Pinkie was making the Inn presentable. Since Mr. and Mrs. Cake had moved out, she had done great things to SCC. With the help of her friend Dirt Block, she had made the old bakery into a 5 story, 5 star inn. Still, inns needed to have maintenance done on them, and it was up to her to keep things orderly.

On the couch sat a rather new pony, Winter Born by name. A large scar on her eye, her tale was one shrouded in mystery, and one that Pinkie didn’t want to know anything about. For the years since the Cakes had left, Pinkie had calmed down greatly. She now wore her mane down straight, preferring it to the wild curls she once wore. She was calmer and more relaxed, and had settled down with a husband some time ago. Most of all, she was less curious about the affairs of other ponies. Granted, she still had the curiosity of a filly who had heard a snippet of conversation, but it was better than she had been.

It was rather late at night now, and Diane knew she needed sleep. She yawned, pouring herself a glass of warm milk to get ready for bed. Suddenly, a small knock sounded at the door.

“Who in blazes is up at this hour,” she asked, mainly to herself.

Winter smiled the hideous, fake smile she had on her face always, something else to do with her past. “Well, you for one. Who spit in your milk?”

Grumbling to herself, she walked to the door and pulled it open.

Outside, his nose stuck in a book and a quill behind his ear, was a small brownish-grey earth pony, his hair brown and short. His glasses were slid down on his nose, and he seemed to be concentrating a great deal on a drawing of what looked to be a wire.

“Hello?”

The man made no sign of hearing her. Pinkie shook her head, sighing. “Mister, are you alright,” she asked, waving her hoof over his face.

He glanced at her, pushing his glasses up. “Oh, very sorry, Miss. I came seeking a room.”

She smiled. “We have plenty of vacancy. Please, come in.”

He nodded and strolled in, sitting next to Winter. She scooted away, not liking pony interaction – truthfully, any sort of social interaction. He held up the book for her to see the picture, his face a mystery. “What would you say this picture looks like, miss?”

She glanced at the picture. “Um… a bit of wire, I guess?”

He made a small ‘Tsk’ of disapproval. “Still not right…” he muttered slightly as he pulled his quill out from his ear, furiously scratching away at the picture. Winter watched as the picture slowly turned into a small bird, and gasped slightly. How on earth had he done that? “Still not it… aha!” He smiled and drew the birds wing as broken. He smiled and pushed his glasses up, his eyes closed and a mystical smile alighting his face.

Pinkie heard a small crash outside as something hit the side of the house. She set down her glass. “Wonder what it is now…” Making her way outside, she gasped slightly. “It’s a bird! Seems it broke its wing…”

Winter was staring at the man, her mouth agape. “Y-you did that… that’s sick.”

Pinkie walked in, holding the tiny bird in her hooves. “The poor thing…”

The man smiled as he put the quill back behind his ear again, closing the book. “Saved the birds life, in the end though.”

Both the mares looked at him, mystified. He glanced at them in turn. “Well, that’s what those wires were. It was about to run into the electrical lines. If it hadn’t hit this inn and broken its wings, it’d have been tangled up and fried by the electricity. A slow and painful death, I’ve heard.”

Pinkie was driven speechless, something she hadn’t felt in a long time, and she found she didn’t really like it. All she managed to say was “Huh,” and that felt like a rather pitiful thing to say at this point.

He slowly stood, rather gracefully and his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Goodnight, Ladies,” he said, his voice practically singing in his mystery and wonder. Winter rolled her eyes lightly, and he chuckled. “Don’t do that,” he remarked, “or you might see your brain.”

She glared at him and he laughed again. “Got you to stop rolling them, didn’t I?”

He nodded to them each in turn. “Goodnight, Miss Pie and Miss Born. I will see you tomorrow.” He began to walk upstairs, and Pinkie stopped him. “Wait, sir… how did you do that thing with the book?”

He smiled at her, chuckling. “Miss Pie, don’t you know… a magician never reveals his secrets.”

He began walking further up the stairs, and this time Winter spoke. “How did you know our names?”

He kept walking. “Didn’t I just say I never revealed my secrets?”

“That’s assuming you’re a magician. What’s your name?”

He glanced at her from the stairwell. “Miss Born, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

She grinned and her horn sparked with magic. “Oh really, Page?”

His eyes widened. “H-how on earth did you do that?”

She winked at him. “Didn’t you just say… a magician never reveals their secrets?”

He smiled at her. “Well played, Miss Born. Very well, my name is Page Turner.” With that, he kept walking, then stopped himself. “Oh, and Diane?”

She looked at him, half in awe and half in fear. “Yes?”

He smiled somewhat ruefully. “May I have a key to my room?”

She chuckled and went to the counter, pulling a set of keys out. “Here you go, Sir. Enjoy your stay at SCC Inn and Bakery.”

He glanced once more at Winter, smiling. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” With that, he walked up to his room, opened the door, and fell on the bed, exhausted.

Winter set down her glass, thinking. Maybe it was time to do some spying on this… Page Turner.

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