> Snow Feather, the lesser known Art Restorer of Canterlot
>  by dracone
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Where do I Start with this Thing?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

My name is Snow Feather, and I'm not what you would call an average Equestrian citizen. Let me explain, my mom is a pegasus pony and my father is a griffin. I'm what's called a hippogriff; I don't know if my kind are uncommon or rare in Equestria, mostly because of the fact I haven't done much looking into it. It's not that I don't want to find out if there are others like me, it's more of a case of me being mildly agoraphobic, which makes it a bit ironic that I live in close proximity to Canterlot.
What do I look like...I'm a white hippogriff with dark blue eyes, the griffin variant I inherited from my father is an owl/panther type. Some would say I have a graceful and elegant form, I wouldn't know since I don't really pay attention to appearance beyond my weekly preening sessions. My front half looks more like that of an owl variant griffin, with my forelegs ending in owl-like griffin talons, and my hind half is more in line with that of a pony, I even have a cutie mark.

Why am I writing all this down, mostly because I need to vent to someone, and I don't really have any friends. As for my talent, that would be art restoration, which would explain why my shop/home is around a half hour's trot from Canterlot proper. I don't really do the same kind of advertising as other businesses, I mostly post fliers up in the city after dark and have the rest just be news spread by word of mouth, I know it's not typical for businesses in the modern age, but given my quirks, it's the best I can do. Dad's a really old-fashioned type of griffin warrior; there's a lot of long-standing traditions in his family. One such tradition is retiring from the military once the oldest child has reached their twelfth year and presenting them with your armor. Dad's is solid white, which factors into him earning the nickname “White Maelstrom,” dad really doesn't use his given name, when he came to settle down with mom he took the name Razor Wind. I'm sure he's quite the asset to Equestria, last I checked he was a private combat instructor for Equestrian griffins. I have no doubt that if a military exercise that requires the cooperation of griffins comes up he'll be involved.

Mom's a professional maid, but during the time she had me, she made it a point to not take up residence in the facility or on the grounds of her employers, the first time she did something like that I was crowed almost constantly by the children of the staff and employers, probably why I'm so conscious of others looking at me and why I have my particular phobia. Mom's name is Gentle Wind and she's a very kind soul. I don't really know who has her employed currently, she never really shares that sort of thing with me if she thinks it might cause me trouble, which is almost always.   I keep mementos of both my parents in my studio. Dad's armor is propped in a place that could be a display if I let anyone into my workspace, and I have some photos of mom adorning my private sleeping space, mom's face always has a way of relaxing me.

I might move, if circumstances force me to do so. I've got a good system to avoid interacting with clients directly, plus it helps them think I'm an all-business type of mare, which suits me just fine. Art is my passion, I take neglected pieces and restore them to their former glory. A side effect of my talent is the ability to tell a genuine piece from a false one. I see more than I would like to admit, Canterlot elites that have been duped into purchasing a forgery of a supposedly great piece who then want to have it touched up to pristine status. How does it happen, the art consultants they hired on were the sort that had glowing reviews from other Canterlot elite. I'm not that kind of mare; if it's fake I'll be bluntly honest about it no matter how much I'm offered as a bribe to say otherwise or threatened that I should agree with the elite pony on grounds they will ensure my business will not go under. The truth always comes out, whether we want it to or not. I'm just waiting for it to fall onto me.

Winter is my favorite time of year, mostly because I can move around the open with almost nopony noticing me, it's the one time of year I feel less afraid of being in or near a crowd. My little out of the way shop only gets ponies that are lost or looking for it specifically, in a way it's my way of separating the chaff from the wheat. Most of the ponies I get in my shop are of the more agreeable among Canterlot. I'm proud to say Fancy Pants is a regular who drops by to make sure his newest acquisitions are in the proper condition, not to mention he's very polite when I inform him he just wasted his bits on a fake, replica or reproduction. I had a few representatives of Princess Luna come to visit and test my abilities shortly after her return to Equestria.     

Princess Luna is a patron of the arts, in every form, or rather she was before the Nightmare Moon fiasco around a thousand years ago, according to many of the older texts I've restored over the years. The first book I ever restored was an account of the early days of the reign of Celestia and Luna, which predated the initial Nightmare Moon incident by several centuries. Thus far no one has requested those sort of restored books; I keep them stored away from the customer section to cut down the possibility of them being stolen, I don't worry about the restored paintings because a charm on the wall keeps them from being removed by anyone other than the buyer before they're purchased. The enchantments to my storefront aren't cheap, or something that can be done shoddy, and had to be woven into the building itself to prevent the spells from fading. One of the few ponies I trust, a former student from Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, helped to set it all up. I won't reveal who she is, on the grounds of a mutual agreement, and the fact we've only known each via an alias, we know what each other looks like and what sort of craft each other practices, but we don't really know the name of each other.                

— Well, I guess that covers the preface.
> Late Night shouldn't be this frustating...or odd
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's a quiet night, I like that. I just finished dropping my completion notices in postboxes and returned to my workhouse/home. Nothing to report, other than some crazy, marginally drunk pink mare with a ballet themed cutie mark nearly noticing my presence, fortunately, I was so far away in the dark the best she would get would be silhouette she will likely brush off as some random pony she saw at night. I have excellent night vision, thanks to dad's side of the family, so I could tell she was pink, and two sheets to the wind, chances are she's going to have a slight hangover when she gets back home and wakes up tomorrow, hope it doesn't interfere with her duties.

Seriously, what am I going to do tonight, I have no commissions and am too low on the resources for my personal projects, all of them. Metallic paints and inks are not cheap, and don't even get me started the Obsidian Blade black, so named for the Royal Guard who moonlit as an artist four centuries into Princess Celestia's Post-Nightmare reign that managed to create his own unique blend of black paint. Of course, it makes sense his sister, Opal Armor, was a talented artist that created a dozen new varieties of white paint, only three of which are now common in the Equestrian fine art scene and one of which is common among artists of all standings. I should probably do another inventory check on the paints I have again to make sure I didn't miss anything.

Note to self, if I ever end up talking art with somepony try not to go into a ramble about the different kinds of white paint there are. There are times I really hate summer, I haven't been able to do any personal projects for almost two months. The Clover wedding painting is practically singing to me why it needs restoring, and the first Wonderbolts portrait is also in pretty rough sha

“Hello, anypony here,” came the voice of what sounded like a male servant that really didn't want to be doing his errand, must be working for some self-entitled twit. I tapped the glass near the request cards A red urgency card slipped through the chute. He must be on a very short deadline, and even shorter leash. I'm not looking forward to this request, but a job's a job.

I picked up the card and did a quick read of it; it was asking if I could restore a supposedly six-hundred-year-old painting for a one 'Prince Noble Right', I pinched the bridge of my beak, Noble Right was one of the worst Canterlot had to offer. He hardly ever made public appearances, even among his fellow nobility, and to make matters worse when he did make appearances many of Canterlot's elite acted like his word was second only to Princess Celestia herself, quite distasteful. I may not be a bred Canterlot mare, but at least I have a better sense of taste than to listen to a self-important prick who in all likelihood has no clue what they are talking about most of the time. Bet he couldn't tell an authentic Opal Armor from a third-rate Joan Mareo, of course, that's probably true for most of the Canterlot elite. At the moment I was regretting my decision to open the shop up for a few hours this night.

I slid a blue card back out and told him telling him to provide another card with the specifics and contact information. I got another red card that gave dimensions for an overly large portrait, the only thing I could think of while reading it over is that the whole family had a severe ego problem. A painting that could barely make it through my back door when it's opened to the maximum if you included the frame, it will be a nightmare getting out their door and down here. I really despise this kind. I slid another blue card to him saying that I could do the job, but without personally assessing the piece I couldn't give an estimate of the expenses, also told him where could drop off the item.

After that, I heard the sound of him leaving the storefront, then heard the sound of several hooves moving something into position at the location I provided. What I heard next made my skin crawl, and I even felt some of my feathers molt. An egotistical male voice, in an arrogant tone in the upper Canterlot accent, said, “I suppose it will do, it's not one of the prime restoration facilities, but at least they had enough common sense to keep their doors open long enough for this important endeavor.” I took a peek outside through a hidden peephole in my rear door; thankfully the frame wasn't around the painting. Unfortunately, the servant had given me dimensions that fell a bit shy of the size of the painting, which at the moment was carefully rolled up as if it were a scroll. At its size, the rolled-up painting looked more like a carefully rolled rug in canvas colors, and was being carried by four pegasus servants, four earth pony servants and I could make out the distinct glow of three unicorn levitation spells. “Once we have confirmation the item has been taken into the shop we will leave this wretched place,” he was just outside of the range of my peephole, not entirely sure of that is blessing or not. Thankfully rolled up I could open the doors just enough to pull it in without drawing attention to myself.

I reached over to a care pole intended for items such as this painting. I stuck a note on the pole, which included an explanation of the pole then opened the door just wide enough to let the rolled up piece of art in with a little extra room then stuck the pole out note first for them. The less interaction with any of them the better, after it was in I could close up shop and get to evaluating the extent of the damage in the morning, after taking care of the rest of my nightly routine. Come on, leave already is what I thought during the entire time. I usually kept my night hours for ponies like those that represent Princess Luna, not egotistical Canterlot elites with an absurdly massive superiority complex.

“My lord,” I cringed when a stallion's voice said that, I also wondered how much he was being paid to say that, “it seems there is a note on this pole, according to this note the pole is designed for specifically for handling properties like our current package.”
“Excellent,” said the egotistical voice, “take the necessary actions for the transaction, and make it quick.”

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus of fourteen ponies. I really wanted to deck this guy, but that would mean revealing myself, something I don't ever want to do with his lot. After feeling the hefty weight of the item on the pole, I reeled it in and shut the door behind it, and made it clear the back door was locked. I heard the sound of pony coming into the storefront a note dropped into the chute, a quick read told me it was one of the servants asking for my assessment. I wrote a response letter on a blue card that said that it would take some time to evaluate and they would likely be getting a rough estimate of the damages and costs by the time as their arrival the following night. I hate egotistical pricks; thankfully I never deal with them directly.

The sound of the small parade leaving let me know it was just about time to close up shop, just when I was preparing to head into the storefront to do so I caught the sound of a pony entering the storefront. Why do I keep getting visitors at the most improper time? This pony seemed to be a small blue mare, seemed like the type to usually be confused for a filly. She seemed to be looking around, a blue notecard slid into the chute. I opened and read it, the note was the most polite I had seen in a long time. It was also apologizing about the intrusion on account of her working much later than anticipated and getting a little turned around in the nighttime atmosphere of the city, also asking what the place was and its relationship to the rest of Canterlot.

I dropped a note explaining it all. A few minutes later I heard one of the cutest “What?” mare squeaks in my life, “Oh no, this is bad, I need to get home so fast that... sorry, I'm rambling. This is a nice place you have here, I'll tell a few ponies about this place, it's a nice change of pace from what we usually get in the rest of Canterlot. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you my name,” she shuffled, "can I come in back for proper introductions?”
I dropped a card in the chute with my reasoning why ponies couldn't come in back, she pulled it up and I could hear the sound of her ears drooping in disappointment. I could hear her shuffling around before she dropped a notecard in the chute, all it said was, 'I'm Azurite, I work for the royal guard. Who are you?' I slid a blue not card in the chute with my response. I heard her taking the card and reading it very carefully.
“That's a pretty name,” I'd heard that all too often, I just took it to be a meaningless platitude at this point, “and you have such a pretty name for your store. It's a bit crazy right now, I might forget about this place for a while, could you give some general directions for getting here in the future? I'll make sure to keep them somewhere safe.” I figured sure, why not? She's being more gracious than I usually see around my store. I slid a blue notecard with basic instructions on how to get to the story from Canterlot proper.

After hearing her leave I waited a few minutes before closing up shop, I was feeling a bit too drained for my usual flight practice, so I just made sure all the doors and windows were locked and unbroken before going to part of the complex that served as my bedroom. My nest never looked so inviting; tomorrow was going to be a pain. That was future Snow's problem, because at that moment it was time for sleepy Snow to get some rest.
> What happens when you have nothing to do for a day...also unexpected clients
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This always happens when I try to be original, I fail hard. Let me explain, I got my commissions done for the Canterlot elite that are aware of my business, some of which I will never mention again. My mom dropped by, she's always a sweet mare, and I gave her my list of things I can't purchase through mail order, where to go to get the best priced high-quality versions of those materials, and a bag of bits I measured out to have twenty-three percent more than the calculated total cost of it all, I knew she wouldn't spend it frivolously. Mom did what mom's do best, make you feel loved and awkward at the same time, and told me about a new shop called Sunridge Sweets, a new bakery in town, and brought me a small bag's worth of fabrics and threads, she told me it was for me to practice my sewing.

On the bakery front, mom's passed by the place a few times, but she's never actually been in. She says quite a few of the Canterlot's high society members are praising it as an excellent establishment, not to mention she's seen more than a few members of the Royal Guard popping in to visit it. I asked her to drop by the place sometime and ask if they do deliveries, and for their address. Alright, fine, if you really want to know, it's been ages since I had a decent sweet snack and I really want to see how they stack up.

As for the sewing, it's a disaster. I've literally tangled my talons up in the thread dozens of times, and everything I've been attempting to make comes out looking like a sleepy foal with one good eye tried to make everything, it's a total mess. It's only been a few days since I started trying it out; hopefully, I'll be better at it in the future. I guess I'm lucky I haven't pricked myself with the needle yet. Why must original art be so hard for me, I'm able to duplicate the styles of hundreds upon thousands of artists with almost no effort, but a piece that entirely from my own mind is a total flop? The goldfish pillow I tried making yesterday had its stitching all erratic and when I went to sew on the eyes they came out looking like it might have some sort of genetic deformity, if I tried to sell it somepony probably buy it out of pity.

I haven't had any work in days, my heating crystals are almost exhausted and I'm quite low on spares, metallic inks and paints need the right heating or they have the wrong the consistency when being applied (not something a whole lot of ponies know). I suppose I could do better if I were more well-known, but that could also compromise my security. I need a little project to work on, even if it's personal. Nopony that's dropped in has tried to purchase anything in the storefront in months, a few have made comments on a few pieces, but when it comes down to a time to potentially buy one they give a laundry list excuses. It's gotten so bad with the excuses that I keep a running count on the two-hundred most common.


Bored, bored, bored, wings tied up in yarn, bored, tail and hind legs tied up in yarn (seriously, how did that happen?), and more boredom. I literally have nothing to do, and all my attempts at sewing have resulted in the thread being far from salvageable. I know how to mix ingredients to perfectly replicate pigments that are not longer used, or extremely rare when bought fully mixed for a fraction of the price, can perform an overly showy technique that my dad showed me almost flawlessly, can paint with such ease and care in the most minute parts of a painting I'm restoring, know how to fix a book that's threatening to completely come apart, repair an exceedingly priceless statue and not leave any traces that it was damaged, but for some reason, I don't have the coordination to do simple stitch work... I have a feeling somepony will bring a really rare doll for fixing, so I'll keep at it once I get some more thread, and maybe some more needles.

Please, I need something to do. I rea

“Hello, anypony here? I don't remember a shop being here before,” came a very excitable female voice, “I kind of got turned around, again, but it's okay because Canterlot is just so much fun, and I can feel the love in this place, the attention to detail on what's out here, if you only had some seats so ponies could spend more time admiring everything. Ooh, notecards, I haven't seen anypony use these for business before, not sure why since they seem to be really useful in a work environment. Let's see here.” I could hear moving around, and tapping on the glass next to the cards.

Princesses, please deliver me from foolish mares, I have to deal with the demands of more than enough of those. Wait, did she just write a message on the glass with a pink marker? I'm going to be cleaning the glass early this month, oh joy (that was sarcasm if you didn't catch on). I really don't want to have to deal with annoying little...she dropped a notecard in, might as well see what it says.

And it says, How did a pink card get here? I don't use or stock up on pink cards. 'Hi, I'm Lovey Dovey, but you can call me Lovey, Dovey, or anything you like really.' Pink menace seems appropriate right now, 'I was headed to meet somepony in Canterlot, but I got a little lost and ended up here.' Oh, goody, 'What's your name? What's this...nevermind I read the sign, it's a cute name for the shop, what do you do here?'

I dropped reply on a blue note card, then prayed to the princesses this pony would leave. I had no such luck, I could hear her shuffling around the room. She dropped another pink note card (did she bring those with her?) through the chute asking if I had anything other than paintings. I sent another blue note card back saying I did have a few books in back and they were kept in back to as a measure against theft. She then dropped anther pink note card asking if there were any romance pieces.

I headed to the shelf where I kept the restored books I had worked on and carefully went through them all. Turns out nothing that matches modern concepts of romance were among the lot, the closest to that was a seventy-year-old academic tome on the ways love effects behaviors and performances in ponies. I dropped another blue card giving the results back to her. After she read it I heard a disappointed 'oh' from the glass and another pink note card asking to see the report on love, I sent a note back that she would have to buy it first, and asked if she had anywhere she needed to be, I heard rushed gasp before the sound of the door opening and closing along with the sound of a speeding pegasus was heard, I don't think I'll ever get used to the chipper ones.

At least she didn't try to set me up with anyone, that would have very awkward if whoever she brought with her made it to my side of the wall. Now I'm sure that the fish pillow I made is giving me a weird look, maybe I just need sleep, guess it's one of those close early days. I'm not sure what I'm gonna do anymore, this is my talent and it feels like it's being wasted. I hope Princess Luna doesn't get into my dreams, I don't know what I would do if the little secret of mine got out to her or Princess Celestia. I'm sure the princesses are wonderful ponies, it's just there are some of their social circles I'm concerned about. Just once I'd like to able to...it doesn't matter, I've given up that sort of thing a long time now.

Okay, glass is finally cleaned, notes on what I need to get are done and n

“Hello,” came a timid sounding mare's voice before the door to the shop opened, the distinctive sound of a unicorn mare, and earth pony mare trotting in could be heard. “You saw the sign out front, right?”

“Yes, deary,” came a more elegant sounding mare's voice, “judging by the displays here the shop either specializes in nearly flawless replications,” as if I would be so crass or mean-spirited, “or they specialize in restoring art.” That is indeed what my talent, that and restoring physical copies of literary works.

The sound of the mares looking around could be heard, for some reason, I never heard them name each other. “Oh, look,” came the came the timid voice, “they have note cards, color-coordinated in relation to a client's sense of urgency, what a marvelous idea. It's a way of telling the ponies who work here what should be the highest priority, without coming off as overbearing.”
“Genius,” said the elegant voice, I suppose we use them to communicate with the staff as well.” I heard the sound of a card being written on before a blue card came in the chute. This one asked about the total staff number, quality, and names of said staff.

I decided to be polite, especially since they were being quite polite. I told them it was only me, my name, and also informed them that I could tell them if the piece they brought in was genuine or counterfeit, I also told them just because an art authenicater was highly recommended that it was still likely they could botch on the authentication, especially if a client gave them a reasonable incentive to say the authentication was to go a certain way, just because they are highly recommended doesn't mean they are the best pony for the job, the more authentication experts the better, and it is best not to just use the highly recommended ones.

The response I got back was about a painting involving a unicorn on a hill surrounded by a sea of multi-colored grasses. One of the lesser known artists, Gosh-Hoof I believe had done that particular piece. I told her it was twelve hundred bits, I heard the sound of the ponies falling to the floor in my lobby, possibly even going unconscious. I received a note back saying I didn't know how to properly price the works out front, which honestly speaking is probably an accurate assessment. I got paid double, right the spot with a note saying they were glad someone knew professional conduct at least. The note left their names, Heirloom Frame and Jeweled Curio, who both happened to be well-known art appraiser and authentication experts that had a reputation for informing on clients who tried to buy their assessment to the royal guard. Looks like I'm putting a new piece on the wall when I close tonight, still bored out my skull though.
> What Else Would I Do With Nothing but Time to Kill?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seriously, how did it come to this? Three weeks of nothing to do. All projects finished, no requests or commissions, finally finished my basic sewing practice and am waiting on more thread. So freaking bored. What's worse, I can only think of doing basic grooming. How bored am I? I just gave myself a thorough preening, I haven't had one of those since I was nine. In short, it's been ages since I had any sort of thorough grooming. Like I said, I am so freaking bored.



Note to self, get more tea, I just checked my beverage stores and I am sorry to repo

"Hello, anypony here?" A female voice said. I slipped a card asking what I could assist with, "Oh, not much of a talker, I seem to be a bit lost." Another one of those, oh joy. I slipped another card asking where she was trying to go, she slipped me a card asking directions an establishment called "Refined Equestrian", I almost gagged at the name. Also, I never heard of it and slipped a note saying as much.

"Really, that's too bad," said the voice on the other side, "I hear they have the latest trend in elite cuisine." Shoot me now, I seriously was looking around for a crossbow and bolt to shoot myself with, I can't stand anything with the word elite in it. But seriously, how do ponies keep getting lost and finding my shop? It's a good half-hour walk outside of the city's limits, I feel like I'm being tested. I slipped a card saying my feelings on the subject matter.

"Oh good," came the unmistakable voice of Princess Luna, "We wouldn't be much of a patron of the arts if those artists were rather dull up top," her old word style of speech was strangely comforting to me. "It is not often you find an artist that prefers to remain unknown to the masses and content in the works of others from ages past remain intact. Before coming here I spoke with your parents, both of them." I went rigid at the thought, my ancestry is something that earned me undesired looks from ponies. My mother, Gentle Wind, is a sweet soul and content in her duties as a maid, and I am sorry she had to end her employment with others over matters pertaining to me, in my younger days I did my best to stay out of sight and keep to myself. It was through all this I had found my talent, a set of skills that allowed me to be more of a background figure than a main character. "I offered up a job with myself, your mother said she'll think about it. I like her already, most ponies in her profession would jump at the chance. She's got a good heart, so do you." That just caught me more off guard, "you don't want to be hurt, it's why you keep yourself secreted away in your workshop out on the far edge of town. Most ponies in your profession would choose to be a bit closer to the nobility, but you don't like them much from what I can see." I strained to listen, there were multiple ponies in armor with weapons all about the shop, inside and out.

I slipped a note asking her true purpose for visiting my shop, I had suspicions but wanted confirmation.

"It was expected you wouldn't be one for chatting," said Luna, I could hear her smiling like a full moon on a starry midnight. "We require your services, my sister has recently come into possession of an old work of mine from many years ago, the work is now in rough shape. Thus far, every pony that claims to restore art assures us the work cannot be saved, despite their eagerness to have a high tier client such as Equestria's rulers."

I slipped a card saying I would have to spend some time with the piece.

"It is already waiting at your door in the back," replied Luna.

I pulled the back door open slowly, after checking my periscope to make sure the door was clear of any ponies. Just off to the side was a unicorn mare, it looked like she was using some sort of glamour so I was pretty sure the midnight green coat was not her real color standing next to what looked like a painting covered in a starry night cloth on an easel. I gave a sigh of annoyance before carefully pulling the door open.

“I’ll need to inspect your workstation, citizen,” said the mare, “regula...”

“Shut it,” I said in an annoyed voice, even more so that the first pony outside my very small circle of friends or family had heard my voice. I didn’t give a rotting barrel’s worth of care if they were Royal Guard, if they were going to treat me like a common charlatan then I was not going to give them the decency of proper respect. “I’ve actually restored Four-Hundred and Twelve rulebooks for the Royal Guard, the most recent one being last month. Said book happened to be a book on guard regulations dated nine months ago, and nowhere in that book does it talk about businesses that have to establish a rapport with Royalty. Yes, I have read all the books that were brought to me and memorized a considerable number of pieces. I’m not some simple charlatan, I actually take my work seriously. I don’t care who the ‘authority’ judging any work is, if they’re somepony highly recommended by the so-called ‘Canterlot elite’ then chances are they’re just somepony that is very good at telling those self-entitled fools what they want to hear. My talent can tell the true authenticity of a work, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go around bragging about it. If a piece that’s brought to me is rubbish then I’ll let them know as soon as possible. Now, kindly pass me the piece so I can do my work. And yes, you can quote what I said to your superiors, all of them, exactly what I have said here. And one more thing, I don't care who a pony is, you can be a guard captain or princess of Equestria and I will still not permit you access to my personal workspace."

The unicorn smiled and floated the covered art piece over to me and said, “I will do just that, and I have a pretty good idea of what her response will be.” I headed back into my workstation, closed the door, and locked it. Just as I was setting up the piece to inspect it I heard the immense laughter of what I was pretty sure was Princess Luna getting a kick out of whatever was said to her.
> Royal Work, why me?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I looked at the piece under the cloth; it really was ruined beyond recognition. I placed my talons up a few inches from the work and closed my eyes and focused on the piece, allowing my innate magic to tell me the truth of work and what it was supposed to be. Ponies like to say that an art piece speaks to them, but that’s on an emotional level. When a piece “speaks” to me I learn everything about the piece, all the way down to the pieces hidden beneath it. This really was a lost work, one of Princess Luna’s mythical self-made paintings. The cost of the materials to restore it were so significant that I could purchase my little shop a dozen times over and buy a few other establishments with enough change to eat out at the fanciest restaurants in the country, plus the price of travel fare, for two centuries and change.

I wrote down the price of the restoration and all the materials need for it, along with a list of their estimated cost of acquiring when I last checked. When that was all done I slid it all through to the storefront, I heard the sound of multiple ponies balking at the price of the work, I literally just added a low service charge on top of it all. Those materials are expensive, recreating the paint required was as costly as it was time-consuming.

I  couldn't help feeling that I was being tested, Princess Luna could easily restore one of her old works to pristine condition. The real question here, why go through the hassle of tracking down a pony with my talent? I sequester myself from the residents of Canterlot for a reason, I have no intention of doing anything to give the residents a chance to gawk at me. I can just think of all the things the ponies known as the "Canterlot Elite" would do to me if they saw me, all of which were too uncomfortable for me to think about for more than a few seconds.

With any luck, her guard who saw me would merely mistake me for a pure white griffin. Of course, those hopes were likely to be dashed to pieces at some point in the future. Especially when I heard the sound of somepony teleporting into my workspace, something that really did not sit well with me. When I turned around I saw Princess Luna, her midnight coat was a noticeable contrast to my snowy white one. She also had a pair of dusk colored unicorns with her. I was not happy to see her in my personal space, and it showed on my face. Note to self, get teleportation negation wards for the backroom. Princess Luna and her entourage made a show of looking about my workstation, the princess went right over to my heating crystal station and gave me an amused look.

“So,” said the princess, “for what purpose would you require heating crystals?”

I decided to play nice, especially since I was outnumbered and overpowered. “Inks and paints with metals in them require they be properly heated before being applied so as to provide the proper consistency, they also do a good job of heating up beverages in a pinch.” I then gestured to the shelf where I kept my restored books, which unfortunately also had my failed attempts at sewing leaning up against one of the shelves. That darn fish was looking like it was giving us all the lazy eye.

One of the unicorns went over to the shelf and said, “You wrote all these in your spare time?”

“No,” I said, “they’re all much older works that were in rough shape when I managed to find them, I restored them all to their proper form.”

The two unicorns blinked while Princess Luna just kept grinning at me, I didn’t like it. Her grin made me feel uneasy. Her attention moved to the set of white griffin armor, “This,” said the princess as she went to inspect it, “must be the armor your father passed down to you, I see you’re working on finding a way to modify it.”

“I sent out word to an earth pony mare named Forge Hammer,” I said, “she’s a smithing pony, it will be some time before she is able to get here. Although, she might require a place to work. I doubt any of the forges in Canterlot would permit her to do her thing without asking for a considerable compensation.”

“A friend I presume,” said one of the unicorns.

“You could say that,” I said. “Now, if you would kindly leave my workspace, I don’t particularly like others in here. I barely allow my parents access to this space. I see you here, uninvited no less, as an invasion of my privacy.”

“We merely wished to see your workspace,” said Princess Luna, “as a benefactor, I could better provide you with all the materials you require for your profession.” So she’s not going to talk about the deformed goldfish pillow, thank the divine for small miracles. While I found her offer tempting, I still felt the need to decline.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I’m going to have to decline the offer of having you as a benefactor. I don’t want the populace here crowding my shop, I don’t do well with large groups. You three are around the limit I’m willing to deal with. Although, I can think of a way you can help. You could order the necessary materials for the restoration I’ve written down and have them delivered to my shop, and since you and Princess Celestia are so invested in the piece’s restoration, you can cover the cost of acquiring the materials. If you do that much I could lower the price for services rendered, most of the price I give to those who come to me for services goes towards the cost of acquiring the necessary materials for the restoration itself. Almost all the materials I require are extremely hard to come by or immensely difficult to properly duplicate.”

“We see,” said Princess Luna, “We will confer with our sister on the matters you have presented us,” she then levitated a rather hefty looking bag of bits over to me, “and this is for being the only restoration artist to be willing to give this project a chance.”

I just gave her a look that said I didn’t want to deal with this, she gave another hearty laugh at my response and teleported out of my workspace with her guards.





It was two days, two days, after Princess Luna visited my shop and somehow the first thing I saw when I entered the place I considered my sanctum was Princess Celestia and a yellow unicorn mare with a dawn orange mane and tail. Why? Why do I have to have my place of solace violated? “You are both intruding on my personal space without permission,” I said, “and I have to open the shop in a few minutes. So, please make this quick.”

To their credit, neither was gawking at me. But I really didn’t like how the unicorn was looking at me. “I can see why my sister likes you,” said Princess Celestia, “you aren’t swayed by our position in society. Very few of Equestria’s citizens are so willing to berate the Royal Guard or call them out when they’re citing regulations. Is what you said requiring the restoration accurate? Or are you just trying to extort us, I saw the estimated prices for the products you require.”

“See those books over there? Or the art pieces in the storefront? I take pride in knowing I did everything I could to bring them to their former glory. The truth of the matter is,” I said, “I could be on the brink of bankruptcy and still put almost all of it into the works here and not sell a single one and be content about it all. These supposedly lost works are what helps give my life meaning, I would never degrade myself to act as some charlatan. I may not be the most well-known practitioner of my craft, but I am a being of integrity when it comes to my practice and the works I do my best to restore. Societal standing means nothing to me, I’m more than happy staying in the background.”

The unicorn blinked at me, “I don’t believe it, she’s actually telling the truth. That lie detection spell you taught the guard didn’t even register a blip. She really couldn’t care less about her social standing, she just wants to be left alone to restore works of other ponies.” She then turned her attention to books I had lining the shelves, thankfully the failure of a pillow I had made was safely tucked out of sight this time around. “You really restored all of those books? Are there any saucy ones?”

“The closest it gets is five seventy-year-old cookbooks regarding pasta,” I said, “but I have a feeling that’s not what you were trying to get at.”

“Ooh,” said the mare, “we can make fancy pasta at home, how thorough does it get?”

“They all assume you’ll be making the pasta yourself, so they give detailed instructions on how to make the noodles themselves in addition what the instructions on making the author’s idea of what the ideal sauce is for those noodles are.”

“Sold, how much?”

“Which one?”

“All of them,” said the mare, Celestia couldn’t help giggling at the exchange.

“Well, they all are of different ages, I just gave an average on their total age. For all five,” I took some time to think about it a bit, I really hadn’t given any of the books a set price, “seven hundred bits.”

“Oh no, that’s far too low for such masterpieces of literature,” said Celestia, “can you raise it up a bit,” the unicorn gave her a disapproving look.

“Well,” I said mulling it over a bit, “how does fourteen-hundred bits sound?”

“Much more reasonable,” said Princess Celestia, “and I’m sure Captain Sunny Day is more than capable of providing it now.

The unicorn, now Identified as “Captain Sunny Day” puffed out her cheeks in annoyance, it almost looked cute.

“Sure, just have me spend most of my personal spending money on a set of culinary texts that tell me what I need to make dinner from scratch,” she pouted. I just went and got the five books from where I had set them on the shelf and carefully brought them out.

Princess Celestia gasped and floated the top one to her face, all that was on the cover was a golden sun with what looked like a spatula and whisk crossing each other. “This is one of the books written by one of my former head chefs,” said the princess, “I had thought all copies had been lost. How much?”

“I’m sorry, that has already been agreed to be purchased by ‘Captain Day’, your grace,” I said, “you’ll have to negotiate with her on the subject matter.”

“Split the cost with me on the books fifty-fifty and you can have it,” said Sunny Day without missing a beat.

“Deal,” said the princess without a second thought. Both pulled up their coin purses from their saddlebags and provided the asked for funds rather quickly. Once the items were paid for the princess pulled the cooking tome into a happy embrace, it was not something one sees all that often. With that, the two left in a flash of light from the princess’s magic.
> How did THIS happen?
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I looked around; this was not the house my parents had or my shop. It looked like I was in somepony’s arboretum, a well-maintained one at that. Further confusion came to me in the form of each of the seasons occurring at different points around the facility, and plants that were associated with certain seasons in the section that corresponded with the seasons outside. It was at this point I realized I was dreaming and woke up. I was not in a good mood, but that’s usual for me when I get up. The first thing I did after getting up, besides looking around for uninvited guests, was check and tidy up my nest before passing down the stairs into my workshop.

Note to self, again, find a way to keep ponies from magicking their way into my personal space. I decided to put up some quick notes for potential visitors on some of my spare red cards and placed them on the rear door and just above the drop chute, the notes basically said I didn’t care who they were, whether they are an affluent elite or one of Equestria’s princesses, they are not allowed in my workspace without my expressed permission.

Since it was still early in the morning, the sun had yet to rise, I decided to do a little wandering about town. In particular, I decided it was time to do some resource hunting, which is just my fancy way of saying I’m going to look through the literal trash of high society for items that were thrown out that I could potentially restore. I started with the school, mostly because I was less likely to get spotted and I really didn’t like hearing pointless tirades about private property by ponies who had way more space than they needed. The “Academy” actually had a tendency to throw out some decently underappreciated gems, at least when it came to art and texts.

I personally never attended an institution like that, I was homeschooled by parents when they had the time for such things. I want mom to be happy, same with dad. I suppose I could have networked and established a greater customer base if I had attended the school, but I don’t like being stared at and treated like some kind of curiosity. I had no doubts the school would have been just that, both in terms of the students and faculty. Is it any wonder I’m agoraphobic? The only reason I have my shop where I do is because of how much my talent is potentially in demand in the area. I would like to live in a much smaller community and slowly get over my phobia, but having a lack of income in the area is a bit of a problem.

I found a few pieces that had been discarded in the trash and decided to take them back to the shop with me. After returning home I went through the process of opening up the shop. I began wondering what things would have been like if I had been born as a pony, a thought process I liked to play at from time to time. Given my profession, I often imagined I was a unicorn due to the fine touches that often needed to be done in my profession.

All further thoughts on things were halted when I found a scroll in my drop chute, when had that gotten there and who had deposited it was unknown to me, mostly because I was still in the process of opening the place up and hadn’t seen any sign of someone inside or outside my shop. I was not happy with what it said, the note was from Princess Luna, as was evident by the seal of her mark on the wax. The note said she was going to look into finding a financial advisor for businesses such as my own, little workshops that were operated by individuals that didn’t have a proper understanding of how to price their wares. The note went on to mention how products like those that I deal in are far more valuable than I tended to price them and that such low prices would cause many potential customers to believe the wares were facsimiles and recreations rather than the genuine article. I will admit, she had a point. My prices were considerably low, especially when compared to various art galleries and other facilities that practiced the same art as me.

That all said, it was never really about the money with me, it was about bringing something of the past back to its former glory. My care for bits starts and ends where necessities are required. Facility charges, basics like food and water, my relaxation aids, and materials for executing my craft were all I needed. If I could get all those at next to no cost I would, provided I wasn’t putting somepony off or screwing anypony over.

I turned to look at the work from Princess Luna’s pre-Nightmare era work, saying it was in rough shape was the understatement of the millennium.  It was no wonder all the other restoration houses, all nine of them, had turned down the project. But those places had teams of ponies and backers with very deep pouches, I was a little facility with a single member and very limited resources at my disposal, I didn’t have a single backer or investor. The very fact I said it was salvageable, albeit at a price that was equivocal to a ransom for either one of the princesses, was enough for them to put their faith in me. I had even told them everything needed to restore the piece, so even if I did fail to properly restore it they could at least make the attempt themselves.

Why do I punish myself like this? I looked over at the sewing kit my mother had given me on her last visit, I had at least gotten to a point where I wasn’t tangling myself with the thread. I heard the bell above the bell ring, a gasp of somepony I’d heard in the storefront before, the pony that was older than she looked if I was guessing right. I had put a stool out in the storefront, and placed the poorly done goldfish pillow with a note saying it was an original work and I was only charging five bits. A white notecard with the words “Thank You, keep the change because you’ve earned it” was slid in along with a twenty-bit coin before the sound of the pony leaving was heard. I was thankful I hadn’t said whose original work it was.

The fact that the goldfish pillow I made managed to sell at all was astounding, even more so is the fact the piece had literally been in the storefront for less than a day. I suppose having that stool there for ponies to relax for the day was alright, I’m gonna take it out after a few days anyway.