Tales of Interest!

by Pascoite

First published 16th of December, 2011

Random unrelated short stories

Taking a cue from the thoroughly enjoyable Miyajima, this is a storehouse for short tales that don't warrant being separate.

And just recently, my description has run over the allowable character limit. So I've moved the individual story descriptions into a table of contents.

Table of Contents

Author's Notes:

No, we're not to the stories yet. This is exactly what it says: a table of contents. I used to have descriptions of all the individual stories in the synopsis, but I eventually ran over the character limit. So they're all here now!

Sweet Temptation [Comedy][Slice of Life]: Dinky Doo matches wits with a worthy muffin opponent. Written for a d'aww fic contest with a 1k word limit. This has 999. Yah!

The following 6 were written for ponychan's first microfic contest:

In Need of Healing [Sad][Slice of Life]: Sometimes Nurse Redheart is the one who could use a little care. prompt = Whispers in the dark. Finished 2nd of 32, won Judges' Pick.

The Voice of Reason [Slice of Life]: Somehow, Dinky always knows just what to say. prompt = Whispers in the dark. Finished 4th of 32, won Readers' Pick Runner-Up.

At Close of Day [Slice of Life]: Luna has a conversation with an old acquaintance. prompt = Whispers in the dark. Tied for 7th of 32, won Judges' Pick Runner-Up.

To Those Who Wait [Romance][Slice of Life]: Twilight takes romance into her own
hooves. Maybe she didn't need to. prompt = Not what it looks like. Tied for 7th of 32.

Playing Dress-Up [Slice of Life]: Rarity wishes her friends knew how much of herself she puts into her creations for them. prompt = Not what it looks like. Tied for 10th of 32.

A Tight Spot [Comedy][Slice of Life]: Something strange is going on with Applejack. prompt = Not what it looks like. Tied for 10th of 32.

The following 3 were from the same contest, but written under a different name.

Absolutely Anonymous [Slice of Life][Comedy] Spike's having a little too much fun writing those shipfics. prompt = Not what it looks like. Finished 3rd of 32.

The Night Watch [Slice of Life] Sometimes Miss Smarty Pants is the one who looks after Twilight. prompt = Whispers in the Dark. Finished 9th of 32.

Treehouse of Horror [Dark] Something seems off about Fluttershy's home tonight. prompt = Not what it looks like. Finished 12th of 32.

The following 2 were entries from Ponychan's /fic/ mini write-off #1. Prompt = What lies beneath.

Teacher's Pet [Slice of Life][Sad] A good teacher shouldn't play favorites. Finished 3rd of 36

Canon [Slice of Life] Derpy really likes Octavia's music. Finished 10th of 36.

The following 2 were entries from Ponychan's /fic/ mini write-off #2. Prompt = The price of a dream.

Perchance [Slice of Life][Sad] Derpy Hooves, star athlete. Finished 2nd of 38.

A Sister's Pride [Slice of Life] Applejack just might be the one most looking forward to the day Apple Bloom gets her cutie mark. Finished 9th of 38.

This was from another of Tactical's minific contests.

Luck of the Draw [Slice of Life][Sad] Derpy always loves attending the Summer Sun Celebration, and it's her year to shine. Prompt=And They Danced. Finished 1st of 12.

Two more from yet another /fic/ mini write-off. Prompt = For old times' sake.

Veneer [Slice of Life][Sad] Sometimes, the spa twins' customers hit a little too close to home. Finished 3rd of 27.

A Trick of Memory [Slice of Life] Gilda's not the griffon she once was. In most ways, that is. Finished 10th of 27.

Oats [Random] Intentional badfic written for a bit of MLPchan fun. Shipping, awful fandom references, and many common writing problems gone horribly wrong.

Four more from /fic/'s minific write-off "One Little Mistake."

It Never Changes [Slice of Life] Celestia has always felt the same way about Luna and has never failed to tell her. Finished 5th of 21.

Worth It [Shipping][Slice of Life] Spike's revelation helps Twilight make a decision that's been on her mind for some time. Finished 6th of 21.

For Her Own Good [Sad][Slice of Life] Applejack's been pushed too far, and she makes a decision she wishes she hadn't. Finished 8th of 21.

Basking [Slice of Life] Celestia's relationship with the sun is a little more complex than it might seem. Finished 10th of 21.

One from /fic/'s write-off "Long Way Home."

Where the Heart Is [Slice of Life][Dark?] Winona is a good girl. Finished 2nd of 23.

One from a collaborative effort, The Album.

Rock 'n' Roll [Slice of Life] Just another day in the life of Maud Pie.

Two from the /fic/ mini write-off "Famous Last Words":

Spring Cleaning [Slice of Life] Derpy's finally going to get that old book off her shelf. The memories can go with it. Finished 12th of 51.

Love Thine Enemy [Dark] Cadence relies on her network of spies to scout out what happened to the changelings after their invasion. One may have some useful information to offer. Finished 25th of 51.

Three from the /fic/ mini write-off "Just Over the Horizon":

A Former Student of Mine [Sad] Sweetie Belle stops in to visit her old teacher. Finished 5th of 49.

Friendly Correspondence [Slice of Life] In the events of "The Ticket Master," just because Celestia didn't write a lengthy reply doesn't mean she didn't want to. Finished 9th of 49.

To Whom It May Concern [Romance] Twilight asks Rarity's help with a love letter, but she's not the only one with secrets. Finished 17th of 49.

Three from the /fic/ mini write-off "All In":

Method Acting [Normal] A phoenix has taken an interest in the ponies near her nesting site. Soon, they start taking an interest in her as well. Finished 3rd of 93.

Or Best Offer [Slice of Life][Romance] Derpy might participate in the charity bachelor auction, unless she makes her own purchase first. Finished 36th of 93.

The End of Modesty [Comedy] A labor dispute has a completely unintended side effect. Finished 69th of 93.

Three from the /fic/ mini write-off "The Best Medicine":

A Healthy Obsession [Slice of Life] Twilight Sparkle is feeling under the weather. Too bad she can't go out with her family. Finished tied for 2nd of 101.

Gilda Has the Floor [Sad] Gilda never thought public speaking would bother her. But this isn't the easiest thing to talk about. Finished 14th of 101.

The Poetry of Politics [Slice of Life] Mayor Mare wasn't always into administration, but maybe the deal she made to get there was worth it, if not to herself, then to everypony else. Finished tied for 16th of 101.

Four from the /fic/ mini write-off "I Regret Nothing":

Surrogate [Sad] We never got to see the aftermath of her decision... Finished 3rd of 113.

Let a Smile be Your Umbrella [Slice of Life] On her way home, Derpy encounters a filly that very much reminds her of her own youth. Finished 13th of 113.

In Thy Name [Slice of Life] Don't take her name in vain... Ah, she's not listening anyway. Finished 15th of 113.

The Most Important Meal of the Day [Comedy] Basically an inside joke, but one found in an earlier chapter of this fine collection, so the context is there! Not surprisingly, finished 96th of 113.

Three from the minific write-off "Best Laid Plans":

A Foot in the Door [Slice of Life][Romance] Truffle Shuffle just needs that one little opening to let a classmate know she's sweet, even if nopony else would think so. Finished 9th of 107.

The End of Enlightenment [Sad] Sometimes, death meets ponies in unexpected ways. And death might not be willing to give up the consequences. Finished 21st of 107.

Once More, with Feeling [Slice of Life][Romance] Spike is finally going to ask out his crush. He just needs a little preparation time. Finished 27th of 107.

And 6 from the /fic/ write-off "Illusion of Choice":

Perfect Ten [Slice of Life][Romance] A chance encounter in a bar, and somepony finally sees the real her. Finished 2nd of 104.

Peachy Pie and Misty Moon Keep the Realm Safe Until Dinnertime [Slice of Life][Dark] A fun little whimsical children's story. Finished 17th of 104.

Keeping the Faith [Slice of Life][Sad] Sunset Shimmer has one last link to Princess Celestia, and she wouldn't throw that away for anything. Finished 25th of 104.

Forced Perspective [Slice of Life?] One of these times, Celestia will get those ponies started on the path to prosperity, even if she has to make it happen herself. Finished 28th of 104.

Cold Front [Dark][Sad] The worst storms always make Scootaloo huddle in the dark, alone. Maybe this time, she can tell somepony why. Finished 53rd of 104.

Nevermore [Romance][Sad] Was it really okay with Spike when Twilight Sparkle and Rarity announced their engagement? Finished 78th of 104.

Pony Poems is just a collection of time-killers we used to do in IRC, but some were entries in a /fic/ poetry write-off, and two of them were winners!

This one was an entry in Loganberry's inaugural Flashfic 150 event from April 2017:

Second Draft [Slice of Life] Sweetie Belle gets an unforgettable peek through Princess Celestia's perspective. Earned 1st place!

Then an entry from the May Flashfic 150:

A Single Tear Ran Down His Cheek [Dark] Sombra just wants his old life back... if he could even remember what it was.

My June Flashfic 150 entry:

Tough Love [Dark][Drama] A side story of sorts to "He Kindly Stopped for Me." Luna wasn't alone in her exile. For a little while, at least.

July Flashfic 150 entry:

Bad Eggs [Slice of Life][Comedy] Zesty Gourmand slums it and meets her match.

7th place finisher in the Writeoff Association's "TBD" event:

To Be Seen And Not Heard [Drama] Torch Song really should be a professional singer.

August Flashfic 150 entry:

Good Food Takes Time [Comedy][Slice of Life] Mrs. Cake just wants Pinkie to use the right recipe.

Winner of the October Flashfic 150 event:

The Dress of a Lifetime [Drama][Sad] Rarity hates a task that she always does out of love.

Bronze medal winner in the Writeoff Association's "Cold Comfort" event:

Statuesque [Drama][Sad] Long ago, a batpony made a promise to stand by his princess faithfully. It was the only mission he failed to complete. He can never make that up to her, but maybe he can ensure that she has a friend awaiting her return.

November Flashfic 150 entry:

The 200 Percent Solution [Comedy][Slice of Life] Rarity has an unfortunate encounter with an old acquaintance. She makes the best of it.

January Flashfic 150 entry:

Giggle at the Ghosties [Drama] Pinkie learns that laughter can be stronger than just about anything.

Winner of the March 2018 Flashfc 150 event:

Last Rites [Slice of Life] Twilight may only have a few moments left to tell her father good-bye.

April Flashfic 150 entry:

No Present Like the Time [Slice of Life] Discord has a simple gift prepared for Fluttershy.

May Flashfic 150 entry:

Can’t Say Good-Bye [Slice of Life] Fluttershy has lots of experience losing an animal in her care. Not so much with Applejack and her trees.

June Flashfic 150 entry:

House Guest [Dark][Horror] There are worse things than being Discord's puppet.

July Flashfic 150 entry:

Detectives Pinkie Pie and King Sombra are on the Case! [AU][Comedy] Watch our intrepid crime solvers decipher the case of Gabby Gums.

August Flashfic 150 entry:

Sonata Dusk Outsmarts Someone [Slice of Life] Sonata was never that concerned with world conquest.

September 2018 Flashfic 150:

It’s the Imperfections that Make Us Interesting [Slice of Life] Fluttershy brings out the best in others.

May 2020 Flashfic 150 ineligible (late) entry:

A Stone’s Throe [Normal] Sunset Shimmer contemplates her worthiness, with the help of a friend.

September 2020 Flashfic 150 entry:

Play Date [Slice of Life] A brief child's look at life in the Crystal Empire before its return.

Sweet Temptation

The muffin sat perched on the highest shelf of the baker’s rack, overlooking the diminutive filly salivating after it on the floor below. Its intoxicating aroma wafted throughout the kitchen, and had even spread to inhabit the entire house. If not for its pervasiveness, the filly would have remained asleep.

The pleasant scent had teased Dinky from her slumber while Ditzy was still attending to her morning deliveries, hoping her daughter would awaken at her normal hour. However, soon after the dawning brightness had breached the horizon, the excitable unicorn emerged from dreams of a pastry wonderland with a large appetite and a decided lack of patience. Now she sat gazing upward at the malevolent breakfast, unable to withstand its taunting.

Dinky longed to be as prodigious a muffin artisan as her mother, and was at least beginning to grasp the subtleties of blending flavors. She had custom-designed this muffin herself, and Ditzy agreed to bake it for her birthday. Now that Dinky had added another notch to her tally of years, the promised confection had been crafted with the finest wooden spoon, blended through the masterful action of a professional-grade mixer, and forged in the fires of a hellish hydrocarbon-fueled chamber. Her creation lived!

Try climbing up here, little one. It’s not far.

Dinky stepped onto the lowest shelf and stretched as high as possible, trying to ascend the wrought-iron pinnacle, but couldn’t gain a hoofhold on the polished maple surfaces.

So close, yet so far. Maybe a chair would help.

Sliding one of the wooden seats against the offending furnishing, the blonde filly still didn’t have the height to reach her prize.

Still no success? Hm. It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Perhaps your magic matured today. Give it a shot.

Scrunching up her face with concentration, the unicorn pictured a yellow glow growing from her horn, extending up to envelop the treat, and carefully levitating it into her embrace. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead as she perceived the warmth of her power collecting. This was how it felt in her training sessions. It was working! She could sense the event horizon of that sweet singularity approaching. Opening her eyes to witness her progress, she saw a mere spark balanced on the end of her horn. It detached with her loss of focus, drifting downward until it fizzled on her foreleg, causing her to wince and suck on the slight burn.

I’m out of ideas. You got anything?

“Shut up,” Dinky chastised. “You’re not helping. I can do this myself.”

Arguing with one’s meal was normally counterproductive, in addition to being grounds for psychological evaluation. However, the ingredients that made this muffin so delectable would undoubtedly make it crafty as well. Dinky had designed it impeccably.

It began with a base of whole wheat flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and butter. Nothing special there, but no need to change what works. Large chunks of strawberry liberally applied gave a nice burst of juiciness with a pleasant tang. A sprinkling of rolled oats lent a chewy variation in texture. To prevent the sweetness level from being overpowering, matchsticks of slightly bitter orange rind veined the dough, reinforced with curls of shaved eighty-percent dark chocolate. The top was encrusted with a druse of cinnamon-flecked crystalline sugar, overlaid with a serpentine ribbon of raspberry sauce and a light dusting of mocha powder. A final garnish of crumbled candied pecans nestled among the ridges, bequeathing their toothsome crunch.

I could try to jump, but if you miss – splat! You wouldn’t want that.

Dinky was not surprised that this blend of perfection had achieved a cantankerous sentience; it would only make her foe’s defeat and eventual consumption all the more satisfactory.

“Idle threats. You don’t have the guts. I invented you, and by Celestia, I’ll unmake you!”

Do your worst.

Reverting to staring at her quarry in consternation, Dinky contemplated her next move carefully. Of course! She just had to extend her reach. Grabbing a broom from the closet, she guided the handle toward the top shelf and attempted to work her prey toward the edge, but at this angle could only succeed in shoving it further back.

Hey! Keep that up, and I won’t be able to see the look on your face when you give up.

Emitting a low growl of frustration, the filly began to hear the sounds of her mother’s return in the entryway. Ditzy proceeded into the kitchen and noticed the out-of-place broom and chair.

“Aww, sweetie, you couldn’t wait?”

“No, it smelled so good, and it’s being very mean.”

“I know. The tastiest muffins are usually the worst-tempered. You’ve been such a good filly. If you could please bring in my other mailbag, I’ll get your muffin down for you.”

Dinky walked out to the front porch and hefted the canvas satchel across her back, pausing to enjoy the warm sun on her face. She took a deep breath of fresh air, but stopped abruptly, her ears attuned to a disturbing sound. It was clearly the noise made by incisors surreptitiously decapitating a muffin. In this household, it paid to be able to identify such things. She dashed back to the kitchen to find only the pleated base of her birthday treat left, and even that became instantaneously engulfed in her mother’s jaws.

“Mom, how could you?”

“Mmph grsh wf.” Chew, chew. Gulp. “How could I what?” she asked the crestfallen filly.

“Eat my birthday muffin!”

“Silly! That’s the test muffin. Climb on,” Ditzy said, crouching down. Dinky rode the blonde elevator until she could see all the way to the back of the topmost rack. Her eyes glistened as she espied a muffin as big as her head.

“It’s… wonderful!” Dinky exclaimed as she began to bounce in anticipation. “All for me? This is the best birthday ever!” She snapped a salute to her vanquished adversary, adding solemnly, “I claim this baked good in the name of Dinky Doo.”

Uhh… truce?

Nom nom nom!

Disclaimer: If I owned this stuff, I'd be a lot richer. Since I'm not, I guess I don't.

In Need of Healing

Nurse Redheart poked her head into her patient’s room, hearing the familiar sounds of the heart monitor’s beeping, the heater’s low hum, and the rasp of labored breathing. She walked over to the bed to check the chart and see if the night staff had added any updates. Nothing.

Heading over to the window, she looked out at the fluffy snowflakes accumulating on the hedge and muting the weak sunlight that penetrated the clouds. She parted the curtains to let in what little natural light there was and chase back the room’s shadows, a few motes of dust hovering in the anemic glow. Redheart returned to the foot of the bed and ran her hoof over the occupant’s ankles. They were cool to the touch.

That’s one of the first lessons they teach in nursing school: don’t get attached to your patients. You can’t save them all. If you can keep your emotions locked up in a strongbox, you’ll be that much more effective, and can maybe save a few more borderline cases. It’s for the best.

A brief flurry of activity outside caught her attention. Flinging snowballs at each other, a pair of unicorn colts bounced around on the lawn as a smiling mare watched them from her wheelchair. Their laughter echoed in the yard, and Redheart briefly considered asking them to keep quiet, but they weren’t really disturbing anypony. It was just a bit of fun.

Indulging in a momentary laugh, she turned her attention back to the figure in the bed and raised her eyebrows at the faint sound escaping her patient’s lips.

“Redheart,” she whispered.

“Yes? I’m here,” Redheart said, her ears pricked.

“Redheart, thank you for the tea. It warms me so.” The mare’s mouth curled into a faint smile.

Just a dream. She patted her patient’s foreleg, noting that it didn’t feel quite as warm as it should, either. Declining circulation in the extremities. Redheart sat next to the bed and buried her head in her hooves, smoothing her mane back and inadvertently knocking her cap to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, she left a smattering of teardrops in its place.

Rules be damned. Some cases are just too far outside the norm.

She leaned over and hugged the mare, who barely stirred in response. “I love you, mom.”

“Redheart,” came the whispered reply again.

But it wasn’t time yet. Not yet.

The Voice of Reason

Derpy stirred a few crushed walnuts into her bowl of batter before mashing two bananas and adding them to the mix. One more dash of cinnamon, nutmeg, and... there! She picked up the bowl and headed over to where her muffin pan sat on the counter.

As one eye trailed off, Derpy teetered to the side and caught a leg on the corner of the table, sending her crashing to the floor. She scrambled to swipe the upended bowl’s oozing contents back inside. Fortunately, she kept the floor spotless for just such an occurrence.

A familiar hushed voice floated through her mind. What’s wrong with you, Derpy? Can’t you do anything right?

“Are you okay, mom? That smells delicious!” called Dinky from the next room.

“Yes, dear.” How that filly got her impeccable sense of timing, Derpy would never know. “It’s okay. Keep going on your homework.” She poured the batter over the pan’s individual depressions, then wiped up the remaining mess with a rag.

“Mom, I’m having trouble with this reading assignment. Can you help?”

Of course you can’t. When were you ever good at homew—

“You always take your time explaining it to me. You don’t rush me like everypony else.”

Derpy smiled as she slid the pan into the oven and set the timer. Maybe Dinky would get one of those hourglass cutie marks that seemed so popular. “Sure, Dinky.” She strolled into the adjoining room and sat beside her daughter, her eyes sparkling as she grinned.

“What’s this word mean? Aurum,” Dinky said, testing its feel as she scrunched up her face.

“Oh. That’s an old word for ‘gold,’ sweetie.”

“Like your eyes!” Dinky said, breaking into a wide grin.

Those horrible things? Who could—

“I love your eyes! They always sparkle and make me feel warm.” Dinky reached up and hugged her mother’s neck, her ears perking up.

Derpy sat there stunned for a moment before returning the gesture. “You’re getting better at that,” she said, tousling Dinky’s mane.

“Better at what?” Dinky asked, her brow creased.

“Never mind. Why don’t we eat our muffins outside today? The weather’s beautiful.” Smiling, Derpy leaned in for another hug. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Nopony lo—

“I love you, mom.”

“I know. I love you too.” She hugged Dinky even more tightly.

At Close of Day

Luna gave a last mighty wingstroke to land softly on the secluded hilltop. She looked over the outskirts of Ponyville, where several families were still enjoying the evening’s warmth in the park. It would be one of their last chances as the calendar stretched toward autumn. Time for things to end and begin the long wait for renewal.

As if reading her thoughts, an equally dark pony appeared, though she hadn’t heard him approach. “Greetings, Princess,” he said, settling down into the grass. “Beautiful day.”

She shrugged, casting a distracted glance at a group of fillies playing tag. Sighing, she said, “And how have you been?”

“Oh, I have steady work.” He chuckled as he watched a suppressed shudder run through her body. “Are you sure you enjoy my company?”

“It is nothing personal... I do not mean any offense.” As she flashed a small smile, Luna finally lay down.

He snorted and shook his head. “We’ve had some great discussions. You have a beautiful philosopher’s heart. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Now it was Luna’s turn to laugh. “One tends to become introspective during exile. I did appreciate your visits. I must confess that I had considered asking you to take me away from there.” She drew her lips into a taut line.

Regarding her with renewed interest, he turned to face her. “You must know that wouldn’t have worked. And you were a deep thinker even before that whole mess happened, as I recall.”

“Perhaps.” Her ears pricked to the faint, dry rustling of a hundred hushed voices.

“Do you hear them? Their thoughts, hopes, dreams?”

“Only when I am with you.” Luna gazed pointedly at the romping foals. “Who is next?”

“Heh,” he said, watching a rainbow streak across the sky. “I can never stray too far from that one.” He brushed off her glare. “You know I can’t answer that,” he replied with an amused smirk. “Tell you what, though. I’ll indulge you. Ask something else—you know where the line is.”

Luna stared at the horizon for a moment. “Will there be any more tonight?”

“No. No more,” he said, following her gaze to where the sun had just touched the distant treetops. “Don’t you have to work soon?”

“Yes. I regret I have not been very good company today.” She rose amid the resuming whispers in the fading light. “Same time next week?”

Death nodded.

To Those Who Wait

Twilight answered the door to find Rarity standing in the dusky glow of the sun’s last few rays. Rarity broke into a wide grin and stepped inside, Twilight’s pulse quickening as she watched.

Beautiful mane, flawless coat. Those ocean-hued eyes that hint at similar untold depths.

Twilight led her guest into the sphere of dancing candlelight around the table and sat across from her. Grinning demurely, Rarity averted her eyes and hunched her shoulders up. A brief, silent giggle made her head bob as she nudged her glass toward Twilight, twin flickers illuminating her features.

As she poured cider for each of them, Twilight sought out those eyes again where they lay shrouded beneath Rarity’s mane. She reached out a hoof and turned Rarity’s chin forward, but couldn’t make herself meet that gaze.

Those eyes. Always those eyes, reducing Twilight to a stuttering foal.

Twilight smiled and beckoned toward Rarity’s plate, levitating her own fork up to enjoy that afternoon’s effort of spaghetti pomodoro. Sampling for herself, Rarity savored a bite before bouncing her shoulders in tacit laughter, a napkin floating up to dab some sauce from her lip.

Rarity leaned forward, half-lidded eyes at once questioning and insisting. Those eyes. A chill running down her spine, Twilight mirrored the gesture, their muzzles inches apart. Those deep pools, gazing back with... a faint purple glow. Twilight hesitated, then drew back. Slamming a hoof down on the tabletop, she sniffled against a sudden rush of tears. Rarity’s mouth hung agape.

Why not her? Everypony else finds that special connection, but never her. “Just go home, Rarity. You won’t remember anyway.”

Twilight answered the door to find Rarity standing in the rosy glow of the sun’s first few rays. “Twilight, I—”

“Just go home and sleep it off. Must be some aftereffect. I’ll cast the counterspell again.” She trudged over to where her book of love charms still lay open. No counterspell is necessary; there are no lasting effects beyond the initial four hours.

Twilight blinked and read the passage again. ...no lasting effects...

She gaped and looked back to the doorway, where Rarity held out a hoof. “I’m afraid I’ve been rather a coward about... my feelings, and... it’s time to rectify that,” Rarity said.

Taking the proffered hoof in her own, Twilight felt her heart dance as she gazed into those eyes and invited Rarity inside.

Playing Dress-Up

Another satisfied customer left Carousel Boutique, carrying a piece of unique finery in her saddlebag. Pinkie Pie bounced past in the opposite direction, coming up behind an unaware Rarity and continuing to hop in place.

Rarity swept broad pencil strokes across her pad as she sketched a new design, brushing a hoof absentmindedly at a smudge. It repeatedly escaped her, and she finally realized that it was a shadow flitting across her desk. Turning around to discern its source, she found herself staring at a grinning pink face.

“Hi!”

Holding a hoof to her chest as she shrieked, Rarity backed into her desk and toppled it to the floor.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Pinkie helped her up, smiling sheepishly.

“Think nothing of it, dear,” Rarity said, levitating the furniture back into place. “Here for the finished product?” Pinkie nodded so hard that it nearly gave Rarity a headache to watch. “I have your dress right here. Please excuse the mess; I’ve simply been too busy keep everything in order.”

Pinkie squinted at a few scraps of ribbon on the work table; the room was otherwise spotless. Shrugging, she walked with Rarity to a rack at the back of the room. A pink, silken masterpiece hung there, with nightingales and lotus flowers in the pattern, pearl beadwork, and a simple hem short enough for dancing.

Gasping, Pinkie held her hooves to her cheeks. “That will be perfect for the Manechurian ambassador’s party!”

Rarity gave a satisfied sigh, rummaging through a bin for some bauble that would add the proper punctuation to her latest opus. “Ah! I have just the thing!” She extracted a jade brooch carved in the shape of a chrysanthemum. “You use this to fasten the collar.”

She demonstrated, flaring the dress over Pinkie’s back and pinning it. “I made this especially for you.”

“I know, and I love it so very much!”

Pinkie was no exception. Nopony ever saw the whole, unvarnished truth. After all, how does one wrap a friend in the luxuriant fabric of one's love, not only pleasing the eye, but granting her that beautifully warm lightness of knowing how closely, fiercely her friendship is treasured?

Pinkie pranced in front of the mirror, eyes shining with reflected splendor, but oblivious to the cloak overlying it all.

A wistful sigh and a subdued smile said what they always did: Next time, perhaps.

A Tight Spot

“Let me try it from the back this time,” Pinkie Pie said, circling around behind Applejack. “You ready?”

“I think so, sugarcube.” Applejack gritted her teeth and braced herself.

“Okie dokie, lokie!” Rearing up on her hind legs, Pinkie pushed forward with all her might as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Grunting with the effort of holding herself steady, Applejack let out the breath she’d been holding. “Owwww! I’m not sure this is gonna work, Pinkie. Any other ideas?”

Pinkie got back down on all fours, panting with effort, and shook her head. “Not without help, but... it’s not exactly the kind of thing you want other ponies knowing! Hee hee!”

“Let’s give it one more shot,” Applejack said with a grim smile. “One... two... thr—”

A loud gasp sounded from Carousel Boutique’s doorway as Rarity dropped her bag of groceries, held her hooves to her face, and backed into the door, slamming it. “You... here...?”

Applejack jumped as much as she could in her constricted position and blushed a deep crimson. “Rarity! I... We... didn’t think you’d be back already!”

Holding a hoof to her chest to steady her heartbeat, Rarity used her magic to draw the blinds on all the windows. “It’s alright. Really. At least I can help you be a bit discreet.” She gave an amused little chuckle as her eyes sparkled. “I must say, I’m happy to see you using that again.” Applejack forced a toothy grin as Rarity walked over. “At least the expert is here now. We’ll get this all sorted out.” Prodding about with her hooves, Rarity frowned at Pinkie, who eagerly awaited instructions.

Applejack only heard snippets of the ensuing conversation as she watched a shadow darting about the second-story windows.

“...can’t just force that in there... must treat it like a delicate flower...”

Finally, Applejack had had enough. “Rainbow Dash! I see you eavesdroppin’! You get down here on the double!”

The shadow outside drifted toward the door, then Rainbow slunk through, her head hanging. She flashed an apologetic grin. “Look—I’m okay with it if you two... or three...” When she looked up, she nearly fell over.

“It’s still late winter, so I ain’t in shape yet, and I gotta squeeze into my Gala dress for a family weddin’. You keep this under your hat!”

Rainbow nodded quickly, never before having felt so much pain from holding back laughter.

Absolutely Anonymous

Spike huddled at a desk in the corner of the library, hunching his shoulders up to shield his scroll from as much of the room as possible. A steady stream of subdued giggles floated away as he looped his quill across the page in his neat, flowing script. His teeth clenched in a giddy smile, he glanced up occasionally to survey the room and make sure nopony would intrude upon his solitude.

The gallant and youthful dragon smote the last of the marauding changelings, swishing his rapier through the air with a flourish. “Thou hast saved us all from certain demise, hero! Whatever thou desirest for a reward, thou hast but to name it,” quoth the grateful Princess.

“A mere touch of thy lips would prove ample remuneration, my liege,” the dragon said, drawing his arm across his body in a sweeping bow.

She raised his chin with a hoof and pressed her muzzle to him, perhaps a little longer than protocol might dictate. “Methinks ’twill not be the last such reward,” Celestia said, a sly smile playing across her features.

“Heh. That one is so money,” Spike said as he rolled the scroll up and added it to the growing pile. He picked the last blue spinel from the dish of gems beside him and popped it in his mouth, his eyes watering as he shuddered. “Whoa! Those’ll clear out your sinuses!”

Sliding a form out from under his scrolls, he said, “Let’s see. Ponyville Bad Fiction Contest. Four-hundred-word limit, check. Up to six entries, check. Heh. I’ve got this sewn up. Nopony writes a bad Celestia romance like I can.” Wringing his claws, he gave an evil little laugh.

“These babies go out first thing in the morning,” he said, slapping an address label on a small box. “Ooh,” he added as he pounded a claw against his chest and hiccupped, “those spinels aren’t sitting quite right.”

He resumed his seat to make a final editing pass, his head slowly dipping as the minutes dragged on.

Spike awoke the next morning with a burning sensation in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, which shot wide open when he saw the nearly empty desktop covered with scorch marks. One more bolt of flame erupted as he hiccupped, sending the final scroll off toward Canterlot. Seconds later, a resonant yell roused Twilight from a sound sleep.

The Night Watch

Twilight Sparkle’s eyes occasionally crossed as she tried to finish just one more chapter, her chin nodding toward her chest, then jerking back up. She flipped to the next page with a hoof, gladly seeing enough blank space to signify that she’d reached her stopping place. She gave Miss Smarty Pants a squeeze and closed her book. “How do you like this one so far? Good, huh?”

“Why don’t you go up to bed, dear?”

“Yes, mom.” Twilight settled her doll on her back and went upstairs to her washroom. Placing Miss Smarty Pants on the counter, she closed her eyes and concentrated, scrunching her face up tightly. The tube of toothpaste slowly lifted and floated toward her, jerking along in fits and starts. When it was almost all the way to her, it plopped down on the counter. Twilight let out the breath she was holding and wobbled a bit as she became lightheaded.

“See, Miss Smarty Pants? I’m getting the hang of it!” She retrieved her toothbrush with her hoof and scrubbed away. “I’m onna et into Shelestia’s shchool shomeday.” Replacing the toothbrush in its holder, Twilight hooked a foreleg around her doll and trotted to her darkened bedroom. She paused at the window, looking out at the silvery moonlight spilling into the yard from the thin crescent above.

Rummaging around in the closet for a moment, she pulled out her favorite pajamas, which were covered with comets and swirls of stardust. She wriggled her way into them and climbed into bed, perching Miss Smarty Pants atop her stack of pillows.

“Night, Twi! Have a good sleep,” Shining Armor called out as he walked past her doorway.

“You too, big brother!” Twilight replied, waving a hoof vigorously. She smoothed out all the wrinkles in the sheet and comforter, tucked them under her, then lay on her back, perfectly centered on the mattress. Leaning her head back, she looked up at Miss Smarty Pants looming over her. “And goodnight to you!”

Twilight nestled her head a little further into the pillow, and within minutes, her breathing had slowed. “Got a big day tomorrow,” she whispered. “Magic practice... reading... school...”

A pair of button eyes shone in the diffuse moonlight, looking over the filly below, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. A smile formed where there was no mouth. Goodnight, Twilight. Sleep safe and sound.

Treehouse of Horror

Fluttershy stepped into her home, the feeble flame of her small lantern barely piercing the gloom. One hoof at a time came over the threshold, gingerly testing to see if the unseen floor was still there. A few timid paces in, she felt a cobweb brush across her face. Shrieking, she backed toward the door, but it slammed behind her and sealed her in.

“Oh—oh, my,” she said in a tremulous voice, fiddling with the doorknob and pounding on the windowpanes. “I-is anypony there? Hello? Please let me out!”

Something scrabbled across the floor in the darkness as a faint, breathy chuckle sounded. “Who—who’s there?” Sweeping her light around, Fluttershy tried desperately to discern something, anything in the oppressive darkness, but curling tendrils of fog just reflected the glow back at her.

Peering forward, she stumbled over an object on the floor and swung her lantern down to investigate. Sweetie Belle’s lifeless eyes stared back, a large kitchen knife protruding from her back.

Fluttershy backed away, holding a hoof to her mouth to stifle a scream. She hit the wall and stood there trembling, then noticed a warm liquid dripping on her shoulder. Lifting up her light, she saw Apple Bloom’s bleeding body, trussed up among the ceiling beams with rope.

She gave up all pretense of stealth and ran into the kitchen, heart pounding. She stopped short by the stove, where a pot of carrots and potatoes was boiling. Beside it on the counter lay a maple cutting board, Angel’s limp form draped across it.

“Would you like some rabbit stew? It’s fresh,” said a voice from the darkness. Gradually, the shadows coalesced into a hunched-over figure, the blade in its hoof glinting.

“N-no! Angel!” Fluttershy sank to the floor and held up a foreleg for whatever protection it might suffice.

“You know, when a pegasus can’t fly, it can make her crazy. Very crazy,” Scootaloo said as she emerged into the lantern’s glow. “And she just might do crazy things.” She stood for a moment with a wicked, toothy grin before lunging.

Fluttershy caught her in a hug as the other two fillies ran into the room. “Happy Nightmare Night!” they all cried.

“Hehe! Good rehearsal, girls! But, um... I could see you breathing, Angel.” He sat up and glared. “Oh! Get back in your places!” Fluttershy said, glancing toward the window. “Here comes Rainbow Dash...”

Teacher's Pet

Cheerilee shoved the stack of tests to the corner of her desk so they’d be easier to grab with her mouth. It’d be so much quicker if this were one of the older classes. She could ask a unicorn to pass them out, but her class was too young for that.

“Good job on the spelling test!” she said, distributing the pages. “Nopony missed more than two. We just have a math worksheet to do, and then it’s time for recess!”

Apple Bloom clapped her hooves and leaned over to whisper something to Sweetie Belle, but Cheerilee pretended not to notice. She also conveniently ignored Diamond Tiara’s attempts to call attention to the infraction.

Cheerilee wove her way back through the aisles to pass out the worksheets. One spare desk sat a bit apart from the rest, and Cheerilee smiled at its occupant when she placed the last paper there. She winked, getting a little giggle back from the burgundy-maned, cream-colored filly.

After returning to her desk, she gazed around the room in the near silence and grinned at her surroundings: the soft scratch of pencils against paper, a faint taste of chalk in her mouth... and a quick whiff of rubber as a student furiously erased something off his page. She watched the minutes tick by, never losing her faint smile. “Alright, children!” she said finally. “You can finish after playtime! Everypony outside!”

Scootaloo shot out of her seat. “Dibs on the merry-go-round!”

Chuckling as she waved the rest of the class out the door, Cheerilee waited for the one straggler, the filly from the desk off by itself. She beamed at her teacher, nuzzling her neck as they trotted out to the playground. Once they had gotten out near the swings, Cheerilee sat on her haunches and listened to all the wonderful chatter and squeals. “Why don’t you go play with the other children?” she asked her companion. “You can, you know.”

The filly just shook her head and lay down in the grass.

“Miss Cheerilee, can you give us a push?” called Apple Bloom.

Cheerilee glanced at her little shadow and answered, “Not right now. I bet Scootaloo could. She gets that scooter going pretty fast.”

“Oh yeah,” replied Scootaloo. She buzzed her wings, spinning the merry-go-round faster and faster to the delighted screeches of the half-dozen children on board.

Cheerilee scrunched up her nose and grinned at her follower. “You sure?” The filly just closed her eyes and leaned into Cheerilee’s side.

When the final bell had rung and all of the students had left, Cheerilee went about tidying her classroom. She was dusting off the chalkboard when she heard a quiet voice behind her.

“M-Miss Cheerilee?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Why do you sometimes talk to yourself on the playground? And why do you always put an extra paper at that empty desk? We’re... worried.”

Cheerilee frowned a little, then looked back to where the cream-and-burgundy filly sat smiling in her seat. She sighed and turned to face the Cutie Mark Crusaders. “I told you once how I got my cutie mark and found a love for teaching...”

Apple Bloom nodded and sat on her haunches, grinning in anticipation of a story.

“I wasn’t a teacher yet. You have to go to a special school for that. By the time I graduated, I had a little one of my own—you could say she was my first student.” Her dewy eyes strayed toward the window.

“W-was?” Scootaloo asked.

Cheerilee sighed again before donning a warm smile. “Yes. My little Joy. Let me tell you about her...”

Canon

Octavia’s left hoof worked a mellow vibrato from her cello’s strings as the other drew the bow smoothly across. The sustained note tapered perfectly into silence, but Octavia left no room for a pause after the reverie, launching immediately into the caprice. As the bow flashed back and forth ever faster, the hoof on the cello’s neck applied delicate pressure, angling perfectly so that Octavia could double stop in harmony.

Let those arrogant unicorns try that without magic.

Her piece reaching its fervent climax, she executed a broad glissando, ending in a soaring high note bowed behind her instrument’s bridge. Taking a minute to let her panting abate, she slid her bow over a block of rosin and wiped the sweat from her brow. She’d looked over to give the D-string’s peg a slight turn when her eye caught a bit of movement. Out the open window, Derpy had settled onto a bench and wore her goofy smile as she waited for Octavia to resume.

Must be a nice little distraction from her life. Oh, well. An audience is an audience.

Octavia flipped through her sheet music and selected an elegy. From the first stroke, a sonorous melody of longing sorrow poured from the second-story room. This piece was by no means new. Octavia could play it in her sleep. Working from memory, she peered out to watch Derpy’s reaction.

Derpy closed her eyes and knit her brow, rocking with the slow tempo. A wing unfurled and drooped. Just as the music ended, she sniffled and folded her wing back before the feathered tip could drag through the dust. Within moments, the usual empty stare had returned.

Next, Octavia moved into a polka, weaving a playful tune initially, then switching to a light pizzicato, plucking with the edge of a hoof.

Derpy’s grin broadened, and her head bobbed as she stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth. Her forelock flapped a bit behind the beat and continued for a few measures after the piece was over. Giggling, Derpy sat up straighter and let her left eye wander up toward the sky.

Finally, Octavia started into a passacaglia. The opening strains established a simple pentatonic melody, but she soon became embroiled in increasingly complex ornamentations.

A rather demanding composition. Don’t know it from memory well enough. Gotta read the sheet music on this one.

She’d played through a dozen interpretations on the theme when she chanced a look and saw an empty bench.

Hm. Must not be to her taste...

Octavia propped her cello and leaned onto the windowsill, looking both ways down the street. Nothing.

She was scratching a hoof at her chin when she heard a knock from downstairs. Answering it, she was met with Derpy’s walleyed face.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but that was wonderful! I heard Wynton Maresalis play that last year with the Canterlot Brass Ensemble. It’s a Sam-Mule Scheidt composition, right?” Derpy gushed, scratching a hoof at her mane.

“Yes...” What?

“Do you mind if I come in?” Derpy asked, stepping in once Octavia had nodded. “It’s interesting hearing it transcribed for cello. You know the part where it modulates into a minuet? If you slow it down a bit, it’ll sound more stately. And on the pavane—you’re already over on the G at the beginning of each phrase. If you double stop with the C-string, it’d really make that note sing!”

Octavia stood open-mouthed for a moment before smiling and gesturing toward the couch. This was going to be interesting. Fun and interesting.

Perchance

Derpy blasted through cloud ring after cloud ring. The pattern was complex, but she’d memorized it from her practice runs.

Left, left, right. Then a few in a loop. She whizzed through them, barely nicking a wingtip on the middle one. Didn’t even knock any of it loose. No way the judges noticed.

Easing into a straightaway section, she built up as much speed as she could before spreading her wings to slow through a hairpin turn downward. Her stomach lurched as she shot toward the ground. Quick pull-up at the bottom, two more rings, and... black cloud. Gotta go through those in the other direction. She reversed through it and shot straight up again.

Home stretch now. She followed a corkscrew pattern back down on an angle, the spirals continually tightening until she could feel the strain in her wing joints. She lacked the strength to accelerate anymore; it was all she could do to maintain a glide under these g-forces. After this many tight turns, her equilibrium was shot. She fixed her eyes on that puff of cloud rapidly spinning closer, finally bursting through it to loud applause.

“One minute, thirty-four seconds, no penalties!” called the announcer. “That’ll put Derpy in second place after our first event.”

She skidded to a halt on the landing area and stood there wobbling for a moment until she’d regained her balance. Wearing a wide grin, she trotted over to get a drink before the next event.

“Way to go, Derpy!”

“Yeah, good job!”

“Good luck!”

Derpy nodded back at each and closed her eyes. Though she was recovered from her flight, her pulse quickened a bit. It was... new. To do something right, be complimented, just once...

She found her spot for the second event and flapped off to a gray cloud marked with the same number fifteen that was pasted to her flank. A giant funnel hung beneath, draining into a large bucket with a line marked in yellow tape. She eyed the indicated level: three gallons, on the nose.

Rubbing a hoof on her chin, Derpy flitted around the cloud and viewed it from a few angles, calculation after calculation running through her mind. She’d have preferred to whittle it down to a nice cube, but it was deliberately shaped to make that strategy impossible. She sighed and gave a long, thoughtful stare to the cloud’s particular shade of gray. Brushing the wisps from its edges, she measured off a few hoof-widths along the edge and pulled a section free. She gave it a forceful snort, sending it sailing away.

Derpy raised the flag on her stall and waited for a judge to fly over. Glancing at the neighboring contestants’ clouds, she saw that each bucket had been assigned a different level. Clever precaution.

When the judge arrived, Derpy hopped onto the cloud, bouncing to squeeze out every last drop. After a few minutes, the trickle out of the funnel finally ended, and she flew down by the judge to see her result. She’d guessed a bit low, but the water level still sat within the tape’s width. A perfect score.

Forcing down her smile, Derpy proceeded with the judge out the far end of her stall, where a black cloud awaited. Hundreds of feet below, a target lay on the ground. She risked a glance at the scoreboard, which showed her currently in the lead.

Gulping down her nerves, she examined the cloud’s surface and selected a spot near the edge, punching a forehoof into the fluff. A lightning bolt shot downward, landing comfortably within the bullseye. She picked another point near the middle and punched again. Another top score, but barely—the black mark just grazed the center.

Last shot. One more bullseye would clinch the win.

This part of the cloud felt stable. She moved half a stride to her left and stomped with all fours. Dead center hit.

“Derpy has won this year’s Weather Games!” echoed the announcer’s voice, but it had taken on an odd, hollow quality.

Her eyes fluttered open as she looked up into Twilight’s face, the purple glow fading from her vision.

“Is that... what you wanted?” Twilight asked, her brow creased.

Derpy nodded and folded her ears back.

“But... you don’t look happy.”

Derpy sniffled and looked away. “I just... wanted to know... what it was like. For once.”

Frowning, Twilight asked, “What did you dream?”

Derpy shook her head, calling back as she trotted out the door, “N-nothing. Thanks, Twilight.”

A Sister's Pride

Jumbled conversations died away as the house lights dimmed, leaving only a few hurried whispers and polite coughs. From the side of the auditorium, a stallion decked out in coat and tails made his way to the conductor’s podium below the stage. As one, the musicians sat up a little straighter in their seats, eyes glued to their leader. Levitating a baton from his pocket, he tapped it against the podium, then held it aloft for a few long seconds.

Finally, he stroked the downbeat. Launching into a rousing overture, the violins blazed along, punctuated with the occasional brass fanfare. His baton bobbing to the beat in midair, the conductor cued the flutes, then ordered the percussionists to quiet down a bit. As the music reached its closing crescendo, the entire orchestra sustained the last note until he slashed a hoof downward for the hard final drumbeat.

The audience sat in rapt silence, disturbed only by the rustle of sheet music. When the conductor held his baton up again and started a playful melody, the heavy curtain parted, and a spot lit center stage, tracking an elegant dancer across the scenery.

Apple Bloom’s hooves carried her deftly over the wooden flooring. She leapt and strutted on her hooftips, executing knee bends and twirls throughout the plywood forest. Her pulse quickening, she made a few spinning jumps to cross the stage. Each successfully landed brought a little more curl to the corners of her mouth until she wore a broad grin.

Her initial jitters had turned to an electric tingling. Wide eyes and creased brow had given way to a fierce smile. No more foalish nerves. This moment was hers. After months of practice, execution wasn’t a question; only the options of spectacular or legendary remained.

From the opposite end of the stage, a stallion entered, glancing around the clearing. Finally noticing Apple Bloom, he never let his gaze waver from her as he slid noiselessly from tree to tree, his mouth hanging agape.

Apple Bloom turned a shoulder, most definitely not noticing the handsome stranger, as she frolicked among a cluster of flowers. From the corner of her eye, she saw him emerge from his cover and approach little by little. At the last moment, she turned to meet his stare, her ears pricking and her eyes sparkling. They locked hooves and spun through the glade until their momentum carried them apart.

She charged back toward him, gaining speed until she took a flying leap into his outstretched hooves. Lifting her up, he spun her around and around until he lowered her to the ground, bent over her in a tender kiss. Her cheeks had long since flushed when he looked up in praise to the sky, but... she didn’t rise.

The stallion collapsed to the stage, bitter tears coursing down his cheeks as the orchestra struck a final dissonant chord.

Her eyes finally opening to the thunderous applause, Apple Bloom stood among the rain of roses. She had looked to her sister’s tear-streaked face in the front row when a flash of light caught her attention. She glanced along her side and saw... a cutie mark? A ballet slipper!

“Ahem”

Apple Bloom shook the fog out of her head and looked up at the hoof tapping on her desk and its owner’s frown.

“That’s detention, young filly,” Cheerilee said.

“We’re going to fix up some of the playground equipment,” Cheerilee explained. “I’ll paint the swingset. Why don’t you pull those old boards off the playhouse? Then you can go home.”

Apple Bloom rolled her eyes and trudged off. Better to get it over with. She had all the half-rotted boards removed within minutes, then looked with a growing smile at the hammer. This wasn’t so bad. In less than half an hour, she had the whole exterior rebuilt, with a fresh coat of paint to boot. Applejack had just arrived to walk her home when Apple Bloom grinned and flicked a nod at the finished product. She jerked her head toward a sudden itch on her side. A cutie mark? A hammer and board!

“Caw!”

Applejack’s eyes shot open to see the crow hopping around beside her. Her dreamy smile fading, she whipped her head around at all the apple-filled trees.

“Apple Bloom!” she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the nearby hills. She tried again, but gritted her teeth. That filly was long out of earshot by now.

“You get back here and finish your work!”

Luck of the Draw

Another Summer Sun Celebration, and a decade since the last one in Ponyville. Lots of things had changed in the interim. Lots of things hadn’t.

Derpy trotted past streamers, bunting, and balloons tied to any convenient anchor point. All the committees—Pinkie Pie, that is—had arranged wonderful decorations, music, food.

Near the town square now, Derpy eased her pace and came to the center of the festivities. Ticket holders only. The attendant took hers and tossed it into a large glass bowl.

Derpy had been every year for as long as she could remember, no matter where in Equestria. The small-town ones were her favorites, though. Not too fancy. She had to save all year—the ticket itself was two months’ salary, to say nothing of transportation or a hotel—but it was worth it. Her own little treat to herself.

Dinky was off playing in the kids’ area—young enough to get in free, but just barely. Derpy couldn’t afford tickets for both of them, so this might be her last year. She sighed and stared at that ticket.

A few ponies waved to her on her way to the refreshment tables, but only if she waved first. Flitter, Thunderlane, Rainbow Dash... Carrot Top. Actually, Carrot Top waved as soon as she saw Derpy. She was always so sweet. Derpy started heading over to her, but the three ponies with her exchanged a whisper. No, she wouldn’t do that to her friend.

Grabbing just one muffin—she needed to pace herself—she found an out-of-the-way hay bale to sit on. The sun would rise soon.

All day long: get up, grab muffin, sit, eat, wait. That was okay. Watching everypony else having fun was fun, too.

And with the setting sun touching the horizon, it was time. The ceremonial knife lay beside the dignitaries’ cake, a front-row seat for the Wonderbolts’ show awaited an occupant, and the band stood ready to play the traditional first dance. One lucky pony would get to do it all.

Celestia rummaged through the glass bowl and pulled a ticket out. “And the honorary Grand Marshal this year is... Derpy!”

Dead silence.

Derpy’s knees shook, and her breath rasped. A few ponies snickered and looked at that large knife. “How many ponies will get hurt?” they seemed to ask. The band members glanced at each other. “If she can’t keep the beat, just play on—it’ll be over with soon enough,” their faces said. And whom would she choose for the honor of sharing that dance? Caramel stared at his feet, Thunderlane studied the architecture, Noteworthy stepped behind a wagon... Even the mares. All except Carrot Top, but Derpy wouldn’t do that to her.

“No.” Derpy’s hoarse whisper carried throughout the square. She turned and ran.

Somepony stepped into the alley where Derpy was huddled. Shouts and cheers echoed from the square, but they were muffled here. She didn’t look up.

“May I have this dance?” Big Mac asked.

“You don’t have to,” she said into her hooves.

“Exactly.”

She sniffled and waited. But he didn’t leave.

“Carrot Top was worried. I told her I’d find you. Ain’t fair how you’ve been treated.” Big Mac took her foreleg and pulled her to her hooves. “C’mon.” And alone in the dimness, they danced.

Swaying side to side, slowly spinning, all to a quiet country waltz that he hummed. She stumbled, tripped, knocked over a rain barrel. But each time, he held her up and adjusted his music to her rhythm.

She curled her forelegs around him and pressed her face into his neck, tears trickling from her closed eyes. And they danced.

Veneer

“No, no! Not the honeydew lotion! The cantaloupe!” said the overweight mare as Aloe closed her eyes and bowed. “I swear, I don’t know why I keep you around.”

Aloe rushed to wipe the mistake off and apply the correct product.

“Maybe I should get Lotus to do this,” the mare continued.

“That won’t be necessary!” Aloe leaned in and used a hoof to shield her words from prying ears. “She’s... not that good. I try to cover for her, but—”

“Really?” The mare snorted and shook her head. “I haven’t bothered with her before. If you’re really the better...” A heavy sigh sounded next to Aloe’s ear. “I really hope I’m not wasting my time with you two.”

The mare absentmindedly dangled a hoof in the air; Aloe cradled it in her own and kissed it. “What manestyle would madame like today?”

“Surprise me.”

Aloe trembled. She clenched her jaw to keep her voice steady—good thing that moisturizing mask kept her client from seeing. At least if she had a starting point... Now, Aloe would be chastised not only for messing up a coiffure, but for choosing the wrong one in the first place, too.

A door closed softly in the hallway, and Lotus poked her head into the salon. “Need help?”

“I have it covered,” Aloe replied with a grimace. Lotus glared back.

For twins, they really were quite different. Lotus simply didn’t understand some things. Perhaps it was better that way—she was a little on the sensitive side.

“Yes, Aloe is managing her best. No need,” the mare added. “I hope you both appreciate what I do for you. These are valuable skills, and I won’t teach just anypony.”

“Of course,” Aloe mumbled. Lotus huffed and stalked off.

“Lotus needs to adjust her attitude if she wants to make it in this business. I trust that later you’ll show her what you learned today.”

“Certainly, madame.” Though her client couldn’t see her, Aloe bowed. If she didn’t, that mare would know. She always knew. “Lotus has a few of her own regulars already. I think you’ll be proud of her.”

Another snort. “We’ll see.”

Truth be told, Lotus was the more gifted stylist. And Aloe was proud of her. Lotus didn’t understand; she shouldn’t have to.

She fought down tears as she glanced at the recently vacated doorway, then at her still-new cutie mark. Was this her destiny?

“Well?” the portly mare barked. “My mane can’t wait forever.”

“Yes, mother—uh, madame.” Aloe held her hooves to her mouth. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she’d keep that little flub filed away until she needed a reason to chide Aloe.

“My apologies, madame.”

Lotus carefully brushed gel coat onto her client’s hooves and blew on them. “Is this the proper shade, madame?”

Spoiled sat up and frowned at the burgundy hue. “Not quite. I wanted something a little lighter. Honestly, this isn’t that hard.” She reached for the nearest cloth—which happened to be Lotus’s spare apron—and wiped off the offending polish. “It’s not one of the standard colors. You’ll have to do a custom mix. I thought you understood that.”

“Yes, madame.” Lotus’s lower lip quivered, and she flinched toward the back room. But to her credit, she held her ground.

Aloe stepped between them and curled her foreleg across Spoiled’s back. She liked her work. She really did. Not every customer was like this—far from it. But these ones, who reminded her of—

“Don’t worry, madame. I’ll fix everything.” Lotus peered over, but Aloe couldn’t read her expression.

“I should hope so. I swear, I should have my husband, Filthy Rich, buy this place and staff it properly.”

“Yes, madame.” Aloe took her buffing cloth and smoothed Spoiled’s hooves again before picking out a few colors of polish and a mixing board. “I’ll see to it that madame is satisfied.”

After one stride away, Lotus bit her lip and leaned back to Aloe’s ear. “You just want the ritzy customers to get the big tips.”

Aloe always split her tips with Lotus. She must have known that. If not... Well, perhaps it was better that way.

But Lotus hadn’t left yet. “And you deserve every bit,” she whispered, giving Aloe a little squeeze. “Thank you. For always watching out for me. I did notice. Even back then.” Aloe gasped. And Lotus went off to have another good cry.

A Trick of Memory

“Pinkie, you’re so stupid that...” Gilda tapped a claw on her beak and squinted.

“That what?” Pinkie Pie replied, her mouth all geared up to laugh.

“That... you thought Mi Amore Cadenza was a place to keep your little black book.” Gilda forced a grin and held her breath.

“I... don’t get it.”

“Well, ‘Mi Amore’ is like ‘love,’ so...” A claw circled in midair as if to unfurl the scroll containing the rest of the joke.

“I got that part. It’s the rest,” Pinkie said while scratching her head.

“Well, ‘Cadenza’ sounds kind of like ‘credenza.’”

“Yeah... needs too much explanation. Not your best effort.” Pinkie reached a hoof up toward a far-off cloud. “Now, if you’d said I was so stupid that I thought Sugarcube Corner was the one who pronounced ponies dead from sugar overload, that would have been funny, because—” she glanced around to make sure nobody else might hear “—that’s actually come close to happening before.”

Gilda widened her eyes at Pinkie’s giggling. That seemed a rather morbid thing to joke about...

“Ah, just kidding, silly head.” Pinkie rolled onto her side to face Gilda, who kept a close eye to make sure she didn’t go too far.

“Careful, Pinkie,” Gilda said as she raised a foreleg to shove Pinkie back.

“Oh, I’m always careful!” Pinkie replied, but then raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes upward. “Or is it never...?”

Pinkie lay on a woven mat of feathers. Over the last few seasons, whenever Gilda had molted, plucked a loose feather, whatever... she’d saved them all and had Fluttershy sew them together, and now Pinkie could come up to the clouds with her. “Do you like it up here?”

Pinkie nodded vigorously, then rolled onto her back again and crossed her forelegs behind her head. “Yeah. It’s always neat to see the clouds from this side.”

Propping up on a shoulder, Gilda stared at Pinkie, but it took her a while to notice. But when she did, she just gave back that same warm smile she always had—the one that said its target was already a friend, whether she knew it or not. “Pinkie, why was I such a jerk back then?”

“You just hadn’t matured yet,” Pinkie said through her toothy grin. “It’s okay. You simply had to get it out of your system, play all the pranks, yell all the insults, eat all the cupcakes, throw all the parties...” She scowled for a moment. “Wait, I think I took a wrong turn there.”

Gilda had to laugh. Did Pinkie do that deliberately, or did her mind just work that way? Pinkie probably didn’t know, either.

But like all things, laughter ends. Gilda flicked a wingtip over the lightning-bolt-shaped choker she wore and exhaled a deep sigh. “Why me? Why’d she leave this to me?”

Pinkie smiled and patted Gilda’s shoulder. “Because she saw something in you, silly! She knew there was a quality she liked, buried deep in there—” she poked a hoof at Gilda’s chest “—that she thought was special. She stuck by you when you didn’t feel worth it.”

Gilda frowned. “I know that last part. But why?”

“Duh!” Pinkie crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. “Element of Loyalty!”

“I know,” Gilda said, her gaze wandering to the horizon. “But she didn’t have an obligation. She chose to.”

Pinkie could only nod. “My turn, then. Why me, Gilda?”

She puffed out her feathers and took a long breath. “Because I was awful to you. To everyone, but especially you. I figured if I was supposed to live up to this gig, I’d better start there. If I could win you over...”

“And you did!” Pinkie leapt over and hugged her, nearly making Gilda’s heart stop. Pinkie’s hind legs dangled through the cloud’s surface, and Gilda kept an iron grip on her. Crazy pony, trusting her like that. Trusting her...

Gilda hovered for a moment and let Pinkie roll up her mat. Then Pinkie glanced up at Gilda’s choker. “You don’t have to wear that all the time, you know.”

“Yes, I do.” She could never forget. Or repay.

Pinkie pursed her lips. “Tell you what. In honor of Dashie, let’s go pull a prank.”

“I don’t know.” Not exactly the image Gilda wanted anymore...

“C’mon. Applejack’s a good sport. And it’s for Dashie.” Who could ever resist that smile?

“Fine.” Gilda swished her tail. “But keep it low-key.”

“Ooookayyyy. But I can’t Pinkie Promise...”

Oats

Spike trotted up to Rarity and watched in awe as she ran her fingers through her mane. He thought about it for a moment, but was able to force suspension of disbelief that she even had fingers.

Once the heart shapes had faded from his eyes, Spike shook the fog out of his mind and worked up his courage. "Would you mind... joining me for a drink, Lady Rarity?" He stared up at her while twiddling his thumbs.

She glanced over his shoulder at the Element of Generosity hanging in a display case on her jewelry chest. "...Things you have to do to wear that stupid thing," she muttered through a clenched jaw, then flashed a wooden smile. "Just let me get my scarf."

While Rarity was occupied momentarily with her neckwear, Spike let his eyes wander toward her chest. He couldn't remember if this was one of those stories where she had boobs or not, and where they might—

He shuddered violently for a moment. "Ugh. Crotchboobs." Jerking his gaze back up to her mane, lest he find an answer he couldn't handle, he offered her an arm.

Rarity looked back and forth between the proffered claw and his face a few times. "I appreciate the gesture, but I'm a quadruped, dear. I need all four legs to walk."

Spike facepalmed. Whipping up another chivalrous gesture, he opened the door for her and gave a sweeping bow. He jogged double-time through the knee-deep snow to keep up with her. When they arrived at the cafe, he pulled a seat out for her and ordered a pair of hot chocolates. As he scratched at his chin to divine some topic of conversation, he noticed Fluttershy at the next table.

Fluttershy had a tall glass of sugar water for her entourage of butterflies. She was cowering behind her chair while making occasional attempts to approach the seapony at the leather-covered banquette against the wall. Yeah, leather. They killed a cow. It was a rat bastard, if that helps.

Spike couldn't help but stare at the seapony, too. How did it even get in the restaurant? That big tank of water, with no wheels or cart. And what does a seapony drink, anyway?

"Um..." Fluttershy stammered. "I..." she uttered haltingly before ducking behind her chair again. "If... if you..." she finally offered extemporaneously toward the oceanic equine. "Eep."

Spike relaxed a bit in his chair. That was the proper type of dialogue for Fluttershy. Everything felt right. He failed to see the dark shape coalescing outside the window.

"Cryssstalsssss!"

Shoving himself back from the table, Spike rushed to the door and flung it open. "Look!" he shouted, waving a claw around at the snow piled along the sidewalk. "That's bucking crystallized water! It was all over the place up north, too." Spike kicked a few flakes at Sombra. "Knock yourself out."

"Black... Cryssstalsssss!"

Spike rolled his eyes and grabbed a menu off the table nearest the door. He breathed fire on it, and the resulting green smoke flew off toward Canterlot. Standing there scowling for a moment, he finally stepped outside and broke a dead twig off a tree.

"Dude, 'buck?' Is that like profanity, or what? I'm never sure," Sombra growled.

"Hold on. I forgot that paper works that way." A minute later, he finally felt the familiar pang of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He belched up an elegant scroll, which read "Two slices of cake to go, please." Taking a deep breath, Spike flamed the twig, leaving a charred stub. He then stirred it in the snow, leaving a blackened pile of flakes. "There. Is that all?"

"Cryssstalsssss?"

Spike slammed the door on his way back in. From across the room, he saw Rarity's eyes light up, but she was looking past him.

"Now, don't be rude to our guest, Spikey-Wikey." Her gaze shot around the room, finally alighting on Fluttershy's sugar water. "Here. Blow your flame breath on that."

Spike shrugged, then obliged, leaving a crust of sugar behind in the bottom of the glass.

"Cryssstalsssss!"

"And that!" Rarity shouted, pointing at the seapony's tank.

"You bitch," the hapless aquatic organism mouthed.

Spike shot his flame into the tank as well, which left the interior coated with salt.

"Cryssstalsssss!"

"See, Kingy Wingy?" Rarity wheedled. "He's perfect for you. He can create all the crystals you like." She turned to face Spike, adding, "And can't you see how much he needs you?"

Spike, who, due to strange dragon aging patterns, was actually quite old and legit to use for shipping, shrugged again. He kissed Sombra, and they were totally in love already.

Rarity slipped away. Good, she thought to herself and three other ponies. I need to get back to practicing for the Wonderbolts. No, wait—that's somepony else.

It Never Changes

Celestia smiled so big that it spread far beyond her face. She clapped her hooves together and peered down at the little wriggling bundle in her lap. So small! And so perfect.

“Meet your new little sister, Celestia! We’ve named her Luna,” Mother said. The grumpy little pony struggled to free her wings from the swaddling wrap and yawned.

Celestia couldn’t help staring, and no matter how long she looked, she felt like she could never see enough of her. She pulled Luna against herself and hugged her.

“Not too tight now, Celestia,” Dad said. “She’s not big enough yet to take a filly-sized hug.”

“I know.” That mane… Full of stars, shimmering, waving. Like her own mane. Did she…? Under her parents’ watchful eyes, Celestia slowly undid the swaddling. Mom’s smile only grew more.

First, she pulled the cloth away from Luna’s horn. Then Luna cooed and stretched out her unconstrained wings. And finally… a cutie mark! At birth! Just like her…

A crescent moon in the dark of night. Celestia hugged her again, careful not to hurt her. “Do you know how much I love you, Luna?”

Celestia knocked on the door to Luna’s bedroom. Soft crying emanated from within. No answer, but she went in anyway.

“What happened, Luna?” Still no answer. Luna only sat, facing out the window and looking up at the stars.

Celestia slumped her shoulders. “Those fillies again?”

Luna nodded and sniffled. “Because of… my horn and wings.”

Wrapping her sister in a hug, Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but… how to get a child to understand? Luna shouldn’t have to understand. “I could talk to them. Or their parents.”

“No,” Luna said, wiping away her tears. “You’d only make it worse.”

“I’d say to ignore them. I’d say they’re not worth listening to, so why bother with them?” Celestia gulped at the lump in her throat. Some truths were hard to swallow. “But it’s different for us.”

“I know,” Luna said. “We have to love them. We have to love all of them, because of what we are.”

A child, huh? Celestia hugged her tighter and stroked her mane. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Luna stared blankly at the headstones. If only Celestia could tell what was happening inside that mind. As guardian of the night, Luna had a unique perspective on death, but never before had any happened so close to her heart.

“Do you want to be alone, Luna?”

“No,” she answered. A fact. Nothing more.

At least that’s how it was supposed to appear. Celestia knew better. She unfolded a wing and curled it around Luna. “Do you know how much I love you?”

A slight nod. If Celestia hadn’t known to look for it, she would have missed it. She nuzzled Luna’s neck.

Wind whipped at Celestia’s mane, and she gritted her teeth. Dodging another magic bolt, she turned to face her attacker. Dust and smoke and pain swirled around her, but those hadn’t caused her tears.

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her magic to bear. It hurt. Not the dull ache of an overspent muscle, like when she’d simply cast too much of it in too little time. But this hurt, right through her heart and straight into her soul.

She levitated her own three Elements, along with the three she’d stolen—yes, stolen—from her sister. They circled around her faster and faster, drawing on her resolve and righteousness. Her nonexistent resolve and righteousness. And as such, they demanded a price. The only thing Luna had ever done wrong…

The twisting vortex tore her sister away. And tore a piece of her away, too.

“Do you know how much I love you, Luna?” she screamed into the empty air. She didn’t care who heard.

A quiet moment, at long last.

Celestia’s faithful student had performed admirably. After so long, nopony even remembered who Nightmare Moon actually was, but they’d immediately cheered and draped a garland of flowers over her. Whether they remained that accepting…

But that was for another day. Celestia stood on a small, private balcony and lowered the sun. Beside her, for the first time in a millennium, her sister raised the moon. During the entire ceremony, neither spoke—they didn’t need to. Just the feeling of that warm, familiar soul next to her.

“Luna,” Celestia finally said, “do you know—?”

“Yes,” Luna replied with a knowing smile. “But do you know how much I love you?”

Worth It

“Twilight, I… I’ve found someone,” Spike said.

He scuffed a foot over the floor and blushed as much as a dragon could. But that little tremor in his voice. The poor guy.

“That’s wonderful!” Twilight said. She tackled him with a hug—well, what used to tackle him, but even standing on her hind legs, she barely came up to his chest. He was lucky he could even squeeze through the library’s front door anymore.

“Who is she?” Twilight said, adjusting her bifocals and stepping back far enough to see his face.

“Her… her name’s Blaze,” he answered. He had his claws clasped behind his back.

“And how long were you going to keep this from me?” Twilight tried to force her most disapproving look, but she couldn’t keep from grinning.

“I dunno.” In some ways, he was still the kid she’d always known.

“How long have you two been dating, then?” He only stopped by to visit once a month or so these days. He easily could have kept it secret for some time now.

“Almost two years. We want to…” He blushed even darker. “We want to share a hoard. Somewhere near here.”

For a long minute, Twilight stared back. The longer she did, the more he fidgeted and wrinkled his brow. It wasn’t fair to make him nervous like that, but she simply couldn’t form the words…

“I’m so happy for you, Spike!” And his smile returned. “In fact, just recently—”

“I thought—”

They both let out a self-conscious giggle in the sudden lull in their conversation. And then Twilight took the initiative. “You first.”

“Well…” Spike started. “You know I used to have a crush on Rarity.”

“Yes.” Twilight nodded. “I remember how mature you were about it when she finally had to put a stop to it.”

“Yeah, but…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I…” He slumped to his haunches and let out a muttered “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

She would have taken his chin and turned his head back toward her, but she couldn’t reach that high. He’d never had trouble speaking to her before. Best to make as relaxed an atmosphere as she could. She pulled up an overstuffed chair and leaned back in it. “C’mon. Just like old times. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I… Twilight, I once had a crush on you, too. Not serious, but… I don’t know. You were always like a big sister, a mom, a teacher.” His eyes stayed fixed on the floorboards. “Seems odd to have a crush on someone like that. Well, maybe not a teacher, but the other two.”

She gave a very controlled nod. No way she’d let on how cute she found that. “That’s normal, Spike.”

“I mean, it never got to what I’d call romantic thoughts—just sweet on you. Wait, that’s normal?” He finally looked at her, but he frowned a bit at her chuckling.

“Do you know how many colts say they’ll marry their mommies when they grow up? It happens all the time. Don’t worry, Spike—I don’t see it as any more than that.” She watched his shoulders relax and his smile return.

“I-I don’t even know why I wanted to tell you that,” he said, twiddling his thumbs. “Seemed important somehow.”

“Anyway,” she replied. Not to discount his sentiment—she gave him a quick pat on the arm to dispel that possibility. No, this moment would be one she treasured, like her first day in Ponyville, her first time meeting Princess Celestia. It would be one she treasured for years, for… “Interesting this all came up now, because I’ve discussed something with Princess Celestia lately.”

“Luna and I didn’t have a choice,” Celestia said. “But Cadence did, and so did a number of others. They all made the same decision.”

“I know,” Twilight replied. “I’ve had many discussions with Cadence over the years.”

“You’d see them all grow old. And you would see them die. But you’d also see what Equestria becomes.”

“Yes. But your one mistake is assuming I’d see that the same way everypony else does.” Twilight smiled softly back at Celestia.

“Twilight, dragons are long-lived, but even he will die,” Celestia replied, her lips pursed despite the gleam in her eye.

“Yes. But I’ll get to tell his children all about him, and then their children, and…”

Celestia broke into a wide grin and leaned over to nuzzle her. “Twilight Sparkle, I will enjoy spending eternity with you.”

For Her Own Good

“Consarn it, Apple Bloom!” Applejack’s mouth hung open as she stared at the lopsided crystal bottle on her windowsill. Broken. Again. Her face burning, she—she couldn’t think straight!

“Where’d you get to, you little—!” she shouted. Applejack galloped to the top of the stairs and tried to keep her heart from thudding in her ears. If she could hear even the slightest sound from downstairs that might give away her sister’s hiding place…

Her ears pricked. A soft sob, but not from the den. From the bedroom.

Stepping softly, Applejack eased into her sister’s room and bent low to peer under the bed. “There you are!” she said, her glare stabbing into the shadows.

“I-I’m sorry, Applejack,” Apple Bloom said into her hooves.

“Third time in as many weeks! How many times I gotta tell you?” Applejack shook her head. Hard. She’d sent Apple Bloom to her room, taken away privileges… Nothing worked. She shoved the bottle under the bed. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I… I wanted to use it to-to call my dolls to tea time.” Apple Bloom peered over a foreleg with one eye.

“You know it’s fragile!” The light pink perfume bottle, cut into the shape of a bell, complete with little tinkling clapper, leaned over a bit further. The wet glue finally gave out as the handle dropped to the floor. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Applejack stamped a hoof and gritted her teeth. “I… You…” Her mind went numb. And she heard herself utter the words she never thought she could say. “Apple Bloom, you g-go outside, b-behind the barn, and cut—” she coughed on the words before spitting them out “—cut me a switch.”

Apple Bloom jerked her head up so quickly that she banged it on the bottom of her bed. “N-no! You can’t!” She trembled and backed toward the far wall. “I-I haven’t heard of anypony doin’ that sin-since Granny Smith’s old stories, when she was a young ’un!”

“You got me at the end o’ my rope,” Applejack growled. Apple Bloom had brought this on herself. She knew better. She knew better. “Now git!” she shouted, pointing out the window.

“No!” Apple Bloom screamed. “You’re not my mother!” She bolted past Applejack, down the stairs, and out the front door. From the window, Applejack watched her stop behind the woodpile. Probably thought she was hidden, but that red hairbow stuck up, just sitting there. Applejack cracked a half-smile. But the bow… Shaking. Trembling.

It wouldn’t even hurt that much, and then it’d be done. Why couldn’t she just get it over with? And then maybe learn not to mess with Mom’s old perfume bottle. She should know better! Breaking something like that! Well, it didn’t exactly work anymore. Not since Applejack had—

Not since Applejack had knocked it over as a filly.

She knew what it had meant to her mother. And that had hurt the most. Mom had never even raised her voice about it.

A tremor surged through Applejack’s body. What was she doing? What was she doing? She pressed her face to the window… Where? A-at the edge of the woods. Applejack sniffled hard, her tears hitting the windowsill. Apple Bloom, cutting a switch…

A minute later, Apple Bloom crept through the door, her cheeks damp and her eyes red. She set the switch on the floor.

Applejack turned around, and her sister flinched at the sight of tears in her eyes. “Pick it back up,” she said, facing the window again. “I did wrong by you. I-I don’t… It’s my fault. I’m the one who needs to be punished. Pick it up.”

She didn’t grit her teeth. Didn’t tense up. She deserved this.

“I… I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Pick it up.” Applejack wiped her eyes dry, but they didn’t stay that way for long.

And soft crying behind her. Apple Bloom tried to keep as quiet as possible. “I-I can’t! I don’t wanna—”

“This ain’t s’posed to be fun!” Applejack barked. At least she thought she had barked it, but her voice had broken.

“No!” Apple Bloom whimpered. She didn’t muffle her sobs anymore. “No, I love you!”

Applejack bit her lip. She wheeled around, gathered an astonished Apple Bloom in her hooves, hugged her sister to her chest, and held on tight. She sniffled hard and kissed Apple Bloom’s forehead. “Do you understand?”

After a brief pause, Apple Bloom nodded and hugged her back. “Forgive—”

“Forgive me?” Applejack said.

Basking

The evening light waned. The sun down, another day finished. And none too soon.

Celestia collapsed into bed and broke into a coughing fit. Her forehead burned like a blacksmith’s forge, and aching muscles protested even the small movement of holding a hoof to her throbbing temples.

She considered ringing one of her staff for a glass of water and some aspirin, but the feeling might pass. She hated to bother them after working hours, if possible. At least she’d remembered to douse the candles, but that piercing light from outside—the moon.

Smiling in spite of herself, Celestia brought her magic to bear in spurts and managed to draw the drapes closed. Yes, the moon. Luna had raised it from… wherever she’d gone on her diplomatic mission. Celestia couldn’t remember where.

Still she lay there, the clock’s ticking her only company. She might have dozed on and off, but she couldn’t tell. It certainly felt like hours—she peeked at the clock. Nearly ten. But when had she lowered the sun? At eight… no, seven. Maybe. Should she call for a glass of water and some aspirin?

Dark. Lovely dark, and a cool breeze flowed through the open doorway from the balcony. The moon, gone. A new moon tonight? She could have sworn she saw it earlier. Nice and dark.

She nestled into her pillow, and her thoughts oozed like thick sap. She brushed sweat from her forehead. Dark and cool and soft. Aspirin? No. Just sleep. Somepony talking? No. Just sleep.

“I don’t know,” the doctor said. “She has a fever, but based on the dried sweat, it was higher, so it must have broken overnight.” He pried one eye open and shone a penlight into it. “I’ll check the files in my office. Maybe one of her previous physicians has seen this before.”

He strode out, leaving Twilight alone with Celestia, and a deathly silence settled.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Luna stated as she emerged from the balcony. It was less a greeting and more a statement of fact, though Luna did wear a curious grin.

“Is she okay? I can’t figure this out, but I’m worried, and we have to find some way of raising the sun—”

Luna raised a hoof. “All is well, Twilight. She only has a minor illness. Do not worry.”

“So you know why she won’t wake up?” Twilight pricked her ears.

“Yes. Come with me.” Luna returned to the balcony, and after a peek back at Celestia, Twilight followed.

“You can raise the sun for her?” Twilight asked.

“Yes, but not as easily as she raises the moon. I gather she has not shown you how yet?” Luna arched an eyebrow.

“No.” Twilight really could too?

“A mistake. But a potentially costly one. Here. Concentrate with me.”

Twilight fought down her questions and stilled her breathing. She closed her eyes.

“Feel the warmth. Feel it from the sun, but also from all of your subjects.”

Twilight nodded. Her thoughts wandered to her friends, and… warm. Throughout her chest, and a sliver of light—

“Feel their friendship for you, for each other. Focus on how you feel about them.”

A grin swept across Twilight’s face. Yes, her friends. She almost laughed. And the sliver of light grew. She could see the glow through her eyelids, and somehow, it didn’t surprise her.

“Look, Twilight Sparkle.”

She opened her eyes. And the sun blazed down on her. That… That was it? She wrinkled her brow, and Luna, sensing the question, nodded back. “What about…?”

“Good morning—er, afternoon.”

“Princess Celestia!” Twilight rushed to her side and hugged her, though Celestia did wobble a bit on unsteady hooves. “How?”

“She shares a symbiotic relationship with the sun,” Luna said. “She moves it, and it energizes her. If something keeps her from raising it, then…”

“The same with my sister and the moon,” Celestia said with a smile. “You can see how this could be dangerous knowledge.”

“So for a thousand years…”

“I simply couldn’t afford myself the luxury of sleeping in, if I was ill.”

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” Twilight said after a pause and bowed her head.

“And now you know what else eternal night implied,” Celestia added with a sympathetic nod toward Luna.

Without another word, Celestia spread her wings and soaked up the sunlight. Twilight did the same, and squeezed her eyes shut… warmth, far more than just the sun, like Luna had taught her. She grinned broadly—she could get used to this.

Where the Heart Is

“Winona!” Applejack says on her way through the front door. “C’mere, girl!”

I run to her like I always do, lick her face, and try to jump up on her.

“Down, girl!” she says, one eye halfway shut, but she doesn’t lose her grin. “Or no treat.”

I sit as still as I can and gaze up at her, but I can sniff it in her saddlebag. Flour, sugar, eggs. Definitely mint. One of those breath-freshening biscuits they sell over at Sugarcube Corner. I didn’t think my breath was that bad. It just smells like a few of the bits from the compost heap I gnawed on this morning and whatever that thing was out by the road.

Still she watches me. I shuffle back and forth on my front paws and let out a little whine. Applejack reaches out with a hoof and scratches behind my ears—my mind goes fuzzy, and I lean into it, a rear leg kicking like mad. I could stay like this forever.

“Now, Winona,” she says, waggling a hoof. “Did you get into the compost today?”

I cock my head and give my tail a tentative swish.

Applejack purses her lips and shakes her head. “Goofy dog. ’S alright. You didn’t hurt nothin’, but you know Big Mac doesn’t like it if you spread it ’round. So just behave yourself, okay?”

My tongue lolls out of my mouth, and I give a short bark. Yes, I shouldn’t have messed around in the trash, but I couldn’t help myself. Applejack forgives me, though. She always does. Even quicker than they would Apple Bloom, because she should know better. Or so they say.

Speaking of which… Apple Bloom comes in with the rest of the groceries, and I dash over. She wants to go to the kitchen, but I decide that she should head toward the closet, so I lean my shoulder into her and shove her that way. She stops, turns, tries to step over me, but I keep guiding her there. I don’t even know why—I just have to.

“Winona!” Apple Bloom says, squinting at me. “I’m not a sheep!”

“Forget something, girl?” Applejack pats her saddlebag.

Treat! My tail starts going furiously, and I wedge my nose under the flap. One of the minty ones from Sugarcube Corner, alright. I grab it, and Applejack chuckles as I dash off to the braided rug where my food and water bowls sit. Not now, though—I’m actually not in the mood, so I stash it under the edge of the rug for later.

Then Big McIntosh comes in from the field and pats me on the head. “Who’s a good girl?”

That’s all I wanted. My whole family here, so I can go now. I pick up my treat and a mouthful of food, and hurry toward the pet door. “Why’s she do that?” Apple Bloom asks.

Big Mac shrugs. “You know dogs. Gotta eat in their particular places.”

In the dusk, I go behind the barn and drop my food there. If my family saw I didn’t want it, they’d worry. Especially if they knew how long I’ve been doing this.

Like I said, if I misbehave, they love me just the same, even more unconditionally than they do with each other. These ponies are weird.

Here come a few regulars from the woods. An opossum and a couple of raccoons, who are always happy to eat my food. They love me, too.

I let go, like relaxing a muscle, and my body shines black in the moonlight. It’s a nice gig I have going here: pretty much unlimited love. While the rest wasted their time impersonating ponies, I found the sweet life. No way I’ll tell them, even if they find their way back. If I did, they’d all want in on it. But so far from home, and staying in that form so long…

Every couple days, I have to revert, so I can keep my mind together enough to know… to hide that I don’t eat. I don’t want them to worry.

I’ve heard stories. “Your face will stay like that.” If only pony mothers knew where that phrase came from. And it’s not only the appearance.

Every day lately, it gets harder to think. I… I just want to be a good girl and curl up next to them. I’m hungry.

My tail wags on its own, and I run back to the house. To my home.

Rock 'n' Roll (cross-linked to another story post)

This is a short story in a collaborative project with the intent of showing a moment in the life of numerous ponies. They're not supposed to contain a complete story arc with a resolution, just a snapshot of life. Please check out all the stories in The Album. My entry can be found here.

Spring Cleaning

Derpy wrinkled her nose and whisked her duster over the bookshelf. On the end where she kept ones she’d finished, there were few telltale tracks through the dust where she’d slid a book out and later replaced it. Some reference ones and anthologies where she’d gotten a taste for a particular short story on a quiet afternoon. Her old weather school text, her first cookbook of muffin recipes—its cover admonishing her to get a parent’s help before cooking, no less—and a whole row of biographies.

She loved history and the ponies who made it, but… living in the past had never suited her well, at least for her own life. Always moving forward. She didn’t have more troubles than the next pony, but she carried them like a heavy weight, new lumped on old. Why would she still feel guilty about something inconsequential like when she broke that window seventeen years ago?

Anyway, look ahead at what’s to come: her regular card game with Raindrops, Fluttershy, and Thunderlane tomorrow, and Princess Twilight Sparkle had organized a luncheon at Sugarcube Corner for the civil servants getting promoted. Ten years on the job already. Where did the time go?

The thickest dust lay around one particular book, but she left it. For now. She promised herself she’d deal with it at last. Same as every year.

From across the room, she pulled over the recycling bin. The usual pile of—well, “debris” would describe it best—sat in the corner, and one by one she sifted through the items. Months-old magazines she’d never catch up on and had managed to live without so far. In the can they went. Some newspaper clippings. Now that she looked at them, she couldn’t remember what had interested her about them. In the trash. Except one: an adorable photo of Dinky from an article showing the students in their Nightmare Night costumes.

Nodding at the tiny stack that remained, Derpy lugged the garbage can to the door. And glanced at the bookshelf again. She could put it off until she’d finished a few more cleaning chores. She could put it off another month or so until she did her regular housekeeping again. She could put it off yet another year until the next time she threw open all the windows, unleashed the full fury of her broom closet, and got the house ready for summer.

But no. She’d let that stupid book intimidate her for far too long. Today, she’d finally be rid of it.

“You okay, Mom?” Dinky called from upstairs. She must have noticed the silence.

“Yeah, keep going on the bathroom. I’ll come up and help you in a minute.” Nothing could give her that warm, tingly feeling in her chest quite like Dinky.

Armed with that, she strode over and pulled out the book. Small, soft-cover, with a colorful illustration on the front. She plopped onto the floor and paged through it. Wonderful poetry filled it, about the thrill of flight, air whistling through her feathers, the ground racing toward her until she pulled up at the last minute. The spray of mist on her face, the taste of autumn air. And after the creation of nature, it moved on to the creation of ponykind. New life within, nurturing, a soft touch, the thrill of discovery.

Derpy grinned. She never would have expected to. And then she turned the last page. Tucked in the back: letters.

Letters going on about nothing at first, then moving on to vague compliments, then comparing her mane to most precious gold. She didn’t have to read them to remember. But the last one…

She unfolded it and scanned down the page, her eyes settling on the last sentence.

I really think it would be a good idea, but if it doesn’t work out, we can always go back to being good friends.

Last sentence, last letter. Not the last time she saw him, but it might as well have been. Still, she’d ended up with Dinky, and… she wouldn’t change a thing.

Derpy walked over to the trash can, and the book hovered over it.

No. She flipped open the back cover and dumped the letters in. She didn’t deserve those, she noted with a smile, but she had earned the book.

“Dinky!” she shouted. She’d love to share the way that poetry made her feel, free of what had always ruined it. “Take a break and come downstairs. I have something I’d like to read to you.”

Love Thine Enemy

“What’s the situation in the Badlands?” Princess Cadence said as she slid into the seat opposite the burly earth pony. “Tundra, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Funny name for somepony assigned to scout a hot desert, but she supposed it didn’t matter. Talent was talent, no matter what package it came in. “I haven’t seen a changeling since the invasion. No sign of activity anywhere. I never got close enough to check inside one of their hives, but nothing coming or going.”

Cadence nodded and sipped her coffee, then nudged a cup to him as well. He wouldn’t take it; he didn’t like coffee, but it never hurt to go through the motions. Sure enough, he waved it off. Fine—more for her. “I assume the next logical step would be to investigate those,” she replied.

“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at the full coffee cup again, looking down his nose at it. Curious, maybe. Wondering if it really tasted as bad as he expected. She’d leave it there for now—maybe he’d try it.

“Of course, if you haven’t seen anything by now, chances don’t look good. Perhaps they really have gone. Far away, possibly died out. What do you think?”

Tundra shrugged, his foreleg twitching a little. “Couldn’t say. Extinct? Would be a shame, y’know, from an ecological standpoint, I guess. But what would they do out there without a food source?”

“Speaking of which—” she pointed at the coffee again “—I think the duty sergeant brought in a box of doughnuts. In the breakroom.” Cadence angled her head toward the hallway. “You had a long night getting back here. I know they’re not exactly nutritious, but…”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No thanks. Body’s a temple, y’know?” With a lopsided grin, he leaned back in his chair. “So, the usual? Rest up for a week, then back on assignment?”

“I have a different idea this time, actually.” Her magic wasn’t normally attuned for such a purpose, but she’d try anyway—she brought a pink glow to her horn, and his forelegs steadied a little. Any bit she could do to help somepony with his distinguished record. More illusion than actual sustainment, but it’d last him until they’d finished the debriefing and he could get home.

“Another unremarkable status report, then?” Cadence continued. “Makes the paperwork easier.” She smiled to put him at ease.

Tundra squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hoof between them. “Yeah. At least you got that.” She waited a minute, but he didn’t make a move for the coffee. “Different? Like what?”

“If we manage to find a changeling in those hives, it’d probably know something. I think it’s time to go from reconnaissance to intelligence.” Tundra wrinkled his brow and looked up. “Interrogation, if possible.”

“How would you manage that?” he replied. “We tried that once, right? The captive quit feeding and starved itself.”

Cadence rose from her seat and strode over to the door. She craned her neck to see down the hallway. “My sister-in-law is an excellent student of history. She studied the previous invasion meticulously. Despite the curious absence of any trace of changelings, she’s seen some of the same little signs of their machinations. Easily ignored individually, but when taken together…”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yes. They’re out there. Somewhere. We’ll find one, and when we do, it’ll tell us everything. Did you notice that when they feed, a sort of euphoria comes over them? Similar to a drug. Like a koala and its addictive diet, as my friend Fluttershy tells me. It leaves them suggestible.”

Tundra’s face darkened, and he huffed out a snort. “Enemies though they may be, I can’t abide this. It’s unethical. And you can’t make them eat, anyway.”

“Really?” she said with a smirk.

He shoved himself back from the table, and in the window’s reflection, she could see him breathing heavily, his face flushed red. “Expect my resignation in the morning. I quit.”

“Oh, no. No, you don’t.” Her horn glowed again, and a pink aura surrounded him. His trembling body stilled once more. “Where is Tundra?” No answer. Changelings could siphon off small amounts of love at will, but when flooded with it, they had no choice. A drowning pony couldn’t help but swallow water, after all.

“Clever, soaking up love then ferrying it back to share under the guise of duty.” She pressed her nose to the pony-like face and only now saw the faint imperfections. “No, you don’t quit.”

A Former Student of Mine

Cheerilee struggled up from her chair and opened the window again. That noisy concert across town had finally ended, so maybe she could enjoy the night air now. The sun had just set, so at least the heat of day had dissipated.

Honestly, she didn’t understand children anymore. They liked such cute music back when she still taught her little flowers, but these days… It didn’t matter anymore, though.

She’d plopped back into her chair when she heard a knock. At this hour? Anypony who knew her should remember she went to bed by eight thirty, and here it was, already quarter past.

“Come in!” she called.

“M-Miss Cheerilee?” a soft voice asked. Cheerilee craned her neck, but she couldn’t see the entrance from her chair, facing the picture window.

“Please, sit down.” A neighbor or something. She couldn’t place the voice, but when her guest took the seat across from her—

“Sweetie Belle!?”

The filly—no, not anymore. A mare, tall, elegant, with flowing curls. She beamed back. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Miss Cheerilee!”

With a small gasp, Cheerilee leaned forward. “How did you get here so quickly? The concert just ended.”

“I deliberately scheduled the after party for later. I wanted time to visit.” Sweetie Belle brushed her forelock aside and bumped her headset. Must have forgotten to take off her microphone—she giggled, pulled it off, and held it in her lap.

“I’m glad to see you doing well,” Cheerilee said. Visitors were nice to have. Usually.

Sweetie Belle’s mouth twitched into a frown as she glanced at Cheerilee’s hoof. “Twilight told me she was a little worried about you. But I realize you might not want some pop culture nonsense…”

“Not at all! I love my students, and I’m very proud of you.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by before.” Sweetie Belle’s eyes flicked to Cheerilee’s hoof again, then down to her own lap. Yes, why now? And what did Twilight care? “I thought you wouldn’t approve…”

“Of course I do! I may not like modern art, but I can still appreciate a good painter.”

“Miss Cheerilee, I know you don’t teach anymore, but… my daughter is having trouble with math. I wonder if you would be willing to tutor her?” The sun had set on that, too, some time ago. A quiet retirement, occasionally volunteering at the library, which was no doubt where Twilight—

Cheerilee nearly spit out the bitter taste in her mouth. “What good would that do? Basic math, reading… anypony can do that. You don’t need me.”

“Everypony can do that because of you.” Sweetie Belle held back, like she wanted to say more.

“I don’t know.” Cheerilee sighed. “How useful is any of that, really?”

Her lips pursed, Sweetie Belle sat up straighter. “You remember that trick you taught us to figure out if you could divide a number by three? I use that all the time at the market, when I buy groceries for me, my husband, and my daughter.”

“You… do your own shopping?”

Sweetie Belle nodded. “I liked Sapphire Shores when I was young, but it bothered me how she talked down to her staff, had everything done for her. I promised myself I’d never act like that—Scootaloo does my choreography, Apple Bloom builds my sets… my fans, my co-workers—they’re all friends first.”

She shifted in her chair, and a smile returned to her face. “I learned that in your class. How we keep a budget, how we plan healthy meals…”

No need to patronize her. Cheerilee sank into her cushion.

“In music school,” Sweetie Belle continued, “I learned proper singing technique. In high school, chemistry. In your class, I learned how to learn those things, how they make me a better pony… how to be a better pony.”

Sweetie Belle glanced out the window, where the sun’s last glow faded. “I have to get to the party—you’re invited, of course, but I doubt you’d enjoy it. Still—” she watched Cheerilee’s hoof again “—can I visit tomorrow?”

A minute of silence passed, along with a lifetime. “Yes,” Cheerilee finally said, “and please bring your daughter.”

“Thanks, Miss Cheerilee!” Sweetie Belle positively beamed as she gave Cheerilee a hug, then waved good-bye.

Alone again. Cheerilee unclenched her hoof and looked down at the bottle of sleeping pills. She undid the top and shook one out. Only one.

And she settled back into her chair, facing the window. The sun’s glow, just before dawn, would wake her in the morning.

Friendly Correspondence

Princess Celestia sat at her writing desk and glanced up at Philomena. “Ready for another batch?”

The phoenix cocked her head. “Rrrr?”

After rolling the last scroll up, Celestia added it to the pile. “That should do it. If you would…”

Philomena clapped her wings together, and fire engulfed the stack of paper, leaving it in cinders. A wisp of ash curling away, the red flame shot out the window and split apart, heading toward scattered destinations.

And right as Celestia started leaning back in her chair to relax for a moment, Philomena’s feathers lit up again. A ball of crimson coalesced and floated to Celestia, then turned green before it fizzled out. “Oh, a letter from Spike!” she said. The scroll dropped onto the desk in front of her. “I hope Twilight will enjoy those Gala tickets. What do you think?”

“Awk.” A small wisp of down floated away from a growing bare patch on Philomena’s chest.

“Time for that again already? Didn’t you molt just a few centuries ago?” Celestia asked with a smirk.

“Chirrup.”

Celestia undid the tie and unfurled the message. Maybe a thank-you, maybe telling her that she’d made a friend she wanted to invite with the extra ticket. Still a few months off, over the next hill, so to speak, but not too early to start preparing.

Dear Princess Celestia,

I've learned that one of the joys of friendship is sharing your blessings, but when there's not enough blessings to go around, having more than your friends can make you feel pretty awful. So, though I appreciate the invitation, I will be returning both tickets to the Grand Galloping Gala.

Celestia’s breath caught in her throat. Her hooves shook as she drew them to her mouth. “Ph-Philomena, she—”

“Chee?”

The Princess whipped out a clean sheet of paper and dipped a quill in her bottle of ink. Far too much—the first word left a huge blotch on the page, but she scratched it through and scribbled furiously, pausing every few sentences to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

My most faithful student,

Thank you for your prompt response. It is one of the qualities I most admire about you.

It seems I have yet another. When I observed you turning down a party invitation from your fellow students, I knew I had to do something about it. You are too interesting, too wonderful a pony to keep it all to yourself. If I could just nudge you into socializing more, then others would discover what makes you so unique. But more than that, you would broaden your experience. Other ponies can teach you more than you realize—they have their own interests, their own expertises, and that is a better teacher than any textbook could be. I was also certain that their capacity to care about you would touch your heart.

So I sent you to Ponyville, a place dear to my own heart since its founding. I knew you would find a friend there, not only to save Equestria from Nightmare Moon, but to save yourself from isolation and loneliness.

When you told me you wanted to stay there,

Princess Celestia sniffled, smiled up at Philomena, and reached for a tissue.

I nearly broke down on the spot. To see you so attached to others that you would stay there, away from your home, your studies, your mentor, I was so, so proud of you. I hoped you’d foster a close enough relationship with one that you’d want to invite her to the Gala. So to hear back that you’d prefer not to attend unless you could bring all five with you, that you’d become such close friends with every one of them—

I have never been so overjoyed.

She reached for another tissue, dabbed her eyes dry, and blew her nose. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know—a princess has a certain image to uphold.”

“Hruah?”

After taking a deep breath, Celestia levitated her quill back into the inkwell. She squared her shoulders, slid another piece of paper from the stack, and carefully blotted the excess ink from the quill’s nib.

My faithful student Twilight,

Why didn't you just say so in the first place?

Celestia tucked six tickets into the scroll. “Another outgoing, please.”

Philomena sent the letter on its way, and with a huge smile, Celestia paused, balled up her first draft, and threw it in the wastebin. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, and one more ticket for Spike.”

To Whom It May Concern

Rarity’s hoofsteps echoed in the vast, dark entrance hall of Twilight’s castle until she noiselessly pushed open the door to the only room illuminated at this hour. She blinked into the library’s brightness.

“Twilight?”

A head popped up from a table near the back. “Rarity! Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, dear. Now, what was it that you needed?” Rarity strolled across the room, hefted her saddlebags onto the table, and took the other seat. She’d scarcely seen Twilight so… flustered before. Scared, even. Poor thing.

“I-I think I’ve finally come to a decision,” Twilight said, wearing a tight-lipped smile. “I’m writing a letter.”

Rarity touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Oh? To whom?”

After a deep breath, Twilight said, “I need to tell somepony how I feel. Finally. I’d appreciate your eye.”

“Ah.” Twilight had been out of sorts lately. Preoccupied, jumpy, moping. “Well, show me what you have so far.”

Twilight slid the sheet of paper over, and Rarity squinted down—too bad she didn’t have her sewing glasses. As she read, she whispered the words to herself.

“I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I couldn’t hold it in forever. I’ve felt this way about you almost since the first day we met, but I couldn’t ever get myself to act on it. Even if nothing ever comes of it, I decided that you should know. That way, you’ll realize why I behave the way I do toward you at times, why I sometimes get tongue-tied around you, why I can’t always talk to you as easily as everypony else.

“In fact, I’ve gotten the impression that you don’t feel the same way back, that you couldn’t feel the same way. And that’s okay. I don’t intend to let any of this change our friendship. I hope you won’t, either. It can burn out of sight, like the sun at dusk. I’ll still cherish every moment we spend together, and it won’t be awkward. I promise.

“You’re my friend first—how can I call myself a friend if I continue lying? One of omission, but still a lie. You’ve probably noticed me acting funny. That will stop. I just wanted you to know that I love you, but I won’t pursue anything without a clear sign that it’s welcome.”

Rarity wrinkled her nose. “I must say, this sounds awfully generic. You could’ve written it to anypony.”

“What would you suggest?” Twilight asked. “I’m kind of new at this.”

With a sigh, Rarity hugged her. At least Twilight’s smile looked more genuine now, but… did she feel the dear trembling?

“You should personalize this. Let him—or her?—know that they’ve had an impact on your life. Like here—” she ran a hoof along one of the printed lines “—you mention times you acted a certain way. Tell them which times, how they made you feel.”

“Like—like when you came over for my first sleepover? I hadn’t made any friends long before, and it meant a lot to me.” A small smile cracked Twilight’s face.

“Yes, good example. Something like that,” Rarity replied, tapping a hoof on the page. “And where you say you can’t talk to them easily, instead say why you’d want to. Let them know it’s important, not just… because they mumble or something.”

Twilight grinned even bigger. “You know me so well.”

“Rainbow Dash is waiting to walk me to the train station; I’m heading home to Canterlot tonight. Do you want me to read a revision later?”

“Oh. Um, actually, no. It was enough to write it. I-I don’t think I’ll send it. Thanks.” Twilight smiled so warmly for something so final.

“Please don’t give up,” Rarity said.

She hated to leave her friend like that, but… schedules and all. She bid Twilight adieu, and out in the street, Rainbow Dash trotted up by her side. “What’d she want?”

“To help her pen a love letter.” Rarity gave a wan smile. “To an unspecified recipient.”

“How’d it go?”

“I gave her what help I could. She decided not to send it, though. More therapeutic than practical, I suppose.”

Rainbow looked her over, then slumped her shoulders. “Going back home to Blueblood, then, huh? Where is he tonight?”

“The lout is gambling with his friends. Again,” Rarity said, her jaw set. “I really thought he’d changed.”

“Poor Twi,” Dash whispered.

“Pardon?” Rarity asked, perking an ear.

“Nothing. Why do you stay with him?”

“I still love him,” Rarity breathed out through her sigh. “I still love him.”

Method Acting

With the evening sun gleaming off her plumage, the phoenix soars over her territory. Almost time to roost for the night, so she lands on a lower branch of an isolated stand of trees. She chose this place carefully.

This group of oaks has died, and they stand far enough from the forest that if she accidentally burns them down, the fire won’t spread. Not that it would harm her.

The lower branches. Most phoenixes want to perch up high, out of reach, with a clear view of anything approaching. But she likes the low branches, where she can watch the ponies.

Empty dirt fields extend far in every direction. At least she assumed that originally, but those rocks poking up everywhere aren’t in the way, like most farms. These ponies want them there.

The two gray ones noticed her here a week ago. She heard them talking and flew down to listen. They had some rocks shoved together, and while they weren’t looking, she tried what she always did when confronted with something new: burn it.

Except the rocks didn’t burn. They glowed red and softened, then some silvery and golden bits dripped out on the ground. The ponies yelled at her, so she hopped back up to the treetop, where phoenixes should perch. She didn’t mean—but she couldn’t say “sorry” with a beak.

So she waits, on her dead trees. If a male phoenix happens by, she can set the whole thing ablaze to catch his attention, maybe raise a nest of chicks. It won’t hurt the ponies, and then they’ll be rid of her.

But… down below, in the dusk. The gray ponies smile up at her, then they spread out some straw and old paper. “Chirr?” she asks, but they don’t answer, just smile. One of them prods the wad of debris forward before they back off.

The phoenix watches. She spreads her wings to retreat up the tree, like last time, but they don’t move. They keep smiling. After a few minutes, she drops down one branch, then another. Still, they smile.

She blinks at the dry fuel, then ignites her feathers and sets the little pile smoldering. A thin wisp of smoke and glowing ash rises to her, and she breathes it in. It tastes good. But she flutters back up a branch.

What? They… push a crucible of rocks toward her. They got mad last time, but… they’re smiling. “It’s okay,” they say. So she starts up her flame again, and the silver and gold bits run out of the rocks together, collecting in the bottom of the bowl. They don’t yell at her.

The phoenix stretches out her wings to soak up the morning sun, and like the last three days, the two gray ponies come out and gaze up at her. They don’t have any rocks today. Instead… another pony. A pink one.

“There,” they say to the newcomer as they point, “that’s the one.”

“Awk?” the phoenix asks, but they don’t answer. They smile as usual, but the pink one doesn’t.

“Can you please come down?” she says. No. Phoenixes don’t like the ground. Dirt can smother flames.

The pink one points at her, too, and yet another pony arrives, this one light blue, and… flying!

The phoenix retreats into the thicker branches—they can’t reach her here, and she won’t have to hurt them! She doesn’t want to hurt… Rainbow? Is that her name? H-how does she know that? How does she know?

Rainbow keeps her distance. Good. She doesn’t want to hurt Rainbow. The pony doesn’t smile, though—she frowns like the pink one, and her ears droop.

“Please,” Rainbow says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept bugging you.”

Rainbow says another word, and the phoenix tries to repeat it. “Cwi?” She can’t pronounce it with a beak.

“I won’t ever ask you to let me try being a griffon again. I understand why it’s dangerous now. But you didn’t have to risk showing me, not like this. Please.” Some water leaks from her eyes, and that doesn’t make sense! Is she attacking…?

For the first time she can remember, the phoenix feels cold, and not from the water. Her body shakes, and she huddles against the trunk. The sight of that pony… One word steals her mind, one word that she must say, but why? She squeezes her eyes shut and speaks it for all to hear, as best she can: “Revert.”

And a purple glow surrounds her.

Or Best Offer

“And how much am I bid for this fine example?” Carrot Top said, leaning over her podium. She pointed her gavel at Bulk Biceps and flicked her eyebrows up and down.

“Yeah!” he shouted.

“We’ll open the bidding at twenty bits.” A hoof soon raised, and Carrot Top went up two bits at a time, to the right, to the left, and back again. And when the rapid-fire talking had ended…

“Sold! For forty-two bits, to Fluttershy!”

Fluttershy trotted to the stage and beamed up at Biceps. “I thought we could go to the botanical gardens. All the cherry blossoms should be blooming tomorrow!”

He did a little dance on the tips of his hooves. “Ooh, flowers!”

Derpy had to laugh. Ever since they’d spent time together on Ponyville’s team for the Equestria Games, the whole group had gotten closer. Most of them, that is—everypony already seemed to like Rainbow Dash, anyway. But Bulk Biceps and Fluttershy had gotten to be good friends, and despite what anypony else might think, they could have a little fun without it meaning any more than that. Besides, it was for charity.

“Next, in our junior division,” Carrot Top called out, “Spike the dragon!”

Derpy giggled at the fillies whispering to each other. Kids. They didn’t know. Twilight would have given Spike some money for a fun little activity, and the girls were more interested in the ice cream or trip to the arcade that might buy than actually being there with Spike, but then Spike cared more about that, too, so good for them. Heh. Even Dinky had thought about spending two weeks’ allowance for the chance to dress up and go to Hay Burger just for the fun of it.

“We’ll start at a quarter-bit!”

Within a couple of minutes, Sweetie Belle had won for two and a half bits, and she went up front to claim her prize, jabbering about what movies were playing this week. So cute. Back when things were simpler.

Derpy let out a sigh, but her ears perked up when she saw the next bachelor stride out on stage. Well, not exactly stride—more like get shoved out on stage.

Carrot Top winked at the crowd. “Big Macintosh! I think we can start at forty—”

“Forty!” Cheerilee shouted.

“Forty-five!” countered Junebug.

Carrot Top didn’t have to do anything. The crowd took over for her, jockeying back and forth five bits at a time, sometimes ten. At least four mares put in bids, but Derpy couldn’t keep track. She’d broken out in a sweat, and she pulled her wallet out to look at the scrap of paper with her checking balance scrawled on it.

With one last glance at her shred of possibilities, Derpy squeezed her eyes shut. “Two hundred twenty-eight,” she said. Quietly, but not so soft that Carrot Top couldn’t hear. A breach of etiquette at only going up three bits, but to be honest, she’d have to dig through the couch to find the loose change that would make the full increment.

She didn’t dare look, but she didn’t hear anypony else, either. Then the gavel banged, and she opened her eyes, and everypony near her patted her on the shoulder and smiled. Did she… did she win? She didn’t know. Big Mac walked off the stage, and she didn’t follow. She didn’t know.

Derpy spread out a blanket in the park and unpacked a basket of simple daisy sandwiches. “I’m sorry,” she said to Big Mac, and he wrinkled his brow. “I can’t afford… I spent it all on… never mind.” Just a lark. What was she even doing?

She hung her head and took one of the carrot sticks out of the paper bag. A gasp sounded next to her, followed by a low chuckle. Then Big Mac powered through two sandwiches. When Derpy looked up, he’d pulled a slip of paper out from under his collar.

“Um,” he said with a blush, “seems we had the same idea. But then you went and took yourself out o’ the auction after winnin’ me, and…” He tore up the paper and grinned.

What? Her legs trembled, and she couldn’t… couldn’t breathe… Her head started swimming, but… the good kind. If it was true.

A warm foreleg settled over her withers, and after a minute, the sparkles faded from her vision. “Tell you what. Tomorrow, dinner’s my treat,” he said.

She nodded and grinned and shook and—and even cried… the good kind. “I’d love to.”

The End of Modesty

“The cows are on strike,” Applejack said as she leaned against the side of her throne. “Can’t say as I blame ’em. But the Farmers’ Union don’t care much for my opinion, and if I don’t go along with it, they’ll put me outta business. So there we are.”

“Hm,” Twilight replied. “That is a predicament.” Her voice echoed through the vacant chamber as she organized another stack of books for the library.

Applejack waved a hoof toward the window and tried to find a target for her frown. “No dairy products, but that ain’t the half of it.”

What else? Twilight could think of a couple things, but she hadn’t really considered the matter before, and of course Applejack was an expert. “I guess you don’t have much use for your hayfields in the meantime.”

“I can’t hire ’em out to eat grass, not to mention my own fields ain’t gettin’ mowed, ’less I wanna pay somepony or do it myself. Surplus o’ feed, like you said.” Applejack tapped one forehoof against the other with each new item added to the list. “Plus…”

Applejack’s face darkened, and she looked away. “Well, to be blunt, it’s affectin’ all my other crops, too.”

“Really?” Twilight answered, her forehead wrinkling. “How’s that?”

“’Cause of…” Applejack turned even further away. “Um… well, fertilizer.”

“Oh…” True. But it hadn’t even been that long since—no need to beat around the bush. Applejack was as practical a mare as they came. She’d understand, if she hadn’t already thought of it first. “You know we’ve only had outhouses for the last couple hundred years. We used to just gather our own—” just say it, Twilight “—dung.”

Still directed at the window, Applejack’s eyes instantly widened, but she smiled faintly, and her cheeks reddened.

“I mean, it’s efficient, and it just makes sense. Especially for somepony like you, if you’re out in the fields anyway, you might as well…”

Before her eyes, Applejack practically transformed. She stood a little taller, her smile softened, and she squared her shoulders. She even turned back to look Twilight in the eye. “Glad to see you can be pragmatic about these things. To tell you the truth, while I’m plowin’, it often ain’t worth makin’ a trek all the way back to the house. Just let it drop right there in the furrows. Go to waste otherwise.”

“No pun intended,” Twilight said with a chuckle, and Applejack snorted as she held a hoof to her nose.

“Plus it’s just natural. Instinctive-like, right?” Applejack nudged her hat’s brim up a little.

All Twilight could do was nod, though she did rock up on the tips of her hooves. “We have these instincts for a reason, of course. It’d spread apple seeds around the orchards, too.” She took a step back from her friend, and her grin widened. “I’m impressed that you can be so objective about this. Frankly, it’s good ecological policy anyway, regardless of whatever political and economical turmoil motivates it.”

And there came Applejack’s blush again. “Shucks, I wouldn’t say it all grand like that. Just makes business sense, that’s all.”

“I’d like to discuss phasing this in as part of Ponyville’s agricultural policy. I’ll credit you, of course, and I’ll have to start little by little with ponies who I think will be receptive.” Who, though? Sounded like a good excuse to make a list!

“Hi!” Twilight said as she swung open her bedroom door. “I didn’t expect you today, Fluttershy. What brings you by?”

“Rarity couldn’t make our spa appointment tomorrow, so I wanted to see if I should cancel or if you could go in her place.” Even for that simple a request, she hid her face.

“Um…” Council meeting, lunch with Pinkie… “Yeah, I have time this afternoon. I’d love to join you!”

“Thank you, Twilight!” Fluttershy’s gaze flicked up to the clock. “Oh! Is it that time already?” Her eyes went unfocused, and she stared at the wall. Soon, a cluster of fibrous nuggets lay scattered on the floor.

Twilight peered around her friend. “Spike,” she called with a smirk, “cleanup on aisle poo.” She glanced at the floor again. “Better bring a bucket!”

He trudged over and glared at them. “You know toilets are canon, right?”

“We discussed this. Look, if it’s that big an issue, leave it, and I’ll get it later.” She wouldn’t have expected this much resistance from him.

“Never mind,” he grumbled. “Progress, my ass.”

Twilight beamed. “That’s the spirit!”

A Healthy Obsession

Twilight Sparkle lay in bed as her father held a hoof to her cheek. “Might be a fever,” Night Light said. “Let’s see.”

He shook the thermometer in his magical grip, then placed it under Twilight’s tongue. “Just hold it there a moment, and we’ll check your temperature.” While he waited, he hummed a little tune and pulled back the blinds from the window to gaze out at the weather.

Twilight just let her head sink further into the pillow and allowed herself a little groan. She blinked, but her eyes didn’t pop open again as quickly as usual. She could hear all the commotion downstairs.

“Mom, do you know where I left my Power Ponies hat?” Shining Armor shouted, his voice cracking.

“No,” their mother replied. “Here, you make the sandwiches, and I’ll look for it. You probably buried it in your toy chest or something.”

Night Light let the blinds swing back, and the drawstring scuffed rhythmically as it swung past the sill, back and forth, back and forth. “Shame if you don’t get to go,” he said, “but I’ll stay home to watch you if you feel too bad. Don’t worry about it. Just an amusement park. Your big brother will have the time of his life, but to tell you the truth—” he leaned in and shielded his mouth with the back of a hoof “—I’m not too keen on going myself.”

With another groan, Twilight rubbed her eyes. “Don’t let me keep you. I know you like time with the family,” she said, the thermometer clicking against her teeth.

“Shh. Keep your mouth closed, or it will read cold,” he answered, giving her mane a tousle. “We go to the trouble of getting you excused from school, and then you might not even get to go? I feel sorry for you, lying in bed all day. I know you have your books to read, but you can’t enjoy them as much if you feel bad.”

Not the best of circumstances, but she didn’t need them treating her like a foal anymore. She’d turn nine years old in just a few more months!

His eyes locked on the wall clock, Night Light finally pulled the thermometer out and peered at it. “One hundred two. Slight fever, alright.” He ruffled her mane again. “What else you got? Sore throat, cough, chest congestion, anything?”

She nodded slowly and added a cough. “Not the chest, I guess. But the rest of it. And a little stuffed up.”

“Okay.” Night Light returned the thermometer to its case and set it on the desk. “I’ll stay with you today. Gives them a chance to do a little mother-son bonding.”

And right on cue, Shining piped up. “Moooom, don’t bring that stupid camera with you. Nopony wants to see those pictures.”

“Go with them, Dad. You took the day off work and everything. No reason for you to be cooped up around the house, too. Besides, I’m a big girl now”—she snapped as sharp a nod as she dared for somepony with throbbing sinuses—“and I’m responsible enough to stay home alone.”

He sighed and watched her for a long while, his eyes searching her face. “You sure?” he finally said.

“Yes. Just leave me some crackers, vegetable broth, and water where I can reach them, and I’ll have everything I need.” Twilight waved a hoof at the stack of books and box of tissues on her nightstand, then gave Smarty Pants a squeeze.

Night Light raised an eyebrow. “The soup will get cold.”

“I can heat it myself. I’ve been practicing. Please?” He didn’t seem convinced, so she added a smile.

He kept watching, and his eyes narrowed. “Okay.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She pulled up the quilt and nestled into the mattress. Staying in bed did feel pretty good. So she closed her eyes and listened as all the noise downstairs came to a stop, and her father returned with a nice lunch for later.

“Take it easy,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “We’ll be back just before dinner.”

“You too. And ride the roller coaster for me.” He chuckled, and then all of their sounds faded, down the stairs, out the door, into the street, and gone. Just silence. She took a deep breath. Yes, her bed was very comfortable.

Then she tossed the covers aside, canceled the warming spell on her face, grabbed her saddlebags, and dashed off to school. They were going to start on quadratic equations today!

Gilda Has the Floor

Gilda strode to the podium at the center of the head table and gazed out at all the pairs of eyes watching her. It didn’t matter. She’d commanded attention all her life, for her speed, for her attitude, for her… Well, not too many griffons around. Didn’t bother her one bit.

She stared at a spot on the floor, just in front of the first row of tables. A packed house, not an empty seat out there. So many colors. Griffons didn’t have that much of a range of color—brown, gray, white, black. Maybe a dye job here and there. But so much color. Too much… No. No time for this. She took a long breath and swirled the cider around in her glass.

Her fifth glass. They’d told her to save it, that it was for later, but she kept draining it, and they kept refilling it, with a bigger scowl each time. Then came all the toasts, the liquid’s level inching down with each one, and now her turn. Her turn.

After all that cider, how could her throat be so dry? Gilda watched the ripples dancing in her glass, little golden things bouncing back and forth. What was making it shake like that? Good thing she had this cider with her. Steady her nerves.

In the seat beside her, Applejack cleared her throat amid the dead silence. Gilda blinked, downed the remainder, and jiggled her glass in Applejack’s direction.

That simple farm pony glared at her, but she slid the pitcher over and refilled Gilda’s drink anyway. Another round, barkeep.

Gilda held it up to her beak and sniffed it before holding it up high above her head. “To Rainbow Dash!” she said. Was her voice really that loud? She leaned forward to brace a claw on the podium. “The biggest bastard ever to wreck the skies of Equestria. Am I right?”

She leered sidelong at Applejack. That straight-laced pony would learn to take a joke sometime. And at the next seat over, the yellow pony, Flutter-something. She’d ducked her head down onto the table and covered her nose with her napkin.

“She’s done with me now, huh? Movin’ on.” Gilda slouched forward even farther, resting on an elbow. “Why… Wh-why’d she even invite me to this? Leavin’ me behind.”

Adopting her best dumb-guy voice, she added, “Don’t need Gilda anymore.” The glass had sunk, down by her face again, and she reached her tongue toward it, but up again. Up. She lifted the drink back up. “To Rainbow Dash.” Some mumbling, some clinking of glasses. She rolled her eyes up at the cider, and through it, the ceiling spun, went black.

Gilda rubbed her head. Her glass gone, but the spilled contents still on the rug next to her. Dishes banging together, but nothing in here. Quiet in here.

She pulled herself up to the table again and grabbed two clawfuls of podium to keep herself standing. Some plates still on the table. “To Rainbow Dash.” She reached for the pitcher, but… empty.

“You don’t need that. It won’t cure you.”

Who…?

Gilda scanned the tables, all vacant now. Except… pink.

“I… I guess everyone’s pretty mad at me,” Gilda said.

“Maybe. Not me.” Why’d Pinkie have to get so serious all of a sudden? Couldn’t she go prank someone? She should be bouncing around, acting stupid, so Gilda could tell her she was stupid. Stupid pony.

Ugh. Gilda wobbled as she pressed a fist to her temple, and then her eye. Hold it in, Gilda.

Pinkie just sat there with her ears drooped. Her intense stare, eyes welling… like she’d take Gilda’s tears and cry them herself. Gilda looked away, couldn’t see that, and next thing she knew, Pinkie had her locked in a hug.

She should stop Pinkie. She should. Her throat burned. And then Pinkie pressed something into Gilda’s claw. A necklace. The setting, in a lightning bolt shape, but no stone.

“Dashie left this to you. She wanted you to have it.”

Gilda stared at it. “Why? Why, I don’t deserve it, I—”

“She said you do.” The hug tightened.

So did her grip on the necklace. And a stifled wail started, from… from her own throat. She sank to her knees, and Pinkie held her while she trembled and clutched at the feathers on top of her head.

“Let’s go,” Pinkie finally whispered in her ear. And then someone lifted Gilda up and carried her from that awful, still room.

The Poetry of Politics

Pony after pony trotted past Twilight, and so far, roughly a third had taken a flyer. That met expectations. Whenever she’d stood out here promoting a get-together, she’d kept careful statistics on how many ponies grabbed one, and at the current rate, she’d only have four extras. Outstanding!

“Mayor Mare!” she called, flagging her down with one of the sheets. “Care to attend a poetry reading at the library tonight?”

Twilight froze. Had she seen that right? Probably the biggest grin she’d ever witnessed from the mayor, but for less than a half-second. Just as quickly, it fled, leaving Mayor Mare staring at the ground as if her heirloom necklace had fallen down the storm drain.

“No. No, I—”

“But you always attend community events,” Twilight said. The mayor shook her head, mouthed something silently and trotted off. By the time Twilight could tear her gaze away from her, she’d fallen well behind pace—an excess of twelve now!

She barely registered Pinkie bouncing along, but shoved the stack at her. “Here, Pinkie. Could you give these out?” She started after the mayor and could almost ignore the shouting.

“Who needs paper!? C’mon, everypony, get your paper here! It even has something about poetry on it!”

Twilight crept around the hallway’s corner to find the mayor’s office door ajar. Inside, she sat at her desk with some paperwork propped up, but her gaze rested below it.

While Twilight watched, Mayor Mare closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. So Twilight knocked, softly at first. But no response, so she knocked a bit louder, and the mayor’s body jerked. All businesslike at first, but as before, she looked down at something precious, lost far beneath the floorboards.

“I thought you might show up, but not so soon,” the mayor said.

Twilight took a seat and waited. The obvious question—but then it’d be obvious to both of them. So she waited some more.

“Twilight,” she finally said. “How much do you know about Ponyville history?”

Twilight had just finished a book on that very subject. “Well, when the Apple family—”

“More recent.” The mayor sighed. “Probably too recent for books.”

With a squint, Twilight leaned forward. “What happened?” she said quietly.

Mayor Mare took a deep breath. “Have you noticed how most mayors are unicorns? Even in towns where there aren’t many living there? There are exceptions, but…”

She swiveled in her chair to face the window. “Have you ever had to choose the best of a bunch of bad options?”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Ponyville’s not that—”

“I don’t mean that. Have you ever had to do something because nopony else wanted to, because you’d rather have a known quantity than roll the dice?” Her chair’s springs protested loudly as she leaned back. “Nopony signed up to run for mayor. Canterlot stepped in and was about to appoint somepony from San Franciscolt, who knew nothing about the area, our uniquely blended population, the needs of a rural town... “

“But… your cutie mark…”

The mayor nodded. “There used to be more to it. The scroll unfurled a little, some words visible…” She took on a dreamy smile and spoke softly. “Once, when in these woods, the stream threw her voice and led me down paths rocky with promise, overgrown with heart—I sat in her embrace, and I lived. I lived with all that lived around me, and…”

Something etched deep in her memory, not spontaneous.

“You… were a poet?” A smile curled Twilight’s lips.

Mayor Mare nodded again. “But the scroll wound up over time, and if I go back now…”

“I don’t think it works that way—” Twilight frowned.

“It’s my cutie mark.”

Twilight bit her lip. “Well… look at Rarity. Hers helps her find gems, but she’s still a talented dressmaker. You can do both.”

“No,” the mayor answered, tapping a hoof on her desk, “too risky. If I couldn’t do this job anymore…”

Twilight walked around the desk and put a hoof on her shoulder. “Please. Will you try? I think it’s just what you need. Cutie marks aren’t about sacrificing your passion. They’re about finding it. All of it.”

“I don’t know…”

Twilight stood just offstage and wore a broad grin. There, at the microphone, Mayor Mare, with a hint of a loose end dangling from the scroll and her eyes closed. Not all stiff, like at a council meeting, but… relaxing in the forest, maybe. And Twilight listened.

“Once, when in these woods…”

Surrogate

“Honey?” I say as I walk through the door. Another tough day at work, with the stock market down and my best accountant out sick. But everything will be okay in the long run. That’s the way stocks work, which we keep telling our clients, and it’s always been true, so far.

Play the long game. That’s what I do.

No answer, though, and no butler to greet me and take my coat. “Honey?” I say again. She must have gotten tied up doing something. A make-believe tea party or some such, and they’ve gotten the staff involved. That must be it.

I can hang my own coat up. It won’t hurt me. So I put it on a hanger, fish out my receipt from lunch, and tuck it where I keep everything for my expense account.

Quietly, I walk up to the condominium’s second floor. Perhaps I can sneak in and spook them at their tea party. Not too badly—I don’t want any spilled tea on the carpet, and then I’ll be persuaded to join. All the doors on the upstairs hallway stand open, except the spare bedroom, though, and… the maid sits on her haunches outside, shaking her head.

Oh no…

I rush to her side as I feel the blood drain from my face. “It’s okay,” I tell her. I don’t know what’s okay, but it will be. “Where’s Starched Collar?” I ask.

“Gone. Gone after…” Her lip trembles, and I just nod. I steel myself, open the door softly, and walk in.

Through the blinds, the setting sun leaves stripes across my wife’s mane as she sits with her back to me. The bed hasn’t been made. She must not have let the maid in here all day. And…

Oh no. She’s… gotten the crib out of the storage room. There it sits, near the window. Empty. Always empty. I run a hoof over my mouth.

“Cordial…” I say. She hunches over further and shudders. And clutches her forelegs across her stomach. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

After her second miscarriage, we… we put the crib away. I should have donated it, sold it, thrown it out… something. I should have. But she wouldn’t let me, just in case. And then once every two or three years, I find her like this. But it’s usually on one of the anniversaries of… those days. Today is different.

I can guess why. I put a hoof on her shoulder and try to wipe her tears away, but they don’t stop. If the maid hasn’t straightened the room, then Cordial must have stayed in here all day. Hours. But still, the tears don’t stop.

She wouldn’t consider adoption. It has to be family, blood relations. She’s stubborn like that. And then…

“I promised my sister!” she blurts out. “I promised her, Mosely!” She starts shaking again, and I just hold her. It’s all I can do. Another loss, as if two babies weren’t enough.

“And you kept your promise.” Maybe it’ll help. She already knows that, though. She’s not letting her sister down.

She nods, too hard, and sniffles. “I thought… we’d finally…”

Not an infant, but still a child. I thought it would have made Cordial feel worthy for once. Like she deserved to be a mother. “Did she say why?” I ask.

Cordial can only point toward the bedside table, where a scrap of paper sits. If only I’d found it first, I could have… No. It wouldn’t have made a difference. I walk over to it and read.

Dear Aunt and Uncle Orange,

I’m sorry, but I can’t change who I am. I thought I wanted this, but I miss home too much, and I realize that it’s the place I was meant to be. I really appreciate you allowing me to stay with you, and I hope I can visit sometime, but my heart really is on the farm. Please understand, and I’m sorry for the trouble I caused. I don’t at all regret the time I spent with you.

Love,
Applejack

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Pretty much what I’d figured. Poor Orange Cordial.

“We’ll see her at the next reunion. And we’ll keep sending the checks,” I tell her, for what good it does. Give her a couple weeks, and maybe she’ll feel better. “You’ve done your sister proud.”

She nods, too quickly again, and I hold her as she buries her face against my neck.

Let a Smile be Your Umbrella

Derpy glanced at the clouds as she trotted out of the post office. No way she’d make it home before the downpour started. Had Dinky remembered her umbrella today? If not, Derpy would have to head over and walk her home from school.

No, wait, she did. Derpy recalled rolling up Dinky’s green raincoat and stuffing it in her saddlebag. It always had that little collapsible umbrella in the pocket—no problems. Dinky would do fine. Derpy would just go home and get dinner started so she’d have it ready when her daughter arrived.

They had kind of an empty house this week, since Carrot Top had gone to visit her mother, so Derpy had to remember to…

She’d forgotten. Nobody home, the door locked, and Derpy had neglected to bring her key. She never needed that thing, and the one time…

She stomped a hoof in the dirt. And right then, the first fat raindrops landed on her forelock. Within seconds, they’d plastered it against the side of her head. Perfect. She’d have to camp out on the front stoop until Dinky got home with her key. Late, too—she had a club meeting after school.

“Awwww…” someone said behind her. She turned around, and there stood one of Dinky’s classmates—Twist, right?—beating on her front door. “C’mon!” she said. “Ugh, Mom’th not home for awhile thtill.”

Derpy gave a wry smile. “Forgot your key?”

“Yeth—yesss,” Twist answered, looking at the ground.

Might as well stay. Derpy sighed. “Here. I’ll wait with you.” Twist glanced up with a half-smile. “I’m Dinky’s mom,” she added, and Twist’s stiff posture relaxed.

Derpy held up a wing to shelter Twist from the rain. “Thank you, but… how’ll you keep dry?”

With a shrug, Derpy replied, “I’m already wet. No need for you to be, though.”

“Loser!”

Derpy whipped her head around to see two fillies pointing and laughing from beneath their very frilly, very expensive parasols. Were they talking to that poor…? No, they were looking directly at her. To speak to an adult that way…

“Wow, you two just look great together,” the one with glasses said. “Get soaked much?”

“Thorry,” Twist said, and a tic shot through her cheek. “I mean, sssorry. That you have to be seen with me. You could just go home.”

“I don’t mind,” Derpy said. She squinted after the two rude children. “Don’t listen to them, by the way. You’ll find ponies like that all your life. They never change. But you will.”

Beside her, Twist pursed her lips. “I hope th—so. I’m always so… awkward.” She picked a hoof at the mud. “And sorry for… Mom’s got me in thpeech—ssspeech therapy. I know it bugs ponies to listen to me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derpy answered, flicking a hoof toward her. And flicking the rain running off it toward her as well. Stupid. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Twist took off her glasses, wiped the water away, and replaced them. “You don’t worry about it, either. You stopped to help me because you were nice. I won’t complain.”

“Still,” Derpy said. “I just…” She looked away. “I just do stuff like that sometimes. I don’t think, or… I can’t help it. I mess things up.”

“Oh.” Twist squinted at her and cocked her head. “I’ve never heard Dinky say anything about that. She just smiles and says how much she likes your muffins or how you help her with her homework.”

A tingle ran through Derpy’s chest, like when she’d take that first step off a cloud, the little buzz that’d run through her body until she snapped her wings out. “Th-thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

“Never m—here comes your mom!” Derpy waved to Bon Bon, who raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

“You… okay?” Bon Bon said.

Twist nodded. “Yeah. Mith Derpy wath—was just waiting with me. I-I forgot my key again.”

Bon Bon only tousled Twist’s mane. “No harm done. And thanks, Derpy. Can I offer you my umbrella?”

“No,” Derpy replied, already shifting her weight toward the road, “I’ll manage.”

But she felt a little tug on her leg. “Miss Derpy?” Twist whispered. “Does it get any better?”

Derpy grinned and crouched down to the filly’s level. “Yes. Some things you grow out of, and some things you don’t. But they make you who you are, and—” Muffins and homework. Heh. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

She waved good-bye and trotted off through the driving rain to wait for Dinky to unlock the door.

In Thy Name

Princess Celestia turned to the soft knocking at her study door. “Please, come in.”

“Hi,” Twilight Sparkle said with a muted wave. She took the chair directly across the desk from Celestia and fiddled with her hooves. But after a solid minute, she still hadn’t spoken.

“So… what brings you to see me today, Twilight?” The poor dear wouldn’t drag her gaze off the floor, and was she blushing?

Twilight squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, then spilled it all out. “I was afraid to bring this up with you because you might think I’m going nuts, but… ever since I became a princess, I’ve… heard things.”

Sitting up straighter, Celestia steepled her hooves. “What kind of things?” If only she could keep her face blank, but she could never get rid of the sparkle to her eyes.

“Whispers.” Twilight shook her head. “At first, like wind rushing, but it got louder. I could pick out individual words here and there, then whole phrases, and… it’s getting worse.”

Celestia hid her mouth with a hoof. It wasn’t often she got to watch a pony make this particular discovery, so no need to rush it. “What do these whispers say?”

With narrowed eyes, Twilight stared at the desk’s wood-grain surface. Or somewhere far beyond it. “I don’t know. Sometimes, just conversations. Other times, more like… questions. About life, about… wanting something. Pleading. And—” she gulped “—the louder they get, I think… I think I can recognize some of them now.”

“How so?” Oh, she should stop toying. Just tell her already!

“I know a few, and others… Though I’ve never met them, I remember their names.” She jerked her gaze free and looked deep into Celestia’s eyes. “What does it mean? Am I imagining it? Am I losing my mind? Or—” she gasped and straightened up “—have I gained Princess Luna’s powers? Are they dreams?”

Celestia folded her hooves and leaned forward over the desk. “Twilight, those are… prayers.”

“Prayers!?” Twilight shot to her hooves and sent her chair tumbling to the floor. “Prayers!? But we’re not—”

“I know,” Celestia said, holding up a hoof. “I don’t know why it works. Maybe so we can hear citizens in trouble. But most of them we can do nothing about. Every time somepony mentions my name, I hear it. I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Every time?”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, and—” She swiveled an ear northward and let out a heavy sigh. “No, I will not help your hoofball team win. I couldn’t care less about the damn sport.”

After erupting in a giggle, Twilight went ashen. “I-I’m sorry. This is supposed to be serious.”

“No it’s not.” Celestia flicked a hoof. “You know how often I have to listen to angry ponies, ones amazed for any given reason—” she leaned in closer “—that… house of ill repute across town? After dark, it’s nonstop.”

Twilight righted her chair, fell into it, and… somehow shrunk into a tiny ball. Funny, Celestia rarely got that reaction. “So we can’t use it to do any good?”

Pursing her lips, Celestia walked around the desk and put a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. Leave it to the Princess of Friendship to make a beeline right for that aspect of it. Celestia couldn’t help smiling; she whispered, with an urgency, one that would get her message across. “Yes. Once in a while. When it happens, you’ll know.”

“But—”

“You’ll know.”

Twilight stepped into the quiet hospital room and approached the small figure in bed. Just a filly, the poor thing. Unfortunately, magic didn’t have many advanced medical applications, if she even knew what was wrong, but the child hadn’t said. Only that somepony was lonely. That she could handle.

She brushed the filly’s forelock back, and the girl stirred. “Hello, sweetie. You needed a friend?”

The patient shook her head and pointed to her roommate, an elderly stallion staring out the window. “Not me. I have him. But he has nopony.”

Twilight’s eyes glistened. She squeezed the filly’s shoulder. If only that one meaningful look said all she wanted… but she had a feeling it did. So she moved to the next bed. “Hello there.”

The stallion rolled over and immediately tried to bow his head. “Princess!”

“Not today. Just Twilight Sparkle,” she said, smiling as she sat down beside him. He returned the smile. “Please. I thought it might be interesting to come here and talk to folks. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

The Most Important Meal of the Day

“I assure you, we at the Food Safety Commission take our jobs very seriously,” the agent said.

Flam and Flam glanced at each other and shrugged. “I see no problem with the current product line.”

“It delivers what it promises, and does so with wholesome, all-natural ingredients.”

The agent rubbed a hoof between his eyes. “I don’t doubt that. But just because ingredients are all-natural doesn’t make them good.”

“You have our assurances—”

“I think you’ll agree that your assurances don’t carry much weight. Look—” the agent pulled out a notepad and pencil “—let’s just start with a list. What’s in the stuff? And I need specifics.”

“Wheat bran.”

“Oats.”

“A pinch of salt.”

Jotting down each item in the list, the agent gradually relaxed his frown. Nothing untoward there. “I… I guess I don’t see any problems. But you’re sure that’s everything?”

The brothers shared another glance. “Yes. What makes you think otherwise, my good sir?”

“Well… there’s the name. That’s often indicative of what’s in it.” He waved a foreleg toward the poster on the easel by the head of the table. “It’s called ‘Fibrous Nuggets.’ I can’t be the only one who might think it has…” He circled a hoof in the air.

“It has what?” Flim replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Well… fibrous nuggets.”

Flam wrinkled his brow. “I don’t follow.”

“Ponies might think…”

Flim and Flam stood up and flailed their forelegs. “Oh, no! Absolutely not! We couldn’t feed a cereal to ponies if it contained… that.”

The agent rubbed his chin. “I guess… I mean, there’s nothing wrong with the content. I suppose I can approve it for sale, but I have to say you might run into a marketing problem. It’s not the most pleasant name.”

Flim said, “Why not? It contains a lot of fiber, and it’s in a nugget form. It’s accurate, descriptive…”

“...and part of a complete breakfast,” Flam finished.

Sighing, the agent put his pencil down. “Okay. No objections. I still think you have a public image issue with it, but that’s not my bailiwick. You have a license to produce.”

“Excellent! In today’s stressful society, it’s an ideal solution for the pony on the go!” Flim said, his tail swishing.

Flam nodded. “With all that fiber, it’ll take a backed-up constitution and have you making fibrous nuggets in no time!”

The agent whimpered and slumped face-first onto the table.

A Foot in the Door

Truffle Shuffle made sure to arrive at school a little early that morning, and he kept his saddlebag away from anything that might bump or jostle it. Usually, he’d get there after most of the other students, but today he walked into an empty classroom. All quiet, except the sounds of Miss Cheerilee rummaging through the storage room.

Construction paper, crayons, and paste, no doubt, since they’d be making their little heart-shaped pockets to exchange Hearts and Hooves Day cards. He pulled out a bottle from his saddlebag, a glittery red ribbon tied about its neck, and carefully set it on a particular desk, then retreated to his own chair in the last row, put on his fez, got out yesterday’s copy of The Foal Free Press, and leaned back to read.

Soon enough, hoofsteps sounded from the doorway, and somepony weaved her way through the aisles and scooted back her chair. She was almost always the first student here, and thank goodness she’d kept to her normal schedule. The fewer ponies who saw, the better.

But then several more showed up and scattered to their desks, a low hum of conversation floating about. Nothing else, though—hadn’t she seen it yet? Truffle had just about lowered his paper to have a peek when he heard a soft gasp. Now, she might not figure out who’d left it for her. Just as well.

He did peek, but as she quickly glanced this way and that, he’d rivet his eyes on his paper and try to look bored whenever her gaze traversed his way. If she had suspicions, she didn’t linger on watching any of them; instead, she undid the bow and popped the stopper off. One delicate sniff with her impossibly cute little nose, and she grinned. He caught a whiff, too: hyacinths, one of his favorite scents. Would she like it, too? He’d always loved the smell coming from his neighbor’s flower garden, and for weeks now, it’d reminded him of her.

She took one more look around the room. Even more children there now, but out of the corner of his eye—did she pause on him, just for a second?

“What is that?” Diamond Tiara said as she plopped into her seat.

“I… I don’t know,” Silver Spoon replied. “Some kind of perfume.”

Diamond Tiara raised an eyebrow and leaned forward to inspect the label. “The cheap stuff. What are you doing with it?”

With a shrug, Silver Spoon curled a hoof around the bottle and slid it toward her open saddlebag. “Somepony left it for me, I guess.” She rolled her eyes to the side and almost looked behind her—

“Well, you don’t want anything from one of these losers.”

Silver’s hoof stopped.

Her mouth stretching into a sneer, Diamond narrowed her eyes. “Do you?”

“N-no, I—”

“Good.” Diamond trotted around Silver Spoon’s desk, picked up the bottle, and tossed it in the wastebasket. “There. Problem solved.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want it anyway.” Silver’s ears perked up, and she started making faces at Scootaloo.

Truffle folded up his paper and got ready for class.

While the rest of the class went outside, Truffle stayed at his desk and unpacked his lunch. A good one, too—his mom had showed him how to mix and match seasonings to create unique flavors for a long time now, and he’d gotten quite good at it. Someday, he’d even love to cook for…

More laughter from outside, but at least not at him this time. He took a bite of his pasta, but he almost jumped at the hoof on his shoulder.

“You seem a little preoccupied,” Cheerilee said. He kept chewing. “Too preoccupied to notice that Diamond Tiara is out sick today.”

He looked, and sure enough, no saddlebag at her seat. But next to it, at Silver Spoon’s desk, something gleamed from the cubbyhole, something red and sparkly. The ribbon…

Cheerilee nodded, then jutted her chin toward the door. So Truffle ambled outside slowly, and under a tree, at a picnic table by herself, there she sat with a cup of tea and a packet of scones.

“Do you mind?” he asked. No answer. She only stared straight ahead. So he let out a sigh, then another breath in through the nose—hyacinths?

He sat down at the far end, for her sake. And still she stared ahead, but… a smile. A little one, but a smile.

And that was enough, he decided. No lunch had ever tasted quite so good.

The End of Enlightenment

The old stallion’s last breath billowed out like a puff of fog. Only then did he blink and look at us.

“You must choose,” my old friend said, her black cloak shimmering in the shadowed room. I never stood on tradition much; she’d always said the cloaks, gray fur, and frightful implements we carried served as a badge of office, but I’d never seen the purpose. The scythes, yes, I suppose—nothing else would quite do the job, but the cloaks? No need to intimidate, but the point was moot, as nobody ever seemed intimidated. I’d find it unnerving, but then ponies continually surprised me. I rather liked them.

He directed a questioning glance at her. “Choose?”

“Her or me.” Always so laconic.

But when he searched the empty air next to her, the verdict became clear. Most ponies chose her—chose her because they couldn’t even see me. The decision made, Lethe swung her blade at him, an edge made only of scintillating starlight, fastened to a rough-hewn haft of ironwood. He made no move to avoid it as it struck him in the chest. Again, these ponies surprise me. They instinctively knew that we meant to help them; they must find us comforting in some way, but I will never understand.

If only they fathomed their choice, however. Lethe, who sends them to the afterlife with no memory of their lives, or me, Mnemosyne, who sends them through, enlightened. But it takes a degree of enlightenment to have that option at all.

His soul now separated, the stallion looked at his body, his home, his property, with no glimmer of recognition. He simply floated away with a dull smile, as most do.

Lethe caught me staring after him as he left. Too inquisitive for her own good—but wasn’t that my failing, too? She would ask. She had such a passion for her work, but so mechanical, always about the letter of the law and its function, never its form or… the beauty of it all around her.

“Why do you let them fill your thoughts?” she said, so direct. If only she’d step back and see the wonder of it, but her dedication—I loved her for it, I really did, like a sister—kept her blinded.

She could never know what I’d done. I tried to tell her once, needed to, but…

She wouldn’t take my shrug for an answer. It had sufficed before, but not now. Did she know? My spine all ice—did she—?

Her hoof jabbed forward, searched out my ribs, pressed lower before I could step to deflect it. And with a swift motion, she tore my cloak off, her accusing eyes stabbing at me, but… something more. Tears… Tears behind the fire!

When had she realized? Her scythe, poised to strike my swollen abdomen—“You… joined with one of them?”

I couldn’t answer.

“Better to remove it now before anyone else discovers!”

She slashed, but I blocked with my own scythe and drove her back to the wall. “I love him,” I said.

“You cannot.”

“But I do!” No explanations, only truth.

Lethe gritted her teeth. “The pantheon will not allow it.”

“If you must, then strike me with your blade, too, and remove all memory of these accursed feelings!” Her weapon faltered, and I slowly pinned her behind its handle. “I love him,” I said in a harsh whisper, “almost as much as I love you.” My own fierce tears joined hers on the floor; her always-unflinching gaze had broken.

“Who knows what effect it would have on an immortal!” A statement of fact, but one that for the first time lacked the full force of her conviction.

“I know.” I hugged her to me, pulling the Blade of Lethe into my chest. No other way out. “You’re my best friend.” I needed her to know, before I forgot.

“One eye on the living, one on the dead,” I’ve always thought since I was a filly, but I never understood why. Something that just sticks in my mind.

Maybe because I sometimes see things that aren’t there. Like that mare with a strange glowing pole and a black cloak. But when I blink, she’s gone. She always looks so sad.

“Hello, Derpy!” Miss Cheerilee says as Dinky rushes out of the schoolhouse past her. I wave back, and I hug my daughter to me. I love her so much! She never fails to surprise me. None of these ponies do.

I love living here in Ponyville!

Author's Notes:

This one borrows quite a bit from Greek mythology, so if you don't understand the name references, I'd encourage you to look up Lethe and Mnemosyne. I've altered them quite a bit, but what they represent remains the same.

Once More, with Feeling

“What are you doing up here?”

The hinges squeaked as Rarity stepped into the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ clubhouse. She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, but she wore a soft smile.

“I-I just…” Spike swept a claw toward one of the cushions on the floor. “Please sit down. I wanted to talk to you.”

Rarity frowned at the discolored upholstery and scraped a hoof at the darkest stain on it, then settled for swiping away some of the dust from the bare floor. She crouched over it more so than actually lying down. “What about, dear?”

“First off,” Spike said, pointing his nose toward the note clutched in her hoof, “I’m sorry I misled you, but I couldn’t come up with a better way of getting you here.”

“Oh…” Rarity craned her neck to see out the window, probably a little less mystified about the lack of other ponies headed this way. “So… no Pinkie party?”

Spike shook his head. “Sorry. I wanted to talk about… us.”

At last, Rarity did choose the cushion over the floor. “I see…” Her tail swished a bit, and a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. “It’s not like I couldn’t tell, you know.”

“Yeah,” Spike said, scratching at the back of his neck, “I figured.” Then he caught himself slouching and jerked upright. “But look—we’ve spent a lot of time together, and I thought we’d gotten closer over the years… maybe…”

“That we have,” Rarity replied with a nod. “I’m not sure that means we should change anything, though. You have all your duties with Twilight, and I have my business, of course. Plus all that stupid homework, and—” She held a hoof to her mouth, and her eyes shot wide open.

Spike took a deep breath. He needed to concentrate. “Do you remember how much fun we had at Princess Cadence’s wedding reception? I thought the accent gems were part of the buffet, and then it turned out they were just glass imitations, but by then, I’d eaten so many already that I got sick, and… at least I made it outside, but the gardener is never gonna forgive me for burning up all those rosebushes. I don’t think any of the castle staff would welcome me back.”

Rarity stared with a horrified gape, but a snicker trickled through, which soon grew to a full laugh as her shoulders bounced. “But you felt much better afterward. And we spent the whole time dancing after that,” she said, her voice cracking in that adorable way.

“Heh. Yeah.” That same nauseous feeling bubbled up, but he quickly willed it down and steadied his mind. “And when we went to the Crystal Empire together for the Equestria Games? I had a lot of fun.”

“Mr. The Dragon,” Rarity said with a steely gaze, in a perfect impression of Ms. Harshwhinny, then snorted and burst into laughter.

Not one of Spike’s finer moments. but at least he’d gotten to spend all that time with friends. And… her.

“I’ll teach you to sing Cloudsdale’s anthem someday,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “You do need to get used to crowds, if you want to be my friend, ’cause I’m gonna be a star!”

Yeah, she would. He’d bet on it. But Cloudsdale’s anthem? He’d never touch that thing again. “I know,” he said, his voice growing quiet. “A beautiful star.”

He studied the floor in front of him, in case she’d heard that. When he looked up, she had a warm smile. “Friends,” she said, reaching out a hoof.

“Yeah, friends.” He took the hoof in his claws. But she didn’t stop.

“It starts out that way, doesn’t it? Then it gets complicated.” Rarity sighed, but she never lost her smile.

So Spike seized his opening. “No. No it doesn’t, because it never changes from that. Friends first, and then maybe more, but we never stop being friends, no matter what. That’s why it works: because we’re friends first.”

He must have said something right, because she grinned even bigger. And then she clapped her hooves together. “Wait until my sister hears I got a date!”

Spike chuckled, but—hoofsteps on the walkway outside! He tucked his Rarity plushie behind his back as Sweetie Belle stepped through the door, a note clutched in her hoof. She did a double take when she saw him.

“What are you doing up here?”

Spike’s stomach lurched—time for the real deal. “I-I wanted to talk to you.”

Perfect Ten

She sat down next to me at the bar.

I didn’t even turn my head. I can always tell the mares from the stallions by how quickly the bartender comes over. “Hello, ma’am,” Frosted Mug said. “What can I get you?”

She tapped a hoof against the barrail. She must have been scanning over all the bottles behind old Mug and picking her poison. Well, maybe not poison. For most types in here, sure, but a little now and then didn’t hurt anypony.

“Um…” she said.

“I can come back later if you need some time, ma’am.” Good looking, too, if Mug let that drawl creep into his voice. It didn’t always play well with the ritzy crowd in Canterlot, but he pulled it out and dusted it off every so often. Out-of-towners seemed to find it charming.

“Yes, thanks.”

I just stared ahead and nursed my drink, whatever lager they had on tap. Mares didn’t come in here to get ogled. Most of them, anyway, so I figured she’d rather I leave her alone. But then she spoke up. “Excuse me, sir?”

I didn’t think I was old enough to garner a “sir.” But Mug had called her “ma’am,” so fair enough. She didn’t sound old. So I turned my head just enough to give her my attention without making it look like I was checking her out. “What can I help you with?”

“Um… what’s good here?”

“That’s a short list…”

“Hey!” Mug barked.

I had a little chuckle. Not like Mug hadn’t heard that line before. “Well, what do you normally like?”

“Fruity stuff,” she said. “But I’m not in the mood for something I’ve had before.”

“What are you used to, then?”

“Mostly flavored mineral waters. We’ll mix ’em with some grain alcohol, but that’s about all you can get in the Crystal Empire.”

That got my notice. “Oh, you’re a crystal pony? Cool. I hear folks can see clear through you.”

She let out a snort. “Usually. It wears off when we leave. If you went there, it’d happen to you, too. It’s a myth, anyway. You see around us, not through us. Everypony thinks it’s such an exotic thing, but it isn’t. It’s like thinking ponies who live in rainy climates are so cool for being wet.”

“Oh.” Learn something new every day, I guess.

“For those of us who’ve lived there a long time, though, it can take a couple days, so… tada!” She swiveled her stool toward me. I just gave a tight-lipped smile. “Got another day of this.”

“Ah. Anyway, most anything would be new to you here, but there’s a small town nearby that makes great cider. Mug might have some still. Worth asking.” Finally, I turned all the way toward her and held out a hoof. “Name’s Key Change. I play in some of the bars around town.”

“Hi,” she said, taking my hoof. “Tenebrescence. Call me ‘Ten’ for short.”

I had to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard ’em all. Everypony’s always staring anyway, so why not? My name’s true, too. I’m pink indoors, but clear out in the sunlight. Oh… come to think of it, that won’t change. I took a job as a secretary at the Empire’s embassy, which is also enchanted, so… I guess I’ll look like this for good.”

“Being beautiful’s a tough life, huh?”

She sighed. “Sometimes. I can’t leave the Empire without getting hit on.”

I sucked in some air through my teeth. “Sorry. Yeah, I can get that. Hope I didn’t cross a line.”

“No. You’re actually nice.”

Not too many mares said that. Not too many mares said anything. “Heh. I appreciate the vote of confidence. Here. Don’t take this as a come-on, but… welcome to Canterlot. My treat. Hey, Mug, you still got any of that Ponyville cider?”

“Comin’ up!”

“Thank you.” She fell silent for a minute, and she must’ve noticed. Something about my eyes… How long till she left?

“Anything for a pretty mare.”

“How do you know?”

“Doesn’t matter what you look like. Pretty ain’t about that.”

Another chuckle. “Band seems ready for your set. Sorry, but I can only stay a little while.” Then pencil scratched against paper, paper slid across wood. “Have Mug read that to you when you’re finished. Maybe we can meet for drinks again sometime.”

I tipped my hat to her and made my way to the stage.

The rest is history. She’s still my perfect Ten, in every way that matters.

Peachy Pie and Misty Moon Keep the Realm Safe Until Dinnertime

“We can’t go in the basement,” Misty Moon said, “’cause that’s where the monsters are.”

She said it quite assuredly and with a little flick of a nod. For children rarely have doubts about such things, and they need not dally on maybes and what-ifs. So Peachy Pie did not ask about the door again, at least not yet. Of course, the quickest way to make sure a child remembers something is to tell her to forget it.

With a shrug, Peachy Pie bump-stumbled her way across the floor, tripping and slipping on the train of her long princess gown. It was, naturally, a very impressive garment, as befit the generous ruler of her realm. But with a sparkle-glint to her eye, she did note that even good princesses required a dungeon. Perhaps she would broach the subject again later.

Misty Moon, her most trusted advisor, led her back to the playroom. They had acquired enough sustenance in the form of applesauce and carrot sticks to tide them over until a proper feast could be arranged, after all, and the pretty prancing procession proceeded back to their base of operations. They still needed to plot their campaign against the marauding diamond dogs.

“What shall we do about the invaders?” Peachy said, removing the dress and, unfortunately, the wings with it. Her conical cap hid the fact that she also lacked a horn, but off it went, as she needed to don her most resplendent battle armor, crafted from the finest cardboard.

Misty had little more than old towels to build her own suit of armor. Her guest got to use the choice equipment; if decorum did not prevail while playing princesses, then when would it? So with threadbare breastplate and frayed bracers, she appeared quite the terrible tatterdemalion. No matter. Prowess on the battlefield had the last word, so she clambered and climbed over their pillow bulwarks strewn with blankets. Everypony knew that blankets protected one from monsters. When pulled up over the head, they formed an infinitely impenetrable barrier. What better material for a fortress?

Peachy Pie had agreed that if she got the better armor, Misty surely deserved the better weapon. “I say we charge ’em head-on!” Misty declared, brandishing her broom-lance. “Take no prisoners!”

“If we have no prisoners, how are we going to make them confess?” Peachy asked in her haughtiest tone. A princess out of her regalia was still a princess.

“You’re on about that dungeon thing again?” Misty said with a sigh.

“Fine,” Peachy said with a hunch of her shoulders. She leapt over the moat with her lopsided ladle-mace, and once more unto the breach, dear friends. They could both hear the clash of metal blade against metal blade in the distance. Or perhaps it was merely Misty’s mother mixing up something in the kitchen.

Whatever the source, they threw the whole kit and kaboodle of their armory against the diamond dogs and efficiently dispatched the dastardly degenerates, save one. Misty heaved a great sigh and shook her head. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Peachy had known Misty for several months, and they’d played together frequently. They’d been to every room in the house except the basement. And Misty always gave the same excuse: “There’s monsters down there.” She never sounded worried about it, so how bad could they be? She’d only stomp her hoof and roll her eyes the same way Peachy’s mother would when repeatedly asked for some candy, annoyed at being pestered.

“What’s so secret about the basement?” Peachy said.

“Nothing,” Misty uttered with a great deal of breath and slouching; Peachy could imagine clouds of fog streaming out with it. “Fine. We’ll intergate your prisoner.”

“Interrogate,” Peachy corrected.

Misty only folded her forehooves. “You won’t even take a blanket?” she asked. Peachy shook her head, like a resolute ruler should.

So Peachy Pie flung open the door, flicked on the light, and flounced down the staircase, bumble-trundling about in her unwieldy armor to the bottom.

“Ooh, there’s some cool stuff down here!” she said.

Misty appeared at her side. She didn’t see what was so interesting. Neither did the monsters.

“Misty!” her mother called. “Peachy’s mother came by looking for her. Has she gone home yet?”

“No,” Misty answered with a sheepish hang of her head, her fangs only now fading away.

Her mother scowled at her. “You didn’t even save me any, did you? And now we’ll have to move again.”

Curiously, children are right about blankets.

Keeping the Faith

“You should go to Ponyville. I bet you could make some friends there,” Princess Celestia said.

Sunset Shimmer staggered back a step. She’d never heard the Princess say anything of the like to her students. They normally stayed as a single group, all within the same block of rooms in the dormitories, all sitting together in the cafeteria, all with private study hours in their mentor’s office.

Later on, the Princess had offered Sunset her own room, open-ended curriculum, and full access to the library’s restricted areas. All because Sunset consistently earned the top spot in her grade, or so she thought.

Then Sunset had stumbled upon something disturbing in her research: Nightmare Moon. She’d never taken it as more than a legend. Everypony liked to spook each other with stories about the Mare in the Moon. Too many sources corroborated the legend as real, though, with another wrinkle—the Nightmare would be able to escape her prison in just a few years! At least the signs pointed that way, but Celestia would hear none of it!

“How would making friends help? I’m talking about a serious threat to Equestria!” Sunset replied. She barely kept the fire in her throat from causing her voice to shake. “What are we going to do about it?”

Celestia only stepped forward and put a hoof on Sunset’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. Please. Just make some friends.”

Had Sunset failed? Or had she discovered some dirty little secret? Either way, Celestia clearly wanted to get rid of her.

She turned and ran.

Forced Perspective

Celestia rose from her lace-canopied bed in an alcove along the wall and strode to the chamber’s center. She peered up at the starry images painted on the ceiling—a nice reminder of her sister’s presence, but they hadn’t interacted in ages. Luna did not seem to care much for mundane matters around their home anyway, preferring to soar among the heavens for weeks on end. She did not seem to care much for Celestia’s little experiment, either.

She gazed around the circular stone room. Each window looked out upon endless clouds that gently swirled and churned. If she wanted to leave, she could simply leap out one of the windows and take flight, but she hadn’t felt the urge in so long. Everything she needed resided here, including her sister. Enough of the time, at least.

No staircase down, no ladder. The turret floated on the clouds—if it had a bottom, she did not remember creating one.

A light breeze billowed the sheer curtains and sent ripples across the shallow pool in the basin before her. The stars on the ceiling glittered back at her from the water’s surface. And just beneath it, small swirls of sediment curled in a complex cadence. The longer she stared at it, the more it settled into order, the more it took shape.

Her mouth bowed into a frown. A blackened field stood before her, charred dirt, bare gnarled trees… bodies. Lines of unicorns behind their shields, in their trenches, but overwhelmed, sprawling, lifeless. Spears protruded from their sides, and where they had attempted a retreat, earth ponies had closed in from all sides, only to fall victim to an aerial assault. Even pegasi littered the battlefield, but they had apparently won a war of attrition. And taken no prisoners.

The remaining pegasi picked over the corpses for any serviceable weapons and armor. Not that it would do them any good—they had wiped out the others. Who would oppose them now?

It had been going so well, too. Almost. Almost this time. Every subtle piece in place, every undercurrent of guidance she could offer. And they still did not understand.

She waved a foreleg over the water, and it went quiet, the image gone, the dust all settled to the bottom again. Formless, ready to be molded anew. But not today.

Celestia peered out her tower window away from the rising sun. The dark line of dawn had pursued her sister toward the horizon once again. A little game, nothing more. But Luna had been decidedly less amused about the outcome of yesterday’s experiment. Let it go, she had said. They cannot understand. The ponies had resisted, finding ever more creative ways to kill each other, the inevitable result each time.

Still, she reset everything, little clumps of silt forming and organizing into groups. And while their domains stretched toward each other, Celestia left her pool to evolve as it may. A few years would not hurt while she reached outside to scoop up some crystals of cloud mist. Then she tossed them in the water, and they circled, haunting those ponies.

They huddled together in the cave. Perhaps a shared danger, a common enemy, one whom they could not kill so much as dispel…

Celestia’s heart leapt! They emerged as one, united, returned to spread the news to their tribes, and—too soon, they’d thrown away all they’d built.

So close. She hung her head, dashed her hoof across the water, and returned all the bodies to the sediment. They did not understand!

Today, they would understand. Perhaps Luna would not.

Celestia had just finished swirling in the ice crystals, and the ponies would emerge from that cave momentarily. She already knew what formula worked there. What came after, however… She had one thing left to try.

Her horn glowed brilliantly, and the basin grew, its water overflowing. The clouds floated up—no, the tower sank, below the mountaintops. In her chest, Celestia’s soul burned as hot as the sun, and the light engulfed everything, her whole world, now theirs.

When it had finally subsided, she stood in a rocky clearing, her gaping sister by her side. The last trickle of melting ice flowed away from the cave’s entrance, and three pairs of ponies peeked out to see how the world had changed. They found yet another pair waiting for them.

“Hello, my little ponies,” Celestia said. “If you will allow us, we would like to help make your peace a lasting one.”

Cold Front

It always happens on nights like this.

Outside, the rain pounds so hard that I can’t tell it from the thunder. We… we live on one of the lower clouds, below the rain. We can’t afford any better.

Mom and Dad work so hard. I know they do, but Dad still takes me to hoofball games or Junior Speedsters. He even takes his lunch break at school with me. Mom can’t. She works evenings, too, and she does it for me. I know she does. She says so. But…

It always happens on nights like this.

I can’t see. It’s too dark. Dad told me to stay in the closet, no matter what. Don’t make a sound, don’t open the door for anypony, don’t cry.

I rub the bruise on my cheek from last time, only three days ago. The weather service usually goes months between storms this hard, but only three days...

I know she’s sorry. She says so. Every time, the next morning, before she goes to work. She says it to Dad, too, but not bruises—he g-gets… a swollen eye. Once, a broken collarbone. He tells her it’s not my fault. I can hear him. It only makes her madder.

It always happens on nights like this.

The front door slams. “Hi, honey,” Dad says. “I have some soup almost ready. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, and I’ll give you a neck rub while it simmers.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Mom says. I do hear the sound of her flopping onto the couch. “Where’s Scootaloo?”

My wings twitch, and I huddle into the pile of winter coats. “At the neighbor’s.”

“It’s dinnertime,” Mom growls. “She knows she’s supposed to be home when I have to work late. These storms don’t make themselves.”

“It’s okay. It can just be us tonight.”

It always happens on nights like this.

A loud bang. Water sloshes on the floor, glass breaks, somepony cries out. “You think I slave at work so my daughter can ignore the rules?” she roars.

I clench my jaw and cover my ears. It doesn’t help. It never helps. I have to hold still or she’ll hear me. Maybe if she hears me, she won’t be so angry with Dad. It’s… it’s not fair. It’s not fair for him.

“This is my home! I pay the bills around here, and I won’t have you undermining my authority with Scootaloo!” More glass, then a cabinet slams shut, and there’s a loud thump.

“Alright, alright! Just… I’ll go get her. I’ll go get her, and we’ll have dinner. I’ll cook some more soup. Just please, don’t… don’t be mad with her. It’s not her fault.”

My h-hooves, they’re sh-shaking, and… from the little slit of light under the door, I can just see them, trembling.

No more words, just harsh screams, like a wolverine, over and over. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop. It’s never been this bad before. Dull thuds, slowing now, then… silence. Except…

Hoofsteps, sometimes limping, sometimes sliding, coming toward the closet. Dad didn’t know. I didn’t want him to know, but I got a knife from the kitchen, in case he needed my help. The dying light glints off its blade. Don’t come out, he said. For anything.

I tighten my grip on the handle, brace it with the other hoof. The doorknob turns. My breath catches in my throat. Slowly, the door opens. And I lunge.

It always happens on nights like this.

I can’t tell the rain from the thunder, and I huddle in my closet. It’s my own room, anyway. None of the other kids ever come in here.

None of them know.

A knock at the bedroom door. “You in there, Scoots? It’s Rainbow Dash. I had to work late, but I figured we might get some popcorn and watch a movie. Sound good?” My hooves shake. “Scootaloo?”

No, no, he doesn’t deserve this. Leave Dad alone!

Hoofsteps. I have to keep quiet, but I can’t!

“You here? The receptionist hadn’t signed you out.”

I grip my pocketknife. The hoofsteps get closer, and I whimper. I… I miss Dad. Dammit, I miss Mom.

“Oh, yeah, I… I guess you weird out a little on stormy nights. You okay? Just some rain. Nothin’ to worry about.”

I have to help Dad. My whole body tenses.

The doorknob turns.

She doesn’t ask, just hugs me, and I love her for it.

She doesn’t ask, but I tell her anyway.

Nevermore

Twilight Sparkle rolled over in bed and stared out the window at the full moon. “You awake?” she said, but there was no answer. Why had she even entertained the possibility of one? The moon stared back, and Twilight sighed.

She could even imagine the feeling of warm breath on the back of her neck, a gentle hoof wrapped around her side. Just a light snore, though. It still made her smile. Rarity would never admit to snoring, and at least hers was quiet enough to stay within the realm of endearing.

“Rarity,” she tried again, “you awake?” She’d ask until she got a response, of course.

A brief stirring sounded. Twilight kept watching the moon, but she could envision Rarity taking off her sleeping mask and squinting at the clock. And Twilight trembled, just a little. From the cold winter air. No other reason.

It must have shaken the bed enough for Rarity to notice. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “Is it bothering you again?”

No. But Twilight didn’t say so. Rarity wouldn’t believe her anyway. She knew Twilight too well for that.

“I thought we’d talked this to death years ago, but it always seems to come up again, doesn’t it?” Rarity’s smile always crept into her voice. That beautiful voice.

“I just… feel bad for Spike. I can’t help it.”

“We explained everything to him.” She must have sat up from how the headboard creaked, but she hadn’t turned on the lamp. The moon gave them plenty of light anyway, and they both had always loved the peacefulness of the night.

Twilight drew a breath and pursed her lips. “I know. We had to tell him that his crush on you would never work out. It hurt, but he needed to hear it.”

“Yes, and our little gentleman took it with more than a modicum of maturity. He listened quietly, told us he understood, and never spoke of it again.”

Never…

For a moment, Twilight let those words hang in the silence. “I still felt guilty. I mean, only two months later, and we announced that we were dating? What he must have thought about that… He had to wonder when we started, whether… whether we were going behind his back, whether I’d stolen you from him. I’d never do anything to lose his trust.”

“Well, why didn’t you explain that to him darling?”

Never spoke of it again. Yeah, right. “I… I did. The night we announced our wedding, I made sure to have a talk with him.”

“Oh? Why did you never tell me that?”

“By then, it was a horrible position to put him in. Of course he said he didn’t have a problem with it, but how could I really know? I should have told him sooner. I should have told him when we first started dating, but then everypony would know, and—”

If that gentle touch had stopped her shaking, it wasn’t enough anymore.

“Surely he would have told you of any resentment by now. How long ago did he move out?”

“Seven years,” Twilight said quietly.

“And he has a mate of his own now, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then there you have it.”

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What would you have us do? Break up over it? And wouldn’t way back then have been the time to do so?”

Twilight reached toward the hoof tracing circles on her shoulder but stopped short. “Of course not.”

“I know. But we have this discussion every few years. When can we finally put it to rest?”

Probably never. But Rarity always indulged her. Rarity always made her feel better. “You’re beautiful,” Twilight said.

A smattering of polite laughter sounded. “I must look quite the fright at the moment, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I didn’t say you looked beautiful.” Twilight’s breath almost caught on her throat. “Of course you are, but I meant… you’re beautiful.”

“You can’t even see me right now,” Rarity said from behind her.

“I never needed to see you to know you were beautiful.”

Rarity blushed whenever Twilight said that. Maybe she felt the cheek against her back turn a little warmer.

She hadn’t given Spike enough credit. He knew now, if he’d ever harbored a secret hope that Rarity could still love him, that his last chance had passed. Maybe he really had gotten over it. But in his place, Twilight wouldn’t.

Finally, she turned over to face the empty bed. Three years now. “I miss you, Rarity.”

Pony Poems

Way back when the /fic/ IRC channel was a busy place, Uma would occasionally engage us in coming up with short pony poems. I'll put what I came up with here, plus a couple I wrote for /fic/'s only poetry write-off.

This won gold in the write-off. It's a form called a "double dactyl" or a "higgledy-piggledy."

Muffins!
Ditzity, Derpity,
Who would have thought that the
Bubble-flanked mare would be
This much preferred?

Scenery filler to
Sudden celebrity
All on the strength of one
Muffiny word.

This won silver, and is an obvious play on Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." It follows not only the structure, but the action as well.

Derping by Muffin on a Hungry Afternoon
Whose muffin sits, I think I know.
Some icing's on the counter, though.
It's unattended on the plate,
And tempted, I pace to and fro.

Her gator must anticipate
His chance anon to masticate.
Should I but let a morsel fall,
Good fortune shall his gullet sate.

His silent stare and grumbled call—
Lest I forget to share at all.
No other sounds pierce silence dear
But ticking clock upon the wall.

But lo! In crossed eyes, two appear!
The day quite early still, I fear,
And hours 'til dinnertime is here,
And hours 'til dinnertime is here.

There were enough haiku entries that they were given a separate category. This won first place for haiku, oddly enough, since pretty much nobody commented on it.

Hidden Kindness
Timid, fearful eyes
Would rather you not notice
The size of her heart

And here are the other haiku I entered:

What Do You Think, Applejack?
Honest opinion?
Applejack scratches her head
What else would it be?

A Filly's Guardian
Miss Smarty Pants sits
Button eyes shine with moonlight
"Sleep, Twi, safe and sound."

Changing of the Guard
Tired eyes awaiting
Inky dusk and golden dawn
When sisters embrace

The Element of Generosity
Rarity's frown melts
She takes your horrid scarf, smiles
And gives you her own

And here are all the other haiku, good or bad, I came up with in those IRC chats.

Honest Opinions Only
"Like my dress, AJ?"
Blonde head nods at Rarity
"No" would be fine, too

Sonic Rainboom
Color-suffused sky
Her worth proven, perhaps she'll
Be important now

Who Wants Punch?
Pinkie Pie Parties
Just another way to say
"I love you" louder

Future Perfect
Blank flanks: ambition
With a side of infinite
possibilities

Tidally Locked
The moon's orbit, wrenched
One side ever faced her way
So she always sees

In the Moment
The prized cutie mark
But we're having too much fun
To get one just yet

Great and Powerful
Be loved, be hated
But I will be remembered
Trixie always shines

Second Draft

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Getting Warmer

“I think that’s all,” Sweetie Belle said, stashing away her notepad.

“Anytime,” Princess Celestia replied. She squinted. “Something wrong?”

“Well…” Sweetie Belle glanced down. “It’s just an interview. For a dumb school project. If I wasn’t Rarity’s sister—”

“I’d make time for you anyway.”

Maybe. Sweetie Belle still couldn’t look up.

But Celestia leaned in. “Share my thoughts,” she said, touching their horns together.

Warm, like a blanket, wrapped tight, but not suffocating. Free, liberating in its closeness. Sweetie Belle loved her little ponies, all of them, so much it hurt. Her heart throbbed to… to see them fulfill their wonderful, unlimited potential!

She awoke, trembling, with a broad, fierce smile. “I can’t stop crying!” she whispered.

“I know.” Celestia hugged her.

“Can’t stop, can’t stop…”

“I know.”

Sweetie Belle returned the hug, her notes now useless as she considered how to word her new report so everypony might know.

A Single Tear Ran Down His Cheek

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Laugh So You Don't Cry

It seemed like such a cliched thought. At an earlier time, Sombra might have laughed at it. He peered at the pony who had approached his hiding place, unaware.

If that stupid mirror hadn’t taken away his dear Celestia, made him into this…

He loved her, he did, so much that he’d do anything, anything. He already had—violated his morals, lost himself to save her, his body ruined, so if he could extend his life just another day, another hour for when she might return…

Nothing left but hope.

A second tear, then a third, merging into a jagged rip. This face hadn’t lasted as long as the previous one. He’d need another. Again.

Forgiveness, dear Celestia, please. He no longer had the capacity to do anything but laugh, quietly. That pony had approached even closer, probably looking for berries.

He burst into a cackle as he pounced on her.

Tough Love

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Wouldn't Be Caught Dead

This is a side story of sorts to my story "He Kindly Stopped for Me."

“Hello again,” Death said, gently landing on the dreamscape.

Luna nodded, but her eyes… something had broken. He’d seen it enough in parents when he ushered children away. “Thank you for visiting,” she said.

A sense of life on the moon had drawn his attention long ago. They’d shared many interesting conversations. Thankfully, Nightmare Moon preferred to brood instead of interfering.

She had more to say, but kept silent. Very unlike her—she spoke her mind, but today, she hung her head.

“When,” she began. He almost jumped. “When you go this time, please take me with you.”

No! He would leave, and tomorrow, she’d forget, and…

She’d ask him every day for the rest of her thousand years. He couldn’t help her, but he could force her to live. And… he would see her again, someday. In Equestria.

He turned and left her, so alone, amid the sound of tears.

Bad Eggs

“These are the worst eggs I’ve ever tasted,” Zesty Gourmand declared, her pen flicking across her notepad.

“Whaddya want?” Over Easy growled. “It’s just a greasy spoon diner. This ain’t no hot cuisine.”

“Haute. And about it not being hot as well, we are in agreement. It’s too cool.” She turned up her nose and shuffled some of the yolk with her fork. “Besides, it’s rather runny.”

Runny!? She wouldn’t know good eggs if they bit her in the… “I’ll give her hot,” he muttered as he dumped an overly generous heap of cayenne pepper on the next two eggs off the griddle. “Here. Try these.”

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, but did take a bite. Then her stomach rumbled ominously, before a high-pitched squeak sounded from under the table. Her cheeks blazed red.

Never before had he smiled this big. “Too cool and this ‘runny’ are soon farted.”

Author's Notes:

Sometimes I can't resist a good feghoot. If you don't know what that is, it's a story engineered to lead up to a pun or reworking of a familiar phrase or something equally stupid. So this one is a play on "A fool and his money are soon parted."

Prompt: Crossing Over

Yeah, that one's a stretch. His name is Over, and she crossed him.

To Be Seen And Not Heard

“Great rehearsal!” I say to Torch Song as we leave Carousel Boutique. And it was great. I always have the spot almost at the far end from her, but her voice still carries down to me, lyrical like a songbird.

“Thanks, Toe Tapper.” She doesn’t smile.

I say that all the time, but does she even take me seriously? She’s really good!

“I mean it. You should be a professional.” I’ve never really thought about it before, but what strikes me the most is how effortlessly she sings. The best always can. Not that she doesn’t put in the work! Whenever I walk past her house on the way to the market, I hear her practicing. And she doesn’t struggle with it like I do, or anypony else I know. Music flows from her without a thought, at her beck and call.

But still no smile. Well, on on her lips, but her body disagrees. She veers off and sits on one of the benches near the well, with that oversized pony statue staring down at us. “I tried once.”

News to me. But good for her! Nopony makes it on the first try, or so everypony says.

“And?” Who could ever deny that talent? Beautiful voice, and she puts her whole soul into it. Any record exec who misses that doesn’t deserve his job. Fluke thing, he had a bad day, or something like that.

She somehow squeezes her whole body in, and gone is that constant air of confidence. “N-no, it didn’t work out.” She looks so small.

So I finally sit down beside her. “I know, show business is cutthroat. Don’t let it get to you. Just ’cause one guy didn’t have enough sense—”

“I didn’t—” She sighs sharply and shakes her head, the beads in her hair seeming to trail sparks as they glint in the wan light leaking from the town’s hibernating buildings. And the one braid whipping around as if she were the self-flagellating type. Well… she does get very down on herself at times. It’s rare, but I can see it in her eyes: something hollow, deep—ripples in a subterranean lake, undulating into the darkness until they disturb something that shouldn’t be.

After a moment of silence, she finally says: “I didn’t stop there. I tried a couple of other recording companies. Same answer.”

Though I notice she didn’t exactly tell me the answer. She glances down at her flank, her braid once again flogging her ear. And it leaves her mane pointed at me, all done up in its bun. I often wonder how it would look if she let it down.

Another jewel shines in the sparse light—no, she… she’s crying. “As they put it, ‘Somepony short and fat isn’t very marketable.’”

My stomach writhes. I could say so many things, but she’d take most of them the wrong way. “Well, I think you’re pretty.”

She returns a wry smile, but of course that doesn’t solve her problem. There has to be a way.

“Look,” I cast about, “remember what we did with Fluttershy? It worked! Ponies loved her singing, and when they saw it was actually her, they transferred that love right to her, no problem. We can do that—set up an audition, we’ll find a stand-in, and then you’ve got your hoof in the door—”

“Don’t you think I would have come up with that idea already?” She sits up as tall as she can, as proper as a concert pianist, and sucks in her belly. I catch her doing that occasionally.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She just got too nervous and couldn’t make herself go through with it, I bet. “But why wouldn’t that do the trick?”

Immediately, she turns her head back toward me, her eyes casting out an entreaty I can’t answer. “They never even heard me sing. Wouldn’t listen. Took one look at me and turned me down. The singing doesn’t matter. It never mattered.”

“But that’s why we switch—”

“You said it yourself,” she squeaks out. “When everypony saw it was Fluttershy.”

I can only stare back, open-mouthed. I don’t understand.

“Tapper, don’t you get it? Don’t you remember? Fluttershy was a model.” The silence eats any response I could give. “When they saw the Ponytones on my resume, the interviewers asked after her instead.”

I shuffle my hooves against the limp, dewy grass for a moment. “It matters to me.” She really is pretty. But I don’t say it out loud.

Good Food Takes Time

“The point is to get it just below a boil,” Mrs. Cake said. “Any hotter and it’ll burn.”

Pinkie Pie lowered her gaze and stared at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time she’d trusted Pinkie with her whipped caramel recipe. If something went wrong, no big deal. But follow the directions! Just follow the directions!

“So what did you do?” Mrs. Cake said in her best wheedling mother tone.

“I—I just wanted to have enough time to work on my laughing exercises, and I tried to find a shortcut, and—” Pinkie looked up, tears in her eyes “—I went to the bookstore’s bargain rack and paid a couple of cents for the Presto Timesavers cookbook.”

Mrs. Cake sighed. “You just can’t cut corners like that. Especially when you get the caramel all aerated.” She forced a sympathetic smile and patted Pinkie’s shoulder.

“Two-penny books boil the froth.”

Author's Notes:

Yes, it's another feghoot. I'm only a little sorry.

Prompt: The Boiling Point

The Dress of a Lifetime

Author's Notes:

Prompt: The Generous and the Dead

“This one looks lovely!” Twilight said, peering over Rarity’s shoulder. Gem-laden, very intricate. Another prime example of her craft. “But what happened to your other project?”

Rarity canted her head toward the low shelf under her work table. “I’ll get back to it later.”

“Well, this dress is beautiful. Must be a hefty commission.”

In an instant, Rarity whirled on her. “I wouldn’t dream of charging for it!” Rarity practically had her teeth bared!

“I-I’m sorry! What’s it for?”

Rarity pursed her lips against the word’s taste. “A funeral.”

“But… don’t ponies normally wear black for that?”

“Yes—” a soft sigh “—for attendees.”

Only then did Twilight look more closely. “This is… a foal’s dress.” No answer from Rarity, though she blinked hard. “Do you know the family?”

Some amalgam of head shake and shrug followed, and a liquid glimmer spilled from the corner of her eye. “Does it matter?”

Statuesque

In duty solely I persist,
But dreams we tryst—I tarry, twist,
Until I calm my heart, enlist
Impassive heavy stone.

With midnight fog my cheek is kissed,
To feel your mist, to feel you’re missed,
On fervent hopes and dreams subsist,
My thoughts of heavy stone.

But would my armor, bound in place,
My heart encase, My Heart; in case
I fail the station of my race,
O Moon of heavy stone.

Your beauty flows in fluid grace,
Your lovely face, my love efface,
Forsake my mind without a trace,
Unyielding heavy stone.

My courage fades at close of day,
To shy away, too shy, away
From tempting thoughts in duty stay,
With will of heavy stone.

But heedless would my passions stray,
To you, they pray, on me, they prey
And bid me longing to betray
This mask of heavy stone.

My scattered thoughts I cast aside—
I’ve too much pried, I’ve too much pride.
Your bat-winged army unified,
A wall of heavy stone.

And I in training, you my guide,
Your patient stride, your patience tried,
At last a warrior by your side
With strength of heavy stone.

Thus armed with righteous silv’ry light,
And I, Your Night, and I your knight
Would streak unerring to the fight
On wings of heavy stone.

’Til I must face the Nightmare’s might,
Your heartless rite, your heart less right,
But tearful, stricken down in flight,
I fall like heavy stone.

In battle to remove the blight,
A sister white, a sister wight
Grow blurred within my failing sight,
Upon this heavy stone.

Too weak to aid you in your plight,
Your pow’r a fright, your pow’r affright,
I now embrace eternal night
In vault of heavy stone.

Your gaze unending from the sky,
And watchful eye—and watchful, I
May serve you as in times gone by,
Unmoved like heavy stone.

Although your subjects may decry,
Their words be lie; my words belie
The hidden heart that would untie
This tongue of heavy stone.

So chisel sharp and sculptor fair,
My feelings pare, my failings spare
That I may through the eons swear
An oath in heavy stone:

To keep my heart within its lair,
My soul too bare, my soul to bear;
To you, my liege beyond compare,
I bow on heavy stone.

My comrades mourn, forgo repast,
In my stead fast, but I, steadfast,
Will stand on guard until the last,
My post of heavy stone.

The learnèd scholars, I outlast,
The sages passed, this age is past,
To prove devotion unsurpassed,
Like timeless heavy stone.

Yet time erodes and passions flare,
My heart a-wear, my heart aware—
You soon return, no more despair!
A crack in heavy stone.

From crack to crumble, if I dare,
’Tis nighttime, nigh time, know I care!
Your faithful guard awaits you there,
In halls of heavy stone.

And lo, what I risk dreaming of:
To court, my love, to court my love.
May armored greave hold satin glove
With hooves of heavy stone.

Your moonlit aura from above,
A light alighting like a dove,
But shines more brightly in your love,
My heart of heavy stone.

And so I stand before the throne.
Hear here, dear heart, you’re not alone,
But cursèd be this flesh and bone,
This heart of heavy stone.

A note in silence, hear it drone:
My song, a tone, my song atone
For failures that are mine alone,
Inscribed in heavy stone.

Royal Canterlot Museum Inventory, Curator’s Notes
Artist/Category: Bronze Bust/sculpture
—Statue depicts Tungsten, Captain of the Lunar Guard, who served 17 years. Awarded Medal of Honor for valor in combat against Nightmare Moon. Mortally wounded in fight, died 6 days later. He commissioned statue from Royal Sculptor 2 days before his death and wrote inscription for pedestal.
—Upon completion, held in storage pending repairs to Castle of the Two Sisters, year 2 Age of the Sun (AotS).
—Moved to Canterlot Castle with all surviving inventory. Placed on display in throne room, year 129 AotS.
—Removed to storage, as far back in facility as there was space, under Princess Celestia’s order, year 999 AotS. She wouldn’t say why.
—Princess Luna found statue while browsing old inventory, year 2 Age of the New Equinox. She was not seen for 4 days afterward, marking only time in recorded history the moon didn’t rise for more than a day. She subsequently ordered it placed at guard post outside her bedchamber.
—Research shows “Tungsten” derives from Scandineighvian words meaning “heavy stone.”

The 200 Percent Solution

Sassy Saddles plunked down into her seat. Rarity took the one opposite, her back to the barstools, strands of her mane escaping their tight confinement and bristling at random.

They ordered glasses of wine, but neither had the energy to produce more words than it took to do so, not after that hectic workday. Until some conversation floated over Rarity’s shoulder.

“There was this one diamond-flanked mare from a forgettable town. She shamelessly threw herself at me, of course, right there at the Gala, in front of everypony!”

Rarity snapped a glare at the stallion behind her, and as the waitress returned, Rarity said, “One piece of cake. Your cheapest.”

When it arrived, Rarity immediately ground it into Blueblood’s mane. He bolted upright, then squinted at her. “You! I should have known better than to come here among the riffraff and wage slaves.”

The waitress smirked at Rarity. “Another?”

“Please.”

Author's Notes:

The title takes a tad bit of explanation. The point was to take one of Loganberry's stories and add one letter, remove one letter, or change one letter to create a new title, then write a story that doesn't have to be related to the one from which it borrowed the title. I used "The 20 Percent Solution." Yeah I cheated and changed a number instead of a letter.

Giggle at the Ghosties

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Laughter, Both Old and New

“Can you hear me, Granny Pie?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I went to the nearest town, then to the big city, and I even tried Canterlot! But nopony knew what to do.”

“I just wanted to hear you laugh once more.”

“G-Granny? Is that…? Hee. Hehe. Hahaha! *sniff* You’re right. You taught me that if I could always find a reason to smile, the bad stuff would never get me down too much. I-I’ll remember that. Thank you, Granny.”

Last Rites

Author's Notes:

Prompt: What You Leave Behind

Twilight Sparkle drew in one more agonized breath as her father forced a smile. He sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her forehead. “You… you’re going to get better. I promise,” he said.

He didn’t have to sugarcoat things for her. The truth never scared her. And any one of these precious breaths might taper into nothing. The doctor was surely on her way, for all the good it would do. She’d seen that look on her father’s face before, when grandma—when she…

Twilight sniffled, but she had to be strong, for her parents, if not for herself.

“W-when I’m gone—”

Her father turned away. “Please, don’t talk like that.”

“When I’m gone,” she said louder, with the last bit of her strength.

Then he rolled his eyes. “Missing school will not, in fact, kill you. You’re coming on vacation with us.”

She only glowered back. “Fine.”

No Present Like the Time

Author's Notes:

Prompt: No Time Like the Present

“Well, go ahead. Open it!” Discord said.

“I hate to tear the wrapping,” Fluttershy replied. “It’s so beautiful.”

Discord rolled his eyes and snapped an identical box into existence. “Now you have a mint collectable too.”

“O-okay.” She undid the ribbon and paper very carefully, but… Empty? “What?”

“It’s time, my dear.”

The usual arguments burned in her mind. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, yes, I know. This isn’t some cheesy ploy to give you eternal life. I’ve read all the fanfics.”

“Huh?”

A quick sigh. “Never mind. Point is, it’s not future time. It’s past. Give it a try.”

She poked her nose in, and—the day she’d first met Twilight, and Discord, and tea together, and… In a flash, all so clear, like she’d lived them yesterday!

Everything that made her Fluttershy, whenever she needed to see it. She wiped away her tears and hugged Discord hard. “Thank you.”

Can't Say Good-Bye

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Kindness and a Garden

“Some of my critters were complaining,” Fluttershy said as she sawed off another rotten branch and tossed it on the compost pile. “They were afraid the tree might fall on them.”

Applejack wouldn’t look her in the eye, just staring vaguely beside her with her jaw set.

“Somepony had to, and I thought I’d help—”

“You don’t understand!” Applejack said.

The trunk would take more doing. “We could mulch this, and all your trees would grow better.”

Applejack sniffled. “If—if Angel died, w-would you feed him to a starving wolf?”

Fluttershy stuck her spade in the dirt and leaned on the handle as she rolled her eyes toward the treetops. “I’d have to think about that.”

But as hard as Applejack tried to glare at her, Fluttershy just gave her a hug.

“Would it help if I said a few words?”

After a few seconds, Fluttershy barely felt a nod.

House Guest

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Now We're Friends

Spoiled Rich rushed to the kitchen with that horrible pounding outside. DIscord, he’d made Ponyville his plaything—Filthy insisted, get to their lake home, take Diamond Tiara, now!

But chaos had leaked everywhere, unchecked outside of town, and other beings had noticed. Discord’s plaything would be preferable.

Every night.

Another pounding rocked the house, and through the shutters, a faded memory of oily, lurching movement.

“Let me in,” scraped on metal inside her head. It always made Diamond cry, but she was strong, safe, hidden. She would resist.

It had to be invited. Somehow she knew. But as she cowered under the table, keeping its attention on her and not her dear Diamond, the pounding stopped, and a glacier of silence crept over her. Then a window sash sliding upstairs.

“Diamond?”

Soft hoofsteps. Diamond walked in, her head canted far sideways, teeth clenched in a grin, eyes gleaming. “We’re friends now.”

Detectives Pinkie Pie and King Sombra are on the Case!

Author's Notes:

Marvel at the AU crime-solving prowess of this duo! Prompt: What were you thinking?

“So who’s this Gabby Gums?” Pinkie asked.

“We can narrow it down,” Sombra replied, so she sat to listen. “Journalism is central to this case. We should take a cue from reporters and ask what whey would.”

“What, where, you thinking?”

He nodded. “Who, when, why, and how as well.” Then his stomach growled; she passed him a cupcake. “I used to be able to resist those.”

“What, were you thin, King?”

“Yes. Anyway, look at the scuffs on the paper. An old press, no doubt.”

“What, wear, you thinking?”

“And the colors are uneven. Smacks of inexperience.”

“What, were youth inking?”

“Precisely!” he shouted with a pound of his hoof, which squashed his cupcake.

“How could you conceive of doing that?”

He stared at her a moment. “For some reason, I thought you’d say, ‘What were you thinking?’”

She only shrugged. “For some reason, I thought you’d say, ‘Crystals!’”

Sonata Dusk Outsmarts Someone

Author's Notes:

Prompt: The Most Important Things

“Your what?” Adagio Dazzle barked.

“My birthday,” Sonata Dusk replied.

Adagio shooed her off like an insect. “No it isn’t.”

“How do you know?” Sometimes, if Sonata concentrated, she could set up a logic trap. Adagio rarely fell for them.

The more she stammered to find a way out, the bigger Sonata’s smile got. “Fine. It could be today. So what?”

“Don’t I get a birthday wish?”

“If you plan to pull this every week…”

Sonata clasped her hands behind her back. “No,” she mumbled. “I promise. I just really wanted to do this. With you.”

“If it’ll shut you up—”

“Yay!” Sonata hauled her to the couch, started a DVD, and opened a bag of popcorn.

“We’re just supposed to sit here?”

“Mmhmm,” Sonata mumbled through a mouthful of buttery goodness.

Adagio did reach for the bag. And she wore a hint of a smile.

What a perfect birthday!

It’s the Imperfections that Make Us Interesting

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Birthday Magic

“Is this her first lamb?” Fluttershy calmly said to Applejack, feeling the sheep’s belly.

“Yes!”

“Probably a narrow birth canal. We’ll go to Dr. Fauna’s—”

“She’s out on a call!”

Fluttershy’s eyes widened. “Th-this is more serious than I can…”

“She could die!”

Fluttershy set her jaw and nodded. “Twilight, you’ll need to teleport the lamb out.”

Twilight gaped. “I can’t teleport something I can’t see!”

“You have to.”

“W-where to aim, and… well, teleportation magic does grab all of something if you get part of it, but—” Twilight gasped “—the umbilical cord! They’re connected! It wouldn’t work, I’d have to guess where to cut—”

“I trust you,” Applejack said.

Fluttershy’s hoof traced an oval. “Inside here.”

Breath held, Twilight felt the magic cling, envelop, expand, oddly long one direction, stop!

A perfect lamb blinked at her—well, Twilight had missed its left ear point.

Applejack grinned. “We’ll name her Tippy.”

A Stone’s Throe

Author's Notes:

Prompt: I’m Flying Without Wings

“You don’t understand,” Sunset said, pushing her geode into Twilight’s hand—the Twilight from her world. She’d shoved it at Twilight, yet hadn’t loosened her grip.

“Do you remember how demonic I was? Grasping for any power I could. Then later I had it! At the Friendship Games, I had wings! I could fly!”

“Look how you used it, though,” Twilight said, rubbing Sunset’s shoulder.

“Still, I… hadn’t thought about it, when I went through the mirror the next time. What if I’d become an alicorn? Thank goodness I didn’t. I only now realize that.”

“You would have earned it.”

“No, no.” Sunset hid her face in a hand. “I only got those wings by taking everyone’s magic, and now that I know…”

Twilight pushed the fist with the geode back to her. “The fact that bothers you means you deserve it.”

Maybe. But it didn’t have to weigh so much.

Play Date

Author's Notes:

Prompt: Atmosphere

Snowflake Obsidian fidgeted behind her father’s chair. “When can I go out and play?”

He leaned back from his work. “Later.”

“C’moooon!” she said. “It’s my turn today! I waited years.”

He peeked outside. Just a regular day. Which wasn’t good. “You know the rules.”

With a harrumph, she stomped to the front door. By chance, a knock soon came. He arose and opened the door to the gloom. Except for the small patch of sunlight and air, with the few children it could accommodate. At the center stood Princess Radiant Hope, far too bent and wizened for her age, her horn alight. Despite everypony’s pleas, she’d always say it was for the children.

A fool’s errand. Inside was safe, and without the Crystal Heart, they had little choice. Barely into the centuries before their empire reappeared, by prophecy.

He sighed. “Thank you, Princess.”

Snowflake would return in an hour.