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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
2000–25000
A Taxing Situation
Carry the two, plus seven, plus five, plus eight, carry the two, plus two…
Derpy stared at the total box. Four hundred eighteen bits. Four hundred. A four with two zeroes after it, except that they were actually an eighteen.
Nothing had changed this year! How did she owe four hundred eighteen bits in taxes? She always got a small amount back, around thirty-five bits. No new dependents, no big change in salary, no investments, no nothing! Maybe the government had altered the tax laws. That had to be it.
Four hundred eighteen bits. A few beads of sweat ran down her forehead. She had it, but it would take an uncomfortably large—make that uncomfortably large—chunk out of her savings. Maybe no vacation this year, cut back on birthday presents. For her, not for Dinky. She wouldn’t dare penalize Dinky for her mistake, if in fact she’d made one.
Derpy checked her math again, but no avoiding it. Four hundred eighteen bits. She scrawled the numerals in the total box and signed the form. But… Next to the box, an asterisk. She’d never really paid attention before. No corresponding footnote.
Through each page, front and back she looked, until she reached the bottom of the last page. An endnote, then, with a tiny asterisk and fine print nopony over the age of twenty could possibly read. Derpy opened the kitchen drawer of odds and ends and found her magnifying glass. And word by word, the message only deepened the wrinkles on her forehead.
“In lieu of cash payment, citizens may apply to make a contribution to Equestrian society of equal or greater value. Those interested should make a petition in person to Princess Celestia for approval of a plan and grant of an extension period to implement it.”
Derpy had never even heard of such a thing before. She couldn’t imagine anypony had taken advantage of it before, or it probably would have made the news. It quite piqued her interest, she had to admit. What could she do that would qualify? What around here could use improvement? Wait, it said Equestrian society—would a local improvement be enough?
She stared out the window. If she could find a way to save that money… A few snowflakes of a late-season flurry swirled outside and melted the instant they touched the glass.
Her eyes shot wide open. Yes, first thing in the morning. She could dash off to Canterlot, and with any luck, get back in time for her shift. After seeing Dinky off to school, of course.
Derpy sat at the foot of the slope leading up to Celestia’s throne, the princess gazing back down at her with an amused smile. “So, that’s it. I want to write a play.”
“Do you realize all that would entail, my little pony?” Celestia replied. “I cannot authorize something that will be abandoned when it turns out to involve more work than you had expected. You might just save yourself the trouble now. Take the law as stated: a contribution to Equestrian society of equal or greater value. One of my better ideas, I think.”
“My daughter, Dinky, has performed in several school plays, and I always help out with them. I think I’m prepared for what it takes.”
Celestia chuckled while Derpy scuffed a hoof at the carpet. “This is not meant as an opportunity for you to avoid your tax debt, but an opportunity for Equestria to obtain something it would want anyway, without the cost of bureaucracy to originate it.”
“H-has anypony ever taken advantage of it?”
“No,” Celestia answered, shaking her head. “Only two have even made such a petition, and I denied both.”
“I think Your Highness can see the need,” Derpy said. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. “And as to my commitment, well, I love history. Anypony who knows me well will tell Your Highness that. Which I guess is only two or three ponies,” she added, dropping her gaze to the floor.
“Equestrian society. Not your personal enjoyment. To have you write something, brilliant though it may be, only to have it end up stuffed into a drawer somewhere when you’ve finished—I think you can see the problem.” Leaning forward, Celestia stared pointedly at her; Derpy could feel it, like a specimen under a microscope. “I’m afraid I must insist that you not only write the play, but produce it as well. What benefit do we get from a play that nopony sees, after all?”
Not just writing, but… putting it on? And on a budget, too. That sounded like an interesting challenge. A grin crept across her face. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Plan approved. You have one year from this date, though given your subject matter, I believe you will endeavor to take somewhat less time than that.” The princess grinned and settled back into the throne’s cushion.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Derpy glanced at the clock. Thirty-six minutes until her shift—plenty of time to get back.
Yet again, Derpy sat in Ponyville’s library, poring over a book, the same way she’d spent all her lunch breaks for the past four months. Her mind had immediately snapped to a historical play, and she’d never deviated from that tack. The first couple of months were devoted to reference books, and the last month to the historical figures themselves.
“Here you go, Derpy,” Twilight Sparkle said as she added two more books to the stack. “Biographies of the last two characters. That should do you.”
“Thanks so much! You’ve saved me an awful lot of time.”
“I’m curious”—Twilight took the seat next to her—“what prompted all this. I’ve never seen somepony devour history like this, though I certainly agree it’s a subject worthy of study.”
“I adore history!” Derpy spouted. “I would have become a history teacher, except my cousin got me a job with the Postal Service years ago, and, well, I like that a lot, too!”
Twilight stifled a laugh with her hoof. “Civil service—I can obviously appreciate that, too. But why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, I’m writing a play!” She graced Twilight with a toothy grin.
Twilight cocked her head. “A… play?”
“Yes, it seems all the historical ones are so dull and stuffy,” Derpy said as she scrunched up her face. “More about the facts and figures than the ponies, the dates than the feelings. I want to fix that. Plus it’ll settle my tax bill.”
“Tax bill…?”
“Yeah. Read the form sometime. I mean, it’s a library. You’ve got to have a stack of them around, right?” Twilight nodded and jutted her chin toward a counter on the far wall. “So, down at the bottom—” She rolled her eyes up at the clock. “Oh! Gotta get back to work! Can you hold these for me?” she asked, patting the pile of books. She didn’t even wait for an answer. Lunch breaks only, of course, when Dinky was in school.
Derpy flipped through the final hoofwritten product. Drafts, revisions, crumpled pages, second-guessing… And all after Dinky had gone to bed, of course.
Night after night, through the summer heat, weighing down the corners of the page with rocks so the fan wouldn’t keep flipping the page up and in her way. And now, with a cool nip sneaking into the early autumn air, she had a script. She hoped.
First order of business, then: make sure the writing is up to par. Twilight had helped critique a few individual scenes and was responsible for more than a few of those crumpled pages. But Derpy certainly appreciated somepony honest enough to tell her when something didn’t work instead of smiling and washing her hooves of it. If it wasn’t good enough, it’d never satisfy the princess, so no use getting anything short of frank criticism.
And so she strode into the library and plopped the completed script onto Twilight’s writing desk.
Twilight grinned up at her and clapped her hooves together. “Ooh, all done? I can’t wait to see what you came up with! But first…”
She got up and went to the kitchen, then returned with a platter of coffee and muffins. Just like the ones that had started appearing beside Derpy about the third week of her research phase. Derpy shook her head and smiled. Only a few friends knew of her interest in history, she’d told Celestia. It seemed she could count another among them now.
A tasty muffin as usual, but she couldn’t quite enjoy it as Twilight read, tracing her hoof line by line down the pages. She’d pause, go back over passages, close her eyes to think occasionally, and Derpy’s nerves jittered the entire time until Twilight snapped the cover shut and nodded.
“Very good. I like how historically accurate you’ve made it; the ones out there now are dull and take quite a few liberties with the facts, but you’ve made this exciting and informative.” Derpy sank into her chair and chewed a fresh bite of muffin. So, so good! “I can mark it up for flow and do a bit of editing, but I think it’s pretty much fine right now. Is that it then? I don’t suppose I’ll ever see it.”
“Oh yes! Princess Celestia insisted!”
“Really…” Twilight raised an eyebrow and rubbed her chin. “I’ll have to ask her about it. This whole thing has me intrigued. Anyway, let me know when I can get tickets. I’d love to attend!”
Script: check. Today’s task: scenery.
Derpy fluttered off to Sweet Apple Acres at top speed. A lot closer than Canterlot, but she had much more to discuss on this trip. She guessed she’d heard from Applejack before that they took breaks from farm work whenever a good stopping place popped up. So no telling whether she’d be interrupting somepony’s tilling or harvesting or whatever, but no helping that.
Thankfully, she found Big Macintosh leaning against the shady side of the barn with a glass of apple juice. His gaze followed her as she swooped in from over the forest.
“Hiya, Derpy! Early for the mail, ain’t it? And you don’t even have… a mailbag…” One eyebrow wandered up toward his forelock.
“I know, I’m on lunch break, and I don’t have long, so please just listen!” she gushed. His other eyebrow joined its elevated partner. “Can I get you to build some play scenery for me? I can’t afford much, but I sketched out a few designs.”
She pulled out a notepad from her saddlebag and flipped through a few colored diagrams, complete with dimensions and even a few materials marked. He took it from her and examined each as she looked on. Finally, he nodded. “Eeyup. Lumber, paint, nails, wire… not much else. I’ve got some scrap lyin’ around, but whatever I gotta buy…”
Derpy nodded. This was her problem. No fair expecting him to bear any of the expense.
“I’ll only charge you cost on supplies, though. Labor’s free. I bet I can even get Apple Bloom to pitch in.”
Gasping, Derpy locked her forelegs around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Do you know how much?”
When he’d recovered from the assault, he chuckled at her and paged through the drawings again. “Can’t say for sure till it’s done, but I’d say ’round hundred ten, hundred twenty bits.”
Okay. A good piece of the budget, but one she’d have to expect. Maybe everything else wouldn’t cost as much. Derpy took a deep breath. She could see it taking shape, coming together. It was really going to happen!
“Sorry, lunch break’s almost over. Two months enough time?”
“Eeyup. Plenty,” he called, catching the notepad she dropped as she soared off.
Today, Derpy would cross costumes off the list. And who better to make them than Rarity?
Not that she knew Rarity by anything more than reputation, but she still made the obvious choice. Derpy knocked on the door and waited outside, despite the “Open” sign in the window, then finally poked her head in.
“Come in, come in, dear!” Rarity said, looking up from her sewing. “What can I help you with?”
“Well… I need some period costumes made,” Derpy replied. “Maybe a lot of them. Seven main ones at least, and then a bunch of extras, though maybe I can get away with patching something together for those. Here—” Derpy pulled out a few of the biographies Twilight had lent her.
For a moment, Rarity studied the portraits, then nodded. “Yes, I can certainly make that happen. What sort of budget did you have in mind?”
“Uh… um… As little as possible, I guess. I can’t afford much.” Derpy sank to her haunches and forced a smile.
“Hm. What are these for? That might make a difference.” And once again, Derpy went through the story of her play. Quickly, though. She had less than half her lunch break left.
“For one,” Rarity said with a prim nod, “I absolutely refuse to skimp on quality. But they’ll only be worn for an hour or so during the performance, so they wouldn’t have to be as comfortable as everyday clothes. I can—” she winced at the phrase “—cut some corners in that regard.”
Rarity’s eyes sparkled. “Tell you what—I shall donate my time and whatever cloth remnants I can use.” She rolled her eyes up and ticked off a few numbers in her head. “Eighty bits should cover it. Will that do?”
Derpy breathed a sharp sigh. Not nearly as much as she feared it might run. “Thank you,” she said as she hugged Rarity. And she couldn’t keep from sniffling.
“Of course, darling! Whatever is wrong?” Rarity pulled back and frowned.
“Nothing,” Derpy said, wiping at her nose. “Nothing. Everypony’s just being so helpful and kind about this. I didn’t expect it.”
Rarity returned the hug and patted her on the back. “You’ll always find a friend in Ponyville, dear.”
Derpy sat at her kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon. No school, so no project time, not until Dinky went to bed. But while Dinky ate lunch, Derpy could read over the letter she’d gotten and attend to another that needed writing.
“How’s your thing going, Mommy?” Dinky said through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Pretty good, muffin. Just ironing out the last few details.” She reached over to tousle Dinky’s mane, then returned her attention to her letter.
Cherry Fizzy had confirmed her reservation to rent out the local auditorium. Very formal, very businesslike. He didn’t know her from the next pony or why she needed the place, so it didn’t exactly surprise her, but it did put a bit of a damper on her enthusiasm. And the price… Way over budget now, and she still had to hire actors, pay for advertising, print programs. But what choice did she have?
Yes, she knew all the arguments about throwing good money after bad. Best to cut her losses now and avoid having it cost even more. But it was no longer a question over whether it would happen—she’d get to see her creation. On stage!
And with that fire still in her heart, she took her pencil and scratched out her required monthly progress report to Princess Celestia. Script, scenery, costumes, venue, all check. On schedule, but over budget. The total so far ran to—she grimaced—five hundred thirty-four bits. She jotted the figure down, signed the letter, and tucked it in her saddlebag for Monday morning.
So, no birthday for her this year. But that was okay. The thrill of making all this happen outweighed any token she might get, except of course for whatever adorable little craft Dinky would make in school. If she could charge admission, she could probably make back her expenses, but it didn’t seem right to make money off of a tax substitute intended to serve the public good. She gritted her teeth and wrote out a check for the auditorium.
“Time to let Princess Celestia know I’m sticking with it,” she said, tapping Dinky on the nose. “I need a producer, though—somepony who oversees everything. Somepony who can tell me when any little detail goes wrong. You know anypony who could do that?” Derpy added a wink.
“Me me me me me!” Dinky said, raising her hoof and waggling it.
“Good! We start casting next week.”
The library seemed like a logical place to post some flyers asking for to act in her play. Maybe around the market square as well. She had to swing by the library to return the last batch of books, anyway.
She tugged the stack out of her saddlebag, plopped it down on the counter, and slid out one of the sheets. “Mind if I hang this in here, Twilight?”
“Um… is this about your play?” Twilight asked. She craned her neck to see the front of the page.
“Yes,” Derpy declared. “Almost ready to start rehearsals, but I still need actors.”
“Oh…” Twilight’s face brightened, and she stood up straighter. “That’s what it meant. Don’t worry about it. You already have a cast. My friends and I would love to help you out!”
Derpy squinted back. “That’s what what meant?”
“N-nothing. Hey, when do you need us?” Twilight tugged the flyer from her and scanned it over. “Next weekend, huh? We’ll be there!”
“Ooookay…” Derpy would have pursued the matter, but the prospect of getting through that overly broad smile didn’t hold any appeal. “Thanks, then. Um, yeah. Next weekend.”
“Please, let me pay you something,” Derpy said.
Twilight shook her head and returned a tight-lipped smile. “Nope. Princess Celestia asked that we take the roles, so we can’t rightly get paid for it.” That explained what Twilight meant last weekend. And just after Celestia had gotten the progress report and budget estimate, too. A sweet gesture, but it still didn’t seem quite right. And then the next day, Thunderlane had conveniently volunteered to wrangle a few snow clouds and bring ice to the performance.
“Big Mac delivered the sets this morning, and Rarity brought the costumes with her. Whenever you’re ready…” Twilight swept a hoof over the assembled cast.
“Where’s my producer?” Derpy called, and Dinky slipped out from behind her. Derpy took out the scripts from her daughter’s saddlebag. “Okay, I have a copy for everypony. Are you all ready for a read-through?”
All of them—Twilight, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and Spike—nodded. And then, not half an hour later…
“Do I have to wear this?” Dash said. “It’s all stuffy and… itchy.” She wedged a hoof under the collar and dug at the back of her neck.
“There’s nothing wrong with your costume!” Rarity barked. “And my character—what’s her motivation? She sounds whiny and self-centered, and I just can’t understand her mindset. Maybe she should—Rainbow Dash, you will stretch that fabric if you don’t stop yanking on it!”
Fluttershy jumped at the shouting and tried to cower against the backdrop, but her quivering knocked it over. And Pinkie had missed all her cues because she kept sneaking off to eat up the catering spread Derpy had ordered. It was already gone. Only thirty minutes, and all gone. The producer didn’t seem to mind, her attention riveted on her coloring book.
Derpy burst into tears and ran backstage. Seven months! Seven months of her time, a net loss of a couple hundred bits of her own money, and if this didn’t work, she’d still have to pay the tax bill!
“Is Mommy okay?” she heard Dinky say out in the hallway, then a gentle whisper and hoofsteps entering the room.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “Please, come back out. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Derpy just sniffled and tried to wipe her eyes dry.
“Really. We’re sorry. Big Mac can fix the backdrop, Rainbow Dash said she’d stop complaining about her costume, Rarity’s been advised of the need to maintain historical accuracy without ad-libbing, and the food… Well, it’s gone, but that’s okay. None of us expected it, so we all brought our own lunches. Except Pinkie, but if she eats any more, she’ll pop.” Twilight rubbed a hoof on Derpy’s shoulder. “I know what this means to you. I really do. Please. Come back out. We want to make this work, and so does Princess Celestia.”
Derpy sniffled again, then nodded. She couldn’t give up so easily, but with such a fine line between failure and success…
But she had to try. She nodded, put on her best smile, and trudged back out to the stage.
Opening night. Derpy milled about backstage, behind the curtain, by herself. Nopony would even see her. She shouldn’t be any more nervous that the actors, but she practically bounced on her hooves, and her ears buzzed with all of the mixed conversations from the audience.
Dinky. Dinky always seemed to calm her down. She poked her head through the curtain and waved vigorously while trying to spot Dinky’s face in the crowd. But before she could even figure out where the complimentary seats might be, she felt a jab at her ribs.
Derpy jerked her head back through the gap. A sick actor? A problem with the lights? What now?
“Ma’am, you have no business here. Please don’t disrupt the performance,” Cherry Fizzy said. “We have to keep this looking professional.”
He had no idea who she was, did he? They’d only corresponded by mail. Yes, sir, just another stagehoof, nopony special here. She put out the little flame as quickly as it had started. It just didn’t matter. So she plodded away, where she couldn’t cause any harm.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and Derpy circled around to stage right to watch the show. The detailed scenery, the lovely outfits, the chill air and ice. Princess Platinum, Clover the Clever, Commander Hurricane, Private Pansy, Chancellor Puddinghead, Smart Cookie… even the narrator. Spike went a bit off script, but the audience loved it anyway.
They loved it! They had fun watching real unadorned historical events brought to life and made exciting! She nearly vibrated.
All the actors went to their dressing room, and she could hear them gushing, even at this distance. The audience cheered and chatted, going on about this and that, things they hadn’t realized or had learned wrong so long ago as foals. All perfect. And Derpy stood alone, out of the way, where nopony noticed her. Which was also fine. She didn’t need the limelight—only that a couple of ponies knew.
Derpy poked her head around the edge of the curtain. She didn’t see Princess Celestia anywhere.
The next morning, Derpy got to sleep in. It was Hearth’s Warming Day, after all. But somepony had come knocking at her door. At least the visitor had waited until after nine o’clock to come calling.
Derpy rolled out of bed and answered the door, a huge piece of skewed mane jutting off the side of her head. “Hello?”
She cocked her head at the visitor: a unicorn, just barely taller than her. But… it hurt Derpy’s head to look at her, like her brain was screaming at her that her vision told filthy lies. She winced, blinked, and watched the visitor’s hooves.
“Derpy, I just wanted to say how much your play impressed me. I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for writing it.” Derpy could hear the smile in her voice, even if she couldn’t bring herself to endure looking at it.
“You—you saw it?”
“Yes, I was in the audience. Just another face in the crowd. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me.”
Derpy scratched her head. “H-how did you know I wrote it?”
“Rumors,” the visitor stated flatly. “Though you hid the fact well. No mention of you in the program, no bow after the show, no name up on the marquee.”
“I didn’t think it was important.” Derpy shrugged. A little recognition—just a little—was nice, but right now, she only wanted to crawl back into bed.
The visitor chuckled. “Yet another reason to admire you. Very few ponies will ever know what you did.”
“The ones who do are the ones who matter to me. I made some new friends who did a lot of kind things for me, and it was supposed to be a ‘contribution to Equestrian society’ anyway. So I got more than I counted on. Nothing wrong with that.” Derpy wiped the fog from her eyes. If this dragged on any longer, she’d wake up too much to go back to sleep.
“Good for you.” Once again, an unseen smile radiated through the words. “Just out of curiosity, how much did it end up costing you?”
“A little over seven hundred fifty bits.”
“Hm.” The visitor’s hoof scraped across the porch’s wooden planks. “Was it worth it?”
Derpy broke into a huge grin. “Absolutely!”
“I see.” The visitor turned to leave, and Derpy risked another glance at her—beneath the edge of her shawl, wingtips… “You should apply for a royal grant to fund further production. I have no doubt that those in power would endorse it as the official Hearth’s Warming story for future pageants across Equestria.”
Derpy gasped, but she suddenly felt… drowsy. Where? Not in the road. Where did the visitor go? Empty street, empty sky. More sleep. “Thank you, Princess,” she mumbled on her way back to a soft mattress and a warm blanket.
Derpy stared at the total box. Four hundred eighteen bits. Four hundred. A four with two zeroes after it, except that they were actually an eighteen.
Nothing had changed this year! How did she owe four hundred eighteen bits in taxes? She always got a small amount back, around thirty-five bits. No new dependents, no big change in salary, no investments, no nothing! Maybe the government had altered the tax laws. That had to be it.
Four hundred eighteen bits. A few beads of sweat ran down her forehead. She had it, but it would take an uncomfortably large—make that uncomfortably large—chunk out of her savings. Maybe no vacation this year, cut back on birthday presents. For her, not for Dinky. She wouldn’t dare penalize Dinky for her mistake, if in fact she’d made one.
Derpy checked her math again, but no avoiding it. Four hundred eighteen bits. She scrawled the numerals in the total box and signed the form. But… Next to the box, an asterisk. She’d never really paid attention before. No corresponding footnote.
Through each page, front and back she looked, until she reached the bottom of the last page. An endnote, then, with a tiny asterisk and fine print nopony over the age of twenty could possibly read. Derpy opened the kitchen drawer of odds and ends and found her magnifying glass. And word by word, the message only deepened the wrinkles on her forehead.
“In lieu of cash payment, citizens may apply to make a contribution to Equestrian society of equal or greater value. Those interested should make a petition in person to Princess Celestia for approval of a plan and grant of an extension period to implement it.”
Derpy had never even heard of such a thing before. She couldn’t imagine anypony had taken advantage of it before, or it probably would have made the news. It quite piqued her interest, she had to admit. What could she do that would qualify? What around here could use improvement? Wait, it said Equestrian society—would a local improvement be enough?
She stared out the window. If she could find a way to save that money… A few snowflakes of a late-season flurry swirled outside and melted the instant they touched the glass.
Her eyes shot wide open. Yes, first thing in the morning. She could dash off to Canterlot, and with any luck, get back in time for her shift. After seeing Dinky off to school, of course.
Derpy sat at the foot of the slope leading up to Celestia’s throne, the princess gazing back down at her with an amused smile. “So, that’s it. I want to write a play.”
“Do you realize all that would entail, my little pony?” Celestia replied. “I cannot authorize something that will be abandoned when it turns out to involve more work than you had expected. You might just save yourself the trouble now. Take the law as stated: a contribution to Equestrian society of equal or greater value. One of my better ideas, I think.”
“My daughter, Dinky, has performed in several school plays, and I always help out with them. I think I’m prepared for what it takes.”
Celestia chuckled while Derpy scuffed a hoof at the carpet. “This is not meant as an opportunity for you to avoid your tax debt, but an opportunity for Equestria to obtain something it would want anyway, without the cost of bureaucracy to originate it.”
“H-has anypony ever taken advantage of it?”
“No,” Celestia answered, shaking her head. “Only two have even made such a petition, and I denied both.”
“I think Your Highness can see the need,” Derpy said. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. “And as to my commitment, well, I love history. Anypony who knows me well will tell Your Highness that. Which I guess is only two or three ponies,” she added, dropping her gaze to the floor.
“Equestrian society. Not your personal enjoyment. To have you write something, brilliant though it may be, only to have it end up stuffed into a drawer somewhere when you’ve finished—I think you can see the problem.” Leaning forward, Celestia stared pointedly at her; Derpy could feel it, like a specimen under a microscope. “I’m afraid I must insist that you not only write the play, but produce it as well. What benefit do we get from a play that nopony sees, after all?”
Not just writing, but… putting it on? And on a budget, too. That sounded like an interesting challenge. A grin crept across her face. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Plan approved. You have one year from this date, though given your subject matter, I believe you will endeavor to take somewhat less time than that.” The princess grinned and settled back into the throne’s cushion.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Derpy glanced at the clock. Thirty-six minutes until her shift—plenty of time to get back.
Yet again, Derpy sat in Ponyville’s library, poring over a book, the same way she’d spent all her lunch breaks for the past four months. Her mind had immediately snapped to a historical play, and she’d never deviated from that tack. The first couple of months were devoted to reference books, and the last month to the historical figures themselves.
“Here you go, Derpy,” Twilight Sparkle said as she added two more books to the stack. “Biographies of the last two characters. That should do you.”
“Thanks so much! You’ve saved me an awful lot of time.”
“I’m curious”—Twilight took the seat next to her—“what prompted all this. I’ve never seen somepony devour history like this, though I certainly agree it’s a subject worthy of study.”
“I adore history!” Derpy spouted. “I would have become a history teacher, except my cousin got me a job with the Postal Service years ago, and, well, I like that a lot, too!”
Twilight stifled a laugh with her hoof. “Civil service—I can obviously appreciate that, too. But why the sudden interest?”
“Oh, I’m writing a play!” She graced Twilight with a toothy grin.
Twilight cocked her head. “A… play?”
“Yes, it seems all the historical ones are so dull and stuffy,” Derpy said as she scrunched up her face. “More about the facts and figures than the ponies, the dates than the feelings. I want to fix that. Plus it’ll settle my tax bill.”
“Tax bill…?”
“Yeah. Read the form sometime. I mean, it’s a library. You’ve got to have a stack of them around, right?” Twilight nodded and jutted her chin toward a counter on the far wall. “So, down at the bottom—” She rolled her eyes up at the clock. “Oh! Gotta get back to work! Can you hold these for me?” she asked, patting the pile of books. She didn’t even wait for an answer. Lunch breaks only, of course, when Dinky was in school.
Derpy flipped through the final hoofwritten product. Drafts, revisions, crumpled pages, second-guessing… And all after Dinky had gone to bed, of course.
Night after night, through the summer heat, weighing down the corners of the page with rocks so the fan wouldn’t keep flipping the page up and in her way. And now, with a cool nip sneaking into the early autumn air, she had a script. She hoped.
First order of business, then: make sure the writing is up to par. Twilight had helped critique a few individual scenes and was responsible for more than a few of those crumpled pages. But Derpy certainly appreciated somepony honest enough to tell her when something didn’t work instead of smiling and washing her hooves of it. If it wasn’t good enough, it’d never satisfy the princess, so no use getting anything short of frank criticism.
And so she strode into the library and plopped the completed script onto Twilight’s writing desk.
Twilight grinned up at her and clapped her hooves together. “Ooh, all done? I can’t wait to see what you came up with! But first…”
She got up and went to the kitchen, then returned with a platter of coffee and muffins. Just like the ones that had started appearing beside Derpy about the third week of her research phase. Derpy shook her head and smiled. Only a few friends knew of her interest in history, she’d told Celestia. It seemed she could count another among them now.
A tasty muffin as usual, but she couldn’t quite enjoy it as Twilight read, tracing her hoof line by line down the pages. She’d pause, go back over passages, close her eyes to think occasionally, and Derpy’s nerves jittered the entire time until Twilight snapped the cover shut and nodded.
“Very good. I like how historically accurate you’ve made it; the ones out there now are dull and take quite a few liberties with the facts, but you’ve made this exciting and informative.” Derpy sank into her chair and chewed a fresh bite of muffin. So, so good! “I can mark it up for flow and do a bit of editing, but I think it’s pretty much fine right now. Is that it then? I don’t suppose I’ll ever see it.”
“Oh yes! Princess Celestia insisted!”
“Really…” Twilight raised an eyebrow and rubbed her chin. “I’ll have to ask her about it. This whole thing has me intrigued. Anyway, let me know when I can get tickets. I’d love to attend!”
Script: check. Today’s task: scenery.
Derpy fluttered off to Sweet Apple Acres at top speed. A lot closer than Canterlot, but she had much more to discuss on this trip. She guessed she’d heard from Applejack before that they took breaks from farm work whenever a good stopping place popped up. So no telling whether she’d be interrupting somepony’s tilling or harvesting or whatever, but no helping that.
Thankfully, she found Big Macintosh leaning against the shady side of the barn with a glass of apple juice. His gaze followed her as she swooped in from over the forest.
“Hiya, Derpy! Early for the mail, ain’t it? And you don’t even have… a mailbag…” One eyebrow wandered up toward his forelock.
“I know, I’m on lunch break, and I don’t have long, so please just listen!” she gushed. His other eyebrow joined its elevated partner. “Can I get you to build some play scenery for me? I can’t afford much, but I sketched out a few designs.”
She pulled out a notepad from her saddlebag and flipped through a few colored diagrams, complete with dimensions and even a few materials marked. He took it from her and examined each as she looked on. Finally, he nodded. “Eeyup. Lumber, paint, nails, wire… not much else. I’ve got some scrap lyin’ around, but whatever I gotta buy…”
Derpy nodded. This was her problem. No fair expecting him to bear any of the expense.
“I’ll only charge you cost on supplies, though. Labor’s free. I bet I can even get Apple Bloom to pitch in.”
Gasping, Derpy locked her forelegs around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! Do you know how much?”
When he’d recovered from the assault, he chuckled at her and paged through the drawings again. “Can’t say for sure till it’s done, but I’d say ’round hundred ten, hundred twenty bits.”
Okay. A good piece of the budget, but one she’d have to expect. Maybe everything else wouldn’t cost as much. Derpy took a deep breath. She could see it taking shape, coming together. It was really going to happen!
“Sorry, lunch break’s almost over. Two months enough time?”
“Eeyup. Plenty,” he called, catching the notepad she dropped as she soared off.
Today, Derpy would cross costumes off the list. And who better to make them than Rarity?
Not that she knew Rarity by anything more than reputation, but she still made the obvious choice. Derpy knocked on the door and waited outside, despite the “Open” sign in the window, then finally poked her head in.
“Come in, come in, dear!” Rarity said, looking up from her sewing. “What can I help you with?”
“Well… I need some period costumes made,” Derpy replied. “Maybe a lot of them. Seven main ones at least, and then a bunch of extras, though maybe I can get away with patching something together for those. Here—” Derpy pulled out a few of the biographies Twilight had lent her.
For a moment, Rarity studied the portraits, then nodded. “Yes, I can certainly make that happen. What sort of budget did you have in mind?”
“Uh… um… As little as possible, I guess. I can’t afford much.” Derpy sank to her haunches and forced a smile.
“Hm. What are these for? That might make a difference.” And once again, Derpy went through the story of her play. Quickly, though. She had less than half her lunch break left.
“For one,” Rarity said with a prim nod, “I absolutely refuse to skimp on quality. But they’ll only be worn for an hour or so during the performance, so they wouldn’t have to be as comfortable as everyday clothes. I can—” she winced at the phrase “—cut some corners in that regard.”
Rarity’s eyes sparkled. “Tell you what—I shall donate my time and whatever cloth remnants I can use.” She rolled her eyes up and ticked off a few numbers in her head. “Eighty bits should cover it. Will that do?”
Derpy breathed a sharp sigh. Not nearly as much as she feared it might run. “Thank you,” she said as she hugged Rarity. And she couldn’t keep from sniffling.
“Of course, darling! Whatever is wrong?” Rarity pulled back and frowned.
“Nothing,” Derpy said, wiping at her nose. “Nothing. Everypony’s just being so helpful and kind about this. I didn’t expect it.”
Rarity returned the hug and patted her on the back. “You’ll always find a friend in Ponyville, dear.”
Derpy sat at her kitchen table on a Saturday afternoon. No school, so no project time, not until Dinky went to bed. But while Dinky ate lunch, Derpy could read over the letter she’d gotten and attend to another that needed writing.
“How’s your thing going, Mommy?” Dinky said through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Pretty good, muffin. Just ironing out the last few details.” She reached over to tousle Dinky’s mane, then returned her attention to her letter.
Cherry Fizzy had confirmed her reservation to rent out the local auditorium. Very formal, very businesslike. He didn’t know her from the next pony or why she needed the place, so it didn’t exactly surprise her, but it did put a bit of a damper on her enthusiasm. And the price… Way over budget now, and she still had to hire actors, pay for advertising, print programs. But what choice did she have?
Yes, she knew all the arguments about throwing good money after bad. Best to cut her losses now and avoid having it cost even more. But it was no longer a question over whether it would happen—she’d get to see her creation. On stage!
And with that fire still in her heart, she took her pencil and scratched out her required monthly progress report to Princess Celestia. Script, scenery, costumes, venue, all check. On schedule, but over budget. The total so far ran to—she grimaced—five hundred thirty-four bits. She jotted the figure down, signed the letter, and tucked it in her saddlebag for Monday morning.
So, no birthday for her this year. But that was okay. The thrill of making all this happen outweighed any token she might get, except of course for whatever adorable little craft Dinky would make in school. If she could charge admission, she could probably make back her expenses, but it didn’t seem right to make money off of a tax substitute intended to serve the public good. She gritted her teeth and wrote out a check for the auditorium.
“Time to let Princess Celestia know I’m sticking with it,” she said, tapping Dinky on the nose. “I need a producer, though—somepony who oversees everything. Somepony who can tell me when any little detail goes wrong. You know anypony who could do that?” Derpy added a wink.
“Me me me me me!” Dinky said, raising her hoof and waggling it.
“Good! We start casting next week.”
The library seemed like a logical place to post some flyers asking for to act in her play. Maybe around the market square as well. She had to swing by the library to return the last batch of books, anyway.
She tugged the stack out of her saddlebag, plopped it down on the counter, and slid out one of the sheets. “Mind if I hang this in here, Twilight?”
“Um… is this about your play?” Twilight asked. She craned her neck to see the front of the page.
“Yes,” Derpy declared. “Almost ready to start rehearsals, but I still need actors.”
“Oh…” Twilight’s face brightened, and she stood up straighter. “That’s what it meant. Don’t worry about it. You already have a cast. My friends and I would love to help you out!”
Derpy squinted back. “That’s what what meant?”
“N-nothing. Hey, when do you need us?” Twilight tugged the flyer from her and scanned it over. “Next weekend, huh? We’ll be there!”
“Ooookay…” Derpy would have pursued the matter, but the prospect of getting through that overly broad smile didn’t hold any appeal. “Thanks, then. Um, yeah. Next weekend.”
“Please, let me pay you something,” Derpy said.
Twilight shook her head and returned a tight-lipped smile. “Nope. Princess Celestia asked that we take the roles, so we can’t rightly get paid for it.” That explained what Twilight meant last weekend. And just after Celestia had gotten the progress report and budget estimate, too. A sweet gesture, but it still didn’t seem quite right. And then the next day, Thunderlane had conveniently volunteered to wrangle a few snow clouds and bring ice to the performance.
“Big Mac delivered the sets this morning, and Rarity brought the costumes with her. Whenever you’re ready…” Twilight swept a hoof over the assembled cast.
“Where’s my producer?” Derpy called, and Dinky slipped out from behind her. Derpy took out the scripts from her daughter’s saddlebag. “Okay, I have a copy for everypony. Are you all ready for a read-through?”
All of them—Twilight, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and Spike—nodded. And then, not half an hour later…
“Do I have to wear this?” Dash said. “It’s all stuffy and… itchy.” She wedged a hoof under the collar and dug at the back of her neck.
“There’s nothing wrong with your costume!” Rarity barked. “And my character—what’s her motivation? She sounds whiny and self-centered, and I just can’t understand her mindset. Maybe she should—Rainbow Dash, you will stretch that fabric if you don’t stop yanking on it!”
Fluttershy jumped at the shouting and tried to cower against the backdrop, but her quivering knocked it over. And Pinkie had missed all her cues because she kept sneaking off to eat up the catering spread Derpy had ordered. It was already gone. Only thirty minutes, and all gone. The producer didn’t seem to mind, her attention riveted on her coloring book.
Derpy burst into tears and ran backstage. Seven months! Seven months of her time, a net loss of a couple hundred bits of her own money, and if this didn’t work, she’d still have to pay the tax bill!
“Is Mommy okay?” she heard Dinky say out in the hallway, then a gentle whisper and hoofsteps entering the room.
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “Please, come back out. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Derpy just sniffled and tried to wipe her eyes dry.
“Really. We’re sorry. Big Mac can fix the backdrop, Rainbow Dash said she’d stop complaining about her costume, Rarity’s been advised of the need to maintain historical accuracy without ad-libbing, and the food… Well, it’s gone, but that’s okay. None of us expected it, so we all brought our own lunches. Except Pinkie, but if she eats any more, she’ll pop.” Twilight rubbed a hoof on Derpy’s shoulder. “I know what this means to you. I really do. Please. Come back out. We want to make this work, and so does Princess Celestia.”
Derpy sniffled again, then nodded. She couldn’t give up so easily, but with such a fine line between failure and success…
But she had to try. She nodded, put on her best smile, and trudged back out to the stage.
Opening night. Derpy milled about backstage, behind the curtain, by herself. Nopony would even see her. She shouldn’t be any more nervous that the actors, but she practically bounced on her hooves, and her ears buzzed with all of the mixed conversations from the audience.
Dinky. Dinky always seemed to calm her down. She poked her head through the curtain and waved vigorously while trying to spot Dinky’s face in the crowd. But before she could even figure out where the complimentary seats might be, she felt a jab at her ribs.
Derpy jerked her head back through the gap. A sick actor? A problem with the lights? What now?
“Ma’am, you have no business here. Please don’t disrupt the performance,” Cherry Fizzy said. “We have to keep this looking professional.”
He had no idea who she was, did he? They’d only corresponded by mail. Yes, sir, just another stagehoof, nopony special here. She put out the little flame as quickly as it had started. It just didn’t matter. So she plodded away, where she couldn’t cause any harm.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and Derpy circled around to stage right to watch the show. The detailed scenery, the lovely outfits, the chill air and ice. Princess Platinum, Clover the Clever, Commander Hurricane, Private Pansy, Chancellor Puddinghead, Smart Cookie… even the narrator. Spike went a bit off script, but the audience loved it anyway.
They loved it! They had fun watching real unadorned historical events brought to life and made exciting! She nearly vibrated.
All the actors went to their dressing room, and she could hear them gushing, even at this distance. The audience cheered and chatted, going on about this and that, things they hadn’t realized or had learned wrong so long ago as foals. All perfect. And Derpy stood alone, out of the way, where nopony noticed her. Which was also fine. She didn’t need the limelight—only that a couple of ponies knew.
Derpy poked her head around the edge of the curtain. She didn’t see Princess Celestia anywhere.
The next morning, Derpy got to sleep in. It was Hearth’s Warming Day, after all. But somepony had come knocking at her door. At least the visitor had waited until after nine o’clock to come calling.
Derpy rolled out of bed and answered the door, a huge piece of skewed mane jutting off the side of her head. “Hello?”
She cocked her head at the visitor: a unicorn, just barely taller than her. But… it hurt Derpy’s head to look at her, like her brain was screaming at her that her vision told filthy lies. She winced, blinked, and watched the visitor’s hooves.
“Derpy, I just wanted to say how much your play impressed me. I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for writing it.” Derpy could hear the smile in her voice, even if she couldn’t bring herself to endure looking at it.
“You—you saw it?”
“Yes, I was in the audience. Just another face in the crowd. I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me.”
Derpy scratched her head. “H-how did you know I wrote it?”
“Rumors,” the visitor stated flatly. “Though you hid the fact well. No mention of you in the program, no bow after the show, no name up on the marquee.”
“I didn’t think it was important.” Derpy shrugged. A little recognition—just a little—was nice, but right now, she only wanted to crawl back into bed.
The visitor chuckled. “Yet another reason to admire you. Very few ponies will ever know what you did.”
“The ones who do are the ones who matter to me. I made some new friends who did a lot of kind things for me, and it was supposed to be a ‘contribution to Equestrian society’ anyway. So I got more than I counted on. Nothing wrong with that.” Derpy wiped the fog from her eyes. If this dragged on any longer, she’d wake up too much to go back to sleep.
“Good for you.” Once again, an unseen smile radiated through the words. “Just out of curiosity, how much did it end up costing you?”
“A little over seven hundred fifty bits.”
“Hm.” The visitor’s hoof scraped across the porch’s wooden planks. “Was it worth it?”
Derpy broke into a huge grin. “Absolutely!”
“I see.” The visitor turned to leave, and Derpy risked another glance at her—beneath the edge of her shawl, wingtips… “You should apply for a royal grant to fund further production. I have no doubt that those in power would endorse it as the official Hearth’s Warming story for future pageants across Equestria.”
Derpy gasped, but she suddenly felt… drowsy. Where? Not in the road. Where did the visitor go? Empty street, empty sky. More sleep. “Thank you, Princess,” she mumbled on her way back to a soft mattress and a warm blanket.