He was the last one off the train.

The ponies that had left before him were unclothed, care free country folk; clothing was a luxury, and inconvenience for some pegasi, but typically fashion was an acquired taste in this culture. Cutie marks were exposed for all to see, a proud testament of skill and specialty. Fur adorned their bodies, from the hooves, to the tips of their three-digited hands, to the tips of their pointed ears, and sensitive areas received a more modest amount of coverage— all in all, Equestrians used clothing for harsher environments or the winters. For some it was a distinguishing feature, an example being the silver earth pony donning a pink shirt.

They were generally expressive creatures these ponies, shown through dexterous ears flicking to the sound of the whistling train and conversations, shimmering crystal eyes conveying mirth, lips slipped to be bit in order to withhold laughter at somepony else’s expense, and tails whipped angrily at being tugged despite the calm demeanour of the victim.

He was the exact opposite.

It was certain that he’d garner the attention of others. The history-scarred attire was an abomination aesthetically: the grassy long coat, though evidently enduring, bore a clawed lapel and loops of punctures riding over his right shoulder. It was left open enough for armour reminiscent of hydra hide, both in viridian colour and scaled fashion to be observed. A belt was wrapped around the tapered waist, squared pockets jingling due to contents. The gloves were peelings, all three digits of his right hand charred at the tips.

That tall stranger had a conspicuous feature. A timber hood swallowed a dulled metallic masquerade ball mask that protruded out, a fragile memory of its former self. Chipped, scrapped, and bearing a hairline crack. It obscured his face entirely. The only indication of identity was the chocolate toned tail, hanging short and limp from behind; no cutie mark stamped anywhere to be seen.

All in all, he was quite the eyesore upon the station platform. The ponies couldn’t help but shoot him a passing glance, a wary stare out of the corner of their eye, a curious look over their shoulder. It did not bother him. He was a stallion covered head to toe in garb, but he knew it was more than that.

He spotted a map upon the wall by the station cabin entrance and migrated towards it. Flecks of distant swamps fell from his boots as he scanned his surroundings, making sure to ever so slightly cock his head in response to somepony who stared longer than desired. Upon arrival he pulled out a letter from an inner pocket, stamped by a wax seal depicting a gold and platinum compass rose: the seal of His Majesty, Prince Blue Blood. On the other side, the name “Princess Twilight Sparkle” was upon it. What wasn’t written was the phrase “For her eyes only”, though the hooded figure could pick up on that.

“She is located in the town library—honestly, how else would one tempt a book worm to leave?— and I request that she receives this letter post haste! Then you may return to your main priority.”

Prince Blue Blood’s words did have an air of truth to them, like a foggy memory attempting to become clearer. The hooded figure recalled a time when the Princess of Friendship was a recluse, a studious soon-to-be scholar of the arcane. It was no secret to anypony that Princess Celestia’s student was this way back when.

He could only see one library in the moderately sized town of Ponyille, making it easy to trace the short path between the train station and his destination. With the path memorised he began to depart, his gaze lingering on the map as he vacated the premise, his mind slipping to his task.

He was not a courier for the Prince, no, he was nothing as demeaning. No offence to mailmares and the like, he thought. He simply had no desire for such thing, and the Prince knew that. There was a grander reason for his visit: he had to retrieve several items of interest to the crown as swiftly as possible.

’So I AM a glorified courier.’ Though struck by the bitter taste of the revelation, he couldn’t withhold the hidden smirk beneath the mask.

Minutes along the beaten path his boots struck cobblestone streets. All throughout the walk, other than the curious glances, the sound of metal sliding upon metal accompanied every stride. His armour whispered to him, asking to be lain down to rest. Soon, he thought, soon he’d be done, and by sun down he’d be in bed. For now he’d press on, saving his strength through a slouch and gentle pace.

The town was pleasant enough. Nopony got by without a friendly greeting, no step was without the scent of treats growing stronger, and no sour mood was present to dampen these ponies. A tranquil town from afar, but a lively town square of idle chit-chat, playful foals, and general lollygagging. The day was kind, Princess Celestia’s blessing brightening many fragrant gardens, the aroma riding the late spring breeze. With nary a cloud in the sky, for this day, with ponies experiencing the warmth of a close community, Ponyville was rather picturesque for the new comer.

To be amidst these country folk who bartered with gusto, smiled with sweet sincerity, and laughed away the days of youth was many things for him.

Merry.

Warming.

Overwhelming.

A few times he’d been approached from an oncoming pedestrian, who’d give him a once over, to which he’d return a cock of the head, and they’d both pass one and other. If they waved, he nodded in kind, exaggerating the motion to make up for lack of expression. They never seemed satisfied, or rather, were not prepared it seemed. He could feel their gaze.

Everpony’s gaze.

“I understand that you’ve been wanting to take on the southern territory for quite some time, yes, it was inevitable given where you’ve been.”

“Five years? You’d think it would have been four.”

“I signed the papers, you see, there are few guards in the southern territory and I find that rather… disturbing. My proposal for more garrisons and bodies in the south has been approved. I want you to be one of the many faces representing the guards as a member of our elite. Fates above no, you are not alone in this. Even if I do think so highly of your skill, neither of us are fools. You will be the face of Equestria’s finest.

For now, you will carry out these missions: to deliver this letter and retrieve what has been lost from us.”

Prince Blue Blood's approval was reassuring, but as the figure turned a corner, his gloved hand stroked the muzzle of the mask. The face of Equestria’s mightiest? Perhaps he was an outstanding member of his branch, but to be the first thing that came to mind whenever ponies thought that? For his face to become the one everypony thought of? He could not see how that would help anyone. He shook the thought out of his head, a low growl muffled by the mask. If he is to be stationed in the south, ordered to respond first to any threats, he would do so. The eyes of the many can be ignored so long as he felt he was doing a good job. That was highly respectable. He had his duty to think of.

Speaking of which, he took in his surroundings after realising that he hadn’t had to correct his path to avoid anypony in a while. He looked to the scene before him and tensed, energy surging back into him. It was a simple road, unremarkable in and of itself. Thatched cottages leant against one and other, doors and windows closed without any sign of activity within. Businesses loomed overhead, the darkened display windows bearing faceless mannequins that met his own blank glance. He took a wary step that echoed upon contact. Save for a dead leaf in an updraft there was no other indication of life.

“Strange.” His weary voice was soft, the shallow end of a baritone. It pierced through the mask clear enough to deliver his caution. “A packed town square, a warm day, peak time… but not a single store open or customer roaming the streets?” His head swerved as he picked up the pace, his slouch gone and hands clenching. Nopony to his left, nopony to his right, and here he was, stuck to the side of deserted road in an otherwise busy town.

He walked tall, back straightened and with a pace shy of swift. It was probably him overanalysing everything, to make up for the fatigue, as he expected somepony to walk out into the open. They didn’t. His fingers flexed, curled, and then flexed again during his stroll. He was about halfway down the road when he heard it: cart wheels rolling by his side.

It was a rather flamboyant cart that came to a halt before him, having emerged from a small alcove. A large chest of sort sat on top, a bright mixture of fuchsia and party pink that was trimmed with golden edgings. Three balloons-- blue, yellow, blue-- were stamped upon the front alongside a note.

He had stopped the moment it had eerily crept out. Truth be told he’d never thought something so… colourful could be quite as ominous as this particular cart. Eyeing the note he crept up to it, shifting his gaze to the alley it had come from upon arrival. Nothing— the space available shouldn’t have been able to conceal it in the first place. Tilting the note to catch the light of day he read it.

‘Hi! If you’re new to Ponyville press the big red button on the side of the cart for a surprise! Or if you’re not new to Ponyville then you can press it anway!’

He leant to the side and, indeed, there was a large red button begging to be pressed. It was the function that caused him to pause after letting the letter hang limp. Why in the whole wide world would a stranger be expected to be press the button? More so, who would desire such a thing? Either way, the note implied the locals would be used to such a strange phenomenon.

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ he thought as the button clicked upon being pressed. Truth be told, the temptation was rather strong. He scampered back when the cart whirled and mechanisms ticked.

The chest erupted into an elaborate setup composed of an oven flanked by two candy-striped tubes, waving flags, and trumpets blaring an upbeat melody. The cacophonous contraption of a thousand fan fares quickly lost his focus when a nimble pink pony cartwheeled from the alley beside him.

A flash of gold appeared beneath the hood, quickly dissipating as the mare hopped around and sung with great enthusiasm.

“Welcome, welcome, welco~ome, a fine welcome to you!”

She bounced over towards him whilst he was stupefied. His mask dipped to her waist, where her hand disappeared behind her back.

“Welcome, welcome, welco~me,” she continued, bright blue eyes blazing with glee, “How do you do?”

The hand retrieved a bugle before blasting it by his head. He flinched at the sound, feeling her press her side against him and spin across his back. In his efforts to keep his sight locked on her, he lowered his stance and spun around, finding nothing. The sound of a bass drum being struck caused him to face the front once more.

“Welcome, welcome, welco~ome, hip-hip hurray!” She struck the comically large drum in time to the beat as she skipped around the cart. The earth pony then launched the harnessed drum down the alleyway before dancing a merry jig.

“Welcome, welcome, welco~ome to Po~ny~ville tod~ay!” she finished, sliding to her knees and spreading her arms wide. Having the show finally come to an end, he finally got a chance to observe the one pony flash mob.

The panting mare was a little pleasantly plump, soft in a lot of her features and face but hardly pudgy. She had the broadest of smiles, her complexion welcoming and her eyes shining with mirth. Her frizzy, curled mane and tail were a sharper pink than her coat, matching the carts colours; her cutie mark was of three balloons, the same ones on what he assumed was her little contraption.

Seconds after recovering himself from the musical ambush, he shook his head of the cobwebs. He brought a fist to the mask’s muzzle and coughed.

“Wait for it!” she chirped in a sugary voice, raising a finger to stop him. The oven then dinged and door fell open. Inside lay a golden sponge cake, the scent surging through the air and taking refuge amidst his olfactory senses. Like a coiled spring let loose the mare jumped to her hooves, clapping her hands in glee. At that moment the tubes exploded, launching confetti into the air.

“Yeah!” Her cheer accompanied the rain of rainbow ribbons, the heavily garbed figure watching their decent. “Sometimes I forget and switch the cake batter and the confetti around and ponies end up with a really messy- but delicious- welcome!” She then giggled into her hand. Meanwhile, he was brushing off the mess perched upon his shoulder.

“You know…” he started slowly, picking off the confetti resting on his muzzle, “as far as welcomes go this was definitely… memorable.” True, he doubted he’d receive anything more bizarre and bewildering as this in the future. At least, in a positive way.

“Teehee, thanks!” Her sweet tone complimented her ecstatic demeanour—something that, although he had run into from time to time, he couldn’t get used to. In an instant she swiped the cake from the oven, plus the plate, and rushed towards him. Up close she came to shoulder height. With her free hand she snatched his and shook it until it was numb. “My name’s Pinkie Pie! What’s yours, mister?”

A familiar name, one that pulled out a summary like a file from the ‘Prince Blue Blood’s account’ cabinet.

“I am as of yet to meet this… Pinkie Pie. An element bearer, of Laughter I believe, but has caused nought but distain in those who attended a previous Grand Galloping Gala. Rest assured, half spoke venomously for the sake of spite and half bickered of a ruined evening at the hands of a country bumpkin partying like an uncultured fool. I’ll let you form your own opinion of the Avatar of Harmony. Just keep her away from me.”

The Prince was, generally, wary of all ponies and typically hard to please. If he ever spoke highly there was often truth to his words, but there were times when he wasn’t as good judge of character as he claimed to be. Often with commoners.

‘And somehow the fall after pride was their fault.’ he thought.

“Ser Vincent,” he said with professional pride. He was about to embellish further until the cake was pressed into him. He looked between her and the delicious smelling desert before tilting his head to ask the silent question now on his mind. She didn't respond, instead ensured that his spare hand did have a grip on the plate.

“Ooh, sounds important, Vinny! Do you mind if I call you Vinny? Just ‘cuz I kind of make up nick names for my friends; you can call me Pinkie! All my friends call me Pinkie.” She stopped shaking his hand and took a step back. With crooked finger to her lips beneath a thinking brow, she eyed the stunned new comer. She hummed as his attention dropped to the cake.

Friends? In such a short space of time? Those two thoughts stirred in his mind like hornets refused entry to the hive, alongside the one bee picketing the sign that read ‘what the heck do I do with this cake?’ One simply could not make friends in less than ten seconds, or so he believed. Not to say he thought negatively of her. On the contrary, he did have cake and a welcome wagon literally rolled out for him. She struck him as simply overbearing but hardly as bad as the stuck ups in Canterlot would want everypony to believe.

Then again it had been less than five minutes.

“Say…” her drawl piqued his interest. “What’s with the get up?” She gestured to his form before leaning in and squinting up to him. “You off to some fancy dress party or something?” She stuck a finger into one of the holes in his shoulder. Evidently, when his muzzle craned to her invading appendage the motion went over her head as she continued. “You really, really need somepony to fix this up, Vinny. Luckily, your new gal pal Pinkie knows another gal perfect for the job! I know a gal or guy for anything and everything!” she chirped before her bright eyes locked onto his mask, specifically, the visible hairline crack on the snout. She reached for it.

“Rarity could easily—huh?!”

Before she could land a touch, his free hand struck with lightning speed and a whip of the wind. He caught her with firm grasp, not painfully clamping around her wrist but sturdy enough to remove any ounce of free movement.

She’s just too curious, not an excuse for any harm.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologised with sincerity, her ears wilting. With a sheepish smile, her eyes shifted to the side. “I should’ve guess you didn’t want any pony touching this, huh?” Her hand slid back out of his loosening grasp, retreating to her side as she scuffed the curb with her hoof. He released an amused sigh, a sound that made her eyes and ears perk back up.

“Since you’re a quick study I see no reason to hold a grudge.” His voice was gentle still, mirth warming the tone as he shook his head. “Though I must ask that you don’t touch my apparel, especially the mask.” He tapped his mask once, earning an earnest nod from Pinkie.

“Sure thing, Vinny!” It surprised him how quickly she returned to her bubbly state. “I’ve gotta ask though--“

He didn’t want to answer. He never wanted to answer. They didn’t need to do this. Just take it at face value: he’s an over-garbed stallion, nothing more. He drew a shaky breathe, a thousand other answers writhing on his tongue, a thousand prepared lies.

“--Where ya going, big guy?”

He straightened himself up, blinking beneath the mask. Maybe he was just too tired.

“I have been tasked to find and deliver this letter to Princess Twilight,” he stated, pulling out half of the mentioned item just enough to be seen, “and then I have another task that will require my attention.” Vincent tucked the letter back into his inner breast pocket before looking past Pinkie. His gaze settled on the distant library.

“Oh? Twilight’s got mail huh? No problamo, come on!” She once again snatched his free hand, “I’ll take you straight there!”

She tried to hop away with him in tow but barely made a single leap. She bounced back with an elasticated motion, surprised by how grounded he was. He barely budged. She blinked before putting more effort in, slowly adding more strength. She only ceased after rooting her hooves to the ground and using all her might.

“You know, Vinny,” she grunted, “It helps if you move too.” Pinkie instantly returned to trying to gain ground, earning a reluctant step.

“Excuse me, but what exactly am I supposed to do with this?” He emphasised his point by both nodding to the cake and raising it. His inquiry was something he had been holding back for a while, but with him being on the move again, it seemed important that he found out what she expected him to do with a full sponge cake. She didn’t honestly expect him to eat it did she? He was out in the middle of the street. Was he supposed to carry this everywhere he went from now on?

She stopped tugging to erupt in childish laughter, her joyous moment ending with a snort and an eye roll.

“You eat it, duh.” She spoke as if it was the simplest, obvious answer, and the fact that it was irked him. Pinkie shook her head before attempting to move him once again. “What else did you think you could do with it?” He relented a single step, spurring her on. Gradually he moved like a train leaving a station for its intended destination, picking up enough speed for Pinkie to skip along with him in tow. “Come on! Twilight’s is just up ahead!”

And so he followed the energetic mare, disorientated and with cake.

Author's Notes:

Hoping for a slightly new take on the HiE genre and anthro genre too. Where ponies keep the nudist aspects of their society due to cutie marks.

Also inspired by Gentleman J's Journey of Graves. Good read on humanised MLP universe, highly recommended.