A Regular Valentines


                                            [nb despite upload order, this series starts with Thanksgiving, then progresses through the holidays chronologically]


                                            >Thump.

                                            >You look to your door.

                                            >The Regulars were at school you know, The Crusaders were at school you hope, and nopony had any special reservations for lunch.

                                            >Thump Thump.

                                            >Go away.

                                            >Today’s a day you’d rather be left alone.

                                            >Cold as hell, for one.

                                            >You’re gonna have a lot of foals to sit later tonight, for two.

                                            >And not even your favorite ones.

                                            >Oh yeah, and you’re alone on Valentine’s day.

                                            >Hearts and Hooves, they call it.

                                            >You like your job in Ponyville; you make time for ponies.

                                            >Sometimes you wish you had a reason to make your own time, is all.

                                            >You sigh and stand, then head to the door.

                                            >Thu-thump THWUMPH

                                            >You can hear something scurrying on your doormat as you reach to pull your door open, bracing against the chill.

                                            >By the time you do, Derpy’s airborne once again.

                                            >On the job, as expected this time of day. Abused uniform, crooked cap, and all.

                                            >Poor mare most have hit your door hard enough to knock herself out of the air.

                                            “Oh. Hi. Uh, sorry about the fall. I think.”

                                            >But she gives you a lopsided grin and holds out an envelope sandwiched – tightly – between her forehooves.

                                            >”Delivery!”

                                            >You gingerly grasp it and pull.

                                            >It takes some effort to liberate it from her overly-cautious grip.

                                            >When you do, you inspect it.

                                            >Plain white, unadorned.

                                            >No return address.

                                            >Not even addressed to you but for ANON scrawled across the front.

                                            >Not that it would confuse anyone as to the intended recipient.

                                            >Hell, some of the fillies and colts you watch sent letters exactly this way.

                                            >It did, however, have a proper stamp.

                                            >How perfectly it was placed in the corner, juxtaposed with the sloppy name scribbled on the front, is too comical to not laugh at.

                                            “Thanks. Do you know who-”

                                            >But Derpy’s already gone.

                                            >You shake your head, then turn back inside, closing your door against the cold behind you.

                                            >Did someone bother to send a card?

                                            >A preemptive thank-you note from one of the parents you’re enabling tonight?

                                            >Inside the envelope is no note, or no card.

                                            >It’s a map.

                                            >A map, you can see when you’ve unfolded it, of Ponyville.

                                            >The kind you’ve seen dozens of times before, a copy of the one they run off when there’s events in town for tourists and such.

                                            >One of the lesser-traveled minor squares is circled in red vigorously.

                                            >’GO’ reads the same hand – hoof, or horn – that scrawled your name on the front.

                                            >Fine.

                                            >If somepony wants to play a game with you…

                                            >It’s not like you’re doing anything else today.

                                            >You pull on your thick, long coat.

                                            >Followed by those nice gloves you got for Christmas.

                                            >Hearthswarming.

                                            >Whichever.

                                            >You flex your fingers in them, relishing the feeling.

                                            >At least a few ponies were looking out for you, here.

                                            >Besides the biting wind, wandering through town isn’t much of an issue.

                                            >After almost a year here, you’ve gotten used to having to walk everywhere, at least.

                                            >Ponies are milling as usual in the expanded intersection of sorts that makes up this lesser town square.

                                            >Except one in the middle.

                                            >She’s just standing there, stock-still.

                                            >She looks confused.

                                            >Wait, shit.

                                            >That’s Berry Punch.

                                            >The last mare you’d expect to see out today.

                                            >You stop and watch for a few moments.

                                            >She never moves from that spot, looking around at everyone else bewildered.

                                            >For all the other ponies’ parts, they don’t seem to pay her any mind.

                                            >But she notices you.

                                            >That confusion turns into…

                                            >Fright?

                                            >Then she bolts.

                                            >And, without even thinking, you dash after her.

                                            >While she may have blended in, ponies know to get out of the way of a giant sprinting ape.

                                            >You vault over a hedge and see her ducking between two buildings.

                                            ”Hey! Wait!”

                                            >You reach where she disappeared, then take a couple steps into the space yourself.

                                            >One hoof knocks one of your shoulders, spinning you in place, while another hits your chest, pushing you against the wall.

                                            >”What’re’ya doing?!” Berry snarls.

                                            “I was going to ask you that!”

                                            >She glances down at your hand, then does a double-take. “What is that?”

                                            >You hold it up.

                                            “A map. Someone wanted me to go back there.”

                                            >Several different emotions flit across Berry’s face in sequence, but the one that sticks is resignation.

                                            >She pushes off you with her forehooves, dropping to all fours atop the box she needs to stand on to get to eye-level with you.

                                            >After a wordless moment of string at the ground, another kaleidoscope of emotions wells up, and the one that wins the spin this time is anger.

                                            >”Then you’re pro’ly the only one sorrier today than me.”

                                            “What?”

                                            >She looks back at you, irritation flashing in her eyes. “I’s watchin’ everypony there, Anon. All’a them. None were waitin’ for somepony. You were played fer a foal.”

                                            >You look down at the two big letters on the map.

                                            >Remember the uneven lettering on the envelope.

                                            “Hey, what does Derpy do if she wants to send a letter? She’s the mailpony, does she even bother with anything special?”

                                            >Berry blinks, clearing that irritation for confusion like when you first saw her. “Uh, she has Dinky keep a stack of envelopes. She can’t ever put stamps on right. Probably the eyes. Why?”

                                            >Then she looks back down at the map, understanding dawning.

                                            “I think I was supposed to meet you.”

                                            >The slot machine of feelings runs through her eyes again.

                                            >You stop it with a tap on her nose.

                                            “Stop that. What were you doing back there?”

                                            >Nervous.

                                            >That’s what came up this time, in those too-honest eyes.

                                            >”You shouldn’t do that,” she mutters.

                                            >Then, with a glance back out to the street. “And you shouldn’t be seen with me. People will talk.”

                                            “Ah, yeah, you’re probably right. Sorry.”

                                            >”Not about me, idiot. About you. You have a better reputation you sh’try’ta keep.”

                                            “I’m not going until you tell me what-”

                                            >-’s wrong.

                                            “-you were doing back there.”

                                            >Berry hops off the box, and peers around the corner beside her, then the other way for good measure. Seeing none of whatever she wanted to see none of, she turns back to you. “I, uh, I’ad a drink. Just one.”

                                            ”Just one?”

                                            >Now she can’t make up her mind; like one eye looks annoyed and the other sad. “Yeah. Out’a habit. But it didn’t feel right. Like a betrayal. So I left. Either I go crazy or I go out.”

                                            >She sighs, and looks down to the ground, pawing a hoof. “And when I got there, I realized I’ad no idea what to do.”

                                            >You peer around the corner yourself, just a slight tilt of your body.

                                            “Lets go for a stroll.”

                                            >”Anon, you-”

                                            “We don’t have to be near anyone. Straight out, take the long way home. Come on. It’ll give us both something to do.”

                                            >Those eyes, now…

                                            >Relief.

                                            >You can do something right, buddy.

                                            >The two of you strike out towards the semi-manicured wilderness immediately surrounding the town.

                                            >Ponyville has a lot of parkland, but it’s cold enough today no couples or herds are making use of it, preferring to stick near the restaurants they’re eating at, in case the wind picks up.

                                            >Since your house was also on the outskirts, you could make it back without stepping foot on a street.

                                            “You looked frozen, back there.”

                                            >”First Hearts’n’hooves I went outside in’a long time.”

                                            >You look down at her.

                                            >She’s got her eyes on the path ahead, and is keeping pace fine.

                                            >Can’t try to read her eyes like this.

                                            “Have you eaten anything?”

                                            >”Nuh-uh.”

                                            “Well, come crash at my place for the afternoon. ‘Til school’s out. I’ll make lunch and we can chill out. Not like I was doing anything today, either.”

                                            >That got a reaction.

                                            >She slowly and steadily turns to look up at you, never missing a step.

                                            >”Are ya sure?”

                                            >You shrug.

                                            “You’re miserable. I’m miserable. ‘Least we can be miserable together, if we gotta.”

                                            >She smiles at you.

                                            >It’s not as sad a smile as you anticipated.

                                            >”Fine, we’ll do it yer way.”

                                            >You look back to the path.

                                            >After a moment, so does she.

                                            “I’m, uh, sorry if this is rude, but I’m glad to hear it was just one.”

                                            >”Yeah. What time’s it now? I’d be well on my second.”

                                            ”If I wasn’t dragged out of the house I might be two glasses in-”

                                            >”Second bottle.”

                                            “Ah.”

                                            >“I wont deny I’m a heavy drinker, but today was always the worst.”

                                            >You stay silent for a bit.

                                            >What, exactly, happened between her and her husband?

                                            >”But…”

                                            >She brings you back to the walk.

                                            >”But I’ve been trying, Anon.”

                                            >You want to say you’d heard.

                                            >You want to give her support.

                                            >But you don’t know how much she’d want you knowing.

                                            >You don’t know how high a degree of confidence her daughter tells you this stuff in.

                                            >”An’ I’ve got you t’thank.”

                                            >This draws your eyes back down to her, though she’s still looking ahead.

                                            “Me?”

                                            >”Yeah. Really Ruby, but I know y’put her up to it.”

                                            “Berry, I don’t put the kids up to anything.”

                                            >”Nah, but y’teach ‘em. Right. She wouldn’-” A sniffle. “Wouldn’a come back if it weren’ f’you.”

                                            “If you start crying in the middle of the path, I’m going to have to carry you home.”

                                            >She goes ramrod straight.

                                            “That’s more like it.”

                                            >You talk about lighter subjects the rest of the way back to your house, just keeping her distracted.

                                            >And when you get home, you get to the door first, and open it for her.

                                            >She doesn’t seem to notice?

                                            >Most of the parents of your kids have been inside your house a few times – the stallions usually fuss about the place before they let you watch their foals in the first place – so she sees her way to your living room.

                                            >Lunch is something quick but you make sure it’s something hot.

                                            >You reach for the bottle of wine you were thinking of popping tonight when all the foals are gone, but stop halfway to the cabinet.

                                            >Can’t do that with her here. Be supportive.

                                            >Water will do for now, you suppose.

                                            >Ironic, since she’s the one you’ve been getting your recent acquisitions from.

                                            >You take her plate and glass into the living room.

                                            >She’s on your couch, but her eyes are fixed out the window.

                                            >You drag over a TV dinner tray with a foot and put the plate right in front of her face.

                                            “Here. Eat up.”

                                            >She looks at the plate, then at you, with those big ol’ honest eyes.

                                            >Are those the tears she held back before?

                                            >”You didn’t have t’do this.”

                                            “No, but I did anyway. Sorry it isn’t anything nicer.”

                                            >You turn back to the kitchen, but as you’re passing the dining room table between the two, she speaks again.

                                            >”D’y’know how long it’s been since a stallion’s made anything fer me?”

                                            >You drum your fingers on the table beside you.

                                            “Don’t see why it matters.”

                                            >”Today of all days?”

                                            >You turn to look back at her.

                                            >Tears, yes.

                                            >But also a smile.

                                            “Don’t let that get cold now.”

                                            >You return a smile of your own, and she nods.

                                            >You fetch your own plate, and head back to occupy another of the many chairs you’ve been collecting in your living room.

                                            >Never enough when you could have half a dozen youngsters running around, they’ll use anything relatively flat as a surface.

                                            “You know, I’m gonna have to thank Derpy, too.”

                                            >Berry looks up from her already half-eaten sandwich.

                                            “And so are you, but as I said I wasn’t feeling the best either. This may not mean much, but the company’s nice, today.”

                                            >“You know, Anon, the girls and I were…”

                                            “Hrm?”

                                            >She shakes her head. “Nevermind.” Then a laugh. “You know, if Derpy warned me about this, I coulda done somethin’ fer you. As romantic as having to sneak out the back door is, this ain’t much of a date.”

                                            >You wave her off.

                                            “For two lonely hearts, I think it’s enough.”