Morning. The sun rose over the horizon at Seventh street, like a cardboard circle some foal colored with a neon-yellow crayon. Broken clouds over the skyscrapers, but in Manehattan, snowfall was late by six days.

Intersection of Seventh and Saddle, four corners of gray pavement and brick houses. On one corner, a late-night diner with unwashed windows opened shop after three hours of sleep. Directly across, a glass-walled floristry store welcomed its first customer of the day. The third corner, sadly, was barren.

It is on the fourth corner that Salad Hooves, a lad of seventeen years, stood behind the counter at a classic Manehattan street sandwich stand. The stand was prepared and open sharp at the clock, but the colt himself was, like the morning city, asleep on his hooves. It was the weekend, no school, and Salad thought that pulling a double shift justified preparing for it physically.

So Salad relaxed, his pale yellow snout pressed against the countertop, his curly brown mane splayed around in a circle of split hairs. And in his dreams, Salad saw that he walked through Canter Park with a particular filly, and even spoke to her—

"Hi!"

Salad bolted up with a gasp, fumbling around the countertop in search of his green-rimmed glasses. He put them on, taking his time as he tried to concentrate on the puff of color staring him in the face.

She certainly wasn't local—nothing this pink could come from Manehattan. Pink coat, pink cotton candy mane, blue eyes that seemed to stare right through him and a grin wide enough to be impossible at six thirty on a Saturday morning.

And, of course, no Manehattanite would be caught dead in a "I heart Manehattan" shirt.

"Hey, you awake? You are! Can I order?" The pink one tossed her head around, her eyes jumping from the menu printed on the front to the countertop to the white-and-red umbrella above. "Do you do sandwiches? You do! I'd like a sandwich. Is that all you do? How about cupcakes? Or waffles? Can they be considered sandwiches?" She tapped her chin with a hoof. "Maybe? No? What about bananas?"

Salad Hooves blinked behind his glasses and flapped his ears. "Wa-wa-what?" he said, fighting his stutter.

While the pink pony was busy talking, a stallion walked in line behind her. He had a greased-back black mane, a tight brown jacket and perfect tie, and an intense clarity in his bloodshot eyes. He looked over the pink mare as he approached, brows climbing up.

"No? Oh well, that's a shame," she said, shrugging and smiling. "Can I have a banana-nut-bell pepper sandwich, pretty please?"

Salad blinked again and looked down, seeing the nuts and bell pepper trays. There weren't any bananas though.

The other stallion slumped his shoulders and sighed to the sky. "For Celestia's mane, Salad! Wake up and tell 'er that you ain't got any damn bananas!"

Hearing his barking voice, Salad perked up. "Oh, hello mih-mih-Mister Shining Shoes! Didn't see you there!" He nudged his glasses in place, careful not to disturb the adhesive bandages holding the temples in place. "I'm sorry, miss. Would you lah-lah-like something else instead?"

"Yeah, on second thought, I don't really want that." She put her front hooves on the edge of the stand, tipping it slightly, and leaned over to look at the ingredient trays. "I'll have a sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cheese, mushrooms, olives, cucumbers, pickles, bell peppers, hot peppers, mild peppers and do you have sugar to go with that?"

Salad shook his head. Shining Shoes cringed and gagged silently.

"Oh, that's okay. I've always got some with me." The pink one giggled and produced a packet of powdered sugar out of somewhere.

Deciding not to think too hard on a morning like this, Salad Hooves got to work, grabbing a little bit of everything and throwing it on a pre-sliced bread roll.

While Salad was building, another stallion got in line. He didn't stop moving once he took his place, beating an impatient staccato on the pavement with a hoof and fidgeting with his overly combed orange mane. Merely a light shirt over his gray coat protected him from the December wind. Two heavy saddlebags, bulging with papers, were slung over his back.

Salad finished the culinary monster and passed it over to the mare, carefully holding its vegetable guts in place. The pink pony balanced it on one hoof, throwing exact change on the counter with the other.

"Thanks! You're great, and I'm sure that today will be wonderful!" she said and winked.

A cloud crawled away somewhere in the distance, letting the sun spill golden light over Seventh street. Sunshine poked Salad Hooves straight in the eyes, but he didn't flinch or look away.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" She giggled. "Just because! I felt like saying that. And if you feel like saying something nice to somepony, say it!"

"What if they don't like what I sh-saha-saha-say?"

"Oh, silly! You don't know that! And if you say good things you want to say, the day will only get better!" She smiled and closed her eyes, whistling a squee through her teeth.

Salad just stared. An idea woke up in his head and snuck its way down, grasping him by the throat. One of those really, really bad ideas that are too bad to let go of. He did not pay attention as the pink mare opened her mouth. One blink later, and Salad's latest culinary creation was gone, as if it never existed.

Shining Shoes peered over her shoulder, staring at the two. "Yeah, I'm happy for the little counseling session, but can we move on here?" The other customer stared too, his eyebrows angled even sharper.

"Okie-dokie! Bye, Mister sandwich guy! You'll have a great day today!" She turned around and bounced off, as if her hooves were made of coiled springs. Salad looked at her as she left, but the next customer in line quickly got his attention.

"Tourists..." Shining Shoes said, tapping on the metal countertop. "Hey, Salad, wake up! Lettuce and daisies, as usual, and on the double!"

The other stallion trotted to his side. "If I order the same, will you make it faster?"

Salad pulled another bread roll from under the counter. "Uh, yeah? Mah-maybe?"

"Then do it."

Salad shrugged and pulled out one more bread roll. Shining Shoes looked over the other stallion with an appraising eye.

"Look who's busy," he said, trying to make out what was written on the papers sticking out from the stallion's bags. "You late or something?"

The other stallion didn't look back. "Just busy with my jobs."

"Jobs, eh? Must be pretty close by, you don't look like much of a runner."

The orange-maned stallion turned to look at Shining Shoes, his eyebrows twitching slightly. "Oh, pray tell, what did I do to warrant such an assessment?"

Shining Shoes chuckled and turned away. "I just think you look too spent for no real reason," he said.

The other stallion went silent for a second. He struck a hoof on the pavement, bringing up a cloud of dust. "No reason?! You try exhausting yourself on two jobs you hate, and only do the thing you love in the evening, and still get no enjoyment from it!"

Salad Hooves paused in his sandwich-making and looked up. Barely stifling a chuckle, Shining Shoes lifted his eyebrows.

"Wait, that came out wrong," the third stallion said, slapping his forehead. "I'm a musician, dammit!"

"Musician, huh?" Shining Shoes said. "Whatcha do for a livin', pass papers around?" He laughed. "Try working outside six to ten on a job with no weekends, then we'll talk."

The musician huffed and ran a hoof along his mane. "That so? Must be nice, being outside on a real job. Bet you don't have a boss who always nags and browbeats you for fun."

"Oi, glasses!"

The three ponies turned towards the newest arrival. A little colt with a spotted light brown coat and unwashed black mane looked up at the sandwich stand towering over him. A dirty blue scarf hung from his neck, untied ends swaying in the wind. A short horn jutted from his forehead.

"You got any choclit' milk?"

"Hey, kid, get in line!" the musician said, baring his teeth and waving at the colt.

The colt paid him no mind. "Ah got no bits to pay, can I have some milk for free?" His face never changed expression from the blank, tired slate that it was.

The musician's eyes widened. He leaned over the colt, shouting into his ears, "Hey, kid! You want milk, pay your own money! And get a job!"

The colt slowly turned to the musician and opened his mouth. The diction, inventiveness and structural "levels" of his language were not surprising for a Manehattan street colt, but knowing that fact did nothing to lessen the obscenity of the words said. By the time the three stallions were done ungluing their ears from their heads, the colt was long gone, vanishing into one alley or another.

The stallions silently turned away, and Salad Hooves went back to chopping vegetables with grim determination.

"…You don't have to run around on the streets in the worst December weather in years," Shining Shoes said just above his breath.

The musician sighed. "Who's your boss?" he asked.

"Nopony important." Shining Shoes said. "Why? You gonna complain?"

The musician shook his head. He turned his eyes to the ground, his lips curving downwards in a frown. "My music teacher hates me. Utterly hates, and I don't know why. He hates me, he curses at me, and says that I have no talent. He's a great, known musician, but that's a problem: if I ever truly piss him off, I'll never get a job as a musician anywhere in this city."

Shining Shoes pondered for a second. He patted musician on his shoulder. "Tough break, kid."

"Do-doh-done!" Salad Hooves said, throwing his forelegs in the air. "Finally. Sorry for the deh-eh-delay."

He passed the first sandwich to Shining Shoes and took the money in return. Before he could take a bite and trot off, Salad asked, "Hey, Mister Shoes? You think that phi-phi-pink pony was right?"

Shining Shoes looked Salad in the eye, lifting his brows. "That puff-head? What she said about a better day?" He looked up at the heavy lead clouds broken above. "Maybe, in some quaint little village out East, but not in this city. Nothin' works in Manehattan." Shoulders slumped and eyelids heavy, Shining Shoes looked back at Salad. "Snow is six days late. Why should it start today?"

Shining Shoes bit on his sandwich, and trotted off, leaving Salad to stare at the empty pavement for the second time in the day. His whole body tensed and his lips tightened into a line as a spring coiled within him, pressed taut by the words echoing in his head.

"So, how much do I owe you?" the musician asked, trotting up and grabbing his sandwich.

"Three bits," Salad said.

The musician turned to search in his saddlebags, and Salad used the pause to reach for his own bag. Throwing the flap open, he paged through the papers and notebooks. Finally, between his literature textbook and an album full of silly doodles, Salad Hooves found a circle of faded pink construction paper with uneven edges.

"MY PURSE!"

Salad jumped at the scream, hitting his head on the underside of the counter and almost dropping the paper. The musician's saddlebags lay opened and thoroughly searched on the pavement, and the owner himself screamed over them, shaking his hooves at the sky.

"Somepony stole by bucking purse!"

"Hey! Hey!" Salad said, grabbing his foreleg. "It's oh-oh-okay."

"But now I can't pay—"

"I won't tah-take your food away just cause your purse's sth-stolen."

The musician nodded, and Salad let go of his leg. "I'll come back later, after I'm finished with my shift. I'll have money then, I'll pay you back."

"I'm working here all day today, I'll reh-reh-remember you."

The musician picked up his bags and fastened them on. He grabbed his sandwich in his teeth and, with one last nod, went on his way.

As soon as the musician disappeared from view, Salad stole a glance at the diner across the street. A single lamp shone over the counter—at this time of the day, the owner was pretty much still asleep. As was the rest of the city, not counting Shining Shoes, unlucky musicians and pink tourists. Pondering over the facts, Salad decided that leaving the stand closed for a bit would do no harm.

He put the food trays away and locked the cupboards with a key. The umbrella only closed after a fight. Salad brushed dust from his hooves and picked up his bags. Just before leaving, he slammed a "Back in fifteen" sign on the counter.

The old piece of construction paper felt oddly energizing in Salad's hooves. He traced the bold letters and ran his hoof over whatever glitter still held on the glue.

"Today's the day, Hooves!" He grinned and hid the card in a pocket of his woolen sweater. "I can do this. Just gotta go and— Wait!"

He stopped mid-stride and looked around. Thankfully, he only managed five paces before he caught himself.

"Can't screw this up now, gotta do everything by the book. What did that book say, again?"

He looked all over himself, checking and double-checking everything from a list memorized a long time ago. Hooves—trimmed. Breath—odorless. Clothes—acceptable. Mane—as good as it will ever get. Glasses—not too terrible.

Something was missing. Salad let his eyes wander while he wracked his brain, and eventually, he noticed the lighted windows of the florist's. Clapping his hooves in glee, Salad cantered across the road.

The door chime was probably imported—too subtle to chime like that in Manehattan. It reminded Salad that he never actually entered the shop before, despite working just across the street for several months. The door slammed shut behind him, and Salad accidentally dropped his jaw to the floor.

The place was filled with a variety of flora—more on the level of a botanical garden that a florist's store. A gallery of plants in designer vases lined every wall, even behind the unoccupied counter. Both ordinary staples and unknown exotics. Thin stems, thick stems, wavy stems, not-green stems and even flowers that had no stems! Reds, whites, blues, and an occasional splash of black. This was clearly no eatery, however, as indicated by signs hung all over.

Salad wondered who could run such a store. He wondered if they were pink—

"Hello there!"

Salad bounced in place and turned around, stifling a gasp. The mare wasn't pink, thankfully, but only a pale lavender. Her light green mane was braided in dozens of thin braids, accentuating the similar embroidered patterns on her silk jacket. She smiled ear-to-ear and took Salad's hoof into her own.

"Welcome to 'Floristicka', the best decorative flower shop in Manehattan!"

She shook his leg, and Salad could only nod in return. The air turned—or was it always?—oddly hot, but the pink card in his pocket reminded Salad of his mission.

"Aren't you the young stallion working the sandwich stand across the street? Nice to meet you!" she said, trotting a bit too close for comfort. "I'm Tulip Clef, but please, call me Tulip!"

Salad took a step back. "He-he-ha-hello. I'm Hooves. Salad Hooves."

Tulip let go of his hoof and trotted over to one of the displays, nodding for Salad to follow. "How can I help you today, Mister Hooves?"

"Well, uh… I was hoping to fah-fah-find…" Salad frantically searched his head for the word. "Flowers?"

"Of course." Tulip smiled and dropped a question that Salad was definitely not prepared for: "What kind?"

The question fell like a bombshell, but Salad stood his ground. There was no choice, but to be honest. "No idea. Does it matter?"

"Of course it does!" Tulip said, bringing a hoof to her chest, but not losing her smile. "The flowers don't matter nearly as much as what they say!"

Salad raised an eyebrow. "…Your flowers speak?"

Tulip giggled. "They do. To me." She winked and walked past him to the counter, giving Salad a view of the tri-colored ikebana emblazoned on her flank. Salad tore his gaze away and trotted after her.

"Flowers have their own language, and each kind sends their own message. Even the color matters. There's a lot of difference between a red and a white rose."

She gestured around herself, indicating the enormous collection of flowers with her hoof. "And I've got every message there is: 'I love you', 'I miss you', 'I forgive you', 'I'm sorry'… We've even got insults!"

"Insults?" Salad asked.

Tulip pointed towards the far corner, where a bunch of Wolfsbane plants stood in a glass vase. Salad's pupils shrunk to points. Tulip rolled her eyes. "They're detoxed, love. Won't die unless you eat a field's worth of them."

She turned his head back towards herself and stepped behind the counter. "Now, then. What shall it be?" she asked. "What does your heart want to say?"

Salad smiled and stroked his hoof over the pocket holding his card. "There's this filly I… loh-loh-like."

"Do tell me," Tulip said, narrowing her eyes, "what is she like?"

"Well, sh-she's beautiful. Like, really. And so k-k-kind and generous." He tried not to pay any mind to the warmth seeping into his cheeks. "She's got the biggest heart in Equestria."

Tulip smiled and sighed. "Then I'm sure that she'll answer you in kind."

"You th-think?"

"Of course. I know that. Nopony could resist such a charming young gentlecolt. And the flowers, well…" She winked at Salad, emphasizing with a nod. "They'll do their part. Just a little bit of magic."

"Great! Ahw-ahw-awesome!" Salad beamed and fished out his purse from his sweater. Two bits clattered on the counter. "Although I don't ha-ah-have more money to spare…"

To Tulip's credit, she only flinched, not losing her smile. "Well, I'm sure we'll think of something."

Five minutes later and two bits lighter, Salad walked out of the shop three red carnations wealthier. He settled on something in between a gallop and a canter and raced off towards his goal, dodging between the first and second pedestrians braving the streets of Manehattan. At the back of his head, he hoped that none of them had a craving for sandwiches.

The place wasn't far, just three block and two alleys that passed by in a blur. Salad slid to a stop around the corner, where he saw the squat building of the nursing home. Running a hoof through his mane and patting the sweater pocket, Salad marched on through the walkway.

"Okay, everything's set. Don't screw this up, Hoofsy, you can do it." He gulped down hard. "Just remember what the books said. And the zine articles. And that one novelty calendar, too." A bead of sweat slid down his cheek. "Then you'll be fine—objectively. And you can't argue with objectively. Can turn down objectively, but yeah."

He felt an odd sense of foreboding as he stepped into the shadow of the nursing home. "Oh wow, this is harder than it looked like." He unzipped his sweater and waved a hoof in front of his face. "Okay, so she'll turn you down—possibly, only possibly. So, she'll likely turn you down, so what? You're cool as you are, Hooves."

He arrived at the porch. The concrete steps looked impossibly high as he looked at them from above. "Oh, who am I kidding…" He reached into the pocket and took out the faded card. His eyes darted between it and the flowers in his saddlebags, and finally, he lowered his brows and grit his teeth together. "Today's the day."

Bringing his hooves down as hard as he could against the stairs, Salad climbed up to the front door and knocked three times. "This is it. No going back. Don't get scared now." He took the card in one hoof and the flowers in the other. "Keep cool, and you're cool. No stutters, no second doubts. And definitely no 'I love yous'."

The upper half of the door swung open.

"Meadow Smiles, I wah-wah… I mean, hello, Nuh-Nurse Dah-dah-dah-Dandelion."

The white giant that answered the door gazed down upon poor Salad, snorting in contempt. The top of her nurse cap brushed on the upper edge of the doorframe. The cap itself looked comical compared to her sprawling bigness.

"I wohn-wohn-wondered if Meadown Smiles could come out instead? I mean to play! I mean just out!"

Salad smiled as wide as medicine allowed, while Nurse Dandelion eyeballed him from head to toe. She held the pause for a second and said, "If she's free."

The door swung shut, and Salad let out a breath he's been holding. He held the flowers with the crook of his foreleg, and stared at his hoof.

"This is it. No going back. And if I screw this up, I'm gonna smash my hoof in my face as hard as I can, if that's what it takes."

The latch rattled on the door, and Salad quickly resumed his stance. The door opened fully, revealing a raspberry-coated filly of his age. Her strawberry blond mane, covered by a tiny nurse's cap, was done up in a short, wavy style, like on movie poster stars. She smiled once she saw him, and Salad noticed that his heart did not skip a beat.

"Oh, hey Sal—"

"Meadow Smiles, I wanted to give you this belated Hearts and Hooves day card, and gift you these flowers, and also wondered if you were free for lunch today?"

As Meadow stared, slack-jawed, at the gifts in her hooves, Salad let out a breath he must have been holding since six thirty. His mouth erupted in a grin, but he decided that he was cool enough to allow it.

"I love you, Meadow," he said, as an after-thought.

He didn't have the time to wipe off his grin or even raise his brows in surprise, as his own hoof rocketed towards his face at the speed of a late Friendship Express.

One icepack later, Salad Hooves sat on a couch inside the nursing home, cradling his puffed eye, while Meadow Smiles applied a new adhesive bandage to the cracked rims of his glasses.

"There, all done!" she said, passing him the spectacles.

"Thanks." He nudged them on, careful not to disturb his black eye.

"So, Salad," Meadow said, scooting closer to the colt. "Were you serious? I mean, with the card and all?"

Salad snapped his head to look at her, his eyes growing larger than his glasses. "What? You tha-tha-thought I was kidding? Even with the flowers?!"

"No, no, no, I didn't! The flowers are great!" Meadow glanced at the carnations standing in a vase on the table. "It's just that, well…"

She picked the hearts and hooves day card from the table and held it out before her.

"It's December. Why would you give me a hearts and hooves day card when, well, next h-and-h day is closer than the last one?"

Salad sighed and reclined on the couch. He rubbed his temple, pondering over the events of the day. "I'm not gonna lh-lie, I've been meaning to give that ca-ha-card for a while now." He felt, again, a rush of warmth to his cheeks. "Ever since you've went to that school dha-dha-dance a year ago…"

She laughed, covering her mouth with a hoof. Her laughter sounded like tiny pearls falling on silk, and the sound never failed to make Salad's ears twitch and stand at attention.

"Oh, sorry, sorry," Meadow said, her own cheeks turning a shade redder, "your stutter is cute."

"…Really? I thought it's super ahn-ahn-annoying."

Meadow continued covering her mouth, and waved for Salad to continue. A smile of his own appeared on Salad's lips.

"Well, I've made the card for last hearts and hooves, but I was just… too sh-shy, I guess. It's stupid, I know." He scratched his head and turned away. "But somepony told me that today's going to be good for me, and so I thought: today is the day.

"I mean, I ch-ch-could hide forever, fearing that you'll laugh at me and reject me and say how stupid I am, but I kept hoping. Ah-ah-always telling myself that tomorrow I'll be braver, that I'll do it. Held that card in my school saddlebags ever since.

"But each time, today turned into toh-tomorrow, and I kept putting it off. So I said, 'No!' and, well… Just did it, I guess."

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to her, smiling through his blush. "I mean, I probably should have thought it over, but late is better than never, eh?"

She didn't answer. Her hoof fell to the couch, revealing her downcast face. Traces of moisture sparkled at the edges of her eyes.

"Uh, Meadow? Did I sh-sh-say some—"

"No!" she said. She rubbed her eyes and turned away, fidgeting with the red carnations to hide her face. "I'm sorry, I just… thought of something else."

"Oh. Okay." Salad sighed and stood up. "I should get going then. Thanks for fixing my gh-gh-glasses."

"Okay." Meadow turned back towards him. "So, when are you free today?"

Salad took a double take. "What?"

Meadow stroked her hair and gave Salad her trademark smile. "Well, I mean, I'm super busy today, but I'll have time in the evening for a movie, If you're not busy."

"I am! I mean, not. I can, I mean. Dah-dammit." Salad slapped his face with a hoof. Lightly. "You serious? You'd go out? With me?"

Meadow took his hoof. "How could I reject such a gentlecolt? Especially one who brought such beautiful flowers."

"I—Awesome! I mean, h-how about eight o'clock?"

"Great." Meadow nodded. "I'll see you once my shift ends. You still working that old sandwich stall?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then I'll find you." She glanced at the white giant sitting behind the reception desk, her eyes watching the pair. "I should really get back to work. Nurse Dandelion doesn't like dilly-dallying. Heh."

Salad nodded, and Meadow showed him to the door. He didn't drop his wide grin for a second, and kept assuring her that he'll be waiting. Meadow closed and bolted the door behind him and sighed.

Her head dropped down, and Meadow pulled the nurse cap off. She shuffled to the reception desk and placed the white hat before Nurse Dandelion.

"Miss Dandelion?" Meadow looked up, her face devoid of all light that was there a minute ago. "Can I be excused for an hour?"

The nurse stopped her scribbling in the book and raised an eyebrow in question.

"I want to go see Sandy."

Nurse Dandelion sighed and slouched down by a centimeter, her neck craning down to stare into the book. "One hour."

Meadow smiled and reached over the desk to kiss the nurse's cheek. "Thank you." She turned around and rushed outside, mindful of the clock.

Her destination wasn't far, but the trip took too long. But Meadow Smiles never felt her hooves get cold even once. Only one pony was on her mind, the others appeoccasionallyionaly as mere stray thoughts: mother, father, Tender Care, Salad Hooves. But there wasn't any fear that could prevent her from reaching her goal. Not that day.

The trip passed like a blur. Five minutes at the bus stop. Fifteen in the bus. A large, white box with windows appeared at the end of the street, and Meadow got off at the nearest stop. She cantered the short distance, and walked, without hesitation, inside the sterilized walls.

She asked for directions, but took the stairs instead of the elevator. The long-term care ward was far at the back of the hospital, far from any noise or commotion, and Meadow did not want to waste even a minute more.

Blue swinging doors loomed up ahead, and for the first time, a tightness appeared in her throat. Meadow swallowed and walked on, not daring to look back even once. Steeling herself, she walked through the doors, and stopped dead in her tracks.

Two nurses talked near the nurse station. One was from the hospital, but the other wore the distinct uniform of a private caretaker agency. The mare had a white coat and a pale blue mane done up in a bun. Her frost-blue eyes glanced down the corridor. Her eyebrows jumped in surprise when she noticed Meadow.

Meadow swallowed hard. Her tail curled over her hind leg. She trembled as the nurse left the station and walked towards her, her hooves falling hard against the floor. Meadow leaned back, but stood her ground as the nurse approached, her head lowered to look Meadow straight in the eyes.

"You." She stopped centimeters away from Meadow, bearing down on the filly with all her authority. "What are you doing here?"

Meadow concentrated on her breathing, but she couldn't bear to look the nurse in the eye. "Miss Tender Care, I came to see my sister."

Nurse Care held the silence for a second, boring the girl's head with her stare. She stepped away and straightened her neck. "You know, there's a point after which it's better to never come rather than come late. I think five years is plenty for that point to pass."

"I-I know. And I'm sorry." Meadow struggled to maintain even breaths. "But I've decided. I'm going to visit Sandy today, no matter what."

Tender Care narrowed her eyes. "If you think that this will get you in good favor with your parents…"

"No!" Meadow almost shouted, catching herself at the last moment. "I… I just figured that it's time."

"And why should I believe you? It wasn't time for five years, and today is the day?"

Meadow swallowed and looked Tender Care in the eye. Her tears left wet trails on her cheeks, but she did not blink. "I know you hate me, Miss Care, but it doesn't matter. I have to see my sister." She sniffled and rubbed her snout. "My parents never said that I couldn't visit her."

Tender Care looked over the disheveled filly, at the dark circles her tears left on the carpet. She sighed and turned around. "No, they haven't."

Tender Care nodded for Meadow to follow. She rubbed her wet eyes and trotted after the nurse.

"And for the record," Tender Care said, "I don't hate you. I just want you to feel guilty."

"I know," Meadow said. "I do."

They entered through one of the many doors in the corridor, distinguishable only by the number sign. The room was obviously more lavish than the usual, with thick, embroidered curtains and a soft carpet smelling of shampoo. Flowers and stuffed toys were on every surface that could hold them. The only sounds were the flapping of curtains on December wind, and the steady whirring of sterilized machinery.

Meadow Smiles trotted to the bed. She fought hard against her tears, to keep her sight clear, but they came nonetheless. The sky-blue filly slept on pillows filled with pegasus down, covered with silk blankets embroidered with stars. There were fewer tubes than Meadow remembered.

"Sandy…" Meadow reached for her sister's foreleg. She fell on her haunches, tears streaming freely, and cried as she held the motionless hoof up to her cheek.

"Did she… wake up? Ever?" Meadow asked.

"No. Not once."

"Is there still some chance?" Meadow looked at Nurse Care.

"Technically, there is, but…" She looked down at the floor and turned away. "After five years…"

Meadow sniffed. "I know." She looked back at her sister and leaned closer to her.

"…Sandy, it's me, Meadow. You probably can't hear me, but I want you to know, I have to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doing this to you. Always have been, every day.

"And I'm sorry for not coming earlier. I know I was stupid, and it was five years ago, but that doesn't excuse me." Meadow sighed and stroked Sandy's hoof. "I kept thinking that you might wake up. I knew you could, so I used that excuse. I kept telling myself that if you wake up, everything will be okay again, like it used to be.

"But you never did, day after day. And every day, the chances turned smaller and smaller. But I was too scared to face it. I can only hope that you can forgive me."

Meadow stood up, and lowered her sister's leg back to her side. She leaned over and ran a hoof through Sandy's long, bubblegum-pink mane.

"I promise I won't be afraid of seeing you anymore. I'll visit again, every time I can. And I'll talk to our parents, and make up with them somehow. I don't know how, but I'll find a way. I hope they'll forgive me too."

Meadow walked away from the bed, and trotted towards Nurse Care. Her eyes were dry, but the nurse pursed her lips and stared at the ground.

"And you, Miss Care," Meadow said.

"What?"

"I know you can't stand me, but that doesn't matter. You've cared for my sister every day for five years." Meadow leapt up and hugged her, much to Tender Care's surprise. "Thank you, thank you for everything."

Meadow let go, and Tender Care stepped back, nervously flexing her shoulders. "Well, in the end, you did the right thing," she said. "And that's really all that matters."

"When can I come visit Sandy again?"

"Anytime, Meadow. I won't hold you up."

Meadow smiled, and Tender Care realized that she never saw the filly smile before. Her eyes were red, her cheeks wet, but that smile could light up the night.

"I should get going, I've got to get back to work," Meadow said.

Tender Care led the filly to the door, giving her an earnest goodbye. She kept staring at the corridor long after Meadow left. Finally, Nurse Care sighed and went back to her duties.

Two hours later, Tender Care's shift was over. Those two hours were enough for her to make up her mind, and they left her with enough time to not be late. She put away her uniforembarkedmbraked on a bus headed to the intersection of Seventh and Saddle. She had just enough time to visit the best florist she knew.

The bell chimed in its rolling, comforting way, and the owner walked into view.

"Hello, welcome to— Oh, Miss Care, it's nice to see you again." Tulip took a step back once she recognized her customer. Her eyes darted to a half-full vase on one of the shelves.

"Hello, Tulip," Tender Care said, wiping her hooves on the doormat. "I was hoping to—"

"Oh, is something wrong with the lilies I got you?" The corners of Tulip's smile twitched. "Did I make the wrong selection for you? Or did they die? They died, didn't they?"

Tender Care placed her hoof over Tulip's mouth. "The lilies all right, you did well with them." She removed her hoof, but kept her stern eyes on Tulip. "I need another set of flowers. For a different affair."

Tulip smiled and nodded. She walked over to the counter and picked up a thick ring binder listing all of the flowers in "Floristicka". "Okay, what would you like to say this time? I take it since this is an affair—"

"It's not a literal affair, Tulip." Tender Care raised her voice, and Tulip chuckled in return. "There's somepony I need to reconnect with."

Tulip closed the binder without looking. "I know exactly what you need."

Ten minutes later, a much more somber and louder bell chimed over the door to the diner across the street. Tender Care cringed at the coat of dust on the floor, holding her two red and three white roses closer to her body. A smell of grease permeated the place. Some of the seats had their red covers ripped, revealing the wood underneath.

Tender Care took a seat at the counter, ordered a coffee, and waited.

There weren't many customersSaturdayaturday evening. Lunch finished, but dinner wasn't going to come any time soon. Ponies entered, ate, and left, without so much as a stray word to each other. Even couples or groups spoke in vain, their words floating away on the stale air, forgotten. Among them, Tender Care looked awfully colorful thanks to the contrast of the roses she held.

Three coffees and one hour later, he still hadn't appeared. Most ponies preferred dining at home in this weather, but he always ate here, at this time. But the only ponies in the diner were her, the owner, and a unicorn colt drinking chocolate milk at a table near the back. Tender Care sighed and put the bit for her latest coffee on the counter.

The door swung open, rattling the bell. "Hey, Mister Grub, I'm here for a refill!"

Without thinking, Tender Care turned to look at the newcomer, but naturally, it wasn't him. Wasn't even his voice. The young stallion that entered had a an old sweater on, an awful mess of hair on his head, and glasses that looked like they could fall apart at any minute. Most interesting was the huge black eye on his face.

The owner grunted something incomprehensible and disappeared inside the kitchen. The young stallion parked himself on the stool next to Tender Care. She noticed his beaming smile and chuckled into her hoof.

"Hey, what's funny? Do I have something in my mai-mai-mane?" He ran a hoof through the unruly bush on his head.

"Oh no, sorry." Tender Care said. "I just never saw a pony with such a big smile and a black eye at the same time."

The stallion chuckled and nodded. "Well, I got it for a proh-proper reason. This thing got me a date!" He pointed at his swollen eye. "Well, in a way it did. Sorta."

"I sure hope she was worth it," Tender Care said and drank the last drops of brew in her cup.

"Oh yeh-yeah! Definitely." He struck his hoof against the table for emphasis. "She's the most loving fih-fih-filly ever. Generous, kind, drop-dead gorgeous, too."

"Well, good luck to you two then, I'm sure that she's a nice filly."

The stallion noticed the roses on the table. "Oh, hey, you're on a dah-date too?" He leaned over and sniffed the delicious flowers.

"Eh, not really." Tender Care waved him away from her personal space. "I'm waiting for my brother, but it looks like he won't show up after all."

"Oh, well, I'm sure he's got a reason."

"The thing is, we haven't really planned anything. I was just hoping to catch him here." She sighed and rolled her stiff shoulders. "He's got a busy job with a strict schedule, so he always dines here at this time. Guess something happened."

The stallion fidgeted with his hooves and squirmed in his seat. "Well, can't you meet him at his house after he's free?"

"I could, but there's something I want to do with him tonight, and he won't ever be free unless I convince him."

"Well, then simply reschedule," the stallion said. "I'm sure that you'll meet him tomorrow."

Tender Care stared at the roses lying in front of her, pondering. She took a deep breath and said, "Our father died in an accident exactly a year ago. I was hoping we could go put flowers on his grave together."

The stallion frowned and turned away. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay."

He tapped his hooves together in thought. "Umm, why won't he go by himself?"

Tender Care sighed. "Because he's a coward. He always says that he's got too much work, that he can't afford to go, but that's just excuses."

She pushed the empty cup in line with the other two. "A year ago, my brother and our father got in a really bad fight, and they never forgave each other. Then dad got in an accident…" She rubbed her eyes and sighed. "Damn, I got sentimental for some reason."

"Oh, I'm soh-soh-sorry for prying…"

"No, no, I'm to blame. I shouldn't have dumped all of that on you. I just saw… something, and figured that, well, we're still family." She looked the young stallion in the eye, through his thick glasses. "I hated him for his cowardice, but family's got to forgive, no? That's why it's family."

She stood up, taking the roses with herself. "I thought that today might be a better day…"

She turned to leave, but the young stallion grabbed her hoof. "Hey, it is better! I can say with coh-cogh-confidence. Just give him a chance—the day's not over yet."

Tender Care chuckled, and shook her head. The stallion sighed and turned away.

Tender Care stepped onto the cold, but still snowless streets. Ponies with normal lives hurried home, crossing streets or jumping aboard late buses. She threw the roses into the closest trash can and walked to the bus stop.

She walked only five paces when doubt began to creep into her mind. She stopped and looked back inside the diner: the young stallion was discussing something with the owner over a box of produce, gesturing a bit more than was probably needed.

The door chime caught her attention. A unicorn colt with an unwashed black mane and woolen scarf left the store and trotted in her direction. Tender Care eyed the colt with a narrow stare, while he did his best not to look at her. Just as they passed each other, a scream sounded from inside, muffled by the windows: "My purse!"

The kid took off like a rocket, but Tender Care had reflexes. In one move, she spun around and jumped after the colt, catching his tail with her teeth. The colt screamed and waved his legs frantically as he lost purchase on the ground and rose into the air. Nurse Care dangled him for a second before she spit out his tail.

She grabbed the colt by the shoulders before he could run away again, and turned him to face her. "Now what do you think you're doing, young colt?"

The colt bared his teeth and barked at her, "Lemme go, I ain't stole nothin'!" He thrashed around, trying to get away, but Tender Care held him firmly in her grasp.

"Why did you run away then?"

"Maybe I like runnin'?" the colt growled. "Ya don't know anythin', so lemme go!"

"Now listen here, young colt!"

The gaze Nurse Care affixed on the colt could tame wild animals. Right away, the kid stopped resisting. He slumped in Tender Care's hooves, his challenging grimace dissolving into a submissive frown.

"Good," Tender Care said, easing her stare. "Now, you're going to stay here and do what I say until I let you go, understand?"

The colt nodded, and Nurse Care let go of her grip. As he promised, the colt shrank back and looked away, but did not run.

"You're right, I don't know you, I don't know whether you've stolen that young gentlecolt's purse or not." She lowered her head to his level, took his chin in her hoof and made him look straight into her eyes. "But I do know your type. Young kids like you don't steal by themselves, or for themselves. Somepony's making you do this, right?"

The colt glanced to his side.

"Doesn't excuse you, though." Tender Care stood up and looked at him from above. "I could give you to the guard and let them decide whether you're a thief or not, or you could do the right thing and quit being a coward."

The colt rubbed his neck and looked down at the ground.

"It's not too late for you, you know," Tender Care said. "But you've got to make the choice yourself."

The colt looked up at her and stared for a few seconds. Without another word, he reached into the folds of his scarf and produced a small velvet pouch.

"Thank you," Tender Care said, taking the purse from him.

The colt stared at her, bug-eyed. "What for? For stealin'?"

"For telling the truth. In the end, you did the right thing, and that's all that matters."

The colt stared blankly into space as the door to the diner opened once more. The young stallion walked out, eyes glued to the floor, looking through every crack and crevice. Tender Care called him over, showing him the purse.

"Oh hey, you fah-fah-found it! I can't thank you enough."

"It's not me you should talk to, it's him," Tender Care said, pushing the colt before him.

The young stallion nudged his glasses and looked at the colt. "Oh, he found it? Th-tha-thank, buddy! Don't know what I'd—"

"He stole it, actually," Tender Care said.

"What?" The stallion frowned in thought. "I don't get it—HEY!"

Catching the moment, the colt took off, bolting straight between the stallion's legs. Tender Care tried catching him again, but she bumped into the stallion, sending them both to the ground.

"Wait! Come back!" shouted the mare, but the colt was too far away by then.

He galloped through the darkened streets, dodging the last and second-to-last pedestrians, weaving his route from street to street. The untied ends of his scarf waved behind him like a flag.

The colt ducked inside an alley, skidding on the dirty floor. He did not slow down, taking turns and ducking from one alley to another seemingly at random, when actually, he was following secret signs comprehensible only to a Manehattan street rat.

He squeezed through a gap in a broken chainlink fence, entering a secluded, and certainly not public, square. Blank walls and fences surrounded the place on all sides. In the center, a shack built out of scrap metal and plywood stood locked.

A door too small for an adult pony to walk through wentranceterance. The colt wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and trotted up to the door. He knocked—three short knocks, two long—and a tiny window opened, a little higher on the door than his head.

A pair of eyes peered through. "Oi, Marmalade's back!" said a voice behind the door. The latch rattled open, and Marmalade walked in.

Coals burned in a barrel in the center of the shack, the smoke rising through an opening in the roof. Old trinkets lay all over the floor, discarded after their novelty wore off. Tattered blankets with crayon scribblings of fierce animals and tall, but misspelled, words hung on thetrophythrophy banners of childish, but very real, wars.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Marmalade looked around. The colt that let him in walked past, paying no attention to Marmalade, and sat down at a low table by the wall. Another colt, much younger than the others, rolled around a bunch of acorns and chestnuts in the corner.

Something moved in an alcove on the far wall. A gaunt shadow stood up, stretched, and walked into the light.

"You're sure bloody late fer bein' the fastest, Marm."

He was only fifteen, but among their kind, that was a distinction worthy of leadership. The older colt trotted to the barrel with an uneven gait, baring his rotten teeth. "Oi, what's the catch, Marm?"

"I ain't got nothin' for you, Thimblerig," Marmalade said, narrowing his eyes.

"Thassa shame." Thimblerig sat on his haunches and put his forelegs over the barrel, rubbing them together for effect. "You know the rules: no catch, no cut, no crying. Don't be comin' over tomorrows when you get starvin'."

Marmalade stood his ground, gaze locked firmly on Thimblerig. The colt in the corner noticed the glimmer in his eye, and stood up.

"Whatcha still doin' 'ere?" Thimblerig asked after a minute. "You got somethin' else to say?"

"Yeah, I do," Marmalade said, taking a step forward.

"Well I dun wanna hear it. You lost the catch, you—"

"I ain't lost it, I gave it back!"

Thimblerig took a double take. Marmalade felt how all eyes in the room were upon him.

"What?" Thimblerig said, standing up.

"I said, I ain't doin' no more stealin' for you, Thimblerig!" Marmalade pointed a hoof at him and raised his voice, baring his tiny teeth as much as he could. "I'm DONE!"

Thimblerig blinked, and then fell back on his haunches, laughing at the top of his lungs. The colt responsible for the door joined him, while the youngest of the three shrank back into the shadows.

"Lookit him! Tiny Marm, all big n' proud!" Thimblerig trotted up to Marmalade, towering over him. "Whatcha gonna do, eh? Steal for yerself, or starve? Or maybe you wanna go to the foal house, eh, Marm?" Thimblerig reached for Marmalade's tiny horn, but he smacked his hoof away.

"It's better than stealin' for a berk like you," Marmalade said.

Thimblerig huffed. "Fine. Suit yerself. Just don't even think of crawlin' back or beggin'. We don't take no beggars 'ere."

Marmalade dug his hooves deeper into the sand on the floor. "I ain't finished." He narrowed his eyes and lowered his head. "Where's the catch I brought in the mornin'? Give it back."

Thimblerig's eyes widened like dinner plates. "You serious?" He glanced at the other colts and pointed at Marmalade. "Is this colt serious?"

He reached into the folds of his scarf and pulled out a velvet pouch on a string. "Good thing I saved this thing till the evenin' cutting." He dangled the purse from the tip of his hoof, swinging it back and forth. "You forget who I am? What I can do?"

Thimblerig hooked the string over a jagged edge of the barrel. He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Marmalade.

"You forgettin' who ya are, Marm."

Marmalade snorted and spit on the ground. "I sure ain't a coward."

Thimblerig chuckled, his mouth widening into a cracked grin. The chuckle grew into laugh, and then into a bellow. Thimblerig scratched his side. "This is rich! Tiny Marm grew a pair! Or stole one!"

He waved a hoof, ordering the other colts to his side. The older one joined him, but the younger cowered in his corner. "I wanna see this. Three of us… I said THREE of us." Thimblerig barked, and the younger colt scampered up to him, barely holding his hooves from shacking like leaves.

"Right, that's three of us. An' one of you. You still wanna go?"

Marmalade spread his forelegs and tensed his hind legs like springs. He pointed his horn at the tiny velvet pouch hanging from the edge of the barrel.

The grin vanished from Thimblerig's face. "You've gotta be kiddin' me."

Among the colts, Marmalade was the fastest.



The sun was still up in the sky, somewhere behind the clouds. Down on the streets, darkness descended. The intersection between Seventh and Saddle emptied, save for the shadows dancing on pavements in front of the two shops.

The staccato of a brisk trot filled the air, graya grey stallion with an orange mane and two bulging saddlebags emerged from behind a corner. Panting, he trotted up to a deserted sandwich stand and frowned.

"Oh for Celestia's sake, late again?" he said and dropped his head.

The street lamps woke up, one after the other, spilling showers of orange light along the two streets. The one closest to the stallion flickered to life, revealing a disheveled stallion with a tangled black mane. His jacket was draped over his shoulders, sleeves hanging loose, and his tie fell from his neck in two red lines. He sat on the pavement, leaning against the lamppost, staring at the diner across the street.

"Hey, it's you!" said the musician, smirking. "Already tired of running?"

Shining Shoes looked at him. "You. Figures." His gaze fell on the ground. "This day just keeps falling into place. Like a puzzle."

"What are you doing here?" asked the musician. "I thought your job kept you six to ten."

"That it did." Shining Shoes rubbed his nose and snorted. "Used to."

The musician cringed and turned away. "Condolences."

"Hey, your teacher kick you out yet?" Shining Shoes asked.

"No, not yet."

"Good, good." Shining Shoes slipped his forelegs through the sleeves of his jacket. "The coincidences have got to end somewhere."

"I came to pay back for that morning sandwich," said the musician. "What are you doing here?"

Shining Shoes reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out five golden bits. "Last change I've got on myself. Figured I'd buy a lettuce and daisy before I go home, but it looks like that kid's got a better place to be right now." He sighed and put the bits back in his pocket. "Don't know what to do with 'em now."

The musician chuckled. "You know, there's a lot of things you could buy in Manehattan for five bits, if you know where to look." He tapped his chin in thought. "I once bought a full set of spare piano keytops for five bits. You should hold onto those bits—the day's not over yet."

"Don't think that this day's gonna get any better." Shining Shoes stood up and brushed the dust off of his haunches. "Nothing works today, not running, not snow… Not carriage brakes."

He sighed and looked up at the sky and the burning lightbulb of the street lamp. Something sparkled in the orange light. It danced down the air in a spiral, and Shining Shoes watched, wide-eyeunblinkinglnking, as the white fly fell on his nose and disappeared into a drop of water. More fell from the sky, and more after them. Both stallions watched in silence as the snow powdered the street, coating the cold, gray pavement with a fuzzy white blanket.

Something fell and crashed in the alley nearby. The two stallions gasped and jumped back, gazing into the dark. A trash can lid rolled out into the street and clattered on the ground. And then, he stepped out.

"By Celestia's mercy, kid…" Shining Shoes muttered.

The colt's spotted brown coat was stained with black bruisefavoredvoured his right hind leg, giving himself a clumsy, slow gait. The tip of his stubby horn was covered with red, and the liquid trickled down to his forehead.

In his mouth, the colt held onto a tiny velvet pouch on a string.

The musician gasped. "My purse!"

The colt smiled and collapsed on the ground.



As if to add insult to injury, the studio was on the top floor of the building. The musician sighed and mentally prepared himself for the challenge ahead. He quickly stretched his abused back and jumped over the first few steps. He cantered up the stairs, counting under his breath the rhythm of his own steps.

The musician ascended and stopped before a plain white door. He gathered his breath and knocked. As usual, nopony answered, but the door was unlocked.

The air inside smelled of tea and old parchment. The musician dropped his bags on the polished wooden floor. "Mister Clef? I am sor—"

A rough, low voice sounded from somewhere in the studio. "Staccato!" The owner of the voice, a squat, fat stallion with a blue coat and agrayy grey mane walked out the door at the end of the corridor. He trotted over to the musician, his eyebrows angled in anger. "You're late again, Staccato."

Staccato willed his hooves to stay put. "Mister Clef, I can explain—"

"Sure you can, I came to expect that from you by now." Octave Clef stopped right under Staccato's chin and looked up at him with a cringe. "But one hour, thirteen minutes? Ha! I want to hear your excuse for this time."

Staccato gulped. "Well, you see, Mister Clef, first I've had my purse stolen."

"So you didn't have bus fare? And it took you an hour to trot over here?" Clef asked, raising a brow.

"No, sir, that's not it," Staccato said, rubbing his neck. "You see, I've returned to pay for my sandwich—"

"Sandwich?"

"Uhh, let's just say I've came back to the place where my purse was stolen. And when I got there, I've met the kid who stole my purse, and he returned it to me." Staccato glanced to the side, suddenly feeling the odd and uncomfortable sensation of telling a truth that sounded like a bad lie. "But the colt was beaten up, so I had to see him to the hospital, because I've had to thank him. Bought him some chocolate milk—"

"Enough!" Clef rubbed his nose and shook his head. "Did you seriously think that I would believe that? You're not even trying anymore."

Staccato shrugged.

"Just go to the instrument…" Clef said, trotting off into the studio. "And don't tell me that you weren't planning on playing today! You'll be playing until dawn if you have to."

Staccato sighed and trotted after Clef. They entered the studio proper, a large inner sanctum with a pearl-white piano acenterpieceepiece.

Staccato took his seat before the piano. "What shall I play?"

"Beethoofen… No, Horsehoespin's fourteenth. You're still pretty bad at it," Clef said.

Staccato flipped the notes to the movement and played. His hooves danced over the keys, filling the room with a gentle symphony. Octave Clef stood by the window, humming the melody to himself and tapping his hoof every time Staccato couldn't hit the notes perfectly.

"Talent is worthless without work, Staccato," he said. "But if you focus on improvement, even without any talent at all, you can make something of yourself. If only you understood that…"

Staccato's hoof twitched, pressing on two keys instead of one. The movement hit a bump, and Clef jumped, flattening his ears against his head.

"What was that? You did that on purpose!" He ran up to Staccato's face and tapped his hoof on the note paper and said, "Again! From the beginning!"

The music began anew. Clef paced across the room, no longer paying attention to the tune.

"You don't care, you don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "We're wasting time in here if you don't want to go the extra mile!

"I've given you so much—my time and knowledge, my attention! And what do I get in return? No motivation or desire to improve! An artist must give himself wholly to the art, while you're just wasting time with silly—"

The music stopped with a sudden crash as Staccato slammed the heavy fallboard down. He breathed heavily, staring off into space. "What kind of a stallion am I, if a colt's got more courage than me?" He turned towards Clef, pursing his lips in anger. "Am I a mouse, or a… musician?"

"What the hay are you doing?" Clef asked, blinking.

"You're right, Mister Clef—I don't have any motivation. Not with you as my teacher." Staccato stood up and walked over to Clef, staring him in the eye. "I'm not going to take this any more. I quit."

"…You too." Clef narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth together. "You too. I take you in, give you a chance despite you showing no promise, and this is how you repay me? Why? Why can't you be thankful and think about what I did for you?"

Staccato took a deep breath and swallowed the pride stuck in his throat. "I do. And I am. I know that I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without your help. But this isn't worth it.

"Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I should grin and bear it. But I'm not going to. I'm going to do what I want. You do what you want, throw your weight around anywhere you see fit. If I'll never find work as a musician, I'll manage—I've already got two other jobs."

Staccato turned away. "I don't know why you're doing this to me, but I'm sure there is a reason. Ponies don't just shout at other ponies for the sake of it. Maybe your reason is valid—but feeling pain yourself does not give you the right to inflict pain on others!"

Clef stood, mouth agape. He could only blink as Staccato shook his head and trotted to the door.

"I'll see myself out."

Clef picked up his jaw and hurried after his student. "Wait, Staccato, wait!" Clef caught up with him in the corridor and placed a hoof on his back.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Staccato. All I've said, I've said because I thought it would help you. But I've never really thought about what I was saying."

Clef gulped and looked Staccato in the eye. "Don't leave, please. You've got a talent, you really do. A stupid old stallion like me isn't the reason to throw it away!"

Staccato glanced away. Clef sighed and said, "Listen, there is somepony that I absolutely must visit right now and apologize to. I know you're upset, but think this over. I'll be back in an hour or two, so why don't you stay here and we'll talk after I'm back?"

Staccato looked back at the inner sanctum, at the white piano barely visible through the door. "Well, I was planning on playing today…"

"Great!" Clef said, smiling. "Hold the fort while I'm gone, all right?" Clef quickly wrapped a scarf around his neck and opened the door.

"What shall I play?" Staccato asked.

"Whatever you fancy!" Clef said and ran out, slamming the door behind him.

He rushed down the stairs and into the cold outside. The snow covered the streets with a shallow, crunchy coat. Clef forgot about the snow and the streets as he galloped to his destination. Only one thought was on his mind: the slim hope that the best florist he knew still hasn't closed her store.

Three blocks passed by in a blur of flashing traffic lights, and Clef found himself on the intersection of Seventh and some other street. His lips widened in a grin as he saw an orange light falling from the glass walls of the store.

The chime sounded with an odd, rolling melody. She was standing on her hind legs in front of one of the shelves, balancing a vase on her snout. "Hello! Welcome to 'Floristicka'," she said without turning around. "Let me just finish he—"

"Tuplet!" he cried after catching his breath.

She flinched and turned around, eyes wide, pupils shrunk. "…Dad?"

The vase fell down. The plastic bounced off the wood, but eleven red tulips carpeted the floor.

They stood among the sea of flowers, watching each other, not moving. He planned on seeing her like this, on closing that final distance and holding her in a tearful embrace. But a veil of awkwardness hung in the air, and his eyes weren't moist enough. Clef thought that, perhaps, epiphanic monologues were overrated.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Tuplet," he managed to say through his dry throat. "I'm sorry for putting you through everything I did, just for following your own heart. I really, honestly thought that you were to become the next Clef maestro."

He took a deep breath and looked away. "I poured so much of myself into you, so much that, when you said that you were going to have none of it, I just…

"That was just selfish, criminally selfish of me. I've inflated my imaginary pain so much that I forgot about the pain I've dealt to you. And others…"

"Dad…" Tulip said, drops of water falling from her cheeks on the red flowers below.

"I don't care if its flutes or flowers, Tuplet. I just hope that you can—"

Tulip leapt over the short distance separating them and locked Clef in bone-crushing embrace. Clef got the wind knocked right out of him, but as a dutiful father, he endured.

"Of course! Of course I'll forgive you!" Tulip said, crying without restraint. "And I'm sorry too."

Clef saw the watery blur arise over his vision. First tears left wet trails on his cheek. "Don't be. You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Tulip sniffled and laughed into the crook of his neck.

They stood like that for minutes, rocking themselves and basking in their mutual warmth.

"So…" Clef said. "Should I call you Tuplet or Tulip?"

Tulip giggled and let go. "Tuplet's fine, dad."

Clef looked her over and sighed. "I've missed you for too long. Is there somewhere we can…"

"Oh, sure! There's a diner across the street that should be open." She looked around. "I've got to clean this place up and lock up first, though. Can you wait for me there?"

"Okay." Clef nodded. "Would you like me to grab you a coffee or a tea?"

"Green tea, please." Tulip grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be quick."

Clef rubbed his cheek and stepped outside. Before the door swung shut, somepony wedged their hoof in and propped it open. A stallion with a tangled black mane and a dirty brown jacket walked inside.

"Sorry, you still open?" he asked, carefully stepping over the flowers on the floor. "I was just… window shopping, and saw you two. Got me thinking and, well…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "There's something that I must do today."

Tulip rubbed the last tears out of her eyes and smiled. "Well, you're already inside, won't be good to throw you out."

The stallion bowed his head and smiled back. "Much obliged."

"So, what do you need?"

"I was hoping that you'd help me with that bit," the stallion said, looking around at the myriads of flowers all over the store. "Something inexpensive, please, I've only got five bits."

"Well, what do you want to say?" Tulip leaned on a shelf, tilting her head. "'I love you', 'I'm sorry', 'I forgive you'…"

"What if it's all three?" the stallion asked.

Tulip regarded the stallion from head to toe, stopping to gaze into his eyes. She stared for a long time, making him fidget with unease. A star flashed in her eyes, like a silver string catching a ray of sunlight. Tulip's face again lighted up with a smile.

"I know exactly what you need."

She reached into the shelf and brought out a vase half-filled with white flowers. "White lilies," she said, passing him five. "Only one bit a piece, so it should—"

The stallion shook his head and returned one of the flowers. "I'll take four. I need an even number."

Tulip's smile curved downward. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't guess correctly. My condolences."

"No, that's okay," the stallion said.

She took another lily out of the vase and gave it to him. "Take one more instead. On the house. I insist."

He nodded and took the flower.



The streets were completely empty, save for the December wind blowing through fresh snowflakes. But no matter what, there was a place in Manehattan that always felt emptier than the most desolate street. Two acres of peace and silence in the loudest city in Equestria.

Snow spared the cemetery, only lightly dusting the ground. Shining Shoes could see the brown soil underneath the white coat. The gravestone was clear as well, the epitaph exactly the same as he memorized it. He remembered the marker being bigger, though.

"It's been a while." He cringed and rubbed his forehead. "Ahh, I'm no good at this."

He took a deep breath and started over. "I'm sorry, dad. For… for everything, really. It's been a year already, but I never visited even once. Only on the funeral, and even then…"

He looked over the cemetery wall at the glowing skyline, lost in thought.

"I'm a coward. Nothing else to it. Nothing but excuses, always running somewhere, but actually running away." He sighed.

"I should be angry about our fight, about my last memories of your face being warped by rage. But I don't. I can't even remember what we were fighting about." He chuckled and rubbed his neck. "I only remember that we were both equally stupid about it, like Tender said in the first place."

"I'm not going to be stupid like that anymore. I'm tired of running. It's a shame that it took a day like today to make me see it."

"Today? Today was different, definitely. I've lost my job, but compared to everything else, getting fired feels more like a footnote than an event. I don't know how to properly explain it. I saw a bloody and beaten colt pickpocket return a purse he stole to its owner. I saw two ponies I've never met before in the most touching moment of their lives. Also something pink, but I can't remember what exactly."

"But the real thing was more of a feeling. I realized it just now. I saw all those things happen, and felt a sort of… connection, I guess. A network bigger than anypony could imagine. Like a chain of dolls tied together by a silver string. Falling like dominoes after a single push, but only if each one was willing to push for himself. I felt like I was left out for some reason, until now."

Shining Shoes shook the snow from his coat. He stared up at the sky and the falling snowflakes.

"I'll start over. Maybe in Manehattan, maybe in some quaint village in the East." He put the lilies on the grave and stepped back. "But I won't ever forget you again, dad. I promise."

A mare in a nurse's uniform looked on from the cemetery entrance and smiled, holding her own lilies close to her chest.

Through the cracks in the skyline, far away in the sea, the sun smiled and set on a day that was, perhaps, a little brighter.