A Spot of Rust
There are some ponies that you just know are up to no good – the ones like that there Little Pip and her merry band of misfits. The ones who kick up shit and cause a whole load of trouble, even if it leaves the world a better place in the end. No sir-y bob, I am rightly no fan of that.
But then there are the other ponies, the ones who are happy doing what they do, and that’s all they need to do. Ol’ Rusty over there is a prime example of that!
You see, no one really knows much about Rusty. We can’t agree to much about him, but there’s some things that we really can’t deny. For one, the poor fella’s a mute. For second, he’s one of the happiest, most hard working earth ponies that I have ever met.
One day he just showed up with a bag full of metal scrap to sell – never said a word, never broke a frown, he just smiled and hoofed over the scrap, and then showed he wanted food and medicine in return. He didn’t even ask for a fair deal, poor fella really got stiffed. Wound up leaving town, and we figured that’d be the last of him.
But for the past year, he’s been doing the same thing, every single day. Ol’ Rusty comes every morning, like clockwork, waves to everyone and has breakfast down at the watering hole with the rest of the train workers. Then he goes off to the old trainyard a few miles south, spends the whole day cuttin’ up and stowing away metal scrap, then comes on back to town to trade for food and medicine. He’s even got a good deal going with the traders now, they know him so well.
Other than that, though, no one knows a lick about him. We call him Rusty because he’s always covered in rust dust from the trainyard. Even his cutie mark is a rusty quarter-inch pipe that’s bent in the middle. But you see, nothing about that guy ever changes.
He wears the same oil-stained bandanna, the same greasy utility vest, comes into town the same way at the same time every day, sells the same amount of scrap every day, and that’s about it. And he never frowns. The guy is always smiling, without fail.
He doesn’t even carry any weapons, for crying out loud! Well, except that rusty old kitchen knife he’s got in his leg holster, but even then, I don’t think he even uses it – it’s so old and rusted that it’d probably fall apart if he tried to use it against anypony.
But, sweet Celestia, I’ve never known a kinder soul. You ask him for a hoof, and he’s right there to help you out. Rain or shine, if you need a strong hoof, or just want someone to listen to you, Rusty’ll sit through anything you need of him. I’m sure the poor guy gets taken advantage of all the time, but he just smiles and helps out any way he can.
Heck, I know that when my dear Sunshine was giving birth and I needed someone to cover for me on the train schedule, Rusty didn’t even ask for anything in return – he just smiled and nodded, and went to take my place in the trainyard. I’d even go so far as to call him the most reliable pony this side of the Palomino – I even got Sunshine to agree to make him our foal’s godfather if anything happened or if we needed any help.
I just worry that he’s lonely some times. We’ve all seen where he lives at one point or another – this little shack a few miles outside of town, pretty sure he built it himself. It’s got a little garden, and it’s well hidden in some rocks, but I worry for the old guy some times. We’ve asked him to move in to the town so he can be safe, but he always just smiles and shakes his head.
Stubborn as a mule, that pony, but he’s got a good heart. I just hope that he knows how to stay safe.
Life was good.
The pony who was known as Rusty had everything he needed, and a smile crossed his sun dried and cracked lips as he made his way out of the town.
All of the ponies there who he was happy to call his friends were more than supportive, and helped him survive day to day. They gave him good deals, they kept him fed, and they were always there if he ever needed help for any reason.
Yes, life was good. Rusty had everything he ever wanted, and he couldn’t be happier.
Stopping along his usual route to his cabin, he noticed a small desert flower growing out of the top of a mutated cactus, the purple flower catching his eyes. Flowers were rare in the wasteland, and even more so in the desert. But every now and then the local cacti would blossom and the purple petals were a sight to behold.
With a smile, he bent over and carefully bit down around the flower and gently pulled, careful not to damage the delicate petals, and even more careful not to prick himself on the poisonous thorns of the cactus.
The flower safe in his mouth, he raised a hoof and gingerly spat the flower out, and marveled at the beauty of the little flower he now held. His spirits raised, and his heart happy, he continued walking, this time on three hooves so he could keep the precious flower safe on the journey.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the small, dark wooden shack that he called home. It wasn’t much – there was a bathroom in the back, a bedroom, and a connected living room and kitchen. Everything was small, accessible and low to the ground, lending the building a very small silhouette that would be hard to see from afar or in the dark, considering how well he had nestled it into the natural rock faces of the Palomino desert.
Rusty stopped for just a moment to look down at the garden outside of his house. There were two wooden garden beds filled with fertile soil, and it was very clear to see that the plants held within were tended to meticulously and with the hooves of a professional. Mutated vegetables and herbs grew beautifully, and tucked away between every few plants were a different type of flower – cared for extensively in order to let the small but beautiful plants survive in such a harsh climate.
The sight made Rusty smile. It was always lovely after a hard day of work to come back to his house and admire the natural beauty that could only be truly cared for by a professional.
With a deep breath, taking in the familiar smell of the old wood and the various plants he grew, he stepped up the short ramp to the front door and gave it a simple push open. There was no need for locks so out away from everyone – and he didn’t own anything that would be worth stealing. Besides, locks and door handles would only get in the way.
The smell of a dinner cooking on a meticulously restored fusion oven made Rusty stop and appreciate the moment. Coming home to the smell of dinner being made never got old to the pony, even when he had spent the last year doing the exact same thing every single day. Closing the door shut behind himself, he briefly surveyed the combined living room and kitchen, admiring the work he had done over the past year.
The living room was furnished with a simple couch, adorned with a beautiful blanket that had been knit by skilled hooves. There was also an old radio, brought back to working order from many days of work. A stout table between the couch and the standing radio held several old books and magazines, which were faded, but still readable if a pony were to apply some imagination.
Behind the couch was the kitchen, with a wooden island and two stools set up for eating, a hanging cabinet that stored dried goods and cooking implements, and behind that was another counter, with a restored fridge and a restored oven. Both the fridge and the oven constantly hummed with magical energy, every now and then the humming would fluctuate with the draining of the magical batteries that powered them. Every few weeks, Rusty had to switch out the batteries, but they were easy enough to find, and keeping the power maintained was a very important thing in order to store and cook food.
A large, copper pot sat on the stove top, steam freshly coming from the top of the pot. The source of the wonderful smell was obvious, and Rusty couldn’t wait to eat a fresh dinner after another hard day of work. But first, he had to do something.
Slipping around the island to the inside of the kitchen, Rusty sashayed his way up before delicately wrapping his free forehoof around the pony waiting for him, while his other hoof set the beautiful purple flower in her equally beautiful lilac mane.
She shuffled back slightly against his strong, reassuring embrace, letting her lilac mane fall back against his chin as he leaned into her, breathing in her scent. The feeling of her wonderfully soft ice white fur intermingling with the short, coarse fur on his hoof made him smile even more than usual. Every day was worth it as long as he came back to her.
The feeling of her feathers ruffling against his vest made him regret having clothes on in the first place, and with a parting kiss to the top of her head, he took the weight off of the handles of her chair and set his hooves back on the ground. She was busy cooking, and he was sure that she didn’t want him wheeling her into the counter on accident.
Heading over to the living room again, Rusty set to slipping the vest off of him, a discomforted look creasing his aged facial features as he removed the garment. The fibers of the vest caught on the exposed rough scar tissue on his back where his wings used to be. Even after so long, he swore he’d replace the vest for one that didn’t get caught so often, but he didn’t have the heart to throw it away after all he had done in it.
He set the old, stained vest down on the back of the couch along with the attached leg holster, then reached up and undid the oily bandanna he wore, setting it down on the vest that had gotten him through so many days of salvaging.
His hoof briefly lingered at the jagged scar across his throat, his smile briefly left his muzzle as he was reminded sourly as to why he wore the bandanna in the first place.
The feeling of her hoof on his side broke him from his thoughts, and his smile returned as his gaze moved to meet the lavender pools of her soul. Her chair squeaked slightly as she strained to move forward and give him a hug, one that he happily returned. He took the time to memorize everything about the moment with her, the same way he took a moment to memorize every moment with her.
From the faint feeling of dirt in the heel of her hoof from her garden, to the gentle touch of her wings when his hooves encircled her, to the way that her mane smelled of cloud residue and moisture, and to the way that her breath tickled the short fur on his neck.
There would be no time for sadness – he had a wonderful dinner he needed to eat, and a wonderful wife to keep his head straight. She’d want to hear about his day, and even though nothing ever changed in his world, he was grateful for what he had, and he was blessed to be able to live with someone who was able to keep such an honest smile on his face, even when she wasn’t around.
In the end, it wasn’t the job or the house or the friends that kept the smile on his face. It was her. Neither of them needed words to stay happy, they just needed to be with each other. They both had their share of scars, but they both had each other. That was more than enough.
In the end, life was good.