All is as Dumb as I Have Foreseen
Acacia Tree stood in line as the rain pattered against her umbrella. Ponies trailed along the sidewalk, waiting for their chance to purchase the morning paper. She lowered her umbrella and shook it. The water that had collected on top flew off in a shower, accidently spattering moisture at a passing taxi carriage. The driver lifted a hoof in an obscene gesture as he galloped away. Acacia returned the gesture with a dim glower.
The pony in front of her did not have an umbrella. Come to think of it, neither did the pony behind her. Nor the pony behind that pony. They all clutched their cloaks and coats close, with collars raised and hats lowered. A few stared at her umbrella with keen jealousy.
Earlier that morning, the sky had been clear and cloudless, just like the weather schedule promised. In the space of a few seconds, a large storm cloud had rolled in out of the blue and begun drenching the citizens of Manehatten. If there was one thing for sure, there was going to be at least one weather team member who would be looking for new work at the end of the day.
Acacia held her glower as she came to the front of the line. The shopkeeper glanced up at the umbrella and raised an eyebrow.
“Looks like you’re the only pony prepared for the weather today,” Post Haste said. “Surprise, surprise.”
Acacia tossed two bits onto the counter. “Just the usual, Post.”
“Now that’s something I could have predicted,” he said. He handed her two bundles, one of the Daily Dependable and one of the Monthly Muse. “I hear the Bugle is looking for a new pony to write horoscopes.”
Acacia scowled. “Horoscopes? The day I get my news from the stars is the day I move in with the diamond dogs.”
Post Haste shrugged. “Just sayin’. They’d jump at the chance to hire a real live seer.”
“They’d jump because no self-respecting seer would write horoscopes.” Acacia grabbed the papers with her foreleg.
A gust of wind blew water off a nearby roof. It drenched Acacia, knocking the umbrella out of her grip. She glared at the sky as rain soaked her papers. “Really? Really.”
She picked up the Daily Dependable and watched as the ink melted away. She blinked as the black lines traced across the page, swirling and dripping. As she watched, the damp ink slowly formed distinct shapes. Words. Sentences. “What the—”
The rain came to Manehattan unawares
Mistakes often come in pairs
A broken reservoir under repairs
In twenty minutes sunlight appears
Acacia paused as Post Haste read over her shoulder. He grasped the page and lifted it to the sky. “Good news, folks! They’re fixing a busted reservoir! The rain’ll stop in twenty minutes exactly!”
A half-hearted cheer went up from the crowd. Acacia snatched the page away from Post Haste and walked away.
“Hay, Cassy!” he called out. “I’ll get yah a new copy. On the house!”
“Thanks,” she said as she lifted her umbrella. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “But I’ll just wait for it to fall out of the sky.”
Acacia Tree tossed the damp newspapers at a garbage can. She misjudged her throw and they flopped against the side. She watched as the rain dissolved the papers into pulp and carried them to the storm drains.
A few bits of pulp got caught on a crack in the sidewalk. If Acacia didn’t know better, she would have said they’d formed the shape of a crude arrow.
“Oh Sweet Princesses, I’m late!” A stallion in a long overcoat galloped past. He ran up to Acacia and pushed his hat back. “Ma’am, please tell me you know where the Silver Spoon Advertising Agency is!”
“How the heck should I—” Acacia paused, her mouth hanging open. She looked at the sidewalk pulp with a scrunched muzzle. “Really?”
She pointed in the direction of the arrow. “Head straight that-a-way. You can’t miss it.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The stallion took off at a gallop. “This is gonna be my big break! Thanks!”
Acacia glanced at the pulp. She pursed her lips as it formed a ragged “X” shape. “Don’t get your hopes up!”
The stallion was already well out of earshot.
Destiny sucks, Acacia decided for the fifth time that month.
A “congenital fate disorder,” the doctor had called it. There was a tiny flaw in her internal magic; a minor discrepancy in her chemical makeup. It had been part of her since birth, and would continue to be part of her until she died. No cure, no treatment, no relief.
It was common knowledge amongst ponies that Destiny was a natural occurrence. Much like a pony’s body, it grew and developed over time. Each pony’s Destiny was as unique and distinctive as a voice. Destiny manifested in the physical realm through the appearance of a cutie mark.
Acacia’s Destiny was discovered at an early age, when her homemade cootie catcher accurately predicted the details of her classmate’s day; down to what each of them were having for dessert. She demonstrated it to her parents, and the next moment found the image of an eight-ball appearing on her flanks. Acacia’s parents were perfume makers by trade, but they sure didn’t mind their daughter becoming the first seer in Equestria in five-hundred years.
But then, things started getting silly.
The cootie catcher began to howl in a ghastly voice about the students’ report card grades. Occasionally, messages would appear in Acacia’s alphabet soup about what flowers were going to bloom. She once accidently sat on a bench covered in wet paint, and when she stood up, the local diner’s new menu had been printed onto her backside.
That darned Ritz had followed her the entire day, reading her butt out loud.
She was reluctant to see a specialist, at first. She tried to convince herself that it was a temporary thing, that these random visions and signs would fade away in time and be replaced by more reasonable prophesies. Maybe her magic was overloaded to the point where it had to be let out. Maybe the planets had aligned just right for a month or two of wackiness.
“Hyperportentia,” the doctor had called it; an exceedingly rare congenial fate disorder which applied only to seers. A condition where her internal magic made her a hailing beacon to every prophecy, omen, and vision of the future in the area.
Considering how many ponies lived in Manehatten, that added up to a heck of a lot of foreseeing.
Treatments? What treatments? Nopony had the disorder for the last two millennia. It was all theories and myths until she came along. Besides, how does somepony stave off random prophesies?
How do you fight something that’s been programmed into your genetic code?
With those cheery questions asked and answered, Acacia Tree began her new life as the seer of all things mundane and trifling. Yay.
Rain trickled down the waterspouts as Acacia pushed open the employee’s door of the Chow Mane restaurant. She pulled the heavy coat off of her back, revealing the red uniform beneath. She didn’t even make it to the coatroom before a light purple blur obscured her vision.
“Cassy!” the blur giggled. “How are you this fine morning?”
Acacia brushed her orange mane out of her eyes and pushed the blur back. “Just peachy.”
The blur came into focus as the pony it represented returned to her own personal space. Bubble Dancer bounced from her left hooves to her right as she grinned. “So, what’s gonna happen today? Am I going to win the lottery? Am I going to find Mr. Right? Will I get sucked into an adventure filled with mystery, intrigue, and murder?” She cupped her hooves over her mouth. “Is it gonna be all at once?”
Acacia glanced to the side, narrowing her eyes. “Actually, I did have a dream about you last night.”
Bubble Dancer gasped. “What was it? What was it?”
“You were in the kitchen,” Acacia said. “Washing dishes.”
“Whoa.” Bubble Dancer bopped her head. “That’s, like, exactly what I was gonna do today.”
“That’s what you do every day.” Acacia walked past her and draped her coat over a hanger. “Is the boss in yet?”
“Cho Mein sent a messenger pigeon ahead,” Bubble Dancer said. “He said he’d be by midmorning.”
“Yay.” Acacia pulled her mane back and secured it with chopsticks. “Must be nice to only come around when he feels like it.”
Bubble Dancer shrugged. “He’s getting on in age.”
Acacia grimaced. “He’s getting on in senility.”
“Hay,” Bubble Dancer wrapped a foreleg around Acacia’s shoulders. “He’s by often enough to keep things running smoothly. We’re doing just fine.”
“Awesome.” Acacia walked out from under Bubble’s hug. “I just got here and already can’t wait to leave.”
“Loosen up a bit!” Bubble Dancer called. “And I already set out the notes for you! The customers’ll be by in about an hour!”
“Noted.”
Acacia walked into a small room built into the side of the kitchen. It was a fairly bare office, with a simple desk and a wooden pen stuck in the inkwell. It took Cho Mein far too long to figure out why an earth pony like Acacia didn’t appreciate feather pens.
She took the pen in her mouth and started writing fortunes. “Yeah. So much better than horoscopes.”
She printed out about a hundred every day. All accurate, of course. She couldn’t exactly help that. She blinked as she read over the most recent note: “Your fake eyelash will fall out in three seconds.” She grimaced and made a mental note to keep a careful watch on soup bowls.
Each fortune was carefully rolled into a pastry, which was then inserted into an oven. She had it down to a fine science. Write, roll, bake. Write, roll, bake.
Write. Roll. Bake.
“Cassy!”
Acacia jerked her head up. “What?”
Bubble Dancer stuck her head into the room. “Are you done with the cookies or not?”
Acacia rolled a pastry in sync with her eyes. “I dunno. I didn’t get a vision about it.”
“’Cause we got customers lining up outside.” Bubble Dancer gave Acacia a shallow grin. “We open in ten minutes?”
Acacia nodded. “Tell Wok to let them in.”
Nine o’clock sharp, the doors were opened. Acacia plastered a fake smile onto her face as she led parties to their tables. She used to wait on tables, but had a bad habit of telling ponies what they wanted to eat. A few complaints about pushy waitresses later, she was kicked up to the seating hostess position.
“Party of four?”
Light glinted through the window as the sun finally cleared a skyscraper. The sunbeams fell on one table in particular, near the middle of the room. At least ponies appreciated getting the perfect seat.
Acacia gritted her teeth beneath her close-lipped smile as the day wore on. Ponies came, ate, and left. Sometimes they even left tips. Occasionally, they left tips worth the time it took to pick them up off the table.
The day passed without incident for about five hours.
Sometime around the beginning of the afternoon, a pony wearing clothes that were far too fancy for the Chow Mane walked in. He wore his silk top hat at a jaunty angle and swung his pocket watch around on its chain. He grinned at Acacia and tipped his hat to her. “Afternoon, ma’am. Might I find time to eat with an old friend?”
“The only old one here is you, Ritz,” Acacia said with a smirk. “I’ll tell Wok I’m on my lunch break.”
Ritz walked up to an empty table. “I’m a year younger than you.”
“You dress like you’re fifty.”
“I dress like I feel,” Ritz said. “Snappy.”
With Wok seating the guests and Chickadee waiting on them, Acacia took her chair across from Ritz. “You wanna have your fortune told, too?” she asked.
“Nope.” He lifted a menu and perused it. “Has it been bad today?”
“Awful.” Acacia leaned on her hoof. “I had a stinking dream about Bubble Dancer last night. I get enough of her while I’m awake! ‘Will this happen? Oh, what if I do this? Is this a possibility?’”
She stomped a hoof on the table. “I’ve had premonitions since the moment I woke up, too. I swear, Ritz, if this keeps up I’m going to become a hermit.”
Ritz’s eyebrow rose above the menu. “You wouldn’t last a day outside the city.”
“At least it’d be quiet.” Acacia crossed her forelegs. “Maybe.”
“I hear animals have Destinies, too.” Ritz turned the page. “You’d probably have a million acorns dropping on your head predicting the rise and fall of the Squirrel Empire.”
Acacia narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you are not helping.”
Ritz smiled. “Uh huh.”
Acacia watched Chickadee wait on a table across the restaurant. A very nervous stallion was sitting next to a bored mare. “So how’s your Destiny coming along?”
“Meh.”
“What’s ‘meh?’” Acacia shook her head. “What’s ‘meh’ supposed to mean?”
“Eh.” Ritz wiggled his hoof. “I dunno.”
Acacia looked around the table. Ritz’s cutie mark of a red feather pen came into view. “Come on, featherbutt, what gives?”
“It’s about the same as usual,” Ritz said. “I liked writing for a while, but now I guess I just grew out of it.”
“Grew out of it?” Acacia leaned back in her chair. “How in the heck are you supposed to grow out of a Destiny?”
“How in the heck are you supposed to get a Destiny disease?”
“Genetics, chemical composition; I dunno, it’s magic.” She pointed to her forehead. “Neither of us are unicorns, so don’t ask me to give you a unicorn answer.”
“Then I’ll just go right ahead and say the same thing.” Ritz plopped the menu down between them. “Except that I’ll add that Destiny is weird.”
“It sucks, is what it does.” Acacia fiddled with a spoon she had unrolled from her napkin. Chickadee was about two tables away from them. “I wish I had your problem.”
“Who said it was a problem?” Ritz placed a hoof on his chest. “I am a free stallion, able to do what I wish.”
“With zero direction.”
“Better no direction than a direction pointing down.”
“Kiss my cutie mark, Ritz.”
Ritz frowned. “I wasn’t talking about you, per se.”
“No?” Acacia pulled her chair closer to the table as Chickadee arrived. “Egg drop for me, Dee.”
“An order of rangoons, please,” Ritz said.
When she’d gone, Acacia leaned over the table. “Because it sure feels like some sort of downward spiral into stupidity. It’s gone to ‘your hat’ levels of stupidity.”
Ritz’s hoof went to his head. “I like my hat.”
“It looks like you robbed a funeral home.”
“It makes me look dapper.”
“You look like something out of a black-and-white horror film.”
“It cost me half a year’s wages.”
“Ritzy Doodle went to town,” Acacia sang.
“Hey, now…”
“He was an earth pony.”
“Not in the restaurant—”
“Stuck a feather in his cap.”
“Now just a—”
“And called it ‘macaroni.’”
Acacia brought her hooves underneath her chin and pouted. “Izzat who you are? Ritzy Macaroni?”
Chickadee walked by, carrying a tray of fortune cookies. Acacia grinned. “Hey, Dee. Two for us, please.”
“Huh?” The waitress looked down at the tray. “You actually want one?”
“Two.” Acacia took the cookies and passed one to Ritz. “You say you outgrew your Destiny? Time to get another one.”
Ritz looked down at the curly pastry. “I don’t really like the taste…”
“Who does?” Acacia held her cookie between her hooves. “Come on, thou who lackest Destiny. Meet thine truth.”
Ritz drew his lips back. “You first.”
Acacia rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” A quick crumble of crust later, she read from the note. “‘You’re about to be sorely disappointed.’ What the—?”
Ritz opened his cookie, revealing all of the nothing inside.
Acacia blinked at the crumbs. The crumbs that had no note. “What the hay?”
“Huh.” A smile slowly spread across Ritz’s face. “Huh. What do you know?”
Acacia glared at him. “You’re evil, you know that?”
Ritz shrugged. “I think you need to relax.”
“Yeah?” Acacia bugged her eyes out at him. “Aren’t I relaxed? Is this not the face of a relaxed pony?”
“Ha.” Ritz spread his napkin across his lap. “I think we need to do the same thing we did the last time you went into freak-out mode.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“I give you two weeks before you buy an airship ticket to Hollow Shades again.”
“I was a teenager at the—”
“When you found out there were no flights ever, you were going to hire a private plane.”
“I think we’re too old to go to the prom, Ritz.”
Ritz fished through his shirt pocket. “Here, check it out.”
He handed her a flier with bold, colorful print. “Like I said before,” he said, “I’m able to do what I want, so I spent some time getting my groove on.”
“You are aging yourself so much with that saying.” She read over the pamphlet and frowned. “A dance club?”
“Not quite the prom, but serviceable.” Ritz grinned. “Come on, you know you wanna go dancing. It’ll relieve your stress.”
He tapped a hoof on the ground in time. “Fancy dress and a corsage, have no regrets, though your life’s odd. Just grab your kicks,”—tap, tap—“putting up with Ritz.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’m cut out for dancing any—” A gasp went up from the diners. Acacia and Ritz turned as one to see what all the fuss was about.
A giant, translucent hoof, glowing golden yellow, descended from the ceiling. Its tip shined bright as it drew up beside a wall. The hoof carved a deep, shining groove into the wood paneling, spelling out words.
Acacia’s jaw dropped.
“‘Just…’” Chickadee read as the hoof wrote.
“‘Kiss…’” one diner mumbled.
“‘The?’” Ritz scratched his head.
“‘Girl,’” Wok said.
“‘Already?’” Acacia scowled and turned to Ritz. “What the heck is that supposed to—?”
“Oh, to heck with it!” the nervous stallion across the restaurant said. He scooped up the mare beside him, held her at leg’s length, and brought their lips together for a long, passionate smooch. Most patrons in the restaurant cheered.
Acacia slammed her hoof on the table, causing Ritz to jump. “Pick me up at six o’clock sharp or you’re carrying me to Hollow Shades.”
Acacia stared at Ritz as he twirled around the dance floor. She sat on the sidelines, nursing a drink that wasn’t quite as bubbly as she would have liked. Light from the disco ball overhead changed her drink into a rainbow of color.
“Say, nice to meet a fellow billiard’s enthusiast!”
The stallion that sat next to Acacia had the cutie mark of two crossed cue sticks. That, combined with his statement, gave no question about just what his Destiny entailed.
Acacia wore a blue flapper dress. She was a bit embarrassed at how short the skirt was and the way it raised a bit when she twirled. She resigned herself to the fact that it was the only dress she owned. At least it managed to cover her cutie mark most of the time.
However, there came times when she forgot to keep an eye on it. She smoothed her dress down over her magic eight-ball cutie mark; the mark that the stallion had seen clearly enough to misinterpret as an actual eight-ball. “Ieeee… I’m more of a snooker girl, myself.”
“Oh.” The stallion sat still for a few minutes, watching the dancers in the center of the room drift past. He shrugged and walked over to the juice bar.
It had come to a slow song, where the lights dimmed and the ponies drew closer. Acacia had a longstanding habit of sitting out that type of dance. She spent a while kicking her legs out and blowing her orange mane out of her face.
A stallion trotted past, the tray on his back filled with goodies. He was talking about a trip he and his girlfriend were going to take to Winsome Falls. In Acacia’s mind, the word “trip” echoed, growing louder and louder. Time slowed as the stallion passed in front of her.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said.
The stallion turned his head as he passed. With his attention elsewhere, he didn’t see the lump in the carpet. He skittered a few steps forward, and then crashed to the floor.
“Sorry,” Acacia said. “Sorry.”
The lights grew brighter and the music turned upbeat. Ritz stepped over the downed stallion and held out a hoof to Acacia. “Come on, Cassy. Have a little fun. This dance is for you.”
“I can’t escape it, Ritz.” Acacia clutched her head in her forelegs. “It’s everywhere. Ponies are everywhere. Destiny is everywhere.”
“So ignore it,” Ritz said. He lifted her off the chair and dragged her onto the dance floor. “Just focus on the dance!”
The band across the hall kicked it up a notch. Trumpets blared, drums rumbled, and the singers belted out their song. “—used to wonder what friendship could be!”
Ritz clip-clopped across the floor. “Come on, Cassy! Show them how it’s done!”
Acacia’s grumpy expression melted. Her hoof bounced to the beat. Her body swayed with the melody.
“Now we’re talking!” Ritz tipped his hat. “May I have this dance?”
“I dunno,” Acacia said. “I’ll have to consult the signs.”
She twirled to him, his foreleg wrapped around her. They kicked their legs out, jumping back and forth. Ponies cleared a space as they danced. Acacia laughed as Ritz lifted her. She knelt as he did a flip over her body. They balanced on their back legs and clapped hooves.
“You gotta teach me how to not care about my Destiny, you know,” she said.
“Lesson one,” Ritz said, “swim upstream!”
They danced through the crowd, towards the center of the dance floor. They shimmied and shook, side by side. When the song came to an end, she leaned back on his foreleg. She stared up at the disco ball as ponies all around applauded.
A spark flashed in her eye.
Acacia and Ritz walked down the busy sidewalk. They were jostled by other ponies left and right.
Ritz frowned. “Cassy? Are you okay?”
Ritz flipped his hat through the air and caught it between his ears. He smirked.
“Cassy!” Ritz’s face flashed through her mind like a reflection on broken glass. “Cassy— Back off! Give her some air!”
They came to a crosswalk. Ritz galloped into the street, laughter following him. He looked back at her and waved. Acacia lifted a hoof to follow, but was stopped by a scream. A stampede of ponies rushed by her. She was caught by hooves to her knees and heads to her flanks, before she was finally tackled by the rushing mob. A mighty crash filled the air.
She lifted her bruised head and looked out into the street. A cart loaded with furniture had lost a wheel and rolled out of control. It was capsized in the middle of the road. Ponies were all around, muttering and gasping and talking now that the stampede had died down.
In the middle of the street, beside the cart, crumpled and beaten, was Ritz’s silk hat.
“No!” Acacia sat up and swung her legs out. She bopped Ritz on the nose.
“Ow!” He adjusted the jaunty angle of his hat. “Are you alright, Cassy? You just collapsed in the middle of the floor!”
She put a hoof on his shoulder and dragged herself to her feet. She stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh my gosh. You’re okay. You’re…”
Her mouth fell open. “Oh no.”
“But are you okay?” Ritz asked. “I think… I think I ought to take you home. Or to the hospital.”
“No!” Acacia shook her head. She felt a bruise on her back where she’d hit the floor. “No, it’s not like that. I’m fine.”
“I fired off a message to Emergency,” billiards pony said. “They said they’ll have an ambulance here in a few minutes.”
“I don’t need an ambulance!” Acacia lifted up her skirt, revealing her cutie mark for all to see. “I’m a seer! I was having a vision!”
There was a brief silence, which was soon replaced by an overbearing hullabaloo.
“What did you see?”
“Was it about me?”
“Will the princesses be deposed?”
“What am I getting for Hearth’s Warming?”
Acacia gripped Ritz’s collar. “Get me out of here. Now.”
The elevated tram rumbled around them as it raced across a bridge. It rolled around above the city, giving them a view of the ponies working, playing, and arguing in the Big Apple.
Ritz sat across from her, his hat low and his eyes tired. He shifted on the uncomfortable plastic seats. “So, was this your first vision?”
“Pretty much.” Acacia hugged herself tight and shivered, despite the warm sun overhead.
Ritz sighed. He glanced out the window, which was so old and beaten that it wouldn’t close completely. “You wanna talk about it?”
“I really don’t,” Acacia squeaked.
“Because that’s what I’m here for.”
“Ritz, please—”
“Burdens are always easier when shared—”
“Shut the heck up!” Acacia’s white face grew purple as she held her breath. Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “Just… just…”
Ritz put his hat to the side. He ran his hooves through his mane. “Sorry.”
Acacia exhaled. She rolled onto her side. “It was about you.”
Ritz sat up. “What?”
“It was about you.” Acacia hugged her tail. “I think I discovered why you don’t have a Destiny.”
Ritz leaned forward. The seat made a peeling sound as he pulled away from it. “What did you see?”
Acacia wiped her eyes. “You got hit by a carriage. Right in the middle of the street. And there wasn’t—”
She hit the seat, rattling the screws. “There wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.”
Ritz slumped to the floor. He took a deep, slow, stuttering breath in. “Haiii…”
“There’s never anything I can do.” Acacia squeezed the sides of her head. “I try to say something, or warn people, but it always happens, it always hurts, and it never makes a difference!
“What good is it to see the future and not be able to change anything? What good is it to give ponies free choice and then remove that choice?” Acacia stood up and stomped her hooves. “What does it matter if Destiny says the choice is already made?”
Ritz sat quietly, looking closely at his hooves. He tapped them together.
Acacia watched him for a second. “I try to think of another way for it to go down, but it’s the same every time. There’s always that cart, you, and your stupid hat. Beaten and bruised on the street.”
Ritz’s ears pricked up. He lifted his top hat. “This hat?”
Acacia rolled her eyes. “No, your bowler. Yes, of course that hat! That stupid, stupid—”
Ritz pulled down the window and tossed the silk top hat out into the city. The air current pulled it back, where it was shredded under the tram’s wheels. Acacia stared, slack-jawed, as he closed the window most of the way and sat back down.
She thumped against the floor of the tram car. “You… just…”
“You want to know my real secret?” Ritz said. “It’s not that I don’t have a Destiny. I have one. It’s as plain as the mark on my butt.”
He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. “I’ve taken charge of my Destiny. That thing says what I’m good at, but only I can say what I do with my life. Only I can say how I use my Destiny and my talents. I write because it’s what I’m good at. I dance and I sing because it’s what I love. I’m not gonna let my Destiny control my life like some sort of puppeteer.”
“But…” Acacia’s nose scrunched up. “I know the future. I read ahead. I know how the story ends.”
“Yeah?” Ritz shrugged. “Now the hat from the vision is gone. It can’t come true just like you saw. What’s the future hold now? Do you know?”
“But how can just one little hat change everything I saw?” Acacia felt her blood pressure rise. “I saw you die, and that’s way too big a thing to change!”
“Prove it.” Ritz crossed his forelegs. “You ever foresee a pony’s death before?”
“No, of course not!” Acacia growled. “But every single prediction I’ve ever had, every single sign and wonder, has come out exactly like I thought! Exactly as shared with me. My Destiny is to know the Destinies of others, and I saw yours!”
Ritz leaned against the window. “So why worry about it?”
Acacia opened her mouth to reply, but it got stuck in her throat. She turned away, her shoulders shaking. “Because you’re my friend.”
Ritz flicked his tail. “What if I told you I wasn’t gonna let myself die?”
“I’d call you a liar,” Acacia said. “And an idiot.”
“Right.” Ritz let out a hollow laugh. “Right.”
The tram jolted to a stop. Ritz wrapped a foreleg around Acacia’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s walk you home. Today’s been long enough.”
“Too long.” Acacia let him lead her out of the car and into the station. Ponies swarmed the tram car on their way home or to wherever the fun was at. A few were still dressed for work, though others were already skipping away from an early evening well-spent. Bits clattered to the ground as a small colt tripped on his own four hooves. He scrambled to pick them up as ponies gave him a wide berth.
The streets were dense with ponies, as was usual for Manehattan. Lights were coming on as the sun sank below the horizon. Many shops locked up for the night, but still more switched over to the evening staff and customers. Manehattan was never quiet, especially at night.
The moon rose into the sky, and the city came to life.
Acacia pressed up against Ritz as the air chilled. She definitely regretted the short skirt now. “What now?”
“Now I guess we do what you want.” Ritz looked down at her with a frown. “You just wanna head home?”
“I think so.” Acacia shut her eyes.
She opened them back up when she accidently ran into a stallion. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Geeze,” Acacia said. “I forget how friendly this town can be.”
“Grab a bunch of ponies, pack them in tightly, bake them and freeze them alternately, see how long it takes for the biting to start.” Ritz’s sage nod hid a smile. “It was an ancient experiment run by the princesses, and they just forgot to tell everypony it was over.”
“You’re trying to make me feel better,” Acacia said. “It won’t work.”
“As long as I’m not dead, I’m gonna keep trying.” He nudged her side. “And that means I’m gonna keep trying for a good, long time.”
Acacia scowled at him. “Please don’t joke about that.”
“Fine.” His eyes caught one bright lit store. “Say, can we stop for a second?”
He pressed his way through the crowd and up to a window. Inside there were a number of hats sitting on dummies and stands. “There we are.”
“What?” Acacia looked up at the sign. “‘The Hatter’s’?”
“After I sacrificed my last hat in the interest of self-preservation, I realized that I’d need a replacement.” He tapped his chin. “You know, you might have been on to something with your ‘bowler hat’ comment.”
“No I wasn’t.” Acacia sat down beside him while he window shopped. “That’s dumber than your last hat. You should go hatless.”
“That one looks promising,” he said, pointing to a stovepipe hat.
“It’s bigger than your head.” A smile tugged at the corners of Acacia’s mouth. “It might even be bigger than your rump.”
Ritz grinned. “Maybe I need a hat for my head and one for my—”
A scream shot through the air. Ponies thundered past, their eyes wild and their mouths open. A bone-shattering crash came from the road. Ritz and Acacia pressed themselves to the window to avoid being caught up in the stampede. It lasted for thirty heart-pounding seconds, after which the sidewalk was nearly clear.
They stumbled forward. Acacia’s breath caught in her throat, and Ritz let out a tiny, strangled moan beside her.
A cart sat in the middle of the street, its wheels in the air and its payload spread across the road. The driver ran up to it. His harness was in tatters and his leg was bruised. A cabbie galloped up behind him and bopped him on the back of the head. “Watch it, bub! You could have killed somepony with that!”
“Hay, it was an accident,” the driver said. “The wheel busted loose! I am so gonna sue that repairpony!”
“I’m gonna sue you if you don’t get your issues off the road!”
“Yah wanna make something of it?”
“Do I!”
Acacia’s mouth hung open as she stared at the scene from right out of her vision. The shattered furniture, the busted cart, the remains of a stampede…
“Wow,” Ritz said from her side. “Do you think—?”
“Yes.” Acacia’s chest tightened. “Oh, gosh yes.”
“Wow.” Ritz’s gray face went white. “Oh my.”
He tottered on his hooves. Acacia reached out and caught him before he hit the ground. “Hay, hay don’t wuss out on me, okay?” she said.
“’M not.” Ritz shook his head. He bumped his noggin. His eyes cleared up. “Okay. Okay, that’s probably all the excitement I need in my life.”
Acacia swallowed the lump in her throat. “That could have been you.”
“But it wasn’t,” Ritz said. He laughed. “It wasn’t! I’m alive!”
The two arguing stallion stopped to look at him with puzzlement before returning to their argument.
“What did I tell you,” Ritz said. “We changed the future or something.”
“I don’t…” Acacia felt a chill run down her spine. “What if this wasn’t the time?”
Ritz smiled. He patted her shoulder. “You tell me. What’s different?”
“Well, I mean…” She waved a hoof over the scene. “Just your hat.”
“So?” Ritz polished a hoof on his shirt. “I told you so.”
Acacia stood still, not letting her eyes leave the accident. Ritz patted her back. “Come on, let’s get something to eat to celebrate my still being alive. My treat.”
He walked down the sidewalk. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.
“I’ve never been wrong before,” she said.
“There’s a first time for everything!” Ritz called out.
She looked at him. She turned her body to follow.
She jumped as the tram roared by overhead.
Acacia gasped as a small, black object fluttered down from the tracks. It landed beside the crash, rumbled, bruised, crushed, mangled, and shredded. Ritz’s silk top hat lay beside the crash, completing the full picture from her vision.
The police had arrived to block off the street. A small path had been made for carriages to squeeze through without hitting the debris. Acacia stumbled through the restricted section to the hat and lifted it off the ground. It was greasy and mauled, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a top hat.
Ritz’s hoof touched her shoulder. “Cassy, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
She dropped the hat to the ground. She walked back to the sidewalk, side by side with her friend. She looked over her shoulder at a scene that was burned into her memory.
You know, she thought to herself, maybe Destiny is what you make of it.
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Fascinating. A great exploration of a little-considered aspect of pony magic, with engaging characters and the classic questions that come when prophecy and free will get in a head-on collision. Thank you for it.
Ehhubagewuh?
Saw this on the Idea Exchange. Liked and Faved.
She should move to Ponyville. There are fewer destinies there, and Twilight would have legitimate reason to hire her for a lot of money as an adviser.
Then again... She could see the destinies of the Bearers. That could drive her insane, if Pinkie does not help her adjust.
I'm loving this! Reminds me of the Discworld's Mrs. Cake, the small (verging on medium) who sometimes forgets to turn her precognition off. This story provides an engaging glimpse into what would happen if you constantly see the future. Liked and faved. (Found this through the Idea Exchange)
And yes, I saw what you did with the name.
Still a really well told story. I liked it. Good job.
4973331
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
People seem to be a little allergic to destiny around here, at least when it's not about a great evil that's gonna rise and eat Prance or something. And when they do write about it, it's almost always from Cassy's stance.
4974009
Destiny, prophecy, free will, collision, result?
The story in five words, for your enjoyment.
4974297
Considering where most of her predictions landed on the mundane<<<>>>life-changing scale, I'd think twice before getting her as an adviser. Ponyville would be a nice place to calm down, though!
Pinkie knows all about random predictions. I think they'd get along famously up to the point Pinkie freaks Cassy out.
4974356
That's hilarious, and another reminder to read more Pratchett.
Thanks!
4974571
Actually, while I did name her after the Greek figure Cassandra, I didn't know about Cassandra's Tears until after I googled them. Great minds think alike, I guess.
Thank you for the compliment!
4974912 Lease I could do.
Funny, I was just thinking of how one of my characters could fight destiny right before I read this. Guess it was my destiny to read this then.
May I just say to everyone reading that MyHobby is an amazing author and this is more than I could have ever expected when I threw my brain garbage at the Idea Exchange. Thank you so much for making this happen.
4974356 I just realized that Equestria HAS a Mrs. Cake, and she lives with an actual medium. Awesome.
This story is cute, I can't help wondering if that golden hoof was actually aimed at Ritzy and Cassy, and that anonymous stallion was just seeing what he wanted to see.
I like that "hyperportentia" is an extremely rare congenital fate disorder, because that implies there are other, more common fate disorders, and I want to see more of them. Do the CMC have developmentally - delayed fate disorder?
I wonder if there is physical therapy for fate disorders. Maybe a 6 month regimen of questing and becoming a chosen one, to get one's destiny gland back on track?
Since only ponies have cutie marks, are they the only ones guided by fate? Do other species, in times of great crisis, have pony heroes show up and save the day, since they are hogging all the destiny?
4975887
General bullheadedness works wonders for the free will.
4976080
Thank you for the compliment. I'll work hard to live up to it.
"Brain garbage" is a little harsh, I think, considering what you actually had was a pearl of an idea.
4978098
I was just thinking that myself.
Let the shipping begin!
Fate disorders will become incrementally more common as the Destiny and/or Talent becomes more common, as far as this particular story is concerned. You have far more gardeners growing entire plots of giant dandelions than you have architects who can design real-life Escher paintings. Either way, the population of ponies with fate disorders is less than one percent.
Do you suppose Equestria has some sort of five-step plan to becoming the (a) chosen one?
Have you (circle one):
a. Had your hometown burned
b. Lost your father tragically
c. Discovered a forbidden artifact
d. All of the above
Zecora might have a cutie mark, or it might be a tattoo from her bad-girl days. The jury's out on that one.
4987985
I bet there were a bunch of other stallions and mares on first dates in that restaurant, kicking themselves for not being as quick on their hooves. "You can't argue with a giant golden hoof, baby; pucker up!"
I'm not really sure what you mean here, but it sounds intriguing.
"Oh, so you're from Ponyville then?"
C'mon, we both know who the token Zebra in Cheerilee's rap crew was (Hint: It wasn't the Notorious M.A.C., the thunderous bass beatboxing machine). Before they were forced into retirement after losing a furious rap battle to Ponyville's then - upstart Pinkamizzle Diane Pizzle (Now known as Ponyville's undisputed rap queen and Wonderbolts history buff Flava Delicious), Each member of "DJ Teach's" crew had to get a tat. Zecora has those marks on her flank for the same reason Cheerilee no longer has her cutie mark that actually represents teaching (daisies are an obscure Earth Pony gang sign), and Big Mac can never remove his yoke in polite company.
4988183
One possibility for disorders in a gardener Destiny is only being able to grow weeds, or to have their gardens sprout out of control. One possibility for architectural disorders is instead of designing the best possible structure, designing the best impossible structure.
Are you sure you don't wanna write a story? 'Cause I think I would read the ever-loving heck out of that story. It could be about the crusaders discovering Big Mac's hidden, shameful past.
Then you could end it with the crew getting back together and joining forces with Flava Delicious to defeat the evil rap hoodlum Ti-Reked. Oh yes.
Flava Delicious is best rapper.
Stay in school, kids.
Though seriously, everybody tells me they're poison.
5003610
You THINK Flava Delicious is some kind of role model, but how many times do they catch her snorting pixie sticks before they stage an intervention? (Can you imagine poor Pinkie if they actually sold that kind of pure powdered sugar in Equestria as a snack?
Brutal)
Wrong kind of 80s music. I think you're referencing Roseluck's Mane-metal group, and her signature song explaining how tough it is to be an Earth Pony gardener using her teeth to pluck flowers, since every Rose has its Thorns.
Vry intriguingly done. Bravo. I wouldn't mind seeing more of these guys, either before or after this revelation.
5754408
Thank you! I've thought about it occasionally. A pony with Hyperportentia could make for a real neat addition to, say, a fun adventure story. If I think up another interesting moment in the life of Acacia Tree, I'll do my best to make it a good story.
Fan-fucking-tastic! :D
6375027
Thank you for the kind words and, dare I say, free publicity! This story still brings a smile to my face when I read it, and to know others enjoy it is amazing.
I'm here thanks to PresentPerfect's fic recommendations post, and I want to say that it's a tremendous shame that stories this undeniably readable are just lying around Fimfic with only a few hundred views and 33 likes.
i see you've done quite a few stories.
maybe you can help me.
Aight, faving, liking, and following. Quite amazing.
4987985
Tempest: "C. Do constant accidental storms count for A?"
I couldn't see this premise being handled any better. Take a fav and a thumbs up - this was super awesome!
Also, the whole fortune cookie thing reminded me of a 99% invisible episode 182- A Sweet Surprise Awaits You. Reminding me of something else I like is always a delight in a story. Thank you for writing this and congrats on getting into the RCL.
This is good enough that I wouldn't mind seeing these characters again, like that Dotted Line guy from those bureaucracy stories.
This was a lovely story. I'm sorry I put off reading this for so long; it was well worth my time. The prophecies were fun, and the story was whimsically amusing and did a great job of delivering its message.
4978098
If that's an actual reference, that's pretty freaking sly.
7908058
Thank you for the compliments! These characters were a joy to write, the type you can really just let loose to bounce against each other for a while. Whimsy is really Ritz's M.O.
I was always concerned about the message. I wanted the story to have a point, but I certainly didn't want it to be a lecture. This is probably the first thing I've ever written that actually has a blatant "this is what the story is about" line. Even now I look at it and feel a little uneasy, but heck if it doesn't close the story with a bang!
I reviewed this story as part of Read It Later Reviews #66.
My review can be found here.
Okay...I'm going to regret this...but I just gotta ask...how the hay do you make an obscene gesture with a hoof?
That said, wonderful little story, and excellent little exploration of the nature of destiny.
7922828
Actually, I have an answer. This video, at 2:57, showcased Fluttershy doing exactly that!
It's tamer than you might think, but this is MLP.
She's mighty peeved.
Thank you very much. I'm happy you enjoyed yourself.
7925220
*watches video* Hmm. Well, I suppose one could look at it like that. Personally, I had just taken it to be a "shake your fist" sort of motion, which isn't necessarily obscene...I could buy that it might be considered more obscene in Equestrian culture, but the reaction for this and other instances where such a motion is made doesn't seem to match that...
Ah well, it doesn't really matter, because it's still a fun story and that's what really matters in this instance.
Excellent name selection for an excellent story. Every little piece of this story was a joy to read. The characters were vibrant and the message solid.
Did... did you name him Ritz just for that line?
Sorry; that's not really evil. It's cunning at best.
Because I'm kind of a jerk, instead of going on about how good it is blah blah blah I'll mention a few specifics that collectively add up to an issue I have with it: it keeps throwing things in that you apparently meant as incidental spice, but seemed to me like flashing "WARNING: grimdark alt-universe ahead" signs. Take the mention of the dam:
That read to me as, "Ominous prophecy is misinterpreted optimistically by a bystander; dam will break in 20 minutes." So it horked the next thousand words for me bcoz I was waiting for the dam to break.
There are a large number of such points which seem like dark omens and/or make major additions to canon, each time hinting that this is an alt-universe and/or dark story: the mysterious instantenously-biodegrading newspaper, the hint that the dam is going to break and kill thousands of ponies (I'm also confused about having a dam in Manehattan, which is an island at sea level), the very ominous-sounding Hollow Shades (which is brought up as an ominous, magical area that is inaccessible even by airship, and then suddenly Ritz and Acacia are in it, I think, with just a scene break and no idea how they got there), and most of all the mysterious hoof that appears in the air and writes on the wall. (The handwriting on the wall trope comes from Daniel chapter 5, and it's an omen of death.) This stuff screams DARK ALT UNIVERSE!!!, in caps, with the exclamation marks, and then fades out of view without another mention.
The mysterious hoof can't be a vision of Acacia's, because if it involves her, it's addressed to Ritz instead of to her... so it's Ritz's vision... this is a major canon-breaking, splitting-off-an-alt-universe event and it's apparently just thrown in for background flavor, and ends up being a distraction at best because we can't even figure out why it manifests or whom it's addressed to.
Also, hey, I'm the 1000th viewer!
Unfortunately, having 1000 views makes you ineligible for a Seattle's Angels review.
Unless I say "pretty please."
I hate saying "pretty please."
Bother.
8024439
I'm half-convinced I wrote the entire story for that line.
Which is less cunning and more cockamamie, and slightly concerning, but I take what I can get.
Noooo, darn it, I thought the signs were so well-hidden!
Truth be told, though, I do have a bad habit of tainting the light and fluffy with the sad and dreary. There's no sunny day I cannot darken with a raincloud. Even if it's mere background unease.
Made of 200% post-consumer product, utilizing antimatter in order to cram that much garbage into the newspaper. The true secret behind the instapulp paper is that it's easier to use as toiletry tissue that way. Yes, you too can blow your nose with Princess Celestia's visage, for a quarter-bit a roll. Many moms use the paper as makeshift diapers for their foals, though they regret it an instant later when the news simply disintegrates from their baby's bottom.
I like toilet humor for it's high-brow classiness.
The entire story is pointless, because moments after Cassy has her eureka moment, she and Ritz are swept away to the sea, proving that destiny has a cruel, sick sense of humor.
In all honesty, I'm surprised you didn't know that the ocean around Manehattan is made completely of acid, in order to keep their buildings shiny. No drinking water there. Polishes the bones of hapless fisherponies quite nicely. They're forced to keep their water in a cloud reservoir, known as the Wonder Dome, that continually floats overhead like some fell dirigible, or some sort of atmospheric star destroyer, or a vast predatory bird. Nobody thought this was a bad idea.
Teleportation. Space is warped and time is bendable. Resistance is friendship.
It's a cruel little town in the middle of the Everfree Forest, where such atrocities as cannibalism, Tirek worship, and wearing plaid with stripes are daily occurrences. The Hydra, the Chimera, Ahuizotl and Harshwhinny call it home.
Death in this case meaning a more metaphorical sort of life-ending event. The stallion soon had to give up his dreams of being a runway model when he had to support his new wife and their thirteen children with a job fishing on the Acid Sea. The results of that... well, he's boned.
So, yeah, metaphorical and literal. I'd expect nothing less from the
HandHoof of [Pony]God.It gets worse. The owner of the Chow Mane is senile, bordering on dementia, and will soon spiral the business into bankruptcy. Cassy will be out of a job for the thirteen seconds it takes for the Death Reservoir to hit her. Ritz will live long enough to gaze longingly at the bowler hat one last time. Bubble Dancer alone will survive, to become a lone pony living off old convenience stores and her dead neighbors' houses in a post-apocalyptic Manehattan.
Years later, she'll be found by Celestia's rescue operation and will film a Pony News Network original series called "Sad Sacks: Beyond Wonder Dome."
On the other hand, maybe you fell asleep around the 3,000 word mark...
Curses! I'm too obscure to be mainstream, and too mainstream to be obscure! I'm middle-class FimFic, and it's flippin' tax season!
Besides, you're Bad Horse. You don't say please, you demand the world bows to your whims. It's the benefit of being sadistically yet charismatically evil.
8027958 Good news! Turns out the limit is "no more than 1000 views."
Bad news! You now have 1007 views.
Good news! I put in my recommendation when you had 1000 views.
Bad news! They have no way of knowing that.
Good news! They have
complete faith in meno reason not to trust mesecrets they don't want revealed!8028268
Isn't it wonderful how blackmail keeps people together under your tyrannical rule?
Thank you for that. I appreciate it.
8028268
I was sent here by Bad Horse. I really like this story.
One of the reasons I read fanfiction is because you often find in it a certain vivacity, a liveliness, that is missing in both genre fiction and literary fiction these days (they're both very by-the-numbers, just by different numbers). When you find it, you are prepared to forgive quite a lot--plot holes, clunky dialog, bad grammar, even occasional bafflement. It is the price of dealing with the amateur, one who does as they do for the love of doing it.
Here I find that vivacity--but nothing that needs forgiving. There is in it hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise if it must. Yet prose and dialog, plot and characterization all proceed with the grace of, say, a good waiter, who never draws attention to himself so you can appreciate the feast moving before you.
Bad Horse says the various gags with which you ornament the narrative amount to misdirection. I did not find them so, but if they were--isn't misdirection a vital part of any performance?
Anyway, thank you for writing this story and for sharing it with us, and thank you, Bad Horse, for directing me to it.
prophecy. Prophesy is the verb form.
This was an utterly lovely little story.
8032915
I find myself much in agreement about fanfiction. There's less of a need to be marketable, because you already have your market, so one is free to do as they wish, to write how they would most like to, to create the truly unique, to break conventions.
It makes the patrons who actually take the time to notice the server all the more delightful.
Thank you.
Well, misdirection must also serve a purpose. Since I never intended for these things to direct you away from anything, I couldn't count them as misdirection. They really were meant to be clever asides, references to prophecy, and general good fun.
So I suppose all I can hope is that they aren't distracting to everybody.
8041110
Thank you for the compliment and correction. I'll be sure to fix that post-haste.
Hello! Going through my older reviews and correcting omissions where I forgot to add deserved favourites. This is one story where that applies. As I said in last year's review, it has a sparkling, fast-paced appeal not dissimilar to those mid-20th-century New York City films. As such, it fits Manehatten very well.