Pomme Non-Pareils

by psimon

The Town

There was a sleepy little town somewhere between Ponyville and Applelucia. The rail bypassed it as it speedily bearing passengers on to further places. It wasn't poor, but it wasn't the best kept of places, either. Its buildings of worn wood, comfortable with age having adjusted their own postures at odds with the direction of their foundations, didn't see many visitors beyond those stopping through to figure out how far off their route they had actually went. It could have been anywhere, this peaceful little place. The only thing it was missing was a fruitful apple orchard.

Flim and Flam traded knowing expressions; both noticed the lack of prominent apples, the lack of potential opportunities, and the lack of apparent disposable incomes to earn. There wasn't even a crowd enough for their usual, grand entrance... not that a place like this warranted the performance. It had a comfortable feeling to its simplicity, but it was a comfort which bore a palpably unsustainable feeling; it wasn't the kind of place either of them were keen to stay very long, but as the sun followed the course laid down by Princess Celestia, far away and above them, they shared the sentiment that they could at least stay the night.

A rather squat building on the corner of the main - and only - thoroughfare through the town bore a sign reading “Inn” whose paint had long since flaked away and edges long since succumbed to the seasons, rounding out and looking almost dignified with the mark of the years upon it. The wind stirred it with a gentle squeak, cool in a refreshing sort of way, in low intermittent breezes that one could almost call sultry.

The Flim-Flam brothers' entrance was as simple as the building itself: with neither song nor dance, they brought their machine close enough to spare themselves much of a walk, but they made sure to leave enough room to allow it space to slow to a deliberate halt. Fewer than 50 leisurely paces brought them through the creaky front door to a warm and comparatively bustling little place. Tables, strewn about a great foyer, even a few with guests dining, a bar at the far end, and tucked near the front as if only in an afterthought, a large desk with a larger book laid out upon it: the receptionist, as it were, for the rooms tucked along the walls of the second floor visible as something of a balcony from the entrance. Flim and Flam exchanged nods and headed to the other end of the building to commiserate.

A bartender with something of a handlebar mustache nodded towards them, asking, “Cider?”

The brothers winced and shook their heads in unison, neither wanting to partake of the troublesome stuff so soon after the morning's incident. Besides, it wouldn't be as good as theirs.

The only other option was decided for them. Some bubbly, berry-laden thing, in copious amounts owing more to its surplus than anything else. One sip told why: it was horrid stuff, plain, almost tasting more of vinegar than any appreciable beverage. It was sour and bitter, a flavor that managed to fit the situation well enough as Flim and Flam took stock of the day.

“What really tears it,” began Flim, after taking a sip of his acrid flagon.

“Is how many times this was our own doing,” finished Flam, making a sour face as he willed himself to at least finish the drink he'd paid for.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Think about it. Like that road back there, we put ourselves in this situation... there were plenty of moments we could have avoided all this,” he made a sweeping motion, encompassing the entire present.

“But, they worked so fast...”

“Only after we agreed they could.”

They both were quiet again for a time; the rest of the complications didn't need enumerating. It was painfully obvious they did practically everything all wrong in Ponyville, and all for what? Zap apples? Yet, it was somehow bigger than that. Their special talent, their great art, was supposed to have been the triumph of all their risks, failures, and investments. That zap apple cider would have made it all worth it, and now, there wasn't going to be any. Nor would there be any sales of zap apple cider, nor would there be any profits from sales of zap apple cider in kind.

They hadn't really gained anything, but on the flip side, had they lost much? They had been able to get free apples for the little debacle, the wood for the barrels was easily replaced with a little chopping, and their magical strength was as renewable as their physical strength. The only thing they really no longer had was a great deal of hope. It was a depressing night, and they were able to mull the situation over much more than their drinks were mulled. Only after their mugs were empty did they realize their coffers were much the same.

The result was as simple as it was degrading: without the means to stay inside, staying outside became the only available option. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing: it promised to be a clear, comfortable night, and their mode of transport was furnished just enough to be up to the task.

“Non-pariel indeed,” muttered Flam.

Flim mumbled in reply, “Doesn't seem to fit so nicely now, does it?”

Lulled by the fatigue of a long, bad day and a longer, badder drink, sleep found them quickly. It was, however, not the only thing to find them that evening. The moon and stars overhead cast a silverly glow on the moons and stars on the somewhat disheveled hat of the wanderer whose gait had become less dignified as she became more tired. It was a long way to go without the benefit of locomotion, but she couldn't think of anything to do besides stumble towards the road in front of her and stumble just so, as like unto falling into her future. Premeditated progress was a luxury for the successful, the great, and the powerful. She could no longer convince herself she was any of these, though whether she would admit as much still depended on her lingering pride.

After the town itself had long since been asleep, the doors locked, the ledgers closed, she came upon the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 and almost didn't notice it amidst her quiet grumbling. Quiet as she thought she was, though, the surprised noise she made as she walked into the side of the thing was enough to stir its occupants from their own fitful sleep.

It was Flim who awoke fullest, stammering “St-Stampede?!”

Flam half-opened his eyes, did not see a stampede, and half-grunted, “No. Just the wind.” He went back to sleep soon after.

“Of all the... well, I never...!” The words came in fragments, much like the thoughts behind them, as a third voice punctuated the otherwise silent midnight surrounds. Flim, who had panicked, remained awake enough to hear it. Hopping down from the perch of the machine half-expecting to find some miscreant, he was a little confused when he saw who had quite literally run into them.

In a word, she looked fragile. In more words, she had a tired misery hanging about her like a cloak, and a cloak hanging about her like a frayed doily. Her hat, once rather regular and well-fitted, had a distinct bend in its conical peak and a few leaves and barbed seeds and bits of brush that told the news of her difficulties in getting this far. But it was her eyes that really told the story. They weren't glazed or necessarily tired, but they did look just beyond the world in a beaten sort of lucid fugue. It was a look Flim recognized immediately; they were the eyes of someone who couldn't stop seeing echoes of a past that wouldn't leave one well enough alone. They were the same eyes had was looking at her with.

Flim adopted a tone that he all but recycled from Ponyville, save for an added empathetic undertone, “You, my good lady, look like you've earned a drink. Fancy a cider, for your story?”

She didn't consider whether to accept as much as she did how to accept; this was, after all, a first impression. But she was tired, deflated, and no longer in a position where such things seemed important.

“I suppose it will have to do,” she found herself replying, instantly regretting the tone and the distaste. Was she really that kind of person? Did she really have to sound so bemused? Even if she had found a town, it seemed she was still very much lost.

“I'm Flim. He's Flam,” Flim cocked his head to where his brother slumbered, “We're, or rather, oh, who am I kidding,” he sighed, “We're kind of idiots.” It wasn't something he wanted to say, nor something he wanted his brother to hear, but there it was, floating out his mouth and into her ears.

This caused the frazzled unicorn to give a small, honest laugh, “I'm Trixie. I'm a bit lost.... I had just left Ponyville, and--”

“Ponyville. I've got more than an earful to say about Ponyville.” Flim said the word like a curse. “It's settled, then. You do need a cider,” he began, going for one of the barrels on the back of the Cider Squeezy 6000. His frustration and anger at mention of the place had shaken any drowsiness out of him. It was going to be an interesting conversation. Perhaps even an interesting plan, he thought silently to himself.

Comments

[That_one_guy]

I feel good things about this fic. Good things indeed. It's a good feel. Good enough to make me ramble.

[Trickquestion]

By the time this is over, I can already tell Trixie will be sleeping with both of them.

Keep up the good work!