Cool Yule
The city of Canterlot is situated in such a latitude and altitude as to receive enough snow to stick to the rooftops, trees, and grass, but the pavement always stays warm enough to melt the snow so that travel is never impeded. This is good news for the driver of a banana-colored van. He pulls up in front of a convention center, its elegant Roan columns festooned with evergreen garlands. The drivers' side door, which has the words “Cheese Sandwich Party Planning” stenciled on it, opens, and out steps a skinny youth with golden brown skin and brilliant green eyes. A pair of reindeer antlers pokes out from his curly brown hair. He turns his head to survey the building with the foothills of the breathtaking Sierra Neighvada mountains as a backdrop.
“This looks like the perfect place for a Yuletide masquerade! It's warm enough that I can't see my breath, but cold enough to keep the snow from melting. And just look at that view!” He holds up a rubber chicken in his gloved hand as if to help the novelty toy see more of the landscape. “What do you think, Boneless?” He makes the rubber fowl flop its neck up and down in a nod. “My thoughts exactly!” Smiling, he walks to the back of his van and opens the double doors. “Let's get to work.”
~Hallmark Presents~
~Yuletide Masquerade~
Canterlot City's version of Sugar Cube Corner is mundane compared to its Equestrian counterpart, but during Yuletide it transforms into a wonderland of peppermint sticks, cinnamon bark, and sugar cookies. A three-foot tall gingerbread house sits atop a table against one wall, with a sign in front of it that says “Please do not eat.” Naturally, cookies and candies are missing from the baked structure, especially near the bottom. At the moment, an eighteen year-old girl stares transfixed at the confectionery architecture, torn between her desire to eat the gingerbread and her fear of getting caught stealing pieces of the forbidden desert.
“Pinkie Pie!” yells Sunset Shimmer, waving to her from their usual booth. “Get over here! I'll buy you all the cookies you want, just sit down!”
Shaking her head to clear it of the temptation, Pinkie scampers toward the table and slides onto the seat next to Sunset.
Applejack smiles at Pinkie from across the table. “Guess what?”
“Ooo!” Pinkie raises her hand. “You saw Bigfoot? You built Rarity a house? You found a hidden panel in our tour bus that converts it into a time machine?”
Chuckling, Applejack lifts her peach hands. “I reckon it was silly o' me to ask you to guess, so I'll just tell ya. Grand Pear says he's gonna spend Yule with us.”
Pinkie's face lights up as she stands in her excitement, knocking against her cup and causing it to wobble. “Woo hoo! I can't wait to show him the traditional Apple-Pie Yule!”
“A tradition that goes all the way back to last year,” notes Rarity before taking a dainty nibble of her macaron. It isn't an easy cookie to eat with elegance, but Rarity manages.
“Hey, all traditions have to start somewhere,” says Rainbow Dash, stirring her hot cocoa with a peppermint stick.
“I think I'm more excited than you are, Applejack!” Pinkie sits down again, still beaming. “Just think, a few months ago, you didn't even know you had another grandparent, and now you get to spend the holiday with him!” She leans across the table and puts her pale rose hand on Applejack's shoulder. “I promise – no, I Pinkie Promise,” she amends, holding out her pinky finger in her free hand, “that I will make this the best Yuletide ever for both of our families!”
Applejack's emerald eyes widen in alarm – or concern, at minimum. “You don't hafta go makin' a Pinkie Promise on my account. I trust you'll do your best, and that's good enough.”
“But I want to make a Pinkie Promise to show my commitment to making this the best holiday of all time!” She wiggles her pinky and raises her eyebrows significantly. With reluctance, Applejack hooks her pinky around, well, Pinkie's.
“I think Applejack's right to be concerned, Pinkie,” says Sunset, tapping the side of her cup. “If you start feeling overwhelmed, just ask me for help.”
“Thanks, Sun-Shim, but aren't you spending the holiday in Equestria?” Pinkie rests her back against the booth, having finished her Pinkie Promise.
The corner of Sunset's mouth jerks upward. “Actually, it just so happens that Hearths Warming Eve falls on the day after the Winter Solstice here. So I'm free to help all through Yuletide.”
Pinkie sits up straight and claps her hands. “Yippee!”
Twilight adjusts her glasses. “Ancient Stirrupean cultures celebrated Yule for a week or two after the Solstice, which gave rise to the Twelve Days of Yule.”
Sunset gives her a flat look.
“Buuut it's a good thing we're not in Stirrup,” adds Twilight with a sheepish smile.
“Do you have anything in mind, Pinkie?” Fluttershy speaks up, wiping a drop of hot cocoa from the table with her napkin. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Well . . .” Pinkie looks up in thought. “Every year, my parents hide presents in the quarry. It's like a scavenger hunt! So what if I had a big scavenger hunt all over the city, with clues at each of your houses?”
The girls glance at each other and nod.
“I'll have to tell my parents first, but I'm sure they'll love the idea. They're into pretty much everything I do,” Rainbow finishes with an embarrassed shrug.
“And the scavenger hunt clues will lead to a big celebration!” Pinkie spreads her hands. “Applejack, does Grand Pear like dancing?”
Applejack blinks. “I don't know what he likes. I'm still gettin' to know him.”
“Then your job is to find out his likes and dislikes.”
“Should be easy enough.” Applejack smiles and pushes her hat back.
Pinkie angles forward conspiratorially. “So, here's what I'm thinking so far . . .”
The Pies' house is large enough for a family of six to live comfortably. Everything about it is practical, unsentimental, and uncluttered, and the only way one can tell that the house is lived in is by the scuff marks on the doors and the stains on the rug. However, much like Sugar Cube Corner, the usually plain Pie residence is enchanting during Yuletide. It's the time of year when Igneous Rock and Cloudy Quartz Pie string up multicolored lights, winding them around the pillars on their front porch and outlining every window. However, as charming as the decorations are, they're missing the final touch – perhaps a green accent.
Inside, Maud is stoking a fire in the fireplace while Marble curls up on the couch and scrolls through her phone. The older sister looks up as the doorbell rings.
“I'll get it.” Maud pads across the rug in her socks and peers through the peephole. She sees a man no older than twenty with gray skin and a bowl cut. He's not handsome in the traditional fashion, but Maud senses a kindred spirit in his neutral expression. She opens the door.
“Season's greetings.” His words are clipped as he carefully pronounces each syllable. “Can I interest you in purchasing some sticks?”
Maud waits for him to explain what kind of sticks he is selling and why she would want to buy them, but he stares silently at her with eyes the color of moss.
She glances at the evergreen wreath in his arms. “You mean a wreath.”
“Correct. I'm selling wreaths made of sticks harvested from fir trees and fastened together with wire.” He raises the ring of vegetation higher so she can view it.
“Oh. You could have said that in the first place.”
He closes his eyes, which makes him look haughty. “I could have, but what I said was technically accurate. So, are you going to buy this collection of sticks, or should I move on to the next house?”
Most people would think this door-to-door salesman is rude, but Maud is not most people. And it is a nice wreath. However . . .
“No, I'm not going to buy a wreath. My parents and older sister make all the financial decisions, and they're at work.”
“Can you text them and ask if they want to buy some fir sticks configured into a circle?”
“No, I can't. They work at the quarry. They don't get any cell service there.” Maud feels bad about disappointing him and thinks about asking him if he wants to come back later, when her parents and sister are home. But before she can make this suggestion, he speaks up.
“It's for a good cause. Ninety percent of every purchase goes toward giving holiday gifts to families who can't afford them. Technically, the other ten percent covers administrative overhead.”
When he mentions gifts, Maud is mentally transported back to her childhood. There was one Yule in particular, when she and her sisters spent all day searching for their hidden presents. They looked high and low and everywhere in between, but all they found were a few small items that Maud realized in hindsight were accidentally left by the workers: a travel mug, a single work glove, and a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing. At the end of the day, their father gave a speech about how the Yule reindeer only have so much room for presents on their sleigh, and how Yule wasn't really about getting presents, but about spending time with family. He was right, of course. But to a young child, presents are everything.
The very next day, Maud found Boulder, and he became her most treasured possession and companion.
She reaches into the pocket of her blue-gray frock and pulls out Boulder, her mind still back at the quarry.
“Why do you have a rock?” asks the young man.
“I take him everywhere I go. His name is Boulder. He's my pet.”
“Oh!” There's more emotion in that utterance than in all the words he's spoken since arriving at her doorstep. “I thought I was the only one who had an inanimate object for a pet.”
He moves the wreath to one arm, freeing a hand to reach into the pocket of his forest green windbreaker. He withdraws a short, forked stick and holds it toward her. “This is Twiggy.”
Maud exercises facial muscles that she's unaccustomed to using. “I think Boulder and Twiggy like each other.”
He smiles – oh, that's probably what Maud's face is doing. “I agree. Now I know your pet's name, but I don't know yours. May I have it?”
“You may. It's Maudilena Daisy Pie. But most people call me Maud. What's your name?”
“Mudbriar. Technically, it's one word, not two. Some people get it wrong.”
Maud is pleased that she no longer has to call him “the young man” or “the salesman” in her head. “If you come back in an hour, my parents and older sister will be home from work, and you can ask them to buy some fir sticks. I'm sure they'll say yes. It is for a good cause.”
“Very well,” says Mudbriar (one word). “Twiggy and I will return in exactly sixty minutes. Happy holidays.” He turns and starts walking toward the street.
“Happy Yuletide,” says Maud, before closing the door. She glances toward Marble, who arches her eyebrows. Her finger rapidly taps her phone, and Maud's phone gets a text alert.
The text says:
“Maud and mudbriar sitting in a tree”
Marble gazes up at Maud and smiles. Maud's facial muscles respond as an alien heat floods her cheeks.