Chapter One: What a Wonderful Morning

Today, reflected Twilight, had not been a good day so far.

She had been woken up several hours before her usual rising time by Spike, who had for some reason fallen asleep on a shelf, and then rolled off and landed on her (and she had a darn good reason for falling asleep in the library! If her sleep-fogged mind could only remember what it was). Twenty pounds of heavy, spiny, hard-edged baby dragon squishing the air out of one’s lungs is hardly a pleasant way to start the day, and it got worse from there.

After her rude awakening, she tucked Spike back into bed and tried to return to her own, with no avail. In the past week, she had become so used to blocking out all tiredness immediately upon waking that, once awake, it was nigh impossible for her to go back to sleep.

So it was that she wandered into the study to make her checklist, trying to decide in her befuddled brain whether defenestration by first-story window would be a reasonable punishment for Spike (and knowing that it wasn’t), and quickly discovered that they were out of parchment.

Out of parchment, she fumed on her way to the store. Really? Really? It was on last Tuesday’s checklist! I checked! But apparently just making sure it was on the list wasn’t going to be good enough. Putting off the nervous breakdown accompanying those words with the rationale that she would take care of it later, she walked into the Quills and Sofas store, pasted a cheery smile on her face, and rang the bell on the counter.

She stretched her fake, sugary smile a bit wider when the owner, a pale brown stallion with a slick, dark-brown mane, edged through the doorway from the backroom, a sofa perched precariously on his back. “Gooood morning, Davenport! How are things at the good ol’ Quill and Sofa?”

The stallion started to reply, only to yelp as the sofa tilted and nearly came crashing to the floor. Moving more by her reflexes than her slowed, muddled mental processes, Twilight caught the imbalanced furniture and lowered it carefully to land on its four legs. The grin became a little less forced as the sparkle of magic faded; it eased her bad mood to be of help to somepony, at least.

She was quite shocked when Davenport, startled by the magic and attempting to compensate for the expected weight of a sofa, lost his balance, tripped, and hit the hardwood floor face-first.

“O-oh my goodness! Are you okay?” Worried, she peered over the countertop at Davenport, who groaned and hauled himself to his hooves. “That didn’t hurt too much, did it? I mean, at least the sofa’s alright, and…”

He gave her a look, and she shut her mouth with an audible click. “I’d like to buy something,” she squeaked.

He sighed and shrugged. She could just hear the unspoken ‘oh well, better hurry up and get her out of here.’ “Well, we got quills and sofas, ma’are. Which’ll it be?”

With an effort, she pushed aside her embarrassment. “Well, I’d like to buy some parchment,” she said brightly, and immediately regretted it.

His face took on the hunted look of one who knows the conversation that’s coming next, and has had it many, many times.
“We don’t sell parchment here, ma’are. We sell quills, and sofas, and that’s it. It’s why we’re called the Quill and Sofa Store.” He explained this slowly and carefully, as if to a small foal of below-average intelligence. He seemed wary, hoping against hope that just once one of these types would understand, buy something the store actually stocked, and leave him alone.

She felt a bit guilty; after all, how would she feel if ponies started accosting her in the street, asking her to do random weather-predictions and read their minds, regardless of the number of times she told them she didn’t do that sort of thing? Celestia only knew that she had had plenty of that in the months shortly after graduating the School for Gifted Unicorns. She shouldn’t bother him with it. She should leave him be, let him have his peace, and go on her merry way, just as he was most likely silently hoping she would.

After all, she thought, I can keep track of the things I need to do today in my head.

There was a moment of deathly silence as she contemplated that scenario.

“…I’ll pay extra?”

His mouth set in a grim line, and despair covered his features. So be it. “Ma’are, we don’t sell parchment here. It’s not on the list.” He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his blue vest. “We have a list.”

She glanced at it. Large, emblazoned gold letters boasted to the world, DAVENPORT’S QUILL AND SOFA STORE! Below that, in smaller letters, were the words WE SELL: QUILLS AND SOFAS!

“See? No parchment,” he said flatly. “You’ll have to try somewhere else.”

Her ears drooped. “Well, I mean, I could… surely you have some back in the business area? Please? I’ll pay double the price for it!”

“With all due respect, ma’are, no you won’t, because we’re not selling any,” he replied.

She bit her lip. “But I need this—” she blurted, and stopped. A thought occurred to her. “Can I just… borrow some, then?”

Twilight saw the wheels turning in his head. Borrowing wasn’t the same as selling. He didn’t sell anything other than quills and sofas, mainly on principle, but he had plenty of parchment stocked up to keep record of his business with. Sure, used parchment doesn’t return well, but that didn’t matter as long as he could get her out of the store as quickly as possible, and without breaking company policy.

Faster than one could say ‘What do you say?’ (which she was about to), he disappeared into his office. She heard drawers opening and shutting, and then the sound of paper shuffling. The office door opened, and Davenport emerged, carrying a large bundle of parchment. “This enough, ma’are?” There was desperation in his voice.

She beamed. “Yes, it is! Thank you so much!” She hesitated. “Do you want me to help you move sofas later, in return?”

The hunted look came back, full force. “Don’t need help with my sofas, ma’are. Please don’t go telling ponies that I give out parchment. Safe journey, have a nice day.” With that, he turned and hastily retreated into the safety of the back room.

Uncomfortably, Twilight loaded the parchment into her saddlebag and headed for the door. She paused on the doorstep, grinned, and gave a little bounce of victory before continuing on her way.

Outside, she shivered and blew on her hooves. Autumn was almost over, and winter was on its way in. On her right, a thin, tranquil forest rose into the air, the light of dawn just beginning to show over the treetops. To the left, she could see Ponyville off in the distance, frost glittering on its roofs and streets, firelight glowing through the windows of every house in sight. With a smile, she trotted down the path, enjoying the mysterious, uniquely wonderful smell of autumns and early mornings.

She was trotting along, narrowing her eyes to keep out the rising sun, when her reverie was interrupted by something snatching at her saddlebags. Startled, she jerked away and turned to look behind her. The road was empty; there was nopony in sight. Blinking and shivering in the frosty pre-dawn air, she turned and continued on her way.

It was several minutes down the road before she noticed a small, light weight clinging to her back, tiny claws digging into her coat, and something being lifted with great care from her saddlebags. She whipped her head around just in time to see a small, white shape with large ears darting off the path, several large pieces of parchment held in its mouth. At this point, most ponies would have (likely against their will) said something along the lines of ‘Awww, it’s a wittle bunny! Look at him go! Isn’t he just precious?’ Such is the nefarious, hypnotic power of bunny rabbits.

Unfortunately, Twilight was now entirely too upset at the thought of losing her hard-earned parchment to care. “Hey! Get back here!” When the fluffy little rabbit ignored her completely and continued to run away with her would-be checklist, the high-strung annoyance she had been suppressing all morning broke loose. Feeling the edges of her mane and coat begin to smolder and catch fire, she gave an entirely un-fillylike roar of rage and ran full-pelt after it.

The rabbit, looking over its shoulder and seeing that its cuteness had little effect (but it did have a little; she was bursting into flames without foaming at the mouth first, at least), ran much faster, ducking and weaving. It was extremely fortunate for the rabbit that it decided to do so, because at that moment a fireball blasted through the thin scattering of trees, scorching the earth where it had been a split second ago.

The chase lasted for several minutes, straight through to the other side of the forest and onto the rolling pasture, ending when the rabbit crested a hill. Twilight attempted to follow suit, only to trip over the lump at the top and come crashing down, rolling to the bottom of the hill. After a few seconds, her inner ear rebalanced, and she hauled herself to her hooves with a groan.

The first thing she noticed was that the rabbit was standing about a foot away from her face, glaring at her, its stubby paws crossed. The second was that the parchment she needed—needed needed needed parchment—was lying on the ground in front of it, soaking up the dew. She was about to grab it when she realized that, standing next to the rabbit with worry on her face, was none other than Fluttershy.

“Oh my goodness,” fretted the yellow-coated pegasus, her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m so sorry! You see, I needed some parchment to write a letter to Princess Celestia about something I learned yesterday, but I forgot, and I started to do it this morning, but I needed something to write it on, and I asked Angel to go get some for me, and…”

She gave the rabbit, which Twilight now recognized as Angel, a reproving glance. “I didn’t mean for him to steal it. Angel, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Angel transferred his glare to Fluttershy. Then, he pulled back one of his stubby paws and let it fly forward through the air, making an explosion noise out of the corner of his mouth as he imitated a blooming fireball. Fluttershy looked shocked, and Twilight cringed, waiting for a lecture on Why One Shouldn’t Throw Fireballs at Fluffy Little Bunnies, However Annoying and Sticky-Pawed They Are. “Angel! Why would you want Twilight to explode? Apologize right this instant!”

Angel turned his nose up, shook his head, and pointedly turned his back, crossing his paws once more. Twilight sighed, trying to reign in the jumpy, irrational anger still twitching around inside of her. “It’s alright, Fluttershy. He doesn’t have to apologize to me. I’m just…” She dragged a hoof down the side of her own face. She was too tired for this. “Here, you can go ahead and have some parchment. I’m sure that reporting on the progress of our friendship is much—much much much much—” Her mostly-calm demeanor fractured, and her eye twitched. “Much much much much much much much—“

Fluttershy looked more concerned than ever, and a little confused. “Ah… Twilight? Are you okay?”

“—Much much much more important than my checklists!” There, she had managed to say it without twitching. Much. She beamed, a little too widely, grabbed her share of the parchment, and ran back up the hill towards the road at a worrying speed. Fluttershy stared after her for a minute, turned away warily, and began to give Angel a few pointers on manners.

It didn’t take too long for Twilight to reach the library, thankfully without further incident. Spike was still snoring in the bedroom-observatory, although he had managed to twist and flop out of his basket and onto the floor. Her annoyance receded slightly, and she smiled as she tucked him back in. She darted into the study, pulled out the much-contested parchment, and gave a smile of satisfaction and contentment. Now she would finish her checklist in peace. The daily ritual to sharpen and focus her mind would continue unimpeded. She could no more be stopped from writing her checklist than Celestia could be stopped from raising the sun!

She reached for a quill pen.

One half an hour and a hasty, awkward second visit to the Quill and Sofa Store later, she returned to the library yet again, this time carrying a saddlebag full of quill pens. The first item she wrote on her checklist for the day was ‘Make sure that Spike isn’t just crossing things off the list so he won’t have to keep carrying it around.’

Another hour and a half later, she dotted the end of the last item just as her stomach let out a ferocious growl. For the third time that morning, she made a foray out into town, looking for Horte Cuisine’s Diner. Her mind wasn’t in the best of working order at the time, however; as a result, she walked around the town multiple times in the attempt to find the diner.

Finally, she stopped in front of Sugarcube Corner, thoroughly lost, and decided that banging her head against the brightly-colored wall would do her some good. It wasn’t as if it would make a large difference to her current level of brain-function, because if she was lost in a town as small and familiar as Ponyville, her sense of direction had most likely gone out to lunch.

After a minute or two of self-pity, she decided that the best thing would be to just see if she could find a nice, sugary pick-me-up inside. Sighing and grumbling at the world in general, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The tinkling of the bell over the door alerted Mrs. Cake, who had been finishing the morning’s baking in the kitchen. She trotted up behind the counter, wiped icing from her hooves onto a napkin, and beamed. “Why, good morning, dear, so nice to see you! If you’re here to visit Pinkie Pie, she’s still asleep, bless her heart, she stayed up all night baking a delivery of cakes that are supposed to go straight to Canterlot this morning!” When she paused to take a breath,she heard a nearly-inaudible murmur. “Oh, what’s that? Did you want anything, dear?”

Twilight said it again, a bit louder; even then, Mrs. Cake only caught the tail end of it. The unicorn’s voice was tired and ragged, and she sounded quite pitiful. “…have any coffee?”

“Oh, of course, dearie! Carrot can’t wake up in the morning without a cup or two, don’cha know, so we always keep a pot on just in case—” Twilight yawned heavily, so hard that her eyes watered. Mrs. Cake smiled understandingly. “Okay, dear. Coffee’s coming right up!” With that, she trotted back into the kitchen.

Twilight waited in the front room, her baggy, dark-circled eyes wandering. Although it hadn’t been very enjoyable so far, she had to admit that it was a beautiful day. Outside, the sun glittered over the frosted grass; leaves rustled, showing off their red-and-yellow autumn clothes to anypony who cared to look. The sun, just warm enough now to feel comfortable, shone through the window, tinting the sugary colors of the shop buttery yellow and rosy pink.

She sighed as birdsong began to filter through the air; and, slowly, she began to relax. Maybe the world at large wasn’t out to get her. Maybe she was just tired and stressed and overreacting to everything. She smiled happily as a cardinal landed on the windowsill, tilting its head to the side to observe her. “Good morning, little guy,” she cooed, her voice still slurred by lack of sleep. “I hope you’re having a better day than—“

She was cut off when the cardinal, without warning, made a nasty face, accompanied by a fairly rude gesture. She fought the urge to throw another fireball, and balefully watched it fly away. Then Mrs. Cake came in from the kitchen, a fresh, hot pot of coffee dangling from her mouth by a handle on the top, and all else was forgotten.

One might think, looking on these events and then at the unicorn’s haggard, stewing expression, that Twilight Sparkle was a grouchy, bad-tempered, and mentally-unstable pony with a trigger-happy attitude towards magic. Not so (except possibly the bit about the unstableness). She was not usually trigger-happy, or rude, or unable to find her way around a tiny town built around a central hub, or prone to trying to roast cute little bunnies.

In fact, she was the bearer of the Element of Magic, and as none of those things are terribly conducive to friendship, they generally didn’t fall to her. Usually she was kind, understanding, intelligent, friendly, and held in the thrall of baby bunnies like anypony else. However, one might forgive her her lapse in good attitude in light of the early hour, and the extremely depressing and taxing job she had taken on.

She looked carefully back over her checklist as she drank her coffee. “Let’s see… I’m supposed to see Berry Punch around noon Tuesday, Peanut Marmalade around four Wednesday, Dinky Doo at six Thursday, Apple Bloom at eight Friday…” She felt a pang of sadness at the reminder of the Apple Family’s loss. “Lyra at ten-thirty Monday…”

She frowned. “Monday? That doesn’t make any sense, we made the appointment for sometime this week—” She noticed the ‘This week!’ scribbled hastily beside Lyra’s schedule. “Oh. Right.”

She looked out the window again, suddenly worried. “Mrs. Cake?” she called plaintively.

The older mare’s head popped back around the doorframe, the sun softening her blue coat and frosting-shaped mane. “Yes, dear? Do you need more coffee?” she asked.

“Well, maybe, but, ah… would you happen to know what time it is?” Twilight inquired nervously, hoping that it wasn’t too late to get to the appointment (although it still felt far too early).

Mrs. Cake glanced at the clock on the wall and beamed. “Oh, it’s about six-thirty, dearie! Got somewhere to be?”

Twilight sighed softly. She had a few hours, but she needed to go home and sleep before the appointment, or she’d be completely useless. “Yes. Yes, I do."

She tried to take another sip, only to be met with an empty cup. "And, um… could I maybe have that second cup of coffee?”