It's never easy to help somepony who doesn’t see it as help. Yet Phyllis was determined to try for Sunny's sake, before the young mare's endeavor for an impossible change consumed her.
Phyllis Cloverleaf, founder and leader of Canterlogic, prides herself on looking after everypony in town. You can never be too careful when it comes to defending yourself. Thankfully, everypony sees it that way.
Well, almost everypony. It pains her that one pony continues to hold out, to not only resist seeing the truth, but to endeavor for an impossible change, one that will endanger everypony by trying.
Phyllis has tried much to appeal to Sunny. It's never easy to help somepony who doesn’t see it as help. Perhaps, by approaching her not as the leader of Canterlogic, but as just another citizen of Maretime Bay, Phyllis might be able to get through.
Perhaps, a pony who really needs help might let it in.
“Um, well…” Toots fumbled with the sheets in hoof, scattering several onto the desk, before pulling out one. “If everypony on the factory floor dropped everything and chipped in, we could have the equipment back in working order in two days.”
Phyllis relaxed slightly in her chair. That loss of labor was still bad, but not unsalvageable. Release Day was far away enough that with sufficient overtime, they would still reach desired stock. It was crucial all pre-orders got delivered on time. Even if their projections on that front for today had vastly underperformed, effective marketing could make up the difference.
Before she got too complacent, Phyllis sat up. “What about the damaged products? How much of a write-off are we looking at?”
“Sorry, Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Toots fished out another sheet, pushing it across the desk. “Sweets just got back with the final evaluation. Only about thirty-five percent of the components are reusable.”
In trusted company, Phyllis had no issue letting out a frustrated groan, which she was glad for, as it would have been hard to keep in. True, only a hoofful of products were damaged, but it was still a nasty blemish on the balance sheet. At least she held the manticore’s share of the stocks. Canterlogic had gone a whole year without an incident like this, she could appease the board.
Phyllis returned herself to full composure. “Thank you, Toots. This day’s been stressful for us all. You did what you could.”
Toots flashed an appreciative smile. “No problem, Mrs. Cloverleaf. But… how are we going to ensure this doesn’t happen again?”
Phyllis pursed her lips, propping her knees on her desk. Pressing question indeed, and one she’d been avoiding in the event’s immediate aftermath. She’d been so sure last time wouldn’t repeat, and yet here they were, to far worse results. She couldn’t just wave it off again, that much was sure. No, decisive action that ensured no repeat performances was essential.
“Go fetch her.”
Toots flinched slightly at her bluntness, but being a model supervisor, he hastened to obey, dropping the clipboard and sheets. Moments later, the office door closed.
Now alone, Phyllis’ first thought was to run through prepared reasoning and fallbacks. But after a moment, she stopped. That worked well with all manner of meetings and projections, where all necessary information was known well in advance and it was just a formality. There were too many unknowns here, and the known broad strokes weren’t enough to go by. No, to keep risk in check, she would feel the situation out, proceeding from there. Nopony got to where she was without being good at improvising, even if it wasn’t a skill one wanted to fall back on. Parenting had drilled that in.
Casting her eyes around her office, lit dimly through the shaded blinds, her attention fell on a propped frame by her desk, showing Phyllis slightly younger – early enough in her career that her necklace had but a single pearl – her foreleg wrapped around a red colt trapped between accepting the embrace and blushing furiously.
Phyllis smiled proudly, taking the photo. It had been a tough few years, watching her son lax around and make little effort towards his goal of becoming town sheriff, despite wanting it very much. He had inherited plenty from her, but sadly not her drive for hard work. Yet now he was Deputy Sheriff, she was confident the hooves-on experience would change that.
She was no fool – even without her connections, she knew full well Hitch had basically given Sprout the job. But Hitch was such a hard worker, if anypony could help Sprout, it was his childhood friend, who had made the change to adulthood with much grace – mature, hardworking, yet always pleasurable and a joy to be around. Even if he was so efficient he would probably stay sheriff for many years, Sprout would still do much good, and make Phyllis proud. Not that she wasn’t already proud of her little budding vegetable.
A knock at the door stirred Phyllis from her thoughts. “Come in,” said Phyllis in a clipped tone, returning the family photo to its position and sitting back formally. That had been close, she’d almost forgotten what was coming.
The door creaked open. In entered Sunny Starscout, a young mare barely out of foalhood. Her head hung low enough that Phyllis couldn’t yet see her face, but the slowness with which she closed the door told Phyllis much. She noticed Sunny lacked her usual pouch bag she invariably wore, and in the absence of any other clothing or gear, she seemed strangely small. And she was already the barest fraction under average height.
Sunny raised her head, looking straight ahead. Phyllis registered many conflicting emotions there, a skill she was very good at. Disappointment, desperation, resignation. But no guilt, no regret. Phyllis’ face tightened. As she had feared, but expected, Sunny stood by her actions.
This made things hard. It was never easy to help somepony who didn’t see it as help.
Phyllis nodded her head sharply in the chair on the desk’s other side. Sunny hastened to obey, seating herself. Once there, though, she hung her head again, though not so low Phyllis couldn’t still read her.
“Ms. Starscout.” Still Sunny didn’t move, her mouth set in the same resignation. “Do you realize how much trouble you caused Canterlogic today? No, forget Canterlogic – caused Maretime Bay today?”
Finally, Sunny made a move, sighing. “Yes, Mrs. Cloverleaf. I’m not blind.”
Not in her eyes, Phyllis mused. She shuffled aside some of the papers, fishing out one with hoofwriting and a lot of numbers, then pushed it across. Sunny took the paper, bringing it close. Her eyes traveled over the figures, puzzling it out.
“What is it?” asked Sunny finally. Judging by her tone, she had a suspicion.
The lines in Phyllis’ face tightened. “That? That is the sum total of the financial losses we suffered today from your damage to our products and demonstration equipment.”
For the first time since Sunny entered the office, Phyllis saw a different reaction. Sunny’s face lit up, eyes widening, but then her pupils averted themselves. Even her closed mouth didn’t keep, now ajar. Most telling was the marginal softening of her cheeks. Perhaps, in seeing the consequences, accidental or otherwise, of her fruitless crusade, there was hope yet. “And it would have been a lot more, if our new sheriff hadn’t caught you in time.” Sunny blinked, pupils darting sideways, rubbing one foreleg with the other.
Phyllis decided appealing a little deeper was the right call. “You know, he worries about you. A lot.” Sunny stopped rubbing her foreleg, instead holding her hoof close, eyes glued to her heel. This, Phyllis didn’t get, but it mattered little, she knew what to say. “And he’s not the only one.” Sunny’s eyes widened, and she looked up, stunned, as though questioning the statement’s validity.
As Sunny stared, eyes wobbling in thought, Phyllis couldn’t help but let her narrowed eyes relax. Sunny had that effect on ponies. Even when you were at odds with her, you couldn’t be fully angry. This was partially why, when Sunny tried to undermine last year’s presentation, Phyllis let her off with a warning. Even now, she would have full legal justification to fine Sunny the bulk of the damage charges, but she knew she couldn’t. And not because the only thing Sunny owned of monetary value – the lighthouse – was a historical landmark, had no practical use nowadays, and was too tied to Sunny’s beliefs to even be appealing to rent out.
No, it was because Phyllis felt too much pity for Sunny. Pity… and empathy.
“Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Phyllis’ eyes returned to Sunny, observing the young mare lean across the desk. Gone was the silent, quiet resignation, for Sunny had clearly pegged a punishment wasn’t forthcoming yet. “Aren’t you tired of constantly living in fear?”
Phyllis had to put effort into suppressing a sigh at this familiar song-and-dance. “Fear is a perfectly rational pony response, Ms. Starscout. It’s what keeps us safe. If the town tram was about to fall over on you, what would you do?”
There was a short pause before Sunny got her mouth moving. “…Run out of the way.”
“Exactly.” Phyllis put on her best executive smile, it rarely failed. And even when it did, it always let her appraise the situation further. “The principle’s the same no matter what we apply it to. Like we always say, ‘To be scared is to be prepared.’”
“But this isn’t a rational fear!” Sunny leaned up, slamming a hoof on the desk, though with enough restraint that it didn’t shake. It was a measure of how good Phyllis was at staying collected that she didn’t flinch. “Spending every moment frightened of ponies we haven’t seen in living memory? What’s right about that? Instead of being afraid of them, we should be trying to reach out to them! To befriend them! Then we wouldn’t have to be scared!” Sunny paused, letting out a small pant. Phyllis sensed she wasn’t done, so she continued to wait, to let Sunny finish.
“And look at how big your company is! Everypony worships Canterlogic, and they worship you!” Phyllis was too used to flattery to be moved, though she couldn’t help but admire Sunny’s ability to at least propose actions alongside pleas on the fly. “You’re in a prime position to help change things!” Sunny let out a longer, ragged pant. Seeming to register how intense she’d gotten, she sank back into her chair, though her eyes never left Phyllis.
It was at that moment Phyllis realized she couldn’t get through to Sunny the same way she had with other dissenters in the past. Oh, Sunny was hardly the only pony over the years Phyllis had seen holding out from the truth. But they all came round – if not through Canterlogic, then through friends and family looking out for them. A benefit Sunny didn’t have. The only friend who cared enough about Sunny for that, Hitch, was too close to give her the kind of tough love needed here.
For the first time in a while, Phyllis let her features soften more than she normally permitted, except when it was just her and Sprout, of course. After a few moments, she was ready. Gone was the founder and top executive of Canterlogic, and in her place was Phyllis Cloverleaf, just another pony in town. All that remained was a burning desire to help.
“Sunny.” Phyllis cracked a smile at Sunny twitching from the informal address. She always knew the best way to get a pony’s attention. “What would you say if I told you that… I once believed the same things you do?”
In an instant, the distance Sunny had been maintaining evaporated. “Really?” She leaned forward again, eyes flickering between being narrowed or widened.
Phyllis chuckled lightly. “I know, I probably wouldn’t believe it either! But it’s true.” She pushed her own chair back, standing up. With calculated precision, she opened a side drawer underneath her desk. Inside lay various trinkets, including spare earrings and a few backup ID tags. Digging past those, she pulled out an old frame from the drawer’s end.
She nudged the drawer shut, then trotted around her desk. In no time at all, Phyllis stood by a perplexed Sunny, holding out the wooden frame. The instant Sunny laid eyes on it, she froze.
Phyllis heard the barest traces of breathing as Sunny slowly extended a hoof, taking the frame. She watched as Sunny brought it close, examining the faded photo within. Running through short grass on a bright day was a young filly barely identifiable as Phyllis. And not for the lack of an ID tag, earrings, or her pearl necklace, she mused dryly. The filly was many years off needing glasses, she hadn’t yet bunched her tail up, and most strikingly, her signature, eye-catching coiffured curls were strung along in a simple ponytail. What really made her different was the boundless joy in the filly’s face, a far cry from the middle-aged mare observing the photo, who showed happiness often but largely with restrained calculation.
Sunny fumbled in her seat, her other hoof reaching out to touch the photo. Her focus was not on the pink filly, but the blue colt running nearby, light purple streaks already showing in his royal blue mane, no less happy than his companion. Phyllis did her best to remain still as Sunny’s hoof lightly passed over him.
Sunny finally looked up, pupils vibrating as they locked onto Phyllis’. “Is this… my dad?” she whispered. Phyllis gave the smallest of nods, keeping her wistful smile in check, yet still prominent. Sunny returned her gaze to the photo, sinking a little lower.
“Me and him, we did everything together,” Phyllis said softly, just as focused on the photo, though she kept her other eye on Sunny. “School projects, playtime, you name it. My parents used to say we were inseparable.” She smiled wider, chuckling lightly. Sunny’s eyes shifted to Phyllis. “Probably right.” Sunny failed to stifle a small giggle, focusing on the two foals again.
“And then, when he gained his new beliefs… Well, I was right there with him.” Sunny sat up properly, turning to Phyllis. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Phyllis. But after a moment, Sunny’s face relaxed. Phyllis’ nostalgia held enough water to convince Sunny she was sincere.
“What… what happened?”
Phyllis felt the peaceful nostalgia leave her face. “When you get older, you get a reality check. Ponies got less tolerant of outliers like us.” Her smile vanished, the events clear even with age. “Our other friends vanished. Yet Argyle remained committed.”
Phyllis was surprised when Sunny’s face hardened, an unusual sight for her, eyes clenched. “So you just turned your flank on your foalhood friend?”
“No!” Phyllis had to take a step back, so unexpected was the accusation. As gentle as she was being, she would not stand for that. “Not in the slightest. I may not have been as unrelenting, but for then, I kept faith. He kept busy with research into… history, anyway. I suppose that was the big difference as we got older.” Phyllis gazed around at the various plaques and projections in the office. “I looked to the future, while he focused on the past.” She did not fail to notice Sunny sag at these words, gently setting the photo on the desk’s edge. The edge of Phyllis’ mouth twitched.
“No, what truly changed things was… when a pony went missing.” Sunny whipped around, shocked, her braided ponytail lightly striking the photo filly. “Back then, Maretime Bay was far more lenient about how far outside town we ventured. One pony wandered too far.”
Seeing Sunny transfixed, Phyllis considered slowing for a moment. No, the blunt truth was needed. “I joined the search party. When we followed, his tracks went cold, right by Zephyr Heights.” She saw Sunny tremble, a ragged breath escaping. Again, Phyllis had to focus to keep pace. “There was another pair of tracks. They came from the city, and returned there alone. When we dated them, they were on the cliff edge at the same time as our pony. And after scaling down the mountain… we found him.”
Phyllis kept her head lowered, a moment of silence. She hadn’t known the pony in question at all, but that didn’t matter.
“That… that can’t be it.” Sunny struggled to even get the words out, so it was a miracle she managed to stand. “Maybe… he fell by accident.” With surprising energy, she stepped close, right up in Phyllis’ muzzle. “And the pegasus tried to save him!”
Phyllis couldn’t help but sigh. Typical of Sunny to grasp at straws like that, even with the evidence spelled out. “Argyle said the same. But when everypony pointed out the pegasus could have flown down and saved him, even he had no answer.”
Sunny looked as though she was about to object again, raising a hoof. Her pupils darted around, between the door, Phyllis, and the photo. Finally, she sat back down. She did not hang her head. Indeed, she kept her gaze on Phyllis. Quite a feat, given the history she’d just digested.
Phyllis let her eyes soften. Harsh realities were never easy to take. “After that, our town was very strict about wandering beyond the perimeter. And me, well, I realized that kind of child’s play had no place. We’d never attack, but we needed to be prepared for anything. So, I founded Canterlogic.” Phyllis turned to the photo. “I’ll give your father credit, he wasn’t angry, even if he didn’t agree. He always was a gentlepony. And we remained on good terms.” Sunny’s ears flicked up a little, the mildest of a spark in her eyes as they drew back to the photo. “It wasn’t until Sprout came along that I realized associating with his beliefs had ramifications.”
A long silence followed. Sunny was still enough that she could be mistaken for a statue. Were it not for an occasional eyelid blink, Phyllis might have thought so.
She regretted putting Sunny through this. But it was the only way to get her to see reason. She stepped closer, and used a hoof to cup Sunny’s chin, turning the mare to face her.
“This is why we have to be prepared, Sunny. It’s a rational fear, and we all need to be united in it. Believe me, if things didn’t have to be this way, I would take it. But there are some differences that just can’t be made.”
Putting on her best warm smile, one she truly meant, Phyllis backed up. She’d done her part. All she could do now was wait for Sunny to relinquish.
Sunny held Phyllis’ gaze for a moment. Her eyes shifted to the photo – Phyllis saw them linger on her filly self briefly before they held longer on Argyle.
Sunny’s eyes closed. Phyllis could even spot her eyelids clenching, trembling. Phyllis’ stomach churned, feeling sympathy for the tug-of-war Sunny was going through. She’d been about the same age when she’d woken up herself. She vowed that as soon as Sunny recognized the reality for what it was, mere seconds from now, she would console the poor mare.
Sunny’s eyes opened, and Phyllis froze. The fire and drive from earlier, reduced to a burning cinder during Phyllis’ tale and the aftermath, was not just back in full force. It was even stronger. Phyllis didn’t move as Sunny stood.
“I’m sorry, Phyllis.” Sunny spoke in a soft, calm voice that still carried more passion and resolve than anything she’d said thus far. “But this is a difference that needs to be made.”
Phyllis had no response, not even a fallback. Her lips fumbled, words failing her. She was dimly aware of one hoof frozen just off the floor, waiting to raise an objection that wasn’t coming. Sunny truly was Argyle’s daughter… but with far more spirit and willpower than he’d even shown. Phyllis had tried her best, that which caused her to see the light after many years… and it still wasn’t enough.
It was only a few seconds, but what felt like an age later, Phyllis finally recovered. Turning sharply, she marched back around her desk, returning to her office chair. By the time she was seated and facing Sunny again, the normal, everyday businessmare had returned.
“Sunny Starscout, I have no choice. I can’t let you make things worse for everypony else.” Adjusting her spectacles, she regarded the young mare, still on her hooves, with a stern stare. “As of today, you are banned from stepping hoof on Canterlogic premises.” Sunny gasped, but though her eyes dropped in resigned acceptance – just as she’d entered – their spark didn’t diminish. She slowly turned, moving towards the door.
“Sunny.” She froze, hoof on the knob, and looked back, curious. Phyllis took a breath, and returned to her caring, sincere visage.
“Please, don’t make things worse for yourself. Looking after each other is about more than protecting ourselves from outside threats. This endeavor… it’s consuming you.” Sunny didn’t respond, but there was no mistaking the dimmed spark. Phyllis let out a long sigh.
“And… I’m sorry about Argyle. He left u – you, too soon.”
Phyllis felt her breath catch in her throat, hoping Sunny hadn’t noticed her slip.
The smallest smile, pained but sincere, appeared on Sunny’s face. “Thank you, Phyllis.” Taken aback, Phyllis could only offer the smallest of her own smiles. There were certain things you had to show unity for, no matter your opposing stances. Regarding Phyllis one last time, Sunny turned the knob, closing the door gently as she left.
Sighing loudly, Phyllis collapsed back into her chair. Only now, alone, did she fully allow herself to recuperate. No small feat, when her last appeal had failed. Nopony had come away happy here.
Sinking further, her eyes fell to the photo frame still on the desk’s other side. Straightening herself in a flash, she swooped it up. The two borderline-unrecognizable foals therein, especially the filly, remained as blissful and ecstatic as they’d always been. Foals never seemed fazed by the cold realities of life. They always seemed to carry a boundless optimism about every day. Something which, against all odds, had stuck with Sunny into adulthood.
“Argyle.” Phyllis found herself whispering despite being alone. “You never really left her, did you?”
Noting the darkening sky through the blinds, Phyllis stowed the photo back in the drawer’s depths, and got to her hooves. There was still plenty to sort out from the day’s events before closing up. With a slow gait betraying her unfocused thoughts, one she resolved to stomp out before meeting any of her staff, she departed the office.
“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” Phyllis gave a small curtsey, her curls level with the Queen’s ears.
“Not at all.” The winged monarch flashed a troubled, yet sincere, smile. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.” As Phyllis raised her head back up, the ruler of Zephyr Heights turned around to resume conversation with the heavyset gray unicorn stallion who had been waiting nearby.
Left to her thoughts, Phyllis looked around herself, observing the flurry of calm activity across the streets of Maretime Bay. Here, a pegasus was savoring a smoothie with one of Phyllis’ workers. There, one unicorn was giving his rather pedantic opinion about the accuracy of the unicorn-starring action movie plastered atop the town’s multiplex. To quite a few earth ponies, at that. And over there, some unicorns and pegasi were enjoying their first ride on the town tram.
It all still felt like a fever dream. Like she’d wake up tomorrow and find she’d just had a bad case of nervous exhaustion in advance of Canterlogic’s annual presentation, and nothing had changed. Not that she ever got nervous before the event. At least, not after the first few.
But no, this was very much real. Magic was too mild a word to describe what had happened, and what was still happening. Even the very grass, when she’d walked on it, seemed softer, warmer, more inviting. Phyllis almost felt a pang, imagining future generations so accustomed to this they didn’t fully appreciate it.
Regardless, magic didn’t change everything. And with the first and smaller of her tasks now over with, Phyllis could put off the one she’d been dreading no longer.
She stopped, barely aware she’d been walking. Ahead was a group of five ponies, congregated by the small overhead bridge at the town’s edge, talking excitedly. Hitch, the unicorn who’d set everything in motion by coming here, plus the two pegasus princesses. Most prominent was the mare in the middle, still marginally unfamiliar to the senses with the rainbow streaks in her magenta mane alongside the translucent wings and horn.
Phyllis paused, just outside their peripheral vision. Risk management went totally out the window here. But all those moons had taught her the value of not prolonging the inevitable, especially when it would only get harder with time.
Checking her bag was still secure at her side, she strode forward. Having talked to the pegasus queen already, it was now or never.
No sooner had Phyllis taken a few steps than the ivory princess’ ears flicked up, and she whipped around with alarming perception. On cue, the others did too, all sporting varying degrees of curiosity. Except for the unicorn, as giddy and upbeat as she’d been every time Phyllis had seen her.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Phyllis couldn’t help but grin at Hitch being the first to speak, nor at the polite, measured smile he bore. Their sheriff never forgot his manners.
“Always a gentlepony even off duty, isn’t he?” the ivory pegasus whispered to her sister, getting a small smirk in response.
“Lovely to see you all.” Phyllis’ eyes flicked around the group. She noted the unicorn maintaining a smile so wide it displayed all her teeth, while the short pegasus bobbed daintily, head cocked. “Ms. Starscout.” The pony in question started slightly at being addressed, which was fair – her second name was almost never used in isolation.
“Could I have a word?” Phyllis was aware of the others adopting differing degrees of suspicion and confusion, but she had eyes for nopony but Sunny. The young mare didn’t smile, nor did she relax, but there was a certain dawning comprehension there.
“Sure. No problem.” Separating herself from her friends, Sunny trotted forward. “Why don’t we take a walk?” She jerked her head to the outskirts beyond the bridge. “I could stretch my legs.”
“Fine.” In truth, Phyllis would have preferred staying in town, but it was fair to relinquish the choice of locale to Sunny here. Grinning, Sunny looked back.
“I’ll see you guys in a bit, ’kay?” They all nodded or gave varying statements of assent. As the pair left under the bridge, Hitch seemed to take calm charge of the group, judging by how he talked with an odd gesture in their direction. He always was a sharp one, Phyllis mused, picking up on what was going on that quick.
Sunny didn’t seem rushed, and with Phyllis in no hurry to prematurely broach such a delicate matter, quiet dominated as they left town for the grassy hills beyond. They met the occasional pony, Sunny exchanging a friendly greeting and accepting many thanks, but soon they were over the first hill, nopony in sight.
She may have been walking leisurely, but Phyllis’ thoughts continued to race a mile a minute. All her prepared ways to broach the subject appeared to have abandoned her back in town. With nothing but a blank slate to go on, she looked upward, observing the rainbow auroras trailing across the sky, casting it in a kaleidoscope of colors. Phyllis privately wondered how long they would remain. Not that she minded them, though they did make telling the time of day difficult. They just felt like a celebratory gesture, and such things didn’t stick around in the flesh.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Caught unawares, Phyllis looked over. Sunny too was gazing at the streaks of light, eyes lost in them. Phyllis found herself struck anew by how prominent Sunny’s spectral horn and wings were. Were they here to stay, or would they leave when the light show did? Magic sure did behave in strange ways.
“I never thought I’d see magic like this.” Phyllis was about to respond, when giggles and laughter reached her ears. Her eyes flicked sideways, observing three foals running past, having the playtime of their lives. A pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony.
“Yes. Me neither.” As the volume of the foals in chase faded, Phyllis pressed a hoof to her shoulder bag. That its contents were still there did little to calm her nerves. Maybe she should start there… Or was that too forward?
Phyllis heard two pairs of hooves stop. “Mrs. Cloverleaf.” Stopping herself almost on instinct, she looked back. Sunny stood a few paces away, looking intently at her. Like back in town, there was confusion, but her face was softer, her brows less furrowed. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
A small sigh left Phyllis. No going back now.
“I have something for you.” Unfastening her bag and reaching inside, she felt around for the desired item. By the time she’d withdrawn her hoof, Sunny had closed the distance enough for Phyllis to hoof it right over.
It was only as Sunny took the object that she registered what it was. Phyllis heard a slow, short breath escape the mare, forehoof shaking as she lifted the brand-new, reinforced frame closer.
Against her will, Phyllis felt her eyes draw down, observing the aged, torn photo inside, and the depiction of a much younger Sunny, mouth agape in delight, laid across the back of a spectacled blue stallion. Why, she didn’t know, for the image had been burned into her mind ever since pushing in the last side of its original broken frame. More so after applying the tape as carefully as possible.
“You put it back together.” Another shallow breath made itself known. “You even found the rest of it.”
“Yes,” Phyllis said, smiling bashfully, her eyes traveling over the recovered scraps at the margins. “Noticed it again once everypony started moving back to town. Got Toots and Sweets to help find all the fragments under the debris.” It was still broken, raw, rough, incomplete. Yet perhaps because of the face-breaking grins on the two ponies, the photo looked brighter than ever.
Phyllis looked back up, observing Sunny still taking the photo in. Slowly, the young mare looked up from her frozen-in-time father. The corner of her mouth twitched.
Then, suddenly, Sunny leaped forward, throwing her forelegs around Phyllis. Caught off guard, Phyllis was so stunned she could only stumble with her rear hooves to keep upright.
“Thank you, Phyllis.” Despite the soft warmth of Sunny’s words by her neck, Phyllis felt colder, if anything. Yet something about those words also felt liberating. She was still nervous, but her hesitation had diluted.
“…Do you remember last year, when you were in my office?” Phyllis felt Sunny pull away, forelegs retracting. Phyllis almost choked at the melancholy expression on Sunny’s face when she parted, but retained enough strength to keep going. “Remember the story I told you?
“I… I asked the pegasus queen about it.”
Sunny’s eyes widened. She took a step back, but took another one forward again just as quick, craning her neck. “What… what did she say?” Phyllis’ eyes flickered sideways, confirming out of instinct that nopony was within earshot.
“She knew what happened.” Phyllis didn’t pause to absorb Sunny’s reactions. She needed to get this out. “The second set of tracks, they were a patrolling guard.” Dimly aware of Sunny’s mouth opening wider, Phyllis averted her eyes. “Because of… what we believed… our pony got so scared, he backed too close to the cliff edge. The pegasus tried to warn him, he even dove forward, but that just made our pony back up further… and slip.”
“…And because they had no magic, he couldn’t fly to save him.” Sunny’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried more gravitas than if she’d had a megaphone to hoof.
“Yes,” Phyllis said quietly. She looked out to the ocean, watching the thin lines of waves caress the horizon. Not even when Sunny walked out ahead of her onto the grass, observing the same, did she move.
For what felt like the longest time, the two stood there, watching the bay. The celebrations back in town were faintly audible, but next to the shimmer of the aerial rays and the water below, they might as well have been absent.
Phyllis felt a choke in her throat. It had been a long time since she’d had to do something like this. Being the leader of the biggest company around, adored by all, meant you were always on the other end of this situation, and well used to it. None of that front-row observation was helping here. Yet despite her legs threatening to wobble, she found the strength to get one word out.
“Sunny.”
It was enough. Once her companion had turned around, Phyllis saw her react with surprise at the look on Phyllis’ face. Though her muscles sagged further at Sunny’s expression, Phyllis finally had the conviction she needed.
“I’m sorry.”
With the deed done, Phyllis waited patiently. Sunny didn’t move, the wind lightly stirring her mane. Every sparkle and shimmer in her horn and wings seemed to hesitate, as though they sensed the moment’s importance. Even more still was Sunny’s face, locked in a kind of frozen digestion.
Eventually, Sunny responded. “For what?”
Phyllis let out a bittersweet chuckle. It felt right, somehow. “For many things. For never truly considering we didn’t have to live in fear. For having Canterlogic endorse that distrust all these moons. For ignoring every plea for peace you made. For… for playing a major part in ostracizing you from everypony.”
In the seconds she took to gather herself, Phyllis caught sight of the photo clutched in Sunny’s hoof. Of the little filly so happy you felt better just looking at her. Of her laid across the stallion’s back.
“For turning my flank on what I once believed. And… and on a friend.”
Phyllis closed her eyes, lowering her head. She heard the wind through her curls more than she felt it.
“I used to think you were blinded from the truth.” With her head still lowered, her eyes opened, focusing sideways. She could just make out the faint hoofprints of the foals who had run by earlier. “It was the rest of us who had our eyes shut. Some more than others.”
When she raised her neck back up, Phyllis was pained to see what she saw, more than she’d thought possible. Sunny’s pupils were averted, downcast, her mouth threatening to droop off her muzzle. Across her face was the painful reminder of what she’d endured all those years. Just as Phyllis had suspected. And on top of all that, a conflicted evaluation of Phyllis’ apology. If it even deserved that label.
“Can you forgive this foolish old mare, Sunny?” Sunny’s ears flickered, though she didn’t raise her eyes. “This stubborn, withered pony too set in her ways?” Phyllis waited for a reaction. Any kind of sign.
Sunny finally looked back to Phyllis, eyes locked on each other. For a moment, she remained still, mouth marginally ajar.
Then, just as it closed, it widened into a small, but beautiful smile. Pure, unfiltered, sincere. In that moment, Phyllis could feel her heart beat faster, even through the shallow breath she drew as the corners of her mouth turned up. She wasn’t foolish enough to assume too much from this simple gesture. And she knew Sunny would never truly forget. Yet she felt far more relieved from this than from anything Sunny might have said.
Setting the photo down, Sunny closed the distance. “Dad and I promised we’d prove all ponies were meant to be friends.” It was to Phyllis’ credit that she didn’t stiffen more than marginally when Sunny placed a hoof on her. “Age, the past… that doesn’t matter.” At this, Phyllis failed to surpass a relieved chuckle. It must have been infectious, for Sunny giggled herself.
As relief continued to wash over them both, Phyllis found herself lost in Sunny’s mane. Not the rainbow streaks, pretty as they were, but the familiar purple bits among the magenta. They felt new at the same time.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting a long breath out, one that seemed to calm with her heartbeat as it dissipated away. She still had much to do, but now… it felt doable.
Now, she had the courage to say what she should have said last year.
“He never really left you, you know.”
Before Sunny had even had a chance to react more than widening her eyes, Phyllis found her own hoof on Sunny’s shoulder. Why, she wasn’t sure. It was as though a part of her long since buried was active now. But she made no effort to fight it.
“I see so much of him in you.” She let out a soft sigh, wistful yet somehow cheerful. Perhaps this was the effect Sunny had on others when there were no opposing stances at play. “His caring nature, and his dedication to the triumphs of the past. But it was your drive for our future that made the difference.”
Sunny’s face contorted, digesting these words. Her smile hadn’t exactly vanished, but it seemed subdued by thought. Slowly, she retracted her hoof, walking past. Turning, Phyllis saw her stop a few paces away, her gaze directed at the lighthouse’s split tower.
Phyllis had only been watching for a few moments when Sunny sighed softly, and though Phyllis couldn’t be sure, she thought she saw Sunny’s eyes flicker to her phantasmal horn. When she looked again, though, Sunny was focused on the twisting kaleidoscope of dancing, hypnotic rays.
As Phyllis made to follow, she instead found her gaze shifting downward, to the lighthouse’s base. Her eyes magnetically drew themselves to the toppled mechanical monstrosity still lying at its side. Observing every rivet, every curve. Every one of them a Canterlogic component.
Convincing herself it was to give Sunny more space, and not because of the rising discomfort in her stomach, she turned inland, in the vague direction of Zephyr Heights. Where everything had changed for her, all those years ago.
No, Phyllis corrected herself. Where she had let it change her. Let it blind her. And be blinded to what – or whom – she loved.
She felt a hoof atop her own. Turning, she saw Sunny. What was equally surprising was seeing something of a knowing smirk plastered across the young mare. Not an unbecoming one, it still radiated warmth. Just with some craftiness too, a look Phyllis identified on sight from experience. Whatever Sunny had been thinking about had long since resolved itself.
“You know, there’s going to be a need for unusual gadgets in the future. Especially with everypony having their magic back.” Phyllis blinked twice, sharply, certain she must have misheard. “I’ve seen how unicorns and pegasi live, I have a few ideas for what they could use. All we need now is somepony to make them.”
Sunny almost seemed to blur away into an indistinct mush. Phyllis barely felt or heard anything, dimly aware of sitting down. Here she was, wondering what the next step forward would be in a future she had never expected could ever happen. She was sharp enough to know her whole company became obsolete the moment they put the fractured frame back together. That they would need a complete restructuring and rebranding to not collapse overnight. There had just been more pressing issues at hoof.
And now the way forward had been hoofed to her on a silver platter. Not only that, it was a golden opportunity with nothing but benefits for everypony. Dimly, she became aware Sunny was sitting even closer than when she was standing. Her patient, knowing look hadn’t left.
Phyllis felt her gut twist. She… she didn’t deserve this.
She made to retract her foreleg. But as she did so, Phyllis felt the hoof on top tighten, grasping firmer, yet retaining the same gentleness. She drew a short, rattled breath, at which Sunny’s knowing grin faded for a soothing, placid one.
“It doesn’t matter how long ago you gave up, Phyllis.” Sunny’s eyes twinkled, emerald irises sparkling more than her horn or wings. “It’s never too late. There’s always a chance for everypony. We’ll all do our part.”
“Hoof to heart.”
Sunny and Phyllis froze, mouths ajar in the wake of what they’d just said. Both with their spare forehooves held to their chests. And both with a dawning realization of what had just happened.
Phyllis was the first to speak. “I… I haven’t heard those words in so long.” Her attention darted sideways, eyeing the salvaged photo she’d returned to Sunny lying nearby. “I thought I’d forgotten them.”
Sunny broke into a great, big beam. The kind that made you feel light on your hooves just to behold. “Sounds like they never really left you,” Sunny said softly. Phyllis let out a tiny but perceptible giggle most unbecoming of a pony of her stature, except during public presentations. Sunny was right – already, Phyllis was recalling in vivid detail saying the words with the gestures many times. And carrying through on them every time… except one.
Struck by a fresh reminder, Phyllis stammered. “Oh, um…” Breaking from their grasp, she fumbled nervously with the pouch at her side, struggling to flip up the latch, her hooves oddly resistant to this simple command. “I’ve got something else for you too.” Finally getting the flap open, she got out her second gift. With the mare of the moment right there, Phyllis pulled no punches, dropping it straight into her lap.
Slowly, Sunny picked up the familiar frame. The picture inside was just as faded as the last time it had seen daylight, perhaps even more. Phyllis watched Sunny’s eyes linger on the colt Argyle and filly Phyllis. One hoof moved over the glass, tracing the path the two foals ran through, their joyful grins forever frozen in time.
Finally, Sunny looked up. “You’re giving me this?” Phyllis nodded slowly, a final confirmation. She hadn’t given that photo any thought at all in the last year. Not until magic had been restored. Since then, it hadn’t left her head. A reminder of what once was.
Sunny inspected the photo again, a thoughtful look on her face. Phyllis waited patiently, not sure what she was thinking, but willing to give her a moment.
“No.” Sunny’s hooves moved, pressing the photo back into Phyllis’ lap. “You should keep it.”
“What?” Phyllis’ eyes flashed between the photo and Sunny, unable to decide where to stick. “But why?”
“Phyllis, it’s a lovely gift, but I don’t need this to remember him by.” Sunny’s eyes didn’t even dart in the direction of the first photo. “After all, he never really left me.” Phyllis felt her own focus finally settle on the little Argyle.
“And… I think he’d want you to keep it.”
The very air seemed to hush. Phyllis felt every hair on her coat bristle. For the first time in many moons, she truly took in the photo, eyes drawn to her young, carefree self, a pony who had felt more like a stranger with time. Yet now, the more she looked, the more familiar that filly seemed.
Maybe Sunny was right. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
When she looked back up, Sunny’s beam was so infectious it only took two seconds for Phyllis to follow suit. Sunny grinned further, and leaned forward, wrapping her forelegs around Phyllis. Phyllis did the first thing that came to mind, and threw her own forelegs around Sunny. As they brushed by the golden wings of light, Sunny bristled, an involuntary shudder fair for new appendages, regardless of their time here.
Now in the embrace and returning it, Phyllis had no thoughts of ending it prematurely. It had been so long since she’d been in such an intimate hug with anypony but Sprout. Love him though she did, he wasn’t the hugging type, prone to mumbling she was embarrassing him and wiggling out, even in private. Oh, there would be plenty of embarrassment sans hugs for him, Phyllis mused. But that was for later.
“Hey, Sunny!” Blinking, Phyllis and Sunny leaned back from the hug, turning. Hitch stood on the crest of the hill, waving in their direction. Phyllis could even spot the hang-on critters that trailed him everywhere by his side, along with the pegasus queen’s flying dog, bobbing at head height. “Everypony’s gathering for a picnic!” The white bundle of fluff drew sideways, rubbing against Hitch’s cheek. At this, the sheriff pushed him away gently, blushing. “You coming?”
“Be right there!” Making to stand, Sunny retrieved her photo lying a few paces away. Phyllis also got to her hooves, returning hers to her pouch. As Sunny set off, Phyllis followed. She needed to get back to town anyway. The duties of an industrious leader rarely slept for long. Especially with all the work that would need to be done in removing past marketing, discontinuing old products, and designing new ones.
“Hey, Phyllis.” Phyllis turned as she matched Sunny’s pace, observing her looking somewhat bashful and hesitant. “Would it be okay if we got together sometime? And you could tell me some stories about Dad?” Sunny’s ears flicked up, as sure a sign of an idea as vocalizing it. “I’ll make some unicorn cupcakes. They’re great freshly baked!”
Phyllis didn’t even have to put effort into her nostalgic smirk. “I’d like that.” Cocking her head as her smile widened, and not even minding needing to stop to readjust her spectacles, Phyllis continued on with Sunny, Hitch waiting just a hill ahead.
She was always a mare who looked to the future, but she was used to some degree of predictability, of expectedness, in doing so. Make new products, keep everypony safe, nurture Sprout, rinse and repeat. Now that had been thrown into disarray, and many old habits would need much tinkering. It wouldn’t be easy. Not least adjusting how she encouraged her own son, she noted with a tightening of her mouth.
But all in all, Phyllis had never been more glad not to know what lay ahead. Because with warm memories and old beliefs rekindled, the future never looked so bright.
