The moon had been waning and had become quite thin. What little light it produced was partially hidden by a number of high, translucent clouds that swam quickly through the sky over Ponyville, moving silently in the high wind toward some unseen and unknown goal. At this hour, most if not all ponies were asleep in their warm beds, surrounded by their loved ones and protected from the hostile darkness that lurked outside.
It was from this darkness that a figure emerged, standing on the far edge of the Everfree Forest. He paused for a moment, his eyes roving as he took account of the land before him. Then, in total silence, he pushed forward into the fields of tall grass that bordered the town before him. A light breeze blew through the grass, causing it to undulate in the dim moonlight like a silver sea, hissing quietly and interrupted only by the flattened trail behind the figure who moved effortlessly through it.
The Everfree Forest was a dangerous place, and in recent times a set of spells had been assembled with the intention of keeping evil of various types out, or at least alerting the town when it tried to enter. This figure, though, did not pause or even hesitate. His body cut through the spells without slowing or without setting off even the slightest alarm.
In time, he passed into the town, finding it utterly deserted. No pony was on the streets, and no window was lit. Only the dim glow of the moon illuminated the street. It was barely enough for a pony to see, but because of this figure’s unique eyes it was as bright to him as day. He was, in fact, quite glad that he was alone.
Had another pony been walking through the street, perhaps awakened by some noise or a strange feeling of dread, they likely would not have seen him anyway. His coat was a deep jet black, save for the streaks of crimson that ran through it at various points. He stayed toward the shadows where he felt at home, but a pony might still have caught his strange silhouette: that of a pony, yes, but adorned with a pair of leathery, bat-like wings. Perhaps they might even have seen his horns: one a bony spiral emerging from his forehead, and the other a pair of demonic bovinisque projections from beneath his black and red mane.
This strange pony continued to move through the town for a moment longer, before pausing in an open area that seemed to serve as a rustic plaza. He lingered for a moment, examining a large statue of some unnamed earth-pony that seemed to stare blankly in all directions at once. The pony sniffed the air, trying to decide which direction he needed to proceed toward his goal.
That was when the world suddenly illuminated brighter than he had ever thought possible. His pupils immediately narrowed into vertical slits as a lightning bolt landed barely a few feet from him. The blast of light illuminated him plainly: a tiny red-and-black colt, not even ten years old.
He cried out immediately in pure terror and tried to run so hard that he fell over into the dirt.
“Please no give hurting!” he squealed, trying to flee from the lightning. Having been dazzled by the blast, though, he ran headlong into a wall before sprinting off down the street, crying in mortal fright.
The head of a weather-pony looked down from over one of the pair low-hanging thunderclouds, looking down with a very confused expression and just barely catching a glimpse of a red-tinged tail rounding a corner.
“Darn it, Flitter!” she said, turning to her sister on the neighboring cloud. “You almost hit a kid! Again!”
“So?” said Flitter, defensively. “Getting struck by lightning builds character!”
“Seriously? It’s Celestia-darned lightning! I’m pretty sure that’s bad for kids!”
“No it isn’t! Scootaloo survived it! Twice!” Flitter paused. “Although…that might explain why she can’t fly…hmm…I probably shouldn’t tell Rainbow Dash about that one…”
Cloudchaser put her hoof over her head. “Just please, PLEASE try not to electrocute children! If you do, working the night-shift will be the LEAST of our problems! There’ll be…” Cloudchaser shuddered. “…paperwork.”
A light suddenly ignited in one of the nearby houses and the shutters flew open. A rather sleepy looking eggshell-colored earth-pony stuck her head out of the window.
“What in the name of Luna’s moony BUTT is going on out here?” She looked up bleary-eyed at Flitter and Cloudchaser. “Are those stormclouds?! Are you seriously doing lightning field testes at NIGHT? I’m trying to sleep!”
“It builds character!” shouted Flitter.
From inside the building, Lyra suddenly appeared, standing next to Bon Bon and looking so dazed that she was nearly derping. “Bon Bon?” She muttered. “Is my hat…the elephant is in the spice-rack again…I can’t find my carpet…”
“Great!” cried Bon Bon. “You woke up Lyra! Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take me to get her to go back to sleep?”
“It’s not our problem if you can’t tolerate the sound of night lightning!” retorted Cloudchaser. She paused for a moment. “Nightning!” She looked to Flitter, and Flitter shook her head, indicating that ‘nightning’ was not a word.
The arguing continued, growing more intense as time went on and as Lyra repeatedly attempted to “buy more fencposts” by stepping out onto Bon Bon’s roof. By this time, though, the little red-and-black colt had run a substantial distance. Still terrified, he careened into an alleyway, knocking over several trashcans as he went before he eventually tripped and fell into the mud.
He looked behind him, panicked, wondering if they had followed him with their terrifying lightning. He hated the lightning. It usually hurt quite intensely. He had been lucky that their first bolt had missed.
Still frightened, he crawled into one of the overturned garbage cans. It smelled terrible, but not much worse than he did after spending many nights this way before he had been forced to cross the Everfree Forest in search of his destination. He had grown accustomed to sleeping in garbage, and had come to realize his kindship to it.
Shaking, he nestled himself amongst rotten fruit rinds and old coffee filters in the back of the can and curled up, crying himself to sleep.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I- -I didn’t mean to be a bad pony!”
This was the last thing he said before he drifted off into restless trash-sleep.
Chapter 2: He is Immediately Beloved by All Who Meet Him
The sun came up eventually, and the colt awoke when his temporary trashcan home began to heat up in the morning sunlight. For a moment as he sat amongst the white plastic bags, he actually felt good. Then he remembered where and more importantly who he was, and that feeling evaporated quickly.
Sunlight was not at all comfortable for him. Several elements of his biology made that abundantly clear. One was his mostly black coat. He was not a pleasant pastel like a normal pony, but instead a color that was both visually hideous and entirely impractical. His body got hot much faster than that of a normal pony, and even a moderately warm early summer day was sweltering. This was only compounded by his eyes: in bright light, they narrowed into very tight slits. The effect was that he became nearly blind and had a tendency to trip over things.
Far worse than both of those problems, though, was that in the light other ponies could see him. Even partially blind, he was able to feel them glaring at him. In some very rare cases, it was from outright surprise at seeing a pony like him, but most of the time he could tell that they looked upon him with blatant disgust. Ponies would invariably cross to the other side of the street when he passed, or duck into their houses, or even hide children that were older than he was as though he would attempt to eat them.
The colt did not eat children, of course. He ate grass, like every other pony. At one point, his hunger got so intense that he stopped to try to eat some. Doing so was a nearly impossible task, though: unlike a normal pony, he had a number of small and very sharp teeth that made herbivory almost impossible.
His attempt was futile, and ended abruptly when a landscaper pony chased him away from the grass with a broom. He ran quickly, screaming heartfelt apologies as he went.
Eventually, though, the colt knew that he had to start on his mission. As much as he wished it could, he understood that it would not accomplish itself. That was simply not the way the world worked.
To do this, he eventually settled on a house, mostly at random. Specifically, he chose one that seemed like children lived there. That in itself was a risk, but he hoped that they would be somewhat understanding.
He paused at the door and tapped on it with one of his black hooves. There was a momentary delay, and then the door opened. A smiling mare looked out the door, expecting to happily greet a guest. Then she looked down, and her expression fell.
“What do you want?” she said, coldly.
“I’m sorry to being bothering you,” said the colt. “But I was wondering if you have the directions to the Ponyville orphanage? I’m trying to get there to fill out application, but I am lost.”
“Oh. Hold on a second.”
She departed for a moment, and the colt momentarily felt helpful. It was clear that this mare did not like him, but she was at least going to be able to help him find his way to what he desperately hoped might become his new home.
Then he was suddenly covered in a deluge of mostly liquid garbage. The force of it was so powerful that he was knocked down off the front stoop and onto his back.
“Ack!” he cried. “It got in my mouth!”
He looked up to see the mare standing with a now empty trash pale with a little purplish filly standing at her side. “You get out of here!” she demanded. “Go! Leave! And if I EVER see you near my house again, I’ll throw the PAIL at you too! And then call the town guard!”
“Mommy, we don’t have a town guard,” said the filly.
“Well then I’ll call the Canterlot guard! Or mustard one!”
“Muster, you mean,” corrected the colt.
“Don’t you correct ME!” shrieked the mare, forgetting her promise and throwing the pail at him. It was metal and bounced off his forehead painfully. He tried to get up to make his escape, but doing so was not easy; he had landed on his wings, and they did not articulate well. Getting up from that position was really hard without help. Neither the mare nor the filly offered, of course, but the former did offer some choice insults before eventually stepping down the stairs and kicking the colt with enough force to right him.
By this time, a crowd had gathered around the house, drawn in by the commotion. As the colt walked away in shame, he dodged several pieces of rotten fruit- -and failed to dodge several more- -as the bigger ponies glared at him. He found himself wondering if ponies saved up their rotten fruit in advance of his visits to populated locales.
“Get out of here, Mary Sue!” jeered one member of the crowd.
“Yeah!” said another. “We don’t want your kind here!”
As the hail of decaying produce increased along with the barrage of angry words, the colt was struck in the head with an only partially rotten potato and forced to run away from the crowd, the whole w while desperately hoping that none of them had artichokes.
He retreated to the periphery of the town, where he felt slightly more secure. There were no ponies out at that distance, and even though the heat of the sun had made him both extremely sweaty and dehydrated, he was grateful that no one was around to see him.
As he walked along the dirt road, he paused to wonder where the orphanage might actually be. Ponyville was surprisingly large, especially to a little colt, and he was not even sure what kind of building he was looking for, although he imagined that it would be made of brick and perched on some kind of bleak hill.
Looking around was fruitless, though, except as the colt suddenly realized that the trees on the far side of the fence he was walking along were, in fact, laden with fruit. He looked up in utter astonishment at the multitudes of large, red apples hanging from the branches. Never before had he seen so much fruit in one place, and his stomach immediately rumbled as he remembered that he had not eaten in several days.
Unable to help himself and driven by his hunger, the colt approached the fence. At first he tried to squeeze through the slats, but even with his diminutive size he got stuck between them for nearly a half hour. After that point, he decided to climb over, a terrifying prospect considering how poor of a grip he had on the wood with his hooves and how large the fence was compared to his own height.
When he finally reached the top, he immediately slipped and fell off onto the far side, landing in a mud puddle. At least, he hoped it was mud. In his experience, wet things he landed in tended not to be.
After righting himself, the colt looked up the trees and contributed to the moisture below him by salivating heavily. Unfortunately, the apples were impossibly high and out of his reach. Despite having a pair of large, leathery wings, he was completely unable to fly.
The apples in the tree were of course out of reach, but after some searching, the colt managed to find a few rotten ones that had fallen down into the mud below. They were not the same quality as the complete ones in the trees, but he did not mind. He had come to think of the red apples more as an ideal than actual foodstuffs; after all, he did not anticipate that he would ever be allowed to have one.
So he reached down and bit into one of the rotten apples. It almost immediately squirted a fetid, fermenting liquid into his mouth, but he was at least able to chew it. The apple tasted bad, but still marginally better than the often inedible bits of trash he usually consumed.
Almost as soon as he bit the apple, though, a voice cried out behind him, starling him so much that he nearly jumped to within reach of the real apples.
“What’r yeh doing with that there apple?!”
The colt- -after landing- -turned around to find himself facing an earth-pony who looked as angry as she was old. And she indeed looked old, to the point where she very well might have witnessed the formation of the first dirt in these very fields.
“Eating…it?” said the colt, the apple falling out of his mouth.
The ancient green mare leaned forward, tilting her head as she glared at the colt. He shrunk away, not understanding what was happening.
“What the hay is wrong with yer eyes?”
The colt squeaked, suddenly realizing what she was referring to. Despite her obvious farsightedness, she had noticed his heterochromia. The colt immediately covered his red-irised eye, trying to hide it, but only before deciding that it was a better idea to hide his blue-irised eye, as that was the more jarring one. He switched between the two several times until he eventually settled on covering them both.
“Nothing!” he lied.
“Nothing? Do I look like I was born yesterday? Don’t answer that! You whippersnappers and yer fancy colors! Just look at yeh! Back in my day, we didn’t even had color! It hadn’t even been invented yet! Everything was in shades of gray, unless you were rich, then you might be able to afford a sepia tone! But we didn’t have no sepia tones ‘round here ‘cept on special occasions, and when we did we were DERN grateful!” She began to trail off, realizing that she had forgotten what she had been talking about and quite possible where she even was. “Er…what was I sayin’ again?”
“The yelling. You had the yelling.”
“Yer darn-tootin! I come out here trying’ a find that one apple-ent that done stole my false teef, and what do I find? An APPLE-THEIF! Theifin’ my apples right there in front of me! Hooligans I say! You’re hooligans!”
“But I’m so hungry- -”
“So what? Back in my day, we had to share a single apple seed among sixteen brothers and sisters, and that had to last us for a week! Because we were poor! Because everyone in old-timey stories is dirt poor! So poor we eat dirt! But not rocks. We weren’t THAT poor.”
“So…I can eat the dirt, then? It is looking so fertile- -”
“NO! It’s MY dirt and yeh can’t have none! And yeh can’t have no apples either, not without payin’ no money!”
“But I lack money!” the colt pointed at the apple he had managed to get at least one bite out of. “Can I at least have the worms?”
“No worms! Them is my worms! What are you, some sort of COMMUNIST?” The mare’s eyes widened with realization. “That’s it! You’re a RED, ain’t yeh?”
“What? No! It’s a color deformity! I don’t mean to be so ugly!”
“Well you know what we do to apple-thiefin commies round these parts?” She reached behind her and drew a flyswatter. The colt gasped in fright.
“No! Not that! Anything but that! Not the beatings!”
“Quite you’re gripin and take it like a stallion!” cried the mare through the flyswatter handle in her mouth. She then promptly began slapping the colt repeatedly with the tool. He squealed, not in pain so much as in fear. “Hold still! I’m a-gonna swat you so hard you’ll wish you were an apple! DERN you Mary-Soos, you’re worse than parasprites!”
“Noooo! No beatings!”
The colt ran away as best as he could before hopping the fence and promptly falling into a mud puddle on the far side. The mare seemed too decrepit to follow him, but rather poked the flyswatter through the slats, trying to reach him. Now crying and terrified, the colt ran away into the fields on the far side of the road.
“You get back here!” shouted the mare. “I’ll swat the OP right out of you!”
“Granny Smith, what are you doing?”
Granny Smith turned around to see Applejack and Applebloom standing behind her. Granny Smith pointed at the road. “The trees stoled my false teeth, but then a Mary-Soo done came and tried to steal mah worms and sepia tones! So I swatted him a good one before he could take any dirt!”
Applejack sighed. “Not again…” She put her hoof around Granny Smith. “Come on, Granny Smith. Let’s get you back on your rocking chair.”
“Yeah,” said Applebloom. “Because you’re clearly off it.”
The colt ran until he eventually collapsed in a hilly meadow far away from the orchards. He was out of breath and extremely tired, and his flank hurt from the brutal swatting he had received. Fortunately, due to his overall black color, the bruises would not show well when they finally developed.
He sat in the tall grass for a long while, hiding and trying to be still. The old mare likely could not catch him, but there was a chance that she might summon an entire platoon of hillbillies to hunt him down and take turns beating him with mostly harmless household implements. As ridiculous as it sounded, that had happened to him before. Twice. In his opinion, the flyswatter was the worst to get hit with, second only to the type of toothed spoon used to scoop spaghetti.
As he sat, though, he suddenly realized that he was not alone. His eyes scanned the grass and suddenly met a pair of eyes staring back at him. At first, he only saw the pupils and nearly panicked when he saw that they, like his, were vertical slits. He quickly realized, though, that the irises that surrounded them were not blue and red but instead yellow.
“Kitty!” he cried, rushing forward.
The large brown cat seemed to immediately accept that it had been found out, and just sat there and allowed the colt to hug it. It was a comparatively large cat, and it was almost the same size as the colt.
“So soft!” he said, squeezing it and giggling. His day, it seemed, had not turned out entirely bad. “Huggies make everything better!”
This joyous state did not last long, as the air was suddenly rent by a hideous shriek. The colt released the cat, at first wondering if he had squeezed to hard. The cat seemed fine, though, and had not minded his embrace at all. It was at that point that the repeated hoofblows came down, knocking the colt over.
“You stay away from that adorable kitty, you hideous beast!” cried an oddly soft voice that seemed more terrified than angry. “Go away! GO AWAY!”
The colt, now equally terrified as the owner of the voice, tried to look up to see who was stomping on him. He could not get a good look, though, aside from a flashes of pastel yellow and pink and the sight of flustered wings.
“No! Stop! Please!”
“I won’t allow you to hurt any animals!”
The relentless stomping continued. It did not actually hurt, of course; whoever was administering the beating was not physically very strong, and the repeated blows of her front hooves was roughly the equivalent of being caressed with fresh marshmallows. It was quite starling, though.
“No, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I just wanted to hug the kitty!”
“You don’t DESERVE to hug a kitty! Demon! MONSTER!”
Now hurt both physically and emotionally, the colt burst into tears and once again found himself fleeing yet another instance of blatant abuse. As he fled, though, he understood why he deserved it. He was, after all, a Mary Sue.
The day had gone badly. Most days did, but not all. Usually just the ones that required the colt to enter any town where there were ponies who were not completely blind- -and that, of course, was a situation that he had not yet discovered. With his luck, though, they would have smelled the OP wafting off his tiny black-and-red form and ejected him heartily from their company.
It was about four in the afternoon, and the sky had become gray. Cold drizzle was dripping down from the clouds above, and the colt had been forced to take shelter in a small shrub. It was a nice shrub, at least as shrubs went. There were no thorns, but the leaves tended to concentrate the rain into big drops that would occasionally slide off and then down the colt’s back, causing him to shiver and quake even harder than he already was doing from the sudden cold.
He had wanted to return to the alley that he had started at, but that had proven impossible. A local drunk had claimed it, and the colt was too afraid to confront her and ask her to share a spare trashcan. This had left him with little recourse except to retire to a bush.
Despite the cold and wet, the colt resolved that this was where he would have to spend the night. He had become very tired and hungry, and did not have the energy to retreat back to the dangerous swamps of the forest that he had passed through previously. At least in the shrubbery, no pony could see him.
Or so he thought. As he sat, shivering, a set of large flat teeth suddenly bit into the shrub just inches from his face.
“EEEK!” he screamed, retreating to the far side of the bush. “Don’t eat me! I taste BAD! Not food, am too young to be snack!!”
“Huh- -what in the name of Celestia’s false teeth- -” A hoof separated the hedge and a pair of angry eyes stared in. “What- -what the heck are you doing in there? Get out!”
The colt did not want to, but the shrub gave him no choice: he had placed all of his weight on a small branch, and it gave way, causing him to tumble outward and into the wet ground.
“Why is everything here WET?” he cried in desperation.
“It’s because this darn town hates ponies with rheumatism,” grumbled the other pony. The colt looked up at him but almost instantly realized that he was not a pony at all. He looked much like one, save for the fact that he was brown instead of colorful and that his ears were far longer and hung down the sides of his head. The clearest identifying mark- -or lack of one- -was that he possessed no cutie mark, despite his rather advanced age. It was clear to the colt that he had come face-to-face with a donkey.
“What in the wide world of Equestria were you doing in there?” demanded the donkey, angrily. “You’re contaminating my lunch!”
The colt looked at the bush. “I…I don’t think you’re supposed to eat those…”
The donkey harrumphed. “Well, they wouldn’t have planted it if I wasn’t allowed to eat it, would they?” He took another bite of the plant. “I have to get my fiber every hour, on the hour,” he said through a mouthful of leaves. “And how am I supposed to do that when hooligans are hiding in there?
“I don’t…I don’t know…”
The donkey adjusted his hat. “Exactly. You don’t know. None of you kids these days know anything. Especially you ponies. Always running around doing weird stuff. Can’t anyone just sit and be quiet anymore?” He shook his hoof at a nearby hedge. “Not trying to get me a gosh-darn cutie mark! I’m a donkey, I don’t need one!”
Strangely, the shrub seemed to quiver in response, or perhaps in fear of being devoured like its unfortunate comrade. The colt was highly confused.
“You…you think I’m a pony?”
“Well you’re not a donkey. I don’t know, maybe a zebra? Heck if I know. Heck if I CARE.” He looked at the shrub. “What were you even doing in there? Apart from being some sort of deviant.”
“I was going to sleep there.”
“Sleep in a tree? Like some kind of fruit? Do you think you’re a blueberry, kid? Because you’re not.”
“I…know?” The colt was extremely confused. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go!” He looked at the shrub, and saw that its canopy had been eaten. It was no longer good at all against the rain. “But I guess it’s okay. It is you’re shrubbery, after all- -”
“Luna darn your socks, you’re a total pushover, aren’t you?”
“Pushover?”
“What are you now, some kind of parrot? I know what I just said. I said it. I’m not deaf and I’m not so old that I forget things. I’m also not deaf. Quit being a pushover, though. Nopony likes a pushover. You have to have conviction.”
“Then…give me back my bush?”
“No.”
“Oh…okay.”
The donkey muttered something under his breath, but seemed to ignore the colt as he quickly defoliated the shrub, leaving nothing but its skeletal remains and a few small shoots. The colt felt very sorry for it, but was in a way glad that he had not been defoliated along with it.
When he was done, the donkey once again adjusted his cap and then hitched himself to the car that he had been pulling, and started to walk away.
“Have- -have a nice day!” said the colt, climbing into what was left of the bush. He had become soaked, now, and was starting to shiver uncontrollably.
The donkey passed several more steps, and then stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”
“Coming?” said the colt. “Coming where?”
“I can’t leave a little kid out here in the rain,” grumbled the donkey. “I’d feel terrible, and I already sleep bad because of my bad back and my acid reflux. All that darn sugar in this town…”
“But- -but you’re angry at me!”
“I’m angry at everypony. You’re not special, kid. Don’t get entitled on me.”
“But you don’t think I’m ugly?”
“I didn’t say that. But I’ve seen worse. Trust me. I have a sister named Kankles Donkey, and her name is about as accurate as mine.”
“Yours?”
“Cranky. My name is Cranky Donkey. Now stop talking, your weird squeakly voice and terrible colors are giving me a headache. Seriously, do all you ponies need to look like someone got keelhauled in a paint vat? I’m surprised I haven’t gone colorblind yet.”
“You’re name is accurate, is not it?”
“You’re darn tootin, kid. You’re gosh darn tootin.”
The colt was led to a house in the woods. Not especially quickly, though; Mr. Donkey, it seemed, did not have the capacity to move quickly. Mostly, it seemed like he just meandered slowly, complaining angrily under his breath and largely ignoring the colt walking beside the wheels of his empty cart.
This was not especially problematic for the colt. He did not have much to say, nor was he able to move especially quickly on account of his crippling hunger.
Upon reaching the house, Mr. Donkey parked the cart in its designated area and enlisted the help of the colt to secure it so that, as Mr. Donkey stated, “none of them darn kids will take my cart again and go joy-pulling all over the darn town”. The colt was not sure what “joy-pulling” was, but he had a pretty good idea what the donkey meant.
When he was brought inside, the colt was quite surprised to find that the air was warm and comfortable, even though the sun had started to set. He was equally surprised to find that the house did not smell like old ponies, has he had been expecting. It instead smelled like a combination of old wood and baked goods.
Upon entering the house, Mr. Donkey took off his protective hat to reveal that he had amazing hair.
“Oh wow!” said the colt. “Your hair!”
“What about my hair?” said the donkey, defensively.
“You have mane like Dave Mustang!”
As a donkey who clearly had an extensive knowledge of hair and the ponies who possessed it, Cranky actually smiled slight. “Why yes,” he said. “Yes I do.” He then called to the rear of the house: “Matilda, I’m home!”
A female voice called back. “Did you have fun fishing with Hondo, dear?”
“If by ‘fun’ you mean listening to him drone on and on about his daughters for three hours.” Cranky paused. “But we did get to talk about the game a little, I guess.” He began walking down a narrow side-hall past the frontroom to the back, where the female voice was coming from. He did not seem to care at all where the colt went, and ignored him completely. The colt, though, followed him closely.
“I also got the cart fixed.”
“And how did that go.”
“Terrible. Just terrible. Trixie was there. She spent two hours arguing that her cart ‘didn’t need wheels’. It isn’t a cart if it doesn’t have wheels! That’s just a…some sort of wheeless cart! And then some moron wanted to buy a tachanka. Turns out he didn’t even know what that was!”
“The homeworld of the krogan?” suggested the colt.
Mr. Donkey ignored him and stepped into the kitchen. The colt was immediately greeted by the smell of something edible or at the very least marginally so. A female donkey with upright ears and a white collar around her neck turned around from what she was doing and smiled. The colt had never seen a smile so happy and true, and was surprised to see that it was not the only one present in the room: Mr. Donkey was smiling as well. Not a small smirk or vague recognition of something hurtfully amusing, but an actual, genuine smile.
Then the female donkey’s eyes shifted toward the colt, and her smile faded.
“Oh my,” she said. She seemed to resist taking a step back, but instead kept her composure remarkably well. “Cranky, who is this?”
“I found him hiding in a bush.” He tapped the colt sharply on the back of the head.
“Ow! Please no hitting!”
“He’s also apparently an idiot. I mean, come on, kid, do you just go home with the first old guy who asks you? What if I hadn’t been on the level? For all you knew, I could have been trying to do something terrible to you.”
“Like…like what?”
“I don’t know,” said Cranky as he gruffly sat down at the kitchen table. “Bake you into cupcakes or something, that’s what ponies do, isn’t it?” He muttered something else as he picked up a newspaper and started reading. The colt saw the front article, as it was facing him: “Shrubbery saboteur strikes again! Locals powerless to protect plants due to lack of city guard! Militia to be mustard!” The editor, apparently, was not very good.
“I don’t- -I don’t want to be backed into cupcakes,” said the colt, his voice raising several octaves. “Please do not make pastries of me!”
“That’s an urban legend,” said the female donkey. The colt’s fear immediately subsided; her voice was the first he had heard in a long time that was actually calming instead of screaming insults at him. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“You’re…you’re not?”
“No! What would give you that idea, anyway?” The colt did not respond. “Well,” said the female donkey, looking concerned. “My name is Matilda, and you’ve already met my husband, Cranky. And your name is…” She looked to her husband, as if expecting him to give an introduction.
“Didn’t ask,” grumbled Cranky from behind his paper. “Didn’t have cause to.”
“Oh.” Matilda turned to the colt. “Well, then, what exactly is your name?”
The colt opened his mouth, but then immediately closed it and shook his head.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“The kid probably doesn’t have one,” said Cranky. “I mean, he was living in a bush.”
“I do have a name,” protested the colt. “It’s just…not a good one.”
“It can’t be that bad,” said Matilda. “And I’ve heard some pretty bad names in my day. Pony naming conventions are…unusual.”
“Unusually bad,” commented Cranky.
“Well,” said the colt, considering for a moment. “It’s…” he muttered something inaudible.
Cranky looked over his paper. “Don’t try to pull a Fluttershy, kid. It’s not cute when she does it, and it sure isn’t cute when you try to.”
“Shadow Bloodfang,” repeated the colt, this time louder.
The room fell silent. Even the crackling of the fire in the oven seemed to stop, as though the appliance itself was preparing to ridicule him.
“Shadow…Bloodfang?” Matilda smiled. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Shadow.”
“Pplease, I don’t mean to be making an imposition, but if you could, and you don’t mind…can you use the abbreviation S.B.? I don’t like my real name. I think my parents may have hated me.”
“You aren’t the only one,” said Cranky, gruffly. “There was a filly in town named ‘Spoiled Milk’. Got married to ‘Filthy Rich’.”
“I knew his grandfather,” laughed Matilda. “His name was ‘Stinkin’.” She covered her mouth with a hoof as she giggled. “And their parents certainly didn’t hate them.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with Spoiled? Sweet Moonbutt, I wanted to shove an apple in her mouth to make her STOP. I probably would have, except for how much it’d have made her look like a pig.”
“She doesn’t look like a pig,” said Matilda. She paused, and her muzzle scrunched. “Well…maybe just a little bit.” She looked down at the colt who was standing in front of her, in awe that she was actually having a conversation in front of him that did not involve what seasonings to use to cook him or how he was ugly and unwelcome. “But now that you bring it up, where exactly are your parents?”
S.B. shook his head again. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Oh my,” said Matilda, gasping as she realized what he meant. “I’m so sorry.”
“I came to Ponyville because I heard it has an orphanage, and was wanting to apply for a space. Even though I don’t think they’d want me…”
“Orphanage?” Matilda looked to Cranky and then back to S.B. “Well…there used to be an orphanage. But it burnt down almost twenty years ago.”
“Oh no!” cried S.B., suddenly very distressed. “Those poor orphans!”
Matilda blinked. “No no no,” she said. “The orphans were fine. They got out.”
“Of course they got out,” muttered Cranky. “What do you think this is, a Candlemass song?”
“Yes,” said Matilda. “All those fire drills paid off.” She paused. “I heard they got transferred to Cloudsdale…at least until all those earth fillies fell through the clouds.”
“They fell?”
“Well, Cloudsdale was over the ocean at the time, so they were fine. But all those children would be adults now. But I’m afraid they never rebuilt the orphanage.”
“So…there isn’t one?” S.B.’s heart immediately fell. “Oh,” he said, turning back toward the door. “Well then, I guess I’ll just go to the next town over. Maybe this Cloudsdale still has orphanage. I will go there next.”
Matilda looked through the kitchen window. The sun had now completely set. “But it’s night! You can’t go out there all alone!”
“I can’t?”
“No! Children shouldn’t be out at night like that! You could trip over something, or get lost- -”
“Or eaten by one of the various monsters that live just outside of town.”
Matilda glared at Cranky, but S.B. was confused. “But without the orphanage, I have nowhere to go. That means I should stay outside.”
“Is that what you usually do?”
“No. Usually I sleep in trashcans or ditches.”
Matilda appeared greatly surprised by this. “Well, you’re not sleeping in a trash can tonight!”
“But I don’t want to sleep in the fields! I wake up covered in dew, and one time a team of breezies tried to carry me off…I only barely got away!”
“From breezies?” said Cranky. “Yeah, that’s not something you want to admit.”
“You can stay here tonight,” said Matilda. “We do have a spare room, and we hardly ever get guests. Well, guest’s that aren’t Cranky’s sister.”
“And she has to sleep on the ground floor. The joists just weren’t built for that strain.”
S.B. stared up at Matilda wide-eyed and gasped so audibly that the room fell silent again, save of course for the sound of warm air entering his tiny lung. “Really?” he said. “You- -you would do that?”
“We’re not going to send you out at night all alone!”
“Why not?”
“W…why?” Matilda looked confused again, but also strangely concerned. “Why would you ask that?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You’re dirty and wet. Do you want to go get clean before dinner?”
“Dinner?” S.B.’s eyes immediately lit up. He looked down at his coat; one fortunate aspect of being mostly black in color was that stains did not show up well. His red accents, though, had gotten darkened to the point of being almost maroon. To his horror and great embarrassment, he realized that he must have smelled terrible. Still, he ignored his shame and smiled. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Donkey! I’ll be right back!”
He started to walk toward the door, but Matilda stopped him.
“That’s not the right way,” she said.
“But I saw the hose on the side of house when I came in. I assume that is what you meant? That I shall be sprayed down with cold water?”
“De-lousing powder is in the garage,” said Cranky.
“I get de-loused too? I am indeed greatly indebted to you both.”
“The hose- -no, that’s not what I meant. I mean, if that’s what you prefer, I suppose you can, but wouldn’t you rather use the washroom?”
“Washroom?”
“Yes. It’s upstairs. We have hot water.”
S.B.’s eyes got so wide and his gasping so deep and long that within two minutes of learning that he would be allowed to take a bath with actual, real hot water, that he passed out on the floor.
For the next half hour or so, Matilda largely forgot about their strange guest. Her and Cranky were not nearly as old as everypony in town seemed to think, but they were still well past middle aged, and had become somewhat set in their respective routines. This was only further amplified by the fact that they were both donkeys, and members of their race were known for stubbornness and rigidness of routine.
So, she went about finishing preparing dinner as well as checking the central woodstove to ensure that there was enough heat. Although summer was quickly approaching and the days could be quite warm, the nights would often be rather chilly, especially in the somewhat distant region of the forest where the Donkey’s lived. Their home was quiet and peaceful, but it was built on the very edge of Pegasus weather control.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Cranky still reading his paper. The table, however, had been set while she was away, including a space for S.B. Matilda smiled
“So,” she said, checking a set of high-fiber rolls in the oven, “what did Hondo have to say about his daughters?”
“A lot,” said Cranky. At first that was all he seemed to be about to say, but he did eventually continue. “You know how he is. Rarity trying to open a fourth branch in Cloudsdale, and the other one getting her cutie mark.”
“Sweetie Belle. Her name is Sweetie Belle.”
Cranky lowered his paper. “All these pony names. Why do they make them so hard to remember? What happened to naming people ‘Bob’ or ‘Marc’ or, you know, normal names?”
“She’s the little white unicorn with the bicolor mane. She hangs out with Applebloom and Scootaloo.”
“Scootaloo. That’s the perfect example! Who the heck names a kid ‘Scootaloo’? That’s not even a word. And Applebloom…” He paused, considering. “Is that the red one, or the orange one?”
“She’s pale yellow. Applewood’s youngest daughter.”
Cranky paused again, but this time appeared more distressed. He had not spent a lifetime in Ponyville like his wife had, and he had never known Applewood or Sea Apple in person, but he knew what had become of them.
“Yeah,” he said, picking his paper back up and flipping to the conservative politics section, like he always did when he became slightly more distressed than normal. It always made him feel better. “Hmm,” he said. “Donald Rump’s doing pretty well in the polls. I wonder if he can pull it off this time. It’d be nice to have one of our kind leading parliament again.”
“It doesn’t matter. We do live in an eternal autocracy, after all.” Matilda smiled. “Of course, if you grew a horn and a pair of wings, I’m sure Celestia and Luna would let you into the oligarchy. They might even give you a castle.”
“I don’t want any horns or wings. I don’t even know how Hondo keeps his head up with that thing. And wings? I hate flying. It makes me airsick. And the dander…no. I was put into Equestria a donkey, and I’ll leave as a donkey!”
Matilda leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I know, honey. And that’s the way I love you.”
“Well, I’d love you even if you did have wings. Or a horn. Heck, even if you were one of those thestral things. Although I wouldn’t sleep upside down. No way I could with my arthritis.” He looked back at his paper. “Not even sure how I would get the bed up there…”
Matilda returned to the oven, but stopped in front of it and momentarily looked up at the ceiling as though she could see through it. “That does bring up the question, though. What exactly is he?”
“No idea,” said Cranky.
Matilda looked at him. She knew him well enough to know when he was lying, and she knew that he was now. He knew something. She also knew, though, not to push him. If it was important, he would tell in time. Trying to force it out of him was lying trying to force him to do anything, or like him trying to force her to do anything. They were donkeys, and it was simply not their way.
“Well, whatever he is, he’s probably going to need towels,” said Matilda, realizing that washroom currently contained only a very small one.
“I’ll get some,” said Cranky, standing up slowly.
“You don’t know where they are. And besides, you know how bad the stares are on your knees.” Or, more accurately, she knew how long he would complain about his knees if he were to climb the stairs for a reason that he thought was only marginally necessary. “Just make sure the rolls don’t burn.”
“There in an oven! With fire! How in Equestria am I supposed to do that?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Matilda went to one of the ground floor linen closets and acquired a small pile of towels, and then proceeded upstairs. Despite being almost the same age as her husband, Matilda tended to be much more spry and agile. She had not lived as hard of a life as Cranky, and her surprisingly youthful appearance contrasted- -in her opinion pleasantly- -with his wizened one.
Upon reaching the door to the washroom, Matilda knocked on the door. S.B. had apparently not closed it completely, and it swung open easily.
S.B. was standing in the center of the floor, apparently trying to dry himself with a towel that looked tiny even in his already diminutive hooves. He and Matilda froze and stared at each other for a moment, and then S.B. released a sound that could be at best described as a loud squeak before he plunged back into the bathwater and vanished beneath the surface.
“I’m sorry!” said Matilda, averting her eyes. “I came to bring towels, and I didn’t- -”
She broke off suddenly, not being sure exactly what to say. If anything, she had been somewhat surprised by S.B.’s appearance. Now that he was clean, his appearance was even more striking: where before he had been dark gray and reddish, he was now jet black with bright red stripes and accents on some parts of his body. With his hair wet, Matilda had also been able to see that he had two small and cow-like horns on either side of his main unicorn horn, something that she had not seen at first.
Most importantly, though, was that she had seen what was on his flank. She had been sure before that she had not seen a cutie mark- -it was something that she and many donkeys tended to look for- -but now she had quite clearly seen one. It was a circular, spiraling object colored white and brown. Matilda thought about it for a moment, and realized that it was a cinnamon bun.
“It’s okay,” said S.B., surfacing and looking at Matilda over the edge of the bathtub with his mismatched eyes, each with its pupil narrowed to a somewhat disturbing vertical slit in the light. After a moment, he pulled himself out of the bathtub. “I don’t normally wear clothes anyway. I was just a little surprised.”
“I was just as surprised, I think.” Matilda gave him a towel.
“Because of what I look like.” It was not a question, but an assertion. As if he already knew, or at least thought he knew.
“You do look…different.”
“I look hideous,” said the colt, drying himself. “You don’t need to hide it. I know. And I accept it.” He paused. “Or at least I try to.”
“You’re an alicorn,” noted Matilda.
“Not really.” S.B. stretched out one of his batlike wings. It quivered violently, as if even moving it slightly was almost impossibly difficult. “Alicorns are supposed to be pretty, and beautiful. I do not know what I am, except that they call me ‘Mary Sue’.”
“But you’re a colt. Right?”
S.B. looked up at her, seeming somewhat glad that she had not seen enough of him to confirm his gender. “Yes, I am. That’s just what they say.”
“But what does it mean?”
“I don’t know. I think it means I’m a bad pony, though.”
He dried himself a bit more, and then paused at his cutie mark. He looked up at Matilda. “You wouldn’t happen to have some spare charcoal, would you?”
“Charcoal? Why?”
“For this.” He pointed at his flank, and Matilda suddenly understood why she had not seen it on their first meeting.
“You want to cover it up, don’t you?” She looked at him. “But why? A cutie mark is supposed to be something that makes you special.”
“But you don’t have one.”
“Well, I’m a donkey. Donkey’s don’t get them.”
S.B. looked down at his flank again, and seemed almost as ashamed as he had been back in the kitchen. “It’s something my parents always told me to do,” he said.
When S.B. was dry, he went downstairs. He had not felt so clean in a long time, and his normally matted mane was now light and poofy to the point where he was able to completely concealed the demonic horns on either side of his skull and to hide all but the tip of his central horn.
The only problem, of course, was that the contrast between the black and red portions of his coat had increased immensely. This made him feel even more self-conscious about his ridiculous color scheme. He wished more than anything that he could just be a nice, ordinary color, and he felt terrible for subjecting Cranky and Matilda to his unpleasant appearance.
“I was only gone for five minutes,” he heard Matilda say. She sounded more amazed than angry. “How in the wide world of Equestria did you burn them that fast?”
“I don’t know! I just don’t know!” replied Cranky.
“And look, they’re raw in the middle…I don’t even know how that’s possible.”
“I told you I was a bad cook!” Cranky sounded quite distressed that he had ruined dinner.
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you married me, then, isn’t it?”
About this time, S.B. poked his head into the kitchen. He expected them to be fighting, or perhaps yelling by this time, but instead they were smiling and looked so happy. This confused him greatly, as he could not understand how that was possible.
Cranky noticed him almost immediately, despite facing the opposite direction. S.B. jumped slightly, surprised by Cranky’s uncanny perception.
“There you are,” he said. “What in Equestria took you so long? Probably using all our hot water! That stuff’s expensive, you know!”
S.B. gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought- -”
“Cranky,” said Matilda, disapprovingly. “It doesn’t cost any more than a few extra logs of wood on the fire. And we would have used them anyway. I think it’s going to frost tonight.” She looked at S.B. “Now aren’t you glad you’re not outside?”
“Yes. The frost, it hurts so much.”
“Well, that does explain the feeling in my knee,” said Cranky as he went to the table. “And my back. And my sinuses. And just about everything. It’s probably going to rain again tomorrow…unless it snows tonight.” He frowned deeply. “It had better not snow. If it snows at this time of the year, I’m going to march right into the Weather Department and give them a piece of my mind!”
“Snow is bad too,” said S.B. “It is scary to be waking up under a snow drift.”
“See? Finally somepony who understands! Snow isn’t pretty. It’s ANNOYING.”
Cranky continued to grumble a low rant about how much he detested snow, but Matilda ushered S.B. to his seat. S.B. took a few tries to climb onto the chair; it was large, and he was not familiar with the use of such things. When he finally stabilized himself on it, he was just barely tall enough to peer over the table.
As he stared across an actual table in amazement, a plate was placed in front of him. S.B. stared at its contents, finding it covered in a wet, greenish material that smelled very strongly of decay.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Sour silage,” said Cranky. “What were you expecting, a plate of candy?”
“We were supposed to have rolls too,” said Matilda. “But they got…well, they’re not so good for eating right now. This is what we were going to have for dinner otherwise.”
“It’s good for the digestion,” said Cranky, taking a bite of the stinking mash. “Trust me, if I had eaten like this when I was your age, I wouldn’t be having the problems I am now!”
“I know it’s not normally what children like to eat, but- -”
She was interrupted by the sound of S.B. putting his entire face into the plate and greedily devouring his portion of silage. It definitely tasted like what it was, which was acidic fermented grass, but to him it seemed to be the most heavenly thing imaginable. Even the texture was perfect: even with his defective dentition, S.B. was able to chew and swallow the substance easily.
When he was finished- -which took about a minute- -he looked up and, after a brief moment’s pause, burst into tears.
“Oh my,” said Matilda.
“That’s what’ll happen if you eat it too fast,” said Cranky. “I could have told you that.”
“No, it’s not the silage,” said S.B. “I’m just…I’m so happy…”
Chapter 5: And They Were All Terrified by His Power
Cranky’s prediction about the weather did come true. The night was far colder than it should have been, and when the sun finally did rise it was obscured by thick clouds. Even a small amount of snow fell, but it quickly gave way to rain before the clouds finally broke into partial sunniness.
This outcome was pleasing to Matilda. She tended to enjoy cool nights, both for the quality of sleep and because of how greatly she enjoyed snuggling closely to her beloved husband. The sunniness provided a further benefit because she had been intending to go into town, and if the sky was mildly overcast where her and Cranky’s house was it meant that the sky would no doubt be clear and warm in Ponyville proper.
Both she and Cranky had awoke early at the sunrise, even though it was not visible. Cranky immediately went to work checking his toupee collection to ensure that none of them had been replaced with skunks before going downstairs for coffee and dry white toast, the meal he had every morning.
Matilda, meanwhile, took a brief walk through her gardens and near the edge of the forest before returning into her home and preparing a list of the groceries that she was intending to buy later. By the time she had finished these tasks, the sun was already beginning to break through the clouds, and as Matilda affixed her white collar, an idea occurred to her.
She walked up the stairs to the small bedroom on the second floor and knocked.
“S.B.?” she asked. “Are you awake?”
When no answer came, she pushed open the door, finding that once again S.B. had not bothered to close it completely. Either that, or his luck with properly secured doors may have very well been equal to that of Twilight Sparkle herself.
When Matilda looked into the room, she was surprised to see that the bed was empty. Not only was it empty, but it had not been unmade. At first she wondered if S.B. had gotten up and left early without saying goodbye and remade the bed, but she quickly realized that it was exactly as she had left it. It had not even been slept in.
“S.B.?” she asked.
There was a small scuttling sound, and the colt suddenly lifted himself from the tiny space between the foot of the bed and the wall where he had apparently wedged himself. “Where am I?” he said, looking confused. In the somewhat dim light, his normally slit-like pupils were dilated to the point where they made his eyes seem massive, giving him a paradoxical combination of unsettlingness and adorableness.
“Between the wall and the bed, apparently,” said Matilda. “Did you spend the whole night there?”
“Well, no. I started over there.” He pointed to a slightly wider space between two dressers. “But it wasn’t tight enough, and I started to get scared. So I came over here.”
“And you didn’t sleep in the bed?”
The colt’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know I could!”
To Matilda, that was admittedly a strange response, but most things that ponies did seemed unusual to her. “Well, I was going to town. I was wondering if you wanted to come and help me with groceries?”
S.B. looked surprised and quickly turned to the window. “But the sun is coming up!”
“And are you going to melt if you get exposed to sunlight?”
“Well, no, but…” He sighed. “You’ll see…”
They did, in fact, see. The result of going into town with intense enough sunlight to be visible was exactly how S.B. had predicted. Ponies almost invariably reacted strongly to his presence. They usually just glared, or would cross to the other side of the street even when it was otherwise crowded. If children were present, their mothers pulled them away as though they would catch the Mary-Sueness from S.B.
To Matilda, though, this seemed almost inconceivably bizarre.
“I just don’t get it,” she said, once again sounding more amazed than especially angry, although there was a strong note of disappointment in her voice. “This isn’t like them at all! Usually everypony here is so welcoming to newcomers.”
“I told,” said S.B.
“Don’t be smug.” She paused, realizing that S.B. was not actually being smug; in fact, he looked terrified. He was quickly looking around at the street, seeming quite distressed, and contorting his body as though he were trying to hide inside himself despite walking in plain sight. It was an odd sight indeed.
“I shouldn’t be here,” said S.B., eyeing a narrow alleyway filled with trash.
“Nonsense. You’re fine.”
“But they don’t like me! I can see the way they look. I shouldn’t be here…” He looked up at her. “You understand, right? Why they hate me? Because if you do, please tell me, so I can change it.”
Matilda thought for a moment. “Well…it might be because you look different.”
“Really? Because I thought was bland characterization.” He paused. “But wait. Why do you not hate me, then?”
“Well,” said Matilda, “it might be because I can understand what it’s like a little better than a lot of them can.”
“But you’re so pretty! Not ugly like me.”
“You’re not ugly, just different. And I was different too.” She looked out at the crowds of angry ponies. “S.B., what do you notice about them?”
“The disapproving glares?”
“Aside from that. Look closer. They’re all ponies.”
“The town is called ‘Ponyville’.”
“Yes. It is. And I grew up here, even though I’m not a pony at all.”
“Is the difference really that great?”
“Yes, it is. I had a terrible time making friends, and a lot of ponies laughed and made fun of me. Actually, when I was your age, there was this one little colt. Chunky Milk. He would pull my hair every day, or steal my books, or pour ink on me…and he called me a blank-flank well into highschool.”
“But donkeys don’t have cutie marks.”
“I know. But they are very important in pony culture. Which is why I’m surprised you hide yours.”
S.B. looked back at his flank and the area where he had blacked out the mark with charcoal. “Because mom said I’m supposed to be special, and you can’t be special with a bad cutie mark.”
Matilda was about to ask what that meant, but was interrupted when S.B. was knocked almost entirely across the street by a sudden blow from a mushy, moldering cabbage.
“EEEEK!” he cried as the vegetable bowled him over.
“S.B.!” cried Matilda. She turned in the direction that the vegetable had come from. “What is wrong with you?!” She demanded, even though the perpetrator had vanished back into the crowd of other ponies- -although Matilda did notice that many of them had acquired a curious amount of decaying produce.
“Get out of our town, Mary Sue!” shouted a voice from the crowd.
“Yeah! Your character development is weak and your styling out of context!”
“And don’t even think about stealing our waifus! Not unless you want the POTATO!”
“Not the potato! Not the POTATO!!” squeaked S.B. as he struggled to overcome the weight of the cabbage that was holding him down by his red-and-black tail.
“Nobody is getting the potato,” said Matilda, both to the crowd and to S.B. She kicked the cabbage off of S.B.’s tail, and he promptly fell forward onto his face. “Come on. The market isn’t much farther.”
Indeed, the market was less than a block from where S.B. had been brutally but entirely legally assaulted with a cruciferous vegetable. As soon as they entered the wide, dirt plaza, S.B. gasped. He had never seen so many ponies in one place, nor had he ever seen so much produce that was not rotting. Both were astounding to him, although both also made him profoundly nervous.
“Now let’s see,” said Matilda, taking out her grocery list. “I was hoping to make some pie for Cranky’s poker night, and some fruitcake for my book-club meeting. So I need to get some cherries.”
Matilda led S.B. through the crowd. Due to his size, he had to be very careful not to be stepped on by the ponies milling about, and even managed to dodge several veiled kicks directed toward him. Eventually, though, they reached a stall where a surly looking earth-pony was selling cherries. His counter was entirely clear, save for just one rather bruised cherry that seemed to have been left behind accidentally.
“Hello,” said Matilda. “I would like some cherries, if you please.”
The cherry salespony looked at her, and then pointed at the cherry on the counter. “Seventeen bits,” he said.
“What?” said Matilda.
“You want a cherry? Seventeen bits.”
“Seventeen bits? For a single cherry? That’s absurd!”
The salsepony looked insulted by Matilda’s refusal to pay his price. “Look, lady, it’s a supply and demand thing. That’s just how much they cost.”
“But I can see your supply!” exclaimed Matilda, pointing toward the baskets upon baskets of cherries set up in the tent rear of the stall.
“Yeah. And each and every one of them costs seventeen bits. EACH. Unless you’d rather pay twenty.” He leaned forward and grinned. “Hey, that’s the way it goes. If you want to buy my cherry, that’s how much it costs!”
Matilda stammered for a moment, her face growing red. “But that’s illegal!”
“You’re accusing ME of being illegal? When YOU’RE the one walking your pet vermin through the market? You donkeys make me sick.”
Matilda glared at him, and then removed her grocery list from her saddlebag and passed it to S.B.
“S.B.,” she said. “Would you be a dear and go get some of the other things on the list? This poor fool, unfortunately, has never negotiated with a donkey before. And it might take me a while.”
“But I don’t know how to be a deer! I don’t have the cloven hooves, even!”
“Just be sure to check to make sure you only get the freshest.” She gave him some bits, and a small bag. “I’m sure you can manage it. I have faith in you.”
S.B. took the bag and the money. It was quite possibly the first money he had ever held, and he looked at it, admiring the image of Celestia’s head on the front and the sun on the back. He was scared, and he did not want to go out into the market alone, but he knew that Matilda was counting on him. She had been so nice to him and done so much for him that he could not bear the thought of refusing to at least try to return the tiniest fraction of those immense favors. He nodded, and then, as bravely as he could, walked off into the market.
The list was not easy to read. Matilda had relatively excellent writing, even if the style was oddly old-fashioned. S.B., however, was almost entirely illiterate. He had never learned to read Equestrian, largely because nopony had ever taught him to read, but also because of his deformed eyes.
He eventually managed to read the first line, though, and after several minutes came to a cart that was selling various types of onions. The smell was quite pungent, and S.B. hesitated. Onions were one of the worst things to get hit with, especially when one was sleeping. That had happened more than once.
After steeling his nerve, though, S.B. approached the cart. He looked around and found a box low enough for him to reach. He stood on his hind legs and carefully lifted out a large leek with his mouth. He gingerly transferred it to his hooves and inspected it, trying to make sure that Matilda got only the very best produce for whatever it was that she was making.
Almost immediately after removing the leek from the box, though, a child in the crowd cried out.
“Mommy! Mommy! That guy is taking a leek!”
“What?” said S.B., looking up. “No, I was just- -”
That was when the stall’s proprietor noticed him. Her eyes darted from him, to the leek he was holding, and she suddenly screamed.
“HELP! HELP! Somepony help me! Stop him! He’s taking a leek, right in front of my stall! Deviant! DEVIANT! Taking a leek, right there in public! Oh my!” She promptly fainted from the strain, falling face-first into a crate of shallots.
“He just attacked that mare with magic!” cried an onlooker.
“No!” squeaked S.B. “I didn’t! I can’t even use magic! I just- -”
“Get him!” cried a pony as several rushed him. S.B., now unequivocally terrified, dashed between their legs, the leek still in his mouth.
“Don’t hurt me!” he said through the leek. “I just wanted to buy some vegetables!”
He ran through the crowd, and several more ponies fainted from the sight of a Mary Sue taking a leek right there in front of them. It was simply too uncouth.
S.B. did not get far, though, before a group of ponies surrounded him. They were wearing small vests that seemed to indicate that they were members of the Ponyville militia. S.B. now completely panicked, dropping the leek and trying to escape, only to find that he was surrounded.
“That’s the last leek you’re ever going to take, Mary Sue!” said one unicorn, charging his horn.
“No! Please don’t- -”
It was too late. The unicorn fired a tasing spell, and S.B. immediately began to convulse in pain before he dropped to the ground, unable to move as every muscle in his body locked up.
Being tased left S.B. in a bleary, semi-conscious state. He was vaguely aware that he was being picked up and moved. Where they took him remained something of a mystery until he eventually awoke to find himself in a dark, damp room.
S.B. sat up, still in pain from having just been tased, as well as from having expended a great deal of his energy attempting to flee the milita. He looked around the room, and quickly realized that he had been placed in some kind of basement. The only light came from a high, square window against one of the walls that overlooked a hallway between two sets of rooms, the walls of which were made almost entirely of iron bars. S.B. realized that he had been thrown in jail.
He also realized that he was not alone. There were three other ponies in the stallion’s cell with him as well. One, the nearest, was completely passed out and reeked of cheap cider. Another blue colored stallion was sitting on a decrepit bench on the far side of the room, playing a harmonica. The third among them was a brownish earth-pony who seemed massive to S.B. He was glaring at the young colt, and S.B. felt very uncomfortable.
“Hey, kid,” he said, taking a step forward and causing S.B. to back into the bars. “You look a little weird, don’t you?”
“I- -I can’t help it! It’s a birth defect, I don’t- -”
“Kid, relax,” said the large pony. “If you’re in here, you’re one of us.”
“One of us?”
“Yeah. A bad pony. A very, very bad pony. Downright evil, even. I know I am.”
“But I’m not evil!”
“Then why are you in jail?” laughed the large pony. His laughter sounded like a repetitive wheeze. “What, did you pinch something?”
“Pinch? I don’t even have fingers- -”
“No, you know! ‘Pinch’! Like steal. You know, burgle.” He sat back, looking proud of himself. “That’s what I’m in for. I’m the most terrifying, brutal criminal in all of Ponyville history. The Khleb-tomaniac, they call me.”
“Khleb?”
“Yeah. I pinch loaves. Oh, Celestia’s butt, I’ve pinched loaves all over this town. In ponies’ houses, in bakeries, sometimes right in the middle of the street. Usually I can get away with it, but today I got caught pinching a loaf in the middle of Rarity’s kitchen. A pumpernickel loaf. Hard to believe a pony that sweet and suave was into the hard stuff, but hey, who am I to judge.”
“But I didn’t pinch a loaf! I didn’t pinch anything!”
“And that over there is Mouth Organ,” said the bread-thief, pointing at the stallion playing the harmonica. “I bet you can bet what he’s in here for.”
S.B. pressed himself into the corner of the room, shaking, terrified of what Mouth Organ’s crime might have been.
“You guessed it, little colt. Playing the harmonica at night and interrupting quiet-time! He’s a serial breaker of noise ordinances. No pony can keep Mouth Organ down!”
Mouth Organ gave a few defiant notes on his instrument.
“And what about him?” said S.B., pointing to the pony passed out on the floor.
“Oh, him? He’s not in for anything. He’s actually supposed to be our guard.”
“Oh.”
“So, come on, boy, what are you in for? Skating in a no-skate zone? Littering? Dissent? We’ve had a LOAD of dissenters since Twilight became god-ruler. I bet it was dissent.”
“I…I took a leek.”
The Khlebtomaniac’s gaze suddenly hardened, and his voice became much deeper. “Oh,” he said, shaking his head slowly. Mouth Organ started playing a very sad and ominous tune. “I’m sorry, then.”
“Wh- -what? Why are you sorry?”
“Don’t you know? Pinching vegetables is a class-A felony. There’s no way around it. You’re going to get the Chair for sure.”
S.B. froze. Even his frightened quivering stopped. “The…the Chair?”
“Yeah…there’s just no way around it. Even I don’t pinch vegetables. I’m sorry.”
“But wait! I didn’t even mean to do it! I wasn’t trying to pinch anything!”
“Motive doesn’t matter. You’re taking a ride on the Chair, guaranteed.”
“But I- -I’m too young! I never even kissed a filly! Not that any filly would want to kiss me, I mean, look at me- -I can’t! I won’t!”
“You don’t have a choice,” said the Khlebtomaniac, looking toward the stairs on the far side of the room as a shadow fell across the cells. The sound of hoofsteps grew louder, and a militia pony appeared.
“Get back from the door!” he barked as he ran a stick across the bars, making a loud clanking sound. He then pulled open the door outright; it was not locked. “Shadow Bloodfang?” he said.
“Shadow Bloodfang?” said Mouth Organ, momentarily removing his harmonica from his lips. “Wow, your parents must have hated you!”
“Where did you get another harmonica?” snapped the guard.
Mouth Organ smiled slyly. “Do you want to come try to compensate it, Stickpoker?”
Stickpoker shivered. “No. I’m just here for Bloodfang.”
The Khlebotmaniac leaned in close to S.B.’s ear. “The Chaaaaaiiiiirrrr…”
S.B. immediately started whimpering in terror of his inevitable fate, but, being an obedient little colt, followed the guard out of the cell and allowed himself to be led up the stairs into the building above, suffering several sharp pokes into his rump from the stick that Stickpoker was wielding that were meant to keep him moving along.
The building above did not look like it had been intended as a permanent jail. In fact, it seemed to have only been recently occupied after a long time as a community center or some other building that had been left empty. A few ponies were busy attaching motivational posters onto the walls, and S.B. saw into several rooms where Ponyville’s makeshift police force was busy either attempting to solve pressing crimes or eating donuts, with a heavy bias toward the latter.
“Please!” pleaded S.B. “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t give me the Chair!” Stickpoker responded only with another jab with his stick. S.B. continued to try to make his case. “Don’t- -don’t I get a trial? Isn’t that in the Equestrian Constitution?”
“We don’t have a Constitution. We’re an unlimited monarchy,” said Stickpoker gruffly. “And besides, do you know how much it cost just to mustard a militia? How the hay are we supposed to afford a court, too?”
“I think you mean ‘muster’- -”
“What did you just call me?!” S.B. received another poke. He was beginning to get used to them.
S.B. was sure that he was being led to his doom, and had resigned himself to his fate- -but found that he was instead led to a large room with an all-yellow mare sitting at a desk and, much to S.B.’s surprise, talking to a very angry Matilda.
“- -and I simply can’t believe that you would allow this to happen!” shouted Matilda. “Of all the incompetency- -”
The yellow pony sighed and looked down at Matilda, exasperated. “Look,” she said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. We have at least twenty reliable witnesses who saw him taking a leek right there in the middle of the market. He’s a theif”
“Only because I asked him to buy onions for me! He wasn’t stealing anything!”
“Then how do you explain the money we found on him, hmmm?” The yellow pony lifted a bag with the money. “Why would he have money unless he stole it?”
“Because I GAVE it to him! To buy the LEEKS!”
“Matilda!” cried S.B. Since there was nothing stopping him, he ran to her and wrapped his hooves around one of her legs. He immediately started crying.
“Oh, stop,” said the yellow pony, rolling her eyes. “You’re not convincing anypony. No grown stallion cries like that.”
“He’s a little kid!” snapped Matilda. “He’s not even TEN!”
The yellow pony blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Well…you know how it is. Their kind all look like adults.” She turned to Stickpoker. “So…I guess that means we tased a child?”
“You TASED HIM?” cried Matilda, her voice growing even louder and increasing in octave. “Has- -has everypony in this town gone completely insane?!”
“I thought- -I thought I was going to get the Chair for sure!” wept S.B. “Matilda, I’m so happy to see you! I’m sorry I’m a bad pony! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Matilda gasped. “You threatened to use the Chair on him?”
“No, no,” said Stickpoker. “It was probably something one of the other inmates said to him.”
“You put him in a cell with the adult inmates?!”
“Well where else could we put him?”
“He did commit a class-A felony,” said the yellow pony. She sighed. “But since you’re vouching for him, I’m going to let him go with just a warning this time.” She leaned forward, glaring at S.B. “But if you try anything again, you’ll wish you got the Chair. The littlest thing, and you’re BANISHED. Forever. I don’t take kindly to criminals in my town, or ponies coddling colts who will clearly never be productive members of society.” She leaned back. “Just watch, Matilda. In two weeks, he’ll be a wild stallion stealing waifus left and right. That’s what THEY do, you know. Stealing waifus, I mean.”
“Thank you, Mustard,” said Matilda through gritted teeth. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
“You do that.”
Matilda left with a harrumph, leading S.B. with her. Almost as soon as she left the central office, her air of anger immediately deflated, and she looked simultaneously tired and relieved.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t in my wildest dreams expect that to happen! If I had known- -’
“No, it’s okay,” said S.B., wiping the tears away from his eyes. “These things happen.”
“No they don’t! I just don’t understand! They’re usually kind and cheerful ponies!” She sighed. “But I should have listened to you better. You were supposed to be my responsibility, and I let this happen.”
“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” said S.B. “I deserved what I got.”
Matilda frowned. “You know,” she said, “I think Cranky is right. You really need to have more confidence in yourself. But I guess that’s hard when ponies keep acting like this around you.”
S.B. did not answer. He just hung his head in shame, metaphorically kicking himself for having ruined Matilda’s day with his antics. As they left, though, he looked up just long enough to see the Khlebtomaniac being led through the hallway, forced forward by two militia ponies on either side.
“No! Stop!” he cried, his eyes darting around in panic. “This isn’t fair!”
“Three strikes rule,” growled one of the guards, pushing him forward harshly. “You know what that means. You get…the Chair.”
“NO!” screamed the criminal, his eyes widening in abject mortal terror. “Not the Chair! NOT THE CHAIR!”
He struggled to escape, but the pair were stronger. S.B. watched as he was led into a small room off from the main hallway lit by a single dim light. Even as dim as it was, S.B. was able to see the room’s contents: a plane, wooden, horribly uncomfortable looking chair oriented to face the corner of one of the rooms. A pony in a black hood was already holding the pointed dunce-cap in preparation for the Khlebtomaniac’s punishment.
The Khlebtomaniac burst into tears when he saw the otherwise completely ordinary seat and the corner it faced. “No! Please!” he wept as the door was slammed behind him.
“Come on, S.B.,” said Matilda. “This isn’t a place for little children.”
Chapter 6: He Goes to School to Flirt with Children
Over the next few days, S.B. did not leave the grounds of Matilda and Cranky’s house. He did not simply sit inside it moping, though. Either by guilt at their kindness to him or from boredom, he began spontaneously doing yard work. This initially included mowing the lawn and weeding the various gardens of inedible plants, most of which he promptly ate.
When Cranky realized this, he set S.B. to several tasks that he had been putting off. At one point, this involved having S.B. help him re-shingle his house’s roof, a process that involved him standing on the ground and barking orders to the colt as he walked across the roof. S.B. fell off exactly seven times, but proved remarkably durable.
Matilda did not especially mind having S.B. there. It was an odd circumstance that she had not anticipated, but apart from being terrified of going into town again- -rightfully, she thought- -he was otherwise a perfect guest. He did not tend to interfere with Matilda or Cranky’s life, and the activity associated with him was a pleasant change of pace from a life that had otherwise grown somewhat monotonous.
Even more strangely was that Cranky did not seem to overtly mind S.B.’s presence. Matilda found that far more amusing than any of S.B.’s antics, and far more peculiar. He was exactly as cranky as usual, not more so as Matilda had expected. She found his consistency charming, if highly unexpected.
One day, Matilda found herself staring out of one of her windows, watching as S.B. attempted to rake the fallen sticks out of the lawn. It was funny to see him wrestling with the oversized rake and trying with such determination to wrangle those sticks.
“Is he still here?” asked Cranky, deviating from his course to the kitchen and coming to stand beside Matilda.
“Yes,” said Matilda. She turned to her husband. “I just don’t feel comfortable with making him leave. After what they did to him in town, and how he has nowhere to go…”
“He can’t stay here forever,” said Cranky, his normal gruffness actually lessening and making it a point that he was not simply complaining. He was right.
“I know,” sighed Matilda. “But…it’s kind of nice.”
“Having somepony to mow the lawn that’s not me? Sure, I guess.”
“Not that.” Matilda paused, not sure if she wanted to say what she was really thinking. She trusted Cranky more than anything, though, and decided to continue. “It’s nice having a child around.”
Cranky grumbled slightly, and Matilda looked at him. He was now looking out the window, seemingly watching S.B. His gaze was far more distant, though, and she saw such profound sadness in his eyes that she herself nearly started to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “It’s all my fault.”
“Cranky, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But it’s true.” He voice sounded neutral, failing to convey any of the sadness in his eyes. Somehow that made it worse. “It’s my fault. I took so long to find you…”
“But you did find me.” Matilda leaned against him. “And that’s what counts, isn’t it?”
“But we lost so much time. And we lost…certain things.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about it. If I had just followed you to Ponyville back then…” He sighed. “Well…if we had had children…they’d be adults by now. I can’t help it. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like. Having a daughter, maybe. Having to be angry at a son-in law by now. The darn fool would probably be a darn pony…I’d probably have winged-mule grandfoals by now.” He sighed again. “But it’s too late. We’re too old now.”
“And that’s why you haven’t been angry at him, isn’t it?”
Cranky did not answer, at least not at first. He appeared to be thinking. Then, finally, he spoke. “It’s not fair to him. He’s not our son, and he’s not supposed to be. We can’t think of him like that.”
“I know,” said Matilda. “But it was nice to imagine sometimes, isn’t it?”
They watched together for a moment, but after a few minutes, Cranky sighed. He did not sound at all whistful this time. Instead, he sounded exasperated.
“He tangled his horns stuck in the rake again, didn’t he?”
“It seems that way.”
Cranky grumbled, walking off. “I’ll get the butter…”
Matilda and Cranky eventually came to the mutual conclusion that they could not keep S.B. with them forever. Exactly what to do with him, though, was still a mystery. While that remained a mystery, though, they decided that the best way to help him was to at least attempt to integrate him into pony society. So, on the fourth day of S.B.’s stay, while Matilda wrote several letters to local orphanages, Cranky was tasked with bringing S.B. to school.
S.B., of course, was not happy with this, but he was remarkably obedient. Despite his fear of returning to town, his respect and admiration for both Matilda and Cranky led him to follow their suggestion absolutely. After all, they had been kind enough to take care of him when nopony else would, and he felt obliged to do whatever he could for them, even if it meant facing his worst fears.
This sentiment was strong at the house, but as Cranky and S.B. began to pass through the town and near the schoolhouse, S.B. felt his resolve quickly waning.
“I- -I can’t do this,” said S.B., turning around suddenly.
“No you don’t!” said Cranky, turning him around the opposite way. “You can, and you will.”
“But it’s too stressful! It’s too scary! There- -there will be other children, and they’re going to throw vegetables at me- -”
Cranky reached down and moved S.B. about a foot to the left, just in time to cause him to avoid a moldy, dry apple that came hurdling in his direction from seemingly nowhere.
“Like that!” cried S.B. “I have to go! I’m sorry!”
S.B. started to bound away. “Stop,” ordered Cranky. S.B. ground to a halt. “You’re just going to give up like that? Do you know what Matilda’s doing right now? She’s taking time out of her day to look for an orphanage for you. And Celestia’s butt knows she’s got better things to do than that. Or did you think we’re as boring as we are old and just sit around all day?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that…” S.B. looked up at Cranky with big, pleading eyes, but Cranky’s remained unmoved, his resolve earning even more respect from S.B.
“Do you know why we’re even bothering to do this, kid?” he asked after a moment.
“Because you think I’m an actual child instead of an abomination of false-creativity?”
“No. I’m not even sure what that means, and I don’t care to. It’s because unless your name’s ‘Fluttershy’, you can’t get through life as a doormat.”
“I wish I was a doormat. Doormats have a purpose.”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean!” Cranky seemed annoyed. “You don’t have any confidence, kid. How the hay do you expect to get anything done in life like that?”
“Confidence?” S.B. was confused. It sounded like a nebulous concept.
“What, are you deaf? That’s what I just said.” Cranky started walking again, and S.B. fell into step beside him. “But you can’t just be confident. You have to grow it.”
“Grow? How?” S.B. thought for a moment, and rephrased his question. “How did you obtain the confidence, then?”
“How? Kid, it may not look like it now, but I used to be an adventurer.”
S.B.’s eyes went wide and he gasped in surprise. “You?”
“Why? A donkey can’t be an adventurer?”
“No, that’s not what I meant, it’s just that…you have the old.”
“I didn’t always!” snapped Cranky. “I used to be young and handsome and regular. I quested all over Equestria back in my day. From the Dragonland to the streets of Manehattan, the whole shebang.”
“But why did you stop?”
“Because I took an arrow to the knee.” Cranky lifted one of his more arthritic limbs and gestured at the knee. S.B. nearly fainted from the thought of such an injury. “Word of advice,” mumbled Cranky. “Never let a sea serpent use a crossbow. They close their eyes when they pull the trigger.”
“Did you…did you die?”
Cranky stared at S.B. “You’re not very bright, are you, kid?”
“No, unfortunately.”
Cranky sighed, and his eyes seemed to become more distant. “The problem was, I was never confident when it counted.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Well, back when I was young, I once went to the Grand Galloping Gala. And when I was there, I met the most beautiful donkey I’d ever seen, and I fell in love.”
S.B. gasped. “Does Matilda know?”
“Of course, you idiot. She WAS Matilda. It was kind of implied. And if you keep gasping all the time like that you’re going to suck in a fly and choke.” S.B. immediately clapped his hooves over his mouth and searched quickly around him to make sure there were no flies. Cranky continued his story. “But the point is…I was a mess. I could barely talk to her. It took me all night to get enough courage to ask to see her again…but by then it was too late.”
S.B. gasped beneath his hooves. “Was she dead?”
“Did you eat lead paint as a foal or something?”
“But didn’t taste so bad…”
“Of course she wasn’t dead. But she had left. There was a note for me, but I never got it. I spent thirty years of my life looking for her, but if I had just been confident enough…well, I wouldn’t be where I am now.”
“But where you are isn’t a bad place, is it?”
“No,” admitted Cranky. “It isn’t. I just wish I could have gotten here earlier. And as butt-ugly as you are, I don’t want to see that happen to you too.”
“But my situation is not parallel. I love no donkey.”
“It’s not the donkey that counts! It’s just…” Cranky sighed. “You know what? You’ll figure it out eventually. You’re just going to have to trust that I know what I’m talking about.”
S.B. paused for a moment, and then took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said. “I will do my best to trust that.”
When they finally approached the schoolhouse, S.B. once again began to doubt if he could hold himself to that promise. There were children there, more than he had ever seen in one place, all with different colors of coats and manes and eyes. To him, it was astounding. His presence seemed to astound them as well, because they stopped what they were doing to stare at him.
This, of course, was profoundly uncomfortable, but different from the way adults stared. Adults had a great deal of experience and came to correct judgments of S.B.’s character instantly. They knew that he was a bad pony and a Mary Sue. Children, though, lacked the experience to pick up on that quickly. They stared with actual interest, as though S.B. were a strange and hideous insect in some jar.
Cranky led S.B. into the schoolhouse itself. Since class had not started yet, the building was empty save for the teacher. Almost as soon as the donkey and pony entered, she immediately shifted, hiding a flask of cider into her desk.
“What?” she said, looking up, confused. “Cranky? Why are you here? You’re a little old for school, aren’t you?”
“Did you just call me old? Or BALD?”
“No,” said the teacher, her face scrunching and eyes looking upward and to the left.
“Well, good.” He reached behind him and pushed S.B. forward. “I’m here to enroll a student.”
The teacher looked down at S.B., and S.B. saw the familiar look of recognition pass over her face followed by a look of strange concern. “Yeah,” she said, turning back to Cranky. “I don’t think this school is the best suited for somepony like that.”
“Oh, suuuure,” said Cranky, angrily. “I spend half my pension every year on property taxes to pay for this school, but as soon as I actually have a kid I want to have put in it, you’re suddenly full up!”
“That isn’t what I said- -”
“I’m fine with it,” said S.B.
The teacher nearly jumped out of her seat, causing S.B. to jump just as far. “It can TALK?!”
“No,” lied S.B. “I can’t. Not at all.”
“So, what,” continued Cranky, now apparently beginning a rant that caused him to ignore what was going on around him, “is this a pony-only school? You know, I bet if I actually had my own kids you wouldn’t even take them either. Because donkeys are too stupid to teach, right?”
“Now, wait just a minute!” said the teacher, standing up sharply. “I did not say that at ALL, and the Ponyville Department of Education does not condone racism! Except for Spoiled Rich, who is on the school board, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunate that she is on the schoolboard, or that she likes racisms?” asked S.B.
“Both, unfortunately,” grumbled the teacher. The teacher suddenly pointed at S.B. “But that is NOT a donkey. He’s not even your child!”
“So? I found him in a bush.”
“That- -just- -NO! That’s not how this WORKS! There’s paperwork! And- -and he hasn’t had his vaccinations!”
“His species doesn’t get the same sicknesses that ours does,” snapped Cranky. “He doesn’t need vaccinations.”
S.B.’s heart suddenly seemed to skip a beat. He looked up at Cranky, immediately realizing that the donkey KNEW- -and had perhaps recognized what he was since the very beginning.
The teacher sighed. “Look. Do you want me to put this bluntly? Because I can pretend to be Applejack. I do most weekends on date night anyway. I don’t want HIM- -” She pointed at S.B. “- -near my students. I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Why?” said Cranky.
“Because look at him! He’s probably just an adult in a child body who came here to flirt with children and to get validation from a peer group he has no business being in. Either that or he really is a kid and expects every filly to fawn over him because he’s so powerful and has such an edgy backstory.”
“That happens?” asked S.B., not sure if he felt as though he wanted to run or be fawned on by fillies.
“No, of course not!” The teacher’s words made S.B.’s little heart sink greatly, but he had expected as much. He knew how unpleasant he was. “That’s the point!”
“Ah,” said Cranky. “So you hate kids.”
One of the teacher’s eyes twitched. “No,” she said through her teeth. “I LOVE kids.” She lifted her rump. “Look at my FLANK.”
“I’m not into horses,” said Cranky.
The mare rolled her eyes. “Not the flank part of my flank, the CUTIE MARK. See? Three smiling flowers! It means I love children and should be a teacher!”
“That…doesn’t make any…sense?” asked S.B., confused.
“See! He’s already questioning my authority!”
“So what you’re telling me,” continued Cranky. “Is that you love kids.” He pointed at S.B. “And this is a kid. So…you hate some kids?”
“I didn’t say I hate- -I didn’t mean that- -FLOWERS!” The teacher plopped back down and now overtly removed her cider flask and took several long gulps until it was empty. She then took out another and drank half of it. “Alright,” she said, having calmed down somewhat. “Okay. Sure. Fine. I’ll give him a shot. ONE shot. But if he touches any of my students, he’s out. And reported to the militia.”
“I can’t go back to jail!” squeaked S.B. “If I go back- -they’ll give me the Chair for sure!”
The teacher blinked. “Wait. You were in jail? And they were going to use the Chair…on a child?”
S.B. drooped slightly. “It’s because I’m a bad pony. As you previously stated.”
A different expression crossed the teacher’s face, this one containing more than a little pity to temper her hesitation.
“Well,” said Cranky, “have fun, then.”
“Wait!” cried S.B. “Mr. Donkey, you can’t- -”
Before S.B. could stop Cranky from leaving, he was pulled to the side by the teacher.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “As long as you follow all the rules, you should be fine.”
“Rules? What rules?”
The teacher smiled. “There is only one rule: I am Cheerilee. And you will do what I tell you to. Got it?”
With a whimper, S.B. nodded, not liking where this was going.
A substantial puddle had quickly begun to grow on the floor. As far as S.B. knew, it was his own sweat pooling beneath him. He already hated school. His seat was uncomfortable, and the stress of just sitting there was most likely giving him gray hairs.
Then the students started filing into the room, and it got worse. S.B. just sat where he was, staring straight ahead and quivering as they paused for a moment, each after the other, and stared at him. Then, shrugging off the anomaly, took their seats. Some of them stopped to actively move their desks away from S.B., which he actually did not mind much.
After they had set up, Cheerilee began adjusting the notes for her lesson of the day. That was when one of the other students leaned in near S.B.
“Hey, new kid,” she said.
“Huh?” S.B. had nearly been in a semiconscious state from pure fright, but now slowly turned his head. As he did, he immediately found himself facing a large-eyed orange Pegasus filly who looked to be slightly older than he was. Almost immediately, he felt an extremely uncomfortable pain in his chest and believed that his heart may have stopped.
S.B. was not dying, though. Instead, he had just realized that the filly who had addressed him was completely and utterly adorable. Her orange coat contrasted perfectly with a violet mane and tail, the former of which was cut into a neat bob shaped like a feather that fell over her forehead. She had impressively large and alert eyes, and the tiniest fuzzy wings.
“Hey?” she repeated, now seeming a bit concerned that S.B. was staring at her.
“Herk!” said S.B. It was roughly the only sound he could manage to generate, and as soon as he realized that he was unable to use words, the red parts of his body blushed profusely. “Derp…derp derp derp…”
“Um…okay?”
“I…” S.B. put his head down on his desk. It did not fit well because of his central horn.
The filly’s eyes wandered for a moment and settled on S.B.’s flank. This suddenly made everything far worse, and he immediately felt extremely self-conscious and uncomfortable. She was by far the most attractive filly who had ever spoken to him- -and one of the only ones- -but they were still just children, and he did not like being looked at like that.
“Oh,” she said. “You don’t have a cutie mark, do you?”
“I- -I do,” said S.B., his voice almost unintelligible through his nervousness. “It’s just blanked out right now.”
“You blank out your cutie mark?” the filly seemed disgusted by this, but also intrigued. “Well that sounds like a cutie-mark problem if I’ve ever heard one- -”
“Scootaloo,” said Cheerilee, somewhat annoyed. “Do I look like I’m teaching a class in talking right now?”
“Um…maybe?” said Scootaloo. “I don’t know what that would look like, so…” Cheerilee glared at her, and Scootaloo pointed at S.B. “I was just going to say that the new kid doesn’t have any paper or pencil.”
“Supplies!” squeaked S.B. “I forgot the supplies!” Despite his embarrassment, his mind kept turning. “So I guess that means I can’t go to school today. I’m going to go- -”
“You don’t have to,” said Scootaloo. “I have extra.” She passed him a sheet of paper and a pencil.
“Thanks,” said S.B., at first sarcastically but then realizing with tremendous amazement that not only had this filly been kind enough to talk to him, but she had offered him supplies to borrow as well. Her generosity was so substantial that he was rendered speechless.
“Okay, class,” said Cheerilee. “As you can see, we have a new student. Right there.” She pointed at S.B., and the whole class slowly turned their heads toward him. S.B. recalled having several nightmares about this very situation.
“So, do you want to come up here and introduce yourself in front of the class?”
“N…no.”
“Well to bad. Because my school, my rules. Do it. Do it now!”
S.B. obeyed. He stood up and nearly collapsed from how badly his knees were shaking, but then almost robotically walked to the front of the room, feeling as though his mind had somehow jumped from his body and was watching him walk to the front against his will.
He then turned around and looked at the class, and had a sudden and very powerful urge to visit the little-colt’s room.
“Hel…hello,” he said. “My name is S.B.”
“More like S of a B!” shouted one of the students. The others laughed.
“Oh. I get it,” said S.B., feigning a laugh. He was lying; he had no idea what that meant.
“Well, go on,” said Cheerilee. “Tell them something about yourself.”
“I am S.B., and…and…”
“Hey, wait a minute, I know you!” said a student from the back of the class. “You’re that kid that took a leek right in the middle of the market!”
Now the room roared with laughter. S.B. hung his head, but finished his statement. “And I’m…a pony.”
The remainder of the school day went roughly about as well as S.B. had anticipated it would. He was not really prepared for school, and the lesson went completely over his head. Although he had the capacity to read somewhat, he did not know mathematics beyond counting on his hooves and had almost no capacity to write with his mouth. The other students were far ahead of him in every subject, and despite his desperate efforts to understand what in Equestria Cheerilee was talking about, he was lost within less than fifteen minutes.
This only led to S.B.’s great surprise when the lesson suddenly stopped, and S.B. was informed that the school was in recess. He knew from his repeated experiences with the courts what recess was, but he did not know that schools had one too.
By this point, though, he was more than happy to go outside. Once he was there, the schoolyard divided itself roughly as could be expected: the children playing together happily on one side, and S.B. left alone to watch them on the far side of a field. This actually suited all parties equally well: the children seemed not to want to approach S.B., and he was much more comfortable at a reasonable distance where he would not have to talk to them.
At range, though, S.B. was able to focus on a particular orange and violet blotch moving near the swings. Every time he would see her, he would feel nervous despite the distance between them. He understood that she had barely noticed him, but she had left a substantial impression on him. Talking to her was impossible, though; the best S.B. could hope to do was admire her from a distance, as admittedly creepy as that was.
As S.B. sat quietly in the grass wondering what it would be like to play with other children his own age, he heard a sudden rustling from behind him. He turned quickly to see a pair of eyes staring back from the darkness, and then realized that it was a familiar cat.
“Koshka!” he exclaimed. “You came back!”
The cat released a cat sound, and S.B. looked around suspiciously, trying to make sure that the terrifying pastel-yellow Pegasus was not nearby. When he was reasonably sure that she was not present, he reached out and hugged the large cat.
The cat did not respond much at first, except by gently purring. It was very soft. Then, suddenly, it released an unpleasant yowl and jumped back, climbing quickly into a tree.
“Koshka?” said S.B. “Where you go?”
“Hey, leek-boy,” said a voice behind S.B.
“Leek?” S.B. turned around and, much to his surprise, found himself facing a pig. Or at least that was what he thought at first; his vision was relatively poor in bright light, and after a few moments he realized that instead of facing a talking pig he was actually being addressed by a pink-colored pony wearing an oddly out of place tiara. She was accompanied by another filly who was wearing glasses and had both a coat and mane in a most unfortunate gray hue.
Both of them winced when they saw S.B.’s heterochromic, slit-pupiled eyes up close.
“Wow,” said the Pink one. “With those eyes, it’s no wonder you’re deaf.”
“I’m not deaf,” said S.B. “Nor does my name concern leeks, unfortunately.”
The pink pony frowned. “Wow. You talk really, REALLY weird.”
“Almost as if he doesn’t sound like a child at all,” noted the gray one.
“Oh,” said S.B. “I…I can try to talk less.”
“Not while I’m talking to you, you won’t,” said the pink one. “Where exactly did you come from, anyway? Somewhere were ponies don’t have mirrors?”
“Or from the depths of an excessively creative mind lacking greatly in self-awareness?” Both of them looked at the silver filly. “What? I have more cerebral capacity than the pair of you put together.”
“Which means she’s a little slow,” said the pink one, clearly not understanding the definition of ‘cerebral’. “That’s why she isn’t supposed to TALK unless I TELL her too.”
The silver filly winced and nodded. “Sorry.”
“Now I can’t remember what I was talking about…oh yeah.” She turned back to S.B. “My name is Diamond Tiara. My father owns Rich’s Barnyard Bargains, and I am the richest filly in all of Ponyville. It is also a scientific fact that I am Best Pony.”
“Best Pony?”
Diamond Tiara smiled. “Oh, why I’m so glad to hear that you think so. Even if the opinion of lesser ponies doesn’t matter at all.”
“And I’m Silver Spoon,” said the other filly.
“And what did I say about lesser ponies talking out of turn?”
Silver Spoon hung her head in shame.
“It’s nice to meet you,” said S.B., having a difficult time making the assertion sound convincing.
“Yes. I know it is.”
“But I am wondering, why are you here, and not with the real children?”
“You mean them?” Diamond Tiara looked over her shoulder with disgust. “Eew. Like I would play with those dirty urchins.”
“That and they don’t like us very much,” said Silver Spoon.
“I don’t mind either of you. You’re both so pretty. I wish I looked like you.”
Diamond Tiara blinked, somewhat surprised that somepony had actually complimented her, even if it had been in a disturbingly awkward way. “Oh. Well, yes. Most of Ponyville- -I mean most of EQUESTRIA feels that way. Because I am that famous.”
“Clearly,” said Silver Spoon, sarcastically.
S.B., unlike Silver Spoon, actually believed Diamond Tiara. His eyes grew wide in awe and amazement that a pony who was so famous and so daring as to wear tiaras to school would talk to him.
“And that’s why I want to help you,” said Diamond Tiara, smiling in a way that make the cat in the tree growl. “I noticed you were staring at Scootaloo.”
“What?” cried S.B., having not thought that anyone would have been able to see him doing so from a distance. “I didn’t mean to! I mean, I think she’s cute but- -no, I didn’t say that! I was just looking over there and…” He sighed. “And I’m sorry. I’ll turn the other way now. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
He reversed his direction, turning toward the brush on the edge of the field. Because of this, he was now facing away from Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon.
“Look at those wings,” muttered Diamond Tiara in disgust. “And I thought this view would be better!”
“I don’t mind,” said Silver Spoon, smiling. “Just look at that…tail. So ploofy.” She reached out her hoof slowly. “I’m gonna touch it,” she whispered.
Diamond Tiara slapped her hoof away.
“That isn’t what I came here to say,” said Diamond Tiara. “What I came to say is that Scootaloo told me that she has a bit of a crush on you.”
“Really?” said S.B. “That’s not unusual, though.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Many ponies want to be crushing me. I tend to get stomped on a lot.”
“Seriously?” said Silver Spoon. “Isn’t that, like, child abuse or something?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Diamond Tiara, as per usual ignoring Silver Spoon. “What I meant is, she thinks you’re cute.”
“She does?”
“Oh yeah. Big time. She wants to go out on a date with you and everything.”
“I don’t eat fruit. It makes me ill. And if she things I’m cute, why does she want to crush me?”
“Some fillies are just into that sort of thing,” said Silver Spoon.
“Ugh,” said Diamond Tiara, putting her hoof on the bridge of her nose. “This is like trying to talk to Snails on a cold day. Look, leek-boy. She wants to be your special somepony. Do I have to spell that out for you?”
“Hopefully not,” said Silver Spoon. “She’s not a good speller.”
“She…she does?” said S.B., now understanding what Diamond Tiara meant. He looked out at the playground wistfully, and quickly found Scootaloo preparing to jump off the top of the swing set. “Well that’s…unfortunate.”
“Why? You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” admitted S.B. “But I’m so ugly.”
“She’s Scootaloo. Trust me, her standards are really, really low. But you just have to ask her out.”
“Out where?”
“On a date.”
“Wait, so we are back to fruit now?”
Diamond Tiara looked as though she were about to punch S.B., but Silver Spoon stopped her.
“She means that you need to ask Scootaloo to be your fillyfriend.”
“Oh,” said S.B. “You should have just said that.”
“I DID,” snapped Diamond Tiara. She took a deep breath, and then restored her smile. “The thing is, Scootaloo’s a Pegasus pony. That means you can’t just go up to her and ask her.”
“I can’t?”
“No. There’s a ritual.”
“Not that I’m going to ask her,” said S.B. “But what is entailed by the ritual?”
“It’s easy, really.” Diamond Tiara’s smile grew larger and more genuine, yet somehow it made S.B. feel more uneasy than before. “You just have to go up behind her…and bite her wings.”
“Bite her wings?” said S.B., surprised by even the thought of such a bizarre action. “But that would hurt her!”
“No, it doesn’t. Trust me. Pegasus fillies love it. And I talked to her, and she totally wants you to do it.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends?” S.B. had never had a friend before, unless he counted Cranky and Matilda, but they tended not to count because they were so much older.
“Of course. And as a friend, I feel I should tell you how important this is to her. She really wants to go out with you, and she’d be really, really sad if you don’t do this.”
“I don’t want to give Scootaloo the sad,” admitted S.B. “Not after she have me paper and the pencil.”
“See?” said Diamond Tiara, smiling. “Then just go up behind her and bite those little useless wings.”
The thought of it still made S.B. tremendously nervous, but he nodded. “I have to…I have to think about this for a little.”
“Don’t think too long,” warned Diamond Tiara. “If you do, she might give up on you completely.”
“O…okay…”
S.B. started to walk off, his eyes focused on the grass below as he ruminated on the seemingly impossible task that had been set out before him.
After he was out of earshot, Silver Spoon leaned in close to her only friend. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”
“What? Come on, Silver, lighten up. This will be hilarious.”
“There’s no way he’s actually going to do it.”
“Watch,” said Diamond Tiara, smiling evilly. “Just you watch…”
The second half of the day went worse than the first. Now S.B. was not only confused by the lesson, but incredibly nervous about the revelation that his new friends had given him about Scootaloo’s feelings. Sitting next to her was almost impossible. S.B. rapidly found himself wishing that things had just stayed the way they were, with him admiring Scootaloo from a distance but never having to actually talk to her, or to do such an outlandish ritual.
Still, the whole time, he found his eyes drifting toward the wings on her back. They were tiny feathery things and looked so fragile. It was hard to believe that she expected- - and WANTED- - him to bite them, but S.B. had no reason to doubt Diamond Tiara.
When class ended, S.B. almost did not want to leave, but once again felt himself standing in an almost robotic way. He gathered his one sheet of paper and his one pencil and followed the other students out. As they went their different ways, he fell into step behind Scootaloo and two of her friends.
S.B. hung back a distance, mostly from his nervousness, but also because one of Scootaloo’s friends was a white unicorn. White unicorns were sacred to the Yellow One, and as such S.B. was very apprehensive around them. That, and they tended to use painful spells on him.
For a moment, he considered just leaving everything as it was. He would just turn and leave, and go back to Cranky and Matilda’s home. For all he knew, Matilda had found a nice orphanage for him where he could go and do orphan things like being cold and eating gruel. That was when he remembered what Cranky had said. Suddenly, it all made much more sense. S.B. needed confidence, and to be brave enough to do what needed to be done. This situation, if Diamond Tiara was right, was not unlike that that Cranky had faced decades before. If he allowed Scootaloo to escape, he might have to spend another quarter century trying to find her again after his missed chance.
This gave him the courage he needed. He approached the trio of ponies, and then took a deep breath, hoping that he would be able to show his childish affection toward the filly successfully.
Then he jumped, spreading his wings as though he could actually fly, and leapt onto Scootaloo’s back.
Scootaloo immediately screamed in surprise. “What are you doing, get off me- -” Her words then collapsed into a high, agonized scream as S.B. bit down on her tiny wings. He was surprised to find that there was actually very little flesh beneath the feathers, but not surprised to find that they did not taste good at all. He bit down tightly, though, driving his teeth into what little stump of flesh there was and gagging on the feathers.
The effect was not what he expected. Scootaloo, now crying and panicking, desperately tried to throw him off. Confused, S.B. released her and was thrown to the ground. He looked up and saw Scootaloo staring back at him. From the look of fear in her eyes and the tears, S.B. immediately realized that he had performed the ritual wrong.
“What is wrong with you?!” she cried.
S.B. was about to answer, but he did not get a chance to. Scootaloo’s earth-pony friend turned and bucked him directly in the face. The force was tremendous, and S.B. saw stars and flashes of light as he was thrown sprawling over the ground. In his now concussed state, he was not able to find the words to apologize.
He had only partially recovered when he saw the flash of purple approaching him quickly, and then felt the familiar sensation of bristles and wood against his body as Cheerilee began beating him with a broom.
“What did I tell you!” she cried.
“Ow! Stop! You’re hurting me!”
“Get- -OUT!” Shouted Cheerilee. “GO! GO AWAY! Don’t you dare touch my students!”
S.B., now confused, crying, and injured, stood up and started to run, taking one more hard blow from the broom as he did. He did not understand what was happening, or why it had gone wrong, but he knew that he had ruined everything. All he could do now was run and hide. Attempting to go to school and be a normal child had been a terrible mistake.
The sun had only started to rise when a knock came at the door. Matilda and Cranky looked at each other, both nervous about who exactly might be on the other side. It was something of a mystery who, exactly, was there, but both of them knew the exact reason why somepony had come.
“I have to get that,” muttered Matilda.
“No you don’t,” said Cranky. “I never do.”
Matilda sighed, but then walked gently toward the door. She opened it just as the violet alicorn on the other side was raising her hoof to knock.
“Princess!” cried Matilda, immensely surprised to see the Princess of Friendship standing at her door. Cranky was equally surprised, and stood up so sharply that he nearly fainted from the change in blood pressure. They both then bowed.
“What are you doing?” asked Twilight. “Oh. I’m royalty. I forgot. Sorry. Um…at ease?”
“If I had known you were coming, I would have…”
Matilda trailed off when she saw that Twilight was frowning.
“You know why I’m here, right?”
Matilda nodded. “You’re here about S.B. And what he did.”
“Yeah.”
“But he didn’t mean it!” blurted Matilda, suddenly. “I know he looks different, but there’s no way he could have done that to poor Scootaloo, not on purpose! He isn’t that kind of pony!”
“Well, he definitely DID do it. Cheerilee was there, and I talked to Scootaloo. Or at least tried to get her to talk. She’s just a little bit traumatized.”
“Trauma builds character,” muttered Cranky.
“You know, the last Captain of the Guard in Canterlot before my brother used to say that same thing. And we both know what happened to him.”
“No we don’t. Went to Canterlot once, never wanted to again. All those unicorns, with their horns rubbing on my when I try to walk through a crowd. It’s just unnatural.”
“What happened to him?” asked Matilda.
“Trauma,” shrugged Twilight. “Of the blunt-force type. He’s fine now, though.” She sighed. “But I’m not. You have no idea what a headache this is for me. Cheerilee’s been breathing down my back about this- -not literally- -and the militia is up in arms. That one literally.” Twilight paused. “Frankly, I didn’t even know we HAD a militia. I didn’t authorize it. You would think becoming an immortal god-ruler would get people to at least TRY to submit the proper paperwork.”
Twilight then seemed to remember why she came. “Um…so…can I come in?”
“No,” said Cranky as Matilda replied “yes”. Twilight was allowed in and looked around.
“I’m just…so surprised,” said Matilda. “That they would send you for something this small.”
“Oh, it’s hardly insignificant. This is actually really, really serious. Plus, there were no friendship problems today, so I was super bored.”
“I see,” said Matilda, her spirit falling.
“So. Where is he?”
Matilda silently led Twilight through the house, and Cranky followed. They eventually reached a window in the kitchen, and Matilda pointed out into the large backyard. Outside, a metal trashcan from their garage was inverted in its center.
“He’s in there,” she said.
Twilight approached the garbage can gingerly. Part of the reason that she had been asked to come was because she was most likely immortal. She had never tested that hypothesis thoroughly, of course, and had never wanted to. That, and when she realized the level of uproar that the town was in over one of their most adorable fillies being attacked, Twilight doubted that there could be anypony so disinterested in the affairs of mortals as a god-princess to intervene. Otherwise, the illegal militia would have arrived with pitchforks and torches, and perhaps a sack to make S.B. disappear in.
“Right,” she said, turning to Matilda and Cranky, both of whom were standing back but watching her carefully. “Let’s test that immortality…”
Twilight reached out with her magic and lifted the metal bin. She had expected to see a colt sitting beneath it, but instead was faced with a rather narrow but surprisingly deep hole. Twilight set the can down and peered in. It was only about two feet deep, and in the bottom she saw something dark quivering in its own tears.
She reached into the hole with her magic and yanked out its contents. The colt squealed in terror as he was lifted free, but he went silent as soon as he saw Twilight. His eyes widened with surprise, and then widened even more so with fear when he saw Twilight’s wings.
“Nuuuuu!” he cried, suddenly struggling to escape. “No! Please, Celestia, don’t send me to the moon! Not the moon! NOT THE MOON!”
“Celestia?” said Twilight. She smiled from the unintentional flattery. “Why would you think I’m Celestia?”
“Because Celestia is supposed to be big and scary and she has wings and a horn,” sniffled S.B., calming down enough to answer the question.
“So you’re saying I’m big and scary?”
S.B. looked shocked as he realized the mistake he had made insulting a goddess, and immediately broke down into outright weeping.
“Not- -the- -MOON!” he wailed. “It’s- -made- -of CHEESE- -and I don’t even- -I don’t- -even- -LIKE cheese! It makes be bloated and gassy!”
“For one thing, the moon is not made of cheese,” said Twilight, annoyed by his ignorance. “It’s made of basalt and demonic machinery. Second, I’m not Celestia. I’m Princess Twilight Sparkle, divine and eternal god-ruler of Friendship!” She paused. “I’m still working on an impressive sounding title. But I don’t send ponies to the moon. Just ask King Sombra.” This did not seem to calm S.B. “But I’m not here to do that to you. I’m just here to talk.”
“Talk?” said S.B., becoming slightly more calm.
“Yes. We’ll sit down, maybe have some tea, and talk.”
“No yelling?”
“Again, I’m Twilight. Not Luna.”
“Oh,” said S.B. He looked down at the ground. “Can you put me down, then? You’re holding me up by my wings, and it hurts super bad.”
“Oops,” said Twilight, setting him down. “Sorry.”
Twilight and S.B. sat down at the Donkey’s kitchen table, each facing the other. S.B. was so short that only his eyes were visible over the edge of the table, which Twilight found humorous. At some point, Matilda brought tea. Twilight levitated her cup and took a sip, finding that it tasted pretty bad, as most tea did to her. She then gently set it down and tried to recall the notes she had made for this conversation.
“Alright,” she said. “S.B., what you did to Scootaloo was very wrong. A Pegasus’s wings are a very personal part of her anatomy, and very special to her. As a pony who herself has long, soft, luxurious wings…” Twilight extended one of said long, soft, luxurious wings and smiled proudly at it, “I can also tell you that they are quite sensitive. You should never touch a filly’s wings without her consent. That’s harassment, and it’s wrong.”
“I know that,” sighed S.B. His voice was barely a squeak. He looked so ashamed.
Twilight was confused, though. “Then why did you do it?”
“Because one of the other fillies told me that the biting of wings was the declaration of affection to Pegasi.”
“Wait,” said Twilight, “you mean you were tricked? By whom?”
S.B. remained silent.
“So you actually believed that biting a Pegasus’s wings was a sign of affection?”
“I just wanted to be her friend…”
Twilight laughed. For some reason, this made S.B. even more afraid, and Twilight had to stop herself. “Oh, sorry,” she said, still smiling. “See, I knew this had to be some kind of misunderstanding. Do you want to know why?” She did not give S.B. time to answer. “When I was a little filly, my brother once convinced me that all zebras were named ‘Zig-Zag’ and ate nothing but watermelon. It went fine, until a family of zebras moved in down the street.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I found out that they like watermelon pretty much the same amount as ponies. They don’t take to kindly to being called ‘Zig’, though.”
“I hate watermelon,” said a voice from down the hall. “Too much water, and not enough melon. It’s like a communist cucumber.” This was followed by a loud shushing. Apparently, Matilda and Cranky were eavesdropping. Twilight sighed and charged her horn.
“What? What’s happening! Put me down!” cried Cranky. A few seconds later, he and Matilda were levitated into the room.
“Didn’t anypony ever teach you it’s rude to levitate people without warning!” growled Cranky as he was set onto the floor.
“Sorry. It was the easiest way to get you out here.”
“You could just have asked!”
S.B. looked at Cranky and Matilda. He seemed somewhat calmer with them in the room, but he was too ashamed to look them in the eyes.
“I think I know what happened,” said Twilight. “S.B. was a victim of a mean prank.”
“I knew it had to be something like that,” said Matilda, sounding greatly relieved.
“I hate pranks,” muttered Cranky. “I still haven’t gotten the skunk smell out of this place…”
“So, S.B.,” said Twilight. “Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to talk to Scootaloo about this, and you’re going to have to apologize to her. And disband the militia. But I think you’ve learned your lesson about personal space and boundaries, right?”
“No,” said S.B. sharply.
Twilight blinked. “You haven’t? Because I can explain it again- -”
“Not that. What I did isn’t okay.”
“But…it wasn’t your fault.”
“Does that matter?”
“Well, yes, of course it does. You didn’t mean it.”
“I bit a filly’s wings! It happened! How it happened doesn’t matter, but I DID! An apology isn’t going to undo that.”
“Well, no. But that’s not what an apology is for. It is to recognize that you made a mistake and that you’re willing to still be friends.”
“Why would she want to be my friend, after that?” S.B. glared at Twilight. “And I’m not even sure I WANT friends, after the first friend I ever had turned out to be tricking me into hurting the first REAL friend I ever could have had!”
Matilda gasped, but Twilight seemed far more concerned than offended. “You’ve never had friends?”
“Why would anyone want to be friends with me? Look at me!” He gestured to his red and black coat and multiple horns. He looked extremely angry, but his anger quickly collapsed into silent sadness. “I’m just…tired. Tired of all this.”
“S.B.,” said Matilda, “it’s going to be okay.”
“No it isn’t. All I ever wanted was to just be an ordinary pony. Or even a donkey, like you. But instead, I’m stuck like this. Ugly. Deformed. STUPID. If I didn’t look like this, maybe I would have had the confidence to talk to Scootaloo myself instead. Or to the others. Or to not have everypony hate me.”
“But your physical appearance is an important part of you,” said Twilight.
“But it isn’t me! I don’t want to be an edgy loner!” He wiped his eyes, trying to avoid tears. “I just want to look like me…”
Matilda hugged him, and Cranky stood back, his naturally stoic nature making him appear unmoved. Twilight, though, furrowed her brow deeply. She understood what it was like to be physically different from other ponies, and the idea of having one’s external features match their true self was a fear that had always been with her. In Twilight’s case, though, the solution had simply been greater motivation to her alicornhood- -but for S.B., the situation was different. He seemed like a quite ordinary if unusually eloquent little colt trapped in a body that even he seemed to hate.
“You know what,” said Twilight. “I think I might know a way to help you…”
Twilight, as a Princess, did not bother to walk places. She instead teleported from Cranky and Matilda’s house directly into the center of Ponyville, taking S.B. with her. As soon as she rematerialized, S.B. fell to the ground.
“Ack!” he cried, landing on his back and kicking wildly. “Nauseous!”
“That’s normal,” said Twilight, pushing S.B. back into a righted position with her hoof. “I’m actually kind of surprised you didn’t catch on fire. That happens a lot.”
“Fire?”
“Yeah,” laughed Twilight, leading S.B. toward a large building that they had appeared in front of. “Yet another advantage to being an alicorn. Inflammability. Almost makes up for the body alopecia.”
S.B. did not have a change to ask what that meant, but he guessed that it probably had something to do with either Twilgiht’s wings or the fact that her alicorn body was completely hairless save for her mane and tail. It was kind of gross, actually.
Instead, Twilight approached the door of the building and knocked. There was a moment of pause, and then the door swung open. An all-white unicorn with perfectly coiffed blue hair looked out at Twilight. She smiled. “Twilight, darling, you’re just in time! I was just making you a new dress, and found myself thinking about your flank size and…” Her eyes drifted to S.B. and she suddenly trailed off.
“Oh my,” she said after a long pause. “Red…and…black….”
“White unicorn!” moaned S.B.
Both of them immediately fainted at the sight of each other. Twilight caught both of them in her magic before they hit the floor.
“Great,” she muttered. “Now I have two of them.”
She picked them up and entered Rarity’s house and boutique. She first set Rarity down on a sofa that seemed to have been largely intended for such circumstances, and then picked up S.B. and shook him.
“Wake up!” she said.
“Huh?” said S.B., his eyes opening. He then looked at Twilight and screamed. “GAH! Celestia, please, no don’t send me to the moon!”
“We already went over this,” said Twilight, annoyed.
“Oh,” said S.B. “I forgot.”
Twilight set him down on the floor, and they both looked at Rarity.
“I’m so ugly I have her the dead!” wailed S.B., covering his eyes.
“No you didn’t. She didn’t even really faint. She’s just being dramatic.”
“Well, I certainly have cause to be, don’t I?” said Rarity, her sudden return causing S.B. to jump. “Red and black! Wings, extraneous horns- -HETEROCHROMIA! So garish! GARISH I SAY!”
“Like parsley?” suggested S.B.
“Garish, darling, not ‘garnish’.” She suddenly sat up and covered her mouth with her hooves, looking as though she were about to spill her cupcakes. “Oh! Please don’t make me even THINK about adding green to that already abominable color scheme! It just…it’s too much!” She fainted again, this time striking the most dramatic pose possible on the sofa.
“Welllllll, I was hoping you could help fix that.”
Rarity sat up. “Darling, I may be Best Pony, but even I can’t perform miracles! Changing a coat color that horrid- -”
S.B. jumped with a squeak. “It’s possible to CHANGE COAT COLOR?!” he cried.
“Well, yes, of course it is. Ponies do it all the time. We can’t all be born with fabulous white coats.” She smiled abashedly at Twilight. “No offense, darling, of course. Purple is…a color?”
“You mean you can make me pretty?” said S.B. “Oh, please please please please please! I’ll give you all the money…” S.B.’s expression suddenly fell. “I don’t have any money…”
“Well, no, with a color like that, I wouldn’t expect you to. Don’t worry, though. I’m known for being fabulously generous. For a crime of nature like this, I can do it pro-bono.” She leaned in close to S.B., but not too close so as to avoid catching the ugly. “Besides, I’ll write it off my taxes.”
“The taxes you pay to me,” muttered Twilight.
Rarity stood up, apparently unaffected by her fainting spells, and led Twilight and S.B. to the back of her shop, and then into a small staircase that led to her basement. It was dark and cold, and smelled funny, but S.B. was so intent on even the possibility of a color change that he did not even hesitate to enter the cellar.
S.B. was led to an area in front of a large vat. With a surprising amount of force, Rarity pushed the metal top off. A plume of toxic fumes escaped from the bubbling fluid below, and S.B. jumped back.
“Eew! Not smells pretty!” he cried.
“It’s not supposed to, darling,” said Rarity, who was now putting on an impermeable apron and a pair of shoulder-length vinyl gloves.
“I’m not sure you should be putting those on in front of child,” said Twilight.
Rarity pointed to the vat. “That container is filled with hydrogen peroxide and ammonium chloride. Bleach, in the laypony’s terms. Very powerful. I would be RUINED if even a drop of it were allowed to stain my perfect coat!”
“But you’re already white.”
“Yes, but NATURAL white.”
“And yet you have a vat of hair bleach in your basement,” mused S.B., who had lifted himself to the edge of the vat and was looking in at the thick gooey off-white fluid.
He then felt a pair of gloved hooves pick him up, and he was rotated to face Rarity. She stared into his eyes for a long moment, and then a strange and disturbing smile crossed his face.
“Are you ready to dye?” she whispered.
“Um…no?”
Without any hesitation, S.B. was then plunged into the vat. Having not expected to be completely submerged, he struggled and resisted, but Rarity held him tightly and forced him under.
“Dye dye dye DYE!” she screamed. “Dye Mary Sue, DYE!”
“Rarity!” cried Twilight.
“What?” said Rarity. “He knew what he was getting into. If you want to be pretty, you have to be willing to dye for it.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t.” Twilight looked into the vat. “How is he breathing in there?”
“Um…” Rarity’s face scrunched. “Magic?”
“Oh. Okay.”
Rarity then turned her attention to the vat of hair bleach. S.B. had stopped struggling, which probably meant that the process was done. She then pulled him out.
S.B. hung limply for a moment, then coughed and sputtered and coughed out the bleach.
“Ow…” he groaned. “Not tastes pretty either…”
He then gasped in utter surprise as he looked down at himself. His black and red color had been completely removed, replaced instead with light gold. “Look!” he cried with joy. “I’m so pretty!”
“Not yet, dearie,” said Rarity. “Right now you look like a unicorn supremacist. And with that color, the roots…” Rarity shuddered. “No. We need to counter dye you too.”
“More dyeing?”
Rarity giggled manically. “More dyeing!”
Several long, grueling hours later, S.B. stood neat, clean, and sweet-smelling in the middle of Cranky and Matilda’s living room.
“Alright,” said Twilight, leading Cranky and Matilda into the room. “The change is pretty substantial, so don’t faint. I’ve had enough of that today. But I think you’re going to like it!”
When they appeared in the room, both of them gasped, and S.B. beamed at them. S.B.’s coat color had been changed to a pale brown, and his mane a slightly darker brown not too different from the color of Matilda’s. His cutie mark- -which, apparently, did not bleach- -was displayed brightly and freely on his flank.
“What happened to your horns?” said Matilda.
S.B. lifted his hair, showing where his central horn had been reduced to a small, flat, raised area in the center of his upper forehead. “Miss Rarity ground them off for me!” He looked back at his bat-like wings. “I wanted her to take the wings too, but she said she wasn’t a doctor and Twilight stopped her. But I still look like a thestral, though, and that’s a normal type of pony!”
“I also scheduled an appointment with a friend from magic school,” said Twilight. “She’s a dentist. Kind of.”
“I’m going to get my teeth fixed!” said S.B., who was by this time jumping up and down with excitement.”
“Oh yeah!” said Twilight. “I also got this for you.” She produced a small pale-pink container. “I pinched this from Fluttershy. It’s her contact lenses.”
“Fluttershy wears contacts?” said Cranky.
“Yes. Colored ones. She normally has red-pink eyes, and they’re…disturbing.”
“I can have real eyes too?!” cried S.B., opening the box and looking at the enormous blue-tinged lenses. “This is best day EVER!”
“I don’t know how I feel about this,” said Matilda.
“You mean I don’t look adorable?”
“No, you look fine…I just don’t know how feel about you changing your appearance this much. I mean…” She paused. “Wouldn’t it be like me trying to pretend to be a pony? It just feels disingenuous.”
“Except that I didn’t change to be something I’m not, I changed to be what I really was the whole time!” He turned to Cranky. “It’ll be so much easier to be confident now!”
“We’ll see,” said Cranky. “It’s a bit harder than that, kid.” S.B.’s smile started to fall. “But…I am glad you chose a normal color. Not some day-glow nonsense like those ponies. You can’t go wrong with brown.”
S.B. smiled again, this time as wide as he possibly could. For the first time in a very long time, he felt good about himself.
The next day went, largely, spectacularly. S.B. felt great, jumping around and performing yard work with even greater vigor than before. His whole body felt so much better: the sunlight felt warm and pleasant on his now brown-colored body instead of sweltering, and his head felt light without the extraneous horns growing out of it. The contact lenses had been a bit more difficult to get used to, but he had adapted in time. The face of the pony that looked back at him from every mirror he stopped to stare into barely looked like his old self at all: now he was a brown, blue-eyed thestral instead of whatever he had been before.
Other things, though, were not so ideal. Twilight had informed him that he had received a lifetime ban from school and that he would never be permitted to return on pain of broom-beatings. Due to her interest in education, of course, she had provided him with paperwork for acquiring a GED. Her personal assistant had apparently had excellent luck with the program.
Not being allowed to go to school did not bother S.B. much. What saddened him instead was the fact that it was almost time for him to go. Matilda had had no luck getting him a slot in an orphanage, but that did not matter anymore. With his new form, he would be able to slip into any settlement unnoticed and integrate with society at will. It was too late to try to do so with Ponyville, though; too many ponies already recognized him, and his previous appearance would continue to color their perceptions of him as long as he stayed. This was not something he liked to think about, though. He rather liked Ponyville.
S.B. spent what felt like hours staring into the mirror in his temporary room and considering this, as well as other things like where he would go and what he would say to Scootaloo if he ever managed to see her again. In time, though, he decided that he needed to do something else. The sun had just started to set, and there were still a few more chores he could get through before the day was done.
He pushed himself off the stool he was sitting on and instinctively reached for the charcoal on the side of the vanity. He paused, though, and looked down at his cutie mark. Charcoal would not black it out anymore. Nor, he realized, was there a need to any longer. With his former appearance ablated, he no longer had to hide the fact that amongst his own kind he was considered a failure.
So, instead, he set the charcoal down and went downstairs. It felt strange to be completely naked, but feeling like his true self felt just as strange. It would no doubt take some getting used to.
When he reached the ground floor, S.B. suddenly heard a cry. Surprised and concerned, he raced toward the kitchen.
“Mrs. Matilda, what’s wrong?” he asked, finding Matilda standing in front of her pantry with a horrified expression on her face.
“The cherries!” she said, turning suddenly. “In all the excitement, I never did get a chance to buy any! And Cranky’s poker night is tonight!”
“I don’t understand,” said S.B., although he had the sense that Matilda was both distressed and embarrassed.
“I volunteered to make everypony snacks,” she said, hurriedly, “and I promised pie! But I don’t have cherries, or apples, or lemons or even vinegar!”
“Vinegar pie?” S.B. shivered.
“It tastes better than you’d think.” She groaned. “But they’ll all be expecting it…and poor Muleberry, he doesn’t have much money, and I know how much he looks forward to desserts on poker night!” She paced across the room quickly. “And I thought this was going to go so well! I was going to make the pie, then go upstairs and work on penning my novel, relax while Cranky had fun with his friends, but now…now it’s all ruined.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No,” sighed Matilda. “Other than pie, I don’t know how to make anything, well, tasty. And I don’t know how…” She suddenly paused, and then leaned to one side. Her eyes fell on S.B.’s cutie mark. “Wait just a minute…that cutie mark- -you’re special talent is cinnamon buns, right?”
“Making them, yes,” said S.B. “But I’m also pretty good at eating them, too.”
“Well, I have some sugar, and some flour…and some flower…” She leaned back in the pantry. “And…” She removed an industrial-grade canister of cinnamon. It was unopened and labeled in Assyrian. “And I have this. I never used it, but it only expired…” She looked at the date and her eyes widened. “Well, cinnamon doesn’t go bad…”
“Do you have baking powder?”
“Baking powder? Um…yes. Yes I do.”
S.B. smiled. “Then I can work with this.”
Cranky, of course, was unaware of the shortage of dessert. He was in the frontroom of the house, reading a paper, as per usual. Tonight was slightly different, though, in that it was poker night. It was held biweekly, in general, and it was one of the few times that Cranky had guests over that were not Matilda’s friends. He himself was not the most popular donkey in Ponyville, although he was, in fact, the second- -with Matilda being the first. There was no third, as they were the only two donkeys.
As he was sitting, though, he heard a strange click. Cranky looked up to see the deadbolt in his front door slowly turning. This, of course, was disturbing in its own right, but Cranky still lowered his reading glasses, trying to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.
Then, slowly, the door creaked open about an inch- -and a long, metal fireplace poker was inserted through the gap and into Cranky’s house.
“Poker,” whispered a voice. “Poooookerrrrrr…”
The door then flew open the rest of the way, and the pony holding the fireplace poker- -Pinkie Pie- -leapt in. “I’ve got the poker!” she screamed, causing the poker to fall out of her mouth. “Whose ready to get POKED?!”
“Pinkie, that’s not what poker is!” exclaimed Cranky. “And how did you even open my door? It was locked!”
“Oh, I know. I have a key.”
“Why in Equestria do you have a key to my house?!”
“Silly! I have keys to EVERYPONY’S HOUSE. I make them out of wax. See?” She produced an immense key ring from her hair. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I sneak into their houses and watch them sleep…” She giggled. “Especially Fluttershy…”
“Because that’s not creepy,” said another voice. Muleberry, Ponyville’s resident mule, entered behind Pinky.
“Muleberry!” said Pinky, apparently not realizing that he had been behind her. “You’re here! Have you taken offense to anything yet?”
“Nope. None taken. Not now, not ever.” He chuckled. Muleberry was the closest being to a donkey that Ponyville had aside from Cranky and Matilda, and although Cranky had a natural tendency to distance himself from the kind of donkeys that married ponies- -dismissing them as weirdos- -he had no ill-will toward mules or hinnies. In fact, Muleberry’s profound laid-back attitude was something he admired about the fellow.
Cranky stood up and folded his paper as Pinkie entered the room, her bouncing making a strange audiable squeaking sound. Muleberry wiped his hooves on the doormat- -it was pink and yellow, of course, as were most doormats in Ponyville- -and then entered.
“Hold the door!” called another voice. Muleberry did, and the third of four guests arrived. He was a tall white unicorn with a bushy mustache and even bushier eyebrows. Unlike the others, he was wearing clothing, if a Hawaiian shirt counted as clothing at all.
“Hondo,” said Cranky. “You look a little winded.”
“Well, I just ran ten yards to the door. Oof.” He paused, breathing hard. “And it’s been a long days since my old gridiron days. Or at least the days when I was playing on it.” He lifted his hat and wiped his forehead.
“Just wait until you get to my age,” said Cranky. “I don’t think I could run if I was being chanced by a manticore. And the arthritis is so bed I sound like a darn percussion band when I get out of bed in the morning.”
“Or you can wait until you get to my age,” said Pinkie. “Once you hit that, you crave sugar. ALL THE TIME!”
Hondo laughed. “Pinky, I think I passed your age before you were born.”
“And I passed it before Hondo was born,” said Cranky.
“And I’m the same age,” said Muleberry. “I’m just a mule.”
“That you are,” said Hondo, hanging up his hat. Cranky could not help but focus on his comparatively long, brown mane with a twinge of jealousy. “Say, have you had any luck with that sterility problem?”
Muleberry shrugged. “Still a mule, so no. But that’s okay. It’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
“I love cookies!” cried Pinkie Pie.
“So do I,” said Hondo, chuckling strangely. “So do I…”
Cranky led them through the house, avoiding the kitchen where by the smell of it Matilda seemed to be in the process of baking something delicious, and to the garage. Pinkie lingered for a moment at the closed kitchen door, smelling the gap underneath the door and trying to fit her tongue through, but Hondo was able to persuade her to keep moving by promising that the treats would be ready when they were done cooking.
The garage had been set up in preparation for the night. The cart had been placed outside, and the floor swept. The front door sat open, and though the night was cool it was not as cold as it had been a few days ago. The horizon was still bright, and the sun was just starting to set on the far side of the trees.
A table had been placed in the center of the garage, and each member took their accustomed seats. Cranky, meanwhile, went to open a large window on the far side of the table. Almost as soon as he did, an violet head poked through.
“Steven!” said everypony in unison.
“High everybody!” said the sea-serpent. “Whose ready for some poker? And no doubt some of Matilda’s simply AMAZING pie.”
“I’ve been waiting all week!” screamed Pinkie with a great excess of excitement.
“How’s the water?” asked Cranky. “Too cold?”
“Oh no,” said Steven, looking back at the outdoor pond where his lower half was submerged. “Actually, I really like what you’ve done with it! I’ve never been in a pond so well dredged before. And the way the reeds have been trimmed, and the little plantings on the edge…I feel like I’m in one of those Oriental gardens. You remember those, don’t you Cranky?” He nudged Cranky, and Cranky blushed profusely, indicating that he did indeed remember.
“Right,” said Hondo, putting on a green visor and picking up the cards in his magic. “So how about we get started?”
The game progressed about as usual. None of them were professional gamblers, and short of Steven Magnate, none of them would every have been able to receive any kind of winnings in a Los Pegasus casino. Mostly, the point was just to talk and spend time with friends. The game rarely got intense enough to distract them from their conversation, which circled through various talking points: Pinkie Pie making jokes, Hondo talking about his daughters or telling mildly amusing stories from his days as a hoofball player or his current job as a sports commentator, or Steven Magnate relaying facts about the exciting life of a sea-serpent.
Cranky and Muleberry remained quiet, although for opposite reasons. Muleberry never won these games, nor did he seem to care about such things. Instead, he played smoothly and evenly, listening to the stories that the others told and laughing at their jokes. Cranky was content to listen, too, except that on this particular night he had early on received the start of an extremely good hoof of cards.
In his focus, he barely noticed the feeling of cold metal running against his cheek. He then looked up, annoyed, to see Pinkie poking him with the fireplace poker.
“Poke,” she said.
“Pinkie, stop that!” he shouted. “That isn’t how you play poker!”
“It isn’t?” Pinkie looked at her cards. “Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve got Old Maid.”
“That’s not even the game we’re playing!”
“Just let her roll with it,” said Hondo.
“You’re one to talk. One of these days, I’m going to win that shirt clean off your back!”
Pinkie suddenly perked up. “I didn’t know we were playing THAT kind of poker!”
“Oh my,” said Steven, giggling slightly.
Hondo’s eyes narrowed as he smiled at Cranky. “I’d like to see you try, old jack. You know what? Beat me, and I’ll shave off my moustache!”
“Not your mustache!” cried Steven Magnate.
“Yup. Clean off.”
Pinkie Pie gasped. “You could cosplay as Shining Armor!” She paused. “Actually, your wife is pink, so she would make a pretty good Cadence…”
“It’s almost like you’ve been looking in my windows, Pinkie,” said Hondo, causing Steven to giggle more loudly.
“Oh no. I don’t do that. Anymore. Not after that one time at Sweet Apple Acres.” She shivered. “Although I do sometimes watch Rarity sleep at night. Sometimes wearing a spacemare uniform.”
“She is an adorable young mare, isn’t she?”
“Here we go again,” groaned Cranky, knowing that Hondo was about to go into another long story about his eldest daughter.
Hondo’s story was interrupted prematurely, though, as plates began to appear at their sides. The group was so intent that they did not notice who was placing them on the table, not that he was especially easy to see with his tiny size. Cranky noticed, though, and was very surprised to see warm, sweet-smelling cinnamon buns on the plates instead of slices of fresh pie.
Pinkie Pie’s nose twitched. “Pinkie smells sweets,” she said. She then looked down at her plate, and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, cinnamon!” She bend her neck and plunged her whole face into the dessert, devouring it within seconds. She did not even chew.
Almost as soon as it was gone, though, she bolted upright, her eyes wide. One of her eyelids twitched, and then with a moan her entire body shivered. Her head dropped to the table, thumping against it.
“Pinkie!” said Muleberry. “What did you do?”
Pinkie looked up, breathing hard. “What did I do? Well, I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you. Not if this story is going to get an ‘everyone’ rating.”
“I think we’re already well past that point,” muttered Cranky.
“Let me give it a try,” said Hondo, levitating a fork and taking a bite of his cinnamon bun. As he chewed it, he seemed genuinely surprised. “Wow,” he said. “That’s a good cinnamon bun, donchyaknow. I couldn’t keep those around the house. Not unless I wanted my wife’s hips to get any bigger, if you know what I mean.”
Steven and Muleberry also took a bite of theirs. Steven seemed to highly enjoy his. “Oh my!” he said, laughing. “That IS good! I’m not usually a fan of that type of thing. The icing is always too moist. But this, this was just perfect. Even if I am breaking my diet just a teensy bit.”
Muleberry did not say anything, but he did smile, seeming to enjoy the dessert quite considerably.
“I’m so glad you like them!” squeaked a small voice. The entire group seemed somewhat shocked to hear the presence of another pony, and all of them suddenly turned to where S.B. was still standing. His new coloration was so generic that he had blended into the background completely.
“You made these?” said Steven.
“Well,” said S.B., blushing, “I helped.”
Pinkie Pie stared at S.B. for a long moment. She then turned to Cranky. “Um, okay,” she said. “I get that this story is basically ‘Toaster’ for kids, and I was the villain in that one so I’m not too keen to do that again here, but, um…that’s the kid who took a leek in the market.”
“So what?” said Cranky.
“Again, not being the villain, but…are you sure you want him, you know, in your house? What if he lays eggs?”
“I’m a colt,” said S.B. “I don’t do that.”
“Yeah, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that one.”
“It happened one time,” muttered Steven.
“These are good buns, though,” said Muleberry. “Really good. And as fine of a jenny that Matilda is, she can’t cook cinnamon rolls like this.”
S.B. blushed.
“Really?” said Pinkie. “Hmm. You know, the cakes have been looking for somepony who’s good with cinnamon. I’m…not the best at it.”
“Wait,” said Hondo. “You weren’t responsible for that cinnamon leak last week, were you? The one where we had to evacuate half the town?”
“It’s not my fault! It’s all dusty and dry and it gets EVERYWHERE. I mean, Mrs. Cake is okay with it, but, well, she does mostly cake, and with the twins…”
“So, what are you saying?” asked Cranky.
“I’m saying that I need ten more of those buns. And that you should come visit Sugarcube Corner tomorrow, and I’ll see what you can do. And also also I am saying that STRAIGHT FLUSH!” Pinkie Pie threw down her cards, and everyone around the table gaped. “BOOM!” she said. “GO FISH!”
S.B. had gotten up at three in the morning and run as quickly as he could into town under the cover of night, reaching Sugarcube corner to find that Pinkie and her employers were already awake and preparing the day’s baked goods. Mr. and Mrs. Cake were both welcoming and kind enough to give S.B. full access to their kitchen, where he was reasonably well able to work around them to assemble a large supply of cinnamon buns. The Cakes tested them, and determined them much to their liking.
Several hours later, S.B. found himself outside sitting behind a wooden desk, selling some of his cinnamon buns at a remote stand. The remainder were being sold in the shop proper, but the Cakes had decided to send S.B. out to increase sales and awareness of the new stock, as well as to get more experience with the actual sales portion of the job.
S.B. had been nervous at first, but his altered appearance worked stunningly. A few ponies who recognized him did stop to glare, but even they kept their produce at bay just in case they were somehow wrong. The rest did not seem to notice anything amiss. They ignored S.B. completely, or actually greeted him. There was no glaring, no shouted insults; to them, he was just an ordinary pony. It made him so happy to finally be normal.
Shortly after having set up the stand, though, and just as S.B. was sitting down, a pony actually approached him. This made his heart beat quickly, but he smiled as she neared. She was an eggshell earth-pony with blue and pink bicolor hair, and she smelled quite strongly of candy but with a strange hint of mint. She also looked as though she had not gotten much sleep recently.
The mare looked up at the sign that S.B. had assembled. “Cinnamon buns?” she said.
“Yes,” said S.B. “New, from Sucarcube Corner. I helped make them!”
“Is that so?” she smiled and laid a bit down on the table. S.B. stared at the coin in awe. “I’ll take one.”
“S…sure!” S.B. gave her a fresh, warm, paper-wrapped bun. The mare unwrapped it, and S.B. watched expectantly as she took a bite. Her eyes immediately widened.
“Wow!” she said. “That’s pretty good!” She gave S.B. another bit. “I’ll take another one for Lyra. But a little one, though. She’s getting to be a bit of a fatty.”
“Of course!” S.B. went through the buns and got one that was half the size of the one he had given the mare and gave it to her.
“Say,” she said, swallowing another bite of her roll. “What’s your name?”
“My name? It’s S.B.”
“S.B.? That’s an acronym. What does it stand for?”
S.B. sighed, and began to answer, but then was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration. A smile crossed his face.
“Sinnamon Bun,” he said. “My name is Sinnamon Bun.”
“With an ‘S’? That’s adorable. Also a girl’s name, but I’ll let it slide.” She leaned in close to him and smiled. “So,” she said. “How about you come by my house sometime?”
“Your…house?”
“Yeah. Lyra and I could definitely teach you something.”
“Teach…something? What kind of something?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Um…I’d kind of rather you didn’t…”
“Standing in the background, of course! With a color like that, you’re definitely not a foreground type. But you’re a swell candidate for the background. Save for the wings, but if you’re behind ponies nopony will notice. And Lyra and I are some of the best at background-standing, so we know what we’re talking about.”
“Oh,” said Sinnamon, greatly relieved. “Thank the Yellow One that’s what you meant…”
“Great. I’ll see you there,” said the mare, waving as she walked away with her cinnamon rolls.
“Sure,” said Sinnamon, waving back. “I’d like that.”
The day went amazingly. Sinnamon’s first customer- -her name was Bon Bon, apparently- -spread the word of the rolls quickly, and they had sold reasonably well. Sinnamon was very pleased with himself, and almost in disbelief that he had actually been able to do something that just a day before would have been entirely inconceivable.
He had not expected high sales, and had only stocked twenty or so cinnamon buns. So, when those sold out by the early afternoon, Sinnamon was able to close down his stand earlier than he expected. As he was preoccupied with bringing down the sign for storage, though, he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey.”
Sinnamon turned around and suddenly jumped when he came face-to-face with Scootaloo.
“Scootaloo!” he cried. “You- -you’re here.”
“Yeah,” she said, sounding disturbingly neutral toward him. “I am.”
They both fell silent, and the awkwardness grew between them. “I- -I need to apologize,” said Sinnamon at last, forcing himself to speak. “I mean, after what I did to you, I can’t even imagine, and I feel so bad- -”
Scootaloo held up a hoof. “Yeah. I know,” she said. “Twilight told me. Somebody talked you into it. Let me guess. Pink, and wearing a shiny tiara.”
Sinnamon’s eyes widened, and he was surprised greatly by the fact that Scootaloo had so quickly figured out who had pranked him.
“I’m not a snitch,” he said.
That seemed to interest Scootaloo. “You don’t need to be. I know who it was.”
“But that isn’t an excuse. I should have just talked to you.”
“Well, you’ve got that right. Do you have any idea how scared I was, and how bad I felt?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - -I mean, I ought to- -”
Scootaloo raised her hoof again. “Just don’t do it again, okay?” Sinnamon nodded. “And if we change our minds about this in ten years? Don’t bite so darn hard.” She rubbed her clearly sore wings. “Wings are sensitive and delicate organs.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sinnamon. “I really am. Did…” He paused. “Did I cause any permanent damage?”
“I don’t think you could,” said Scootaloo. “It’s not like I can fly anyway. Not like you can.”
Sinnamon was somewhat surprised, and looked back at his wings. “What? No. You misunderstand. They’re decorative. I can’t fly.”
“You can’t?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Oh.” Scootaloo looked at him, but a little bit differently than before. She then looked up at Sinnamon’s now collapsed stand, and then at his flank. “So your cutie mark is in making cinnamon rolls, right?”
“It is.”
“Do you have any left?”
“Well…” Sinnamon went behind the stand and searched for a moment. “I was going to eat it on my way home,” he said, giving it to Scootaloo, “but I think it’s better that you have it. I really do feel really bad about your wings.”
“I don’t have any money on me.”
“Take it. Free.”
Scootaloo hesitantly took the roll and unwrapped it. She took a bite. “Mmm,” she said. “That’s good.”
“Thank you.”
There was another long pause, and then Scootaloo looked up. “So,” she said. “Twilight said you have a crush on me?”
Sinnamon immediately blushed so hard that he almost turned as red as he had in parts before Rarity had dyed him. “Um…a little?”
“Well let’s be clear. I’m not into you that way. I’m not into ANYPONY that way. Except maybe Rainbow Dash. But I think we can put this behind us and still be friends?”
“I’d like that,” said Sinnamon.
“Besides. Us flightless ponies have to stick together.” She took another bite of the bun. “Mmm, that’s good. I don’t think you need any help with your special talent.” She looked up at Sinnamon. “Hey,” she said. “There’s going to be a public concert on the other side of town tonight. Rainbow Dash and a few local Pegasi are even going to do some maneuvers. A bunch of us are going. Do you want to come?”
“R…really?”
“What, has no one ever asked you to have fun before?”
“No. Mostly they just throw rotting vegetables at me.”
“Dang,” said Scootaloo. “I know how you feel on that one.”
The two of them started walking. “So,” said Sinnamon. “Who is this ‘Rainbow-Dash’ again?”
Scootaloo smiled, and then began to explain.
The show had actually been quite impressive, at least by Sinnamon’s standards, which were admittedly quite low. There had been ponies everwhere, and music, and cotton candy, and some impressive flight maneuvers by Rainbow Dash- -who Sinnamon now knew better than he knew any other pony ever based entirely on Scootaloo’s description- -as well as a few amateur fliers, including one gray pony who had crashed into both the stage, the cotton candy, two trees, and several ponies.
Afterward, Sinnamon found himself walking back home with Scootaloo and another filly named Twist. The rest of their group- -the pale yellow earth-pony that had suckerbucked Sinnamon in the face, as well as Hondo’s younger daughter, and an adorably tiny colt with a Trottingham accent- -had all left to go other directions toward their various homes. They had to go to school the next day, after all, and Sinnamon was expected to report to Sugarcube Corner for a report on the sales of his rolls.
“And did you see her, when she did that loop, and then broke off into a barrel turn between Cloudkicker and Flitter?” said Scootaloo, who was bouncing excitedly. Whenever she hopped off the ground, her tiny wings would buzz wildly, as if her body were trying to break free from gravity. “I mean, sure, Rainbow Dash was the only REAL Wonderbolt there, but she played off the rest of the weather crew so well! And the cloud sculpture! Did you see that!”
“That wath imprethive,” said Twist, her voice distorted heavily by an unfortunate lisp that Sinnamon had come to find strangely endearing. “I’ve got to admit that.”
“It makes me wish I could fly,” said Sinnamon.
“Me too,” sighed both Scootaloo and Twist simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed.
“Hey,” said Twist, holding out some cotton candy to Sinnamon. “You want thome, Thinnamon?”
“Sure!” said Sinnamon, still somewhat amazed that somepony was actually offering him something to eat that was not rotten fruit ‘offered’ at high velocity. “Scootaloo?”
“None for me thanks I’ve already had so much I feel like I could fly all the way to Cloudsdale and back hey I wonder if this is how Pinkie Pie feels all the time I LOVE RAINBOW DASH!!” She then ran out of air and swayed, at which point Twist and Cinnamon both stabilized her.
“Thanks,” she said.
Sinnamon reached out for some of Twist’s cotton candy, but as he did, he jumped back with a squeak.
“What ith it?” said Twist. She looked at the cotton candy. “It ithn’t a pieth of real cotton, ith it? Becauth I got one of thothe onthe, and it tathted so bad…”
“No!” cried Sinnamon. “It’s her!”
They looked to where he was pointing, and a pale Pegasus pony stepped across an alley down the street, and paused, her body casting a long shadow in the dark light. She turned slowly and glared at Sinnamon, then seemed to hiss and continue on her way.
“What, you mean Fluttershy?” said Scootaloo.
Sinnamon was quivering. “She beat me up once.”
“You got beat up? By Fluttershy? Yeah. You shouldn’t admit that. To anypony. EVER.”
“Why would anypony want to beat you up?” asked Twist in a rare sentence where she did not encounter any consonant clusters that highlighted her speech impediment.
“I bet it was like getting caressed by fresh marshmallows,” noted Scootaloo. “No upper body strength at all. Or lower body strength. Or middle body strength. Not like Rainbow Dash at all.”
“Sheth thtill adorable, though.”
“Yeah,” admitted both Scootaloo and Sinnamon. “She is.”
They walked a little bit longer, and Sinnamon continued share the cotton candy with Twist until both of them felt quite ill. By this time it was getting a little bit darker, which made Scootaloo and Twist slightly more nervous. Sinnamon hardly noticed, though. Even with Fluttershy’s contact lenses, he was still able to see quite well in the dark. It was like his own private superpower.
Which is why it was he who saw a pony burst out from behind a building and suddenly charge toward them. Sinnamon was nearly trampled, and Scootaloo pushed Twist out of the way just in time for the tall, brown earth-pony to dart past down the street at full gallop. As he did, Sinnamon got a good look at him, and at the substantial baguette sticking out of his mouth.
“Khlebtomaniac?”
“Crusty Yeaster!” cried a voice as another pony accompanied by several others raced around the edge of the building in hot pursuit. All of them were wearing militia uniforms. “You’ll get the Chair for this for sure!”
“You’ll never catch me alive, Copper!” he said. Or at least probably said; it was not really possible to understand what he was saying through the loaf in his mouth.
They were catching up to him quickly, and withouth a second thought Sinnamon shifted his weight, positioning himself just in front of the lead militia pony. The pony immediately tripped over him, sending them both sprawling, and the other militia ponies had to stop to avoid the pile. The Khlebtomaniac apparently saw this, because he gave a wave- -both to the militia and to Sinnamon- -before he ducked into a narrow alley and disappeared into the darkness with his ill-gotten baguette.
“You tripped me!” cried the lead pony, a copper-colored mare who might very well have been named ‘Copper’. She stood up, brushing herself off, and then gasped when she saw who she had tripped over.
“It’s YOU!” she cried. “Hey, guys, forget Yeaster! I just stepped in Ponyville’s most wanted!”
“I’m wanted?” said Sinnamon, initial believing that he was ‘wanted’ as in somebody actually valued his continued health and safety. That was quickly proven wrong, though.
“Wanted for crimes against pony-kind! And caught in the act, I see!”
“What are you talking about?” said Scootaloo as the other ponies surrounded them.
“Kidnapping fillies! First you try to bite her wings off, and now you’re trying to steal her and do who knows what to her with your greasy little Mary-Sue hooves!”
“He wathn’t trying to do anything to uth!” said Twist. “We were justht walking! He didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Not to ‘us’,” corrected Copper. “To Scootaloo. It doesn’t matter what he does to you. Because nopony likes you, Twist.”
“Hey!” protested Sinnamon. “That isn’t fair! Twist is a nice pony, and she should get more attention!”
“Great,” said Copper. “Now we have to add heresy to the charges!” She took a step forward, causing Sinnamon to start cowering. “Mustard warned you. She said if you tried anything, you’d get banished. But this…this makes me SICK. You little freak. The Chair is too good of a punishment for you. Misty Marsh, the sack.”
A greenish stallion lifted a burlap sack and held it out menacingly in front of him.
“Hey!” cried Scootaloo as she was picked up.
“Put me down!” shouted Twist as she too was lifted away.
“Sorry kids, it’s for your own good. You need to be quarantined. You might have caught the Mary-Sue.”
“No! Stop!”
Copper smiled, and had the sack brought forward. “It’s time to play a game of disappearing poorly developed character,” she laughed.
The sack was growing closer, and Sinnamon froze. He did not know what to do. Like a fool, he had believed that his normalized appearance would protect him. It had not. They still knew who he was, and what he was.
That was hardly his concern, though. He was not sure exactly what being shoved into a burlap sack would do to him, but he saw Scootaloo and Twist struggling as the militia ponies carried them away. Sinnamon found himself thinking about how much fun they had had together, and how much he liked to have friends, and then about Cranky and Matilda and Twilight and the others who had done so much to help him. He finally had a future, for the first time since he had left his own kind. He was not going to let them take that away from him.
“How DARE YOU!” he suddenly shouted, trying to make his voice go as deep as it possibly could. He took a sudden step forward, which was so surprising that several ponies jumped back. The smug expression on Copper’s face vanished. “Do you have ANY idea who I am? I am Shadow Obsidian Bloodfang, Prince of the Shadowmancers! I am an immortal demon warrior born from the pits of Tartarus itself, summoned into this world by costly rituals and the fear and loathing of pony-kind!”
“What the hay?” gasped Copper as Sinnamon took another step toward her. Now she looked at least confused and possibly genuinely afraid. “Marsh, the sack! The SACK!”
“Your puny sack will have NO EFFECT! Do you even realize how powerful I am? What my immense magic is truly capable of? I could alone raise both the sun and the moon by myself! I only choose not to so as not to insult the weaker alicorns Luna and Celestia!”
“You’re lying. That isn’t- -you can’t- -”
“AND,” continued Sinnamon, “I can wield all SIX of the Elements of Harmony, all on my OWN! And even a SEVENTH Element that I created myself from the pure unadulterated HATRED!”
“But why would there be an Element of Hatred?” asked one of the other ponies. “That doesn’t even make sense- -”
“SILENCE!” cried Sinnamon, his voice cracking slightly.
“No,” said one of the ponies, a yellow stallion with green hair. “You don’t even have a horn! There’s no way you could do all that?”
“Oh really?” said Sinnamon, cocking his head and taking several steps toward the stallion, who suddenly looked nervous as though something mildly leprous was nearing him. “With my horn gone, my power is now unsealed completely! I can even- -READ YOUR MIND!”
“No way!” he said, glaring back at Sinnamon. “That’s impossible!”
“Oh really? Right now, you are thinking about…” Sinnamon leaned to the side and looked at the stallion’s cutie mark, which was a pineapple. “PINEAPPLE!”
The stallion gasped in abject terror. “How- -but- -no, no! Stay back, STAY BACK!” He clasped his head. “Get out of my mind! GET OUT OF MY MIND!” He suddenly turned and punched one of his comrades.
“Ow!” she cried. “My favorite shoulder! Why did you do that?”
“I can’t help myself! He’s mind-controlling me! Also, you stole my yogurt from the breakroom, and that was a huge jerk move!”
Sinnamon turned toward Copper, smiling sadistically. Now she looked truly afraid.
“Have them release those fillies,” he demanded. “Or I will be forced to…” He paused for a moment, trying to think of something truly threatening. Something somepony had said a while ago came to mind. “…STEAL YOUR WAIFUS!”
Every pony in the group gasped, and one fainted.
“You- -you wouldn’t!”
“I would,” sneered Sinnamon. “And for this impudence, I WILL!”
“Not Rarity!” cried one of the stallions.
“Wait,” said a mare. “Rarity’s you’re waifu too?”
“Waifu buddies!”
“ESPECIALLY Rarity!” cried Sinnamon, causing the two to jump. “All of them! Every waifu! I will take them all and assemble them into a pile, which I will then lie atop of and look down at my domain from!” At this point, Sinnamon had no idea what he was talking about. He had no clue what a ‘waifu’ was, but apparently it was something important, because as he spoke each and every one of the militia ponies looked more and more horrified. “And I may even eat a few!” he said.
One of the militia members spilled his cupcakes at that idea. Two more backed up.
“I can’t do this, mare, I just can’t! I’m out!”
“Yeah, me too!”
They both started to run away, and a third joined them. “I don’t get paid enough for this!”
“Wait a minute,” said the Pineapple stallion. “I don’t even get paid! Core this!” He then joined the others.
“Here,” said Misty Marsh, giving his sack to Copper. “You can operate the sack today. I have…my toaster…is pregnant…”
He then sprinted, and Copper looked back at them. “Wait!” she cried, “come back!” She said this, of course, while she herself was already stepping backward along with them.
“If you ever mess with me or my friends again,” said Sinnamon, glaring at her, “I will break into your house at night, and…well…you know…”
“W…what?”
“I will smell your mane while you are sleeping.”
At this point, she broke down in tears and started galloping away. “You’ll pay for this, Mary-Sue!” she called. “You can’t do this! It isn’t fair!”
Sinnamon watched them go, and when they were gone, he collapsed to his knees. “Oh wow,” he said, weakly. “My voice…I’m going to be a little hoarse after that one.” He paused, then laughed at his own pun. “Oh wait, I already am.”
“Oh wow,” said Twist. Both she and Scootaloo hesitantly approached Sinnamon. “You- -you can really do all that?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Wait,” said Scootaloo, “you mean you made that all up?”
“I had to do something, didn’t I?”
They both stared at him, and then burst into laughter so hard that they started rolling on the dirt road.
“Oh! OH!” cried Scootaloo. “I can’t believe- -the Element of Hatred- -!”
“And the deep voith, and the waifuth!”
“I can’t believe they fell for that! You pranked them good, Sinnamon! GOOD!”
Sinnamon himself started chuckling. He could not laugh outright, though, simply because he was so surprised. Never before in his entire life would he have actually stood up to somepony like that. Even a few days ago, he would not have thought that it was possible. But he had. Sinnamon Bun suddenly realized that for the first time, he truly understood what it was like to be confident.
By the time Sinnamon made it back to Cranky and Matilda’s house, it had already become quite dark. Their house was a good distance outside of Ponyville, and Sinnamon had already been waylaid by a stop at Twist’s house. She had given him and Scootaloo a nontrivial amount of peppermint candy, and then offered to let Scootaloo and Sinnamon stay there overnight. Scootaloo had accepted, but Sinnamon had declined, largely because he did not want Cranky or Matilda to worry about him but also because he did not think that it was appropriate for a colt to attend a sleepover with fillies.
When he did return, he found Cranky standing in the frontroom, muttering to himself as he adjusted the lampshade that was on that room’s lamp.
“Darn lampshade,” he grunted.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Sinnamon.
“I bumped the darn thing when I was getting up and it shifted. Now I can’t get it back to the way it was! It’s either too far that way…” he adjusted it to the left, then tried to move it just slightly, causing it to fall the other way, to the right, “…or it’s too far THAT way! Can anypony not build a lamp anymore? The guy making it probably got a cutie mark in lamping and thought he could just make lamps without any practice. That’s not how it works!” He turned around and looked at Sinnamon. To Sinnamon’s great surprise, he saw that Cranky was completely and utterly bald. That was the first time that he realized that Cranky’s hair was actually a toupee. “What are you doing back here so late, anyway?”
“Why are you waiting up for me?”
Cranky grumbled and sat back down in his chair. “Answering my question with a question isn’t answering it. Let me guess. You were out with some fillies, weren’t you?”
Sinnamon was incredibly surprised. “How did- -how did you- -were you watching?”
“No. I’m old and disgruntled, not an idiot. I’ve seen it before. We used to call Steven Steve ‘the Magnet’. The fillies practically swarmed him. He never seemed all that interested in it, though. Weird.” Cranky shrugged.
“I think I understand what you meant,” said Sinnamon.
“About Steven?”
“No. About confidence.” He paused. “I feel so much better. Like I could do anything! I apologized to Scootaloo, I got a job, I made friends, I stood up to a bully- -I’ve never done any of that before!”
“See? I told you you’d figure it out eventually.”
“Yeah,” said Sinnamon. His euphoria fell a little bit. “You did.” He started to walk past Cranky toward the stairs, and Cranky reached for a book that he had been reading- -but Sinnamon stopped.
“Mr. Donkey?” he said.
“What, kid? Can’t you see I’m trying to read?” He held up the book. “This is Assyrian. Language of the donkeys. It’s not easy to read. Not at all.”
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Cranky’s expression changed just slightly. “Knew what?”
“What I am. Where I came from. You knew from the start, didn’t you?”
Cranky stared at him for a long moment, then let out a long exhale. “Yeah. I did,” he said. “From the moment I saw you. It was part of the reason why I took you back here. I didn’t know your intentions. I needed to keep an eye on you.”
“You knew, and you still weren’t afraid of me?”
“Kid, I told you. I was an adventurer. That’s how I first met your kind. Sure, I was a little uneasy, but I know what I’m doing. That, and I could see you’re not like them. Well, a little, but you’re a good kid overall. A solid six out of ten.”
Sinnamon smiled. His admiration for Cranky was even greater than it had been. Most ponies avoided him for being a ‘Mary-Sue’, but Cranky, knowing what he truly was, actually had a reason to stay as far away from him as possible- -and yet he had stayed and offered so much help.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
With that, Sinnamon left the living room and stepped into the darkness beyond.
The night air was chilly, but growing pleasant as spring slowly passed into summer. Sinnamon sighed and closed his eyes, allowing the breeze to pass through his poofy brown mane. He then opened his eyes and looked out at the view from Cranky and Matilda’s roof, at the gardens below and the shingles he had helped Cranky install, and the trees beyond. He could even see the lights of Ponyville twinkling in the distance. Next to him and slightly higher was a familiar large cat.
Sinnamon sighed and then turned to the cat. “It’s time, isn’t it, Koshka?”
The cat said nothing, as it was a cat, but Sinnamon understood that it was in agreement.
Indeed, the time had come. He had been putting it off for a long time. Since the beginning, even. Never had he thought that he would ever be able to do what he truly needed to accomplish to be free, once and for all. For the longest time, he had assumed it was simply beyond his capacity. Now, though, he knew that he could do it. He could face his past.
Next to him, balanced on the peak of the roof, was a mail beacon. It looked something like a lantern. After a long pause during which he sat deep in thought, Sinnamon finally reached for the small door on the font of the lantern. He pushed it open, revealing the freshly baked muffin inside. Sinnamon was not especially good at making baked goods that were not cinnamon rolls, but his muffins were still adequate, and he allowed the smell of the confection to waft out onto the breeze.
It did not take long for the muffin to take effect. There was a sound through the trees of something fleshy striking boughs of needles and leaves, accompanied with a number of various cries of surprise. Eventually, perhaps ten minutes after Sinnamon had opened the beacon, a gray Pegasus mare came to a crashing landing on the roof, tearing up several shingles as she went.
“Great,” said Sinnamon. “I’m going to have to fix that.”
“Muffin?” she said, sitting up, her mismatched yellow eyes scanning independently of each other. “Muffin? Muffin? Where’s the muffin?” Her nose sniffed the air, and she smiled, finding her way to the beacon. She poked her snout in and quickly devoured the muffin, wrapper and all. When she was done, she turned to Sinnamon Bun. She smiled, and Sinnamon recognized her as the very first mare who he had met in Ponyville.
“Here,” he said, giving her a letter that he had previously prepared. The address on the front was written as cleanly as he was able, although that was the only piece of writing in Equestrian that the entire note contained. “I need you to deliver this.”
The mare nodded, then took the letter in her mouth and flew into the night. It had been done, and there was no way to take it back. When she got to her destination, Sinnamon would have to face the consequences. He watched the mare leave- -and crash into at least one tree- -and then got up. There were many things he would need to do before they arrived.
Cranky had been asleep when hid dreams suddenly became much darker. Normally, they were quite ordinary: he would dream about pulling carts or reading the newspaper, or perhaps eating dry white toast. This time, though, he was filled with visions of his past adventures. Not the glorious, epic, impressive ones, but the ones that had not gone well. The ones where friends of his had gotten hurt, and where he had done things that he had not been proud of. In the dreams, he saw shapes moving in the darkness, and felt his hooves sinking into the mud below him. The shapes were not clear, but occasionally he would see a flash of red inside the black- -until he froze in fear, faced with a sudden surge of neon color that emerged from the darkness, itself barely concealing the snarling teeth beneath.
He woke up suddenly and in a colt sweat. His knee felt as though it were on fire. The feeling that he had felt in his sleep had not gone away, though. It was like a bad smell. Not quite rotting, exactly, but something just a little off. It was the same smell that seemed to follow Sinnamon around. It was comparatively weak for him, of course, but now it had grown much stronger.
“Shadowmancers,” he whispered.
Matilda awoke to a strange sound, and immediately rolled over, intending to embrace her husband. All she found, though, was a surprising amount of cold sweat.
“Cranky?” she said, sitting up. She looked across the room to see him standing near the window, lit by nothing more than a candle. The sound had been him rummaging through the closet, and Matilda saw a large box on the floor. It had been one of Cranky’s possessions that she had never asked about, nor had he volunteered information concerning it. Matilda had never known what was in that box. Now, though, she knew what it had contained.
Cranky, having noticed her, turned toward her. He was dressed in a strange kind of armor. It was well worn, but still impressive: the main body of it was made somewhat in the style of a rogue, but it had been augmented with what appeared to be the metallic remnants surplus Assyrian armor- -including a left rear portion with an arrow-sized hole directly through the knee plate.
“Oh my,” said Matilda, getting out of bed. “Doodle, what is that?”
“Armor,” said Cranky, putting on the armor’s helmet.
“Well, I can see that! But why in Equestria are you putting that on?”
“They’re here,” said Cranky, adjusting a plate-armor pauldron on one side. He was not as young as he had once been, and his former adventurer armor did not fit as well as it once had.
“Who’s here?”
“The Shadowmancers.”
“Is that supposed to mean anything? Cranky, you’re not making any sense!”
Cranky looked into his wife’s eyes, and she immediately knew that something was wrong. “S.B.’s people,” he said. “They’re here. Not close. Not yet, anyway. Most likely scouting the edge of the town. Then, most likely, they’ll go for the streetlights.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s a long story, and it involves an injury with a Morgul blade.”
“But- -we need to call the militia! Or the Princess!”
“They won’t be able to do squat. They don’t know how to deal with this. I do.” Cranky moved to step past Matilda, but she stopped him.
“Who? What are you talking about, Cranky? Please, I have to know. I know there’s a lot of things you don’t like to talk about. From before. But I don’t like you keeping secrets from me.”
Cranky looked at his wife for a moment, and then sighed. “They’re demons. From Tartarus.”
“Demons?” gasped Matilda. “You mean like Spiny V.?”
“A little,” said Cranky, taking a moment to recall the Tartaran demon who then sent Hearth’s Warming cards to every year. “But not really. They’re not the same kind of demon. They’re more…”
“What? WHAT? More powerful? More dangerous?”
“…more annoying.”
“Annoying?” Matilda looked consumed. “What does that even mean?”
“It means they’re not powerful. At all. They’re actually really, really weak. About as weak as ponies. Who never go to the gym. And never gosh-darn stop talking.”
“So, then, why the armor?”
“Just because they’re a joke doesn’t mean that…well…” Cranky paused, trying to explain himself. “They’re not good news. Their like the Trixie of demons, but they’re still demons. And they can be sneaky.”
“You’re worried about S.B., aren’t you?”
Cranky did not answer, but Matilda did not need him to.
“It’s my fault,” he said. “I kept him here too long. Now things could go really, really bad. I’m sorry, Matilda.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“I’m married,” he said. “I’ve settled down. I didn’t think I’d have to put this armor on ever again. I kept it as a souvenir. A family heirloom, even. I just…well…feel bad.”
“The only thing you should feel bad about is never telling me you had this.” Matilda leaned to the side and stared at where Cranky’s cutie mark would have been if he was a pony. “It looks…most excellent on you.” She giggled a little and blushed. Cranky smiled.
“You really think so?”
“A knight in shining armor? What jenny doesn’t want one all to herself?” She leaned forward and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Go. Do what you think is best. I trust you. Just please, PLEASE try to be careful. You may look like a strapping young jack in that armor, but, well…”
“I know. I’m old. And bald. And fat, apparently. I’m pretty sure I’m stuck in this armor right now.”
“Don’t worry,” said Matilda. “After you go out and save the town and S.B.? I’ll help you take it off. With lots of butter.”
Shadows began to gather on the edges of Ponyville. Most ponies had already gone to bed, and the few that were awake likely dismissed the strange dark mist entering the streets as a mistake by the weather Pegasi. A few of them, though, might have looked out and for just a moment thought that they saw something moving in the darkness beyond the trees, or a strange flash of red on the verge on the Everfree Forest.
When the streetlights started to go out, more ponies started to awake. They were not sure why they had been aroused from sleep. It may have been the feeling of dread that washed over them, or the odd scent of what many of them perceived as cheap and expired cologne wafting through the streets.
On the edge of town, a group of ponies assembled. Their leader stood in silence as her vanguards returned to her, silently signaling what they had found in the city. Then, together and in complete shadow and silence, they began to move into the village.
Few were awake to see them as they passed through the streets, at least at first. Until they finally came to two unfortunate souls: a pair of militia ponies tasked with night watch.
The ponies, at first, did not notice what was going on. Then they looked into the darkness, peered for a moment, and started sqealing like little fillies.
“It’s an infestation!” cried one of them.
“I told you! I TOLD YOU it would lay eggs!”
Then, screaming, they both started running.
“That’s…not the response was expected,” said one of the dark ponies.
“Close enough,” shrugged another.
They continued forward, intending to bring their reign of darkness to the entire town until they found and retrieved their target. They barely got twenty steps, though, when they were suddenly faced by a different figure. This one did not run. The figures stopped, all of them consumed by the presence of an armored donkey standing in the middle of the street.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said. “I’m arthritic and old, and my back is so bad that it makes Pinkie Pie look stable.”
The Shadowmancers did not answer. Not at first, at least. Instead, they just eyed the donkey suspiciously, wondering who would dare impede their progress.
Almost all of them looked identical. Every one of them was black with identical red stripes and identical manes, and they all had the same heterochromia: a red eye on their left, and a blue eye on their right. They looked, essentially, like adult versions of S.B. before he had been dyed. The only difference apart from their greater size was that each of them wore a sheathed katana at his side.
The only one among them that was different was their leader. She maintained the largely red and black color scheme and she had the same three horns and batlike wings. The difference, though, was that instead of red and black her tail and mane were fluorescent and rainbow-colored. The very tips of her wings also seemed to carry the same effect, and she had an unusually complex cutie mark that consisted of a rainbow-colored sword surrounded by two lines of thorns and a skull. She seemed to be the least happy that Cranky was standing in her way.
“I…remember you,” she said. “If I recall, you broke my heart once. Move, donkey, before I break yours.”
“You can try, Divine Aurora” said Cranky. “But just because you’re female doesn’t mean I won’t give you a whupping if it’s what I have to do to protect my home.”
By this time, other ponies had started to leave their houses and gather in the street. This was not a good situation; Cranky knew that the more ponies that were in range of the Shadowmancers meant the more ponies that were at risk of injury if this turned into an all-out fight.
The female Shadowmancer sighed. “Fine, then. We’ll do this the hard way. You shall feel the wrath of your superiors, and lament at our power and glory as we- -”
“Don’t bother,” said a rather annoyed voice. A small pony pushed through the crowd and paste Cranky.
“Sinnamon!” hissed Cranky as the small pony walked past him. “Stay back! They’re here to take you back, and I don’t want this to come down to violence, but I’m not going to let them take you.”
“They’re not going to take me,” said Sinnamon. “And they’re here because I called them.” He stepped forward unhindered and faced the female Shadowmancer.
She looked down at him for a moment, then up at Cranky. “What is this?” she asked. “You send a child to fight me? Are you such a coward? Do not think that I am even capable of pity!”
“It’s nice to see you too, mother,” said Sinnamon.
Divine Aurora looked down suddenly and her eyes widened. “Shadow Obsidion Bloodfang?” she said in horror. She rushed forward with surprising speed and wrapped her sun in a tight hug. She then held him away from her, shaking, and lifted his hair, trying to find his horns.
“By the Unclean Goddess!” she cried, looking up at the crowd. “My son! You mutilated him!”
“They didn’t mutilate me, mother,” said Sinnamon, pushing himself away. “And I’ve renamed myself. ‘Shadow Bloodfang’ is a really dumb name. I’m Sinnamon Bun now.”
“That’s a girl’s name,” whispered one of the Shadowmancers to another. Divine Aurora shot him a dirty look, and he went back to frowning in formation with his clone-like counterparts.
Divine Aurora stood and yelled into the crowd. She seemed to be on the verge of tears. “You did this! All you- -all you ponies! You’ve corrupted him! He was supposed to be SPECIAL! UNIQUE! And you- -you took away his future!”
“No,” said Sinnamon. “YOU tried to take away my future.”
“But the prophesy! You’re a Prince! You’re supposed be great! To accomplish things, to rule over these plebeians, to have every mare at your absolute disposal, to be loved by ALL!”
“Every male Shadowmancer is called a Prince! Or did you not notice that? Or that we all get pretty much the same prophecy made when we’re born?”
“But you could have BEEN something!”
“Yes! I could have been identical to every other one of us! Done the exact same thing and erased my real destiny in favor of some nebulous CRAP!”
Every pony gasped at Sinnamon’s language, including his mother.
Sinnamon continued, though. “I don’t want to be like that. I don’t need to have special colors, or tons of powers, or a dark backstory or be a chosen one. I’m special because I’m ME. I make really good cinnamon rolls! That’s all I want! A normal life, where I don’t have to pretend to be an edgy loner!”
Divine Aurora stared at him for a moment. “You should never have left us,” she said. “You’ve been on the surface too long. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Everyone wants to be like us. If they don’t like us, they’re just jealous or afraid of our power. I’m sorry. I truly am. If I had been able to find you, I would have taken you back long ago.”
“Which is kind of why I made with the hiding. But I’m not hiding anymore. Go home, mom. Stop looking for me. Because I’ll be right here.” He looked over his shoulder. “Assuming you’ll all allow me to stay, of course.”
“You don’t really have a choice, actually,” said Divine Aurora. “Because I brought a small army, and because I’m the One True Princess of Equestria. So I’ll be taking you, whether you want to go or not.” She reached forward, “it’s for your own good. Come with me, and let’s get that ridiculous color scheme changed back to one that actually looks impressive and unique.”
“You’re not taking him!” said Cranky, interposing himself between Sinnamon and Divine Aurora. “If he wants to stay, then he can stay! It’s his choice!”
“I agree!” said Matilda, emerging from the crowd.
“Matilda?” said Cranky, confused. “Get back! This is too dangerous for you!”
“Oh please. If it’s not too dangerous for you, then it’s not too dangerous for me. And what she’s doing to him isn’t fair, not at all!”
“Really?” said Divine Aurora. “So two donkeys intend to stop me. Even if one of them is the infamous Cranky Doodle Donkey, I will not be swayed.”
“It’s not just them!” said another voice as Scootaloo stepped forward.
“Yeah!” said Twist, joining her.
“We’re not going to let them take him, are we?” said Scootaloo, turning to her other friends.
“Well,” said Applebloom, rubbing one of her forelegs with the other. “He is…you know…”
“Kind of an attention hog,” added Sweetie Belle. Neither of them stepped forward.
“Hey,” said a deeper voice, pushing his way out. “If it’s a fight you want, I’ll toast you!”
Sinnamon turned around to see the Khlebtomaniac standing beside Mouth Organ, who played a menacing note on his harmonica. The Khlebtomanical looked back at him and winked. “We master criminals need to stick together, don’t we?”
No one else stepped forward, though.
“Fine,” said Divine Aurora, shrugging. “Shadomancers, show them what happens to those who defy the future of Equestria.”
The Shadowmancers stepped forward, but Sinnamon and his friends held their ground. The nearest of them walked past Divine Aurora, but then instead of attacking, he turned toward her and threw down his katana.
“What- -what is the meaning of this?” demanded Divine Aurora, looking tremendously surprised.
“The meaning? The meaning is that YOU’RE really, really mean! I’m sick and tired of this!” He reached back and brushed the charcoal off his cutie mark, which was an image of the texture that some houses have. “All I ever wanted to do was install aluminum siding! But I went along with you and the rest of them because I didn’t have the guts to do what that kid just did!”
“Yeah!” said another. He brushed off his cutie mark, revealing an image of a duck. “I just want to settle down and farm duckies!”
“And I want to LICK DOORKNOBS!” screamed a heavily derped Shadowmancer, pointing at his flank which did indeed show that it was his special talent.
“And katanas are DUMB!” said another. “It’s just about the WORST type of sword, especially for a pony!”
“Yeah! Modern steel was invented back when Celestia was skinny! We don’t need these overweight wall-hangers!”
“They gave me back problems!”
“And they gave me psoriasis!”
Within minutes, all of the Shadomancers were in an uproar, throwing down their weapons.
“I want to be pretty too!” said one. “I’ve always wanted to be green!”
“And I want to be blue!”
“Black and red is not a good color combination!”
“Stop!” ordered Divine Aurora. “Take up your weapons! Fight, cowards!”
“None of them are cowards anymore,” said Sinnamon as the Shadowmancers gathered around him, turning against their leader.
“You would all give up your destinies, your special futures? You would just become- -become ORDINARY?!”
“There’s nothing ordinary about being a pony,” retorted Sinnamon. “Or a donkey.”
Divine Aurora glared at her son. The two glared at each other for a long time.
“Fine,” said Divine Aurora, eventually. “Throw away everything you could have had. See if I care. You are a terrible son.”
She then turned around and walked silently back into the black mist behind her, now all alone, leaving only her son, her comrades, and a trail of glittering tears behind her. Then, before anypony could do anything to stop her, the mist cleared, and she was gone.
The rest of the ponies watched her go and stayed silence for an uncomfortable long time. Then they all started talking at once. Some simply meandered back to their houses, but Sinnamon made a beeline directly to Cranky and Matilda, hugging them both. “Thank you!” he said. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done!” “It was pretty impressive,” said Cranky. “Considering how much of a huge pain she can be.”
“And you would know this how, exactly?” asked Matilda suspiciously.
“I just…well…would. It’s complicated.”
“But S.B….Sinnamon? What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to see if I can keep working at Sugarcube Corner, at least until I can get my own stand started. I’ve made so many friends, I don’t think I can leave.”
“Yeah,” said Cranky, glaring out at the sum total of six equines that had joined Sinnamon from the crowd of perhaps sixty. “Lots of friends. Sure.”
“They just haven’t gotten to know me yet,” said Sinnamon. “Which is another reason I need to stay. That and, well…” He looked over his shoulder at the confused Shadowmancers, some of whom were beginning to awkwardly attempt to talk to several ponies, most of whom were Scootaloo and Twist. “They’re going to need help. Like I did. Like you gave me. They’ll go throughout Equestria, I guess, and maybe some will stay here.”
“But what about YOU?”
Sinnamon paused for a moment. “Pinkie Pie told me that she’s thinking of buying a house in town. Apparently it’s hard to have a coltfriend when you live with your employers and their young children. I’ve applied for her loft. I can live there.”
“But you’re just a little colt!”
“I’ve been a little colt my whole life, and alone most of it. Now I have ponies- -and donkeys- -to help me.”
“Well,” said Cranky. “You really planned this out, didn’t you?”
“I did. And I’m not giving up on this. It will work. I’m sure of it.”
“Well,” said Cranky, gruffly. “It’s good to have goals. But…” He paused. “If you need anywhere to stay until then…we hardly ever get overnight guests…and you do need to fix the shingles again…so I guess…”
“You can stay with us. As long as you need to,” said Matilda.
Sinnamon Bun smiled broadly. “Thank you,” he said, hugging them. “Thank you so much!”
