Buoyed up by Applejack and Arinze’s happy news and by Shoddy’s and my little kitchen chat at the Acreage, I threw myself into preparing Shoddy to face customers for the first time. Already this project is taking longer than I might have hoped, but then, worthwhile things often do. When I finally opened the doors of the Quill and Sofa the Monday following our visit to the Acreage, I was tentatively confident of his ability to not completely shoot his mouth off or ramble on about the war.
The day was… tentatively successful.
“If you don’t mind my saying, ma’am, I think this here couch would serve you even better,” he observes to a stoutly built mare.
“And why is that?” she replies.
For whatever reason, I feel a chill down my spine.
“Well, ma’am,” he says with a genuine intent to be helpful. “It has a much heavier frame.”
Ah. That’s the reason for the chill down my spine.
The mare’s eyes narrow. “And just why do you think that would be helpful?” she inquires.
Blissfully unaware of the danger and guileless of any offense, he opens his mouth to reply.
Depending on one’s definition of ‘shoot his mouth off.’
I never quite mastered Twilight’s teleportation, despite having spent many an hour with her attempting to learn it in an attempt to distract her from the pain and depression those first couple years. All the same, I manage to appear beside the mare and Shoddy before he can send the conversation from the current dangerous waters into the approaching hurricane.
“Why, to keep it from being knocked about, of course,” I finish for him. “Don’t you just find it aggravating when you have guests over and every time one sits down the couch gets pushed back a few inches? Terrible for the floorboards and it throws off the entire room’s symmetry.”
Admittedly, I sometimes had to smooth over his, shall we say, rough patches.
“Shoddy,” I begin after the customer had gone, looking him dead in the eye, “You never, ever, ever, comment on a mare’s weight. Ever. For any reason.”
He shuffles one hoof. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
Celestia, he looks pitiful. I pat him on the shoulder. “I know you were, darling, but it’s a touchy subject for many mares.”
At least it provided the opportunity for object lessons.
He brightens up with sudden inspiration. “Would it help if I said that I like mares with some meat on their bones?”
A lot of opportunity for object lessons.
“What? Why the face? I do! Really! Scrawny mares always make me want ta feed ’em a sandwich. They just gotta be hungry all the time. Naw, I think heftier gals are much prettier. They look healthier.”
I’m torn between finding his perspective refreshing and finding his gaucheness horrifying. “Shoddy, while I’m sure many a mare would appreciate being told you find her genuinely pretty, it’s not generally appropriate for work conversation. And when you do have such conversations you should, ahem, perhaps consider some slight adjustments to your delivery.”
He managed to maintain focus on what he was doing…
“Shoddy, darling?”
“Mm?”
“You’ve been staring out the window for the past five minutes.”
“Ah, bu— er, I mean, shucky-darns. I’m sorry, Miss Rarity.”
… mostly…
“Horseapples, have I really been sweeping this same spot that long?”
“I’m afraid so, Shoddy.”
“Son of a mule.”
“Language, Shoddy.”
“Right, um, gun. Son of a gun. Yeah. That.”
And he kept a lid on his war talk.
“So, anyway, I that’s how I got this scar here and… what was that, Miss Rarity? Oh! Crap— crud, I mean. Sorry, sir, I’ll load yer table out right now.”
Except when he didn’t.
“… is part of why I think this’s a nice pick on the couch. You know, the print on this thing also sorta reminds me o’ one me an’ my buddy Sure Shot got pinned behind in Budapone. Boy, wasn’t that day one Charlie Foxtrot after another! See, the cook had made us fried beets for breakfast that morning, which was bad enough since, you know, beets, plus Rocky couldn’t cook for jack. Seriously, he’d burn a salad. Literally – he burnt an actual friggin’ salad. And another time he made this puke-colored daffodil and bean casserole that gave us all the muddy muss if know what I mean, so…”
Still and all, a day has passed since then and I haven’t gotten any complaints from the customers. He made the work go faster than if I had to shift the furniture myself or hire outside movers, validating my statement to Applejack that he wouldn’t be a burden. And, when one of the King’s Own zebras came in today to buy a couch for the guard quarters they’re building at the Acreage (still strange to think about that), he managed to help the chap all by himself. What’s more, he managed to do it without calling the young fellow a ‘zeb’ or any other such less-than-polite term. Celestia help me, he came close, but he caught himself in time and I don’t think Corporal Adla noticed.
Granted, it probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since I gather that Arinze and Kafil already had a word with the other zebras; something to the effect that Shoddy doesn’t mean anything by it when he utters what might be a slur in other contexts. The fact that he and Arinze are plainly friends who engage in a fair amount of good-natured ‘slagging’ probably helps. For all that, it’s gratifying to see Shoddy remembering his manners.
Maybe I ought to ask Spike if one of the superheroes in those comics he gave Shoddy is particularly genteel and personable. Or if they ever took a classical debonair character like the Crimson Pimpernel and transcribed him into one of those… oh, what were they called again? ‘Picture novels’ or somesuch?
‘Illustrated tales?’
‘Graphic stories?’
Ah, well, I’ll just ask Spike next time I see him. I fear it must assuredly lose something in the transcription, but even a watered-down version might prove useful. Anything to help Shoddy think through personal interactions.
The front bell of the Quill and Sofa jingles. Looking through the back-office window, I spy Applejack. “Darling,” I greet her, rising from my desk and entering the main room. “Your timing is impeccable. I just finished the last of the bookkeeping.”
“That’s swell, Rares,” she says with a smile. “Shoddy in the back?”
I shake my head as I cross the floor to her. “He’s helping one of your guards cart a couch back to the Acreage.” We exit the store and I lock the door behind us. Nearby, I see Kafil lingering unobtrusively; he gives me a genial wink that the other guards would never break character to deliver. I nod back and continue filling Applejack in. “Honestly, Adla probably didn’t need the help, but Shoddy insisted. I’m surprised you didn’t pass them on the way in.”
Applejack snorts unhappily as we start walking. “Maybe Ah would’ve a few years ago, but this town has got so flippin’ big that Ah still get turned around now an’ then. Ah woulda been early otherwise.”
I feel oddly comforted that there’s something that she finds jarring and unfamiliar after all these years. It makes me feel less left out when I feel that way constantly.
Then I feel guilty because her discomfort shouldn’t be comforting, even to validate my own discomfort with how things have changed.
“Certainly not the Ponyville we grew up in,” I remark as we sidestep a pair of colts from JROTC.
“No, it ain’t,” she says with a melancholic sigh. Then a smile warms her face as she swishes her tail against her pregnant belly. “Lot o’ the changes are good, though.”
Her cheer is infectious. “True enough.” Changing the subject, I ask, “So, where are we dining this evening?”
“Well, Ah was thinkin—”
Whatever Applejack was thinking is cut off by an imperious challenge from behind us. “You thought you could escape my notice, Applejack?”
With inequine speed, Kafil has turned to face the challenger, his face flat, his hoof gripping the revolver in his holster. He hasn’t drawn, because like a good professional he’s still assessing the threat, but I’m frozen in place. I know that mare’s voice. It’s burned into my memory – a tale of pettiness and deceit.
Judging from the frozen expression on Applejack’s face, she remembers too.
“You thought you could simply return home to family and farm and leave me behind?”
Wrenching my head free of my stupor, I turn to see a familiar hat and cloak mantling her – that arrogant antagonist, that spiteful nag. I’d thought her repentant, but her challenge suggests otherwise. My eyes widen in horror, but her eyes are fixed entirely on Applejack. She approaches imperiously, a triumphant smirk twisting her features.
“So foolish you were,” continues the mare in her trademark sing-song stage voice as her steps bring her to us, “to think you could escape the Grrrreat and Powerful Trix—”
Before she can finish, she is cut off by a mighty grapple. In a trice, Applejack has pinned the interloper in a grip that leaves her immobilized and at the earth pony’s mercy. Even so, I move to intervene, terrified that the baby might be injured if the mare is foolish enough to fight back. Applejack has pinned her in a way that keeps her well clear of the child, but if she uses her magic—
—wait…
…wait, why are they laughing?
“Trixie, you crazy fuse head!” cries Applejack, roaring with mirth as she embraces the unicorn, “You scared the living daylights outta me! Come ’ere, you!” she laughs, maneuvering her into a friendly headlock and administering a fierce noogie.
Trixie protests with equal ferocity, though her own laughter diminishes the effect somewhat. “Unhoof Trixie you uncouth jarhead! If this is how you treat your friends, it’s a wonder you became a Bearer of Harmony! I’ll have you clapped in irons for assaulting an officer!”
Beg pardon? Friend? Officer?
Applejack maintains her noogie offensive. “Sorry, Trix, but Ah’m a princess now. Ah think ‘royalty’ beats ‘colonel’ any day.”
Royalty beats whatnow?
Trixie snorts. “So, the hillbilly becomes royalty and the Great and Powerful Trixie continues to waste away in the squalor of the army.” She throws a dramatic hoof up as though swooning. “Will the injustices against Trixie never cease?” Then, all humor fading, she says, “Seriously, though, get off. You’ll muss Trixie’s uniform.”
Muss her whaaa?
“Whoops, sorry,” says Applejack contritely as she releases Trixie. “Still, serves ya right fer always wearin’ yer mess dress under that stupid hat and cape.”
The unicorn brushes the dust off her cape. “Trixie must maintain a certain standard, Applejack,” she replies frostily. “Still, I suppose with so many troopers around it would be proper to reveal myself so they may properly salute the Great and Powerful Colonel Lulamoon.” With a flourish, she throws off her cape, revealing an army mess dress uniform bristling with decorations, including the Distinguished Service Cross, the Imperial Bloodstripe, and two Wound Badges.
Gabawhuhuuuh?
Kafil clears his throat meaningfully. “Can I assume this mare is a friend?” he asks with metered calm, tapping one hoof on the grip of his pistol.
Applejack glances over and blushes. “Oops. Sorry, Kaf. Still not used to the whole ‘bodyguard’ business. Sorta forgot ta warn ya.”
“Trixie did sneak up on you,” interjects the mare herself.
Applejack gestures to the unicorn. “Rarity already knows her, but Ah’ll introduce you. Kafil, this here’s Trixie. One o’ my best friends from the war.”
Oh is she now?!
“You have bodyguards now?” asks Trixie, her voice at once mocking and jealous. “Well, haven’t we moved up in the world. A princess proper now, and not just a prince’s consort.” She clicks her tongue. “Typical. Who next among you shall rise where Trixie cannot? Uncouth Rainbow Dash? That madmare Pinkie Pie?”
“Well, they both married commoners, so Ah doubt it,” chuckles Applejack. “Still, that leaves Fluttershy and Rarity on the table. Rarity always did mean to marry up in the world.”
She winks at me as she says this, as though expecting me to weigh in. Sorry, Applejack, I’m still too busy not comprehending what’s happening in front of me.
Trixie glances in my direction and nods thoughtfully. “A fair assessment, Trixie supposes. Fluttershy is the darling of the Armed Forces, and, as for Rarity, there is certain to be many a fit young lord who would seek the heart of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s right-hoof mare.”
I’d be flattered if I understood what I was seeing.
Applejack smirks. “Of course, Dash or Pinkie could always become alicorn princesses.”
“Ugh! Don’t even joke about that!” says the unicorn sourly. “Though, if it does happen, Trixie’s money is on Pinkie Pie. It would be in keeping with her flagrant defiance of the laws of reality.”
True enough, Trixie, and I’d love to say as much, but all I can think is what the buck is going on?!
“Trixie?!” exclaims a raspy voice from overhead.
Finally, somepony who sounds as surprised as I feel! Please, Rainbow Dash, come and save me from the madness that has engulfed my life!
My cyan savior flaps down and stares open-mouthed at Trixie. Yes! That’s it, Rainbow! Demand an explanation on my behalf! You know you want to!
The horned menace to my sanity smiles and waves. “Trixie greets you, Rainbow Dash? Have you heard Trixie’s joke about the three-legged squirrel?”
I fully expect Rainbow Dash to demolish Trixie for that slight about her amputation. Instead, she demolishes my fragile grip on reality by bursting out laughing. “Same ol’ Trixie! Tongue’s still sharper than your wit, I see.”
Trixie smirks. “An adequate retort, Rainbow. Did Twilight help you come up with it?”
Rainbow’s laughter intensifies as she lands and grips Trixie in a comradely hug. “You jerk! Come here!”
“Watch Trixie’s uniform, please!”
Pulling out of the embrace, Rainbow’s face is lit with inspiration. “I gotta go tell the others you’re here! They’ll be stoked!”
“You’ll find my husband at the Acres,” says Applejack, looping a hoof over Trixie’s withers. “Shoddy too. Gad, it’s been so long since we all seen each other! We oughta celebrate!”
“Trixie agrees,” agrees Trixie. “She also proposes a grrrreat and powerful feast, perhaps…” her eyes light up with pleading eagerness, like a filly begging for sweets, “at the castle?”
“Pff!” scoffs Rainbow. “What, the Great and Powerful Trixie couldn’t get an invite?”
“It must have been lost in the mail,” sniffs Trixie.
“You just want to sample the royal kitchens,” teases Rainbow.
“Don’t take this from Trixie! Unlike you, she’s still on barracks food!”
Applejack chuckles. “Ah think we can swing that. Heh! This’ll be an interesting conversation for more than one reason, but,” there’s a twinkle in her eyes, “Ah think it’ll be worth it.”
Trixie smiles demurely and starts towards Twilight’s castle with Applejack. “Trixie happily concurs with Princess Applejack’s wisdom.”
“Oh, so now Ah’m wise Princess Applejack and not a country bumpkin? That’s some change o’ tune there, Trix.”
“Trixie is not above begging to get quality food in a refined setting.”
“Ah’m well aware. Ah seem to remember a little incident in Saddlehurst—”
“Trixie thought we had agreed never to speak of that again…”
Their voices trail off as they round the corner out of sight. Kafil follows, his head shaking with the barest hint of visible annoyance.
Rainbow lingers a moment, still smiling at the prospect of seeing her war buddy again.
A war buddy named Trixie.
Trixie.
Trixie.
“Criminy, it’s good to see Trixie again,” gushes Rainbow. “I mean, sure, Twilight’s gonna have a conniption fit when she shows up unannounced, especially with guests, but, eh, what can you do?” She turns to me, her face becoming concerned. “You okay, Rarity? You seem a little… um… slack-jawed.”
A little slack-jawed. Yes. Just a little.
I pour years of schooled etiquette into my features, putting on a refined smile, an air of studied calm, and a careful measure of mild interest, all to show that even such a remarkable turn of events cannot erode my composure. “Well, Rainbow Dash,” I say with regal tranquility, “I must confess that I do have one little question.”
“Yeah? What?”
I take in a ladylike breath before asking, with utmost equanimity, “WHAT IN SWEET CELESTIA’S BEER-BATTERED SUNDAY TEACAKES IS GOING ON?!”