglove murmured. “Young fillies deserve to be happy.” He pulled out a shining silver necklace and held it in the air, letting the small sailboat-shaped charm hang. “Your friend has good taste in jewelry.”

Loud’s legs tensed as she watched Foxglove stare at the necklace, as if it were a piece of food. She thought about leaping forward, about pinning him to the ground and beating him into submission. But then she met Foxglove’s steely glare, and she froze up, her mind went fuzzy. She just stood there.

“Whammy worked a really long time to afford that,” Loud said, forcing her voice to steady. “She cares about it.”

“Then why does she leave it in her desk?”

Loud opened her mouth—but realized that she didn’t have an answer.

“All these radio types are overpaid anyway,” Foxglove said, gathering the long chain into a bundle. “I’m sure she could afford at least ten more. She’s not bothered.”

All the tension in Loud’s bones turned to nausea-laced sludge as Foxglove stuffed the necklace into a small pocket on his jacket. She wanted to scream, to tackle him, to do anything she could to stop being such a stupid, pathetic coward—but all she could do was bow her head and bite down the bile rising in her throat.

There was a thump as Foxglove slammed the desk drawer closed. The light from his horn glinted off the necklace in his pocket. He walked up to Loud, close enough that she could feel his hot breath traipsing along her mane.

“Let’s just keep quiet about this, alright?”

Loud didn’t answer.

“Well?”

She dug her hooves into the carpet—but nodded.

Foxglove smirked and unlocked the door.







A light jingle ran through the brisk night air as Foxglove stepped out of the pawn shop, a bulging bag of bits peeking out of his jacket. Standing in the middle of the street, he took a long breath. The stiff breeze rolling through a city was like a torrent of water against his skin, forcing him awake and sparking an onslaught of fresh thoughts.

The look on Loud Mouth’s face… the fear, the anger, the defeat. It was etched into his eyelids, as if it had been carved there.

He ran a hoof through his ragged mane and started on the path home. It was almost midnight; Figgy was supposed to be asleep, but he had no doubt that she was slumped against a window, watching the soft flicker of the streetlamps and waiting for her father to return. And as soon as she heard his hoofsteps outside the door, she would sprint to bed and pretend she was asleep, even as Foxglove crept into her room and placed a kiss on her forehead, even as he held her tight and basked in the smell of cinnamon that always seemed to waft from her mane.

Foxglove didn’t like hurting ponies. He wished he didn’t have to terrify Loud Mouth like he did—but he had to.

Loud was alone. She didn’t know what is was like to want something, to need something you can’t ever have. She didn’t know what it was like to watch a filly’s future fade before your eyes… unless you did something about it.

She didn’t have to care about anyone. Foxglove did. It was either stop stealing, or see his daughter go without. The choice was clear.

The bag of bits was heavy in his pocket. That necklace had earned him just enough to buy a decent radio; he couldn’t wait to see Figgy dance again.







It was almost sunrise, and Loud Mouth couldn’t sleep.

The mattress under her was soaked with sweat. Burning waves of sickness spilled through her veins. She tried to close her eyes, but whenever she did, all she could see was Foxglove standing above her best friend’s desk, that silver necklace hanging in his magic. She could see him slipping it away, not a single microbe of regret on his face.

And she had just watched.

Air escaped her. She smothered her face with a pillow, trying to crush the stinging beneath her eyes—but there was no stopping what was coming.

And yet, as she lay there, cursing into the fabric, she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t afraid of Foxglove, and how he could have hurt her. Could still hurt her. That wasn’t it.

All Loud could think about was Whammy’s face when she found out that her things had been touched, that her prized possessions had been stolen. She would yell, she would kick—and then, off in the shadows, with Loud Mouth stroking her mane, she would cry. Loud would be the only one who would know how upset she truly was.

And it was all her fault.

Loud could never tell her what happened. Loud could never tell her how sorry she was for just standing there, for just watching, for not doing anything to stop the thief. It was her burden alone.

As the sun rose, Loud Mouth cried.
> Loam vs. Ace Artisan - Winner: Ace Artisan (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Priorities - by Ace Artisan's Author

"A corpse!?"

Loam winced from the bottom of the deep hole. Peeking up at the stallion along the rim, she mumbled, "It's, uh, more of a… box of bones."

Ace Artisan stopped breathing. He jerked his head around, surveying the dusty, flat construction site adjacent to Canterlot General Hospital. It was dusk, and fortunately, the lot was dead quiet. Backhoes and earthmovers littered the area, and besides a couple inattentive guards starting their shift, the only ponies around were the grey architect and the brown foundation-digger.

Loam called back up from the hole, "Should I bring it out?"

Ace's head whipped back to her. "No!" He dove into the large hole, landing with a soft thud and a puff of dirt. When he saw Loam shrink away a little, he cleared his throat and regained his composure. "No, please. We shouldn't move…" He flicked a hoof at the small wooden casket with the collapsed sides. "…it until we know what we're going to do." He pranced in place and looked all around. "This is bad. This is very bad."

"Yeah." Loam frowned and looked back at the open box. Inside was a skull sitting atop the pile of bones. "Poor mare. She wasn't even buried with any belongings."

"What? No!" Ace stared wide-eyed at the brown mare. "Loam, focus! If somepony finds this thing, they'll shut down construction until they can do another archeological survey. The first one already took two months longer than anticipated, and we're behind schedule enough as it is."

Loam sat and cocked her head to the side. "But… Don't you feel bad for her at all?"

Ace sat down and stared at the earth below him. He knocked a hoof repeatedly against his head while a cold sweat dripped down his face. "Think. We can fix this. We can fix this." His breathing picked up, and his thoughts raced in circles. 'What if there's an official investigation? Dammit! Construction could be delayed for a year, and Canterlot needs the extra hospital space! Ugh, couldn't she have died someplace else? And what if–'

"Ace!"

His head snapped up, and he sucked in a quick breath. "Yes?"

Loam's eyes flickered between the ground and her friend's face. "You… don't think it's kinda sad? She was left all alone here. I dug around, and there isn't anypony else with her. Not even a stone slab or anything."

Ace sighed. "Loam, we have to worry about the living right now. That thing is going to put a lot in jeopardy: my firm's work, your job here, and especially the hospital staff and patients."

"She's not a thing, Ace," Loam said flatly. She looked at the skull and rested a hoof on its forehead. "She's a mare. Looks like an Earth Pony, too. She deserves better than this."

Ace cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know it's a mare?"

Loam narrowed her gaze. "I work in a graveyard. You pick up on the details."

Ace blushed. "Oh, sorry." He looked up and out of the hole. "We still need to do something with… her, though. She can't stay here. Could you, I don't know…" Forcing himself to make eye contact, he gnawed on his lower lip. "Could you rebury her, maybe?"

Loam crossed her forelegs and scowled. "Ace, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

Ace's stomach knotted, but he pictured everypony's work going up in flames. "Please? Just this once?"

Loam kept quiet.

Ace let out a frustrated sighed. His hackles raised a little, and he thought, 'She's being so short-sighted. Doesn't she care about what a delay would do to all those patients?' 

Taking a deep breath, he looked back up to her. "Loam, it's just random chance that we found her here. Don't think of it as disturbing her. Think of it as giving her a proper burial."

Loam stuck her lower lip out and raised an eyebrow. "Hm…" She looked back down at the broken casket. Ace could see the gears turning, and she rocked her head back and forth for a few moments before replying. "Okay, but only because she deserves better. And you have to carry her."

Ace's chest tightened up, but he nodded and kept himself from making a face at the box. "That's fair. Thanks, Loam."

"And you need to dig me a grave or two tonight. With all the foundation work this place needs, I've fallen behind."

"Hey, you're the one that wanted the extra work. But yes, it's a deal." Ace turned and, with some frantic scurrying, climbed out of the hole. "Let's not waste any more time. It's already going to be a long night."

When he didn't hear a response, he looked back over his shoulder. "Loam?"

She hadn't budged. "Won't… Nocturne be worried about you?"

"Oh, no. She'll be fine. She knows how important this project is to me."

Loam dug a hoof into the dirt. "Uh… Yeah, but you've been working late and coming by the site all week. Don't you think she misses you?"

Ace shook his head and waved a hoof. "I'll get her flowers and bring her to a violin stunt show or something. Right now, work comes first."

Loam paused. "I mean, I can understand that, but, uh…"

Ace turned around. "Yes?"

Loam locked eyes with Ace. It took her several seconds to say, "Never mind."

"Alright, then." He looked up and around the lot until he saw a wooden cart about fifty yards away. "I'll be right back."

Shaking the dust out of his mane, Ace trotted toward the cart and narrated to himself. 'Don't panic. Stand up straight. Walk like you own the place, and nopony will mess with you.' He tripped over his own hooves. 'And stop shaking so much!'

Ace made it all the way to the cart before a pudgy, cream-colored Unicorn guard bounced up to him. "Oh, evenin', Ace! Whatcha doin' 'round dese here parts so late, eh?"

Ace's blood ran cold. He grimaced and spoke through gritted teeth. "Hi, Night Light." His legs became stiff. 'It's okay. Just get him out of here.'

"Lockjaw still givin' ya' issues, eh? Ya' should really see a doc 'bout dat."

Ace cocked his head to the side, and forced his mouth to move. "Uh… Will do, Night Light! Hey, could you do me a favor?"

"Oh, sure ting, buddy! Whatcha need? Loam havin' trouble in da hole o'er yonder?"

Ace gulped. 'Think fast.' He quickly scanned around and caught just a glimpse of a grey unicorn skulking around the edge of the construction site. 'Perfect.'

Ace cleared his throat and pointed. "Some weirdo's been hanging around here all day. Could you make sure he's not up to anything?"

Night Light beamed. "Oh, o' course! Love ta do some real work now 'n then! Harhar!" He spun around with the energy of a pony half his size and blew his whistle. "Stop! Tief!" With a snort, he bounced away after the other pony.

Ace looked around. A second guard headed that direction, too, so he quickly took the cart and a nearby tarp. He hurried back over to Loam.

She was still in the hole, but she'd managed to seal the box back up. "What took you so long?"

"There was a minor complication, but it's been taken care of. We should hurry."

"Yeah. It's getting dark." She gently picked up the box and, despite her small size, lifted it above her head and over to Ace.

With a shudder and a reminder to himself that it was just calcium inside, Ace grabbed the box and gingerly set it in the cart. A quick flip of the tarp later, and their grisly package was ready for delivery.

Loam climbed out of the hole and hitched up the cart to Ace's back, then threw both their saddlebags onto the tarp to keep the wind from blowing it away. After it was secured, she trotted toward the street. "I'll take us the back way. It's a bit longer, but there isn't much light. Should be safer."

"Yes. Good idea." Ace nodded at Loam, then looked back at the cart, which sent a shiver up his spine.

They cantered off of the lot and through the cool summer night, staying close together. Ace took slow steps so Loam could keep up. The wheels of the wooden cart creaked, and each bump in the road jostled the harness, reminding him of what he was doing. Ace pictured the mare's remains jumping out of their box and landing on his back, and he struggled to keep from vomiting.

A few ponies passed them by, each giving them an asymmetric look. Some stared at the ragged cart, while others gaped at the size difference between the two ponies that accompanied it. Fortunately, none stopped to say anything.

After a particularly snooty Unicorn turned his nose up at them and crossed the street, Ace let out a nervous chuckle. "Heh. Nice thing about Canterlot. Nopony has any time or care to question what you're up to."

Loam didn't respond. She only kept staring forward, occasionally motioning with a hoof when they needed to make a turn.

A fresh breeze rolled through the deserted streets. The trees rustled, and Ace found himself jerking his head toward every little noise that seemed out of the ordinary.

He cleared his throat. "I haven't been this far from the city center at night in a long time. It's a little spooky how–"

"What do you think her name was?"

Ace looked back to Loam, who was staring back at the cart. "Pardon?"

Loam looked up at Ace. "She must have had a name. What do you think it was?"

Ace turned away and looked up the road. "I don't know," he muttered. He felt a nudge at his side, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, but I really don't want to think about it right now. Whoever she was, she's a burden to both of us right now, and neither of us can afford to lose this job, so we should focus on what's important."

Loam spat, "Well, she was important to somepony. I bet she had a husband or a coltfriend or something, too."

Ace rolled his eyes. "What's gotten into you tonight? You're usually right there with me when somepony's slacking. What's up?"

"Just… the bones look so young." Even in the darkness, he could see a fire in her eyes that made her seem larger than life. "Ace, you know I try not to get too morose, even though it kinda comes with the territory, but she probably died suddenly. Her loved ones must have been devastated."

Ace straightened his shoulders and looked forward. "Don't think about it. We're almost to the cemetery, right?"

"Yeah…"

Their hooves clicked against the stone road. Ace tried to focus on the sweet smell of flowers and the cool air that brushed against his fur and carried the hot day away. He turned his ears to the owls hooting in the distance, but something tingled in the back of his mind.

He could almost feel the nameless pony in that box, lying in a heap. It reminded him of a friend on the verge of tears, how sitting in their presence gave a pony simultaneous feelings of pain and love mixed together. His heart felt heavy all of a sudden. It reminded him of…

Ace felt a hoof at his side.

"We're here," Loam calmly said. "There's a spot by that big tree over there. The roots might be a little annoying, but they won't miss the space. She'll be safe there."

Blinking his eyes a few times, Ace looked out across the large field of upended stones. Mist curled hauntingly around the grave markers, and a large tree stuck out of an otherwise flat patch of earth. The moon was out in full, lending the scene a calming blue glow.

Ace took a step into the graveyard, the wheels of the cart creaking behind him. "It's as good a place as any. Do you have a shovel?"

He thought her heard her whisper, "Psh, amateur." 

He definitely heard her say, "Sure. Get her set up, and I'll get some things from the shed."

They split apart, and Ace trotted to the base of the large oak tree, where he unhitched the cart and waited for Loam to return.

After several minutes, she hadn't come back. Ace peeked around the tree, but he didn't see any movement. 'Probably for the best,' he thought. 'I'm jumpy enough as it is.'

He tried to keep himself occupied, but his eyes kept wandering to the cart. The heaviness in his chest came back, and he rapidly tapped a hoof against the root of the tree. His voice felt like it was collecting in his throat. He hummed a slow song to try an ease the tension, but it didn't help, and he stared again at the box.

"You're causing a lot of trouble, you know," he said, half-heartedly. "I… suppose you aren't really to blame for that, though." 

He looked down at the dirt, then back up to the box. His brain tingled again, and for a moment, he considered that it was rude to talk through a tarp. Before he knew what he was doing, he had removed the saddlebags and the tarp from the cart, leaving only the broken box. 

Ace's mouth opened again. "Did… I know you can't hear me, but did you have a special somepony? Of course you did, right?"

The box didn't answer.

"I… hope you two weren't fighting when it happened." It felt like he'd swallowed a rock. "And I hope he made time for you. I mean, he was probably busy a lot, right? There are always important things to do and… ugh, fine. Here."

Ace reached over and easily removed the lid. A musty smell permeated the air, and he saw that the bones had settled on the near side of the box. The skull sat on top of the pile, and its eye sockets felt like they were looking right at him.

"Is that better? Take a deep breath. You might… not know when it's your last."

Ace felt the pang of guilt in his chest, and he sighed. "Aw, dammit."

He sat, and his gaze fell to the ground. "Look, the hospital is important. Very important. The sooner we can get the new wing built, the sooner it can start helping ponies." He looked up at the skull. "And Nocturne knows how big this could be for me. The proposal was a huge risk, but it might just pay off. She'll understand. It's better this way… right?"

The skull remained still.

Ace hung his head again. "I'm sorry. I really am. She's important, too, but it's so easy to get all…" He made a twirling motion with his forehooves. "…wrapped up in everything that's happening, and I'm… I'm sorry that I'm not doing better for her. I hope your stallion was better to you."

A small, familiar voice spoke up. "Heh. I thought I was the only one that did that. Guess we're both crazy."

Ace smiled and turned towards Loam. "Nah, you're not–" He noticed the extra piece of equipment she was carrying. "W-why do you have an axe?"

Loam narrowed her eyes and glowered at the tree. Her voice got low and raspy. "Because I have seen the true face of evil. It is gnarly and wooden, and it must be destroyed."

Ace's eyes went wide, and his pupils dilated. Rather than further question the axe-wielding pony that spent all her time in a graveyard, he decided to steer the conversation towards something productive. He squeaked, "Let's get this over with."

The two of them worked quickly, their sweat mixing with the dirt. Ace dug with a shovel and Loam with her hooves. Despite working his fastest, Ace noticed that by the time they were finished, Loam had done three times as much work and still found time to cackle as she hacked apart a cluster of tree roots.

Ace tossed the shovel out of the freshly-dug grave. He whistled as he looked around the sides of the hole – perfectly square, just like always – and said, "Still can't believe you can make something so structurally sound out of dirt. It can't be easy." 

Mentally, he added, 'Especially for such a small pony,' but he'd learned long ago how much those words stung his friend, and he held his tongue.

Loam climbed out of the grave and resealed the box. She pushed it over to the edge, where Ace grabbed it. With some awkward movement, he nestled it into the fresh hole and climb out without any damage. Then, with a strategic push a dirt pile and a few extra hooffuls, the hole was filled.

The small brown mare and the large grey stallion sat down next to the new grave in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the soft wind and the call of the night birds. The silence stretched on for many long minutes.

Loam was the first to speak up, though her eyes stayed glued to the grave. "We should get her a headstone."

Ace sighed. "Agreed. I'll take care of it."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'll bring some bits tomorrow. Flowers, too, I think. Can you think of something pretty to carve onto it?"

She nodded. "No problem."

"And…" He turned back to Loam. "I know I said I'd help with the graves tonight, but I need to give Nocturne a big hug and let her know I love her." Quietly, he added, "While she's still here."

"Ha!" Loam's head whipped towards Ace. "You're just figuring that out now? Sweet Luna, I thought you had to be smart to be an architect."

Ace grinned and playfully cuffed Loam's shoulder. "Yeah, well, I got there, didn't I?"

Loam nodded and smiled. "Yeah." She stood up and stretched her back. "I'm gonna dig one or two more before bed, but I'll walk you out. And don't worry about the cart. I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"Thanks, Loam."

"You, too, hoof-for-brains. Let's go."

Ace put on his saddlebag, and as they walked back toward the cemetery entrance, he stole one more glance at the new grave. For just a moment, he could swear he saw a white, translucent mare smiling warmly at him, but perhaps it was just the mist.


> Wind Whistler vs. Redwood - Winner: Redwood (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wind Whistler vs. Redwood - by Wind Whistler's Author

Wind Whistler sighed, wondering how he’d be able to word ‘there’s nothing new to report’ for the third day in a row. He still wasn’t sure how Shining Armor had been able to convince him to continue writing daily reports after the investigation for Dreamer’s mystery mare had finished. Must have still been in a good mood after celebrating the end of that search. 

After his success tracking down the cultists she’d been with, Shining had tasked him with finding and apprehending the few that managed to escape. Even with the help of the Equestrian Intelligence Agency, no new leads had come up. 

Yawning, he finished the report and stamped it with his officer’s seal.

“You look like you’re having fun, sir,” a familiar voice remarked from the door of his temporary office. Even though he wasn’t technically part of the EIA, they had given him a space due to his position in the guard. 

Whistler stopped yawning and regarded his visitor. 

Field Agent Redwood stood in the doorway wearing a teasing smile. Out of all the agents in the EIA, she was one of his favourites to work with. She knew how to appreciate a good joke, but she also worked hard when the job called for it. There was really only one problem with her. 

“How many times do I have to ask you not to call me ‘sir’?” Whistler asked. “My dad was a ‘sir’, and he’s old. I’m not old yet.” 

“Until you’re able to win one of our bets, I’ll just keep calling you sir...sir” Redwood replied, leaning against the doorframe. 

Whistler groaned. Whether it was cards, board games, or miscellaneous dares, Redwood always found ways to come out on top. Whistler had to keep guessing bets that she wouldn’t be good at or games that she wouldn’t be able to learn quickly. No matter what it was, she’d always accepted every bet, and so far, she’d won every time.   

Seeing  how she acted around the older field agents, Whistler was certain that the mare was only calling him ‘sir’ to bug him. Much to his chagrin, it  worked rather well. Still, the two managed to get along fairly well and Whistler was glad that there was someone around with a sense of humour to keep things interesting. 

“Don’t feel bad, I’m sure you’ll win eventually,” Redwood snickered, walking over to his desk. With the way the mare moved, it was nearly impossible to tell that one of her legs was confined to a brace unless it was in sight or if it creaked, which it did from time to time. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Whistler said, moving the report over to the side of his desk and standing up, “but with the luck I’ve been having, it won’t be until long after this case is solved.”

Redwood grimaced . “Ugh, let’s not talk about the case right now. I’m on my way to  a ‘friendly chat’ about why we don’t have anything yet.” 

“Yeah, Honcho’s been on the warpath about that lately,” Whistler agreed, “I’m just glad that we’re both technically the same rank. Spares me his wrath.” 

“Lucky you,” Redwood muttered.

“Chin up, he yells at everypony.” Whistler nudged the younger pegasus. “Best not to keep him waiting though.” He made his way out the door with Redwood right behind him. 

“See you later,” he called over his shoulder as he trotted in the direction of the cafeteria . 

Redwood waved a wing in response, then turned and headed down to the end of the hall where her supervisor waited. 





There are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, Redwood thought. None come to mind, but I’m sure that they exist. 

She refocused on her commanding officer, Head Honcho. The muscle-bound unicorn practically screamed ‘unsubtle’ and actually screamed almost everything else. While he might not have been gifted with the Royal Canterlot Voice, he was certainly good at imitating it. Redwood could easily imagine her mane rippling from the force of his shouting. 

As Honcho ranted, Redwood made sure she kept her face as neutral as possible. She’d made the mistake of looking bored during one of her supervisors’ shouting sessions before, it didn’t end  well. 

Eventually, Honcho’s volume decreased and his face started to twist back from ‘enraged’ to his usual ‘grumpy’.“Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I even waste my time with you greenhorns,” Honcho muttered. Redwood felt her ears droop at the dismissal. While it was true that no one had been able to get a hold of any leads in the past few days, it wasn’t like they were doing nothing. She’d been working her tail off trying to track down the missing cultists during her shifts. She even took some time assisting a few of the other field agents on her days off. 

She bid her superior farewell and backed out of the office. Never before had Honcho chewed her out that badly. She’d been trying to impress him since day one but he only considered her to be a waste of time. That stung more than any injury she’d received in the field and more than the time that the recruiting officer had said that she probably wouldn’t be able to make it in the academy because of her leg.

Redwood made her way past the open doors of the cafeteria and out of headquarters. She wasn’t in any mood to talk to her co-workers at the moment. She needed some time alone. 

Once outside, she looked up at the clouds and tried to decide how much time she had until the scheduled rain started. After a moment’s consideration, she decided that she didn’t really care about getting a little wet. 

Redwood set off at a brisk trot with a slight creaking sound accompanying her as she disappeared into the crowds of the busy city. 





Wind Whistler looked up from his half-finished lunch when he heard the shouting from down the hall die down. The office was supposedly soundproof but it still wasn’t enough to contain the EIA commander’s booming voice. 

He almost approached Redwood when he saw her pass by the cafeteria but reconsidered when he saw her expression. She looked like she would need some cheering up, but he knew she wouldn’t thank him for trying to talk to her right away. 

Whistler bit his lip trying to decide on the best course of action. A few moments later, he had a plan. The stallion quickly finished off his lunch and headed back into the cafeteria line. In order for his plan to work properly, he’d need to give Redwood some time alone first. And a pie. 

As he waited on his new order, he wondered where he’d be able to find his colleague. His cheer-up plan would be rather poor if he couldn’t find her. He shrugged. If worse came to worst, he’d just have to fly around looking for her ... likely in the rain. Neither of those factors were particularly off-putting. He’d worry about where to search when the time came. 

The pony working the counter told him he’d have to wait a little while for his pie to be finished and that it would be best if he came by a little later to pick it up. Whistler thanked the mare and wandered leisurely back to his office. It was probably for the best that he had to wait, Redwood probably needed some time alone. 

He glanced out the window of his office and tried to remember how hard it was supposed to rain. The stallion shrugged, it didn’t really matter how hard it stormed. Any storm could be an enjoyable one, it all depended on how you used it. 





Out of all the buildings in Canterlot, Luna’s Lookout was the tallest by far. To be fair, it wasn’t much of a building but it was the tallest pony-made structure in Equestria. While there was a large group of nobles that complained that it clashed with the rest of the city’s architecture, they had to admit that it was quite the sight to behold. Ponies standing at the top of the tower could see for miles in every direction and the view of the stars on a cloudless night was unparalleled in any other Equestrian observatory.

Redwood had learned a little while back that it also made a great spot to sit and think. It was most likely due to the fact that the only safe way to the top was up a large spiral staircase that wound around the tower’s interior. The wards placed on the building helped to prevent collapse and made it next to impossible for any unicorn to teleport to the top. Frequent strong winds discouraged any pegasi from attempting to approach by air. 

On an overcast day like today, the tower was typically deserted.

Redwood sat at the edge gazing out over Canterlot. Over the years the tower had become her go-to place on the rare occasions when she felt down. It was a reminder for her of the things that she’d overcome. 

When she had first entered the academy, many of the other ponies, the commanding officer included, had looked down on her because of her leg. Redwood had lost count of how many times she’d been told that she wasn’t cut out to be a guard because of it. Back then, she’d been desperate to prove that she belonged and so when one of the other cadets dared her to climb the tower by herself, she’d accepted.

It had hurt like Tartarus and it took her most of the night, but the looks on her fellow cadets’ faces had been worth every step. 

Since then, Redwood had made a point of working on her mobility. Even though she’d made it up the tower, she knew that it had taken her far longer than most. So she trained. On top of the already exhausting regimen of the academy, she trained to increase her range of motion in order to strengthen her braced leg.

Every week, she’d faced the tower again. Every week, she’d shaved a little time off her trip to the top. Every week, she’d gotten more sure of her abilities on land. 

She’d been told several times that it was stupid to drain herself like that on top of the physically demanding training. Sometimes she agreed, but that would have meant letting everypony who doubted her win. 

So Redwood kept pushing.

Eventually she was able to get herself up the tower just as quickly as any of her fellow cadets. She could walk without a limp. 

It wasn’t much of a wonder to her why she liked to sit up at the top of the lookout. She’d spent extended periods of time collapsed in a heap at the top, but every time had been worth it. So whenever she needed a reminder of her capabilities, she just climbed the tower. Sometimes she wondered how things would be if she’d neve-

“There’s an expression I never thought I’d see you wearing.”

Redwood straightened up and whipped her head around to see the newcomer. 

Wind Whistler had joined her on the  platform with an amused look on his face as he watched her scramble to her feet. 

“You!” She pointed an accusatory hoof at him. “How’d you get up here? And what expression?”

Whistler looked a little confused at the question. “I flew?” He fluttered his wings. 

“But the wi- nevermind,” Redwood groaned. If he didn’t want to tell her, she certainly wasn’t in the mood to try and figure it out. “My other question?”

“That ‘deep in thought’ look,” Whistler replied. “You usually seem a lot more sure of yourself.” 

“Yeah, well, getting yelled at and told how terrible you are at your job can do that to a mare.” Redwood grumbled.

“Fair enough,” Whistler agreed. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Redwood grunted and shifted over.

“Pie?” Whistler asked as he sat down, looking out over Canterlot with her. 

“You brought pie up here?” Redwood asked. “Why?”

“Why not?” Came the reply. “Besides, pie’s great for helping with a bad mood.”

She couldn’t really fault him there. “Fine, yes please.”

Whistler opened up the container that held the pie. It looked a little worse for wear but who really cared when it still tasted the same?

“So, what brings you here?” Redwood asked after she’d finished a piece. “Sort of an odd place to choose to eat pie.”

“Ridiculous, everywhere’s a good place to eat pie,” Whistler snorted. “Besides, I had a friend here in need of a good cheering up.”

“We’re friends?” Redwood teased. 

“I’d hope so, even if you have that unfortunate habit of calling me sir.” Whistler replied.

“I suppose it’s nice to have friends in high places, sir.” She decided.

Whistler rolled his eyes. “Nice to know that’s all I’m good for.”

The two ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You know, he doesn’t really think you’re a waste of time,” Whistler said after he’d finished eating. “Honcho, I mean.”

Redwood snorted. “I’d say he made it pretty darn clear that he did.” She wasn’t really in the mood to call him ‘sir’ anymore. 

“He’s always been a fan of the whole ‘tough love’ idea.” Whistler said. 

“No arguments there,” Redwood muttered. 

Whistler saw that he wasn’t really getting anywhere. Time to switch tactics. 

“How many of your fellow cadets are still in the EIA?” he asked. 

“I dunno, five or six including me.” Redwood replied. “Why?”

“How many started out?”

“We had a huge rookie class enter training for the EIA,” Redwood recalled. “The biggest in the last twenty five years, I think they said.”

“Seems like a pretty big difference between then and now,” Whistler commented. “What happened?”

“Some quit, most got kicked out.” Redwood said. It had been sad to see some of them go. Others, not so much. 

“My guess is that they got kicked out because Honcho figured they were wasting his time, right?” Whistler asked.

“Oh great, I’m going to get kicked out before I make a name for myself,” Redwood snarked. “Fan-bucking-tastic.”

Ok, maybe making those parallels wasn’t such a good idea. Whistler wasn’t done, though. Time to pull out all the stops. 

“How about a bet?”

Redwood couldn’t resist a bet, even in a bad mood. “Alright, what is it?”

“I bet that not only does Honcho think you’re not a waste of time, but that you’ve got serious potential.”

Redwood rolled her eyes. “You must like it when I call you sir if you’re making a bet like that. You’re on.”

“Let’s head back to headquarters then,” Whistler said standing up and stretching his wings. 

“You’re going to fly?” Redwood raised an eyebrow. “Are you nuts?”

“My special talent’s flying in bad conditions, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Whistler jumped off the platform. “Race ya down!”

“Show off,” Redwood muttered. She set a personal best for herself going down the stairs but still came second. She promised that she’d get him back later. 





“You want what?!” Head Honcho roared at Wind Whistler. The massive stallion’s wrath was impressive. If rumours were true, even minotaurs backed down when he got going. 

Whistler only came up to the larger pony’s shoulder in height but he seemed unphased by the shouting even though he did take a moment to wait until his ears stopped ringing before he replied. 

“I would like to transfer Redwood to the Royal Guard under my command.”

“Why on Equus would I agree to that?” 

“You seemed rather unimpressed with her performances to date during your meeting with her this afternoon,” Whistler replied, “I thought I’d take her off your hooves.”

“You heard that?” Honcho asked at a more manageable volume. Shouting all the time was tiring and it didn’t seem like it was causing the desired effects on Whistler. 

“I’m pretty sure Princess Luna heard you, and she slept through an invasion,” Whistler gave Honcho a look. 

Honcho shrugged. He was loud by necessity. Fewer people challenged his decisions that way. 

“Look, we both have our ways of leading,” he told the pegasus guard. “You prefer to be friendly with your subordinates, I prefer to keep them on edge.”

“That’s true,” Whistler agreed, “but that doesn’t explain why you gave her such a hard time.” 

Honcho sighed. “This investigation’s been wearing on everyone, me included. You think I’m happy about using nearly my entire force to try and track down locals? They could be put to much better use elsewhere.”

“So you’re not interested in the transfer?”

“Of course not, we both know she’s got the most potential out of the rookies. 

Whistler didn’t really know the other rookies very well, but he doubted it would be productive to point that out.  “Well, I guess I should be going then…” he paused by the door. “...you’re really sure you’re not interested?”

“Get out of my office, Whistler.”

Whistler nudged the door open and stepped outside into the hall. 

“Oh, hey Redwood,” he waved to the mare who seemed a little out of breath, probably from running outside in the rain or something and certainly not from running away from the door before it was opened. “Mind seeing me in my office for a second?”





“I can’t believe you did that,” Redwood told Whistler once they were in his office. 

Whistler shrugged. “It was to help a friend, so it was worth it.”

“It means a lot to me,” Redwood told him, “Both what Honcho said and that I have a friend willing to do something like that for me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Whistler smiled. “Now… about our bet?”

“Was hoping you’d forget,” Redwood sighed, “But a bet’s a bet. I’ll stop calling you sir.”

Whistler clapped his hooves together. “Awesome. This calls for a celebration, come on.”

“Fine, but I choose where we go,” Redwood insisted. She’d eaten enough pie for one day and she had a sneaking suspicion that Whistler didn’t know how to celebrate without it. 

The two walked in silence for a few moments before Redwood spoke up again.  “So… your special talent’s flying in bad conditions?”

“Yeah, I never told you that?” Whistler looked back at her. 

Redwood shook her head. 

“Huh, thought I would have mentioned it,” Whistler commented. “Say, what’s yours? Archery, right?” 

Redwood coughed and looked down. “It’s… winning games and challenges…”

It took Redwood a few moments to realize that Whistler had stopped walking. She turned around to look at him. He was standing still, comprehension dawning on his face. 

“So when I was betting on games and stuff…”

“You were pretty much doomed,” Redwood finished for him. 

Whistler groaned. “Wow…”

Redwood laughed. “You think I got you bad, listen to this,” she said as she nudged him forward, “So I was at a rodeo in Las Pegasus and I met this stallion...”









Liaisons - by Redwood's Author

It was unusual to see the Captain's office in a state of disarray, but when Wind Whistler poked his head in through the door, the place looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Stacks of papers which had been removed from drawers and filing cabinets were strewn about randomly on the floor, furniture had been moved to irregular locations, and behind his desk, Shining Armor was digging his way through another load of forms. Wind Whistler's usual grin started to slip from his face upon noticing the chaos, but he nevertheless proceeded inside, warily eyeing all the tripping hazards on the floor as he did.

"Captain?" said Whistler, taking a step closer. "You wanted to speak with me?"

Upon noticing the first lieutenant's presence, Shining broke into a smile.

"Yes, I did," he said. "Come over."

The smile was reassuring, and so Whistler did as he was told, navigating the debris until he stood behind the desk as well. Shining remained sat on the floor, poring over what appeared to be troop reassignment forms.

"We have a problem," said Shining, not looking up from his papers.

"Don't we always?"

"This is an actual problem. Cadance was made the new ruler of the Crystal Empire, so she's taking permanent residency there, and I have to go with her. While I'm officially retaining my post as Captain of the Royal Guard, I'm going to be here a lot less from now on, so I need to choose an acting captain."

Wind Whistler's eyes widened.

"Okay," he said, trying to keep an even tone.

"You've always been my number one guy, Whistler." Shining put down his papers and looked Wind Whistler in the eye. "I've thought it over, and there's nopony I trust more. Do you want the job?"

"Well... Uh..." Wind Whistler couldn't help but trip over his words. "I-I don't know. I mean... wouldn't that bring extra responsibilities with it?"

"Yes. But nothing you couldn't handle."

Whistler rubbed the back of his neck with a hoof.

"I'm still not sure... I'd really have to think it over. I'm not so good with handling responsibility in the first place, and all the extra duties on top of that..."

Shining gave Whistler a flat look. Standing up, he stepped over a stack of paper until he was face to face with his subordinate.

"Please don't let your laziness screw you out of another opportunity, Whistler," he said, a note of annoyance entering his voice. "I know you could do this job if you tried. You're already my second, aren't you? And if anything, my job is even easier than yours. It's, like, ninety-percent delegation. Not exaggerating."

Whistler bit his lip and looked around the office.

"Whistler, seriously, I need an answer in the next five minutes or I'll have to give it to Iron."

"Then yes!" Whistler blurted. "I'll do it! I'll take the job!"

Shining grinned.

"Great!" He trotted around the desk and hauled another stack of papers off the floor, which he then began sifting through midair. "Now for the problem."

Whistler's already very light blue face paled even further.

"...That wasn't the problem?"

"No. The problem is that I have to spend today getting my affairs in order. And that leaves me no time to meet with the EIA contact."

"EIA. That's the... Equestrian Intell—"

"Equestrian Intelligence Agency, yes. And since this is going to be your first time meeting them as acting Captain of the Royal Guard, let me explain the basics."

Shining tossed the papers onto the desk and began rummaging through a loose drawer on the floor beside him, again focusing on his task rather than looking at Wind Whistler.

"First of all, we hate them. They demand transparency from us, show none on their end, and above all, they're arrogant and spiteful. Think every bully you've ever met, but with royal authority and a suit."

Whistler's expression hardened into a frown just picturing them.

"Second of all, they're gonna do everything they can to intimidate you. You can expect that they'll have sent a real creep as their liaison. The guy I met last year was called Exuding Malevolence, and I wish I was making that up. They'll only use agent designations at first, but don't be fooled. You do have the right to demand their actual names. They like to pretend that lots of stuff is classified and above your paygrade, but the truth is, they just don't like telling us things."

"Why not?"

"Because they don't like us. After introductions, they'll usually begin by asking really ominous questions. Stuff like, 'Who would you say are your ten most expendable officers?' or 'How many guards have you lost to unexplained poisonings in the last three months?' If you ask them to explain themselves, they'll mostly refuse. So here's what you do."

Shining pulled some kind of notepad from the drawer and smiled at it. He put it in the pocket of his armour and turned back to Whistler.

"Refuse to tell them what they want," he said, his smile becoming a touch mischievous. "One of two things will happen. Either they'll get over their pride and explain themselves, or they'll cry to Celestia for a royal executive order demanding our compliance, and then Celestia will tell us what's going on after they're out of manes. Either way, inconvenience them as much as possible. Never be honest if you don't have to be. Lie to them about everything. They ask you where the bathroom is, you tell them we don't have one. Got it?"

Whistler blinked.

"Are... Are you being serious right now?"

"A little bit." Shining stood up and stumbled across the room until he reached yet another stack, and then began sorting through the newest papers. "Really, the important thing is to make sure they don't leave us in the dark again. If they're doing something shady, and the ponies I'm responsible for are involved somehow, I want to know. But petty revenge for their years of equally petty behaviour is nice."

"Hmm." Wind Whistler shrugged with his wings. "Alright. I'll do it then. When am I meeting them?"

"Four o'clock in the east building interrogation room, but it's really your call where to meet. I always just chose that room because it's the coldest."

Wind Whistler tried not to be surprised by that.

"Uh-huh. Don't worry, Captain. I got it covered."





The guards either side of the door saluted Wind Whistler as he approached. He returned a half-hearted nod, and stopped as his hoof rested on the handle. He didn't know what kind of pony to expect on the other side. All the sergeant had told him was that a mare had arrived. That meant it probably wasn't the same agent that Shining had mentioned, but that didn't necessarily mean that they'd be any better. Then again, he doubted that the Agency could do any worse than an agent named Exuding Malevolence, so the odds were in his favour.

Closing his eyes and taking one last breath, like a deep-sea diver about to go under, Whistler pushed forward before he could convince himself to turn around and go do something else.

He entered the interrogation room, and was startled by how the agent immediately stood out against the featureless white walls and floor. Her vibrant red mane immediately drew the eye, which then noticed her black suit and tie, her square reading glasses, and her brownish red coat. She seemed just as startled by Whistler's sudden entrance, looking up suddenly from some kind of folder, which she immediately snapped shut and lay down on the simple wooden table that separated them.

"Oh, hello," she said, still staring at him with widened eyes. "Sorry. Didn't expect you so soon."

She pushed the folder to the side and held out a hoof, attempting a weak smile.

"Agent Redwood. I'm your EIA liaison."

In some distant corner of his mind, Wind Whistler wondered what he had been afraid of. With a smile of his own, though a much more natural one than hers, he closed the door behind him and strolled over to the table.

"I figured." He sat down opposite the agent and shook her hoof. "First Lieutenant Wind Whistler. Or, Captain Wind Whistler now, I suppose. It's all rather short notice."

"Heh, same." Redwood seemed to become less tense, as she pulled the file back over and opened it again. "Alright... Um... I've been instructed to request information on the Royal Guard's status as of the Changeling Invasion... specifically as it pertains to... hold on..."

Redwood turned several pages in the folder and scanned back and forth with her eyes.

"...As it pertains to... 'casualties endured, ponies injured or captured, intelligence compromised, prisoners taken, and enemy intelligence recovered.'"

"Okay..." Whistler raised an eyebrow. "May I ask why the EIA needs this information?"

"Just a general damage report," Redwood said, off-handedly. "We've been making similar inquiries to other military branches all week. Or, well, I have. I'm kind of the only agent on the job right now."

Whistler frowned. "And why's that?"

"Staff shortage. Our HQ's in a terrible state. The changelings infiltrated us, and we lost half our number. The guy who would normally be meeting you is still missing, his next three replacements are also all missing, and the next in line is my boss, who just got promoted and is now running half the Agency. I was a last resort for this job. I'm technically not even qualified for it yet."

He cocked his head.

"You're surprisingly forthcoming about all this. I was told before coming in here that the EIA is historically very guarded and rarely shares information."

Redwood stifled a laugh.

"Yeah, well... I figured, maybe if my side was nice for once, yours might be too."

With a sly smile, Whistler leaned in.

"Between you and me," he whispered, "the Captain told me to lie to and inconvenience you as much possible. Petty revenge for the EIA's attitude."

This time, Redwood couldn't hold back the laugh. She removed her glasses and put them down on the table.

"Between you and me," she said, "I was told to do the exact same thing, because the Royal Guard never cooperates."

She laughed again, and Whistler laughed with her. It did not last for long, but once it was over, all the previous tension in the air had evaporated. Whistler relaxed his posture, no longer sitting so stiffly.

"We are so unprofessional," said Redwood, leaning her face on a hoof.

"We're unprofessional? Captain Armor and your CO are the ones going out of their way to be childish. Just think of how much time our divisions must've wasted on antagonising each other, when we're both part of the same government!"

"I know, right? It's kinda sad, really."

The two of them became quiet. While Redwood was left looking at the table, Whistler glanced over to her folder.

"Can I see what it is you need to know, exactly? Maybe I can help you out."

Redwood casually turned the folder around and slid it across the desk. Whistler stopped it with a hoof and skimmed the page it was opened on.

"Compromised officers..." he muttered. "Enemy contraband... requisitioning... Huh. Alright."

After a minute and a half, Whistler finished up with the folder, closed it, and slid it back over.

"There were no pony casualties or severe injuries that I'm aware of, and we didn't take any prisoners, but I can have the boys bring up our records on the rest of the stuff you need. As for the other thing... I'm sorry to report that we've already cremated all the changeling remains, and I'm more than a little concerned that your science team wants them in the first place."

"You and me both," said Redwood. "But thank you! Records would be most helpful."

With a nod, Whistler stood up and headed back for the door. Before heading outside, he paused, and turned around to look at Redwood again.

"Out of curiosity, is it true that you had a pony called Agent Exuding Malevolence working this job before you?"

Redwood smiled. "It's Director Malevolence now. And before you ask, yes, he is exactly like a comic-book supervillain."

There was no response he could give to that, so Wind Whistler just sighed, shrugged, and stepped out into the corridor, past the other two guards.





It was over an hour later when Redwood finally packed the last of the Royal Guard's records back into their boxes, so that they could be taken back to the archive later. She sat up from the desk that she hadn't moved from in her entire visit, and trotted over to the exit with her folder clenched against her body by her wing. Wind Whistler hadn't even known she was a pegasus until she stood up, nor had he noticed the leg brace. He held open the door for her as she walked out, and then followed after her down the corridor.

"Well, thank you very much for your cooperation, Captain Whistler," said Redwood. "I think this is the fullest report an EIA liaison officer has ever brought back. You might just be what finally gets me into my CO's good graces."

"Feathers crossed. Though it's probably still just First Lieutenant Whistler for a while."

"Never say never. You seem like you'd make a good captain."

"Well, you know. Anything to improve interservice relations."

Redwood grinned.

"Say, here's a proposal, captain. Do you want to go out somewhere this Friday?"

Whistler raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that a little unprofessional, given our jobs?"

"Why? Weren't we already having liaisons?"

He stopped in his tracks. Redwood did too. She looked back at him, and her grin widened. He stared at her incredulously, and then began shaking his head.

"You were building up to that pun, weren't you?"

Redwood laughed.

"For over an hour, you've been waiting just to make that pun!"

"Hah! Guilty as charged!"

"You're terrible! This must be why everypony hates the EIA!"

"I'm not hearing a no!" said Redwood, in a singsong voice.

Whistler sighed and covered his face with a wing. He continued shaking his head for a second, before uncovering and rolling his eyes.

"Ah, fine, you got me. I relent. Friday it is."

The two resumed walking, and before long reached the building's exit. Whistler and Redwood emerged onto the grounds of Canterlot Castle, now bathed orange in the glow of the evening sun. In that gentle light, they both couldn't help but smile.

"So, do you wanna choose a place, or should I?" asked Redwood.

"As it happens, I know a place that does excellent pies..."

> Evergreen vs. Fillygree - Winner: Evergreen (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lumber and Larceny - by Evergreen's Author

"...And I'll need them by the end of the week, and no later."

Fillygree spared a glance up the unicorn stallion before refocusing on the notepad in front of her. She blew a few strands of her golden mane out of her face and held the sheet of paper up to the light. "So, Mr. Brûlée, in summary, you want six sets of earrings, each one styled after a different species of rhododendron, one set cast in silver and with diamonds in the petals, two others in gold and with sapphires, and the remaining three in electrum and emeralds. You also want a gold brooch in the likeness of a sunflower with one large diamond in its center, a silver tiara ‘with gemstones to mirror a rainbow's many hues', and a set of silver-and-diamond cufflinks. The deadline for these items is this Friday." She cocked an eyebrow. "I have that right?"

"Yes, yes. I believe so," the unicorn adjusted the monocle over his right eye, sniffing slightly. "Is that going to be a problem?"

She set the paper down. “That all depends, Mr. Brûlée. Are you willing to part with three thousand bits?”

The monocle dropped, swinging near his chest on its gilded chain. “What?” he sputtered. “Whatever for?”

“Because I don’t do industrial work. Each piece of mine is designed, cast, and tooled by hoof, and that takes time. Time that you haven’t given me. Time that I’ll have to dedicate exclusively to the production of your order, while halting all my other projects. Time that’ll cost me, and therefore you.”

His mouth opened and closed, rather like a fresh carp, before he harrumphed and said, “And here my associates led me to believe that you were a master craftsmare. It seems you are also a… an economical businessmare.”

She allowed herself a slight smile. “It pays to be both. And flattery will get you nowhere. Three thousand bits is the price.” 

His horn glowed, reeling in his monocle and setting it back over his eye. He sniffed again. “It strikes me that I could get all of that for half that price in the Upper Ward."

Nodding, she said, "You could certainly go to a unicorn jeweler. And yes, you might be able to haggle the price down a bit or two, but I guarantee none of them will meet that deadline for that price, and certainly not for the level of quality I will provide.” She swept a hoof wide, across the many crystal cases which housed her wares. “You saw as much from what’s on display. If price is really that important, you might have another look around the shelves.”

He glanced around, his eyes reflecting the shining brooches, gilded necklaces, and brilliant stones of the jewelry resting on their silken displays around the shop. "No, they must be custom-made. Unique. Otherwise, what is the point?" He breathed a sigh. "Very well, Ms. Fillygree, we have ourselves a contract."

“Indeed we do.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a ready-made document, wet her quill, and began filling in the gaps. “By signing this paper, you agree to pay me three-thousand bits upon delivery of the listed items, which is to be completed no later than noon on Friday, Fructidor 18th, else I will forfeit one-third of the asking price.” She slid the sheet across the table to him. 

Wordlessly, he lit his horn and took up the quill, his eyes scanning over the paper. She could see the corners of his jaw working behind his pursed lips.

“It’s economical,” she said, in answer to his unspoken statement.

He spared her a glance, then scrawled the quill across the bottom of the document. "I shall return on Friday, then. I look forward to seeing the pieces completed. All of them." 

“They may still be a little hot from the forge, but they'll be ready."

He gave her one sharp nod, placed a large satin top hat upon his head, and without another word, swept from the shop. A small silver bell above the door chimed once, then twice, at his passing.

Fillygree watched him wander up the street. It was only when he'd disappeared around the corner that she muttered, "Nitwit."

Fussy unicorns were one thing; she could deal with those. Fussy unicorns with outrageous demands were another, but still manageable. And then there were fussy unicorns with less appreciation for art than an iconoclastic slug. 

She heaved a sigh, letting it hiss between her teeth. Still, bits were bits, and this was one job she couldn’t let slip by. Reaching into her desk once more, she produced a fresh notepad, and with pencil in mouth, began blackening it with notes. 

Materials. Her silver stock would be sufficient, but she'd need to see about an ingot of gold. No big deal there; old Wellsmith ought to cut her a deal on that. The big thing would be gems. She had no sapphires to speak of, and those diamonds were going to be a hassle to come by, and thus expensive.

Time. Five hours per set of earrings—that was two days worth of labor. The brooch would be another day, the tiara a day and a half, and the cufflinks she could do whenever. She’d be cutting it tight, but it was doable. She’d just have to keep her forge running nonstop throughout the week. 

Problem. She was already low on coal, and with the prices currently through the roof thanks to the new express rail gobbling up the city’s reserves, she'd have to find an alternative. She'd have to switch to wood.

Further problem. She set her pencil aside, looking out the window at the bustling streets of Canterlot’s Middle Ward—at its cobblestone streets, hard, white walls, and crowds of milling aristocrats. 

Where was she going to find wood in Canterlot?





        “Wood?” The lieutenant raised one thick, orange eyebrow. “That’s what this is about? Wood?”

Across the gilded desk, Evergreen bobbed her head, once. “That’s aboot it, yah.”

The lieutenant looked at her, his expression as hard and stony as the cliff Canterlot was attached to. “And because of this, you expect me to dedicate a number of my soldiers, who are currently overworked with policing the city, to this investigation?”

She bobbed her head again. “If it’s not too much trouble, sir.”

He kept staring at her. He blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Right. My apologies, Sergeant Evergreen, but I’m afraid the Royal Guard won’t be able to assist the Rangers today.”

Once more, her head mimicked a seesaw. “Yah, that’s aboot what I figured. Silly little mare like me comes flyin’ into your jurisdiction, starts making a hubbub all of a’ sudden, I couldn’t expect you to uproot yourself all at once.”

The lieutenant pursed his lips, then said, “Again, my apologies. I can point you toward the gate records, though. Perhaps you will find a lead there.”

He swept past her, heading out the door. She didn’t follow. Instead, she frowned, breathing a sigh. It was only for a moment, just a flicker, and when she spun around to follow him, her expression was composed once more.

It was, indeed, what she’d expected. No established law enforcement agency liked somepony else muscling in on their turf. Especially not big-city law enforcement, who would always view the “provincials” as glorified park rangers.

She was no mere ranger, though. She was a Ranger, and a Ranger always gets her mark. 

The lieutenant led her to a forest of file cabinets, passed her off to a bored-looking office clerk, and she dove into the records. The past few weeks had seen a dozen large-scale shipments of firewood. Most of it was from the northeast, around Hollow Shades, but there were a few wagon-loads that had come from the Unicorn Range. One of them came in a few days ago.

That was what she was looking for. Of course, where the wood had gone afterwards, there was no telling. She’d have to start canvassing local businesses. That wasn’t going to be pleasant. If local law enforcement wasn’t keen on her investigation, she doubted most businessponies would be, either.

Still, there were no two ways about it. She had to find that shipment of wood. Somewhere, anywhere.

Because if she didn't, there would be a lot of trouble.





"Hi. I need eighty pounds of wood on the double."

The grey-green earth pony looked at her like a baker finding his souffle deflated. "You plannin’ on building a house, Miss? Lumber yard's just up that way."

"I'm aware of that. I need firewood for my forge."

He looked at her, a thoughtful frown on his face. "You're that mare who runs the jewelry store down by the falls, yeah?"

"Yes. Fillygree's the name.” She pointed a hoof back at the door. “And you’re Shady Bough, yes? Woodcutter? Who delivers?”

He kept looking at her, his eyes scanning. "Well, let's see, here. I've got a few crates I could part with. That'll come to about two hundred bits. That alright with you?"

"That's fine. How soon can you have it delivered to my shop?"

He tapped his chin. "For you, Miss, I'll have it up and ready in the hour. Can you pay up front?"

"Yes. I’m very busy today, so if I’m not in, simply leave the shipment behind the shop."

A wide grin made its way over his face. “Oh, I’ll deliver it on time, I promise you that.”

Fillygree paid him his asked price, and all but fled his dusty shop. It was good to be out of the place; it smelled of rot. Or maybe that was just him.

Whatever. She had business to attend to elsewhere. Checking off a tick on her list, she made her way toward the market. Maybe she’d be able to talk the gem sellers into a good deal.





Twelve businesses, twelve awkward conversations. Evergreen had spent the last several hours flying all throughout Canterlot, and as expected, not a one was particularly happy to see her. Next stop, the jewelry store. She pushed the door open with a gentle touch, as though the glass might fracture under her hoof. A silver bell rang once as she stepped inside.

"Hallo?" she called. "Anypony in?"

No answer. She cupped a hoof around her mouth and called again. "Hallo!"

There was a clattering sound from behind the counter, a curse or two, and then a blue-coated mare pushed her way through the door, looking hot and sweaty. She had a small tool of some sort tucked behind her ear.

"This is what I stopped work for?” she said. “Who are you?"

Evergreen braced herself. "Sergeant Evergreen, Royal Equestrian Rangers. I assume you’re Ms. Fillygree?”

“Yes…?”

“Well, Miss, I've got some quick questions."

She shook her head. “Look, I’m sure they’re important, but I’ve got too much to do to waste any time here.”

“Just real quick. There may be a timberwolf loose in Canterlot."

Silence reigned for a few long seconds, before Fillygree said, "A what?"

"Don't tell me you don't know aboot timberwolves? Big, scary dogs made a' sticks and logs?"

"No, I've no idea what you're talking about. And I certainly don't see what it has to do with me."

"Have you bought any wood recently?"

"Yes, I have. Why would that matter at all?"

"Because a timberwolf grows out of a sickness in the wood. If you've got enough sick wood in one place, well..."

There was a sudden rumbling, and a howl like an autumn wind. The ceiling exploded inward as a massive wooden paw cleaved through the wood and clay like tissue. Through the cloud of dust, a pair of glowing yellow eyes shone, above a maw of jagged wooden fangs.

"What the hay is that?!"

"Timberwolf! Come on!" She wrapped a hoof around Fillygree’s shoulders, pulling her toward the door. They burst onto the street, and the timberwolf pursued, snarling and gnashing its hideous teeth.

Ponies walking the streets quickly turned to running them as the beast barreled up the walk, upending market stalls and sending benches and chairs flying. Evergreen dragged Fillygree into an alley, and the monster thundered past, eagerly pursuing its new and screaming prey.

Straightening up, Evergreen said, "Stay here, Miss." 

“What are you going to do?” she breathed.

She shrugged. “My job, eh?” With a determined frown, Evergreen took to wing and flew after it.

Fillygree watched her go, her mind spinning end over end. And here she thought she’d planned for everything today. But there wasn’t really any way to plan for giant log monsters whose breath smelled like old rot.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. She'd smelled that scent before. On a certain pony. A certain pony who knew exactly where her shop was, and everything it contained.

“Forest for the trees,” she mumbled, and broke into a gallop.





"Hey! Come on, ya big hoser! Follow me!"

That certainly riled him up. With another roar, the timberwolf charged after her, claws rending the cobblestone. She darted ahead, winding and weaving her way toward her objective: the nearby falls, where the river ran fast and heavy before falling off the mountainside.

Slowing her pace, she readied her tools: a small pouch of magnesium filings, a curved piece of black steel, and a well-used chip of flint. She’d intended to use them on the infected timber once she’d found it. Nice that they were still going to serve that purpose, in a sense.

She spread her wings wide, braking and causing the timberwolf to overshoot. It skidded to a halt, and she seized her chance, swooping in and finding purchase on its back. Dry moss crackled under her hooves as she dumped the shavings out, and ground them into the creases of the bark. 

The timberwolf bucked and shook, trying to dislodge her. She wrapped her limbs around its trunk, and clenching the steel in her teeth, and struck at it with the flint. Sparks shot from her mouth like she was a feathery dragon, and ignited the shavings. Casting herself off, she flapped her wings hard and fast. The rush of air swept over the embers, and the bark caught fire.

Suddenly the timberwolf didn’t feel much like wreaking havoc.

Yelping and hollering, the now-flaming timberwolf threw itself into the river. The current quickly grabbed hold of it, and despite its furious doggy-paddling, carried it downstream until it disappeared over the edge of the great falls. Evergreen might have heard a howl echo over the edge, but she couldn’t be sure.

Instead, she heaved a sigh, doffed her hat, and wiped the sweat from her brow. 

“Sergeant Evergreen!”

Turning, she spied the lieutenant and a couple of his guards sprinting over. They skidded to a halt in front of her, eyes wide and jaws agape. “What… What the...”

She held up a hoof. “You’ll want to send some pegasi down the mountain after it. Even waterlogged, a timberwolf can still piece himself back together, eh?”

He blinked. “O-of course. Right away.” With a look to one of his compatriots, and receiving a nod in response, he turned back to her. “Well, forgive me for not taking your investigation more seriously.” He drew himself up, finally back to his steely self. “Where did that thing even come from?”

“It came from a…” she trailed off.

“Sergeant?”

She whirled around, looking up the street. “It came from a jeweler’s.”





Her shop looked even worse off now that she had the time to notice. The entire west wall was all but torn away, her forge crushed, and the roof caved in. Still, the silver bell above the door rang high and clear as she entered.

The peal alerted the grey-green stallion who was already in the shop. The large burlap sack in the crook of his foreleg tinkled and chimed as he spun to face her. Something twinkled in the frog of his hoof—a pair of silver earrings. His expression was somewhere between 

“Shady Bough, what are you doing?”

His eyes flicked to the sack, then to the earrings resting in his hoof, then back to her. Without breaking her gaze, he dropped the things into the bag with a clink. “Uhhhh…” he said. “It’s obvious, in’nt?”

She had to concede that, yes, it was. “So, is this just seizing an opportunity, or did you really plan all of this?”

A wolfish smile spread across his face. “Nopony ever suspects the woodcutter. He’s always the one who saves the village from the monster. But why go to all that trouble when you can just take advantage of the chaos the monster causes?”

“And the ponies who get hurt in that chaos?”

“This is Canterlot. You really think anypony around here can’t afford a doctor or two?”

Her teeth clenched; her next breath was a hiss. “You realize how stupid this plan is, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I had hoped the thing would keep you out of the shop for longer, but monsters are notoriously unreliable. Still, I got plenty of time to knock you over the head and make my getaway.”

She tensed. “What about witnesses?”

“It’ll be my word against yours. And do you really think anypony is going to believe I dreamt up this whole thing?” His face drooped into his signature expression. “Me? Simple ol’ Shady? I don’t reckon I could even make a plan for supper.” His grin returned. “Like I said, nopony ever suspects the woodcutter.”

“And all this for some bits?”

“Broken eggs make an omelet. That’s how this game is played. Maybe you’re satisfied with just being a pawn in it, but I’m gonna move up in the world.”

She smiled. “You really ought to play chess some time. Pawns are just there to hold your opponent in place.” Her eyes slowly swept upward, toward the hole in the ceiling. “And that’s when the knight moves in.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. That was all he had time for—a green hoof reached down and tapped him on the head. Startled, he looked up; his nose brushed the brim of a tan campaign hat worn by a red-clad figure hovering just above.

“Hallo there,” said Evergreen. “Royal Equestrian Rangers. You’re under arrest.”





Two hours later, the streets were relatively clear. They’d taken Shady Bough away, along with her stolen goods. A guard lieutenant assured her that as “evidence”, they’d be kept under tight security. Fillygree had shrugged and decided to make use of the impromptu banking service.

Goodness knows her shop was no longer secure. She looked up at the hole in the ceiling, through which the late afternoon sun was shining.

“I’m so sorry aboot all of this.”

Fillygree turned to Evergreen. “No worries. It’d be one thing if the place was wrecked and I lost all the pieces. I still have enough that I can sell to get by, at least until I can rebuild the forge.”

“By yourself?”

“Did it once before.” She shrugged. “If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing for being short with you earlier.”

Evergreen tipped her hat. “No worries. The timberwolf was a lot more ornery than you.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said, cocking an eyebrow, “is this an ordinary work day for you?”

Evergreen shook her head. “Nah. Usually it involves avalanches, or flash-floods, or somepony lost out in the wilderness.”

“Well, given the stakes here, I’m just amazed they only sent one Ranger.”

“Well, a’ course.” She grinned. “It was just the one timberwolf, eh?”









Fillygree vs. Evergreen - by Fillygree's Author


Snow’d, eh?


A thick bank of clouds approached from the north with all the weight and color of another mountain range. The setting sun painted fire across the boiling cumulus, but the wind that sliced through Evergreen’s uniform told another story. She angled her wings and began a spiral to the ground, where an ice-blue earth pony was fussing with an overstuffed pack in between nervous glances at the sky.

Evergreen touched down on the soft pine needles and straightened her campaign hat. “Why hello there, ma’am. Could you possibly be needing some assistance?”

The mare looked up from her pack and blinked, nervously twisting a lock of blond mane that had escaped her bun. She glanced from the imposing pine forest to the lush grasses that led to the emerald lake, then turned back to the pegasus and said, “You are literally the greenest thing I have ever seen in my life.”

Evergreen giggled and poked at her jade mane with a pine-colored hoof. “Oh, my parents had quite the sense of humor, don’tcha think? Sergeant Evergreen of the Royal Equestrian Rangers, at your service!” She snapped off a quick salute before standing at attention with a grin.

“Well, maybe I could use some assistance with…” The mare looked at the tangle of tent poles and canvas poking out of her bag, then up at the ominous clouds. “Uh, directions to the nearest hotel.”

“Oh, goodness, no. There’s no civilization for a couple day’s hike in any direction. You’re about as deep in the woods as you can get. Go any deeper, and you’re on your way out the other side!” She cut off her laugh when she saw the look on the other mare’s face. Evergreen cleared her throat and straightened her crimson jacket. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Fillygree. If you can point me in the direction of a town, I can make my own way there.”

“I’m afraid not, miss Fillygree. This blizzard is gonna be snowin’ and blowin’ somethin’ fierce. You can’t walk out, not in these conditions. And I don’t think even I could survive out here with what you’ve got in that there pack. Why don’tcha come with me, my cabin’s just over that hill right there.”

Fillygree sighed, then hefted the bag onto her back. “Fine. I suppose a warm cabin does sound nice right about now.”











“THAT is your cabin?” Fillygree asked. She squinted against the snowflakes that drifted out of the whiteness hiding the top of the creaking wooden staircase.

“Yeah buddy,” Evergreen chirped from a few stairs up.

“Your home is on top of a… what is this?”

Evergreen’s eyes traced the stairs as they wound their way around the wooden support beams. “It’s a fire watch tower. It’s where I keep all my things, and it’s where I ride out the worst of the storms, but really, the forest is my home.”

“That’s awfully romantic. You give a lot of stallions that line?”

“Heehee, no,” Evergreen said, trotting up to the first corner. “I don’t get a lot of stallions out this way.” She smiled as she continued up the stairs, mumbling half to herself, “Not a lot of ponies at all, in fact.” 

Fillygree stopped at treetop level, panting as she said. “If earth ponies were meant to live in the sky, they’d have been born with wings.”

“Hahahaha—” *snort* “—I think you’re talkin’ about me, eh?” She looked Fillygree over, then pointed a hoof at the mare’s bulging pack. “Why don’tcha leave that right here? You can pick it up on the way back down. I’ve got everything we’ll need.”

Fillygree glared at the pegasus, clearly trying her best to stand up straight while the pack weighed on her spine. “I can handle myself. Thanks.”

Evergreen placed a gentle wing on Fillygree’s shoulder. “Look here, bud. You’re tough, I give ya that, but I don’t think you can make it to the top carrying that pack.”

“I told you,” Fillygree said through gritted teeth as she shrugged off Evergreen’s wing. “I can handle it.” She started up the stairs again, forcing Evergreen to turn around and trot ahead of her.

Evergreen was happy to be moving again, and even happier for the silence. The world was at its most beautiful when snow was falling, in no small part because snow in the air tended to absorb the sounds of the world, leaving her in her own little world of black and white. If she tried hard, she could even ignore the wheezing earth pony who was pretending to be fine. The wooden steps were as cold as the grumbling earth mare but not nearly as icy. Without a warm surface to melt on, the snowflakes simply blew back into the gray sky that now surrounded them on all sides.

The sun had long since disappeared and the moon was surely pouring liquid silver across the top of the cloudscape, but Evergreen couldn’t detect a hint of its light. It was by blind feel and memory that she found her front door and ushered Fillygree inside. Within minutes, a roaring fire was bathing the tiny cabin in its warmth while Fillygree shivered wide-eyed beneath a blanket.

“Soooo,” Fillygree said as Evergreen busied herself over the fire, “Uh, thanks. I would have gotten the tent set up, you know, eventually. But... thanks.”

Evergreen giggled and glanced over her shoulder. “I know these woods can be tough. Even for me, sometimes.”

“So why are you out here?” Fillygree pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Tough living, freak snowstorms, and nopony around for miles.”

Evergreen pulled a pair of mugs off a shelf and glanced back at Fillygree. “Like I said, the forest is my home.”

“Still, though. You don’t exactly seem happy to be here.”

Evergreen stiffened for a moment, slowing the pace of the spoon clinking against the inside of the mug. She tapped the spoon dry, then laid it carefully on the hearth next to a single fork and butter knife. “I'm just not used to entertaining guests, is all.” Scooping up the two mugs in her hooves, she hovered over to the couch and settled next to Fillygree. She held out a steaming mug. “Here. Nothing like a double-double to warm you right up.”

“A what now?”

“Double cream, double sugar.”

“Ah, thanks.” Fillygree took a sip of the nearly-white coffee.

Evergreen slurped at her own mug and smiled, squirming her way deeper into the musty cushions and watching the fire dance. Between the hissing and popping of the burning logs, the whistling wind outside, and the creak of the tower as it swayed in the storm, Evergreen could almost forget that she was sharing the cabin with an overconfident earth pony. Until she started talking again.

“How do you do it?”

Evergreen peered into the steaming brew as if it held the answers to life. “Like, I kinda got used to it, ya know? After a while, it started to seem normal. And now—” she looked up and shrugged “—it's the only way I like my coffee.”

Fillygree looked at her host through bleary eyes and crossed her forelegs over her chest. “How do you make it out here on your own?” 

Evergreen shifted her weight on the dusty couch. “Like I said, this is my home.”

“It doesn’t look like a home to me.” 

Evergreen's emerald eyes followed Fillygree’s gaze as it traced the bare wooden walls and empty hearth. Even the nightstand was devoid of photographs or mementos. A few utilitarian items had been hoof-carved or cobbled together from baling twine and forest detritus. Plain brown wool blankets on the bed and stacks of canned oats said “government issue” as clearly as if they had been talking. But they hadn’t been talking. Until Fillygree had stumbled in and collapsed shivering on the couch, not a word had been uttered in the cabin for years.

“Like I said,” Evergreen muttered with the hint of a smile playing on her lips, “the forest is my home. This is just a shelter from the storm.”











A sliver of pre-dawn light tickled Evergreen’s eyes while the smell of coffee did the same for her stomach. With a start, she sat up on the couch, letting the blanket slump into a pile on the floor as she spun around. Her bed was made - sloppily, but made. The red flannel pajamas Fillygree had borrowed were resting folded on the foot of the bed. Fillygree’s overstuffed pack was missing, and a map was laid out on the room’s only table.

Evergreen didn’t bother pulling on her crisp red jacket, but took a second to jam the campaign hat over her tangled mane before darting out the door.

Fillygree didn’t turn around, or even flinch, when the door opened. She remained where she stood, draping her forelegs over the railing and staring past the wispy tendrils of forgotten breath into the overcast sky above.

Evergreen leaned on the rail next to her and said, “Just out for a rip, are ya, bud?”

The sun blossomed into the sky, refracting brilliant pink and orange through the snowflakes still making their way to the ground. The air was filled with flashes of diamond fire as one tiny crystal after another managed to catch the sun’s rays. The bottom surface of the clouds briefly resembled a worldwide blanket of cotton candy before the sun rose too high, plunging the world back into a gray twilight.

Fillygree took a deep breath, then spoke without looking back. “I thought I would leave early, get a head start, and hike as far as I could before sundown. I had everything figured out, see?” She motioned toward a pair of snowshoes that were leaning against the side of the cabin. “I even memorized your map.”

“The novelty map of coffee shop locations?”

Fillygree grunted. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“I’m sorry if I was a bit owly last night.” Evergreen shuffled her hooves, then looked at Fillygree and said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you end up in the Northwestern Unicorn Range, anyway?”

“It was just supposed to be an overnight hiking trip. Vanderhoof to Waffleton, one night of camping somewhere along the way, then another train ride back to Canterlot.”

“That’s a proper hike. You were planning to spend only one night in the woods?” Evergreen poked the canvas bag still balanced on Fillygree’s back. “How’d that work out for ya?”

“Well, at first I thought I was just hiking slowly. No big deal. I’d just be a day late getting to Waffleton. But I started to get worried around sunset the third day. I thought I’d missed it, so I doubled back.”

Evergreen helped Fillygree lower the pack to the snowy deck. “So, what made you think it was a good idea to run around the woods all by your lonesome?”

“I had it all planned out. Every detail. I knew the train schedules. I memorized all the edible plants in the Unicorn Range. I packed for every contingency. And besides, I wasn’t supposed to be alone, but none of my friends wanted to come. They said the hike was too much.”

“Smart friends,” Evergreen said as she squatted next to the bag and opened the flap, digging around beneath the mangled tent. “What’s this here?”

Fillygree glanced down, then looked back out over the monochrome pines and replied with her chin resting on the guard rail. “Snakebite kit.”

“You sure did pack for everything.” She looked at the jumble of odds and ends still in the bag. “You got a map in there somewhere?”

Fillygree huffed, her breath hanging in the air like an unspoken answer.

“A map kinda seems like a big thing, yeah?”

“I guess I just got caught up in the—”

“The nine different kinds of tweezers?” Evergreen said, waggling an open zippered case.

Fillygree rubbed the back of her neck. “One is for thorns, one’s for bee stings, one—” she flailed her hooves over her head “—Whatever. I thought I’d planned for everything.”

“Then mother nature just came up and gave you a proper cross-check, yeah?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t planning on running into a blizzard in September.”

Evergreen shrugged. “We’re like the great white north, ya know. We don’t have fancy planned weather like you big city ponies.”

Fillygree rubbed her muzzle with a hoof. “It’s funny, there are legends about spooky places where the clouds move by themselves.”

“Legends?” Evergreen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you can’t make it on your own out here.”

“But you do. Why can’t I?”

Evergreen shook her head with a smile. “I’m not alone. Not in the woods. You put me back in Vanhoover, surrounded by all those Coasties…” She shivered. “I never felt so alone in my life.”

Fillygree toyed with the end of a strap as she eyed the snow-covered world below. “I think mother nature won this round. I’m not gonna be able to walk through that, am I?”

“No, not for a week or so. Don’t worry, though. We’ve got another good melt before winter hits for sure.” She put a hoof on Fillygree’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go inside, eh?”

Fillygree flicked her tail and huffed, then brushed a swath of snow from the rail before turning around. “Yeah, why don’t we?” She hefted the bag onto her back and followed Evergreen into the cabin. “Say, you don’t happen to have any board games, do you?”

“Ha! I don’t have much use for board games out here.” Evergreen tossed her hat onto the bed and climbed onto the couch.

Fillygree grinned as she began dumping her pack’s contents onto the floor. “Well, it’s a good thing I packed a few travel-size games and a deck of cards.”

Evergreen turned around and leaned over the back of the couch, squinting at Fillygree. “Why would you pack board games for a solo trip into the wilderness?”

“Like I said” —she winked at Evergreen— “I planned for every possibility.”
> Gross Product vs. Firefly - Winner: Firefly (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gross Product and Firefly - by Gross Product's Author

He remembered when all of this was farmland, before the magic left the earth.

Firefly walked across the barren landscape, eyes flitting about as he looked for any other signs of life. His wings were folded by  his side, but his muscles were not entirely relaxed. Up above, in the gray sky, the clouds drifted past, casting small shadows on the wasteland beneath. Oh, how he wished he could be up there now, getting a better view of the area! Firefly sighed to himself. When had it all gone so wrong? Why did the magic leave the earth?

Too many questions. He continued on past what used to be Sweet Apple Acres, the barn merely a burnt husk in the distant, dull horizon. He'd only ever met the family once or twice, at Rainbow Dash's insistence. As much as she pushed him around and chastised him for not working to his full potential, she really did have others' best interests at heart. Perhaps that was why she had continually dogged after him even after he had all but given up hope of trying to improve.

Rocks kicked up as Firefly continued his sullen march northeast, but he didn't mind the pain. It told him that he was alive, and, for the time being, that was all that mattered to him. Where had Rainbow Dash gone? Firefly was sure that he had seen her before... whatever this was had happened, but as far as he could tell, there was no one else in Ponyville. He had never been a social pony to begin with, but he had to admit, the amicable chatter of the town's residents was preferable to no noise at all.

He sighed again, wondering where they all had gone. Had they simply been killed by the Event? Firefly sincerely hoped not, but his gut said otherwise. But he was sure that there had to be some ponies around. The question was where.



It had been days since Firefly had passed by the Acres, but he was finally at his destination, his best bet to find somepony else who had survived whatever magical apocalypse had befallen Equestria. Hopefully, he was right, otherwise all of this walking would have been for nothing. He missed the sky terribly.

Firefly stuck out like an orange thumb as he passed through the stark remnants of Canterlot, the sound of his hoofsteps echoing off of the ghastly ruins of shops, restaurants, and theaters. Nothing about his surroundings gave him any indication of pony life, but there was still plenty of ground to cover. He trotted through street after street, scanning the gray rubble for flashes of color or signs of movement.

Nothing.

"Hmm." Perhaps he was wrong, after all. Perhaps he was the last pony in this region of Equestria. Perhaps—

Hypotheticals would get him nowhere. There was still ground to cover, but his muscles and hooves told him that he could begin anew tomorrow morning, if morning was still a concept after what had happened last month.

He pulled a hunk of bread from his saddlebags and wandered into what seemed to be an office building. A faded plaque that was still firmly attached to a slice of wall read "E   ONO   I   S B    DI  G - C    TE  LO   U       RS   Y." Whatever it was, it looked as good a place as any to rest for a while, and Firefly was soon wrapped in a thin blanket in the corner of the building. For a moment, he wished he had been able to salvage any of his books, or the ones from the library, just for something to distract him from the harsh reality that had suddenly become his life.

No use for that, though, not since all of the magic had gone away. What was the point in studying something that didn't exist anymore and explaining it to himself over and over again? A picture of a warped record spinning around on a phonograph entered his mind, and he forced the thought out of his head before he could break into tears. This was no way for a pony to live. He had to find a way to fix all this, even if it meant his life.

Even as he floated off into unconsciousness, he held onto that mantra. He had to.



Fireworks. Where? What? How? No. Impossible.

Firefly opened his eyes and tried to make sense of the noise. Not fireworks, it couldn't have been. But there was definitely a loud clatter coming from a nearby building. His wings flared out as he reached up to touch the scar on his face. He had to be ready for anything. There was no telling what sort of horror lurked in the shadows of Canterlot.

Said horror poked his head out from behind what appeared to be a bank and gave a friendly smile. It was all Firefly could do not to run. And then it registered.

It was a pony, an earth pony, an honest-to-goodness, genuine earth pony! He wasn't the last pony in Equestria after all, and he collapsed to the ground out of joy.

The earth pony frowned and trotted out from behind the bank. He was large, even for an earth pony, but his blended in well with the surroundings. No wonder Firefly hadn't seen him right away. The earth pony extended a hoof to Firefly, who took it and slowly got back on his hooves. The pegasus took in the strange pony in front of him fully.

He was wearing an eyepatch, for some reason, and a ridiculous-looking hat was perched atop his head, obscuring most of his white mane. He sported a cutie mark of gold coins, and a steel scabbard hung from his side.

"P-p-pirate?" Firefly managed at last. The earth pony scowled and placed a hoof on the handle of something sticking out of the scabbard. He bared his teeth and then, when he could contain it no more, let out a hearty laugh.

Firefly blinked. What was going on?

The stallion was doubled over, his face a bright red as he continued to laugh. Finally, he straightened up and wiped a tear from his eye. "I gotcha," he said, with no small amount of humor. "I gotcha real good! Thought you were gonna be walkin' the plank, were ya?"

Firefly gulped and nodded, which sent the stallion off again. "Can't believe I found ya, kid," said the earth pony between wheezes. "Thought I was the last one left, y'know? Now that you're here, I can see that I was just—"

The stallion pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his saddlebags, quick as a snake, and shoved them over his eyes. This better not have been going where he thought it was going. Firefly braced himself.

"—the poneultimate."

A beat.

And then Firefly found himself giggling in spite of his reservations about the old stallion, who had tried to keep a straight demeanor but had failed miserably as soon as Firefly had cracked. The pair made the happiest and loudest sound Canterlot had heard for over a month, and it echoed all throughout the city and reverberated off the mountain.

The earth pony finally caught his breath and let out a content sigh. "Name's Gross Product, kid, and I'd have you call me 'Dr. Product' if our education system here in Canterlot wasn't currently worse off than the one in Baltimare."

"Firefly," said the pegasus. "Just Firefly."

Gross Product put a hoof on his chin. "Well, 'Just Firefly,' it seems that you and me were brought together here in Canterlot, though whether it was by fate or by chance is unclear at the moment. How's about teaming up with an old stallion, eh? Figure that we ain't got much longer anyway, and I bet you need all the help you can get!"

Not a bad idea, now that he thought of it. Firefly could use the extra hooves, though it would make travelling slower than what he wanted. But he had all the time in the world left to walk, and his deadline was his own. Firefly nodded. "Sure, that sounds great."

Gross broke into a large smile. "Knew you'd want me along, kid! Manehattanites have always got your back, even if my accent's changed a lot. I used to teach here, y'know." He laid a hoof on the concrete wall next to Firefly. "The economics building of Canterlot University. Taught right up until the Reckoning, I did, fourth floor from the top." He let out a sigh. "That's all gone now, 'course, ain't much we can do about that. Where you from, er, Firefly, was it?"

Firefly nodded. "Ponyville. You probably haven't heard of it, it's a little town—"

"—Southwest of here, yeah." Gross let out another sigh. "I knew it well. Worked there for five years with the love of my life, down at Sweet Apple Acres. Got to know the town real well. Nice folks, each and every one of 'em. Shame they're gone now."

“I, uh, I got to know the librarian pretty well,” said Firefly, fidgeting.

“Not old Paperback!” exclaimed Gross Product. “He retired years ago, ‘fore Honeycrisp died, rest her soul.” He looked down at his hooves and sighed. “Saddest day of my life, that was, her funeral. I loved her. I still do, kid.” He looked Firefly straight in the eye. “But she got married, and I got married, and we both settled down and went about our own lives.”

What should he say? Firefly never knew that kind of love, not the one that seems to be the One True Love. Sure, he’d gone on dates before, but this? No, he’d never seen anything like this. Awkwardly, he patted Gross on the back and laid a hoof on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Honeycrisp,” he said. And what else was there to say but that?

Gross lowered his head and let out a sigh. “I appreciate it, kid. Her husband, Jonagold was his name, he was a good stallion.” He snorted. “Listen to me yammer on about her, even with my own family missing and all. My wife and daughter are gone, and all I care about is some stupid crush I used to have. Pathetic. Wish I had my sailboat.”

The other pony frowned. “I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. I think it’s…” Firefly pursed his lips. “I think it’s bittersweet, in a way. You love your family and you love this Honeycrisp. Who is anypony else to say that you can’t hold different ponies near to your heart?” He blushed and closed his mouth, but his words echoed around the desolated city.

“You think so, Firefly?” asked Gross. His face seemed brighter, his eyelids not so heavy. “What about you, have you lost anything or anyone special?”

Firefly paused and reflected. He didn’t much miss his parents, as terrible as that sounded, nor his peers from flight school. Bullies, the lot of them. No, what he really missed the most was—

“Magic,” he blurted. Gross raised an eyebrow. “I know, I’m not a unicorn, but the idea of magic, all of its concepts and spells and mages… it’s fascinating. I used to have a bunch of enchanted objects before…” He gestured with both hooves at the sky. “...All of this happened.” He sighed and studied a piece of debris. “It was the most useful tool that Equestria ever had, and now? Now it’s gone forever.” There was dust in his eye, he thought, blinking back liquid. Just the dust from the city and streets and the pon—

There was a hoof on his shoulder, then, and it radiated heat and gentleness like Firefly had never felt. “Look at me,” whispered Gross, and Firefly obeyed. “Things’ll get better, all right? You and I, we’re going to fix all this, everything that’s happened. The first thing to do is to head for the castle.” Gross straightened and stood up. “There’s an enormous amount of information in there, and the sooner we get there, the sooner we can get things back to the way they used to be.” 

Firefly nodded and readjusted his saddlebags, cast one final look at the grayness of the once-proud capital and walked alongside Gross to the center of the city.

“The one thing I won’t miss, y’know, was what passed as ‘music’ a month ago! Absolutely atrocious, I must say…”

And their voices faded on the wind, and the sky seemed brighter.









Economics 101 - by Firefly's Author

Usually Firefly sat in the front row. Tonight however, Princess Twilight’s weekly lecture on magic had attracted a rather large and intimidating crowd, so he sat at the back of the lecture room, close to where the coffee and pastries were laid out on a table.

Though the sheer number of attendees was unusual, its makeup was even more so: there were many earth ponies and pegasi present. Firefly was used to being the only pegasus in the audience. Even stranger, most of the usual unicorns weren’t in attendance. He chewed the tip of his hoof absentmindedly, wondering if maybe they knew something he didn’t. It had been a busy weekend in the weather brigade, and he hadn't been home except to sleep and eat for four days straight.

The only other resident of the back row was a young pale-yellow earth filly sitting three chairs down from him. Her posture broadcasted seething resentment as she stared fixedly at the chair-back before her. He felt a pang of sympathy, but chose to respect her clearly communicated desire to be left alone.

A commotion at the front drew his attention. The first few rows of chairs were full. To the left of the central aisle sat Filthy Rich and his family. Immediately to their right were the residents of Sweet Apple Acres and Spike.

Why would merchants and farmers come to a seminar about magic? he thought. You should have checked the evening's topic days ago, idiot! He snorted. And do what instead, egghead? These magic seminars are the highlight of your entire week!

With a sigh, he crossed his forelegs. Well, let’s trust in the princess to make this worthwhile.

The hubbub died down as Princess Twilight approached the podium accompanied by a mature, bookish looking earth pony stallion with a gray coat, white mane and, curiously, a cutie mark of a pile of gold coins.

She smiled broadly. “Welcome to the Golden Oaks Memorial Library's series of lectures on magic. Wow! We have a good crowd tonight!” She indicated the stallion. “This is Dr. Gross Product, who teaches economics at the University of Canterlot. He’s a former resident of Ponyville and tonight, as our special guest, he will give a talk on the role of magic in the Equestrian economy.”

Economics! Firefly’s heart and ears sank. Is there possibly a worse way to blow a Tuesday night?!







Gap took Princess Twilight’s place at the lectern. This was a good crowd for a small town, even if half were members of the Apple and Rich clans, friends from when he lived here.

His smile faltered when his gaze fell on the back row. Ripple sat there next to some dubious looking orange pegasus colt of college age. His daughter didn’t look up, brooding beneath the raincloud she’d been under since leaving Canterlot that morning. The last few weeks had been hell at home. He’d hoped the trip to Ponyville would draw her out of her funk. Guess not, he thought. He took a deep breath.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he began, pasting a smile on his face. “Library, huh? Hey, I know a library joke. What did the librarian say when a book fell on her head?” He paused and smiled crookedly. “Nothing. She only had her shelf to blame!”

The audience groaned as one, except for the dragon Spike who guffawed loudly. “Hey, Twi!” he gasped out, “we resemble that remark!”

The princess chuckled uncertainly. “Yeah... that was very funny.”

The young pegasus in the back row got up to leave. Called it! The kid’s a slacker!

“Hey you there!” he said.

The pegasus looked up, touching a hoof to his chest. “Me?”

“No, I mean the other young know-it-all getting up to leave my lecture.”

Every head in the room turned to stare.

“Yes, you!” he said. “Do you already know how Equestria’s magic-based economy works? How its forces motivate magic providers and consumers to supply, convert, transport, use magic resources, and to dispose of residual magic? Can you describe thaumic markets and regulatory structures, and their distributional and environmental characteristics?”

“Er, no, not really,” he replied.

Gap put on his best smile. “Then, son, don’t you think you should do yourself a favor, sit down, and learn a bit?”

Twenty ponies’ gazes focused the kid, including Princess Twilight. His orange cheeks turned bright pink. Shuffling to the next chair over, he sat down. “Well, of course I do,” said the kid. “Uh, I just needed to, uh, switch chairs.”

Yeah. Right.

Even Ripple wasn’t buying the excuse. She glared at the pegasus in disgust, then went back to staring at chair-backs.

“Splendid!” said Gap. He leaned onto the lectern. “I always like to start these talks with the basics.” He directed his gaze towards the Apples.

“Now, Apple Bloom, being a big professor at university sounds like an important job, right?”

The filly nodded happily. “Sure is, Uncle Gap!” The other ponies chuckled. Gap distinctly heard a ‘Hmmf Uncle!’ from Ripple. What’s gotten into that girl?!

“Well, it’s real sweet of you to say that, so I’m going to tell you a story.”

“A pony walking along a road in the countryside comes across a shepherd and a huge flock of sheep. Tells the shepherd, I’ll bet you 100 bits against one of your sheep that I can tell you the exact number in this flock. The shepherd thinks it over; it's a big flock so he takes the bet.

973, says the pony.

The shepherd is astonished, because that’s exactly right. He says Sir, I'm a stallion of my word, go ahead and take one. The pony picks up one of the furry critters and begins to walk away.

Wait, cries the shepherd, Let me have a chance to get even. Double or nothing says I can guess your exact occupation. The pony looks smug and says Sure. The shepherd looks him up and down. You teach economics at the university, says the shepherd. Amazing! responds the pony, You are exactly right! But tell me, how did you know?

Well, says the shepherd, put down my dog and I’ll tell you!”

The was a moment of silence. A mare’s lilting laugh rang out, followed by the sound of most of the ponies present laughing. Filthy’s daughter, Diamond Tiara, whispered into the ear of a friend she had brought to the seminar, who began her own belated high-pitched titter, which set the audience laughing again. Except for Ripple, he noted with concern, who covered her face with her hooves.

“This joke introduces the fundamental idea of economics: that things only have value based on how much ponies want them compared with how easy or hard they are to obtain. This is called supply and demand.”

He pointed to Diamond Tiara, “Now, why does the shepherd raise sheep?"

“To grow wool!” she said wrinkling her nose. “Why else would anypony keep the smelly things!” This raised a few laughs, but it wasn’t the answer he was seeking.

He pointed to the Diamond’s friend. “And why does that shepherd want to grow wool?”

“To make scarves!” The filly said emphatically.

His grin faltered. “And why do ponies make scarves?” He looked towards the back. “Ripple, can you tell us?” She knows this. Let’s see if I can draw her out.

She lowered her hooves from her face. There was no mistaking the anger in her face nor in the timbre of her voice. “Because, they’re too cold-hearted to stay home with their families!” she growled. Knocking down her chair, she turned and bolted from the room.

Gap was too shocked to react. What? He swallowed. “It’s time for a break. Ten minutes, everypony. Ripple!” he called, and dashed out in pursuit of his daughter.

He caught up with her on the other side of the library. She glared at him. “I hate you!” she said. “I never want to speak with you again!” She turned her back on him and stomped into the garden beyond the library.







Everypony was gathered around the snack table. Firefly munched happily on an absolutely amazing apple fritter.

“The pastries are better than usual tonight, Firefly,” said a familiar voice.

He turned and sketched a little bow. “Yes, they are, Your Majesty,” he said, licking the crumbs from his lips.

“It’s Twilight when I’m in the library, Firefly. You know that.” A tentative smile lit her face.

“Yeah, Prin... uh, Twilight.” He’d often chatted with her about magic at these lectures, and sometimes when they’d crossed paths in town. She’d always proven both accommodating and cheerful, but tonight he could tell she was upset. “Do you have any idea what that was all about?”

She shook her head. “Not entirely. I know that was his daughter sitting at the back next to you. And she didn’t look like a happy pony.”

“Woah, his daughter?! That’s rough!”

“Ayup!” said a deep male voice from behind him. He turned and stared way up into the huge muzzle of Big Macintosh. His sister Applejack stood next to him. Members of the Apple clan sold produce at their stand every market day, so he chatted briefly with them both before.

“Ripple an’ her pa are going through a rough spell is all,” said Applejack. “Happens sometimes when foals hit that age.”

He nodded. “Reminds me of my own teenage years,” he smiled ruefully. “My parents weren’t pleased when I didn’t want to go into the family business in Cloudsdale. It got pretty rough.”

“How did it work out?” asked Applejack.

“It took a few years, but the situation is fine, now.” As fine as it could be, he thought ruefully.

Just then, the professor reentered the room looking flustered. Ponies began shuffling back to their seats. Twilight and Applejack exchanged concerned glances.

Applejack fixed Firefly with a speculative stare. “Twi?” She asked. “How well do you know this feller?”

The princess’s eyebrows rose. “We’ve had a number of conversations, mostly about magic and alchemy.” She nodded and smiled. “But we’ve talked enough for me to be able to say that he’s a good pony, Applejack. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I suppose so,” she said. The mare continued to lock gazes with him. “Son, amongst the adults present you’re the closest pony to Ripple's age, and it appears you may have some experiences in common. Would’ya mind talking with her?”

“Me?! Counselling a rebellious ‘tween?!” He felt ice in the pit of his stomach. “What about you talking with her? You obviously know her way better than I do!”

Embarrassment tinged the mare’s freckled face. “Ah wish ah could, but she’s been pretty hostile to every Apple since she an’ her daddy got here. I suspect ah’m the last pony she’ll talk with, and she gave Twilight the cold wither when her daddy introduced them.” She sighed and stared into Firefly’s eyes. “So, are ya willin’ to help?”

Her gaze was merciless. In town she had a reputation for epic stubbornness. She’ll never let me off the hook! he thought. I am so thoroughly bucked!

He put down the remains of the fritter. “Sure, why not?” he said resignedly and turned to go. An iron-hard hoof jerked him to a halt. He turned his head back to look into Applejack’s half-lidded eyes.

“We all understand that she’s still a youngster and should be treated gently, now, don’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am!” he said. 

Her hoof let go. “Ya’ll make sure you keep that in mind!”

He nodded, then trotted out of the room.

Idiot! he berated himself. This can only end in trouble!







Firefly found Ripple sitting on a long stone bench in the garden on the opposite side of the library from the seminar room.

“That was quite an exit!” he said in greeting.

The filly didn’t look up at him. “Better get back in before he embarrasses you in front of everypony, again,” she said. “He’s very good at that.”

Firefly sat down on the far end of the bench. “Of us two, I suspect he’s the one feeling most embarrassed right now.”

Her grin wasn’t pretty. “Yeah? Well he deserves it!”

“Does he now?” Quit stalling! In for a bit, in for a bunch! “Why’s that?”

She glared at him suspiciously. “Why should I tell you anything?” She turned her head away. “You're just some loser at one of his lectures!”

Feeling stung, Firefly almost got up to walk away. Almost. He took a deep breath.

“Call me whatever names you want, but I'm somepony who knows what it's like not getting along with his parents.”

He took her silence as an invitation to continue.

“So why did you blow up at your dad?”

She took a moment before answering. “Because he’s a liar! And a fraud! And they are the family he really wanted!” The filly hid her face as tears began to flow. “Not us! My mom isn't the wife he wanted! I'm not the daughter he wanted! Those farmers, they're the family he wants!” She shuddered as she wept. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

Firefly’s own breath caught in his throat. You're not the son he wants!  The words echoed in his head. “How... how do you know?”

The filly sniffled and ran a fetlock over her nose. “He kept a diary. I found it in the attic. He was in love with her. Not my mom.”

“Sorry to ask, but in love with whom? Applejack?”

“No.” She said miserably. “It was her mother, Honeycrisp.”

Firefly was confused a moment. He had never met a mare named Honeycrisp at the Apple stand. He then recalled how one of his roommates had told him that Applejack and Big Mac were siblings, as was Apple Bloom, all of them having lost their parents in a terrible accident.

“Wait?” he replied. “Didn’t she and her husband pass away over ten years ago?”

She nodded. “That was before I was born. My parents were already married by then, but he still wrote about her in his diary, and after she died about helping her kids and how they were just like family to him!”

“That's a long time ago. It doesn't mean that he still feels the same way now.”

“Then how come all he talks about is going away?” she snarled. “First he wanted to go sailing around the world. Now he says he'd like to move here and start a farm.” She turned her head to face him, her eyes deep pools of despair. “Why does he want to leave us behind?”

Firefly’s ears fell flat against the sides of his head. “Did you talk with him about this?”

“I don't have to.”

He placed a hoof on the bench and leaned towards her. “Yes. You do.”

Ripple shook her head.

“Trust me! You do!” Tear-filled eyes looked into the filly's. “Before it's too late!” he whispered.

Her eyes widened as she regarded him a long moment. “What do you mean, too late?”

Firefly slumped on the bench. “I haven’t told this to anypony since I moved to Ponyville. I left Cloudsdale because my dad and I had a terrible argument.” He stared at his forehooves. “I said... some things that a foal should never say to a parent. I left, and then...” He turned his face away and shuddered twice. “Then he died.”

Ripple was very quiet.

“Talking to my mom later, I found out how badly I had misunderstood him.” He smiled through his tears. “Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t an angel, but neither was he the only one to blame for our problems. My biggest regret is that I never apologized to him, and now I never will.”

Ripple sat as still as stone. He wondered if his emotional outburst had frightened the filly, and if he should just head on home, when she batted an ear.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”







Gap's heart was in his throat. His daughter was talking to that young pegasus, of all ponies! At least she's talking to somepony. 

He spoke up in his gravelly voice. “Is there room for another pony on this bench?”

Ripple and the pegasus turned to face him. He stood there, hoping that, somehow, the colt’s words had bridged the gap between him and his daughter. She glanced briefly at him and then, looking down, nodded.

The pegasus got to his hooves as he approached. They exchanged glances.

“Thank you, son. It took guts to admit what you said to my daughter.” The kid nodded.

Ripple drew in a breath. “How long were you there, listening?”

“Long enough,” he replied. “Long enough to know I’ve been a complete idiot. Long enough to know you have questions you need answered.”

He sat down next to his daughter. The pegasus quietly backed out of the garden, leaving them to conduct their talk in private.







When Firefly got back to the lecture room Princess Twilight was closing the seminar. She glanced in his direction. His nod and quick smile seemed to reassure her. She nodded back.

“Thanks for coming, everypony. Next week we return to our regular series on magic theory and practice with a workshop entitled Teleportation, the do’s and dont’s!”

Firefly grinned as the ponies in the audience filed out. Applejack and Princess Twilight were amongst the last to leave.

“Are all these seminars so lively?” asked Applejack.

“Thank Celestia, no!” he replied.

Princess Twilight’s grin faded. “What? Do you find my lectures boring?!” she asked, looking concerned.

His eyes widened and he shook his head. “No! Er, Your Highness! Absolutely not!”

“Oh good!” she replied, seemingly mollified. “See you next week, Firefly?”

He nodded emphatically. “See you next week, Your Maj.... er, Twilight.”

The mares left him standing in the library. He glanced around. It was getting late.

Guess that wasn’t such a bad Tuesday night after all! He whistled as he walked home.
> Trinket vs. Mild Manners - Winner: Mild Manners (by Vote)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trinket vs. Mild Manners - by Trinket's Author

“I don’t suppose there’s anyplace more modish in this town, is there?” Mild Manners asked.

“This is about as modest as it gets here,” Trinket said with a smile, walking forward towards the small gated entrance of the café in front of them.

Mild Manners sighed and absently adjusted the sleeves of his vest, green like the grass under his hooves and the curls of his mane. He knew he should’ve worn some appropriate shoes for this town. No village with under a thousand residents should have been expected to have paved roads. So with some reluctance, he followed after Trinket into the café’s parlor, or at least what served as one.

Really, he was trying to think of it as being anything but an outdoor patio surrounded by a small metal fence. A dozen sets of tables and chairs were strewn about, half of them occupied. The only building was a small wooden shack, which Mild Manners assumed was the kitchen. He didn’t know where else it could’ve been. It wouldn’t surprise him if they pulled their dandelions straight from the ground he stood on, actually. He didn’t know what to think about that.

Trinket took one of the more centered tables and happily waved him over. Mild Manners tried not to step in the wet patches of dirt as he came and seated himself.

“This is certainly a quaint little town,” he said, passing an eye over everything he could see from here, which wasn’t much. Just a few dozen other buildings, not one of them containing more than two stories and all looking as simple as the other.

“Thanks!” Trinket said, putting his hooves on the table. “Though, I’d say it’s more humble if anything at all. Everypony kind of keeps to themselves around here.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Trinket chuckled. “You really gotta go out of your way to end up here in Hoofshear,” he said. “Trust me, though. There’s nowhere else in Equestria like it.”

“That you’ve seen,” Mild Manners mused. “This village reminds me a lot of Amity.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” Trinket nodded his head. “Small place in the middle of the plains, right? Big marketplace? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Amity?” came a third voice. The two stallions turned to find a waiter standing at their table. If it weren’t for notepad under her wing, Mild Manners would’ve been none the wiser; she was lacking any sort of proper attire. The mare added, “I have a cousin who lives there. Runs her own little business.”

“Hey there, Rosebud!” Trinket smiled at her. “How’s your day going so far?”

“Same ol’ same old,” she said, taking out the notepad and a pencil. “What can I get you and your friend this afternoon?”

“Just my usual,” he chirped.

“Uhm...” Mild Manners looked down at the distinct lack of menus. “I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “I’ll just have whatever it is he’s ordering.”

“So two daisy sandwiches and two orders of hay fries?” The mare smirked. “Coming right up.” She tucked the notepad back under her wing and turned away, disappearing behind that wooden shack.

“So,” Trinket started, “you gonna tell me what you’re doing here sooner or later?”

Mild Manners rolled his eyes. “I told you before, it’s strictly a family matter.”

“A family matter that involves you want to take a tour of some insignificant village?” He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m not buying it. What kind of business is that?”

“The kind that isn’t yours.”

“Well, you’re the one who came to me,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Of all the ponies in Hoofshear, you came to me and asked to be shown around. If you were aiming for subtlety, you missed step one.”

Mild Manners sighed. “Look, while I respect your enthusiasm, I would really appreciate it if you were to stop questioning the matter.”

“Just give me something!” Trinket groaned, throwing his hooves out. “Nothing exciting ever happens here.”

He snorted. “You think I’m exciting?”

“Maybe?” Trinket shook his head. “As I’ve said, you have to go out of your way to end up in Hoofshear. It isn’t every day we get a Canterlot Noble here, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around what one would be doing—” He paused, eyes wide. Then a winning grin started to emerge on his muzzle and he whispered. “Does Cadance have anything to do with it?”

“No,” Mild Manners deadpanned, but it wasn’t without some hesitation, which they both noticed. He sighed again and said, “Cadenza has nothing to do with why I’m here. However, I will give you that she recommending seeing you as a guide around town.” Now he started to grow skeptical. “Speaking of, how do you two know each other?”

“We grew up together,” Trinket said. “As I’m sure you know, Cadance had always been very... dismissive of her own stature. That’s how some colt living in the Burros became friends with a high-class alicorn, at any rate. I ended up moving here after school, before her whole princess-thing took off.”

Mild Manners smirked. “You’d have to go out of your way to end up in Hoofshear.”

Trinket laughed at that. “Yeah, I guess so. I remember reading about the place and fell in love with the town, its architecture, the landscape... Sometimes I wish more out-of-towners would stop by. It isn’t exactly a tourist destination, but the beauty should definitely be shared.”

Mild Manners hummed to that, but otherwise said nothing. There was nothing else to discuss besides, because then Rosebud came back carrying their lunches.

“Here you go, colts,” she said, setting the trays down. “Need anything else, just call me,” she added, winking at Trinket before walking away.

Mild Manners looked down at his food, hiding his sudden distaste for it. Usually his food required a set of silverware, which he didn’t have. Now he was more thankful he wasn’t wearing any cumbersome shoes, but this food didn’t suit him. It smelled way too sweet.

He glanced across the table to Trinket, who was holding his own daisy sandwich aloft in his magic but going after the hay fries with his hooves. Nonetheless, he picked up his sandwich and took a bite out of courtesy, even though he told himself he was hungry. A good pony wouldn’t starve themselves, at any rate.

“Good, huh?” Trinket asked.

“Its... decent,” he replied. “Not quite sure what I was expecting.”

“It shouldn’t make you sick to your stomach,” Trinket said with a smile. “Everything served here is grown here. Fresh, straight from the source.”

“The ground?” Mild Manners said, catching himself. He passed a glance out towards the dirt-grass street.

“Well, where else are you going to plant something?” Trinket said before taking another bite.

Mild Manners looked back at his food with a little more trepidation. But that didn’t make it any harder to go down, he realized.

“So I was thinking,” Trinket said between chewing, “after this, we’ll go take a walk through the woods. There’s this well-worn path that takes you down by a river, a small cliff, and a this gorgeous meadow to the south.”

Mild Manner’s ears twitched at that last item, but the former make him uneasy. “After the rest of the town, you mean?”

“Sure,” Trinket said with a shrug. “But I thought you wanted to see more of the outskirts?”

“I do,” Mild Manners said with a nod. “But I figure it’d be better to get to know the rest of the village a little more beforehand.”

“You looking for something in particular?”

“The meadow sounds lovely,” he added. “The river runs straight through it, right?”

“Someone’s done their research,” Trinket said, smiling. “Can’t think of a better place to go stargazing at night. It’s really soothing to have the river so close by.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mild Manners said, moving on to the hay fries. “I can’t exactly do my job at night.”

“Job?” Trinket tilted his head. “So you’re here on what, a contract?”

“Kind of,” Mild Manners remarked. “The Navigazes want—”

Before he could say any more, his voice caught in his throat and his eyes went wide. He immediately turned to Trinket, who was doing his best not to laugh.

“The Navigazes?” he asked after calming down, wearing a half-skeptical smile. “So you’re doing a family friend a favor? What, picking flowers?”

Mild Manners blushed. “No! I-I’m... I’m not—!” He hid his face and groaned. “Ugh, I wish they didn’t even tell me what. I get too carried away in conversation.”

“Good to know,” Trinket joked. “But seriously. Now that the secret’s out, what’re you really up to? Lemme guess, Blueblood wants his own private golf course?”

Mild Manners sighed and mumbled, “Yes.”

Trinket opened his mouth to continue but stumbled over his thoughts. “Wait, seriously?” He stared. “I was joking. You can’t be serious. Blueblood sent you here to scope out the place?!”

“Well, not Blueblood himself,” Mild Manners muttered. “But yes. That’s what I’m here to do. You think I just wanted to come out here?” He thought for a moment. “And no, nopony else knows. Cadance doesn’t know either. Or at least I don’t think she does.”

Trinket snorted and frowned. “Well I can tell you that you’re wasting your time. There’s no way in Tartarus that’s going to happen. The mayor will reject it. Nopony in Hoofshear will allow you to cut down that meadow.”

“It’s not up to you,” Mild Manners remarked. “Money talks, you know.”

“In Canterlot it does.” Trinket crossed his forelegs. “Not out here, though.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mild Manners muttered, reaching for the last of his hay fries.

“We’ll see about that,” Trinket said. He planted his forehooves on the table and stood. “Come on, we’re going to go check that meadow out. You’ll see why you don’t want ruin it with some pompous golf course.”

“Alright,” Mild Manners said, pushing out his chair. 

He reached into a small pouch on his vest for some bits, but when he pulled them out he found Trinket already tossing more than enough on the table.

He tilted his head. “Let me pay for this.”

“Nuh-uh,” Trinket said. “That’s not how it works. I don’t care how rich you are or what you’re doing here, you’re a guest. I’m paying.”

Mild Manners rolled his eyes. “I think we both know you don’t exactly have a lot of bits to share. But if you insist...”

“I do. Now come on.”

Mild Manners closed up his little pocket and turned to follow after Trinket. But before he did, he grabbed for the last hay fry on his tray. The glint of the bits’ gold caught his eye, and he smiled, throwing out an amused snort.

“Money does talk,” he said to himself.









Mild Manners vs. Trinket - by Mild Manners' Author

Trinket didn’t really like Canterlot. 

Sure, the buildings looked nice, and the streets were clean, and the view of Equestria’s rolling meadows from the mountainside city was among the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, but Trinket was a country pony – Hoofshear was small, and tucked away into a cosy corner. 

He felt out of his depth, he supposed. Although, from what Cadance had told him, that was not at all unusual. 

Cadance. Trinket jolted out of his daydreams, looked around at the train station he was standing in (and looking kind of silly in), and trotted off towards the main street. He huffed a little bit – his packs were laden with gizmos and gadgets, trinkets and tinkerings, and endless bits-and-bobs he’d put together over the last year or so. 

I quite liked some of these, he thought. But good golly, my workshop is cluttered enough as it is. 

Stepping out from the surprisingly modest train station into the opulent streets crowded with tapered towers gave Trinket a bit of vertigo, but he was used to it enough by this point. His tinkering habits meant he came to Canterlot pretty much every year to sell off his various creations and get some money back. Sometimes he made a profit, sometimes he didn’t. He didn’t really care either way – as much as Canterlot unnerved him, it was at least a nice change of pace. Bartering his wares with the especially animated ponies of Canterlot tended to be more interesting than making horseshoes all day.

It didn’t take long to make it to the market. It should be confined to Diarch Square, but it had formed a habit over the last few years of just kind-of sprawling out, like a freshly-fed feline, in order to accommodate new arrivals. Stalls had a habit of crowding the streets. Trinket liked it; he could hear and see ponies chatting and smiling at one another through the chaos. It felt quite homely despite everything.

“Hey! Watch out!” somepony shouted. Trinket’s ears flickered, and he turned his head on reflex, but that didn’t save him from the unicorn carrying far too many books in his magic.

“Oof!” Trinket, predictably, lost his balance, the heavy weight of his saddlebags carrying him onto the flagstoned streets. He landed with a tinkling crash, as if someone had broken a pane of glass, and he winced at both the landing and the ominous noise. I probably should have expected this to happen.

He slid out from his saddlebags and pushed himself back up onto his hooves. There was a momentary lapse of silence when he looked around as everypony nearby noticed the tumble. Trinket looked down himself – a little knocked about but otherwise fine – and then over at the pony who’d crashed into him.

He was a white, smartly dressed unicorn – hardly a rarity in Canterlot – and he was sitting on the ground, eyes closed and rubbing his head. Books were splayed out around him. Some polite ponies trotted over and asked him if he was okay, to whom he smiled and assured them that was, in fact, perfectly fine. He got unsteadily to his hooves and looked around at his books. For a moment, he looked furious, as if he was going to punch something petulantly, before his placid smile snapped back into place so fast that Trinket thought he was just imagining things.

“Hey.” Trinket walked over and picking up a book in his telekinesis. “I’m really, really sorry,” he said, immediately feeling awkward, but pressing on regardless. “I should have got out of your way. Do you need any help with these books?”

The unicorn just smiled at him. “That would be great, thanks. Maybe you should check on your bags first, though?” His horn glowed as he spoke, his books lifting off the ground and forming a stack on the flagstones.

“Oh. Right.” Trinket looked down at his bags, hefted them, and heard the tinkling of broken bits inside. He sighed, opened the flaps, and peeked inside. “That’s not good…”

“What is it?” The white unicorn said from over his shoulder. Trinket heard his hoofsteps as he approached and looked into the bag. “Oh. That isn’t good.”

Do I still have enough to sell? Or should I just not bother this year?

“Wow, hey, I’m really sorry about this.” Trinket felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked up and saw the unicorn looking at him with a miserable expression on his face. “I’ll help you get set up. How’s that?”

“W-Well, I–”

“Then it’s settled!” The unicorn pulled the saddlebags on with his magic, then turned around and lifted his books into the air, where they teetered ominously. “C’mon! Where are we going?”

Trinket looked at him. He was tall, taller than Trinket, but wasn’t particularly buff either – he looked ready to collapse already, and he hadn’t even moved. Trinket would feel bad if he just brushed him off, though.

“I arranged a spot in Diarch Square itself, I think…”

“Okay! Follow me!” The white unicorn began to march into town, Trinket at his heels.





Trinket learned a little bit about the surprisingly helpful unicorn during their ten minute trip to the town centre.

One: his name was Mild Manners. Trinket didn’t think this was a very good name for him – he seemed to flip between sadness and excitement at the drop of a hat. Trinket didn’t mention that, though. He didn’t want to be rude.

Two: he was studying at Canterlot University. He said this with some subtle pride, so Trinket assumed that was something worthy of respect, but Trinket didn’t know anything about Canterlot, let alone its university, so this didn’t really mean much to him.

Three: he was nobility. Mild hadn’t mentioned it at all, but Trinket just got the impression. He said ‘bath’ like ‘barth’ and ‘grass’ like ‘grarss’. Trinket would have pointed to his white coat as a reason, as well, but Mild Manners was strangely stringent on the fact that it was cream coloured. 

“Oh, hey, here’s the spot!” Trinket said. He pointed to a small corner of the marketplace. The crowds were especially concentrated around Diarch Square, but Trinket knew how to squirrel without any real issues.

Mild, on the other hand, was lugging around more weight than he should be, even after Trinket took some of his books to carry. He was sweating and taking huffing breaths. “G… Good…” He said, between breaths. “Let’s… Let’s get you set up.”

The two trotted over to the little corner, where Mild pulled off the saddlebags and dropped his books before sitting down to rest. He caught his breath, then looked around in confusion. “Wait… Where’s your stall?”

“Oh, it’s here.” Trinket rooted around inside the saddlebags, then pulled out a cubic contraption. “Let’s hope my fall didn’t break it.” He dropped it in the centre of his assigned area, then lit his horn.

The cube immediately began to move. Seemingly independent of Trinket’s actions, the box flipped, folded, expanded, and, eventually, transformed into a modest stall. 

“Phew.” Trinket wiped his brow. “That’s a relief.”

“I’ll say!” Mild leapt to his hooves, poking and prodding the stall with his hooves. His eyes were wide with wonder. “How in the world did you make this?”

“Oh.” Trinket fiddled with his hooves. “Well, it’s like, you take the shape of the stall, and you kind of unfold it, like a cardboard box, and then you kind of…” Trinket made vague box-shaped gestures. “It’s not that impressive, anyway. Mostly just magic.”

Mild Manners didn’t seem at all disappointed by Trinket’s vague explanation. If anything, he seemed only more excited. “So you sell stuff like this, then?” Without waiting for Trinket to respond, he opened the bag with his magic and pulled out a hoof-ful of gadgets.

“Oh.” Trinket’s fiddling became more erratic. “Yeah. Well, mostly make them, but sell them too. Mostly metal stuff, you know.”

Mild peered at the trinkets, one by one, before placing them on the stall. “I can’t even tell what half of these do. They look amazing, though.” He pulled out a weirdly shaped piece of metal. “Wow, what’s this? Some kind of modern art? A sculpture, maybe?”

“Oh.” Trinket, eventually, got his fiddling under control. “No, that’s… broken.”

Mild deflated at that. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no! We’ve been over this, it’s my fault, I…” Trinket pleaded, but he trailed off when he realised Mild had gone back to wallowing in self-pity. “Look, how about I…” He thought quickly. “Maybe I can show you how to make some of these?”

Mild’s head jerked up, astonished. “You would do that?”

“I guess? I mean, sure.” Trinket looked away, abashed. “I mean, you seem to be pretty good with your magic, and you have to be pretty clever to go to Canterlot University, right? You can get the hang of it pretty quickly, probably.”

Mild made a show of looking skeptical, but his breast swelled up a little regardless. “Well, if you think I can…”

“I definitely think you can.” Trinket smiled. “But let’s get set up first, shall we?”





It had been about an hour since they’d set up the stall.

Trinket had been glad to discover that only some of the things he’d brought had actually broken, and that most of them were still sales-worthy. Amongst the scrap, he picked out a slightly broken old clock he’d made a long time ago, and a few spare parts that he kept around with him. After going over some of the things he knew with Mild, and showing him generally what he had to do, Trinket handed him some tools and asked him to fix the clock. Mild nodded, then sat near the stall and began to work on the clock.

Trinket, meanwhile, put some of the more useful things he had up on display – a watch, a set of horseshoes, some nails, as well as the odd peculiarity he found in the bottom of his bags. His corner of the marketplace was relatively quiet, and so only a few ponies actually came nearby and pondered his goods, but Trinket didn’t mind. He liked being able to relax and tinker with something idly while he sat at the stall, as well as help his new friend with his own project.

As time passed by, Mild got more and more annoyed.

“What does this do?” he asked Trinket, for the third time. “I can’t get it to fit.”

“Just think about it. Imagine it’s a puzzle, and you need to put the right pieces in to fix it.”

“But…” Mild huffed. “You keep telling me that, but it doesn’t really mean anything. Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me?”

Trinket fiddled with his hooves. “Well… I don’t really know what to say that’ll help you. I can show you what you need to do next, if you want.”

“Okay.” Mild shoved it at him with his magic. “Try that.”

Trinket took the pieces in his hooves, looked at them for a moment. “See, you just need to put this here, and then this goes here – you need to be careful with this, ‘cause it’s fragile – and then…” He handed it back, slightly more completed than it was beforehand. “Try working from there.”

“Why do you use your hooves?” Mild gave him a suspicious look. “Does magic not work, or something?”

“Of course not.” Trinket looked back at the stall, hoping to see a customer there. “I just… work better with my hooves. Always have.”

Mild stared at him for a moment. Then he returned to his corner and went back to working.

Another hour passed.

“I can’t do this.” Mild trotted up to Trinket. “It’s beyond repair,” he said, slamming the half-finished clock down in front of his friend. 

Trinket looked up at him, then frowned at the clock. “Hmm. That’s a shame.”

“‘That’s a shame’? Is that it?” Mild sat on his haunches and glared at him. “I thought you said you could teach me to do it.”

“I can! I think. Maybe.” Trinket looked around, then down at the bits and pieces in his hooves. “Here. Take these, and try just, like, tinkering with them. See what you can make.”

Mild looked down at the pieces with a skeptical look, then, as if to copy Trinket, took them with his own hooves.

Trinket winced when their hooves touched. “Ouch.”

Mild looked at him, slightly surprised. “What? Are you hurt?”

“No, no.” Trinket turned his hooves over and looked at the multiple burn scars on the back. “Just some old bruising.”

Mild spared them a glance, then turned and strode off into his corner again. “Alright, I’ll be back in a bit.”





The market was only halfway over when Trinket heard the noise. It was a rather familiar scream of frustration, followed by an even more familiar tinkling crash.

Trinket’s head whipped around. Mild Manners stood, huffing and puffing, while a little pile of twisted bits and pieces lay in a little pile on the floor. Trinket got up and trotted over to his friend.

“Stupid broken silly little pieces of…” Mild jolted when Trinket touched his shoulder. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Trinket asked, and immediately regretted it. 

Mild’s head whipped around and he glared at him, with tears of frustration budding at the corners of his eyes. He seemed like he was getting ready to shout, before he paused, looked down at himself, and let it all out with a heaving sigh.

“I’m sorry, Trinket.” Mild looked at him with a miserable expression on his face, then kneeled down to pick up the twisted pieces on the floor. “I just… I don’t get it. The pieces never seem to come together, no matter if I use magic, or hooves with the tools, or…” Mild levitated the pieces onto the stall counter and trailed off. “Maybe I just don’t have the knack for it.”

“No, I get it.” Trinket smiled at him, as if to reassure him. “I was sometimes like that too, even to this day. But I had a way better teacher when I was learning.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even know the first thing about teaching. Most of it came naturally. You must be like that with some stuff too, right?”

Mild hesitated, then nodded his head, smiling bashfully. “Yeah, I suppose so. Ah well.”

“Oh, hey, I also finished fixing that clock.” Trinket levitated over the old clock, which ticked along merrily. “I mean, not to show off. I just want you to have it. As a gift, you know?”

Mild looked down at the clock. Then he gave Trinket a large, sincere smile. “Thank you. It means a lot. Also, I just realised this second that I’m gonna be late for my afternoon classes, so I should really, really get going now. Bye, Trinket!” 

And with that, Mild Manners took the clock, picked up his books, and galloped off towards the University. 

Trinket sat down at his stall. He looked at his gizmos and gadgets, trinkets and tinkerings, and endless bits-and-bobs that had plagued his workshop floor, and he smiled.
> Merry Weather vs. Tidy Till - Winner: Tidy Till (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Battle at Bibidi's - by Tidy Till's Author

Autumn colors danced in the wind as Celestia's sun met the horizon. The White Tallow trees swayed their twisted branches in time to the chiming of another twilight. The crickets played their heckling lullaby for all the denizens of the Whitetail Woods; it was one of their finest. Yet, deep within, and out of sight, the creeping night was not so silent.

Somewhere between the Birches and the Crape Myrtles, a mare fell flat on her face.

“Oohff!”

At the snickering of her traveling companion, the mare, a goldenrod coated unicorn, hoisted herself back up onto her hooves.

“Oh, was I Spellsight Walking again?”

The fully amused mare beside her found it within herself to respond through her revelry.

“Hee-yep! Almost tripped over some Cyprus Knees...three times. Figured I'd do the job myself just to snap you out of it.”

Her coat was seafoam green, but the fading, reddened light of the sunset tinted it a fair, brownish hue, her normally bright yellow eyes, mane and tail turning a sparkling amber in the passing evening.

“Oh...”

The unicorn's muzzle scrunched up, as she tried to regain her sense of direction.

“C'mon, Dawn, relax! I was just jestin' with ya'!”

“Oh. Ha-ha. Satisfied then are you, Merry Weather?”

After half a beat, Merry shrugged.

“Eh, I'll take it. So, what'cha see that's so interesting, anyway?”

“Do you want to see it for yourself?”

“What, you mean that 'magic sharing' thing you showed me back in Hollow Shades?”

Dawn nodded.

“Sure, I'll bite. Lay it on me!”

Dawn's horn flared to life with a deep blue aura, and she touched it to Merry's forehead, bestowing the Spellsight spell upon her. When Merry Weather opened her eyes, her irises became a rotating, glowing kaleidoscope of colors to Dawn's satisfaction as she ended the spell. 

“Now, tell me what you see.”

“I see some geometricky, orangey stuff around the edges of my vision...some wavey, purpley stuff in the sky...some dancey, greeny stuff in the ground, and...wait. Okay, that big, black castle was not there two seconds ago!”

“That, my friend, is what Dark Magic looks like, and that castle you now see? That is what we're after. I've spent the last 80 moons following leads of missing magical relics and grasping at any straws I could find, and do you see all those black spirals going in and out?”

Merry nodded.

“Each and every one of them is a Dark Teleportation Signature, and each one of them connects that castle to the ancient sites where each of the enchanted items were originally found. All of them...gone, and each one conveniently disappeared the night before they could be sent off to Canterlot to be cataloged and studied.”

“So...a serial arcane-ological burglar?”

Dawn Gleam rolled her eyes.

“'Thaumatological', and yes.”

“So what're we we waiting for?!

"Wha-? But what about-?"

"C'mon, Dawn! You remember what Ol' Miss Val used to say, don'cha?! Take chances!”

“M-Make...mistakes.”

“GET MESSY!!”





The stallion fell to the floor with a thump.

Bibidi Boo pranced over to his prone form and gave it a poke.

Out cold.

She'd outdone herself.

In that last fraction of a second he'd exuded Paranoia, Panic, and Shock in such large quantities that she wasn't exactly sure what she'd do with it all. Among it all, however, was something bigger. She'd hit upon something irrational in that last scare. She'd uncovered a Phobia.

Everypony has one, she figured, and once she found out what a pony's Phobia was, she could use it to her fullest extent to generate and harvest the rarest and most potent variety of fear of them all!

Primal Fear.

Why, the half second's worth she'd just collected from that stallion would be enough to cover her needs for a fortnight!

Now she just needed to figure out how to do it again!

She was two seconds into trying to decipher what exactly set him off when her thoughts were interrupted by the untimely buzzing of something under her hat.

After fumbling around for a moment, she pulled out a crystal ball in her magic, and with a small surge from her horn, she viewed its bewaring message.

She chuckled.

“Two little mice begin to play, while the cat is gone away. And they will, as all mice, learn, what happens when the cat returns.”

Orange light, tinged with black, filled the room, and when it faded, the lowly apartment was empty.





The first thing Tidy Till noticed while he returned to consciousness was tightness around his hocks. All of them. The implications fired through his head and hit their marks, waking him up with a bolt. His eyes snapped open revealing to him that he was most certainly not in his apartment anymore.

He was laid out on his back on a black. plush upholstered couch, and with the other eye...

...he saw her.

Chalk was flying around her, carving up designs on the floor beyond his vision. It reminded him of movies he'd seen about haunted houses, rituals, and spellwork gone wrong. He gasped, but shortly he realized that there was a gag on his muzzle, so the only sound to escape his lips was a constricted whine.

“Oh! You're up! Good timing, there. I've had just enough time to prepare! You've been a great help to me, more than you know, so since I've had my dinner...”

A speck of orange magic shot from her horn onto a spot on the floor Tidy couldn't see, but its effect was instantaneous. The floor burst to life with a bright, eerie glow, and a swirling column of blackness erupted forth, stretching to the ceiling.

After five seconds, it receded, but as it did so, it left behind two mares. One was a pegasus, and the other was another unicorn.
The dark mare spun around to face them. She reared up and spread her forelegs wide, as mane fluttered behind her like a cape.

“...IT'S TIME FOR THE SHOW!”

“Waitaminute-waitaminute! Wait! A! Minute!”

The newly arrived unicorn quickly produced a trio of silvery daggeers from beneath her reddish brown cloak. They shot from her magic and into the floor around the dark mare, Bobbidee-or-something, and light lines appeared between them and fired from their hilts, meeting at a point in the air above the mare, and solidifying into a blue, glowing pyramid.

That was when they charged forward. The imprisoned mare looked amused for once, but when the pegasus dived forward for a flying hoof to her face, and the barrier started to stretch around her hoof as she flew, the dark mare flinched. She then immediately melted into a shadow and escaped her cage, only for the unicorn mage to cast a powerful Illumination spell, forcing the dark mare to reemerge.

And all the while, poor Tidy Till, with nothing else to do, laid on the couch, stewing.

Where am I?

How will I get home?

Am I gonna be late in tomorrow?

Am I even gonna be able to make it back at all?

Tight Shift is gonna kill me if I miss a day!

I'm gonna lose my job.

I'm gonna lose the lease on my apartment.

I'm gonna have to live on the street like those ponies I saw in Manehattan.

My life is over. 

My life is over. 

My life is over.





Bibidi Boo dodged another blast from the mage, undeniably on the defensive, whereas she'd expected to be stomping these two thieves to the curb.

A sniff of the air told her why.

She'd been counting on a near constant flow of Fear from the cashier to fuel her spells, but ever since he woke up, he'd only been feeding her one thing.

No fear, no shock, no panic. Just pure, undiluted Despair. 

And while Fear and its other related emotions empowered her magic. Despair, on the other hoof, she could only serve to her pets!

On top of that, the fight with the two intruders had her too distracted to even consume all of the excessive Despair. She'd have to find a way to finish up quickly, and then snap him out of his stupor to stop him from producing more, and then suck it all down before her pets got a whiff of it and tore him to shreds to get at it.

But how in the myriad lands was he producing so much of it in the first place?! It just didn't make any sense! The only things there when she saw his first cloud of Fear were himself, herself and her pumpkins. If she wasn't the one to set him off, then...

Bibidi froze.

He...

He wasn't afraid of her.

She then recalled everything she'd put him through up to that very moment. She'd pulled out all the stops with him in his line at the store in order to get as much Fear out of him as possible, but...none of it was for her in the first place.

She'd tormented and abducted him, all under the mistaken assumption that he was just like all the rest.

But he wasn't...and now she'd put him in danger.

"STOP!!"





The witch had just dodged another hard magic round when she suddenly stopped moving.

Merry Weather was just about to launch into another charging tackle when the witch let out a yell.

Dawn almost lost control of her next spell while Merry herself nearly tripped out of her gallop. Merry picked herself up and readied for another charge.

The witch removed her hat.

"I don't know who you two are, but I need your help!"

Merry Weather just scoffed.

"You steal a bunch of magical relics, squirrel them away in your invisible castle of dark magic, warp us into your arena, provoke us into battle with you -which you were clearly outclassed for, by the way- and now you stop the fight -which you were losing- to ask us for help?!"

"Look, I don't have enough time to explain, but yes!"





Dawn Gleam's horn shone for a second while she activated her Spellsight Spell again. She focused her attention solely on the witch to make sure she wasn't trying anything.

The witch continued, pointing to a couch behind her.

"That stallion is caught in the throes of a self-perpetuating despair! I have pets here in my 'Invisible castle of dark magic' that feed on despair, and I'm the only one who can handle them when they're hungry. I need you, Little Miss Mage, to seal off the door to this room with your fancy little knives to keep them from coming in."

The ground began to shake.

Dawn looked down the hall with her Spellsight, only to see the silhouettes of a horde of creatures within the dark magic saturated environment.

"Yeah, you might want to get on that. Now, Little Miss Blitzy, I need you to snap this stallion out of his trance while I sop up all the extra despair in the air."

"Yeah...no. Why should we help you at all?! You're a cheating, evil witch!"

The witch almost looked like she was going to throw a fit, but then she just sighed and hung her head.

"Because he's going to die...and he doesn't deserve that."

Silence reigned for a moment before Dawn pulled her daggers out of the floor with her magic.

"Dawn, what are you doing?!"

"Merry, she's telling the truth, there's a whole snarl of Darkling Beasts heading this way, far too many for me to handle, and according to my research they do, indeed, feed on despair, sadness and other negative emotions. We need to go with her plan for now!"

The witch nodded, then she sat back, closed her eyes, and opened her mouth.

"RRRRGH! FINE! I'll do it, but I won't like it!"

Merry turned to face the stallion on the couch. With a snort, she broke into a gallop.

"C'MON, YOU WEASELY WIMP! WAKE! UUUPP!"

Merry stopped just short of colliding with him, opting to smack him violently across the cheek, knocking him off the couch.





My life is o- WHAAGH!

Tidy Till suddenly became aware of a highly distracting amount of pain. While he was still reeling, he felt someone undoing his gag and restraints, and he flopped to the floor, finally able to relax.

"Hey! Dude! Get up."

His face was sore, but he found his way to his hooves with some doing. He then, gawked at the sight before him.

With a mighty crash, a storm of black monsters broke through some sort of magical barrier, sending its obvious caster flying across the room. Then, he saw that same dark mare from his line smile, leap into the throng and open her mouth.

He cringed, anticipating to witness her demise, but then the monsters all started...licking her.

"So, guy, what's your name?"

Tidy looked back and forth from the sight before him to the pegasus who asked him the question. Eventually he spoke.

"My name is Tidy Till, and I am in over my head."
> Falcata vs. Caps Lock - Winner: Falcata (by Default)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Falcata and Caps Lock Play Games - by Falcata's Author

        Mindcraft, the newest game from Snow Vision entertainment, and brainchild of one rather happy grey-coated unicorn computer scientist named Caps Lock. Developed to cater as a filly and colt friendly game that parents could not object to, the game was already on the lips of everypony that owned a Personal Pony Computer, and it had just gone into Open Beta. Caps Lock attributed this to her game’s sandbox environment, charming 2-bit artwork, and sheer ability for users to customize and build nearly anything they wanted with the various different blocks in the game.

        Right now though, Caps Lock was sitting next to Falcata, her newest friend and one of the beta-testers for Mindcraft. The golden-yellow pegasus was staring at the screen with some concern and was using her only remaining forehoof to scratch her silver-grey mane, while her right wing’s feathers guided the mouse of the computer.

        “We must “Storm the Tower”?” asked Falcata, her brow furrowed at the mini-game’s name.

        Caps Lock nodded as she brushed a lock of her frizzy pink mane out of her face. “Our team of two against another team of two. The tower has a lot of traps, but we can do pretty much anything to it to get to the top and destroy their tower of gold blocks. At the end of the round, we switch. The team that was fastest in damaging or destroying the opposing team’s gold tower wins.”

        “Do we have access to the TNT?” asked Falcata looking at Caps Lock with a pleading expression.

        Shaking her head, Caps Lock stretched to crack a few kinks in her neck. “Nope. They might though, and I think they have anvils.”

        Falcata groaned. “The dreaded anvils. No matter, forward the bluffs! We must crush our opponents and burn their fortress to the ground!”

Caps Lock chuckled, her mind casting itself back to the day when she first met her strange, new friend.

She had met Falcata at a nice little milkshake place a few weeks ago, and had been astonished to find out that Falcata was a thousand year old Equestrian legionary that had been time displaced, thanks to being petrified by a cockatrice. Eager to introduce the pegasus to modern day Equestrian technology, Caps Lock had introduced Falcata to her Joyboy game, Battlemare: Knightsworn.

Strangely enough, after Caps Lock had familiarized Falcata with what exactly was a Joyboy, a Personal Pony Computer, and the concept of a “video game,” she had received some rather enlightening results.

Flashback to a few weeks ago...

“This… “game” of yours, I do not like it,” said Falcata as she gave back Caps Lock’s Joyboy.

Caps Lock frowned. “Why not? You seemed to enjoy it at first.”

Falcata grimaced. “You are correct. I like the story of the hero, and her quest to regain her honor, but as I progressed through the “missions,” I found many things that I detracted from my enjoyment of this “game.””

Leaning forward across the cafe’s table Caps Lock’s eyes widened inquisitively. “Like?”

Swallowing Falcata pointed to the gladius affixed to her side. “Knights at the time didn’t use massive swords like that. Perhaps they do now, but before the unification, they preferred shorter, more wieldy, blades like the one I have.”

        Taking out a notepad Caps Lock nodded and jotted that down. “And?”

        Pursing her lips Falcata tapped the table as she explained. “The armor in the game is inaccurate. We legionaries did not wear segmented plate until after the unification of the tribes, and it did not impede our ability to move. In fact, it actually allowed for us to fight more effectively.”

        Wincing slightly, Caps Lock continued to jot down the information.

        “That’s some good feedback. Keep going.”

        Frowning, Falcata paused for a moment before waving her remaining forehoof, and then pointing to the Joyboy’s control stick and arrow bar configuration.

        "Well... my injuries make my situation unique, but is there a way to alter the way these “keys” work? I find it very difficult to make my character do what I want her to do.”

        “Hmm? That is a good point. Adding the option to modify the control bindings of the game would help with players who don’t like the preset controls. Some players have actually expressed some interest in making their own custom key bindings or modding the game for PPC use and it would help if—” Caps Lock blinked and noticed Falcata cocking an eyebrow.

        “I went on a monologue again did I?” asked Caps Lock sheepishly. At Falcata’s nod, Caps Lock blushed. “Sorry, please continue.”

        Falcata nodded and glanced at the Joyboy’s paused screen. “There is also something about the villain that I do not understand…”





        After having filled a notebook, Caps Lock had immediately asked Falcata if she would like to beta-test another of her company’s games. The pegasus’s feedback had come like a report, with military-like precision, and was rather useful to the departments in her company that were developing their next Battlemare game.

One of the games Caps Lock had been eager to ask Falcata to look over was her brainchild, Mindcraft. However, she had not been initially sure how the legionary would take to her game. It had barely any violence or gore after all and no story.

Needless to say, she had been surprised once again.

A week ago…

        “I really like this game. It is uhhh… what did you say the word for something very good was for?” asked Falcata, a grin stretching almost from ear to ear despite the fact she was blinking rapidly, and her eyes at times seemed almost too wide.

“Cool?” asked Caps Lock, her hoof scratching her pink mane. The unicorn was perplexed. She had finally, after three straight hours, managed to pull the pegasus legionary away from the PPC, sit her down, and shove a mug of water in front of her. However, Caps Lock couldn’t figure out why did Falcata, a warrior bred in a world filled with thrill and danger, like a game focused so primarily on building things? This was just the casual adventure mode, not the heart pounding survival mode!

And yet, Falcata was nodding fervently as if she had just stumbled across a pot of gold.

“Yes! This game is cool! I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my character first, but then I realized that I could build my very own castle, and so I did! I built a stone wall, made some watchtowers, and even started on a moat. I plan to fill it with lava! I am not quite certain how to build a drawbridge though—”

“Why do you like this game though?” asked Caps Lock, gently cutting Falcata off. Her notepad poised to jot down Falcata’s feedback.

Falcata didn't answer immediately, and when she did it was in a quiet tone. “You can do anything in this game,” she said. Closing her eyes for a moment, the pegasus tapped on the table, lips pursed. “This… Mindcraft, gives you so many ways to create things. That is why I like it.”

Caps Lock nodded, writing Falcata’s feedback down. It was concurrent with the responses given by the rest of the testers, and that of her colleagues, but she still didn’t get it.

“Glad you like it so much. I am surprised though that you of all ponies would like a game like this so much,” said Caps Lock with a smile.

Falcata blinked. “What do you mean?”

Caps Lock giggled. “I mean, you’re a warrior. I kinda of expected you would like games like Battlemare and not something like this.” Falcata frowned as Caps Lock quickly explained. “Mindcraft does have a survival mode, which I wanted to show you first, but it wasn’t ready, so I could only let you play the rather peaceful adventure mode. Yet, you seem to like it. Why’s that?”

Falcata didn’t respond immediately, but Caps Lock soon noticed a solemn pall come over her friend’s features. The expression looked so alarmingly out of place on the pegasus's normally cheerful expression that  Caps Lock got up and ran around the table to Falcata's side.

“Falcata? Sorry! I said something wrong did I? Did I hurt your feelings or did I—”

“I’m alright, miss Caps Lock,” said Falcata, wearing a small, forced smile.

“But you’re not,” said Caps Lock.

“Not entirely, but I am not hurt by what you said,” said Falcata, in a firmer tone this time. She looked Caps Lock in the eye. “I believe I liked your game so much because for a while, it let me feel like I could create a place where I could fit. It gave me control over a world that I could shape to my own fashion.”
 
Caps Lock frowned. “I don’t understand, you do fit in Equestria.”

Falcata sighed. “Miss Caps Lock, I am a pony out of time, a soldier in an era of peace.” She waggled the stump of her missing leg. “In my era, things like this were so common that we paid no attention to them, but now, I draw the stares of everypony I come across. I may be welcomed by Equestria, but I do not believe I will ever truly fit in this new world of yours.” Looking away, Falcata took her mug and sipped from it.

“I believe it is getting late. I will retire to my room.” The pegasus rose to her hooves and trotted toward the guest room of Caps Lock’s house, where she was staying for the duration of the Mindcraft tests. She barely got a foot away though when Caps Lock shouted:

“No!”

Falcata turned, brow furrowed. “What do you—”

But Caps Lock would have none of it though. Trotting up, she poked Falcata in the chest, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to give up finding a place for yourself.”

Falcata frowned. “I never said I was giving up.”

Caps Lock shook her head. “Then don’t be so down about it! I’ve told you that only a few years ago there were no such things as Personal Pony Computers. Well that meant there was practically nopony with a cutie mark like mine, or even an interest in developing mass produced software and hardware. Those old fogies said it was too expensive to mass produce computers for such trivial purposes.” Caps Lock puffed out her chest a bit, a proud grin on her face. “Well I and a few others showed them wrong! They said their was no place for Personal Pony Computers, for software and game development studios like Snow Vision. Well, we carved out our place.”

Her eyes affixed to Falcata’s, Caps Lock took a deep breath, and declared. “I know you can do the same.”

Falcata had simply stood still as Caps Lock spoke and as she had finished, the pegasus still said nothing, or even showed the slightest trace of emotion, apart from contemplation. Caps Lock cringed, watching and waiting for the pegasus to move.

“Have you ever considered trying to take a position of leadership, Caps Lock?” Falcata asked.

Caps Lock shook her head rapidly. “Uhh, no?” she spluttered.

A smile, a genuine one, a grateful one made its way to Falcata’s features.

 “Because I believe you would be a rather good leader.” Falcata took a deep breath and exhaled.  “Thank you for speaking some sense into me, Caps Lock. I was being… what do you call it? ‘mopey’ right?”

Caps Lock giggled. “You got it, and it’s my pleasure.”





Present...

        “And we are in the game!” exclaimed Falcata, knocking Caps Lock from her thoughts. Caps Lock grinned as she rotated her camera to see the former legionary’s avatar, which was what else but an armored pony, spawned in the room.

        “Get to the chest and grab the equipment! We’ll need vines, bows and arrows, swords and diamond pickaxes, but don’t get too many of them,” ordered Caps Lock as she herself opened one of the nearby chests.

        “Why not?” asked Falcata, mystified as she grabbed the necessary items.

        “Because we’re going to die a lot,” said Caps Lock as she opened the door and charged out.

        Falcata frowned, her avatar closely following Caps Locks’s. “Die? But it is just a tower… Oh my.”

        The tower they were about to storm lay ahead of them. It was a massive, circular structure, built from stone blocks, arrayed with battlements and machicolations, surrounded by a moat of water, and Falcata could see that the approach to it was guarded with tripwires linked to some dreadful trap.

        Oh, and the tower had dispensers in the side that were now firing arrows. They were falling short, but more continued to come, creating a waterfall of arrows any attacker had to pass through.

        “Woah. This is a truly magnificent fortress,” said Falcata, in awe of the creation on her screen.

        Caps Lock chuckled. “I know right? All that complicated red stone marking and placing of the traps. It’s ingenious!” 

        “Are you ready to raze it to the ground?” asked Falcata, equipping her pickaxe.

        “You bet!”

        And the two avatars of the two mares charged forward into the hail of arrows, pickaxes ready to bite into the tower’s wall. They died many times, and Falcata’s screams of frustration echoed through the room as she was hit by anvils again and again, but they didn’t really mind.

        After all, playing computer games with a friend is a really fun.
> Additional Discussion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------