Words Can Weigh a Sun

by Bluegrass Brooke

Chapters

• One — Middle of Nowhere Doesn't Begin to Cut It
• Wormwood and Gall
• Wrong Way Forward

One — Middle of Nowhere Doesn't Begin to Cut It

Trees. Hundreds upon thousands of them swaying in easy time to a metronome that couldn’t be heard. Yet, Sea Scroll sensed it as surely as he did the ebbing and flowing tide of Horseshoe Bay. As his hooves plodded along the glorified bridle trail, he could not help but wonder how they were doing back home.

This expanse held a fierce, rugged independence that his sleepy little town had long since lost. All around, cedar trees taller than any bungalow grabbed greedily at the mountains, as if shouting, ‘someday, someday!’ Here the wind did not drift lazily across the forest nor blow as the coastal breeze before a typhoon. It tore through the heart of it, swirling, dancing, and cackling like some witch doctor and her cauldron.

He flinched, narrowly avoiding tripping over a large root and jamming his long horn into the dry earth. How ponies enjoyed living in such a remote hole in the ground was beyond him. Walking for hours upon hours from the station had left his hooves cracked and irritatingly stiff. Sea Scroll could not tell the time if this place even kept time. All he could note were the shadows, reaching ever closer with each passing minute.

A stupid part of him grew restless at their encroachment. In a densely packed forest like this, he might very well get his first taste of pitch blackness. The thought sent shivers up his spine. He shook his head. Get it together. His horn lit up, summoning a pink light and the shadows scurrying for cover.

I’ve got to be getting close . . . Sea Scroll levitated a letter from his saddlebags. He read the pitiful excuse for directions this Phineus fellow had given him.

My nose? What, does the town smell like garbage or something? Just on cue, a wicked blast of North wind slammed into him. Sea Scroll scrambled to pocket the letter before it joined the loose leaves on their journey south. Once the initial shock had passed, he paused as an unexpected, undeniably wonderful scent drifted his way.

Cedar and not the kind he had been passing all day, but a deep, sweet scent buried deep inside their twisted trunks. The smell of his mother’s hope chest, the one sailors used to keep rodents from their uniforms, the undeniable scent of freshly worked cedar.

It did not skirt around him as he passed, but embraced him, gradually taking over his senses until he thought he might drown in it. Not a second too soon, he noted the outskirts of the town. Judging from its remote location, he half expected filthy saloons, whore houses, and a few stallions slugging it out in the streets. What he got took his breath away.

Sea Scroll had never been one to romanticize the past, but now he found himself lost in it. The entire town looked had been caught up in some kind of architectural time warp hearkening back when natural woodwork surpassed gaudy paint jobs in popularity. Even his more refined taste could appreciate the oxymoron of elegant utilitarianism governing the town’s structures.

A few minutes in Saddlewood reflected what had been apparent the moment he heard its name. These ponies did not work with wood, they breathed it. Cedar and various hardwoods stored under massive awnings, freshly sawn timbers stacked on carts, shops full of wooden toys, and not a single brick or stone building to be seen.

Sea Scroll started as a voice like a thunderclap broke through the otherwise tolerable buzz. On the opposite side of the street, a master carpenter continued to berate his young and obviously harried apprentice. If the townponies’ perfect indifference served as any indication, this display was hardly a novel one.

His presence however, had set something of a ripple through the town. Not a hostile buzz, but a careful calculation as if he were a stray dog wanting to join their pack. Sea Scroll chose to ignore them, focusing instead on finding town hall.

It only took a second looking up to note its presence. A massive, almost perfectly circular tower constructed of vertical oak planks had been positioned in what looked to be the dead center of the otherwise modest town. As he approached, it became apparent that Saddlewood had not entirely escaped from grandiose architecture. Intricate carvings wrapped their way around the building, showcasing the craftsponies’ talent to its fullest while its many windows sparkled with a brilliant sheen that the late afternoon sun bestowed upon it. Opulent to be sure, but he would not go so far as to say it was gaudy.

Taking a long, deep breath, Sea Scroll swung open the massive oak doors and stepped inside the building. Despite the relative summer warmth outside, the temperature dropped dramatically inside the antechamber. As his hooves struck the polished hardwood, he nearly did the splits, wincing at the unexpected strain on his already sore muscles.

A quick glance around the otherwise empty antechamber assured him that his slip had gone un-noticed. With a little more caution than before, he tracked around. There were no windows on this level save for the massive skylight at the top, reflecting the floral design etched into its surface.

Pictures and various paintings of the town hung in gilded frames all around the chamber, complete with plaques stating their title and date. Taking into account that and the all-pervasive smell of antiques and woodwork, the place could have been a museum. Perhaps it was . . .

Sea Scroll glanced around, finding a kind of half-spiral staircase. Guess the mayor’s office is up a floor . . . He made it halfway to the stairs when the sound of hoofsteps stopped him. Sure enough, a stranger made his way down the steps, and sauntered over to join him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the living contradiction standing before him. An incredibly muscular earth pony dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit adorned by a violently red corsage. But all his eyes could focus on was the off-white mustache that constituted over half the pony’s face.

The mustache wiggled to one side in what he could only assume was his version of a wry smile.  “You wouldn’t perchance be Mr. Scroll, would you?”

Sea Scroll would have answered immediately if he had not been so distracted by the pony’s high-pitched, almost feminine voice. Kicking himself into action, he continued in a sarcastic drawl, “No, I’m just a fellow who happened to arrive in town the exact same evening you had an appointment scheduled with him. "

There was a mischievous twinkle in the middle-aged stallion’s eyes, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you are indeed him.”

“Corr-correct.” What kind of dimwitted rednecks elect a freak like him into office?

The stallion held out a hoof and Sea Scroll took it grudgingly. “Name’s Phineus, mayor of Saddlewood and president of North Woods Logging company.”

A logging company? Seriously? Sea Scroll could only give a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Ni-nice to meet you.”

Phineus jerked a nod, wheeling around to face the staircase. “Do follow me, Mr. Scroll.”

Sea Scroll took a step forward but froze, too stunned to speak. He’s a gelding?

Phineus turned back to him, mustasch wiggling, “Are you coming?”

“Ye-yes, sir.” Or ma’am or whatever the heck you call yourself . . .

Sea Scroll shuffled up the stairs, careful not to slip and make an idiot of himself. When he reached the top, Phineus greeted him with a respectful nod. Geesh, I’m not some dignitary. Though, he had to admit, the gesture was refreshing.

Phineus motioned for him to walk beside him and they set off around the circular walkway. It soon became apparent that the gelding kept the pace slow for his benefit. Generally Sea Scroll hated such leisurely strolls, but, with his hooves so sore, he could only be appreciative.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but I must say that you are exactly what Saddlewood has been needing for some time.”

Sea Scroll looked towards the doors lining the outer portion of the walkway, smirking. “Yes, well I’m sure many things fall under that category . . .”

For an instant, it looked as though Phineus might call him out, but his mustache merely twitched. He started to prance a little as he continued enthusiastically, “You see, Mr. Scroll, though we are a lumber powerhouse of Equestria, outsiders can’t seem to shake the unfortunate assumption that we’re some sort of . . . ‘backwater shanty-town.’”

“Backwater. Really?” The gelding covered his mouth with a hoof, practically giggling. After clearing his throat, he turned to him winking. “Bringing publicity to our local authors, artisans, and craftsponies through the paper will certainly discourage those . . . unfortunate assumptions.”

He raised an eyebrow, “I’m not here to create tourist bait, if that’s what you have in mind. I only seek to enlighten ponies about the arts.”

The mustache shifted again, “Oh, of course, Mr. Scroll. I’m sure you’ll find that this will beneficial to both the town and your more personal ambitions. I do so love a win-win situation.”

As they reached the foot of the next stairway, Phineus held out a hoof, jerking his head towards a large window. Curious, Sea Scroll followed him over and took in the sprawling town below. It looks like a model . . .

“What do you see, Mr. Scroll?”

Sea Scroll rolled his eyes. “A matchbox town in the middle of nowhere.”

Phineus giggled again, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s more to it than that.” He pointed to a large, industrial-looking building way off in the distance, hugging the banks of the river while a substantial wheel churned its white waters. His eyes fell to the ridgeline off in the distance, “The sawmill workers and the lumberjacks I employ. And then we have the craftsponies of course. Tell me, Mr. Scroll, do you see the dilemma yet?”

Dilemma? What’s he on about? “No,” he said rather more curtly than he intended.

Phineus turned to him with an unreadable expression. “All those ‘factions’ if you will have their own agendas. They could care less about the town as long as their faction is taken care of.”

He sighed, attention returning to the window. “Then there are ponies like you and me. Ponies dedicated to the town because its survival is directly linked to our own.”

The mustache parted enough for him to see an almost predatory smirk. “You see, Mr. Scroll, it is not love or concern for others that drives Saddlewood to prosper. I should not like you to be left ignorant in that regard.”

Phineus stared up the stairs and Sea Scroll followed. “If you know what is best for yourself, you will keep those . . .  ambitions personal, understood?”

“Ye-yes, sir.”

He paused just before they reached the top. “Oh, and one last thing.” Sea Scroll shifted uncomfortably as the gelding regarded the area between his legs. “You are a stallion; we have mares working in this building. You will keep your . . . ‘assets’ to yourself. I do not approve of fraternization of any kind on this premise, consensual or no. Do I make myself clear?”

Sea Scroll nodded, instinctively tucking in his tail. ‘Assets’? Hell, just because I’m a stallion doesn’t mean I bang my co-workers on a daily basis.

Phineus’ continued up the stairs as if the subject had never been broached at all. When they reached the top, the impressive double doors of the courtrooms had been replaced by a row of utilitarian office doors.

Sea Scroll followed him into the first office through the open door. Once again, he had the distinct impression stepping into the past, or at least a museum. The woodworking in the antechamber was impressive but it paled in comparison to that inside the office. Every inch of trim work had been carved into a classic leaf motif as had the opulent desk in the center. Sea Scroll didn’t envy the poor sod who had to carry that behemoth up the stairs.

Phineus cleared his throat, “Well, then, here we are, Mr. Scroll. Raven has a key waiting for you. The office is B6. ”

Sea Scroll jerked a nod, eyeing the ghost white mare peering through her mountain of paperwork like a frightened rabbit. Well, this is comforting . . .

Another of Phineus’ giggles broke the awkward silence that had fallen. “Well then, I must be off. Important business to attend to before the day is over.” He started towards the door, but paused, turning back to face him. “Oh, and best of luck.” With that, he strode away with an almost stately grace.

Sighing, Sea Scroll walked up to the desk. Raven twitched, regarding him with through her over-large glasses until she looked more like a brown eyed barn owl than a mare. “You must be the new stallion. Uh . . . hi-hi,” she squeaked.

Sea Scroll stood, tapping his hoof impatiently. So? You gonna make me stand here all day? He leaned closer, causing her to cringe as if he were a wolf looking for his next victim. Admittedly, with his wavy black mane and untrimmed sideburns, he probably did look a little like a wolf.

After nearly two solid minutes of gaping, the mare broke her trance. “Oh, how rude of me! Wel-welcome to Saddlewood offices. If there’s anything you need, or if you have any questions about the establishment, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He rolled his eyes. I’m surrounded by imbeciles. “Well, to begin, I’d rather not like to be locked out of my office. Care to help with that dilemma?”

Raven squeaked again, obviously avoiding his gaze. “Your key, right. Duh . . . Let me just . . . get that for you.” She dug in one of the drawers, glancing occasionally up at him as if uncertain of his intentions.

“Well?” he snapped. Yet another twitch, and then it hit him. She’s scared of my voice? Not again . . .  His unusually deep, smoky voice tended to make mares either fawn over him or treat him like a serial rapist on the loose. “I’m not trying to seduce you, I just want the damn keys,” he snarled.

This resulted in a nervous chuckle, “Of-of course. Sorry . . .”

“Right . . .”

Finally, the mare reappeared, pushing the key quickly towards him. “Here you go, remember that your room is B6. That’s on the next floor up.”

“I know, I don’t suffer from short term memory loss.” He started to leave when the mare released yet another squeak. What now? “Yes?”

“I-I gave you the wrong key.” She chuckled sheepishly, “That’s the key to B7.”

“Either you have a bizarre sense of humor, or you’re just really that absent-minded. I don’t know which disturbs me most,” he breathed through gritted teeth.

Blissfully unaware of his remark, Raven handed him the correct key. “There we are! This is the right one for sure.”

“One can only hope,” he growled, levitating it into his saddlebags.

“Mr. Scroll? One last thing, if that’s okay with you.”

Celestia give me strength. Sea Scroll sighed heavily. “What?”

“Well, the mayor assigned me to help you get the hang of the place, but . . . I-I think that job should go to Florian.” She glanced at the mountain of paperwork, still avoiding his gaze. “Er, she’s in B8, right next to you. She’s-she’s better suited for greeting newcomers than I am.” Then, she gave a genuine smile that compensated for her otherwise homely features. “The office is like her turf.”

Pushing the creeper off on somepony else, huh? How gallant of you. Still, the thought of this other mare treating the office like her ‘turf’ struck all the wrong cords with him. “I’m not some foal who needs to be given step-by-step instructions to function properly in a new workplace, Ma’am. Miss ‘Florian’ can put aside her pride and start acting like an adult.”

“Oh . . . okay then.”

“Thank you.” With that, he wheeled around and exited the office, glad to be rid of her at last. Following along the curve, he tracked the doors with some interest. Though uniform, they had been ‘enhanced’ with a variety of personal pictures, comic strips, and the odd children’s drawing. Sea Scroll cringed when he read the bronze plaques above the doors.

Publisher? Psychologist? Accountant? Well, no wonder ponies have such a poor perception of your hole in the ground town, Mayor Phineus. Sea Scroll grimaced as he read a handpainted sign sticking out in the hallway. ‘Personal Financial Consultant’ This whole building’s like some giant grab-bag! What? They can’t afford to put accountants in say, a bank?

Resigning himself to the sad reality of working in a glorified garage sale, Sea Scroll plodded up the stairs to B-floor. Any hopes of organization vanished when he entered the hall. The hodge podge from below seemed to have found a soulmate and inundated the entirety of the floor with its love children. Why me?

His hooves struck the smooth floorboards with a mechanical rhythm that echoed in the otherwise unoccupied antichamber. He reached his assigned door, surprised at the plaque above it. ‘Publicity Consultant’ It had a decent ring to it, though Sea Scroll had a sinking suspicion that tourism consultant might be closer to what Phineus wanted.

Opening the door, he almost started back. After living in a college dorm for the past five years, he had grown accustomed to tight quarters. This office, though narrow, was easily twice the square footage of his room at the dorms. Like the rest of the building, the lingering scent of antique woodworking and parchment hung in the air.

There were two beautifully carved shelves on either side of the room and a dated, but impressive maple wood desk sat atop an elegant rug. Sea Scroll had to hand it to Phineus, this town knew how to dress up an office. Placing his saddlebags on the desk, he strode over to the window and gasped.

Of course, he expected a decent view, but this took the cake. He found himself sitting on the wide window sill just to afford a better view of the place. An impressive sunset had started to bathe the Western mountains and set the forest alight in its glow. His eyes followed the river as it snaked through the valley, traveling to the sea.

Shaking loose the sentiment, he stood, striding over to his desk. Phineus had at least been considerate enough to give him a unicorn typewriter, though it was as antiquated as the desk it sat upon. Sitting on the highbacked chair, he started to explore his new workspace.

Quills, pens, pencils, plenty of parchment. And . . . what the hell is that? Sea Scroll levitated the strange metallic object. It took staring at it’s base, rubber with little numbers stamped on it like a roller to register what it was. Oh, a date stamp! He sighed, tossing it back into the drawer. Seriously?

His eyes fell to the neat stack of books in the corner of the desk. A small handwritten note rested atop them. ‘Some local literature to get you started. —Phineus’

“Oh, goody,” he drawled sarcastically. More than a little skeptical, he levitated the first title, which read ‘The Earth Beneath Your Hooves’ and  portrayed an Earth Pony filly looking distraught in a field of wheat on its hardback cover. Oh brother. This was all-too familiar, the only thing missing was the words “instant classic” written at the bottom as a feeble excuse for a review.

Another run-of-the mill ‘Earth Pony Empowerment Novel.’ Why am I not surprised? The approach they used made it blatantly apparent that the author was hiding his—or more often, her— bitterness underneath a false attitude of ‘pride and tradition.’ As if the lack of a horn or wings automatically makes one a strong, independent individual.

Sea Scroll snorted, rolling his eyes. And they claim it’s the unicorns with a superiority complex! Acting like an oppressed minority while they live in a nation founded upon mutual cooperation between the three tribes . . . ridiculous.

He shoved the novel aside next to his typewriter, levitating more selections from the stack. Further searching proved fruitless as every book appeared to be just as unoriginal as the one before it, if not worse.

‘Winchester: The Story of Two Underdogs.’ This cover depicted a disabled stallion stroking a golden retriever in the manner that one would stroke his lover. Pathetic.

Sea Scroll slammed the book to the desk. This is just insulting to my intellect. The utter lack of quality in any of the books hugged the narrow borderline between ‘troll fics’ and novice authors’ works. Though, he very much doubted the unreadable gelding was the joking type, not on this scale anyway. An unfortunate outbreak of ‘village idiot’ had hit Saddlewood and he had just the vaccine.

Let’s take a look at our first patient . . . After running through his meager options, Sea Scroll levitated ‘The Earth Beneath Your Hooves’ from the stack. Gritting his teeth, he began to read. As he moved into ‘the zone,’ his mind became entirely focused on the text before him, soaking it in.

After a good fifteen pages, he finally stopped, placing it on the desk. “A historical drama, huh? How unoriginal.” Though, his eyes kept darting back to the page he left off at. He smirked, levitating the book back into his hooves. “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll bring some ‘publicity’ to this one first.”

It must have been a solid twenty minutes before he realized he lost himself. Shaking his head, he slammed the book against the desk, trying to stop the genuine smile threatening to break from the corners of his mouth. “Stu-stupid. I knew it would be.” He tapped the book with his hoof. “That’s exactly why historical dramas can never work. Think after a quick once over of their high school history textbooks, they’re qualified to write a detailed account from the past.”

The book swayed in his pink magic like a drunk frat boy. “Throw an overdose of estrogen into the narrative and you have a gross amount of focus on romance during a period where ponies were hell bent on killing each other.” A soft thud sounded as it slammed back down on the desk. “Borderline disrespectful, that.”

Drawing the typewriter closer, he loosed his magic on its porcelain keys. Sea Scroll almost giggled with the efficiency a unicorn typewriter brought. Canterlot University’s ‘equal access’ policy forbid the use of school funds to purchase equipment that could only be used for a single race.

So he had slogged through five years of clunky earth pony typewriters, pressing the same key until the roll landed on the correct letter before hitting the other to confirm. How in Equestria earth ponies got jobs as secretaries was beyond him.

After a few sentences, he paused, losing focus. His eyes fell back to the window at the now late sunset. Guess I should call it a night. Reluctantly, he got to his hooves, slinging his saddlebags over his back. He paused after turning out the lamp. Raven’s words from early returned. ‘I think that job should go to Florian . . . The office is like her turf.’

Just who is this ‘Florian’ mare anyway? Sounds like another sugar coated control freak. Sea Scroll chuckled, imagining a wizened headmistress with an overbite. Typical for those types to have timid young ponies wrapped around their hooves.

He felt a twitch of irritation at the schoolyard tactic. “‘Florian.’ Heh! She might be asserting her ‘dominance’ to the poor, naïve newbies, but I’m not going to give her that pleasure.” With a flick of his tail, he left the office, locking it behind him. Her ‘turf’ indeed!

Striding over to the next office, he got his first look at his ‘neighbor.’ The plaque above the door read, ‘Therapist,’ but the gaudy layer of children’s drawings plastered to the door read soccer mom. He raised a hoof, taking a deep breath. Let’s get this over with . . .

A curt voice replied to his knock, “Come in!”

Bracing himself for whatever lay beyond, Sea Scroll opened the door and strode inside. The moment he did so, a concoction of roses, lavender, and Equestria knew what other flowers drowned out what little sense of smell he had left from the old building.

The sound of a chair shifting drew his attention to a smaller desk than his own pressed against the far wall. There a chalk white pegasus bolted up from her seat, staring at him with all the air of a frightened doe. “You-you’re not Raven.”

Under any normal circumstances, Sea Scroll would not have hesitated to shoot a snide comeback. However, this—there was no other word for it—angelic mare walking over to him stole what little whit he possessed. Younger by at least a few years and blessed with a natural grace in her movements, Florian had to be the exact opposite of the cantankerous old fraud he expected. His heart leapt at the way her coat actually glistened in the waning light filtering in through the window.

Oh, he had seen plenty of mares in college, but all the bimbos and sorority girls together could not hold a candle to the simple elegance contained within this one mare. Suddenly, Phineus’ warning made a lot more sense. The gelding’s fierce glare shook Sea Scroll’s wayward thoughts loose. Focus, focus. 

“Fig-figured that one out all by yourself?” Sea Scroll stammered, attempting to regain his confident composure. “Raven suggested I introduce myself to you, though. I hope I’m not intruding.”

He could only hope that she wasn’t frantically analyzing the implications like he was. Of course I choose to come into her office at seven-thirty in the evening with almost everypony else gone home for the night. That doesn’t scream ‘creepy’ at all.

“Not at all, Mister . . . ?”

“Sea Scroll. And you must be Florian, correct?” Better to slap an extra edge of formality on for good measure. Anything to keep her from thinking the worst of him.  

“That’s it! Nice to meet you, Sea Scroll.”

“Likewise,” he replied somewhat robotically, turning his gaze from the mare’s dandelion and pink mane wrapped in a perfect bun to the wall behind her. Hanging there—rather smugly, in his opinion— was Florian’s degree accented by a carved, wooden frame. More wood? Geesh, even personal items have no artistic individuality here. I wonder if there’s some sort of design enforcement . . .

Forcing himself to focus back on the matter at hoof, he looked back at her. “Raven did tell me that you’re somewhat of a leader here . . .”

To his surprise, Florian barked a laugh. “I don’t know about that. Anypony in their right mind can see  that role goes to Mayor Phineus. But, I guess I’ve been here for awhile and know the place pretty well.”

You ‘guess?’ Your attempt as humility is noble, but I am above falling for such tricks.

There was a brief silence before Florian spoke again. “Oh, you weren’t looking for an introduction to the place were you? Because I’m always open for showing new ponies around, but it’s getting a little late right now and—”

“Actually, I’ve found it perfectly easy to to function here thus far without a tour of the whole building, thank you.” Her need to tend to grown adults like children couldn’t have been more obvious if she stamped it on her forehead.

I’ve got you now. An irrepressible smirk stretched from the corners of his mouth. “Unless, of course, you feel the need to give such tours, in which case I will happily indulge you.” If that didn’t knock her off her self-made pedestal, he didn’t know what would.

“Er, no . . .” Florian replied, cheeks reddening. “Glad to hear you’ve adapted so quickly, though,” she growled in an annoyed undertone.

Oh, I’m sure you are.  “It’s a must have skill for any professional, Miss Blossom.” Truth be told, he did not mind taking a while to adapt. Walking the same halls to the nearly identical classes several times a day for five years tended to make one crave a little unfamiliarity every now and again.

Florian gestured to a cush, mahogany-colored sofa across from her desk. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

She certainly had a clever way of evading uncomfortable subjects and disguising it as etiquette. ‘Clever’, that is, if you take subtlety out of the equation.

“Is this where you have your clients lie down and confess their sins?” Sea Scroll asked with ill-concealed distaste. He could see the cloth faded where many ponies had laid their heads, possibly ponies with lice. Alcoholics and former criminals also came to mind, or any other unfortunate soul desperate enough to run to a ‘therapist’ for help.

“Don’t worry, it won’t befoul your own untainted soul,” The mare laughed.

His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. So, she has a sense of humor. Not knowing exactly what to make of this, Sea Scroll obeyed her and uneasily took a seat. Florian settled into the upright chair in front him, a small signal to assert her position as the alpha dog, no doubt. That came as no surprise. He stared blanky back at her calm, condescending expression until it became one of slight discomfort.

She adjusted her weight, twitching ever so slightly. Sea Scroll smirked even broader. I’m getting to her. 

Her hoof ran over the bun, trying to fix what obviously needed no adjusting. “So . . . you’re the stallion Mayor Phineus hired to lure in all the art-crazy tourists, right? Kind of like . . . what’s-his-face, the guy who travels around Equestria and writes for magazines?”

Out of all the ways one could start a conversation, she had chosen to compare him to a foppish hipster with ambiguous heterosexuality. Whether her remark was passive-aggressive or merely misinformed, it rubbed him the exact wrong way.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Sea Scroll stated through gritted teeth, forced connectedness coming out nearly  acidic. “While that idiot Trenderhoof will talk completely out of his ass to make a piece of roadkill sound interesting, my job involves heavy analysis and a good deal of background knowledge. And tourists are at the bottom of my priorities.”

The fact that she responded to this with yet another laugh sent a familiar wave of antipathy wash over Sea Scroll, despite the captivating quality of her laugh.

“I can see you’re at least very passionate about this,” Florian said, though he could’ve sworn she was smirking. “I guess you and Mayor Phineus have two very different ideas of what you’re here for.”

I’m well aware of that, thank you. “Is that so?” Sea Scroll asked innocently, deciding to play along.

A kind of discomfort flickered in her eyes becoming unreadable again. “Yeah, he’s passionate about debunking a certain ‘image’ ponies tend to have when they think of an old boom town in the middle of nowhere. It’s as if he identifies with the town or something.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, perception is everything.”

“That’s a rather shallow point-of-view for a ‘deep literary analyst,’ isn’t it?”

“I—”

She gave him a small smirk of her own. “Are you saying that as long as a book has a promising synopsis, the actual content doesn’t matter?”

What’s with this bitch anyway? “Don’t twist my words. Towns and books are two entirely separate entities. It would be a crying shame if I applied the same ‘say all, be all’ philosophy to ever critique I produce. Besides, if a book is excellent, who’s going to bother reading it if the synopsis isn’t ‘promising?’”

“Point-point taken . . .” An almost sheepish expression came over the young mare. She reached for a glass of water on her desk, taking a sip.

Well . . . this is awkward. As their stalemate continued, he looked for a new target and found it hanging on the wall behind her. “Sooo . . . you’re a psychology major?”

Her playful wink made his heart skip a beat. “Yep.”

“Whe-where did you study?”

The mare’s standoffish attitude melted in an instant. “Canterlot University. I actually got there on an art scholarship, but, as it turned out, I was more interested in psychology. So that’s what I ended up majoring in.”

Sea Scroll blinked, taken aback by the sudden outflow of conversation. Then he began to digest the words. His stomach sank as he put two and two together. “Canterlot University?”

She gave another of those irritatingly enchanting giggles. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Realizing he was losing ground, Sea Scroll clamored to think of a comeback. “That’s odd. I attended Canterlot University for quite a long time and never saw you there.”

“That makes sense. I was pretty much at the bottom of the foodchain there.” That giggle again. “Luckily, not being caught up in a social life gave me more time to focus on my studies.” She gave a wicked snarl. “You were probably too busy hanging out with your ‘important intellectual friends’ and professors to notice me sneaking around the campus.”

I’d remember you even if you only passed by me. Celestia, she was captivating. Still, Sea Scroll twitched at the blatant slight. “Yes, I suppose we were on such different edges of the spectrum. Might as well have never attended the same school.”

He bit his lip as her smirk widened. Almost instinctively, he snapped, “But it is terribly ironic that an aspiring therapist would actively avoid interaction with other ponies, don’t you think?”

“Good point, you gotta appreciate the irony there.” Her whole face radiated the warmth of her laugh, driving him nearly mad.

Stop doing that! Then there were her snarky little remarks. Why didn’t she back down like the rest of them? What is she, an attack dog? He had to think of something, anything to even the playing field. “Humor aside, I wouldn’t go around telling ponies about your social . . . inhibitions during college. That might lead them to think ill of you, as though you don’t deserve your place as a social worker.”

The smug smile only intensified. “They can suck my left wing for all I care. My work speaks for itself!”

Sea Scroll’s ear flicked in her direction. Was he going mad or did this angelic creature just say spout a vulgar sentence. So much for feminine charm . . .

Unable to bear it any longer, he got to his hooves, pacing around the office. The now brilliant light of the setting sun filtered in through the red sheers, bathing the modest office in a fiery glow. As if by some unseen magnetism, the beams gathered in her irises, transforming the pale, stagnant pool into a sparkling azure stream.

Sea Scroll felt his legs grow weak as he stared transfixedly into her eyes. Then, realizing how stupid he must look, he shook his head and tried to find a suitable distraction. He found it in an instant. The entirety of the wall across from Florian's desk had been papered with paintings of various ponies from all walks of life.                                                 

Intrigued, he took a step closer. Strange, there's no family resemblance. Ah, oh course. He turned back to her, "I see you paint portraits of all your clients, Miss Blossom."

She puffed out her chest, snow white hairs continuing to glisten with a crystalline brilliance. "Damn straight, curly!"

Curly? Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the paintings, examining them as he did all artists' works. "Hmmm."

Florian trotted forward, cocking her head to the side. "What?"

Sea Scroll continued to examine the paintings. They were exceptionally detailed, and a great deal of time had obviously been spent on them, but their was no passion to them. "Decent portraiture, but somewhat lacking in . . . creative flare," he murmured, still glancing over the portraits.

The mare stamped her hoof so loudly that he jumped a little. "Excuse me?"

He leaned closer, getting a lungful of her overbearing floral perfume. "I'm just saying that all I've seen of your work is an exact reflection of the way things are in real life . . . and that's a good thing, but," his mouth parted in a condescending sneer, "you're missing the whole 'expressionism' and 'escapism' that art is."

To his annoyance, Florian leaned in closer, eyes drawing him in as surely they drew the light. "I don't believe in embellishing reality!"

Miss high and mighty, eh? "Well then, you can hardly call yourself an artist, now can you?" he said smugly.  

With an unexpected force, the mare slapped him on the flank. "Get out! I don't want to see your smug little face in my office again!"

He moved to the door, smirking back at her. "Oooh, touchy." Before she could complain further, he made his way outside the office. Wandering back down the deserted halls gave him the chance to think. But, try as he may to ponder the more important issues at hoof, his mind continued to drift to the mare's eyes. It was a pity she had all the social graces of an irate five year old, he would have liked to give her a chance.

Saddlewood did not deserve the title of middle of nowhere. No, to get there you had to first go to the middle of nowhere, then take a back road. After about three hours of that, you had to cross a flooded creek, wander through an endless sea of trees, and go until civilization was at least three days away. Yes, Saddlewood had no more claim to the middle of nowhere than they did to being a beachfront resort.

After all that, Sea Scroll had hoped—expected—to finally be done with going yet further out. Oh how wrong he had been. His hooves plodded along the dusty trail, struggling to make out anything beyond the narrow beam of light emanating from his horn.

After wandering around town looking for the boarding house, he had finally broken down just after nightfall and asked for directions. Well, apparently, Saddlewood had its own boondocks and that’s where he would be staying. After following the arrows of a peeling signpost, he made his way up a rather substantial hill towards this so called lodge.  

His walk proved a great deal more taxing than he anticipated. The day long journey had weakened his admittedly tender hooves, making the root and rock strewn path nearly unbearable. He had started to see the pitfall in being a Canterlot college student. Sure he exercised as the school gym, but this place required all the agility and endurance of a mountain goat.

His scanned the darkened woods around him, keenly aware of the eyes glowing back at him from the shadows. He always assumed night in the countries to be peaceful, but he could not have been more wrong. A cacophony of crickets, frogs, owl hoots, and various unnamed creatures replaced daytime’s far more tolerable music of bird calls and humming insects.

Sea Scroll jumped when he heard a low, mournful howl from somewhere far in the distance. Wolves? They have wolves? His heart pounded a little fast than he cared to admit as he quickened his pace. Best to leave nature as quickly as possible. Besides, all he wanted now was a warm bath and a bed to crash on.

Finally, the trees began to thin as the ground leveled out. When he came into the clearing, he got his first glimpse of the boarding house. It’s . . . different. Different in that it looked better suited for a horror movie set. The massive, three story lodge had obviously seen better days, but still clung to its once illustrious past.

Walking up to the oversized cabin, he noted a walkway wrapping around the entirety of the building on each of its three floors. Judging from the ostentatious pillars and impractically huge front doors, it had been some kind of resort or hotel in its prime. Now it resembled a sad, likely termite ridden shell. Even the sign in the center of the driveway had fallen into disrepair. In the light of his horn, he could make out the faded black lettering. ‘Hilltop Lodge’

Sea Scroll snorted, “More like hilltop shantytown.” Driven by exhaustion more than desire, he walked slowly up the stone steps to the front door. Now that he stood in front of it, he gained a new appreciation for the sheer scale of its construction. Made of what looked like oak, the doors reached almost to the height of the second story. Pretentious much?

Rolling his eyes, he rapped loudly on the door. After waiting a few minutes, he knocked again.

A young, male voice echoed from inside the building as a response. “I got it, I got it!”

“Jet, let me handle this. I think it’s the new stallion—”

The sound of hooves clattering against a hardwood floor could be heard and then a loud thud as if someone had fallen.

“Hey!” the younger voice cried out.

Oh joy, this is looking to be my own private hell. Sea Scroll contemplated if he would be better off with the wolves before thinking better of it. At least the lodge was a private hell with running water and a  room where he could retreat to if things got too rambunctious. Unless that was setting the bar too high for Saddlewood boarding.

Seconds later, a tan stallion flung the door open and greeted him with a gigantic smile. The first word that popped into Sea Scribe’s head was ‘homely.’ The blocky stallion possessed what his mother would have referred to as ‘kind eyes.’ Judging from his goofy grin to his floppy grey and powder-blue streaked mane, he possessed every social quality Sea Scroll lacked in spades. “Good evening, sir!” he exclaimed a little too loudly.

After this day, it was anything but a good evening. “I beg to differ,” Sea Scroll stated flatly, eager to just get his saddlebags off and settle in for the night. “May I come in?”

The stranger looked around him, then flushed, quickly stepping aside. “Yea-yeah . . . uh . . . you are the new stallion, right?”

There that insufferable term was again. “If I took a shot every time somepony has called me ‘the new stallion’ today, I’d be well beyond tipsy. The name’s Sea Scroll.”

“Sorry, sir . . .” The stallion said, lowering his ears. “Welcome to Hilltop Lodge. My name’s Coppertone.”

Coppertone, huh? Odd name . . . better than ‘Raven’ at least, I wouldn’t want to be named after an oversized crow.  “Thank you Mr. Tone,” Sea Scroll grumbled weakly, walking into the building with an air of caution. As if Fate was determined to dash all hope of not smelling the town’s signature product for once, the scent of burning wood immediately hit him.

Rustic . . . The entire entry room looked like an advertisement for ski resorts gone horribly ary. Heavy, rough-hewn furniture in various states of decay were scattered around a roaring stone fireplace taking up the majority of the opposite wall.

Apparently Saddlewood could not comprehend any flooring other than hardwood as it covered the entire lounge. Though, rather than the glossy, almost polished finish seen in the town hall and Canterlot, this floor was of a rough, time-worn variety that could easily cause a careless pony to stumble. To further the rather depressing atmosphere, numerous moth-eaten rugs lazed about the floor at odd angles, sad ghosts of their former selves.

Sea Scroll’s attention fell to the impressive double staircase, flanking the fireplace on either side like two wooden snakes. The second floor must be the sleeping quarters, though, inconveniently, there didn’t appear to be a front desk.

“Isn’t there a place where I can check in?” This place was technically a business, wasn’t it?

Coppertone shook his head and smiled in a ridiculously charismatic manner that made his skin crawl. “You already checked in, goober! When you reserved a room a few weeks ago, we marked it as yours and made sure nopony came in. A stallion needs his privacy, right?”

There was no denying that truth, no matter what insulting nickname he had just been called. “I can’t even begin to stress that enough . . .” Sea Scroll said rigidly. I highly doubt I’ll be getting much here, though.

Coppertone nodded. “You’re in luck, then, because there’s only four of us here on this floor.” He chuckled, then continued, “Hilltop Lodge is out of business, which is why the rent is so cheap.”

“. . . Four of us?” Three housemates is less than I expected, at least. And even if there were thirty, I don’t have to bunk with any of them. The thought made him perk up a little.

“That’s right, you’re part of the family now.”

‘Family’ . . . right. Because sharing a living space automatically guarantees a bond as strong as kinship.

Without warning, Coppertone yelled on the top of his lungs. “Boys!”

This was met with a collective groan coming from the couches nearest the fire.

“Guys, come and meet Sea Scroll! You don’t want to be rude, right?”

When there was no response, Coppertone turned to Sea Scroll, giving a sheepish chuckle. “Ehehe . . . I’m sorry, they’re both tired. Come with me.”

These two sound like a barrel of fun. Sea Scroll followed Coppertone over to the fireplace. Looking over the edge of the couches, he was surprised to see two smallish stallions sprawled across the cushions as though they had just come back from a long hike. Though with how far the lodge was from the rest of town, that wasn’t too far-fetched.

Sea Scroll was instantly reminded of two wispy storm clouds. Both were that same, dull grey. The first had his snowy white mane pushed upwards by a grungy, unflattering hachimaki headband while the second’s unwashed black mane practically oozed grease.

They had sprawled themselves across the aging furniture as if modeling for a Backstreet Colts pinup poster. Something told him these two were quite popular with the fangirls . . .

Sea Scroll almost gasped. They’re teenagers. I didn’t sign up for this!

Coppertone gestured to the colt with the black mane. “Sea Scroll, this is Jet.”

With a put-upon air, the stallion turned reluctantly towards him, lazily extending a hoof. “Oh hey man, what’s up?”

Everything about this colt rubbed him the wrong way, from his slang language to his smug casualness. I never addressed my elders that way when I was his age. “The second story is ‘up,’  if that’s what you’re asking, but if you’re inquiring after my well-being, I’m fine, thank you.”

The colt couldn’t have been over sixteen—Celestia knew what he was doing away from his parents—but it was up to somepony to teach him how to properly use the language, and Coppertone was obviously not going to fill that role.

Jet smirked. “You’re a smartass . . . I like that.”

Sea Scroll pinned his ears. Who do you think you are, kid?

“Jet!” Coppertone scolded.

Finally, some discipline. Foals these days.

Jet, however, showed no signs of remorse. “What?” He shrugged, voice cracking in a grating fashion, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing!”

Coppertone apologized for Jet before Sea Scroll could retort. “So sorry about that.” He pointed to the colt sporting the hachimaki. “This is Beulah. He’s not really into talking with ponies, but, he’ll come around.”

Beulah? Is that the name your parents gave you, or the name you found in your Granny's book and decided to run with?

“Only because there’s nopony here worth talking to,” Beulah shot back, scowling. Sea Scroll couldn’t figure out how Coppertone tolerated such insolence on a daily basis.

Coppertone frowned. “You can at least make eye contact when you’re being introduced to someone.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“Beulah, I swear—” Coppertone inhaled sharply, then exhaled, turning back to Sea Scroll. “Well, this is the whole motley crew. But I’m sure you’re tired and want to put your things away.”

“How’d you guess?”  Not that meeting his new housemates hadn’t been . . . interesting, but Sea Scroll didn’t see himself playing cards with them by the fireplace any time soon.

Just as he was heading upstairs to his room, Jet called out, “If you’re really quiet, you can hear the girls on the upper story!”

“Jet!” Coppertone snapped.

On second thought, he didn’t see himself playing cards with them by the fireplace ever. Continuing up the tall staircase, he sighed in relief. Today  he had dealt with possibly the most unnerving stallion he ever met, an an angry mare, and now two teenagers. There was only so much one pony could take.

After climbing the stairs, they stood in a secondary, smaller lounge area sans the fireplace, though the chimney still radiated heat from the fire below. On either side of the building were two staircases, likely leading to more housing. Coppertone ignored them, proceeding down the left hallway. Sea Scroll found himself limping a little despite his best efforts, though he kept up with the slightly older stallion.

They passed a glorified closet that constituted a laundry room and the rather expansive washroom before Coppertone paused by the last door on the left. “And here we are, your room. Er . . .” He glanced between Sea Scroll and the door. “I think your key’s in the room. He, he.”

Sea Scroll wanted to snap back with a witty retort, but that damn mare had sucked them all out of him for the evening. All he could do was nod, opening the door with his magic.

“Oh, and Sea Scroll?”

Celestia, what now? “Yes?”

“If-if you need any help settling into town, just ask, okay?”

As if I want to settle into this dog and pony show . . . He gave a reluctant nod, walking inside and closing the door. It came as no surprise that the scent of cedar had seeped into every inch of the room. He supposed the large, cedar-lined walk-in closet to the right of him was to blame.

With some relief, he noted his typewriter on the desk. There was a window behind it, though it had been covered in thick, embroidered curtains that resembled some moldering tapestry in the Canterlot Art Museum. Sighing, he glanced over at the bed pressed against the back wall of the closet. It, like every other piece of furniture in this bloody town resembled an antique or, more likely, was an antique.

Though, he wanted nothing more than to rest, he started to unpack. As a single, fresh-out-of college stallion, it took next to no time to empty the three boxes. The large bookshelf taking up a portion of the left wall made his modest collection of novels look rather pathetic. Though, he had to admit, some books were better than no books.

He took great care to organize his office supplies properly. Nothing irked him more then not being able to find a tool when he needed it. Satisfied with his job, he removed the small notebooks from his saddlebags, aligning them carefully on the corner of his desk.

Then, levitating the newest one and a pen, he settled down on the bed to write. The heavy comforter might have seemed a bit excessive under normal circumstances, but tonight it was a welcome change. His entire body felt weak and numb. After a few lines, he felt the motivation leave as quickly as it had come. Groaning, he turned off the light and curled up into a tight ball on the covers.

His stomach began to churn at the blank walls and unfamiliar furniture. Nothing about Saddlewood felt like welcoming, not even his own room. Though he hated himself for admitting it, he longed to go home. Back to the coast, back to the smell of the sea, the sandy beaches and the waves. But, like it or not, Horseshoe Bay could no longer be considered his home. This place . . . this place was home now.

Sea Scroll groaned, trying to stop the shaking in his limbs. I don’t want to be here. I hate this place. Everyone here’s an idiot or a freak. Why had he even agreed to come here? ‘I’ll help you settle in,’ huh? Settling in wasn’t something that others did for you. It must be done by oneself and . . . that took time. From what he witnessed today, it would be a long, long time before any part of this town felt like home.  

Wormwood and Gall

Sea Scroll could not imagine why ponies insisted that every morning must start with a preface of ‘good.’ As if by the simple virtue that by being morning, a birthright of excellence had been bestowed upon it. Yeah, right. The only positive thing about mornings lay in the fact that they generally left him time to think while the rest of the world dozed off like the breakfast club losers.

Not that he wanted to be an early riser, but, he physically could not sleep in past six or so. Thus, though his limbs ached and he needed rest, he could not fall back asleep. So he made his way down the stairs to find something resembling breakfast.  

Well, this is . . . different. Sea Scroll expected a fairly decent sized kitchen, maybe with a full oven instead of a half one and some actual storage room in the cupboards. What he stumbled upon made him wonder just how popular this place had been in its prime. The “kitchen” resembled the inner cogs of a school cafeteria complete with stainless steel countertops, eight burner stove, industrial sized mixer, and three massive ovens.

Compared to his six by six kitchenette he had grown accustomed to, this was a veritable mansion. Heck, the square footage in the kitchen alone had to be more than the dorm room he shared with three other stallions in college. Though, being the only pony in the room made him feel like a schoolfoal sneaking into the Cafeteria before lunch hour.

The serving counter had been closed off to the dining hall with a metal divider, but its surface had been littered with what sorry excuse for food his roommates possessed. Cereal boxes, baked goods, nasty cup noodles, and old ketchup packets lay scattered about like the aftermath of some fraternity party. Sea Scroll had grown to despise such ‘staples’ after surviving off them for weeks when tuition fees were raised. There, buried behind the mountain of food on an ageing bar stool sat one of the last ponies he wanted to exchange pleasantries with. I should’ve known.

“I see gluttony is part of your raison d’etre, Mr. Jet,” Sea Scroll drawled contemptuously, staring at the pubescent colt scarfing down a sizeable bowl of oatmeal. Celestia knew what shape he would’ve been in had he eaten like that as a teenager.

Jet didn’t even look up from his breakfast. “Top o’ the morning to you too, Sea Scroll,” he managed through a mouth full of the slightly burnt mush. “I’m a growing stallion. I need to eat a certain amount of calories so I don’t end up scrawny like you. Duh.” He shoved his muzzle back into the oats, and Sea Scroll couldn’t help but wish that everypony had been graced with a horn if only to spare ponykind from watching disgusting displays such as this.

“What are doing up so early, anyway?” Jet asked, looking up at him as if registering his presence for the first time. “It’s Saturday!”

Sea Scroll used his default response to moronic questions like Jet’s. “‘Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a pony healthy and wise’ . . . do you know who said that?”

“A fortune cookie.”

I put too much faith in the Equestrian schooling system. He groaned, rubbing a hoof through his mop of a mane. “And I assume you get up this early every morning to commandeer all the food for yourself?”

Jet, cheeks still bulging with oatmeal held up a hoof and pushed a muffin in Sea Scroll’s direction as a paltry offering.

And the noble dragon is willing to give up one gem out of  his hoard. How exceptionally generous. “No thanks, I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

Jet swallowed. “I don’t usually get up at the crack-of-smack like this, I just wanna head start on getting things ready for the party! There’s a lot of stuff to do. Setting up the speakers, fixing the snacks, making sure the place doesn’t smell like B.O., etcetera.”

“Wait, what?” Party? Why hadn’t anyone told him about this?

Jet gave an exasperated look and began to repeat what he said in a slower, louder voice. “There’s, like, a lot of stuff to d—”

“No, no, what’s all this about a party?”

“What, Coppertone didn’t tell you?” He laughed, bouncing in his seat like a colt at an amusement park. “I’m having a little get-together down here. All the girls are gonna come and we’re gonna have those tiny sandwiches that nopony really eats . . . It’ll be so much fun.”

Sea Scroll generally avoided parties, but from what little experience he had with them, he remembered sitting by a window and trying to drown out the pandemonium going on around him. Adding a bunch of giggling mares into the chaos didn’t make it sound any more ‘fun’ either. 

“Huh. Well, I wasn’t informed about this beforehoof.” Despite Coppertone’s attempted sociability last night, he found himself a little annoyed at the ungainly stallion for not informing him of this . . . festivity. It wasn’t like it was something easily forgotten.

“That sucks . . . but you know now, so it’s all cool!”

“No, Mr. Jet, it’s not ‘all cool,’” he growled, “It’s incredibly discourteous to throw  a party without warning all your housemates first. I know etiquette isn’t exactly your cup of tea, but even you are not beyond basic social skills.”

Even his debauched roommates back in Canterlot University knew to at least tell him about any upcoming events in the dorms, despite giving him no choice in whether or not those events would take place at all. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t in Canterlot. A task easier said than done . . .

Jet was quick to jump to his own defense. “Dude, don’t blame me! Coppertone’s in charge of telling you all the stuff you need to know, I just live here.”

If only we could all have a scapegoat to dump our responsibilities on.

Well, he hadn’t been planning on spending the whole day loafing around in the lodge. Surely he could find something productive to do whilst they had their bit of ‘fun.’ “Nevermind, I’ll be out in town for the day anyway.”

Unexpectedly, Jet looked genuinely distraught by this.

What’s your problem?

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, Princess Buzzkill! You can’t do that.”

Can’t I? Who made you the divine authority? “Really? Last time I checked, I was an adult with a free will.”

“Bu-but, you don’t want to meet the mares? They’re really nice ponies, I know you’ll love them.” The teen’s attempts at hiding his desperation did not fool him for a second.

“You can’t fortell my opinion on individuals I have yet to meet,” Sea Scroll sighed in a manner befitting a put-upon professor. “Certainly this won’t be my only opportunity to become acquainted with them.” 

Jet glanced around the kitchen before responding, as if checking for spies in the muffins. His hoof waved, gesturing for him to come closer.

Oh for the love of . . . Sea Scroll humored his little game, pulling up another rickety stool with his magic and taking a seat.

“Look buddy, “ Jet whispered, “Coppertone and Beulah are kind of on the same boat as you in the sense that they’re not huge on parties. Seriously, I haven’t had one in, like two years! So when I suggested  that we throw a ‘welcome’ party for you, Coppertone only agreed because he wants to make you feel at home. You kind of have to be here for it to work out.”

So he was being used an excuse to throw a party. It didn’t get any more ‘welcoming’ than that. “How do you know I don’t already have plans?” Sea Scroll snapped.

“Um, because you can’t.”

 With a theatrical sigh, he stared into the kid’s pleading eyes. Why do I feel so damn obligated? Defeated, he let his head drop onto the countertop, burying his face in his hooves.

“Sea Scroll . . . Sea Scroll . . .” Jet prodded him like a dead squirrel.

Don’t push your luck further, kid. “What?”

“Can I take that as a yes? You’re not going to leave, right?”

“No, no, I’ll be your little hostage for the day since the whole world seems to depend on it. Just don’t expect me start dancing or serving drinks.”

Jet grinned and delivered a hard smack to Sea Scroll’s back, causing him to gasp in pain.  “Awesome, you’re the best, man!”

“And I’m sure tomorrow, when I do something that doesn’t tickle your fancy, I’ll go back to being the worst.” Sea Scroll tried to retort, but the comment lost its edge with his wind halfway knocked out. Jet just smiled like the clueless numskull that he was.

The restaurant style door swung open as Coppertone and Beulah wandered in with all the air of two lost hikers finding civilization at last. Beulah appeared ready to do battle with the next pony who dared look at him the wrong way. Coppertone remained as unnervingly chipper as he had the night before. There’s such a thing as too much smiling, buddy.

“Well good morning, party animals!” Coppertone chimed in that fabricated cheery tone of his, “Are we ready to set things up?”

Already? Celestia, it’s hardly past six-thirty.

Jet practically jumped out of his seat. “Hell yeah!”

Beulah scowled. “No.”

Coppertone expectantly turned to Sea Scroll, who simply sighed.

“Define ‘ready.’”

_______________________________________________________

At one point, Sea Scroll had garnered satisfaction from sitting back and taking in the end product of his hard work. Now he only felt irritated. The immediate surroundings came closer to making him feel like a vandalist than a renovator.

What ‘charming’ features of the dining hall that remained had been abolished. Furniture unceremoniously pushed to one side of the room to make room for . . . well, floor he supposed. Frivolous bowls of snacks placed on every flat surface in the vicinity while garish streamers draped forlornly in every corner of the hall. His nerves could not take much more debauchery.

Evidently Jet and Coppertone didn’t share in his disgust as they smugly observed the decor, nodding to themselves as if they had just created a masterpiece.

I’ll never understand why we have to dress our homes up like a peacock just to have company over. A quick cleanup would’ve been sufficient. It was ridiculous that these mares who lived  one floor above them could really even be considered ‘company.’  

“You know, it’s a wonder these mares haven’t already arrived,” He noted in a knowing drawl, “What with them living directly upstairs and all. What could they possibly be busy doing, primping themselves up?”

Jet shrugged. “Oh, I told them they’re not allowed to come downstairs until everything’s ready to go. That way it’s more of a surprise!”

Beulah rolled his eyes before Sea Scroll could do it himself.

“Speaking of which,” Coppertone said, “I should go tell them they’re free to come down now. I’ll bet they’re starving.”

Even if they were permitted to come downstairs for breakfast, Sea Scroll doubted they would’ve had anything to eat with Jet in the vicinity.

Jet’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s okay, I’ll tell them!” Before anyone could protest, the pegasus quickly took off toward the stairs and out of sight.

Only a horny teenager would fly to the mares’quarters with that much ardor. “Celestia preserve us. I’ve never seen an event gain such unwarranted hype since last year's Hearth’s Warming pageant.”

Coppertone let out a weak laugh. “He’s just overeager to see Heartbreaker. She’s his girlfriend now, you know.”

Girlfriend? The colt had all the maturity of a twelve-year-old. “How long do you think that’ll last, weeks? Days?” Sea Scroll scoffed.

“Well . . .” A shrug and a sheepish smile was the closest thing Sea Scroll got to an answer.

After a few minutes of blessed silence, Jet came trotting downstairs with all the air of a conquering general. Three mares trailed behind him like an army on a forced march.  “Let’s get this party started!” he cheered.

Let’s not.    

Sea Scroll took in Jet’s ‘troops,’ calculating how much of a threat they would be to his sanity. The youngest, a gangly pink pinup model for a teen fashion magazine stood beside Jet. Her ‘perfectly done’ black and fuschia manestyle along with copious quantity of makeup screamed attention whore if he ever saw one. Urgh . . . Pass!

In sharp contrast to the slut, a periwinkle Shirlie Trotpole impersonation shook like a rain drenched chihuahua. It did not take a detective to know why. His wolfish appearance set mares like that running. His eyes fell to the unicorn’s deep purple mane tied into a vicious knot in the back. A tell-tale sign of one of those ‘holier than thou’ types that might scream if a stallion so much as accidently brushed against their coat.

Last, a finely featured pegasus mare stood off to the side, taking in the scene with the eyes of a statistician examining a battlefront. Snow white coat that glistened like diamonds, those piercing azure eyes, and an imperious smile that made his skin crawl.

Sea Scroll’s stomach somersaulted. Florian? It took every ounce of self control he possessed not to gape like an imbecile. What is she doing here? His hooves felt numb and weak as the pieces slammed together with all the force of a freight train. Florian lived a floor above him?

Last evening’s conversation replayed on fast forward. His attempts at insulting her . . . the smug comebacks she threw back at him . . . his dismissal from her office. And she lived in the same building as him!

Phineus’ warning joined the growing din inside his head. Living in the same home as a very pretty, albeit arrogant mare was a recipe for Phineus’ brand of ‘fraternization.’ Didn’t he have some kind of rule against that?  

Sea Scroll wanted nothing more than to go to the farthest reaches of the forest and hide. But, he had his pride, and wouldn’t go cowering like some schoolyard colt. He let out a slow breath. Calm the hell down, you have just as much of a right to be here as she does! Yes, and she had just as much of a right to kick his flank for yesterday.  

Beulah shifted his weight, eyes flashing to the far corner. “If anypony needs me, I’ll be over there.” Not waiting for a response, he slunk off.

That left Coppertone and himself with the three mares. Despite every desire to remain collected as always, that unwelcome restlessness continued to grip Sea Scroll’s senses. Unwilling to process the new irksome sensation, Sea Scroll attempted to blot it out. This resulted in his brow furrowing in what had to be a rather intense expression.

“Uh . . . you alright?” Coppertone asked, “You look a little red.”

“I’m fine, I just—I’m not a huge fan of parties.” Sea Scroll said in a much sharper tone than he had intended.

Coppertone smiled warmly. “Right there with ya, buddy. Come on, you’ve got to meet our lady friends.”

Accepting fate, Sea Scroll joined Coppertone, walking up to the rest of the group. The older stallion oozed all the excitement and geniality that he significantly lacked. Perhaps Florian would make it easy on him and focus in on Mr. Sunshine. Even if she didn’t, what was the worst she could do? Throw a hissy fit?

“Hey everypony!” Coppertone lilted in an off-puttingly feminine fashion. The mares returned the greeting, save Florian, whose eyes met with Sea Scroll’s. Her features were touched with unspoken shock and even anger, causing him to immediately take interest in the floor. If looks could kill . . .

“I want you all to meet Sea Scroll, our new housemate.”  Coppertone said, pointing a hoof to him like he was showing an art piece on display.

Sea Scroll gave a curt wave to the three. “How do you do?”

Unperturbed by his stiff tone of voice, the pink earth pony debutante sidled over to him. “Nice to meet you, I’m Heartbreaker. I’m sure Jet’s told you all about me.”

Of course she’s Heartbreaker. . . looks like some Playcolt floosy. “No actually, must’ve slipped his mind.” Sea Scroll said coldly.

Heartbreaker frowned at Jet, who giggled nervously. “Hmm. Well, we’re an item, just so you know.” She embraced her boyfriend with the air of a high school filly trying to make her friends envious of her.

Sea Scroll didn’t bother hiding the fact that he came close to gagging. “Yes, it’s very easy to pick up on that.”

The short periwinkle unicorn approached him cautiously, glancing quickly at Heartbreaker as if waiting for an all-clear signal before uttering a word. “Hi.” With that, she trotted off the snack table before he had a chance to respond.

And this one is no less juvenile than she looks. Not that she had a lot to live up with the company she keeps.

Coppertone looked split between endeared and embarrassed. “River Ripple’s a bit . . . out there sometimes, but hey, we love her!”

The question is, do you love her in spite of her social malfunction, or because of it? ‘Out there,’ the newest term that ponies used to pass off rude behavior as a ‘charming little quirk.’Though he normally wouldn’t have minded being left alone immediately after an introduction, this was one circumstance where some stalling wouldn’t have irked him too much. Not with whom he had to deal with next.

Stop acting like there’s an imminent apocalypse! She’s just a mare who wakes up on the wrong side of the bed every morning. This is an annoyance at worst.

Coppertone stared expectantly at the stone-faced pegasus. “Uh, Florian?”

Ooh, the silent treatment. Was she seriously under the impression that not speaking to him was somehow a punishment? How much self-importance could you cram into one pony?

Sea Scroll locked eyes with her, standing up a little taller and puffing up his chest to avoid the sinking feeling in his stomach. “It’s a pleasure meeting you again, Miss Blossom.”  he sneered, extending a hoof.

Florian shook it tensely, returning his smirk with an acid smile that made it hard to look away. “No, no, the pleasure’s all mine.”

Coppertone blinked, looking between the two ponies as if just registering the exchange, then grinned. “Oh, so you guys already know each other?”

“I suppose you could say—”

“Yes, we work in the same building. He gave me some helpful tips on how to improve my art.”

Still pouting about that, huh?

“Wonderful! I had a feeling you two would really get along.”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it. . .” Sea Scroll muttered under his breath.

Florian continued as though she hadn’t heard anything. “Oh yes. I even took his advice and decided to dabble in surrealism.”

What?! Sea Scroll forced his mouth shut. His words lost their signature collected eloquence when compromised by emotion. If his temper had been reined in, he would have told Coppertone how Florian had taught him to express one’s anger through physical assault.

“Nice! That surrealism movement was very big in art history, especially after the reign of Discord.” Coppertone chimed, oblivious as always.

That’s it, I’m done. If Sea Scroll had wanted to walk away from the situation when he first caught sight of Florian, then now he wanted to disappear completely. Find an excuse, find an excuse . . .

He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to leave to . . . over there.” Smooth as sandpaper. Hopefully she didn’t notice his awkwardness and interpret it as a sign of submission.

Coppertone lowered  his ears. “Alright. We’ll talk later, then.”

“We’ll see about that.” Sea Scroll grumbled, turning around and walking away without so much as a second glance behind him.

Dumb mare! Question the honor of her precious doodles once, and get put on her blacklist! And he despised surrealism.

Sea Scroll strode over to the thankfully empty sitting area around the fireplace, where Beulah stood disapprovingly in the nearby corner. His golden eyes bore into his surroundings like everything around him had done some horrible crime—furniture included.

Well. . . at least I’ll be with the best company in the house. Not that

that was saying much.

The songs booming from Jet’s speakers began to blend together, and soon Sea Scroll forgot just how long he had been in this hell hole. His head and chest pounded with the heavy bass until he wanted to scream in frustration. What little intelligible lyrics were in the first place had been drowned out, though he could safely assume it was all targeted towards the lowest common denominator.

Over twenty minutes must have passed before he realized that the track changed. His sharp senses enabled him to pick up the same four chords being a arranged in a slightly different fashion than before. So this is the garbage foals are listening to these days?

Judging by how loud the beat in the background was, he honestly couldn’t blame them if they weren’t able to recognize the lyrics at all, not that anyone cared.

As if reading his mind, Beulah commented on the music as well. “I used to wonder whether Ponykind was evolving or devolving. It’s times like this that I think it’s safe to assume the ladder.”

Sea Scroll raised an eyebrow. “You’re not a fan of this tripe, either?”

He had been convinced that Beulah was silently immersed in the music with his unfaltering blank expression.

Beulah shot him a sarcastic look that screamed “You don’t say . . .”

Brat. “You didn’t strike me as the type to enjoy it; it’s just refreshing to hear a counter-cultural remark from the mouth of a teenager. Most teens I’ve met are more concerned with their flank size than they are with Ponykind.”

“New flash, I’m not ‘most teens.’” Beulah snapped.

“Aside from the attitude, you’re not.”

The ‘music’ continued to blast through his ears, attacking him with a deep bass drum and a painfully high note at the same time, causing his skull to vibrate. He needed to protect his only means of hearing from ruin. “Maybe we should go outside where we can actually hear ourselves think!” Sea Scroll shouted over the song.

Beulah nodded. “Let’s.” 

Blessed silence, or at least relative silence greeted them as they stepped onto the worn deck. Beulah slunk a little farther down, and Sea Scroll followed suit.

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thank Celestia. I thought I was going to have a premature stroke from listening to that trash.”

“Welcome to my life.” Beulah drawled.

“Heh.” Sea Scroll made to speak, but found himself drawn to the scene in front of them. Perched atop a substantial hill, the lodge offered a unique vantage point of the surrounding countryside. It’s just like a picture book.

The river cut through the heart of the valley, glistening like spun silk. Hugging its banks were thousands of trees. Varying shades of leaves blended together in a natural, almost achingly beautiful oil painting. There off to the left stood Saddlewood, sturdy houses butted against the treeline, daring the very source of its wealth to take control one more.

“Do you like it here?” Beulah’s hoarse voice cracked in the midday stillness.

His heart skipped a beat. “What? Like it here, in Saddlewood?”

The stallion rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

“I. . .” Why are you asking me? A part of him wanted to give the town his usual, condescending spiel. But, the thought of lying left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had to be honest. “. . . despite a few difficult ponies and less than pleasant experiences, I’d say I like the town well enough. It’s very beautiful. At least compared to most of Equestria. Have you seen Manehattan lately?”

Beulah nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.  Sea Scroll had to wait a few seconds before realizing the kid couldn’t be trusted to keep the conversation alive.

“What about you, do you like it here?”

“It’s alright.” Beulah said without a minute’s thought. “Not the ideal living situation for me, but I’m sort of out of options.” He didn’t make eye contact, but rather stared into the general distance as if he gave Sea Scroll the abridged version.

That was . . . needlessly cryptic. Sea Scroll made to respond, but for once he found himself not sure of what to say.

He settled for a lame, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Whatever.” Beulah sighed in an exhausted tone of voice, even though he had done essentially nothing all day.

Another awkward silence. Just keep asking questions. . .

“I forgot to ask, Beulah, what exactly do you do for a living?”

It was very likely that the teen was unemployed, or maybe a delinquent recently kicked out of school, but that didn’t explain how he could afford to pay rent. Unless, of course, Coppertone paid it for him, but Sea Scroll liked to think Beulah had a little more integrity than that.

“You might not respect me anymore if I tell you.” Beulah said with a bitter laugh.

What’s the big deal, you work for the black market or something? “You don’t know if I even respect you to begin with.”

Surprisingly, this earned an actual smile from the ill-tempered unicorn colt. Well, it was more of a smirk, but anything other than a frown or a morose stare was welcome.

“Touche. I’m a part-time waiter, for your information. At that diner that’s only a short walk away from here.”

Beulah . . . a waiter? Either ‘service with a smile’ wasn’t a rule in the diner he worked at, or by some miracle, he actually knew how to be pleasant.

“That’s it?” Sea Scroll scoffed, “With all that ‘you won’t respect me anymore’ nonsense, you had me thinking you were a trained assassin or something.”

The smile quickly faded from Beulah’s face. “I couldn’t be, anyway. . . not with this head injury.” He gestured to the piece of cloth wrapped around his forehead.

Huh. So that ‘hachimaki’ is more than just bad fashion.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story. All you need to know is that it’s all thanks to this that I’m working at a diner and living with these goons.”

Why did he feel the need to be cryptic all the time? It always left him at a loss for words, and nothing irritated him more than lacking a witty comeback or thought-provoking response. “That’s. . . very unfortunate.”

“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

Sea Scroll knew that shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, but he could not help getting annoyed at his companion for the remark. “Someone like me? What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Beulah said with an impertinent lack of remorse for his rudeness. “You just strike me as sheltered. Like you’ve never felt what it’s like to be truly out of options.”

Sea Scroll had been called sheltered on more than one occasion, but only now did he feel like he was being insulted by such a label. “Oh really? Maybe you’re just too self-involved to comprehend any personal struggle outside your own. I would expect that from someone your age.”

“Maybe it would be best if we just didn’t discuss this.” Beulah growled.

End the conversation when things aren’t in your favor, then. Fine by me. Desperate to break the awkward tension that had settled like a shroud, Sea Scroll turned to the window. Not much had changed, save for the fact that Heartbreaker had wandered over to graze with River Ripple. He snorted at the thought of such a petite, skinny creature consuming as many snacks as she did. Honestly, where did she put it?

Then, drawn by a powerful, entirely unwelcome curiosity, he focused on Florian. The mare stood beside Jet and Coppertone, laughing and grinning from ear to ear. He soaked up her warmth, hypnotized by the almost ethereal quality of her unfettered mane. “Say, Beulah, what do you know about Miss Blossom?”

Beulah leaned casually against one of the support posts, his lethargic body language almost coming across as apathetic. “Florian? Not much. I know she’s a therapist.”

“Oh.” Sea Scroll felt a slight twinge of  disappointment.

“Kind of a badass, too. I wouldn’t mess with her, nor would anypony with a functioning brain.”

I guess throwing a couple tantrums make you quite the alpha dog here in Saddlewood, and not just in the office. “Treating her like an angry god will only go to her head in the long run. I say it’s good for her to be challenged once in a while, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s what they all say.” Beulah commented, almost grimacing at the window.

Sea Scroll snorted. “Come on! What does that say about your masculinity if you live in constant fear of some anal mare?”

He lowered his ears, but continued in a near-monotone. “We don’t live in fear of her, we just respect her. I don’t know what it says about your masculinity if you feel threatened by that.”

Why you! “I never said I felt threatened, only skeptical about this ridiculous status-quo.”

“So in other words, ‘threatened?’”

“You really are difficult, you know that?”

 Beulah almost smirked. “I’m just making sure you’re challenged enough. It’s good for you.”

Though he hated having his own words used against him, Sea Scroll had to give credit where credit where credit was due. He allowed himself a small smirk, holding out a hoof.

“What are you doing that for?”

“It’s a sign of friendship, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.” Beulah gave his hoof a curt shake.

“Excellent.” Tired of pulling teeth for conversation, Sea Scroll started back towards the hall. “Now that we’re on relatively decent terms, I’m going to go back inside and mingle. The ‘music’ seems to be dying down, anyway.”

Beulah glanced at the scenery. “Suit yourself. I’ll be out here just . . . chilling.”

More like laze about. Well, at least he’s tolerable, Sea Scroll mused on his way inside. The noise had faded to a dull rumble and they had ceased their pathetic excuse for dancing. A quick scan of the room revealed Jet, Florian, and Coppertone all holding identical books. Judging from the broad smiles on their face and animated conversation, they were having a good discussion. Though he loathed the idea of being in that mare’s presence, literature had to be the only subject he could hope to connect with them on.

Coppertone looked up from his book at Sea Scroll, grinning like they hadn’t just seen each other less than thirty minutes ago. “Hey there, Sea Scroll.” he chimed, patting the empty cushion next to him. “I didn’t think you were going to join us today! Go ahead and sit down.”

Why do ponies always assume that I want to sit down? “Yes, well, unlike someponies, I’m not socially inept.” Sea Scroll shot back, gently pushing the cushion aside. “I just chose to spend my time with Beulah.”

Florian’s mood visibly darkened, reading the book mere inches from her muzzle with an almost pained intensity. Sheesh. It’s not like I’m bringing a plague down on you. Well, at least she was loathing him quietly.

“I never said you were, Sea Scroll. ” Coppertone chuckled, “Never said you were.”

That doesn’t mean that you didn’t insinuate it. He turned to Jet, who was lounging across two cushions and reading through his book with a satisfied, even smug look that most teens got when flipping through a  vapid magazine. The colt licked his hoof, turned the page, and continued to scan the text with the same dopey stare.

“Funny. I didn’t know you could read, Jet.” Sea Scroll said with a smirk. He immediately regretted this as the remark caused everypony to look at him with surprise and burst out into a fit of laughter.

The heat rose from his solar plexus into his face, making his cheeks burn. “What, what’s so amusing?”

Jet suppressed another giggle, pushing a clump of his thick black mane out of his face. “You think it’s funny that I just read, man? Dude, I wrote this book.”

Sea Scroll’s immediate thoughts on this new development all spilled out of his mouth at once. “What?!”

Florian laughed even harder at his reaction than she did his misconception. “He’s an author, asshat!”

“Yes, I gathered that much,” Sea Scroll snapped, the heat in his face rising to his ears. Jet didn’t have the right to be an author. He hardly had a grasp on the standard Equestrian language to begin with and was far too young to know what he was doing. I wonder if he bribes his publisher.

“Ponies are full of surprises.” The blue-and-grey maned package of sanctimony said. “You never know what to expect from your friends.”

Jet nodded vigorously in agreement. “And the best part is, I’ve probably written more books than you’ve critiqued.”

Sea Scroll felt suddenly inclined to take a seat after all this, and obeyed those inclinations without a second thought. “I doubt that.” he spat,  punctuating the words with an air of superiority.

Florian nudged Jet. “I have to agree with Sea Scroll on this one, he probably writes reviews on the small print you find on the back of packaging.”

“True, true.”

Every queen bee had her hench pony, whether said queen bee was a spoiled filly or simply an adult mare who behaved like one. Pitiful really. A change of subject was in order. Something, anything that could put him back in advantage of the conversation. He found salvation in no time. “What is it you’re all reading, anyway?”

Jet jumped at the question with unsettling enthusiasm. “My first attempt at writing something for the ladies! And it’s a smash hit.”

Coppertone and Florian smiled like a mother and father proud of their son’s achievement. Suck ups, the whole lot of you.

Determined to show Coppertone how a real stallion should act, Sea Scroll added, “Keep in mind that popularity isn’t an accurate measurement of a book’s quality. What’s it called?”

Jet shoved the novel in front of him, giggling. “‘My Big Fat Pegasus Wedding.’ It’s about a  young unicorn who falls in love with a pegasus, but her stupid bigoted family doesn’t approve of the match because of her fiancé’s ethnic background. Just to show them how independent she is, she decides to have a wedding based off pegasus culture and traditions.” He accentuated his summary with erratic hoof gestures.

 There are no words.

“It’s actually a pretty riveting novel that covers delicate issues such as racial tension while still maintaining a sense of humor . . . and romance.” Florian added.

What makes you qualified to make that judgement? You don’t have a degree in literary criticism. Before he could make a rebuttal, Jet pointed to the text on the back of the book. “See? Her review is on the back of the book.”

“It sounds like a glorification of unrealistic teenage fantasies.” Sea Scroll stated calmly, pushing the book out of his personal space. “If you like to pander to a hormonal and whiny demographic, far be it from me to stop you. But a young mare running away and putting together a wedding specifically to spite her parents will only encourage filial disobedience in the end.”

Florian was quick to defend her precious book. “A story about two irrational racists who learn to accept others through love for their daughter will encourage tolerance more than anything else. Besides, you have to give the kids some credit. They know better than to say and do everything they read in novels.”

Jet jerked a nod. “Yeah, Florian knows where it’s at.”

Excuses, excuses. “If you need to tell yourself that to justify that you, a full grown mare, are reading juvenilia targeted at pre-adolescents, then go ahead and tell yourself that.”

Coppertone positioned himself between the three ponies like a hoofball referee preventing a scuffle. “Hey guys, we’re all just here to have fun. It’s not a debate.”

Florian promptly ignored his efforts at diplomacy, snarling at him from over the pegasus’s wing. “You haven’t even read a single page of the book and yet you’re already deciding your opinion on it. I hope you don’t do that for all your critiques.”

“As a matter of fact, I thoroughly read through every book I critique.  Sometimes more than once.” Sea Scroll sniffed, “But you’re right. Let’s take a look at this, now shall we?” He levitated the title out of her hooves.

“Hey!”

“Now, now. I’m not going to harm your book in any way, I’m simply going to take a look at the first few pages . . . if that’s okay with you, of course.”

“I don’t suppose I can stop you.” Florian grumbled.

“Smart girl.”

Finally, back in my domain. He stood up and opened the book to the first chapter, reading aloud a passage.

 “The whimsical city of Cloudsdale floated serenely in the evening sky, gracing the humble land below with a cool shade. The wispy clouds were tinged a romantic shade of pink and the setting sun resembled a dying candle in the distance. Rosedust observed this beautiful scene unfold with a look of despair on her features. She had much more pressing matters on her mind.”

He can’t be serious. Sea Scroll turned to Jet, raising an eyebrow.

Jet shrugged. “What?”

“I would point out that this is painfully cliche—and that you used the word ‘shade’ twice in two neighboring sentences—but I would be a fool not to address how wordy and melodramatic this is. You’re not being payed by the adjective, are you?”

The oafish grey pegasus didn’t bat an eyelash at his work being disparaged. “I was making the narration all flowery. Chicks did that, right?”

“I’m sure ‘chicks’ don’t ‘dig’ being treated like creatures that can be manipulated with mere frivolity.” Sea Scroll said, ensuring his patronizing tone of voice was apparent, “Rather demeaning to the opposite sex, don’t you think?”

Florian rolled her eyes. “Right, because it’s only acceptable to demean mares who deserve it. What do you know about what mares fancy aside from your own mother, anyway?”

“Oh, snap!” her hench pony added.

Sea Scroll pursed his lips tightly. “You’d know a thing or two about wooing mares, wouldn’t you, Miss Blossom?”

Much to his satisfaction, she widened her eyes and opened her mouth as if to say ‘How dare you!’, but Coppertone interjected before the argument could escalate.

“Guys,” he said in an uncharacteristically firm tone, “we’re not going to let this devolve into a petty argument. Let’s all act like adults, okay?”

Jet raised his hoof. “I’m not an adult.”

“That’s aside the point.”

Sea Scroll nodded in respect for the beige pegasus. There had been a hoof-full of times that he felt as though he was surrounded by children since moving to Saddlewood, and finally somepony was putting the worst offenders in their place.

“I agree with Coppertone. My observations in no way warrant this level of tension. There might even be something positive for me to say about the novel if only you’ll let me continue.”

Coppertone flinched, but said nothing more. Florian, however, had another bone to pick. “How did you know that we secretly desire your praise and acceptance above all else?” she sneered, her voice raising a few octaves with sarcasm. She turned to Jet. “We better shut up, Jet, I hear Sea Scroll might let us lick his hooves if we’re good!”

Jet snickered.

What was with this mare and her use of embarrassingly vulgar language? It was unbecoming of someone who had so little redeeming qualities to begin with and blatantly went against Coppertone’s request for them all to act like adults. And yet, disengaging from the conversation was the last thing on Sea Scroll’s mind.

“The idea isn’t that it’s my personal approval you’re seeking, but that I speak for anyone with a higher Canterlot University Education.” He explained.

Florian crossed her hooves in front of her chest.  “What, suddenly you’re the only pony here with a Canterlot University education? Maybe you speak for anypony with clinical narcissism.”

 It had slipped his mind that they attended the same college.

Jet looked at Florian, then at Sea Scroll, raising his eyebrows and gasping. “Wait. Are you guys, like, old college ex’s or something?”

Sea Scroll stood abruptly, gut turning to ice.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Florian snorted.

Sea Scroll flushed intensely, partially because of Jet’s inquiry, and partially because everypony was aware that he was flushing in the first place. That and he had stood up for no reason. “Don’t flatter yourself.”  he grumbled, sitting back down again.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Coppertone spoke. “H-hey, you know what’s interesting? Chapter, uh. . .chapter five is really good, you should read it.”

And here I thought I was terrible at changing the subject.

Even Jet looked at Coppertone awkwardly. “That’s the chapter where Rosedust purchases a cake.”

“Sounds more interesting than listening to these two throw playground insults around, anyway. I’ll give it a look.” Sea Scroll flipped through the pages until he reached Chapter Five.

Florian pouted, turning away from him.

Ignoring her, he glanced down at the page titled, ‘In Which Rosedust Purchases a Cake’. He wasn’t kidding. “So this is the chapter where the main protagonist . . . purchases a cake?”

“Yup.”

Sea Scroll glared at Jet. “But why? Does she meet or have an important conversation with another character?”

“Nah. She just get’s a nice cake.”

“What purpose could that possibly serve to the overarching plot?”

Jet blinked for a minute, then turned his gaze to the floor. “Acquiring a cake . . .so there can be one at the wedding.”

Celestia help him if that book was as much of a success as Jet made it out to be. Shooting him an, ‘I give up’ look, he returned the book to Florian.

She snatched it out of his magical grasp aggressively. “What, did you run out of batteries or something?”

Sea Scroll shook his head. “No, I just came to the realization that this isn’t worth my time or energy.”

“The again, what is?”

Definitely not you, he thought, but mustering up enough self-control, he replied, “A good many things, I’ll have you know. Nothing you’d be interested in I assure you.”

“Hm. Fair enough. Just don’t blame me if you suddenly drop dead. I hear critics are like sharks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you’re not always and constantly berating other ponies’ work, you just kind of,” Florian lifted her hoof into the air, then let it fall limp, “Burn out like a light.”

Jet guffawed right on cue.

“You probably got that information from ‘The Big Book of Ignoramus’,” Sea Scroll scoffed, struggling to maintain his serene, detached attitude. “I hear it’s your go-to source of enlightenment.”

“Oh yes, it’s very helpful.” Florian giggled, “I’m so grateful you wrote it.”

Coppertone clasped a hoof to his forehead, groaning.

Ignoring the peanut gallery, Sea Scroll turned to Jet. “At least I wasn’t sacrificing my artistic integrity to appeal to the female demographic.”

“Okay, I have an idea!” The level of volume coming from the youngster made all three of them jump. “How about everypony who wants to read and talk about my book go over there with River and Heartbreaker. Then, the ponies that want to sit around and bitch all day stay over here!” He huffed for a moment, eyes flashing like umber daggers. “Does that sound like a plan, guys?”

An awkward silence lingered in the air like canon smoke. Then, with an imperious air, Florian strode over to Jet. “Sounds like an excellent plan, Jet. Why don’t we go over there and continue the conversation we were having before Sea Scroll came along?” Her haughty parting glare disquieted Sea Scroll in a way he scarcely could quantify. As if, by that simple gesture, she condemned him to a life of ostracization.

He stood as quiet as the cedar trees outside, waiting for Equestria knows what. Coppertone strode over, ears lowered. “Hey, um . . . I’m going to go over there with them.” The stallion’s gaze fell to the seating area where Jet, River, Heartbreaker, and Florian were congregating. “We’re just gonna be talking about about that book you aren’t really fond of. So . . .yeah.”

Sea Scroll’s limbs felt like dead weight as Coppertone slunk away. Peace and quiet. Excellent, I love peace and quiet. Solitude’s a pony’s best friend. Though his self-reassurances felt as fragile as porcelain in light of the group’s now animated conversation.

Sure solitude’s a pony’s best friend. At least when you’re trying to teach a class of stubborn kindergarteners who plug their ears and babble whenever you point out a simple fact. Ignorance is bliss, eh? 

Sea Scroll glowered at the happy clique, watching as the scene blurred together before forcing himself to focus on the floorboards. I suppose if I’m really such an inconvenience to everypony’s blind enjoyment, then my time would be better spent elsewhere.

Silence. A familiar, all pervasive silence as close to him as his own shadow. In it, he found comfort and inspiration. Some ponies might have claimed music helped one concentrate, but silence remained the only reason Sea Scroll managed to accomplish any task.

It was only the second time that the dusty old room seemed to welcome him with open hooves after a difficult day of listening to inane chatter which, when he became present for, turned into inane bickering. Not that

that was a new concept to him, not at all. If there was one thing he learned in college--aside from the numerous things that one ought to learn and then some-- was that intelligent ponies were never meant to mingle with the rest of society, as the results were normally explosive. Rather, intellectuals were better left to their own thoughts, unless he or she happened to come across a rare kindred spirit.

Having an obvious lack of ‘kindred spirits’ at the moment, Sea Scroll allowed his thoughts to become a sanctuary. Sitting down in front of his desk, he noticed that his notebook had been left open and instinctively slammed it shut out of habit. . . .oh, wait.

The door had been locked all day--there was no way anypony could’ve came in and read its’ contents. You’re paranoid, Sea Scroll. He opened the journal again, flipping through pages upon pages of excellent magicwriting until he reached the page that was empty save one half-written paragraph.

Now that he thought about it, he was feeling extra creative.

________________________________________________________

Wrong Way Forward

Despite having been accused of doing it for half his life, Sea Scroll was confident that he did not obsess. Overthinking was a term that mentally impaired ponies used to describe those who thought twice about a situation before forgetting about it entirely, much like a goldfish bumping into the glass wall of its bowl over and over again.

The less a pony thought—or ‘obsessed’ as so many called it—the less they could be separated from the beasts. The term overthinking only had a right to exist if such separation was undesired.

The train of thought brought a familiar female voice to his mind. ‘Sweetie, allow me to put it this way. . .’ ‘Sweetie.’An insipid nickname that only his mother dared call him. ‘When you dip a cookie in milk for the first time, it’s delicious and brings out flavors you may not have noticed before. But if you dip it too many times, it becomes so soggy that you really can’t taste it at all.’  

Even during his colthood, the analogy felt overwhelmingly idiotic. To compare something so complex as life itself to a cookie was far more concerning than spending too much time thinking.

In his opinion—which did have a habit of being correct—life was more like a piece of modern art. Confusing, ugly, and seemingly meaningless until you took a good long look at it and decided the meaning for yourself. If everyone else planned on taking a glance and passing by, he didn’t mind as long as they weren’t dragging him along with them.

Maybe Florian and the others had left Saturday’s party behind them, but that wasn’t going to stop him from reliving every detail of every moment on a loop. . . whether he liked to or not.

I loathe to be the pony who failed to mention I would be sharing a living space with one of my co-workers, Sea Scroll brooded as he strolled into town hall, And one who hates my guts, at that. That kind of proximity shatters the professionalism we’re supposed to be maintaining . . . blasted party. 

Brooding had always been an effective strategy to make long walks seem shorter. Rather than holding up the journey by stopping and smelling the roses, it was simply more efficient to note how the roses were the wrong shade of red as he passed by. With that in mind, he reached the main office in no time.

His arrival was not greeted enthusiastically. Raven, sitting behind the front desk, immediately pretended to be absorbed in paperwork as soon as she caught sight of him. Despite Sea Scroll’s hopes of her being in her office, Florian stood at the coffee table with an apathetic look on her face. I wouldn’t be surprised if she spilled a biased version of Saturday’s events to the entire building.

“Morning, Curly.” Florian said with all the warmth of a freezer. She had such a way of making a pony feel like he did something wrong. Sea Scroll liked to think he was practically immune to guilt, for he never did anything that he didn’t intend to do, and yet there was something so sickeningly manipulative about her voice that almost made him feel obliged to be guilty.

“Morning.” Sea Scroll started towards his office, but froze upon registering the shaggy colt leaning against the nearest lounge chair. Jet!

He inclined his head in a lazy sort of nod. “Yo.”

“What in the name of Tartarus are you doing here?” And how did I not see him on the way? His eyes fell to Jet’s wings . . . Damn lazy pegasus forgot what walking is.

“Business, duh,” Jet laughed, pointing a hoof to the overflowing stacks of papers  in his saddlebags, “What are you doing here?”

Florian had no qualms about butting in before Sea Scroll could reply, “Jet’s here to speak with the publisher about the release of his latest novel. In case you didn’t know, authors don’t just staple their stories together and pass out copies by the side of the road.”  

With the tripe ponies publish these days, they might as well.

“I did that once.” Jet remarked, but Florian hushed him.

I swear, my life is missing a corny laugh track . . . “Who in their right mind—” Sea Scroll scoffed, “—no, who with a moral compass lets that sugar-coated dog waste get sent to stores and sold to the poor, unassuming public?”

Florian rolled her eyes. “Save the sour grapes for your diary. The ‘poor, unassuming public’ is quite happy with Jet’s books . . . and so is his publisher.”

“I’d like to meet this individual.”

“Oh, Fine Ink?” Jet shrugged, “He’s my dad.”

Why you low-down little . . . Now it all made sense, and his faith in the future of literature could be partially restored . . . for the time being. “Jet, I’d like to say I thought you were above that, but in all honesty, I didn’t think that highly of you in the first place.”

The kid’s ears lowered. “So what if my publisher just happens to be my dad?” Jet snapped a little defensively.

“So his sentimental bias toward you is going to affect his ability to see flaws in your work.”

A few seconds passed as the pegasus visibly processed Sea Scroll’s remark. Then, returning to his usual exaggeratedly casual demeanor, he continued. “Bro, the stallion knows what he’s doing. He writes books too, ya know. The talent is kinda hereditary.”

You believe in this bull too? Sea Scroll had lost count of how many times he had to correct ponies on this matter. It was a lovely fantasy that just because your parentage had worked hard to hone their skills, you would automatically be bestowed the same gifts upon birth. However, that was the very definition of ‘embellishing reality,’ as Florian had so  firmly expressed her distaste for. “Talent is acquired, not born.”

“If you say so,” Jet snorted, “I guess I just went and picked up my skills as the five-and-dime one day.”

Thankfully Florian didn’t burst into peals of laughter as if Jet were some sort of comedian. Raven’s sugary giggle however, caused him to raise his hackles.

“Save your giggling for when somepony actually says something clever, Miss Raven,” he scolded, causing her to cower. “You don’t exist to subtly stroke Jet’s ego in the background.” Snapping at the fragile filly almost felt like kicking a puppy, but she really needed it in the end.

“So now you regulate laughter as well as fun?” Florian said, shoving a lid onto her coffee cup, “What’s next, are you gonna give us tickets when we breathe too loudly for your taste?”

‘Regulate fun.’ That didn’t sit right with him at all. “I don’t regulate fun, I challenge weak opinions,” Sea Scroll said, trying his utmost to sound more exasperated than offended. “So terribly sorry that you don’t like it when I question the object of your fangirlism. You ponies value enjoyment over truth. A shining example of why today’s society is going to pot.”

It wasn’t as though he had expected Florian to apologize and become submissive, but her unfazed expression never ceased to astound him. “And you’re a shining example of a grumpy old stallion in a twenty-year-old’s body.”

“Twenty four,” he corrected stiffly. “I’m older and most likely more experienced than all of you.” A vast deal of knowledge could be attained in the short span of four years.

Just as he had dreaded, all three of them dismissed this and laughed. Not that their opinions genuinely mattered to him, but everypony in his life had a habit of only laughing at him when he never intended to be humorous. He groaned, averting his gaze from the group.

“Well, if the rest of you aren’t morally outraged, I’m gonna head upstairs and get this bad boy on the shelves!” Jet laughed, shaking his head before trotting out of the office at a dangerously fast speed. Sadly, he didn’t trip or stumble.

“You say that with such confidence.” Sea Scroll grumbled, only giving Jet an excuse to mockingly stick his tongue out at him. Despicable!

“Ugh. This is what happens when you’re born into privilege; you forget what it means to actually earn something . . . to actually be unsure of whether you’ll achieve your goals or not.”

Did goals even matter if success continued to present itself on a silver platter whenever the need arose?  Could it even be considered success if there was no chance of failure to overcome?

Florian gave him a look of utter apathy. “You’re the one to talk. I’m sure it took years of grueling work to get the job where you get paid to talk shit about things without actually producing content.”

Sarcasm? Was she . . . oh hell, no. She was not belittling four years of intense study and enduring living with the biggest pricks in all of Equestria! He didn’t come this far to be ridiculed by the likes of her. “Yes it did, for your information. You obviously fail to grasp my purpose as a critic and what the occupation means.”

Without one pony in every town discerning the wheat from the chaff, standards would be nonexistent. To his surprise and irritation, the ponies here had placed little value on him since he came to Saddlewood.

“Hm,” she sniffed, flicking her tail irritably, “I was under the impression that it was you who lacked understanding of what it means to be a critic.”

This went beyond simple impertinence, way beyond. The sheer quantity of determination and stubbornness to start an argument and hold it astounded him. That trait he had only ever known in one other pony—that pony being himself. This pride could only be tamed if one’s adversary swallowed their own. Of course, the absence of her petty fight-picking was not worth sacrificing his dignity.

“So you insult the importance of my occupation, question my competence, and dare to imply that you know better despite having no background of studying art or literature?”

She sipped her coffee with an unnatural level of serenity, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I’m pretty audacious, aren’t I?”

‘Shameless’ is more like it. Had such gumption not been put to use at his expense, then it almost would have been admirable.

A tangible tension had filled the room, leaving them in a kind of stalemate, knowing that the first words spoken would break the floodwall of civility.

Luckily Florian broke it, though in a none too graceful fashion. “Oh, look at the time, I better be in my office soon,” she proclaimed, looking up at a ‘clock’ that Sea Scroll couldn’t find anywhere. “Not that your theatrical grousing hasn’t been lovely, but you’ve proven quite enough, and Dewdrop will be here soon.”

“. . . Dewdrop? Is that your client?”

Though it was easy to miss, her face noticeably softened like a pony who had just had a weight lifted of their back. “Yep. She’s a good filly. . . just has a lot on her mind to deal with.”

The idea of Florian dealing with a sensitive filly brought nothing to mind but her telling the poor foal to get over herself and suck it up. Those who dominated and held petty grudges were generally not thought of as caretakers.

“What, no rude remarks?” She said asked smugly.

More than you’ll ever know, but I practice restraint. “I just find it hard to envision you dealing with children, Miss Blossom, considering all the apathetic sass you tend to treat everypony with.”

She snapped back with alarming immediacy, “I practically raised my sisters, you’d think I’d know a thing or two about dealing with children!”

Sea Scroll instinctively took a step back, ears lowering submissively. He had intended to offend her, but not to that degree. “I . . . I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Apparently not.”  Florian turned on her hoof and all but stomped out of the room, leaving him alone with a rather wide-eyed Raven.

How did it happen that he always managed to find the right words for every situation until somepony’s emotional well-being was at stake? He became keenly aware of the mare gaping at him like he belonged in a cage. Likely she imagined him no better than a monster.  “What are you staring at?”

“N-nothing!” The diminutive unicorn stuttered.

Sea Scroll nodded, craning his neck to see if Florian had gone far enough down the hallway. Satisfied his progress would be uninterrupted by the clarion call of her bitching, he started off.  Focus, just focus. Don’t get yourself worked up. Give it a few hours to resolve itself. After all he had done the right thing, hadn’t he?

Everypony desired a sense of importance and belonging to some degree. In fact, with their constantly evolving, impossibly complex society it bordered on a necessity. Everyone and everything had a place and function, some more respected than others, but all wove togethering into a delicate yet beautiful system. Quite like how natural law functioned, but far less savage.

While not a collected stallion by nature, Sea Scroll felt grateful for his occupation and the place he had found for himself in this ‘network.’ He could have just as easily ended up with another run-of-the-mill job; sitting behind a desk, filtering through mountains of repetitive paperwork, or running some middle-of-nowhere town that nopony knew about. But he had taken the extra step to be more than just another rodent in the rat race. He was a preserver of culture.

In a time where just about anything scribbled onto a piece of parchment could be considered a work of inspired art, critics were desperately needed. Today’s offender —a skimpy collection of ‘poetry’— had not been much of a challenge for him to take down, though the same could be said for most of the books he had encountered in the past.

The Earth Beneath Your Hooves had been his first choice actually, but he felt obliged to prove himself by producing a review as soon as possible. That long-winded novel would take far too long to read, assess, and write an article on in less than two days. His reasoning related completely to timing and not because he had taken a fancy to the book or anything of the sort.

Needless to say the review had not been positive. The part of Sea Scroll concerned with self preservation shuddered at the thought of Phineus’ reaction. Phineus would have to learn to cope with unimpressed reviews, though . . . as long as there was a way to avoid the stallion for a couple of days.

With a deep sigh, he slung his saddlebags across his back and started towards the main office. Sea Scroll glanced at the office doors, all closed for the day. Lazy small town ponies, quitting before they even accomplished anything. Then again . . .

Sea Scroll eyed the diminutive paper sticking out of his saddlebag. An entire day at work and a three page review had been all he had to show for it. Of course he knew the effort and dedication it took, but he doubted any of the hicks around town would see it that way. Best to avoid the peanut gallery if at all possible.

Walking into the main office, he noted Raven had already left. Seriously? It’s not that late! Just as he started forward to place the paper on her desk, he noted Florian standing by the water station. Great, just great.

He found himself staring at the oblivious pegasus, surprised at her almost thoughtful expression. At least she didn’t appear hostile. Maybe a more sociable approach will pull this stick out of the mud. Sighing softly, he stepped towards her. “How was Dewdrop?”

Florian twitched, wheeling around to face him with that perpetually unamused expression of hers. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just asking how your client is doing, not stepping over your honor. Loosen up.”

“Since when do you care, Curly?” she sneered.

I have a name, you know. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not a heartless monster who finds enjoyment in the hardships of others . . . Blondie.”

“Mmmhmm . . .”

Sea Scroll felt his patience withering the longer he focused on her. “Was the damn filly okay or not?” You’re impossible to start a conversation with!

Florian glared intently into his eyes, raising an eyebrow. “That ‘damn filly’ is legally entitled to her privacy. I’m not allowed to tell you about our appointments.”

“Fair enough.”

Florian scooped up her briefcase, making to leave.

“Do you—”

She regarded him with a perfectly fed-up expression. Then, after an awkward silence, pressed, “Do I?”

He scoffed, “Nevermind.”

“Alright then.” With a flick of her tail, she left out the door.

That was a complete waste of my time! I suppose she’s graduated from exploding at the slightest disturbance to rudely ignoring those who talk to her . . .  somewhat of an improvement. After slamming the paper on Raven’s desk, he took off at a brisk trot. Best to ignore her in turn and focus his attention elsewhere, like familiarizing himself with the town. That at least shouldn’t leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

True to the small town stereotype, the streets of Saddlewood had an almost eerie dearth of ponies out and about. That was a good thing, of course, but a little unsettling after growing accustomed to practically swimming through citizens in the streets of Canterlot. All that the town lacked was a lone tumbleweed drifting by and an eagle screeching in the distance.

Even more bizarre than the sensation of strolling through an abandoned forest village was having a completely empty schedule. Nothing to study, no errands to run, not even a small task to be completed. It made him feel like a child. What did ponies do when they had nothing on their schedule, engage in idle gossip? He had to respectfully disagree with the stallion who said ‘leisure is the basis of civilization’ for, if a mind wasn’t constantly occupied, it might as well rot.

A nearby building caught his attention, though ‘building’ might have been embellishing just a tad. It resembled a pile of logs stacked on top of each other and pasted together, assuming Saddlewood could afford paste. A large cedar tree loomed over its roof, providing a respectable amount of shade and likely increasing the chance of it getting destroyed should a storm hit.

The tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread wafted from an uninspired hole-in-the-ground, ‘The Midtown Hashhouse’ according to the petrified wood sign hanging above the door. He snorted. At least the owner of this ‘hash house’ had been and honest enough to admit that his rinky dink establishment couldn’t be considered a restaurant, even by hick-ville standards. Still, the smell of food reminded him of just how little he had eaten today.

Sea Scroll peeked through the window to see that all the missing ponies out in town were surely crammed into this one tiny diner for a sort of ‘test your claustrophobia’ convention. Waiters and waitresses had to practically crawl over customers without dropping any platters, and the sound of many indistinct conversations could be heard from outside. I wonder if this is where Beulah works?

As if any sane pony wants to have dinner with half the village. Hungry or not, it did not look like a satisfactory experience. Moving on.

As he passed by a patch of blue forget-me-nots, he almost stopped to stare at them like an absent-minded little filly.  Though he would never admit it to a soul, flowers tended to have that effect on him. They were so fragile and full of life, unlike the coarse sand of Horseshoe Bay, and it wasn’t often that he saw them growing wild in the cobblestone city of Canterlot.

Flowers, huh? He could have sworn the flowers were fresh in his memory. Maybe his hunger was playing tricks on him, but he was unable to shake the feeling. Probably because it was just unusual to see any form of plant life that wasn’t a cedar tree around in the Celestia-forsaken hamlet. That had to be it.

It wasn’t until he continued on his not-so-merry way to nowhere in particular that it came back to him. Of course. Florian always had one of the little blue flowers in her mane, despite putting on airs about not being frivolous. Why mares put something so easily perishable as plants in their mane was beyond his reasoning, but honestly, what wasn’t these days? Just another parade of frivolity.

Frivolity and pettiness just about summed up the majority of mares he knew, Florian being the crown jewel. ‘I practically raised my sisters, you’d think I know a thing or two about raising children!’ Maybe that didn’t mean anything after all. Anyone with younger siblings could have complained of practically raising them, children were so . . . clingy.

Florian already had a reputation of stretching the truth from time to time, even if he had only been here for for four days. I should be grateful I was an only child, Sea Scroll reflected before clearing the whole thing from his mind. Perhaps this was a one-time exception where dwelling on something might not have been the best option.

Just as he started back towards the lodge, Sea Scroll noted an all too familiar mare a few paces ahead of him. Speak of the devil . . . She continued to strut down the street with all the air of an empress surveying her domain. So it’s not just an office thing.

Curiosity got the better of him as she turned down a side street and out of site. As inconspicuously as his burly frame would allow, he followed suit. Let’s see where our resident noblemare takes her rounds, shall we?

After a dizzying series of side streets, alleyways, and hoof paths through the woods, Florian finally reached the river. Sea Scroll had seen a lot of rivers in his time, but the sheer volume of the rushing water made his stomach churn. Any pony unfortunate enough to fall into the raging waters could be counted as lost.

Rather than a shoreline, the river was bordered on either side with a sheer dropoff. After about ten feet, the cliff met the river, water surging and slapping against the exposed bones of the earth. Lining the cliff were hundreds of oddly sized rocks and trees clinging to the edge for dear life.

The spot she headed towards consisted of several —there was no other word for them—boulders. The smooth stones formed a kind of tiered tower atop which Coppertone, River Ripple, and Heartbreaker were lounging. Upon seeing them, she broke into an eager trot.

Sea Scroll crept through the cedar trees, choosing a well-concealed spot close enough he could overhear their little powwow. They greeted each other like a bunch of kids gathering in a secret clubhouse. Tight knit community my hoof. Everypony in this town belongs to a posse of three or four, segregated into little cliques. What is this, a giant high school? He leaned forward, turning his ears to listen in. Let’s just see what meaningless tripe is on the menu today . . .

“You wouldn’t believe what I went through at work! Me and the guys had to fix another giant radiator, and the whole thing fell apart halfway through! I blame Corbel, he never screws down anything tight enough.” Coppertone’s words would have been marginally pitiable if not for the childish gesticulations he accented them with.

Florian however, seemed to find it quite amusing, bursting out into an uncharacteristically feminine laugh.

It’s like she’s a whole different pony when she’s laughing genuinely instead of at somepony’s expense . . . Sea Scroll looked away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. I don’t see anything particularly hilarious about a broken radiator.

Heartbreaker’s grating voice broke his reverie, “Did Jet get his book published today?”

“I don’t know . . .” There was a distinct note of worry in Florian’s voice now. “He’s still talking it over with Fine Ink. Sea Scroll wasn’t too thrilled to see him there.”

“Really?” Coppertone interjected.

Heart pounding irritatingly fast, Sea Scroll moved a little closer. Talk trash about the new kid behind his back. How terribly mature of you.

River Ripple’s gaze suddenly turned in his direction, making him take cover behind the nearest tree. After a few moments, he took a cautious step forward, still concealed by the trunk.

“Oh yeah, he was obnoxious today right from the get-go,” Florian drawled. “Luckily our jobs stay separate from each other’s, but man does he suck the casual atmosphere from the break room.”

Coppertone raised his hoof diplomatically. “Maybe he’s just stressed. I know I would be if I just moved to a new town with a new job.”

I don’t need your backup, colt-scout. Sea Scroll glowered at the instigator. It was impertinent when she insulted me for no reason, but complaining like a whiny filly is just cowardly. He made to advance, but thought better of it. Traipsing out of the forest now was as good as some busybody housewife giving the neighbors a piece of her mind after spying on them. No, he’d stay put. Let the kids whine, he wouldn’t sully his hooves with their petty nonsense.

“Since when did stress become a valid excuse for rude behavior?” Florian huffed before turning towards the river. “But, if that’s the way you think . . .”

Coppertone chuckled sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t there so I wouldn’t know . . .”

Have an opinion for once, you spineless jellyfish!

Heartbreaker flicked a pebble into the river, scowling. “Since Mayor Phineus is the reason he’s here in the first place, I think destroying a casual atmosphere could be just his intention. A ploy by Phineus to get everypony to be more focused on work than schmoozing around.”

Seriously? He suppressed an indignant snort. Since when did the floozy become a philosopher, eh? Imbecile didn’t even consider that I might have my own ideals I can apply to the workplace without being commissioned by some obtuse politician.

The peanut gallery’s eyes bulged. “You—you’re implying that he’s Phineus’ pawn? But when I met him on Friday—”

“I don’t think Sea Scroll would allow that to happen . . . he’s too prideful to serve as a pawn. I’d say his reason for descending upon us is more of a ‘personal crusade’ if you will,” Florian stated piously.

“It’s healthy to have something that you stand for, but if his er, ‘thing’ is getting in the way of your positive work experience, then don’t engage.”

So I’m the antagonist now? Sea Scroll stamped his hoof. New guy shows up and disrupts the sacred status quo, and all Tartarus breaks loose.”

Florian smirked, “Why don’t you tell him not to engage?”

“I—”  

“So it’s the mare’s fault for not walking away from the situation? That’s so misogynistic, Coppertone,” Heartbreaker snapped, pinning her ears.

“What? No, my intention wasn’t—”

“Guys!” The group’s attention turned to River Ripple. “Can we just talk about something else? I hate it when we fight . . .”

“Ye-yeah,” Coppertone stammered, “Good call. It’s not nice to talk about somepony behind their back anyway.”

Florian gave a theatrical sigh, “Fine.”

Sea Scroll’s vision clouded over as the blood rushed to his ears. “It’s all well and good to talk about somepony behind their back until it starts causing disagreement. Good gracious, we can’t have conflict! Conflict doesn’t exist in our happy little clique.” Self-righteous hypocrites, the lot of them.

Why am I even bothering with them? Sea scroll settled down on the damp earth, drawing out his notebook and a quill. I have much better uses for my time. He stroked the familiar book almost lovingly. No matter what shit life threw at him, he would always have his writing to fall back on. Levitating his quill, he began to scrall . . .

‘Danger was imminent if the precarious heap of boulders positioned on the edge of the mountain were any indication. Calculating the situation, Forte gasped in horror. The rocks were too heavy to lift with unicorn magic and threatened to crush the majority of the village at the slightest breeze.

There was no time to stop the potential landslide, only enough time to evacuate everypony from town. That was, if the village idiots would listen to him for once.

“Everypony needs to evacuate!” Forté shouted.

A few citizens simply looked dazed and confused, but obeyed his demand none the less. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the majority of the villagers.

A small group of ponies sat on the hill closest to the mountain, talking amongst themselves as if nothing was the matter, blissfully unaware of the boulders above.

Forté cringed as the strength of the wind increased. “You four over there! There’s an incoming landslide! Get the hell out of here!”

They merely ignored him.

“Trust me on this one, just run!”

It was too late. The sound of thousands of tumbling rocks could be heard, causing Forté to instinctively teleport away from the danger with one last cry of “Run!” When the dust cleared, all that was left of the village was a mound of boulders.’

Sea scroll smirked down at the page. Note to self: irritation can make one rather prolific. He glanced over at the group, now chatting happily amongst themselves. To a certain degree anyway . . .

With a sigh, he returned the notebook to his saddlebags and got to his hooves. I suppose now is as good a time as any to head home. Sea Scroll plodded down the path, forcing himself to focus on the trail and not at the fast fading voices. Rest. Yes, that was exactly what he needed now. Rest and relaxation. He didn’t need a posse for that.

“A shanty old house is a mansion when filled with friends.”

The popular expression, though used repeatedly by his father, never ceased to irritate Sea Scroll. The superfluous words might as well have been the punchline of a cheaply-bought greeting card for all the stock Sea Scroll put in them. In fact, seeing the lodge without its usual ruckus cemented his belief in quite the contrary.

The interior reminded him a great deal of the Canterlot Museum of Natural History, with its high ceiling, antiquated furniture, and—most important of all—its silent ambience. The faint sound of his hoofsteps against the hardwood floor almost felt like a violation of a pact of silence with the old structure.  

A shanty house void of any unnecessary company is superior to a mansion any day, he thought to himself, contemplating whether to include that in his next letter home. Well . . . he supposed Saddlewood had become his place of residence, so Horseshoe Bay could no longer be considered ‘home.’

An obvious fact, a simple change in terminology, nothing to worry about surely . . . And yet, it would take time to get used to. Sentimental ponies liked to say that home was where the heart was, and if that statement had any truth to it, then home was technically wherever he went as long as blood was pumping through his veins. Perhaps that mindset bore more practicality than he gave it credit for . . .

Thanks to the silence, he might actually be able to relax in the spacious lounge. Just as he started walking towards a suitable spot, a voice startled him.

“You’re back early.”

Sea Scroll whipped his head over to see none other than Beulah, leaning against the staircase railing as if he had been waiting for him this whole time.

The kid’s always clinging to things like a stripper pole, wasn’t he ever taught proper posture? He scuffed his hoof across the ground in annoyance. “How funny you should say that, Beulah, I could say the same to you.”

His young housemate leaned further onto the railing until he was all but lying on the stairs. “I didn’t go to work today, actually.”

“Really.”

“Mm-hm. Woke up this morning and felt crummy.”

Typical teenage logic. It’s all about how you feel and what you want, isn’t it? “It’s Monday. Don’t we all feel crummy?”

Beulah tossed out another weak excuse from his inventory, “Not everyone has to walk around in a crowded diner all day serving food to cranky ponies.”

The diner wasn’t an ideal environment to be stuck in all day, he’d give him that much. But it’s still your own fault that you’re not in school like you should be. “True, but not everyone has to deal with intolerable co-workers who hate their guts, and yet I dragged my flank out of bed and did my duty.”

“It’s not my ‘duty’ to serve food!”

“Perhaps not, but it is your duty to pay rent, and trust me kid, not having a place to stay will redefine ‘crummy’ for you.”

How could Beulah not go insanely stir crazy just stewing in the lodge all day and letting his brain turn to mush? Had he cared more, he would have offered to give the lazy rag a project to keep himself occupied, but then again, doing that would practically be the same as condoning this kind of faineance.

Beulah stood up a little straighter and raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been homeless before?”

“No, but—”

“Well then. You should speak of things you know so little about.”

He could have given him the whole spiel on how a lack of firsthand experience was not necessarily the equivalent of ignorance, but getting an adolescent to listen with both his ears and mind was hoping for a miracle. Choose your battles, Sea Scroll. “. . .  As you wish.” Uttering such submissive words felt like swallowing a decently-sized pill.

Like a flip had been switched, Beulah returned to his slovenly posture as if nothing had happened. “Good. So how was your day at work?”

What’s it to you? There were few things more irking than being asked unnecessary  personal questions, but acting like he had something to hide would surely only lead to further inquiry. He sighed. “. . .Would it be wrong to say ‘the usual’ when today was only only the second day I’ve been working here? I can already see a routine beginning to form.”

“Huh. Details, please.”

What is this, an interrogation? Beulah was as prying as an elderly mare searching for juicy gossip. “Why? We’re not an old married couple, I don’t have to give you details about everything that went wrong at work.”

“I get bored. . .and I like to hear about other ponies’ misfortunes. Makes me feel like maybe my job isn’t so bad.” He gave a sly smile without the slightest hint of remorse.

“Your honesty is both refreshing and infuriating. . .”

“I get that a lot.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Sea Scroll grumbled, wracking his brain for relatively neutral information to feed to his captor, “ . . Well. . .I discovered the unfortunate truth of how Jet goes about publishing his novels. . .there’s something.”

Whether Beulah had any idea about this or not, he did not know, but if the  kid had been in the dark about this the whole time, then he would take great pleasure in revealing the scandal. Though it wasn’t like Jet saw it that way. He probably wouldn’t care who knew who his publisher was as long as he could keep producing books. Beulah simply nodded as if waiting for more.

Kid, you’re starting to make me very uncomfortable. He stood there for a moment before responding to the blank stare. “I. . .read some subpar  poetry. . .and Miss Blossom got her tail in a twist over something I said. That is all.”

“It’s all subpar, but whatever.” Beulah remarked with little effort, yawning, “So. Are you starting to reconsider what I said yesterday? About not messing with her?”

Good grief, this again! The social justice shtick was starting to get old. If a mare constantly bossed and griped at ponies, she was apparently worthy of respect. If a stallion such as himself so much as tried to participate in a conversation, he was treated with quite the opposite of respect. No logic existed in this situation whatsoever. “Wha-- quite the contrary, actually! It’s amusing seeing just how far she’ll go into a tizzy over the most trivial of matters.”

“What did she even say?”

That confirmed it. Beulah was psychic, and he could see into his mind to find the exact last thing that he wanted to hear in every situation. “Nothing of consequence.”

“That bad, huh?”

That smug air of knowingness was the farthest thing from unfamiliar to him, but it didn’t work well Beulah. He was neither sophisticated nor old enough to pull it off. “Are you even listening to a word I say?”

“Yes, and then some.”

. . . .That head injury really must’ve done something to you. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less about her triggers and buttons. I brought up my doubts on her ability to deal with children, and she yelled something about raising her sisters.”

“Fascinating.”

A few moments of silence indicated that he was not going to expand upon his commentary beyond the occasional one or two word sentence.  “Yes, and. . . ?”

“Just fascinating. That’s all I said.”

Always so cryptic! Must be a local trait.  “But. . .what do you suppose she means by that?”

Beulah shrugged and looked the other way. “Does there always have to be a double meaning? She probably meant exactly what she told you.”

“She could have been exaggerating. Everypony exaggerates.”

“Maybe so. Why don’t you go ask her yourself?”

 “Because-- ” Sea Scroll opened his mouth to answer, but found that he did not have one immediately in mind. Not an answer that was suitable to say aloud. “. . .because, like I said, I couldn’t care less.” And without giving Beulah an opportunity to make further commentary, he trotted upstairs.