Derpy tries her best not to feel like a failure in the lead-up to Hearth's Warming. Intriguingly enough, so does Rarity.
Some ponies start off a long way along the racetrack before the flag is waved.
Some ponies will trip over their own hooves and sprain their ankles on the first lap.
Some ponies get the best teammates to mop their brows and to hold umbrellas over their heads when it rains.
Some ponies don't even want to race. Not when they can have a nice, pleasant jaunt that involves much less sweating.
And some ponies will see, along the way, the truth behind the race. What it's for. Who's taking part. Why they're doing it.
For at the end of the track, everyone gets the same prize. Hearth's Warming welcomes all, whether they come in first or second or even last. The point isn't to win the shiniest medal or to beat the record or to prove who's the greatest racer; it's to make it in time for the celebration. The race is just one more thing to talk about, in a world that's often running faster while forgetting which direction to go.
Another year had passed by, full of incident and adventure, but remarkably light on festive events.
At least, not counting the Summer Sun Celebration, the Best Young Flyers’ Competition, the Manehattan Fashion Week, the Canterlot Garden Party, the Annual Rodeo, Rainbow Dash’s Birthiversary, the Ponyville Days Festival, the Migration of the Breezies, the Trader Exchange at Rainbow Falls, the Sisterhooves Social, the Annual Royal Visit to Ponyville, Nightmare Night, Cider Season, the Appleloosa Day Hoedown, and the Running of the Leaves.
Even that was ignoring the Pinkie Pie parties, which would have shrunk the list of notably non-festive days to a couple of wet weekends.
All the same, Hearth’s Warming was the big one. Hearth’s Warming time! Mistletoe and – fermented grape juice! Fillies singing notably non-denominational rhyme! With logs on the fire, and gifts on the tree! A time to rejoice “in the good that we see”, and all that fine stuff that made customers happy and looked good on an album.
And sold like hotcakes in a cold famine: that was important.
Rarity re-opened the next envelope and smiled. Her shop in Manehattan was doing wonderfully well. She re-opened the next next envelope and smiled even wider. Her shop in Canterlot, if anything, was doing fantastically well. She just wanted to see the numbers again.
And she knew for a fact that her own boutique here in dear old Ponyville was doing marvellously well. Commercialized as Hearth’s Warming might be, it had its upsides.
Rarity had been around town that morning, and the story was the same everywhere. Filthy Rich had beaten last year’s profits at Barnyard Bargains. The Cake family at Sugarcube Corner were hiring extra help to meet the rising demand in sugary treats. Even Applejack – whose farm basically shut down for the winter – managed to shift some hardy stock for a new kind of snow cider.
Oh yes, one could take delight in knowing that other businesses were doing well… provided they weren’t actually rivals to one’s own business, of course.
And now here she was, in Twilight’s castle – Princess Twilight’s castle, she corrected herself – making sure that her schedule for the month was in tip-top shape. Well, making sure Twilight was making sure, to be fair.
In fact, Rarity herself had spent the last few minutes sitting quite comfortably on one of the thrones in the map room, watching her friend sift through papers and calendars and other important-looking documents. Since Twilight’s own political arrangements tended to die down this time of year, she was free to throw herself into other ponies’ schedules, which suited Rarity just fine.
Spike the Dragon stood nearby, writing on his own scroll and occasionally looking over it to watch.
Take two, Rarity thought again.
“This is the second attempt?” said Twilight.
“I held firm. I managed to talk Sweetie Belle down to those few items,” said Rarity.
“Really? So far, I’ve counted one hundred and fifty!” said Twilight. “My goodness. Her Hearth’s Warming lists are… pretty long, aren’t they?”
“Oh, that’s foals all over,” said Rarity breezily. “I remember when I was that age. Mother and Father mistook my list for a novel and accidentally mailed it to a publishing company. Surely, you were the same?”
“Actually, I… wasn’t,” said Twilight, turning pink.
“Really? With all the books you could have asked for –”
“The Canterlot library membership covered that.”
Surprised, Rarity reconsidered. She’d have thought books were a guarantee as far as Twilight was concerned, yet it made a sort of sense now that she thought about it.
“I see.” She tried again. “What about clothes?”
“I wasn’t quite into fashion at that point,” said Twilight, implying that now she would not settle for a simple dress with only one ribbon around the waist.
“How about toys? I remember that Smarty Pants doll you used to have.”
“My brother made that one for me. We liked arts and crafts at school.”
“Chocolates?”
“As a gift?” Twilight screwed her face up doubtfully.
“What? Not even chocolates?”
“I used to get money,” said Twilight helpfully.
“Yes, but not even chocolates? You can’t go wrong with chocolates, provided you go to the right chocolatier!”
“Mom and Dad always gave me money and told me to invest for my education.” Twilight beamed happily, and for a moment her gaze was not on this plane of existence. “I opened my first bank account on Hearth’s Warming…”
“Technically, it was the day after,” said Spike without looking up.
Rarity hummed uncertainly. “My, my. You were a precocious foal, weren’t you? When was this?”
“After my first Summer Sun Celebration,” said Twilight to a distant happy memory only she could see. “Before I applied for Celestia’s School.”
“My word! That young!? What did you do before then, save up for Magic Kindergarten?”
Twilight broke out of her reverie and gave one of her trademarked raised eyebrows, the sort she might – were she a tutor – give to a student who’d spoken out of turn. “Don’t be silly. Mom and Dad always had high hopes for me. They didn’t want to spoil me, or at least that’s what they said.”
Rarity gaped. “They did live in Canterlot, right?”
“Is it really that strange?”
At those words, Rarity’s mind handed her a memory. Of her own parents, who’d lavished her with whatever she’d asked for. Who’d lavished Sweetie Belle with the same. Who’d… never lived anywhere but next to that muddy pond, now that she thought about it. In that rickety old timber house.
“I suppose,” she said weakly, “things are a little different in Canterlot. Especially… Especially when it comes to presents.”
“I never had that problem,” said Spike.
“Oh?”
Spike glanced meaningfully at Twilight. “I got a book every year. I always got one book every year.”
“Huh,” said Twilight, checking her list twice. “Not like Sweetie Belle, then. She’s asked for the Power Ponies: Hearth’s Warming Special Edition… Daring Do and the Hearth’s Warming Quest… The Headless Horse versus the Windigo King, and other Hearth’s Warming Horror Stories… Brutus Force Saves Hearth’s Warming… You notice a pattern here?”
“Oh, that’s quite all right,” said Rarity, waving a hoof idly. “She starts listing clothes further down, and then music albums on vinyl discs. There are some more books on the second page, if you’d like to buy her something more educational.”
“I meant all the Hearth’s Warming specials. Some of them don’t even make sense: Why would the Headless Horse have anything to do with windigoes? The Headless Horse is supposed to haunt the eastern coast of Equestria, after the Walking Soldier died during the War for Manehattan, and the legend started at least a millennium after the defeat of the windigoes. They never would have met in real life!”
Rarity shrugged and picked up a steaming mug from the main table. Putting hot drinks on the map was probably a breach of etiquette, but her aching back and cold, tired hooves reassured her that this sort of thing could be quietly dropped for the sake of personal comfort.
“They never did that kind of special in Canterlot,” said Spike, and he grinned and hastily scrawled something on his list. “OK, I remember every year when they introduced a new winter fashion at the Best of the Best Boutique, but they do stuff like that every season. Haha! Hoity Toity even sold tailored dragon clothing for, you know, the discerning customer.” He waggled his eyebrows, or at least waggled what passed for them on his reptilian face.
“I believe it’s all in good fun,” said Rarity, quietly deciding not to discuss the business sense of capitalizing on a rise in consumer demand. She had a feeling Twilight wouldn’t quite understand.
Somewhat guiltily, she thought of her own line of Hearth’s Warming accoutrements.
Rarity sipped her drink and thought some more. Liquid joy ran down her throat. She was warmed from the inside out.
Well, this sort of commercial interest was harmless, wasn’t it? Everyone grumbled about it a bit, especially – she tried to be diplomatic, but there was no dancing around the obvious – the old folk.
Yet really, it was just more of the same, the same being what everyone bought into the rest of the year anyway: literally bought into, at that.
It wasn’t as if the spirit of the holiday was dying. It just… found new forms of expression. Yes, that sounded respectable.
The true spirit of Hearth’s Warming, after all, was –
Someone knocked on the castle’s grand entrance. Three rapid knocks, jaunty in themselves, which sounded less jaunty after the vast echoes and imperious acoustics of the castle had finished with them.
“Spike?” said Twilight without looking away from the list. “Would you please –?”
“Way ahead of you!” Spike strolled out, still scribbling on his scroll.
“Well, I think you’ve got everything covered.” Twilight lowered the papers onto the table, pausing only to shuffle them more neatly. “You still want to visit Canterlot this year?”
Rarity almost gagged on her hot cocoa. “Want to? Of course I want to! If it wasn’t for my dear, sweet friends here in Ponyville, I’d live in Canterlot! The city’s a winter wonderland on this, the most wonderful time of the year! Why, were the whole place to be ravaged by another changeling attack, I’d still insist on going.”
Twilight made the papers vanish with a flash of a spell. Gingerly, she stepped around the other thrones and the circular table to stand next to Rarity, and for a moment Rarity – lounging on her own royal seat with the mug steaming nearby – thought of a princess and her faithful court mage attending beside her.
“None of the others are coming, then?” Twilight said in a voice pre-emptively disappointed.
“Applejack and Pinkie already made plans to visit the rock farm out of town,” said Rarity. “And Fluttershy told me in the spa that her animals are having a spot of bother this winter. That society she’s a member of –”
“The Equestrian Society for the Preservation of Rare Creatures,” said Twilight, noted for her photographic memory.
“Yes, that,” said Rarity. “They’re calling for all hooves on deck, or so she told me.”
“What about Rainbow Dash? I know for a fact the Wonderbolts are never on-duty during the winter months.”
“The Wonderbolts, maybe. The Weather Team, on the other hoof…”
As one, they both sighed. From what they’d both learned over the years, winter weather in Ponyville demanded round-the-clock management. Freak blizzards and unseasonal warmth were on the schedule, for some reason unfathomable to most ponies but presumably fathomable to someone higher up the weather chain. The system was most unlike other lands. In Equestria, when one complained about the lack of a white Hearth’s Warming, there was an actual desk to send the complaint to.
From the main doorway, Spike called out, “Guess who it is! Go on!”
“You’ll never guess!” said a second voice, much more chipper and sing-song.
Twilight looked round and blinked in surprise. For her part, Rarity cocked an ear and listened to the voices coming in behind her seat. Several ponies stepped into the hall, their hooves echoing around the walls and stained glass windows. A few gasps broke out amid much murmuring.
Let’s see… from sound alone, that’s Minuette, Lyra Heartstrings, Twinkleshine, Lemon Hearts… and a fifth voice. Odd. I don’t recognize that one. Apart from our mystery guest, that’s four Canterlot natives visiting Twilight. What a curious coincidence.
“Hey,” said the fifth voice, somewhat uncertainly.
“We were just in the neighbourhood,” said Minuette’s voice with the ever-familiar burst of good cheer. “Did you get the invitation!? Please say you got the invitation! It’s gonna be a blast if all of us can go!”
“Of course I did,” said Twilight. “Celestia would never leave me out – Er, I mean, because we know each other so well – I mean, because we’re friends who go back a long way – I mean…”
Twilight steamed so much she looked like a smoke monster. Out of pity, Rarity slipped out of her seat and patted her on the withers, absent-mindedly wiping her own hoof off the throne. There was a bit of sweat, after all.
“Fiddle-faddle, Twilight,” she said. “We all know what you mean. No need to be so modest.”
“That’s right!” said Minuette. “You’re a long way away from being a snob or anything like that. We’ve known you for years, remember?”
“H-Hello, Rarity,” said Twinkleshine, blushing slightly under her curls. “W-Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Not that you being drawn to this posh palace like a moth to a street lamp is un-expected,” said Lemon Hearts, who broke off to gulp something out of a bottle. Rarity wondered what was in it, and if it would improve the mare’s mood in the slightest.
“Just checking in, Princess!” Lyra saluted, suddenly all business. “You want anything, just say the word.”
Rarity hummed at the row of unicorn mares, as though she were a drill sergeant surveying a bunch of rookies. Four of them she knew, to varying degrees. The one at the end, though, with the tied-back mane and sweater so prickly and rough that Rarity felt a sympathetic itch on her own torso… Now, that one was from way out of town. Had to be.
“And look!” Spike said, gesturing towards this last specimen. “Even Moondancer came to visit!”
“I’m just visiting,” said Moondancer. She spoke as though regretting the idea. “I’m not staying long.”
“All right, guys! It’s been forever!” Spike raised his clawed hand and strode along the line, passing Moondancer’s confused gape.
Whereas Lyra and Minuette bumped hooves against his claws happily, Twinkleshine hesitated and briefly met her limb with his as though worried about breaking something. Lemon Hearts continued gulping as though she hadn’t noticed a thing; Spike grimaced and gave her a wide berth instead.
Rarity cleared her throat. This little reunion was all very well, but judging from Twilight’s broad smile, there was some history here she wasn’t clear on.
“You’re all going to Canterlot together?” Rarity said. “Did I hear that right?”
“Ooh, yes!” Minuette hopped forwards, and Rarity backed off in the face of that puppy-like eagerness. “Would you like to join us? We’re still looking for plus-ones to bring along, and you’d be more than welcome!”
“Rarity got her own ticket,” said Twilight to Moondancer. “She’s very keen on Canterlot.”
“Mmm,” said Moondancer. If anything, she seemed worried by the news.
“Ah, I do believe we haven’t met.” Rarity sidestepped Minuette’s grin and extended a gracious hoof. “Rarity of Carousel Boutique, at your service.”
“Uh,” said Moondancer, staring at the hoof.
Lyra whispered in her ear, “She’s the one I was telling you about.”
“Oh, right,” said Moondancer. She showed not the slightest sign of recognition. “Uh, Moondancer. Of Canterlot. And Twilight’s school.”
Still, she stared at the extended hoof as though confronting a piece of complicated machinery. After a while, Rarity lowered it.
“Don’t worry.” Lyra nudged Moondancer in the ribs. “She’s kinda new to this whole ‘letting friends into her life’ thing. I’ve been coaching her, of course.”
The gulping stopped for a moment. “Yeah,” said Lemon Hearts. “Imagine what Moondancer’ll be able to do when you stop coaching her.” The gulping resumed.
Lyra glared at her.
For her part, Rarity thought it best to sidestep this particular conversational point. These four mares visited Ponyville often enough to be called honorary Ponyvillians, but Moondancer… Moondancer of Twilight’s school, eh? Now this was interesting. In fact, now she focused, she thought Moondancer looked quite similar to Twilight, especially around the mane.
“Plus-ones, you said?” said Rarity.
Twilight stepped forwards, as though refereeing between Moondancer and Rarity. “For the Solaria Invictus.”
“Beg pardon?”
“The Solaria Invictus. I mentioned it earlier?”
“Did you? I don’t recall –”
“While I was listing the various winter festivals that have occurred throughout history.”
“Ah,” said Rarity. “That would explain it.”
“Huh?”
“So what is this Solari Victus, exactly?” Rarity turned to the assembled unicorns and Spike, in case Twilight decided to get technical.
“Solaria Invictus,” corrected Twinkleshine, and then rubbed a foreleg and looked away at once.
“Oh, just one of those Canterlot things,” said Lyra with a shrug. “You know, the shackles of tradition, the class thing, some random stuff no one really gets anymore. It’s all good fun.”
“Good fun!?” Minuette hopped into view, and Twinkleshine scurried backwards out of her way. “The Solaria Invictus is the best thing about winter!”
The gulping stopped; Lemon Hearts said, “I thought Hearth’s Warming was? Or Winter Wrap-Up?”
“They’re all the best thing about winter!”
“Oh. Right. That’s cleared that up, then.” The gulping resumed.
“Don’t mind the lemon-faced sourpuss over there,” said Minuette cheerfully, and with a flick of her mane. “It really is a lot of fun, but you need a plus-one to take part. At bottom, it’s about taking turns.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Rarity politely. When Twilight breathed in to prepare for a lecture, she hastily added, “Never mind. I’m sure I’ll find out. As for the plus-one: hardly difficult! Why, Sweetie Belle will just leap at the chance to go, I’m sure.”
“Great!” Without warning, Minuette had a grip on her withers and a camera floating before them. “Now for our first group photo! Say ‘All unicorns’!”
“All unicorns,” said half of those assembled, including Spike, who jumped in with clawed thumbs up. Rarity blinked at the flash and felt the leg leave her withers again.
The picture developed instantly. Minuette, under the delusion that ponies enjoy getting ambushed like this, showed everyone. Rarity winced at her own half-terrified smile, and wondered if this was some kind of cunning punishment. Had she been rude to Minuette lately?
But she took in the others’ poses at once, as an art critic might pick out subtle details and meaningful touches on a Daily Saviour absurdist painting. Spike, Minuette, and Lyra held the only genuine grins. Twilight’s mouth smiled but her eyes contemplated escape. Twinkleshine half-hid behind Lyra like a lamb that may have spotted a wolf or may have spotted the friendly local sheepdog. Lemon Hearts was half-choking in her efforts to remove the drink and speak at the same time.
Moondancer wasn’t in it, whether through design or by accident. Hm. A riddle, that one. Definitely someone to watch: Rarity had an eye for ponies much as she had an eye for dresses. New ones were worth keeping said eye on, in case they became fashionable.
Aloud, she said, “Well, it has been a delight, but I simply must be getting on with a few errands. Hearth’s Warming: ‘tis hardly the season to be jolly.”
“I can’t think of a better one!” said Spike.
The gulping stopped. “I can,” muttered Lemon Hearts. The gulping resumed.
“Apart from all the other ones!” said Minuette happily, ignoring her.
Jolly? Ha! Not when there’s this much work to do, thought Rarity, frowning. “I’d be delighted to see you all again sometime. Farewell for now! Enjoy your visit!”
Once again, she judged their goodbyes based on duration, intensity, idiosyncrasy, and whether or not the bottle was removed in time to prevent choking. Once again, nothing from Moondancer. Very interesting.
Rarity stepped out of the hall and made for the stairs. Her hot cocoa was long gone by now. Outside, the storm of ice and snow awaited her.
A few seconds later, she hurried back into the room, somewhat flustered. “Forgot my papers!”
Twilight summoned them again and handed them over. The lot was heavy on Rarity’s back.
Ah, now she could step out of the castle in the right frame of mind. Her hot cocoa was long gone by now. Outside, the storm of ice and snow awaited her…
A few seconds later, she hurried back into the room. “One hot cocoa to go?” she said.
And now she could step out of the castle, armed and ready for the worst. Her hot cocoa the one that was not in the decanter on her back was long gone by now. Outside, the storm of ice and snow –
She changed her mind and decided to stay for tea. And a comfortable seat. And a friendly group chat as cosy as the warmth of a bonfire.
Her schedule could wait. She’d take her time. And Twilight could give her all the meaningful looks she liked.
Of course, Rarity did return home eventually. She had an early night that night; her schedule mandated a busy day tomorrow. Besides, her mane got soaked in the blizzard, a state of affairs too depressing to take whilst wide awake.
Come the lightening sunrise, Rarity pulled off her sleeping mask, opened the blinds, and was greeted by yet more blizzard. If anything, it looked colder, windier, and more vicious than yesterday’s.
One day, she knew, she was going to write a strongly worded letter of complaint to the Cloudsdale Weather Factory.
For now, she wrapped up warm: scarves, woolly hats, a thick anorak, and hoof-shoes so high off the ground that she felt giddy for a moment. That was after cooking and serving herself as many warm boiled eggs, warm toast slices, warm crumpets with melting butter, warm toasted muffins, and warm baked beans she could find. That way, she’d cover both her inside and her outside.
She thought warm thoughts, like sunbathing on the tropical beaches of the Eeyori’i Islands, or trekking over the scorching sands of Saddle Arabia. She jumped up and down on the spot, bent and unbent her legs, and generally did as many exercises as she could think of that didn’t look embarrassing for a lady to perform.
Then she went out.
It was like plunging into a sea. At once, the chill and the snowflakes swarmed over her outer layer, winds howled with otherworldly voices, and her heavily wrapped limbs moved through the drifts as urgently as a snow plough in a vat of molasses. She almost gasped with shock.
“Well, this is a f-f-f-fine st-st-start to the day,” she muttered. Icicles already clung to her eyelashes.
Navigating more by memory than by sight – every cottage was a ghostly hump in the blizzard – she made her way down the slope and along a narrow path. What should’ve been a few minutes of walking felt like an agonizingly endless trek through the Frozen North.
Finally, a door loomed up. She knocked hard.
Her mother answered the door. Wearing…What else…? The sort of woollen, hoof-knitted jumper that made even Derpy’s tackiest ensemble look like the work of high art.
“Oh hi, dear!” said her mother.
“Here’sss the p-p-p-package.” Rarity levitated it from her back and thrust it through the door. “Assss p-p-p-promissssed.”
“My word, Rarity! You look like a walkin’ ice block. Come in and get some coffee in your system. You’ll freeze like one of them woollen mammoth things they dig up.”
Rarity winced. Which was odd, because when Applejack made her country-isms, it was water off a duck’s back to Rarity. Yet when her own mother did it, it was barbed wire dumped on a duck’s rump.
“N-N-No!” she managed to say. “Got ssssstuff to do! B-B-Busy!”
“Aw dearest, you work like a beaver family in flood season! Kick back for once, like your pa does. He’s sortin’ out the frozen plumbin’ stuff, you know.”
Rarity rolled her eyes, a sticky attempt in this weather. Her pa – erm, her father – had a certain unerring belief in his own ability to pick things up as he went along. Plumbing, roof repair, broken toasters: give him a new problem and he’d act like he could master it in five minutes, which given his ability to break things could keep him locked in a feedback loop for hours.
“Issss SSSSSweetie B-B-B-Belle h-home?” she said.
“Nah. You wanna try them carol singers up on the way. Reckon they’re meetin’ at the town hall right about now.” Elbowing Rarity, she giggled. “Hey, just between us: I’m cookin’ up somethin’ nice for our little sweetie-pie. Somethin’ special. A big surprise.”
Rarity sighed. “It’sssss f-f-fr-fruitcake.”
“Good guesstimate! How the heavens did ya guesstimate that one?”
Enough with the fancy words. You make fruitcake every year. And you always think it’s a surprise. And that it’s nice. That it’s special, I can’t deny: one could smash windows and hammer nails with it.
“Th-Th-Thank you.” Rarity gave a quick hug and left before her mother made any “helpful” suggestions.
The battle against the blizzard raged on. No doubt this was all because someone forgot to make it snow on Saturday, or something ridiculous like that. They were always doing this overcompensation trick with the rain during the springtime.
Under her thick army of hats, Rarity cocked an ear and listened. Howling winds. She waded through the drifts, and then heard scraping and stepped aside at once.
A wall of white rose up and tumbled over and over, resembling nothing less than a great white tsunami. Behind it, pushing a plough almost as big as him, was Big McIntosh, Ponyville’s one stallion who could clear a snowdrift with such easygoing steps. Rumour had it he’d once pulled a house down the street by accident.
At least the grass was clear now. Rarity watched him disappear into the mist, and then leaped for the cleared path and marched forwards. As she did so she heard the faint voices up ahead.
Carol singers. Wonderful!
Ghostly shapes moved in the mist of snow. Through the gauze of the world, Rarity saw heads bobbing and loose scarves flapping. Judging from their size, all but three of them were foals.
Then the school of Ponyville cleared the flurry of snowflakes.
Leading the march was Lyra Heartstrings: stiff-backed, strong-legged, and bellowing out a verse as though her life depended on the blizzard being deafened.
“THE FIRE OF FRIENDSHIP LIVES IN OUR HEARTS!” she screamed.
Dozens of little lips and cheeks struggled against the chill as they bellowed in kind, “AS LONG AS IT BURNS, WE CANNOT DRIFT APART!”
“LOUDER AND JOLLIER! Hello, Rarity! Didn’t see you there!” Lyra beamed briefly before rounding on the foals. “RAISE THOSE SPIRITS, BLAST AND CONFOUND YOU! LOUDER! LOUDER!! LOUDER‼!”
“THOUGH QUARRELS ARISE, THEIR NUMBERS ARE FEW!” bellowed the foals.
“Erm, ex-x-x-xcusssse m-m-me,” said Rarity, marvelling at how Lyra could keep going with only one hat and one scarf. “Issss SSSSSweetie B-B-B-Belle h-here?”
“LAUGHTER AND SINGING WILL SEE US THROUGH!” screamed Lyra in a paroxysm of seasonal cheer.
“WILL SEE US THROUGH!” chorused the foals.
“DINKY! STRAIGHTEN UP THAT TIMING! PIÑA! ACCENT ON THE RIGHT SYLLABLES! COME ON, PEGASI, I WANT TO FEEL MY OWN EARDRUMS BLOW THEMSELVES OUT! DO YOUR DUTY, YOU MAGGOTS! Yeah, I think she’s near the back. Don’t keep her long, ma’am.” Lyra winked as she passed.
“WE ARE A CIRCLE OF PONY FRIENDS!” squealed the foals in her wake.
Cheerilee – Ponyville’s answer to the Wild West’s schoolmarm, and considerably less uptight about it – was the second adult, and a much more welcome sight could scarcely be imagined. Even the foals nearest her looked slightly less haggard, facing the blizzard with far less slump and far more stride.
Unlike Lyra, Cheerilee was wrapped in several layers – the Mark of the Sensible – and thus was one of the few ponies singing with a smile. As she passed, she nodded back to the rear of the group. Rarity nodded once to show she understood, and Cheerilee’s smile widened before they all exploded into the main verse again.
Lyra’s bellows echoed even through the muffling snow. Quite a dedicated mare for her music, that one, Rarity thought. Although a bit salty for someone leading foals.
Instantly, even over the scrambled syllables of small singing fillies, she heard Sweetie Belle’s tones. Yet nothing actually distinguished them from the rest, other than the fact that Rarity had heard those tones all her life.
Sweetie Belle herself traipsed at the rearguard, clearly not interested in any publicity.
“A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS WE’LL BE TO THE VERRRRRYYYYY EEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNDDDDDD!” cried her voice through the collective.
Rarity sighed and listened for a while. Hearing her sister singing was one of the privileges of life, provided Sweetie Belle wasn’t trying too hard.
Unfortunately, it was soon strangled out by another voice.
This voice… now this voice was technically singing. In the same way, a dazed, post-concussive stagger was technically dancing, and razor blades on glass were technically musical instruments. They worked through the same medium, they went places they shouldn’t go, they involved a certain degree of pain, and yet a small part of the mind insisted on watching because it couldn’t believe what was going on.
Derpy watched over the carol singers. She’d neglected a hat, but not the woolly Hearth’s Warming jumper, and had enough sense to put boots on, even if they were on the wrong feet. She belted out another verse with gusto. Fillies whimpered and rubbed their ears. Sweetie Belle clenched her teeth as though contemplating a root canal done with sledgehammers.
For the moment, morbid curiosity stayed Rarity. She kept pace with the herd.
Up ahead, ponies faded into view where the blizzard thinned. Some screamed and ran indoors. Some cringed and turned their muzzles aside. Some pulled hoods over their faces. Some stared at the group as though encountering creatures from a realm ponydom was not meant to know wot of, or something to that effect; they certainly gaped a lot.
A few misguided souls yelled back, but only managed to make a background muffling against the onslaught of peace and goodwill, which in any case was broken up only by Lyra’s demands for more of both in a higher pitch.
Rarity threw them pitying looks. At least they only had to wait for the procession to pass by. She endured the noise only to find out how long it would last. Currently, her brain was accusing her ears of misreporting. No one could make a noise like that, her brain was saying, and live.
After a while of this, most of the foals died down. Derpy’s voice staggered and threatened to topple, like a drunk zigzagging the road in search of her legs. Yet still she smiled while doing it.
By now, ponies up ahead were fleeing. Not even the curious ones were sticking around for long. Dogs howled. Cats screeched and scurried off. Clumps of snow slid off rooftops. Windows rattled, shaking loose icicles that shattered.
Shutters slammed. Locks clicked. Curtains were drawn. A couple of the more enterprising households banged saucepans or put on loud music to drown out the cacophony catastrophe crawling like a chthonic creature up the street.
Eventually, something cracked.
Lyra’s voice cut through the din. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! STOP! STOP! STOP!”
“WE SHOULD BE SO HONOURED,” warbled Derpy’s voice, “THAT PRINCESS – Oh, I guess we’ve stopped. OK.”
Crunching snow and striding legs drew up close as Lyra frowned at her. “What was that!? We’re singing for charity money, not menaces money!”
“I’m singing,” said Derpy uncertainly. “We’re singing the Hearth’s Warming Pageant Carol, right?”
Lyra groaned into a hoof. “You’ve sung in crowds before. What’s going on now?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, what’s with the… the alto? The timing? The inflection?”
“Oh dear. Was I out of sync again? I thought I was out of sync again.” Derpy hovered overhead, a traditional pegasus sign of worry. “I could speed up my singing.”
Clearly, it was too early in the morning for Lyra to be dealing with this. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Well, it’s Hearth’s Warming season. I thought I should go for the big jolly style. Listen: THE FIRES OF FRIENDSHIP –”
Lyra jumped. “NO!” she yelped. “Not that!”
Derpy clammed up at once, somewhat shocked. “Or… I could do it quietly? Only this time of year, I was hoping to bring some joy to pony homes.”
In more restrained tones, Lyra added, “No, thank you. I’ll, uh, I’ll… Look, thank you for volunteering and everything, but, uh, I’m, uh, not… quite sure this is the best thing for you right now. That’s just my opinion. Nothing personal. In fact, I love your commitment. And your enthusiasm. It’s just that I could just do with hearing… someone else’s…”
Blinking a few times, Derpy waited politely for the other shoe to drop.
Well, I’ve had my entertainment. Rarity stepped forwards smartly, and ignored the way Sweetie Belle sagged at the sight of her approaching.
“G-G-Good m-m-morning, D-D-Derpy. What a p-p-pleasant sssssurprisssse!” Rarity bowed her head respectfully, and then did the same to a suddenly uncertain Lyra. “M-M-May I b-b-borrow SSSSSSweetie B-B-Belle for a wh-while?”
“What, right now?” said Lyra.
“N-Naturally.”
“Can’t it wait? We’re carolling.”
Giving her smile the slight curl only a Canterlot pony could appreciate, Rarity added, in tones that would’ve been a lot silkier if her voice box hadn’t frozen stiff, “I’d alssssso like to b-b-borrow D-D-Derpy too. I, erm, have a little ffffffavour to asssssk.”
Both Lyra’s ears and Derpy’s ears rose up.
“You want me too?” said Derpy, and the old smile rose up again.
“Derpy too?” said Lyra.
“Uh huh,” said Rarity through a face rapidly numbing with ice. “For a while.”
“You want my help with something?” Derpy rose up where she was, airborne with hope.
“M-Maybe.”
“Let me be sure I got this,” said Lyra. Her lips struggled, either with the words or with encroaching chills. “This is simply for a while, right?”
“Y-Yes. M-Maybe longer.”
The fire of peace and goodwill blazed within Lyra’s eyes. At once, she turned to Derpy. “Fancy that! Looks like Rarity’s needs are greater than mine, eh!?”
“You don’t mind?” said Derpy, suddenly curling up with anxiety. “I wouldn’t want to run out on you when you were counting on me.”
“Don’t be silly! I’d rather you felt you were doing the best good possible. Who better to provide that than Miss Generosity herself?”
“Yeah, but still –”
“Go on. We’ll find a way. It’s…” Lyra’s lips trembled. She swallowed with the effort. “It’s… just… singing.”
And Rarity smiled all the more generously, for she knew she had done a good deed that day. Clearly, Lyra was a sensitive connoisseur of the melodic arts.
“Th-Thank you kindly,” said Rarity with another nod. “And SSSSSweetie B-Belle, of c-c-course.”
For the first time, Sweetie Belle stepped out of the gathered throng of little bodies. There was an unmistakeable scowl on her face. In some respects, or so Rarity reflected, she wasn’t quite the cheerful child of yore.
“Don’t I get a say in this?” said Sweetie Belle.
Rarity grimaced at the tone. Ah well, looks like I’ll have to use my deadliest weapon yet.
Wheedling.
She pouted, extra thick, and tried to will her eyes to be extra glisteny. “Aw, SSSSweetie B-Belle. I’m asssssking n-nicely. It’sssss only a widdle favour. That’sssss all. A widdle favour for your d-dear ssssssissssster.”
And… there it was: the flicker of uncertainty in Sweetie Belle’s face. A weakness, covered up and pretending to be a strength.
“Well,” said the little filly, looking over the assembled faces. “I guess if it’s only for a while…”
“Wonderful!” said Lyra, about-turning before anyone changed their minds. “All righty, troops! Now we’re going to sing ‘Good Princess of Equestria’, and this time I want you to sing it so ponies won’t be able to get it out of their heads for weeks! That’s extra angelic! No solos! I wanna see tears on every Ponyvillian face when we’re through, got it?”
“YESSIR!” said the class. Among the foals, Cheerilee shook her head at the theatricality of it all, and wow, did Rarity feel for that mare.
“O JUST GRANT ME A MARE, AND SHE’LL FIGHT ‘GAINST THY SUN,
O BUT GRANT ME THE FOAL, AND I’LL MAKE HER BUT ONE
OF THE MARES OF YOUR HIGHNESS: A MARE OF YOUR SUN.
O BUT GRANT ME THE FOAL, AND I’LL GRANT YOU THE MARE
WHO WILL GRANT YOU, YOUR HIGHNESS, YOUR TRIBUTE TO SHARE…”
For a while, Rarity watched the carollers march off. Over the howling winds, the words faded into the distance, which was probably just as well, as it sounded like the sort of carol invented before the age of democratic process.
Nearby, more snow tumbled down. Rarity led on wordlessly. Already, the heat of her breakfast must be dissipating. So long as the other two had the sense to follow without wasting time on questions, they could find somewhere nice and warm to discuss things.
In the meantime, she desperately tried to think up an excuse to give to Derpy. Not quite the master chess move she’d hoped for, but she’d do the best she could.
Derpy couldn’t believe her luck. For a while, she’d worried that her singing hadn’t been quite up to snuff. Now it turned out that Rarity simply wanted her for a special job! Rarity, the most generous pony in Ponyville! This was going to jump from good to better!
They got into the cosy hall of Carousel Boutique. Both Rarity and Sweetie Belle wiped their hooves on the welcome mat and delicately removed their winter things. Being a pegasus, Derpy didn’t mind the weather-induced cold so much, but she landed and wiped her feet too in case it caused comment.
“Ahem,” said Rarity.
Derpy followed her gaze to her own snowflake-flecked jumper.
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
And she shook herself dry as best she could.
“Derpy! Please!” Rarity spat and spluttered.
“I think I lost my paper hat in the wind,” said Derpy, tramping through to the kitchen. “That’s OK. I’m sure it’ll turn up later. Can I have a hot drink?”
Already, Sweetie Belle sat up to the table. She was hunched over, either because the chill seeped into the kitchen as well, or because she was sulking.
To save Rarity the bother, Derpy opened up a few cupboards.
“A-bup-bup-bup!” Nevertheless, Rarity blocked her way and pointed her to the table.
“Oh, sorry,” said Derpy. “This is another of them social thingies. I guess it’s rude to serve drinks at someone else’s home.”
“Actually, I was hoping you wouldn’t break – er, I mean, er, yes. Yes, you’re absolutely right.”
Sweetie Belle’s teeth chattered; she shivered and shook herself down. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”
Three glasses landed on the table. “All I’ve got in at the moment is carrot juice. Dear Golden Harvest was having a sale, and you know how hard it is for farmers at this time of year. How could I refuse?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Derpy. Really, she’d been hoping for hot chocolate too.
“Wait.” Sweetie Belle’s brow creased. “I thought you were rolling in it. Canterlot Carousel’s doing splendidly, you said. And Rarity For You.”
Derpy groaned and shook her head; her eyes were wandering in opposite directions, so one was staring at Rarity by the fridge, and the other one was inspecting the sink. Angrily, she shook her head harder, and the gaze resolved into one picture again.
Orange liquid poured into each glass, one after the other. Rarity groaned.
“Sweetie Belle, I was referring to their gross earnings. You know there are so many complications before it gets back to me.”
“Ooh, I know this one!” said Derpy, ever helpful. “There’s the charity funding this time of year… There’s the presents you buy for your friends… There’s the start-up funds for small businesses…”
“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle. Her sullen posture softened slightly.
Rarity blushed. “Well, this and that. This and that. One does what one can. Does anyone want any ice in their drinks?”
They stared at her.
Hastily, she returned the tray to the freezer. “Never mind. Ask a silly question.”
Taking this as her invitation, Derpy grabbed the glass with both hooves and gulped her way through the thick, slightly bitty juice. Against the harsh cold outside, this was merely a little tingle of coolness. Anyway, no one did carrot juice like Golden Harvest. Sweeter than sugar, and healthier too.
“So,” said Sweetie Belle, “what is this super-duper important thing you wanted me for?”
“What a forthright manner,” said Rarity, her voice tinged with amusement. “Can one not savour the company of one’s own dearly beloved little sister?”
“I like singing carols,” said Sweetie Belle. Moody gulping broke the silence that hung about the table. “Sure, Lyra’s a bit intense about it, but she knows every carol that’s ever existed. She came down specially from Canterlot to tutor us.”
“Is that so?” said Rarity thoughtfully. “Well, that explains her, at least, but the other four?”
Her glass now drained, Derpy almost hit the tabletop with it. “What other four?”
“Derpy, please! You’ll stain the woodwork!” Taking a genteel sip of her own drink, Rarity studied the ceiling for clues. “Oh, the usual Canterlot crowd: Minuette, Twinkleshine, and Lemon Hearts. Plus one other I couldn’t quite place…”
Ah. I know this one. This is a test. “You mean Amethyst Star?”
Sweetie Belle gave her an odd look. “Amethyst’s not from Canterlot. She’s from Ponyville. At least, that’s what Dinky told me.”
“Well, they usually hang out,” said Derpy. “Don’t they?” she added to Rarity.
“Heaven knows why.” Rarity took another sip. “Amethyst is hardly the easiest of ponies to get along with.”
“What? But-But she takes part in all kinds of things: group songs, parties, birthdays, the lot.”
“Yes, but my sources in Canterlot and in Ponyville tell me that kind of behaviour is not particularly natural for her. From what I heard, she’s more comfortable around schedules and lists than around ponies.”
“Sounds like Twilight,” said Sweetie Belle, “and she gets along with ponies fine.”
“Twilight’s different.” Another genteel sip. “At least now she is.”
“That’s not how Dinky tells it,” said Derpy. “I think you’re being a bit unfair on Amethyst.”
She squirmed; she wasn’t used to actual debate, except along the lines of “Who dropped that piano? Did you do it? Hope you can pay for it out of your salary, then.”
“Sisterly loyalty, I’ll wager,” said Rarity. Catching Sweetie Belle’s eye, she hastily added, “Which is a fine thing, a fine thing indeed. Derpy, I’ve got nothing against the girl whatsoever. She’s fine. She merely wouldn’t be my best pick for social company. Anyway, this mystery mare I was talking about was… What was her name now? Moondance, I think.”
Derpy shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Rarity hummed thoughtfully. At least, Derpy thought she looked thoughtfully at the ceiling while she did it. Not that it bothered her much. Other ponies usually looked more thoughtful than herself, in any case.
Once more, her eyes tried to wander. Once more, she shook her head to refocus them.
After a while, Sweetie Belle shivered again. “Why is it so cold in here? Don’t you have any heating?”
“I… turned it down a bit.” Rarity tapped the edge of her own glass, but Derpy couldn’t read her expression at all. Nervous? Annoyed? Saddened? Confused?
“And can’t we turn a light on? The snow’s blocking up the windows.”
“Oh, you!” Rarity giggled, none too convincingly. “The sombre atmosphere is a delight in itself. Simply savour the experience!”
Sweetie Belle gave her a suspicious, narrow-eyed look. Then she scraped her chair back and stepped over to the sink. Under her unicorn magic, one of the faucets squeaked and the knob turned. No water came out.
“I’m on a special plan,” said Rarity at once.
Sweetie Belle sighed. “Not the economical thing again?”
“Well, amenities are expensive this time of year! I switch on the heating when the shop’s open, obviously, for the sake of the customers. The arrangement’s only for wintertime.”
“Oh,” said Sweetie Belle, stomping back to her seat. “So it’s OK if your own sister freezes in the dark, then?”
“One day, Sweetie Belle, you are going to have to pay your own bills, and then perhaps you’ll understand the need for careful budgeting!”
Sweetie Belle growled. “How can you be so generous and so stingy at the same time!? You don’t make any sense!”
“I don’t make sense. I have sense. If it isn’t sensible, it isn’t business-wise. That’s all there is to it. Now, will you please stop acting like a stroppy teenager and give your poor big sister the benefit of the doubt?”
Well, if there was one good thing coming out of this little tête-à-tête, at least Derpy was getting warmer with embarrassment. She didn’t move in case this attracted attention. Yet she wanted to fidget so much. Sheer heat strained to escape. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by how cutting their glares were.
A switch flicked on in her brain. Derpy, after all, was all about helping.
“Er,” she said. “It’s nice that Rarity does so much charity work, isn’t it?”
Both sisters glared up and her, and then softened their faces. They fidgeted where they sat.
“It’s nice,” said Sweetie Belle, as though conceding to the table.
“This is Hearth’s Warming, is it not?” said Rarity to the ceiling.
Both of them levitated their drinks. They sipped their carrot juice. They placed the glasses down delicately.
Derpy stopped grinning when she noticed her eyes trying to turn their backs on each other again. Darn eye condition! Furious shaking set them straight again.
“Returning to my original point,” said Rarity, and her careful tone made Derpy wipe her brow with relief, “I was, in fact, wondering whether or not you’d like to accompany me to Canterlot.”
Derpy’s face jolted with joy. “Oh, I’d love to! Canterlot is so expensive this time of year. I only ever get in by giving up on presents.”
“Apologies, Derpy, but I was asking Sweetie Belle, and they only allow one guest to accompany any one ticket-holder.”
Derpy’s face fell lifeless again. “Oh.”
“Not that I don’t have plans for you, of course!”
Opposite, Sweetie Belle hummed. “What kind of event is it? Are we going to see the Hearth’s Warming Pageant again? Only Mom and Dad got my tickets for that already, so I’m OK.”
“Actually, I was going for several of the festivals Twilight recommended.”
“Canterlot festivals?” said Sweetie Belle, curling up under the uncertainty. “I dunno.”
“You enjoyed the Gala, didn’t you?”
“That’s because it’s the Gala. Everything good is at the Gala. It’s like if Pinkie Pie’s parties met Princess Celestia. But all those Canterlot ponies, staring at me…?” She shuddered and took refuge behind another gulp of juice. “No thanks,” she said into her glass.
“Oh,” said Rarity, ears drooping. “To be honest, I rather thought you’d leap at the opportunity.”
The glass came down. “Nope. Just at the pageant.”
“Well, of course. Those Canterlot ponies can be a demanding audience, I’ll admit.”
Derpy took a deep breath. Now was her chance. Clearly, Rarity had some powerful scheme for spreading generosity around Canterlot. She wouldn’t waste time at some big social if there wasn’t some “good by stealth” involved. Derpy grinned; she was pleased to have seen through this social thing so easily.
“If –” she got as far as saying.
“What else is there?” said Sweetie Belle cheerfully.
“Hm?” said Rarity, raising her own glass.
“At Canterlot? Other festivals?”
“Oh yes. Twilight mentioned one. Solara Victor, or some such thing.”
And Derpy sighed. She was starting to wonder what she was even doing here. Another gulp of her glass, and then she realized she’d already finished her drink. Instead, she patted the bottom to get the last few drops. Anything to look like she was busy with something else.
Unexpectedly, Sweetie Belle frowned. “The Solaria Invictus?”
“Oh, you know of it?” Rarity’s voice was hesitant; the frown had not gone unnoticed, even if it was currently unexplained.
Derpy lowered the glass to watch. Uh oh, she thought.
“Dinky told me,” said Sweetie Belle. “And Amethyst told Dinky. That’s the festival where one pony has to be the upper class pony and the other pony has to be the lower class pony.”
“Is it?” said Rarity, surprised. “I knew there was some role-playing involved, or some such.”
“And the upper class pony always gets the ticket,” said Sweetie Belle, rising along with her voice.
Sinking along with her own smile, Rarity ventured, “Is that right? Are you entirely sure your source on this is reliable?”
“So what you’re saying,” said Sweetie Belle, now reaching ear-piercing levels of voice-cracking, “is that I’m the lower class pony?”
“Perish the thought! Ow!” Rarity knocked the table and winced, rubbing her rear leg – Derpy grabbed her own glass before it fell over – and continued, “The festival’s only a bit of fun. I thought you might enjoy the occasion, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” said Derpy, as keen to calm the situation as Rarity. “Everyone knows Rarity is a fancy pony. She’s famous for it. Maybe one day, you’ll be fancy and famous too, Sweetie Belle.”
Sweetie Belle shot a glare at her, which slowly, reluctantly, but surely melted away. Derpy was trying her best smile, but she was horribly aware of her own eyes drifting apart and shook her head until they settled back again.
It was always embarrassing. She’d tried everything: surgery, hypnotism, even sticky tape when she’d been desperate enough. Nothing stopped the eyes from wandering off wherever they liked. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear they’d had a spat at some point and were refusing to see eye-to-eye.
On the other hoof, they at least tended to relax ponies around her. Perhaps the others just found it hard to be angry around someone who could look ridiculous at a moment’s notice.
“No, I’m not interested,” said Sweetie Belle to the table. Looking up, she added, “I could ask around, though? If you want?”
“That would be most helpful. Thank you,” said Rarity to her drink. She looked up too. “And of course I don’t see you as lower class in the slightest. Haven’t I always said what a fine fashionista you’d make, if only you applied yourself?”
“Something like that. I think.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve kept you from your singing for long enough. Although you might put yourself out a bit more: you do have a lovely voice.”
“Uh… One step at a time.”
“As you wish. Enjoy yourself.”
Rarity returned to inspecting her drink until Sweetie Belle slipped down and the door clicked shut.
“What about me?” said Derpy, keen to move on.
“Hm. Beg pardon? That was rude of me.”
“You wanted me for some special job, didn’t you?”
“I did? Oh, yes. Of course I did. Um…”
“Only you said –”
“Yes, yes, I know!” Rarity levitated the glasses and guided them into the sink, all without getting up. She tapped the table and hummed again.
“Was it for volunteer work? Charity? Helping out at the Filly Guides?”
For some strange reason – maybe dramatic flair – Rarity did not answer for the longest while. Skewing her lips, she frowned up at the ceiling. Then she looked down at Derpy and beamed.
“You know, I believe I might have one or two ideas in mind. I think. What time can you start tomorrow?”
The first Derpy knew about it was when White Lightning the pegasus shook her awake and pointed at the bedside clock. It soon turned out that Derpy had overslept, Rarity had refused to wait much longer, and White Lightning had been collared during her morning shift and press-ganged into acting as runner. Since White Lightning never spoke, her gestures and facial expressions were an impressive feat of charades, and even Derpy couldn’t misunderstand them.
One thing led to another: she fled Cloudsdale, which led her to Rarity, which led to a bit of scolding, which led to a few mumbled apologies, which led to a walk, which led to a street, which led – at last – to Barnyard Bargains.
Filthy Rich, owner of Barnyard Bargains and living proof that no amount of money will make a slicked-down mane look good, was already inside overseeing the trolleys of stock and the ponies pushing them along the aisles. Ponyville didn’t have supermarkets per se, but that didn’t stop him trying to upgrade from the modest “general department store” classification. Apparently, he wasn’t bad to work for, and even remembered his employees’ names and birthdays.
As soon as he turned around, he gave them a free sample of his warmest Barnyard Bargains beaming smile (trademarked), at no extra cost. Derpy returned a mere imitation so as not to infringe copyright.
“Miss Rarity of the Carousel Franchise!” Filthy chuckled and slapped Rarity on the back. “Always a delight to see you!”
“Likewise, Mister Rich of Barnyard Bargains,” said Rarity with a wince, and she gestured to Derpy. “I’m not staying long. I wanted to make sure Derpy got here on time.”
Derpy kept her face carefully blank. Easier said than done when her eyes started drifting off again.
Ever so slightly, Filthy Rich’s smile was discounted at the corners. News like Derpy got around.
“Think of everything, huh? Glad we could come to an agreement,” he said, recovering somewhat. More enthusiastically, he added, “Thanks again for the help, Rarity. This time of year is always a scrabble, but that’s what we live for, eh? Oh, and” – he raised a hoof to cover the whisper – “nice suggestion for the Manehattan site. Just bought the place, and it’ll need a bit of work, but I’m sure we’ll have it ready for next year’s Hearth’s Warming. We’ll be so far in the black they’ll have to invent a new colour for us!”
“Any time. Really, you should thank Miss Pommel for the suggestion. She’s the one who pointed the site out to me.”
At this, Derpy remembered Rarity’s talk from yesterday. He’s always wanted to start up a franchise, but poor dear’s been brought up on too many traditions. He never had a chance to start up from scratch. That sort of thing can shackle a business mind, if you’re not careful. So I simply have to pull a few strings, give a little advice here and there, and he’ll be so grateful that I could give him a coma patient and he’d agree to this arrangement. Oh, er… No offence, that is, aheheheh.
“What did she mean by that?” Derpy wondered aloud. “What offence?”
“Now I must dash. Busy, busy, busy: you know how it is,” said Rarity.
“Huh. All too well. Take care of yourself, Miss Rarity!” said Filthy Rich.
By the time Derpy returned to the present, Rarity was walking out of the door and Filthy Rich was waving for her to follow. Along the cash tills, ponies carefully counted coins and tested the barcode scanners with bleeps and blares.
“To business,” he said as he went, talking over his shoulder and occasionally waving at a cheery employee. “Miss Hooves, Rarity tells me you’ve had plenty of experience volunteering for charity?”
He looked at her hopefully.
“Oh, that,” said Derpy. Act confident, the little Rarity in her head insisted. Act professional. “Lots. Every Hearth’s Warming is when I’m at the top of my game. Ha. One year, I took part in three dozen charity fundraisers throughout the entire month!”
“For more than a day each?”
“Huh? What?”
Filthy Rich cleared his throat. “Nothing. Thinking aloud, that’s all.”
“So what do I do?” She nodded towards the ponies stacking shelves. “Will I be doing that?”
“No, no, no. They’re paid employees on a contract. You’re a volunteer. The Barnyard Bargains Community Outreach Program says we ought to have a collection going for charity every Hearth’s Warming. My grandpappy set it up as a way of saying thanks to the town that helped get the business off the ground.”
“Ooh! Ooh! So I go around collecting money from customers?”
Her eyes drifted off again, and she shook her head viciously until the scene refocused.
Filthy gaped over his shoulder at her. “Er, something we should know?”
“Nothing important.” Cheerfully, she added, “I love the decorations, by the way, but you’ve got a crack in your ceiling.”
He glanced up. “Oh, right. I’ll have Gizmo look at that later. No, your job is simplicity itself.”
Both of them stopped. Beside them, next to some benches for waiting shoppers, was a bucket. It had a coin slot on top.
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “You want me to wait for the customers to finish shopping.”
“That’s right.” He nodded happily.
“And then I give them my best sales’ pitch. ‘Ma’am, are you aware that even as you’re shopping for fatty foods, there’s a poor foal sick in the hospital with Pegasus Pox’ –”
“That’s not right.” He shook his head much less happily.
“Oh. Then I shake the bucket meaningfully under their faces? To encourage ‘em?”
“No, Miss Hooves. You simply –”
“Do tricks and sing songs so they’re entertained and give money while they’re laughing with joy?”
“Sorry, Miss Hooves. I don’t have time for this.” He checked his watch, which due to some oversight – or so Derpy was sure – was not actually on his leg. “Look, just pick up the bucket.”
Derpy did so. Right now, the whole was so light that the handle barely pressed against her lips and teeth.
“Great work, Miss Hooves!”
“Now wad?” she said around her mouthful.
“That’s it!” he said. “Tada!”
“Waid…” Derpy’s face fell. “Dad’s id?”
“Yep! You got it!”
After a while, she added, “Juss… holdin’ der buck-id?”
“Big responsibility, and a part of our community outreach. Great start, Miss Hooves! I’ve got to check on that cleanup in the snacks aisle. Stand here for now. When it’s lunchtime, I’ll let you know. Have fun!”
“Waid a minnid, I god more kwess-chuns I… Oh, OK. Never mimd.”
He was already past the checkout tills and heading around one of the many corners. Derpy sighed.
For a while, she managed to clamp down on her disappointment. She even got a nice chance to see the store running for a few minutes; this early in the morning, not many customers came in, so she idly focused on each one as they approached the checkouts. They mostly went for snacks and cartons of eggnog, and had a certain “Get in, get what you need, get out” level of hurry.
However, this paltry entertainment barely kept her going for long. The ponies walked past her as though she wasn’t there.
Eventually, she thought, Forget his suggestion: I’ve got to do something!
“Charidy?” she said to the next stallion.
Startled out of his daydreams, he stopped and read the message on her bucket. “Oh, sure. Of course. It is Hearth’s Warming, after all.”
He put a couple of bits on his hoof before tipping the lot into the slot.
“Dank you!” said Derpy.
“My pleasure!” He beamed at her and walked out.
To make sure, Derpy deliberately avoided talking to the next three ponies. Not a thing.
See! This works! It’s all the rushing around that does it! If I just get their attention…
“Charidy?” she said to the fourth pony, who turned out to be Cheerilee.
“Absolutely! For such a noble cause, here’s ten bits.”
“Hey! Danks a dun! You’re aweshome!”
“Have a great day.” Cheerilee waved until she was out of sight.
Curious, Derpy took the bucket out for a moment and inspected it. “Ponyville General Hospital Sick Children’s Charity”. Ha. No wonder Cheerilee had delivered. She worked with children all the time.
“Charidy?” This earned her one bit – stingy, but better than nothing.
“Charidy?” Two bits again. Good.
“Charidy? Charidy, shirr? Charidy, missh?”
More bits tumbled in. Coins jingled on impact. Slowly but unmistakeably, the bucket grew heavier, and the coins inside jingled more loudly and more often each time she moved.
“Dank you!” she said to the roller derby foals.
“Dank you!” she said to Vinyl Scratch, who shrugged.
“Dank you, dank you, dank you!” she said as the queues started to form and the aisles began to fill up with ponies inspecting the goods.
Unfortunately, Derpy started to get creative.
She patrolled along the checkouts, pouncing at ponies who looked ready to leave. More coins entered her bucket, which by now was making her neck sag. Customers left with more interesting items now: little toys, bits of stationery, a few cheap cleaning fluids. Relatively more interesting, at least.
Unwisely, she pounced at Lily, who yelped, jumped up, and dropped her bags.
“Oh,” said Derpy, dropping the bucket onto the –
She snatched at it before it could hit the floor. The hard, wooden, easily crack-able floor.
“Phew,” she said.
Her legs sagged under the weight until she got her hooves slowly trapped between bucket and floor. Only then did she let it slip off so she could help pick things up.
“I am so sorry, Lily.” She scrabbled for the bags. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Lily panted heavily, patting her chest. “I think… I think I’m having… having a heart attack!”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Derpy, relying totally on Lily just being her usual hypochondriac self. They were drawing a few stares.
“Well… then maybe a stroke! A heart failure! Sudden arrhythmia!”
“Here are your bags. I really am sorry. Um…” Feebly, she pointed to the bucket. “Charity? It’s for a good cause.”
Lily’s breathing settled down now, and she stopped clutching at her chest or checking for heartbeats. “If I give you the money, will you promise not to do that again?”
“Uh… yeah?”
She got four bits and then watched Lily scurry out the door. Eventually, the stares wandered back into their own private worlds of commercialism. The fact that Lily was a known worrier probably helped.
Grinning apologetically, Derpy picked up the bucket again. All right, so maybe jumping at them on the way out is a bad idea. Maybe… Maybe I should just walk around and ask nicely? Some of them are leaving without buying anything, and obviously they’ll have more money before they go to the checkout.
She checked the plan for possible drawbacks. Seemed secure enough. Walking around talking to ponies was not going to cause a disaster, surely? Ponies did it all the time.
Neck straining to keep the bucket from scraping the ground, she went around and walked down the first aisle, which had a notable apple theme to it. Most of the shelves were empty, but one or two kegs of special winter cider sloshed here and there when she bumped into them and hastily stopped them toppling.
Only two ponies too. Well, easy enough. In fact, she recognized one of them…
“Hey!” She put the bucket down. “Tag-a-Long!”
The little Filly Guide looked strangely small without her uniform, and upon seeing Derpy contrived to look even smaller. “Oh. Hey. Derpy.”
“Left hoofshake!” Derpy held out hers.
After a while, she put it down again. “OK, I understand. You’re off-duty. Hey, remember all the cookies we sold last year for the Cookie Drive? Hundreds of them! Thousands! That was a great springtime, wasn’t it? I loved that one.”
“Yeah. Uh. You helped.”
“I sure did!” said Derpy, glossing over the incident with the slope, the cliff, gravity, and a cookie cart with no brakes. “Well, guess what I’m doing now? Tada!”
Dramatically, she stepped aside and gestured to the bucket. Unfortunately, she bumped into the stacked barrels and had to straighten them sharpish.
“Aha,” she said once they stopped wobbling. “I’m collecting for charity. Wanna make a donation?”
“Uh. Sure. It’s for a good cause.”
“And it’s Hearth’s Warming! The timing couldn’t be better!”
As soon as the five coins slid through the slot, however, the floor creaked ominously. And there was maybe a slight sagging.
Thinking fast, Derpy hovered, flapped hard, and picked up the bucket by the handle with both hooves. The thing was stretching her limbs. She could feel the strain.
“Aheh,” she said, checking the floor underneath. No cracks. “So many generous ponies. Well, thank you for your donation, and I hope to see you again next spring –”
She looked up. Tag-a-Long was gone.
“Oh. All right, then. Um.”
At least now she could speak properly. She went along aisles without feeling like her teeth were going to be pulled out, though her forelimbs were sending urgent messages to her brain. Mister Rich hadn’t said what to do if the bucket got heavy.
By the fourth aisle, she had to scrape the bucket across the ground. Marks stretched out behind her. Worried, she looked out for Mister Rich, or failing that an assistant.
“Char… ity?” she groaned to the next pony. Her wings were struggling not to pop with the effort of flapping.
“Here you go. Three bits. Hello again, Miss Hooves!”
“Hello… Mister… Waddle.” Against the strain creeping up her face, Derpy tried to grin at him. “Fancy… seeing… you… here?”
“Nice to see you,” said Mister Waddle, jowls aquiver, squinting through his glasses. “I was wondering why you weren’t showing up at the Ponyville Retirement Home anymore. You found a new job, I see?”
He nodded to the bucket. Derpy began to sweat; she risked a shake of her head.
“Got… kicked out…” she said.
“Did you? I don’t remember that.” At least he sounded genuinely surprised.
“Had to…” She flapped hard enough to buzz, and only managed to rise a few inches. “Almost… medicine… mix-up.”
“Oh yeah. Haha! Now I remember. The Old Chess Grandmaster and I had a laugh over that one. Not really funny at the time, I suppose, but at least no one was hurt, and you gotta laugh, right?”
Derpy grimaced. That wasn’t how Nurse Redheart had put it.
“I think… I gotta… move.” Some passing ponies noticed her and dropped some more coins in. The few inches she’d gained disappeared with a thump.
Derpy tensed up at once.
“Everything OK, Miss Hooves?” Mister Waddle’s face creased with concern. “You don’t look too peachy.”
“Gotta… go.” Scraping the floor, she fought against the heavy bucket and strained to reach the end of the aisle. Too many ponies were wincing or staring.
She looked down. The coins hadn’t actually gone in; the slot was blocked by sheer numbers. The sides of the bucket were bulging dangerously. Even the handle was stretching so much it was turning into a triangle.
Then the handle broke.
The bucket sank into the floor, and like a see-saw the middlemost plank rose up. Or tried to: the hair product shelf was in the way.
To her alarm, the whole shelf creaked and began to lean away. Slowly at first, but with the deceptive slowness of a boulder just breaking free.
Uh oh.
At once, she was on the other side, bracing her shoulders against the tinned foods, ignoring the ones sliding out around her, and pushing back. Her wings were buzzing and burning under the effort. So long as she stopped the dominoes effect, she was safe. So long as she stopped the dominoes effect.
Ponies muttered and hurried out of the way. Her shelf toppled, almost touched the other shelf opposite, and then stopped short. It started rising again. It was almost vertical.
Before it could tip the other way, she flew up and over and gave a counter-push. Around her, a half-dozen shop assistants converged on the ground and in the air. She knew what she was doing. No ironic last-minute toppling for her.
The shelf rocked, dropped a few more items, and then stood perfectly still. Several ponies let out sighs of relief.
Derpy waited, still braced against the shelf. Best not to assume too much, she felt.
Assistants picked up and restacked merchandise when she landed next to Mister Waddle. Up ahead, Filthy Rich hurried down to meet her.
Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh…
“Is everyone all right?” he said. Then he caught sight of Derpy, and his flustered face became even more so. “Miss Hooves? What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stand by the checkouts, didn’t I?”
“I got more money, Mister Rich,” she said desperately. “Look, the bucket’s over there.”
Wood snapped. Metal things clanked below. There was a final thump deep in the bowels of the basement.
“The bucket… was… over there,” she corrected.
Underfoot, cracks snaked out from the hole in the floor. Mister Waddle and Filthy Rich backed away nervously, but the cracks shot past them and ran along the aisle and under the shelves on either side.
And stopped.
“Um,” said Derpy. Filthy Rich stared in horror at the ground.
“I’ll uh, get some help?” she tried.
“The construction ponies know me well,” she ventured, trying to dress up a regrettable fact as a laudable qualification. “I could get them.”
Eventually, Filthy Rich sighed. He didn’t quite meet her gaze.
“Well, good work, uh, collecting the charity money, Miss Hooves. There’s that. Can’t fault you for that. Can’t fault you. Can’t…”
A distant door burst open. One stallion assistant – who was considerably grubbier and sootier than the others – came up and removed his goggles and hard hat.
“Mister Rich, we’ve got a problem with the boiler downstairs,” he said.
Panic crossed Filthy Rich’s face. “Problem?”
“As in something smashed it to pieces. Came right through the ceiling, sir. Took out a few pipes along the way. We can fix it – I know a few contacts – but we’ll have no heating for a week.”
“A week?” Panic shattered under shock, which froze into place and didn’t leave that face for quite some time.
“Sorry, sir. It’s not an easy fix.”
“We’re going to have no heating for a week?”
“That’s how it is, sir.”
“Right. I see. Uh huh. OK.”
“You OK, sir?”
Filthy Rich tugged at his collar. He smoothed down his mane. Still, he kept staring in shock.
“By the way, what happened up here?” The assistant looked at the cracks, the hole, and the one shelf now teetering dangerously towards them as the floor sagged under it.
Feeling a bit stupid, Derpy raised a hoof for attention. “Is this, uh, going to come out of my salary?”
Filthy Rich took a few deep breaths, a stallion contemplating a store shutdown in the middle of the busiest season of the year. He staggered in a daze. His face was turning pale.
“Miss Hooves,” he managed to say after he stopped the worst of the staggering. “I think it best… if you leave right about now…”
Veins throbbed on his temple. Assistants scattered at once, barking urgent orders at each other.
Derpy didn’t need telling twice. She was out the door before she could cause any more damage, and got away with merely toppling a stack of chocolate boxes on the way through.
She got as far as the next street before his screeching cry of woe echoed through the air.
After that little experience, Derpy changed course. It was probably a good idea to keep her distance and wait for the chaos to blow over. It usually was.
She wandered Ponyville for a while, grateful that today was one of those unseasonably warm ones the Cloudsdale team liked to schedule for no apparent reason. Not a cloud in the sky, not a hint of a snowflake, not a mist or a cold breeze to worry about. Already, green patches of grass showed up among the piles of snow. On any other day, she might have stopped to appreciate small mercies.
But word would be spreading around Ponyville. It wasn’t even lunchtime, and already she wanted today to be over.
What she ought to do was go back and offer to pay. That was her normal response to scenarios like accidentally eaten lunches or the occasional broken door. However, she found it a lot easier to offer pay to her friends than to someone random, like – say – Filthy Rich. And she suspected this wasn’t one of those normal things that a dent in her finances could easily fix.
Instead, she went for the Ponyville market. She had things to buy this Hearth’s Warming.
Stalls all over the place, simple wares, humble foods, and none of those big impressive buildings like the Barnyard Bargains store: this was more her speed. Cheerful and carefree, she’d stopped many a time to chat with one of the stallholders, like Applejack or Daisy or Lucky Clover. Business was so slow there that she could stand around for hours talking about who was doing what, how they were doing it, and where and when they were planning it.
Except for today.
As she turned the corner, the hubbub of voices and coins and hoofsteps overwhelmed her. She could almost feel the heat radiating off all those bodies, and marvelled that there was any snow left.
Ponies, ponies everywhere, and not a stall in sight. Mainly because all the bodies got in the way.
Cringing, she flew up and over the mass of colours and shifting shapes. Ponyville might be a tight-knit community, but its citizens were still not immune to the usual panic buys, rising demands, and petty squabbles of the season. Here and there, she saw pegasi rise up and dive back into the scrum. Bags rode the currents like flotsam caught on the tide. Voices rose higher and higher, trying to drown each other out. Occasionally, a space opened up where two shoppers had gotten into a louder argument than usual. There was even some pushing and chest-jabbing.
Derpy stared in horror. She’d hoped to get her shopping done early for a change, to avoid the rush. By the look of it, everyone else in town had hit upon the same idea.
Instead, she shot over the lot and went for Sugar Cube Corner. The bakery stood on the margins of the marketplace, somewhat uncertain like a nervous loiterer on the edge of a dance floor. The building certainly looked a lot more appealing than the mob, what with the sweet-natured “gingerbread house” aesthetic. Surely there, she had a chance to –
Nope. They were queuing out the door. She sighed. Not Sugar Cube Corner too…
Right now, she could really do with a soft, chewable sugar rush. Ponies left her numb and speechless in confusion, but a muffin was a muffin. She bought it. She ate it. It didn’t complain or bring the roof down. All in all, a welcome arrangement.
So bracing herself, she landed and stood in line. The urge to avoid jostling had lost against the urge to have muffin.
After a while, they moved one pony forward.
After another while, they moved one pony forward.
The next while passed by without comment, and they moved one pony forward.
Derpy waited for this new while to do something interesting, but it merely ignored her and passed by, and they moved one pony forward.
At this rate… her lips moved with silent calculation… it’d need three more whiles before she reached the front door.
She sighed. Another while, another move one pony forward.
The sun arced across the sky. This was the only sign of time passing; the marketplace remained a chaotic scrum and the queue barely moved.
She bent her legs to jump up and go home: maybe she’d blow some bubbles or play some board games against herself. If anything, though, the prospect made her sag, and she stayed in the queue. Everyone else would either be on weather duty or out there in the market mess, anyway. So who did she have now?
“Hey, sport,” said a careless voice approaching.
Derpy looked up, guilt shooting through her, hoping to the heavens that Filthy Rich hadn’t sent an assistant to hunt her down, but then saw it was only Lemon Hearts. Lemon Hearts was OK, if a bit weird. Derpy’s guilt went back down to hide.
For now, she merely had to deal with Lemon Hearts’ strutting approach. The unicorn mare had a straw between her lips.
“Thanks for saving my spot.” She winked and slid in beside Derpy. Mares muttered on either side, but said nothing aloud. Lemon Hearts for her part looked utterly unconcerned, puffing on her stick of hay.
“Miserable, isn’t it?” said Lemon Hearts to no one in particular. “Happiest time of the year, and you spend half of it in crowds and queues. How sad.”
“Yeah,” said Derpy, just in case this was meant for her. “Sad.”
“You don’t mind me puffing on this, right?” Lemon Hearts pointed at her stick of hay.
“Uh…”
“Good, ‘cause I’m puffing on it anyway.”
“Excuse me –” began an indignant voice behind them.
Lemon Hearts rounded on the culprit. “I wasn’t asking you, short stuff. What are you, the good manners police?”
They finally reached the doorway. Derpy squirmed where she stood. No one had anything against Canterlot types, not per se. Sometimes, Ponyville got the odd snooty type, but there were others who were right at home in Ponyville and didn’t bring any snobbery with them at all. And then there was Lemon Hearts who, despite her fine curls and agreeably dainty eyelashes, managed to be to Ponyville what a Ponyvillian would be to Canterlot.
“What you getting?” said Lemon Hearts, making sidelong eye contact.
“Don’t know,” said Derpy with a shameless sigh. It wasn’t as if Lemon Hearts could make her feel any lower. “I just want something nice and sweet.”
“Might have a bit of trouble choosing at the counter, then.” Lemon Hearts peered over the heads. “At least you got time to think. That queue’s zigzagging, look.”
“I guess I could get one of those nice gingerbread houses,” said Derpy, and a thought struck her. Against all good sense, she met Lemon Hearts’ careless gaze head-on. “Say, maybe I could get one as a gift for Dinky?”
“What are you asking me for? It’s your gift.”
“Oh, never mind.” Derpy sagged where she stood. “I just remembered. She wants a Power Ponies action figure collection.”
“Nice. Is that the next generation model, or the classic model?”
They both moved one pony forward. The queue definitely moved faster now. She could see the hats of Mr and Mrs Cake at the counter, along with one or two temporary assistants.
“What?” Derpy said.
“I know. Makes you sick, doesn’t it?” To Derpy’s well-brought-up shock, Lemon Hearts turned her head and spat on the floorboards. “They say things like ‘It’s the thought that counts’ and ‘Peace and goodwill to all ponies’ and ‘Tis better to give than to receive’, and then turn around and add, ‘Oh, by the way, get me this useless junk that’s barely any different from the last round of useless junk, and get ready for a tug-of-war at the toy store ‘cause it’s gonna be a popular piece of garbage all right’.”
“Er…” Derpy looked about for inspiration. She still wasn’t sure what to order.
“And you better do it, or they’ll roast your heart on a spit. Call that peace and goodwill? Ha! I blame the modern lifestyle. Too edgy, if you ask me. Too jumpy. Too rushed. Everyone lives on their nerves nowadays, like they do in the city. No carefree attitude or nothin’. Manehattan has a lot to answer for, if you ask me. Canterlot’s going the same way too.”
Derpy frowned. Not solely because Lemon Hearts could corrode the air around her with her mere presence, but because the tone didn’t match the content. Lemon Hearts spoke the words of a complainer, but smirked and kept winking as she spoke them. Somehow, the thought of a fight over action figures seemed like high entertainment to her.
Lemon Hearts chuckled, and to Derpy’s ears, it wasn’t a nice chuckle. It had too much leer in it.
“I mean, do you feel full of peace and goodwill right now?” she said, pouting and shifting her stick of hay.
Derpy hummed. “Not really.”
“It’s ‘cause the whole thing is a swindle.”
“Well, not because of that.”
Suspicious eyes bored into hers. “Why? What mess you done now?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Derpy wondered how she’d guessed, but then gloomily wondered what else it was going to be. Clumsy ponies like her had a reputation. They said you could trust Derpy to be joyful, but you’d be daft to trust her with a job. She’d once half-destroyed the Town Hall, and even she had no idea how she’d done that one.
“Mixed up the Hearth’s Warming lists, did you? Ha. Lyra’s the same. Get her away from music, and she suddenly can’t hold a list straight, never mind keep a load of them straight.”
“Yeah,” said Derpy helplessly. “Sounds crazy.”
“A screw-up if ever there was one.”
Derpy had no idea of how to get rid of the mare. Even as the queue moved forwards, her brain’s only suggestion involved saying some very rude things. Helplessly, she added, “Yeah. Screw-up.”
Yet her brain turned traitor on her. She suddenly remembered Hearth’s Warming Eves and Hearth’s Warming Days long past, and every single one had seen her struggling with lists. She’d tot up the stuff and give herself a reasonable budget – after much coaxing and calculating from her best friends, because she struggled with any number bigger than ten – and then she’d happily go to the shops, and within an hour she’d be over-budget and still struggling to meet the list.
Sometimes, it was just because she miscalculated. Sometimes, it was because she bought something edible and then got a craving, and later had to go back and get a replacement. Sometimes, she was flat-out swindled and the thing would turn out to be a cheap knock-off that fell apart once she turned the corner. Sometimes, she just couldn’t say no to a persuasive salespony.
Not once did she ever make it work. Despite everything, she’d end up breaking the things or mucking up the wrapping, and it was guaranteed – when the day finally came – that she’d find someone patiently pointing out that this wasn’t what they’d ordered. And anyway, someone else would have also bought it, causing much embarrassment. Even though the recipient often never even went into the required level of detail: it was like getting a request for a cardboard box, getting a cardboard box, and then finding out they’d really wanted a Paper Cube Double-Layered Storage Unit and not, for instance, the first cardboard box that looked nice on a shelf.
Come to think of it, had she ever not disappointed someone in some way?
Gah! The whole thing was so ineffably awful, she wanted to go back to bed and hide for the rest of the winter.
And now, she wondered what exactly she was going to do to make this year any different. Same old Derpy, she thought. Same old, same old Derpy.
“Hello, Derpy,” said Mrs Cake.
“What can we get you?” said Mr Cake.
Derpy shook herself back into the present, and was horrified to find her eyes had wandered again. Beside her, Lemon Hearts had gone back to her bored bystander look.
“Oh, uh…” said Derpy.
“Excuse me,” said Mr Cake. “Do you mind not puffing that indoors?”
Lemon Hearts froze. Her stare could have frozen an oven.
Then with an exaggerated gape, she opened her mouth, rolled her tongue out, wrapped the stick of hay, and drew it back with a slow clamp of teeth and lips. She chewed slowly and without relaxing her stare at all. Then she swallowed, in as theatrical a manner as possible.
“Ex-cuse me,” she trilled cheerfully. “And now you’ve done your part for the neighbourhood watch, Mister, we’d like you to do your actual job, please.”
Muttering broke out behind them. Derpy surrendered. She had enough to deal with as it was, and now this?
“Two muffins, please,” she said.
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Mrs Cake, giving her husband’s scowl a grimace of disapproval, “but we’re fresh out.”
“Season of giving, everyone,” said Lemon Hearts, smirking.
Derpy cut across her; she’d seen Mr Cake open his mouth. “Gingerbread ponies, then?”
“Make that two,” said Lemon Hearts.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs Cake. “We’ve only got the one.”
“Cinnamon swirl, then,” corrected Lemon Hearts.
Two hastily sealed bags landed on the counter. Only then did it occur to Derpy that… Unless she’d hid it in her mane… Or…
“Um,” she said, patting herself down and turning red. “I forgot my purse.”
Ponies behind them groaned and complained at once. Behind the counter, the Cakes gave each other worried looks. Any other time of the year, they might have passed it off on the Sugar Cube Corner equivalent of a tab, but this was not that kind of season, and –
Lemon Hearts tossed a few coins onto the counter. “Keep the change.”
Face creased with suspicion, Mr Cake counted it out. He grunted.
“It’s exact,” he said.
“I thought I’d make it easy for you. Don’t want you to strain yourself.” Lemon Hearts levitated the bags and sauntered off without so much as a backwards glance. “Move it, Big Rump. And you.” Angry curses broke out as she shoved her way through.
“Sorry about her. Aheh.” Derpy gave the Cakes a hasty grin, and then scurried after her, throwing apologies to every pony she bumped along the way. “Hey, one of those is mine –”
“Relax. I’m getting you out of this walking morgue, all right? Let’s get a table outside.”
This brought Derpy up short. Up till now, she wasn’t entirely sure what Lemon Hearts wanted besides a chance to jump the queue.
“A table?”
“You’d rather stand? Come on. Won’t take long. We can point and laugh at the crowds together.”
I’ve had just about enough of this. Derpy frowned. “You really are as sour as a lemon, really.”
“The clue is in my name.”
All the same, the idea was inviting. Sans any firm plans of her own other than a general desire to avoid Barnyard Bargains, Derpy sat on the cold stool and drew it up to the rounded table. Sugar Cube Corner had strayed into café territory in recent years, and the large parasol things kept them shielded from the weather even during the winter. Besides, lots of ponies liked to sit and watch the crowds whilst munching on warming goodies. Few things were better than a sweet luxury no one else was having.
Opposite, Lemon Hearts rocked the stool under her own thrown weight, and then attacked the cinnamon swirl with gusto. Derpy looked down and stared at her own gingerbread pony. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she should be eating it.
She groaned. This was all so pathetic. Even if Filthy Rich let her off, he’d still tell Rarity what she’d done, and then what? No one was that generous twice. And this stupid gingerbread wasn’t going to solve that.
“I’m a screw-up,” she muttered bitterly.
“Hm?” Lemon Hearts’ mouth was full. “Sorry?”
She stared out at the scrum of the marketplace. “I’m a screw-up, aren’t I?”
Lemon Hearts swallowed. She looked about, as though checking for eavesdroppers. She knocked the parasol over so that it hid her from public view. Derpy was so far gone by this point that this wanton vandalism barely registered as a matter of interest.
Then, to Derpy’s amazement, the mare smiled. Not smirked. Not grinned. Not leered. Genuinely smiled. There was something of the Rarity about that smile.
“Yes,” Lemon Hearts said bluntly. “But there are worse things than being a screw-up.”
Derpy poked at her gingerbread pony’s belly. “Like what?”
“You care, don’t you?”
Lemon Hearts’ stool scraped back. Hoofsteps approached. To Derpy’s surprise, the mare gave her a gentle pat on the withers.
“Something bothering you, hon?” Compared with the sting of before, this almost was honey. The tones dripped with sweetness and smoothness. “I can tell.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Giving in, Derpy broke off a gingerbread leg and crunched it. Bits of sugar tingled along her tongue, but it was otherwise like eating clumps of dirt. Even her appetite was disgusted with itself.
She looked out – around the parasol – at the crowds again. Crowds of ponies, none of whom were known as screw-ups or klutzes or bumblers or fools.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” said Lemon Hearts, giving her another gentle pat. Derpy didn’t much care about the sudden change. She was sparking with gratitude deep inside, but all the same…
“Not like mine,” she said to the table.
“You love Hearth’s Warming. Don’t you?” It was blunt. Blunt, but not like a club. Blunt like a pillow.
At last, Derpy said, “Yeah.”
“You love helping out. Don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Derpy looked up. “Where are you going with this?”
“Nowhere you haven’t already been.” Where the mocking insouciance had lounged about her face, now Lemon Hearts shone with concern and the air seemed somehow brighter, as though seen through a soft focus. “You made a mistake, that’s true. You’ve made mistakes. Yet you keep trying, because you care about those mistakes. You want to do better.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
Now Lemon Hearts wrapped a limb around Derpy’s shoulders, and for once things felt… nice. For a moment, the image of Barnyard Bargains didn’t bother her so much.
“So keep trying.” Lemon Hearts gave her a gentle shake of encouragement. “All you have to do is learn from your mistakes. And you will. Because you care.”
“But what if I just make more mistakes?”
“Then try harder. Figure out what you did wrong. Don’t hide away or sulk like a child.” Another friendly pat. This close, Derpy could smell the slight vanilla perfume of the mare. “Sometimes, when you care about things so much, it hurts to get them wrong. I can’t lie. But Hearth’s Warming means so much to you, doesn’t it? None of this ‘rushing around, buying stuff’ garbage. I’m talking about the true meaning of Hearth’s Warming.”
And Derpy felt as though the sun were finally warming the world around them. There even seemed to be less snow on the rooftops. To her own delight, part of her had wanted very much to hear those words all along.
“You really think so?” she said.
Lemon Hearts let go, but met her gaze. “You’ve got a good heart, Derpy. Not many ponies really believe there’s more to Hearth’s Warming than tinsel and toys. Whatever happens, I’m in your corner, got it?”
Derpy crunched another gingerbread leg. This time, the texture was crumbly and soft like a firm cake.
“Fanksh!” she said around her mouthful. “Dad’s weally nice of ‘oo!”
“Anytime, hon.” Lemon Hearts strode back and slipped onto her seat. “Tell you what.”
Derpy swallowed. “What?”
“You might appreciate this more than me. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a bunch of us are going up to Canterlot for a bit?”
“Oh yeah. Rarity mentioned it. She made it sound so incredible!” Shamelessly, Derpy tossed the rest of the gingerbread into her mouth and crunched.
“She made you her plus-one?”
“Uh uh.” Derpy’s cheeks bulged. She tried to say, “She wanted to ask Sweetie Belle.”
“Whoa! Watch where you’re spraying!” Lemon Hearts cringed and wiped the crumbs off the table. “Well, I don’t really give a monkey’s about this sort of thing. I only took the ticket to be polite – don’t laugh – but if you think you’d enjoy it more, you’re more than welcome to nick it.”
“Wait… aren’t you looking for a plus-one?”
“No. No, I don’t think so. Anyway, what do you think? I could make arrangements with the other girls.”
“Yeah!” Then Derpy thought about it. “Oh. Wait. No, I’d… I’d better not.”
“Really? A moment ago, you were dancing for joy. What gives?”
“Who’d go with me? No one would want to. They’d have to be the lower class pony.”
“Oh, that. Never mind that. It’s just role-playing, really. It means nothing.” Lemon Hearts hopped off her stool and gave another warm smile. “Don’t beat yourself up before the struggle begins. Promise me that?”
“Sure.”
“Like you mean it.”
Derpy rolled her eyes, and then shook her head to stop them wandering again. “I promise. I promise. Don’t see why, but –”
“Good girl. I’ll let you figure it out, then.” She made to leave, but then paused and turned back. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What is it?”
Lemon Hearts’ smile became somewhat glazed. “Don’t you dare tell anyone else about this soppy talk, or I’ll skin you alive. Got it?”
“Er… sure?”
“I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
“Eh?”
“Skin you alive. Remember that.”
Derpy shrugged, totally lost. Social niceties had passed her by, especially Canterlot ones. She guessed this was some sort of playful banter.
“OK, then?” she said.
Satisfied, Lemon Hearts winked and sauntered off. Derpy sighed with relief as though a weight had slipped off her back. Cheered up no end, she watched the mare snap at a few bystanders before she disappeared into the crowd.
All the same, Derpy left for home a few minutes later. She reckoned she could try harder, and try again and again, but best to sleep on it, she felt. Besides, the sooner today was over, the better.
Well, she’d had time to sleep it over, or at least to sleep it off. The alarm clock went off, the sun shone through the windows, and Derpy burst out of bed bright and beaming to greet the blank-slate-of-a-day.
Outside, the whiteness of Cloudsdale was brilliant as snow on a Hearth’s Warming postcard, though lacking in robins.
Normally, the sight was business as usual for her. True, a city of cumulus and rainbows, attended by a flock of winged ponies, looked like most ground-dwellers’ idea of Heaven, but most of the place was given over to weather factories and workers’ living quarters. Pegasi were not known for playing harps, though Cloudchaser was known to play a mean harmonica, and didn’t wear white robes when imitation Wonderbolt suits were in stock. Pegasi there didn’t live in paradise; they either worked or just lived normal lives between shifts. If Cloudsdale was Heaven, it was a Heaven post-Industrial Revolution.
Yet this time, Derpy looked out and saw the simple beauty of the clouds, marvelled at the joyful colours of the rainbow cascades, and savoured the general sense that all was too good and light and soft to be any more than a living dream. And nevertheless, there it was: as real as real could be.
“All set, world?” she said happily. “Here comes a Holly Jolly Hearth’s Warming!”
Derpy the Derp-eyed Delight wolfed down a bowlful of breakfast and went rockin’ around to the factory. She was still skipping and posing and air-guitaring when she passed through the main gates and among the vats of cloud solution. Geysers of pink drowned out her whispered singing.
“The snow’s comin’ down,” she crooned, revelling in an old favourite and trying to capture the parentheses with even quieter whispering.
“(Hearth’s Warming) But I’m not makin’ it fall!
(Hearth’s Warming) It got the ponies on the ground!
(Hearth’s Warming) My friends, please pleasepleeeeeaaaaaase come visit ‘cause-I’m-dying-of-loneliness-also-it’s-cold-and-windy-and-the-windigoes-are-coming-to-get meeeeeeeee!”
Ah, I love the classics, she thought.
“Morning, Flitter!” she called out. Up ahead, her squadron were assembling. At least, she liked to think of them as her squadron. Sounded professional.
Flitter’s smile peeped out of her face. “You’re in an oddly lovely mood.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? ‘Tis the season to be jolly, full of holly, by golly, dolly, folly, colly, lolly, molly. I just love saying things that rhyme with ‘jolly’. Don’t you? Nolly, olly, polly, quolly, rolly, solly, tolly –”
Flitter coughed nervously, her gaze twitching about the place. “Not that. I mean… after what happened yesterday?”
Uh oh. Hastily, Derpy put on a season’s grinning.
“Oh, I don’t let that sort of thing get me down,” she said. “What’s important is that everyone should be jolly on Hearth’s Warming.”
“Well, sure, but you don’t think there’s such a thing as –”
“No buts! No ifs! No idle tiffs! Or… something like that. Come on! Let’s go show everyone the true Hearth’s Warming spirit!”
Wincing, Flitter patted her bow and said, “Um, if you say so. But I’d tone it down, if I were you.”
Up ahead, most of the Weather Team – her squadron was made up of eight ponies, including herself – stood haphazardly in the middle of the corridor, waiting for their shift to start. Flitter slid in amongst them and then contrived to indicate she wasn’t really there, but of course if she was then she’d been there the whole time and had just wanted to be quiet…
“…a pretty easy day today,” Rainbow Dash was saying, to those elements of the team that hadn’t yawned or fallen asleep. “Cloudchaser, you and Bulk Biceps cover the east side of Ponyville. Make sure the cloud cover is geared towards cumulostratus; we want partial cover to keep things reasonably steady. Raindrops, you and Thunderlane cover the west side. Clear the leftover cumulus. We’re expecting sunny spells to creep up on the town for a few days, and then we’ll hit ‘em with another blizzard.”
“Why?” said Raindrops, cocking her head.
“Don’t ask me. We just get the orders. Anyway – THUNDERLANE! What did I just say?”
“I was resting my eyes,” said Thunderlane sullenly. “It’s too early for this sort of thing.”
“NEGATIVE! I said nothing like that, and you know it.” Rainbow Dash’s training time with the Wonderbolts last fall had clearly rubbed off on her. She rounded on Bulk Biceps, who currently resembled a sleeping mountain. “BULK! BULK! Someone wake him up, for Pete’s sake. Come on, guys. We do this every year –”
Facing this spectacle and all the shouting, Derpy hung back for a moment. Under Rainbow’s current mood, news about the incident yesterday was not likely to go down well, and would result in even more shouting. Besides, Rainbow Dash tended to shout at her more than anyone, even sometimes calling her… Derpy shuddered… “featherbrain”.
Nonetheless, she stiffened her limbs and forced the smile. The team needed her. If she played them carefully, she’d get a much happier tune out of them. Maybe even a carol. Yes, nothing said “Hearth’s Warming spirit” like ponies joined in song.
“Cheer up, everyone!” she said. “It’s Hearth’s Warming!”
Rainbow Dash rounded on her, or rather snapped to attention and aimed all cannons. The Wonderbolts had not so much rubbed off on her as clung on tight.
“Not yet, it isn’t,” she said. “And where have you been? You know what time we start in winter.”
“I sure do,” said Derpy, carefully ignoring the punctuality issue. “It’s your favourite season, Rainbow Dash! Playing in the snow? Drinking snow cider? Chilling out indoors while it’s chilling out… um, outdoors?”
For a moment, actual softness crossed Rainbow’s face. The scowl melted. Inner summer shone through. Then the face flash-froze again.
“Work first,” said Rainbow Dash. “Then play. We’ve got a big responsibility. We can’t let Ponyville down.”
“That’s right!” Casting about for inspiration, Derpy saw either drooping eyelids or puzzled stares. “Tell you what: we could sing carols while we do it.”
Groans and snorts ran among those parts of the crowd that hadn’t dropped off. Cloudchaser shivered.
“Come off it,” she said. “I’ve heard ‘Ice Spirits Melting on a Friendship Fire’ umpteen times already.”
“Or, or, or we could have a snowball fight!”
“My brother did that,” muttered Thunderlane. “He got an ice block in the face.”
“Oh, how terrible!” Flitter patted him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Um.” Derpy tapped a hoof, trying to stamp out a thought and all the awkwardness creeping in. “How about we sit by the fire and tell each other Hearth’s Warming stories?”
Even more groans and snorts ran among the crowd, waking up the likes of Bulk Biceps at last.
“FIRE!” he yelled. “WHAT FIRE!? EVACUATE! EVAC –”
“Whoa, whoa,” said Rainbow Dash. “Calm down, big guy. There’s no fire.”
“OK,” said Sunshower Raindrops, “but name one story we haven’t heard ten times over. A Hearth’s Warming Tale? Done to death. The Founding of Equestria? Every child knows it, and it’s historically unlikely, I might add. And let’s not get into How the Dragon Ate Hearth’s Warming.”
“I love that one!” said Derpy. “And… I’m… sure you will too.”
“Yeah, right,” said Cloudchaser with a shrug.
Rainbow Dash rose up into the air over their heads; quite apart from the commanding position she now took, everyone knew she was nigh-addicted to being airborne and would jump up to the opportunity whenever she could.
“Derpy, come on. Let’s just get this job done first, OK?” she said, implying she’d actually get a chance second. Everyone else’s faces said: Don’t count on it.
Derpy’s chest tightened. “I’m just trying to raise everyone’s Hearth’s Warming spirits,” she said, dropping the act and feeling the worse for it. “When I think about the lovely music of the season, well… um… I just want everyone to hear what I hear.”
“Don’t you know it’s not Hearth’s Warming time? At all?” said Cloudchaser. “Yet?”
“Anyway,” said Rainbow Dash. They all turned to her while she floated back and forth in midair, as though pacing before the troops. “No snowfall until next week, understand? We’re melting this layer off first, then blizzard time.”
Derpy gaped. Sure, she could agree to lay off on the carols and stories, but no snow? For an entire week!?
“But, but, but,” she said, wishing she hadn’t lost the initiative already. “There must be snow! It’s winter! It’s Hearth’s Warm – coming up to Hearth’s Warming! We can’t have either without snow! Snow is perfect! How will anyone play in it if it isn’t there? And, and, and don’t the songs go on about a white Hearth’s Warming?”
“Derpy,” said Rainbow Dash threateningly. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Yeah,” said Thunderlane, who seemed sore about the brother-got-an-iceblock-in-the-face thing. “We gotta wait for the Snowflake Department to make the next batch. They don’t just magically turn up.”
“And timing is everything,” said Raindrops, patting herself on the temple smugly. “Specific patterns in the overall distribution of pressure and temperature depend on an exact balance –”
“What Rainswot over there is saying,” said Cloudchaser, and she earned herself a dirty glare for this remark, “is that we don’t just dump the stuff willy-nilly.”
“Thank you,” said Rainbow Dash, and at once the squadron clammed up like students who’ve just seen the headmaster storm into the room. A lot of stiffening ensued. “OK, since you were late, Derpy, you’re with me, Blossomforth, and Flitter, OK? Cloud clearance for now. North side first, then tending down to the centre. We’ll meet Star Hunter’s team coming up from the south, and then report to the Mayor at Town Hall and take a break. You got all that?”
“Uh…” said Derpy, who needed the time to catch up. “North. Centre. Town Hall. Mayor.”
“Good enough,” said Rainbow Dash, who resented the time to slow down. “We’re off in five minutes, got it?”
“Yes, Captain Crash,” muttered Thunderlane. Not quietly enough.
“Say that again!”
“I-mean-yes-Rainbow-Dash! Yes, Rainbow Dash!” He saluted hastily. “Just like you said! Off in five minutes! Got it!”
Under the giggling, he blushed. Rainbow glared at him again, and then there was a multicoloured blur, and she was gone.
Grumbling, yawning, and in Flitter’s case patting her bow with something akin to fashion paranoia, the team walked or flew towards the exit. As they went, Derpy traipsed behind them, screwing up her lips in thought.
I do care, she thought over and over. I do care! That’s what matters, right? So all I have to do is get them to care. This should be easy. Who wants to be unhappy, especially this time of year?
Once in the small staff kitchen, the squadron spread out. Cloudchaser sprawled over the cloud cushions, Raindrops went over to the bookshelf and half-slid on an ice patch, Bulk Biceps found a corner where he could stand quietly and flex his muscles, and Thunderlane and Flitter stood behind Blossomforth, who got a mug and filled it from the tap with liquid rainbow. A sip, and she shivered and yelped.
“Oh, so spicy!” she said around her tongue. “Yep, that did the trick.”
“You wimp,” said Thunderlane, grinning.
“It woke me up, didn’t it?”
Derpy chewed her lip some more, standing at the entrance. She could not let the day start like this. She was on a crusade. Next thing would be they’d forget it was Hearth’s Warming at all…
“Oh, guys!” she cooed, suddenly remembering. “Hey, guys! I know what’ll get you in the mood!”
“Yeah, getting the leaky water vats fixed.” Raindrops glared at the ceiling. “We’ve got ice dripping in again.”
“No! You remember the Hush-hush Gifthorse Tradition?”
More groans and snorts indicated that they did, and not with relish. Bulk Biceps paused in mid-stretch, looking like a giant croissant covered in flour.
“GOT MINE!” he said proudly.
“Well,” said Derpy, nodding at him, “how about we make the exchange early this year? That’ll put you in the right mood.”
Blossomforth put her mug back into the sink while Thunderlane gulped his drink. She shook her head.
“Don’t you understand, Derpy?” she said gently. “Every time you do something like this, you make us less likely to –”
“Hooray for Hush-hush Gifthorse! Hooray for Hearth’s Warming!”
Behind the slumped Blossomforth, Thunderlane yelped and fanned his tongue with both hooves. Flitter filled her mug.
“Do we have to?” said Cloudchaser.
“HOORAY FOR HEARTH’S WARMING!” bellowed Bulk Biceps, who could get carried away.
“If it’ll lift our spirits,” said Raindrops under the shadow of defeat, “why not?”
Giggling, Derpy waited until they were all surrounding her, each bearing a wrapped parcel. The Hush-hush Gifthorse Tradition was an old favourite when she’d started out. No one knew ahead of time who’d get the present for whom. Everything was done with an ice bowl and names on pieces of paper. It was so fun to pick one out, read it, let no one else know, and then do some detective work figuring out what kind of gift would best please the lucky pony. She danced for joy.
“Blossomforth,” she said proudly. “This is for you!”
“Thanks.” Blossomforth seemed happy enough taking it off her. She even kept up the smile as she started hacking at the wrapping. Admittedly, it faltered a bit after the first few tugs failed to remove the ribbon, but pegasi were strong and she’d force it off sooner or later.
Everyone else handed theirs over wordlessly. Derpy saw Bulk pass his to Thunderlane, and then saw the big lug receive one from Raindrops, and then saw him unwrap the noticeably thin specimen as easily as his tiny hooves could allow when powered by muscles a bull would be proud of.
He got a box of chocolates. A cheap box of chocolates, from Barnyard Bargains. It still had the discount sticker attached.
“What a great gift!” she cooed, smiling.
“ER,” said Bulk, trying to smile in turn and giving up. “I CAN’T HAVE CHOKKIES!”
Raindrops shrugged, unwrapping her gift. “Everyone likes chocolate selection boxes. You can’t fail with those.”
“GOT A DIET! STRICT DIET!” He flexed his muscles to emphasize the point.
“I got hair gel,” said Cloudchaser, grimacing. “What a shock.”
“I got a bookmark,” said Raindrops, groaning. “Oh, not another one. You got me this last year.”
“You’re hard to shop for!” said Flitter, gritting her teeth. “At least you didn’t get a bunch of hairclips. Who gets hairclips for Hearth’s Warming?”
“You like hair stuff!” said Cloudchaser.
Derpy finally dropped the smile. “That’s it? That’s all you guys got? What about all the really cool stuff in the shops?”
“I know, right?” said Thunderlane. He held out a thin slip. “Here’s yours.”
“For me! Why, you shouldn’t…” Then she realized the thing was as thin as an envelope. “Oh.”
And the contents were just as disappointing, namely because the thing under the wrapping was an envelope. She opened it.
“Money?” she said.
“Yeah, I couldn’t think what you wanted,” he said as though he didn’t care. “So I thought I’d let you decide.”
“That’s it!?”
“I thought I’d play it safe.”
“But last year, I got you a Wonderbolt history book!”
Raindrops raised a hoof. “Ooh, sounds nice. Trade?”
Shameless and suave, Thunderlane shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t know what you’d have liked. We’re not that close, you know. We all just work together. Sure, we’re friends, but you know, not friends friends.”
“What?” It sounded like a fine social distinction, but then it also sounded like he was making up excuses. After all, Thunderlane always made up excuses. If he’d had a first name, his middle name would be “excuses-excuses”.
“Erm…” Blossomforth now wrestled with the wrapping on her gift. “Little help, please? I think I’ve got my hoof caught in the –”
Instantly, Rainbow Dash burst into the room. “Look lively, ponies! Showtime! Let’s go, go, go!”
“Come on, Wonderbolts,” muttered Thunderlane. Beside him, Flitter tittered behind a hoof.
“Or someone could get me some scissors?” Blossomforth grunted. “Anyone? No? OK, I’ll catch you up, I guess. Um… my wing’s caught on the tape, just so you know…”
They strolled down the corridor towards the sunlight. Derpy walked a little way apart from the others, none of whom seemed nearly as bothered by the lack of spirit as they should’ve been. They were friends. Of course they were friends. Long years at Flight Camp and in the Weather Team, everyone cheering when Rainbow Dash and Thunderlane had made it to the Wonderbolts too. What was going on?
“Where’s Blossomforth?” said Rainbow Dash suddenly.
“Unwrapping a present,” said Raindrops.
“What? Is she mad? This isn’t the time for that! Flitter, go and knock some sense into her.”
“Yes, Rainbow Dash. I’ll get the scissors.”
After Flitter vanished down the corridor behind them, Rainbow Dash stopped and stared briefly, but then decided it best for her sanity to shake the matter off and continue.
They emerged onto the Cloudsdale plains, just before the drop-off to the world below. By now, Derpy had lost the rosy tint in her eye. This was all so much cloud stuff and big empty sky now.
“Doesn’t anyone care?” she said sadly.
“I CARE!” said Bulk.
Thunderlane rolled his eyes and nudged her elbow. “It’s great you care about Hearth’s Warming so much. And we care about it, really we do. It’s just… one of those things, you know?”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“You know.” Vaguely, he waved a hoof as though reeling in a line and hoping he’d hooked a good argument on the other end. “Grow up. Get older.”
“To quote the ancient words of Sunstruck the Bedazzled Hermit after he saw sunlight for the first time,” chimed in Raindrops. “‘I spoke as a foal, I understood as a foal, I thought as a foal; but when I became a mare, I put away foalish things.’”
Derpy growled. Of all the things they could’ve said – called her a shrieking loudmouth, mocked her wrapping skills, anything – this was right down at the bottom of the depths. The Summer Sun Celebration: a bit overblown. The Running of the Leaves: so much sweat and dirt. Nightmare Night: an excuse to dress up stupid. Fine. But Hearth’s Warming!?
“Hearth’s Warming,” she said, throwing down each word as though throwing down gauntlets for them all, “is not foalish.”
“But it’s not exactly –” Thunderlane shrugged and looked pleadingly at Raindrops, who shrugged back. “You know.”
“Or maybe it is!” Derpy wished she wasn’t coming close to shouting, but the shouting was coming up her throat. “And maybe being foalish isn’t so bad!”
At the edge of the cloud bank, Cloudchaser and Bulk Biceps threw themselves off and began gliding down, out of sight. Thunderlane and Raindrops got into position. Whether they’d been struck by her counterargument or not, they spread their wings as though they hadn’t heard.
Off to the side, Rainbow Dash tilted her head curiously. “What’s foalish?”
“Raindrops said Hearth’s Warming is foalish,” said Derpy, really really wishing she didn’t sound so petulant. Instead, some worry peeked out of her face. “It isn’t, is it?”
“Well… no,” said Rainbow Dash, glaring at the two offending pegasi. “I love Hearth’s Warming.”
Neither Raindrops nor Thunderlane said anything. Their focused stares winced briefly.
“Exactly!” Derpy sighed with relief. Daylight shone on her hopes again. “It’s just like all the really good stuff. Like the Sandmare who puts young ponies to sleep with sand – I almost caught her once! And – oh, I almost forgot! – there was the Blue Bird of Happiness! You remember when we went looking for one of those back in Flight Camp, Rainbow Dash?”
Now it was Rainbow’s turn to wince. “Uh, maybe not the best time to –”
“Talk about a fun adventure! Turned out it was in my yard all along!”
“That was a chicken.” Rainbow started and put a hoof over her mouth. “Er, not that I was there.”
She reddened with the giggling; Raindrops and Thunderlane threw themselves over the edge, taking their giggles with them.
“And then there was the Umbrella Nanny with her magic brolly,” said Derpy, letting this go. “Remember the story, the one where she saved Hearth’s Warming by going into the Tooth Breezie’s tower? And fighting off all those evil henchmares?”
Rainbow Dash steeled her face against the impatience bursting out. “Derpy!”
“Yeah?” However, Derpy’s heart quailed inside. Those tones left no room for doubt, even up against her wilful optimism.
Eye-to-eye, they were. Rainbow said, as though talking to a child, “Is something up? You’re acting weird.”
“I just happen to care about Hearth’s Warming. That’s all.”
“We know about the Barnyard Bargains thing.”
Derpy sagged, surprising herself. Half of her had planned to deny unto the last that any such thing had happened, but then that half didn’t think things through.
“Is that what this is about?” Rainbow said.
Someone really ought to tell her we’re not Wonderbolts. The way she talks half the time, wow.
“Am I in trouble?” Derpy rubbed the back of her neck. “I am so sorry! I’ll pay if I have to!”
“Don’t worry about that. Filthy’s got insurance, and it’s not like this is the first time he’s had his store trashed. Anyway, he’s rolling in money. I bet he could fix things easily.”
Uncertain about Rainbow’s grasp of economics, but trusting as ever in her superior wisdom, Derpy nodded at this. “OK?”
“I really meant your… your…” Rainbow gestured to all of her.
“My what?”
“Your cheeriness. You know?” Despite being the clear superior – in flying, strength, wisdom – Rainbow cringed. “It’s kinda freaking me out. Maybe the others too.”
“Freaking out?” Derpy bit her lip. “Why? I’m not bothering anyone, am I?”
“You know.” Rainbow moaned helplessly and hovered again, darting to and fro as though looking for an answer around them. “It’s like Snowfall Frost in that Hearth’s Warming story, right? She hated the holiday so much that everyone thought she was a jerk who needed to get out more.”
“But I’m nothing like –”
“I know, I know! You’re like the total opposite of that. You love the holiday so much that you’re like the Anti-Snowfall Frost. But… Darn it, how do I put this…? Everyone thinks you need to get out less. You see what I mean?”
“You mean…” Derpy felt the edges of the idea creeping up on her, and eyed it suspiciously. “Tone it down?”
“Right down.”
“Like I talk about it just once a day.”
“A bit more.”
“Once a week?”
“A bit more.”
Derpy’s eyes widened with horror. “Once a month?”
“Actually, I was thinking…” Rainbow shrugged. “Just… not… at all? Maybe?”
If her eyes were wide with horror, now Derpy’s whole visage swelled with utter existential terror.
“Not at all!?” She too rose and flapped, hovering while her insides burned with too much energy.
“Yeah, yeah.” Rainbow landed at once, trying to stand stiffly to attention. “Not at all. It puts ponies off. They want to let it all out on Hearth’s Warming, not weeks before. Just stay quiet and do nothing.”
And that was it. Rainbow was wiser than her, and always cleaned up after her messes, and told her to stay and do nothing. And she disobeyed. And she created more messes.
Derpy landed hard, scattering puffs of cloud under her hooves. “Oh. OK.”
“Just till the holiday.”
“Sure,” she said to the ground.
“Then you can let it all out in one big boom.”
“Right.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” The word turned to ash in her mouth.
“Great. Oh, looks like Flitter and Blossomforth are coming back.” Clearly trying to stay on Derpy’s friendly side, she gave the mare a thump of encouragement. Derpy winced at a blow like an iron bar. “Who’s totally psyched for winter, huh? Three months of the coolest season ever?”
Derpy didn’t see the point. If she couldn’t even raise spirits without mucking something up… Maybe she could try harder, but not right now. Anyway, she saw her present still stuck to Blossomforth’s hoof. Summed it all up, really.
Ignoring the grunts of Blossomforth’s attempts to shake off the tape and ribbon and wrapping, Derpy bent her legs and threw herself away from Cloudsdale. A rebellious smile creased her face.
Maybe not these guys, she thought, and there was an edge to the words. But Ponyville’s a whole different town. We’ll see who’s a Snowfall Frost and who isn’t. Try harder. Figure out what I did wrong. Don’t hide away or sulk. Not for the true meaning of Hearth’s Warming!
Halfway down, it occurred to her: no one had said what the true meaning of Hearth’s Warming actually was.
“…right smack in the middle of Hearth’s Warming season!” Filthy Rich took a deep breath before continuing, in the same outraged tones, “You assured me she was going to be no problem whatsoever!”
Behind the counter of Carousel Boutique, Rarity closed her eyes and tried to remain dignified, poised, and above all un-slighted in any way.
“I-I admit I hadn’t quite expected things to turn out…” She groped for the right words. “To turn out this way.”
Of all the times this could’ve happened, she thought. Until now, the morning had gone splendidly. Selling dresses, granting compliments, and seeing the light of surprised joy in a dozen faces: such were the makings of a perfect winter’s sale. She’d hoped for the trend to continue uninterrupted until lunch, and then to resume the pleasant duties post-nourishment. Naturally, during that free time, she’d intended to check on Filthy Rich – Mister Rich, as she was now thinking of him – to assure herself that the dear Derpy had caused – at worst – a miniscule amount of damage, and otherwise had passed through the experience unscathed and unscathing.
Minutes before closing time, however, Filthy Rich had barged in, if not red in the face then certainly with cheeks aspiring to crimson flame, and his slicked-down mane askew. She’d gathered from his preliminary remarks that he’d only recently disentangled himself from the construction crew’s proposed bill of charges. It being a long bill of charges, he’d explained, he hadn’t managed to disentangle himself sooner, hence the unscheduled visit before lunch commenced.
That was all the polite way of saying Filthy Rich was peeved off.
“My insurance, my profits, my boost over the winter season!” Filthy Rich broke off to bury his face in his hooves. “All gone!” he moaned between his hooves. “I might as well kiss it all goodbye! Barnyard Bargains’ll be flushed down the drain because of this!”
Unthinkingly, Rarity leaned forwards. “Is there anything I can do?”
Red-rimmed eyes pinned her down. For a moment, her heart poured forth with the cream of compassion. Whatever his failings as an exemplar of the refined rant, Filthy Rich was on the whole a blameless businesspony – give or take the potential oxymoronic conflict between those words – and certainly didn’t deserve this sort of thing.
“Just explain to me why you did it!” he said, settling for wails of profit-denied agony. “You know she’s a walking disaster area!”
“Mister Rich, please!” Rarity swallowed. “Yes, the fault lies with myself and my judgement, but come now. You’d want me to turn the poor dear down, after she’d tried so hard to do something good for Hearth’s Warming? And,” she continued, sensing from his stiffening that this had not gone over well, “do you believe I would have handed her over if I’d known this would be the result?”
He opened his mouth to protest, but then cut off the first gasp of breath. Thoughtful, he closed his mouth again.
“You were, after all, generous enough to permit her to volunteer,” said Rarity.
“Oh no,” he said, cheeks flaring up again. “You’re not pinning this on me, Miss Rarity. I took her on because I had it from your mouth that she would cause no trouble –”
“One moment!” she said, feeling her own cheeks sizzle and almost seeing their glow at the bottom of her vision. “Now look, Mister Rich, it pains me to see you this way, and I shall accept responsibility for my… for my error of judgement.”
“But what about my store?” he said, almost pleadingly. “It’ll be useless for a week!”
Rarity sighed. She knew the only ethical answer she could give, if only because anything else would be seen as wriggling out of a promise. And as being immature.
Curse it! If time travel were common currency, then for this I’d give a lot to go back and violently strangle my own idiotic past self!
“I will, of course, cover any damages you have suffered,” she said, and the words sounded horrifying out loud.
Filthy Rich blinked and gaped at her. “Cover them?”
“By way of saying sorry for the mess I’ve put you in,” said Rarity, horribly aware of her own heart pleading with her to back out of this nonsense while she still could.
“Well… and…” He swelled again, clearly not going to let a bit of goodwill ruin his mood. “And yes, I think it’s only right I demand compensation for this… for this insult on my grandpappy’s good name, ruining his store during the busiest time and losing sales –”
“I will also endeavour to persuade the construction team to complete the task ahead of schedule: within the next two days, if at all possible,” finished Rarity, now trying to distance herself from her own mouth.
This time, Filthy Rich’s gape almost hit the floor. “What? That’s flat-out impossible!”
“Nevertheless, I can do it.” By dishing out more cheques, knowing my bad luck. Rarity’s brain and the rest of her insides gave a low whimper.
Opposite, Filthy Rich paced up and down. She could guess his thinking. A Rich never took a knock on their pride, having in many respects the stubborn heart of a country worker and the unforgiving stomach of a businesspony. This most of all when denied a bite of the pie.
On the other hoof, his business stomach demanded compensation, and he was getting it and more, even if she’d piled it on with a bucket rather than let him dig it up for himself. He wasn’t about to start shouting like a loon when a friend of his had not only agreed with him, but doubled his demands for him. And even his stubborn heart had to admit that a mare with Rarity’s reputation was hardly a lady to send saboteurs over to spite him.
In fact, he went so far as to bow his head and start backing towards the door. “Well… Well, that’s mighty generous of you, Miss, um, Miss Rarity.”
“I’ll let everyone know you’ll be good as new again,” said Rarity. The rest of her had given up, now that it had all gone over the cliff and was noting with academic interest how far down the ground was.
“Good. Thank you, and glad you understand so well…”
“Mister Rich, all business ponies understand each other.” She nodded as graciously as she could.
“All right, then. I’ll be waiting.”
And finally, the door closed behind him and he was gone. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes into her lunch break.
Rarity groaned. The trouble with being a public benefactor, she thought, is that sooner or later, you have to benefact someone.
She felt as limp as a feather under a rainstorm. Letting go of yet more money, kissing goodbye to future dresses of wonder and fabulosity, having to be as stingy as a Snowfall Frost with gold fever until her finances built up again… Too heavy! The weight was just too much.
Someone threw back the dressing room curtains, hoofsteps ensued, and Rarity knew that both Lyra Heartstrings and Sweetie Belle had just emerged.
Rarity turned to face them. They were wearing dresses.
That was the prosaic description: in Rarity’s sight, Sweetie Belle resembled nothing less than a colour splurge, with bows and ribbons and socks and other things that stressed greens, reds, yellows, purples, and oranges, none of which liked the others and all of which she’d obviously scrounged from the storeroom at random. Meanwhile, Lyra had settled for a toga-inspired robe and a bronze imitation of a laurel wreath. Fine clothing for, say, the tropics.
“Whoa,” said Lyra, stretching her brow high in the common gesture of genial surprise. “Someone’s got the pip.”
“Did Derpy make a mess again?” said Sweetie Belle – so sadly that one might have thought she was at fault.
“It’ll sort itself out,” said Rarity with a weary sigh. “I am perfectly capable of bouncing back from this. Regardless, you do know we’re closed for lunch?”
“Rares, Rares, Rares!” Lyra skipped over to the counter. “Now more than ever, you need a chance to unwind! Come on, I’ll treat you to lunch at Twilight’s.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was gonna meet Moondancer there anyway. Sounds tempting, huh? A nice hot cocoa, some cookies, Spike’s sandwiches, some idle chit-chat in the warm: you name it. After a rotten time like this, you deserve some friendly comfort. You know you do, huh? Huh?”
“Will you stop jabbing me in the ribs? All right.” Rarity summoned her parka, sparkling scarf, boots, and fluffy earmuffs; once again, she wondered why Lyra didn’t get frostbite from such a paltry ensemble. “I suppose I am due some relaxation. And where better than among friends?”
“Ooh, ooh, can I come too?” Sweetie Belle bounced over.
“I don’t see why –” Rarity began.
“Yeah, sure! The more the merrier!” said Lyra, beaming.
A moment later, Rarity locked up the shop and trudged through the patches of snow and grass, slowing down on the former, wincing at the oozing squishiness of the latter. Up ahead, Sweetie Belle bounced and splashed and crunched, giggling the whole way. Lyra joined in, soon synchronizing with Sweetie’s own thumping dance.
Unhappily, Rarity’s thoughts returned to the pangs of concern as an image of Filthy Rich ranted at length inside her head. The trouble these days was that she’d gone – in what felt like hardly any time at all – from a nobody dressmaker on the corner of Ponyville to an established franchise spanning the majestic cities of Canterlot and Manehattan. Admittedly, spanning only the majestic cities of Canterlot and Manehattan, and even then only certain streets, but that was enough.
That meant ponies heard the name “Rarity” and said things like “What a good pony”, or “She certainly has class”, or “She is a true businessmare.” And this worried her, because pedestals in Canterlot were built on shifting sands. Manehattan’s march of progress was quite ready to crush dressmakers underfoot if they didn’t keep pace.
Worst of all, that had all bled back into Ponyville. The humble days of hiding away and eating ice cream – waiting for any crisis to blow over – were done.
Now ponies expected a response. It was like being the Mayor, only more cutthroat because at least the Mayor could hang on until Election Day, and even then expect no worse than the time-honoured ribbing from pundits who’d staked their sides ahead of time anyway.
Compared to that chummy treatment, the fashion world was as touchy and painful as nitro-glycerine in a tap-dancing contest.
I don’t know. You give a few gems here, send a little money there, and before you know it, you can’t stop. Ponies start wondering why you aren’t giving more – I start wondering why I’m not giving more – and then this happens! Because of scruples! Wretched, dictator scruples that never let you have a day off, the monsters!
Yet she knew she’d never say no to Derpy, nor to anyone. Reputation-Rarity might need to balance on a tightrope over a bottomless pit, but the Real Rarity alone would want to do it, if she saw a pony on the other side.
Oh, why does being good have to be so hard!?
A whoosh: overhead, Cloudchaser and Bulk Biceps shouldered a bunch of clouds and forced them off the blue stage of the sky. Already, the intruding sunlight made Rarity’s parka itch in strange places.
Lyra and Sweetie Belle leaped and sang as they went. Rarity groaned. Such carefree souls. How she envied the simple life of a dilettante.
“Not that song again,” she said pleadingly. “I’ve had it etched into my head.”
“Don’t knock the classics!” yelled Lyra over her shoulder.
“Yeah, don’t knock ‘em,” said Sweetie Belle.
“That’s the way, Sweetie Belle! And a one, and a two, and a one, two, three…”
They launched into a duet, flowing and smooth and thus distressingly skilled at sneaking into the hindbrain and drowning all sense and hope. It was the classic “All I Want For Hearth’s Warming is…” and then an improvvisato, as Lyra put it, which basically involved making up one’s own list of wants. The duet swiftly became a contest.
“…and a kite,” Sweetie Belle sang, “and some hockey stuff, and a Power Ponies shirt, and a sewing machine of my own, and –”
“Now! Please!” said Rarity with the voice of ancient empresses. “All these songs drive me insane! I hear nothing else, and everyone sings them ad nauseum.”
“Not this one,” piped up Lyra, leaping and getting slush on her toga. “This is Coloratura’s cover!”
“It’s the same song! Anyway, why doesn’t she make up her own songs instead of recycling Merry Carefree’s work? I’m sure Miss Coloratura is a talented enough pony.”
“Be nice. New talent, old classics. You don’t half talk like an old-school purist.”
“They’re not that old! ‘All I Want for Hearth’s Warming’ was roughly ten years ago! And it suggests modern talent can’t move on and create something truly inspiring and –”
“HERE WE ARE!” bellowed Sweetie Belle with a smile.
They all looked up to the heights of Twilight’s castle. Capped with snow, the peaks of the towers resembled a sparkly mountain range, albeit one tidied up and organized with slide-rules.
Lyra burst through the double doors and hopped across and up the grand staircase. Following her, Sweetie Belle scurried on her short legs, while Rarity maintained a graceful stride that nevertheless took several minutes to reach the corner at the top. Instantly burning up, she discarded her winter gear. Voices came from the throne room.
“Shh!” hissed a stranger from within. The voices died down. Rarity entered.
Sitting up to the main table, Twilight Sparkle and Moondancer were side-by-side. Both were reading tomes the size of bricks: the former on her own throne, the latter on Spike’s. Spike himself sat opposite, chortling at his comic book. A tiny flicker of reading against the empty cave of the hall. All in all, it was a fairly expensive place to set up a modest little reading club.
As promised, there was a tray brimming with cups and kettles and platefuls of cookies on the table. Occasionally, Twilight or Moondancer levitated something towards themselves, eating or drinking without once looking up. Spike had his own stash, because a baby dragon’s arms didn’t reach that far.
“My edition clearly states,” said Moondancer, still not looking up, “that sodium thiopental was the first of the so-called Truth Serums abandoned by the Abnormal Alchemists.”
“I obtained the most up-to-date edition,” said Twilight, likewise enthralled, “and it states that sodium thiopental was lumped in with the Truth Serums collectively – as Mind Serums – under Celestia’s Court of Pony Rights to Ensure the Dignity of Ponydom and the Freedom from Torture.”
“Granted. However, the Abnormal Alchemists retained the Serums’ use illegally after the Court was set up, and only abandoned them sequentially as each was revealed to be less reliable than the last. Sodium thiopental was the first to be thus discarded.”
To Rarity’s surprise, Twilight burst out laughing at this. Even Moondancer looked up, her face widening with shock.
“Silly me!” said Twilight, and she rolled her eyes. “I forgot the later editions revised the chapter on Abnormal Alchemists, because…” She almost choked under the hilarity of it. “Because the alchemists used a mind control spell on the publishers!”
For her part, Rarity had no idea what was so funny. The idea sounded ghastly to her. Yet Twilight thumped the throne in some intellectual paroxysm of laughter, and Moondancer began to snigger and hid this fact behind a hoof.
“Er…” said Rarity.
Sweetie Belle stood next to her. “I don’t get it.”
Twilight wiped a tear from her eye and looked up at last. “It’s irony. Of course, it wouldn’t be funny if it happened in modern times, and thank goodness it wouldn’t! But… still…” She devolved again into fits of chortles.
Opposite, Spike snorted and grinned at his comic. “Oh, that’s so Fili-Second.”
Lyra hopped to his side and read over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, that’s a good one!”
“What a zinger, huh?” he said without looking up.
Chuckling, Lyra snorted once or twice.
Starting to regret her decision, Rarity nonetheless forced herself to stride over to her own throne and quietly summoned a slice of chocolate gateau that, on closer inspection, was actually a chunk of Yew Tree Log. Hearth’s Warming got everywhere, like draughts under doors or like the common cold.
On the throne between herself and Twilight, she saw Sweetie Belle struggle to clamber up onto the empty seat. Then her sister stared at the tray.
She heard Twilight sigh. Preparing for a chocolate-saturated mouthful, she cocked an ear with interest. A nostalgic sigh: drawn-out, bright with pleasure, yet with the heavy finish of a heavy heart.
“This was just like old times,” said Twilight. “I still can’t believe how much has changed since Celestia’s School.”
“Yeah,” said Moondancer as if the words were being wrenched out of her. “The castle. Your own castle. And a throne. That’s a step-up. From your old library, I mean. In Canterlot.”
Twilight’s squirms were clear as a rustle of leaves amid the empty vastness. Despite herself, Rarity chewed on the words and on her cake. This mystery mare, this Moondancer, was about to reveal secrets. She could tell. Was it resentment? Envy? Doubt? Self-hatred? Some belief-shattering astonishment at how Twilight had changed?
Come on, Twilight. Your guest is distressed! Be a gracious host! You know how to do that! Tact! Awareness! Save her face! Be a true lady!
“When I think about it, it’s kind of scary,” said Twilight, and Rarity held her breath. “I almost wish I could go back to those old days by the lake.”
“Or in the library,” said Moondancer. “You never set foot in there now. Too busy being a Princess?”
Ooh, not good. There was some bite in that one. Your move, Twilight. Acknowledge the tooth marks, as we say, but don’t snap back.
Twilight looked up. “Princessing isn’t much different from studying under Celestia.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done either.”
Nearby, Spike lowered the comic. Lyra’s face was carefully blank. Nonetheless, Moondancer remained fixed on her book.
Perhaps a timely intervention would melt the ice. Rarity coughed as discreetly as a valet vouchsafing a cunning plan.
“Sweetie Belle,” she cooed, wiggling her eyebrows and hoping the message got through. “Tell Twilight what you did today. I’m sure she’d love to hear all about it.”
Then she watched Moondancer’s face carefully.
“Ooh, ooh!” said Sweetie Belle. “Lyra helped me refine my dramatic soprano. It’s a singing term. It means I can sing really loud without any wobbly notes.”
“Operatic voice types? Fascinating! You always were a wonder with music,” said Twilight. Rarity smiled at the warmth in her voice. Good old Twily.
Moondancer’s lips twitched.
Gently as she could, Twilight said, “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing much,” said Moondancer to her book, which started to tremble. “Just wondering why a world-famous Princess of Friendship who's read more books than I’ll ever know would want to spend any time with a nobody who's stuck in her own bubble, who can’t make new friends with a whole year to try it, who’s still stuck studying stuff for studying’s sake, who can’t match up to an alicorn –”
“Because under all that,” said Twilight, and her voice carried a poised calmness which cut through the near-wails like a candle in the dark, “she’s still Twilight from school.”
Moondancer’s frown creased and twitched, but she said no more. Not once had she looked up from her book, even now. Eventually, Twilight returned to hers.
Spike and Lyra opened their mouths. At once, Rarity shook her head warningly. As one, they clammed up and hid behind the comic.
“Er,” said Sweetie Belle. “Should I keep going?”
“Aren’t you warm in that getup?” said Rarity.
“No.” Sweetie Belle scuffed her legs rubbing against each other.
“Is it itchy?”
“It’s fine,” was the petulant response.
Rarity took another bite of the cake, whatever it was, and relish tickled her tongue. Sugar danced around her mouth. With a contented sigh, she sagged on her seat, pausing only to sip from a mug of still-warm cocoa. Ah yes, no superior pleasure to a spot of self-indulgence, all right…
Unexpectedly, Sweetie Belle scraped her chair. She was moving closer to Rarity. Intrigued, Rarity leaned forwards and raised an ear.
“Sis?” whispered Sweetie Belle, and she glanced over at Moondancer.
“Hm?” Rarity whispered back. “What is it?”
“Is she really from Twilight’s old school? She doesn’t like her very much.”
“Time changes us all, Sweetie Belle. I imagine back then, Twilight and her dear friend were on equal terms.”
“You mean before Twilight learned all those spells?”
“And moved here. And found new friends. And did all those amazing things. How would you feel if you’d never done any of those things, do you think?”
Sweetie Belle hummed the hum of one who rose with intrigue, stretched with uncertainty, and deepened with suspicion. It was a hum with a lot to say for itself, and Rarity had heard the like often enough.
“Sis?” Sweetie Belle whispered again.
“Yes, Sweetie Belle?”
Spike flicked a page over. Lyra murmured a smug “aha!” Twilight and Moondancer were statues before their pages.
“Is Moondancer a lower class pony? For Canterlot?”
“No one is lower class,” hissed Rarity.
This earned her a snort of doubt.
“No, really! I just have standards, and some ponies don’t.”
“Thought so,” said Sweetie Belle, voice stinging.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Rarity glanced up in case she was disturbing anyone, and lowered her voice. “It’s style. Everyone has their own style. It’s what makes them them.”
“But Moondancer’s not a Princess, and Twilight is,” she persisted.
“So? They’re still friends, aren’t they?” Rarity was still wondering herself, but thought it best to be certain for the moment. Sweetie Belle had such a way of talking back.
“I guess. I dunno. It’s hard to tell.”
“I imagine they haven’t seen each other for a long time. Absence makes the heart go wander, after all. They’ve a lot of catching up and mutual acclimatizing to do, no doubt.”
“I thought it was ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’?”
“Whatever.” Rarity took another bite. She knew where she was with cake.
Comic pages rustled. Both Twilight and Moondancer flicked over to the next chapter. Sweetie Belle fidgeted on her seat.
“It’s not,” said Rarity carefully, “as if Twilight would leave an old school friend behind, merely because she wasn’t up to snuff. The very idea!”
If she’d expected this to be quiet, then she’d misjudged; Twilight definitely blushed.
“Ahem,” said Rarity even more carefully. “That is to say, snobbery is alien to Twilight’s nature. And may it remain so.”
“But…” Sweetie Belle spoke as though probing a loose tooth with her tongue. “They are different, aren’t they? There’s still really a class thing, because Twilight’s a Princess now.”
Against her own sense of decorum, Rarity sighed and gave a growl.
The interclass friendship. She wondered where Sweetie Belle had picked up what looked like such a charming idea at first glance: the stuck-up cosmopolitan lady and the common-as-muck country bumpkin, good friends and confidantes. Despite their social standing, at that. Very heartwarming, except for the “despite” part.
“Despite their social standing”, after all, still pointed out the fact that one could obtain a Cinnamon Chai delicacy of the highest calibre, and the other could get a cheap drink at Doughnut Joe’s. How could either do both? Really? It would be like birds swimming and fish flying.
Rarity had learned from Twilight that there were flying fish. Come to that, there were birds that swam. So…
No. Sweetie Belle had a point. It was no use going to Canterlot and pretending the distribution of tailcoats and summer hats were random. A pony wouldn’t get far without a keen sense of where a baron or an earl stood in relation to a duke or a mere lordship. She herself had always tried to absorb class, whether passively – letting it seep in – or actively – transporting it in.
Class wasn’t just about what you did, she’d decided. It was a state of mind.
And Twilight didn’t really have much of it. She merely wore her Princess-hood like an overcoat.
Sweetie Belle powered up the magic within her horn; a slice of cake answered, floated towards her for a moment, and then overloaded and crumbled.
Groaning, Sweetie Belle summoned a second one. It fell halfway. She picked it up again.
Rarity sighed. All this talk from her sister was a transparent cover, as plain as the horn on her head.
“You know,” she whispered. “If you are interested in going to Canterlot with me, the invitation is still open.”
Sweetie Belle bit the cake before she could drop it again. She munched. She swallowed. She took another bite.
“Hm,” she said. She munched and swallowed again. “Maybe I’ll think about it. Maybe.”
“Class or no class?” When Sweetie Belle groaned, she added, “I’m serious. There’s no point getting upset over the least interesting relationship between us, you understand? We’re sisters and friends, first and foremost.”
“Yeah, but what about when you actually get to Canterlot?”
“I won’t change a bit,” said Rarity, wondering if she actually would.
Finally, Moondancer met her gaze, and it was akin to being struck across the eyeballs by flint spearheads. “For Pete’s sake! Do you mind keeping it down? I can hear every word you say! Jeez!”
“Sor-ry,” said both sisters at once. Sullen, they went back to chewing. They knew where they were with cake.
