Post by waxworks on Jan 16, 2014 2:37:58 GMT
The air was cool and prying, a definite sign that Winter was in Ponyville. Of course any pony that lived in Ponyville would've been well aware of it as the arrival of Winter was more a scheduled event than a sudden, unexpected flurry of snow. But Riddle Bits didn't live in Ponyville, not yet anyway. She was standing on a road with the entirety of the town stretching out before her, thinking herself on some hypothetical border to her new life. Had it really just been a week ago that she'd set off on her quest to establish herself as a business-force in Ponyville? Wasn't it just last night that she'd been warm in her family's large tent, sleeping between her siblings? Didn't she help her mother make breakfast just that morning?
But no, of course that couldn't be right. Most of her siblings had all struck off on their own years ago. Even her own twin sister had bid them a tearful farewell as she went off to study medicine. With the realization that all of them had made their way in the world, and her little brother was already thinking about going off as well, she suddenly realized she was becoming a homebody. Spurred on by perhaps a mixture of wishing to maintain some level of equality with her twin sister and an urge to prove she could stand on her own four legs in the world, Riddle struck out with the traditional allowance. 20 bits, a small tent, and whatever possessions she could carry on her back. So in total she had her small allowance, the tent, a homemade blanket her mother had woven, and a mechanical calculator that looked like a small pepper mill.
The 20 bits was a family tradition. It was assumed that a proper merchant needed little more than that and their own cunning to start a thriving business, but of course Riddle's family wasn't archaic or cruel. There was no shunning, no penalty for failure. Anypony that couldn't manage as much simply returned to their family and was welcomed back with good cheer, and assumed a role working in the family business.
But that wouldn't happen to Riddle Bits, she was certain of it. More than certain, she had made a decision that she'd only return triumphantly, or not at all. She knew they'd be happy to see her again no matter how she returned, but in the back of her mind she was certain there'd be a lingering disappointment that she wouldn't dare taint the memory of her family with.
The marketplace. It certainly was a thriving marketplace, especially for such a small town. Riddle had grown up in various marketplaces, moving about with her family as they'd pull up and put down stakes here and there, establish trade routes, join up with extended family members and separate again to seek out new opportunities. She already felt a strange sense of familiarity as she walked between the tents and overheard the chatter of ponies eagerly doing business. It wasn't just in her blood, it was in her bones, her pelt, her hooves, merchandising was so ingrained in her that any flea that ever bit her had the insatiable urge to set up a wee tent and establish itself as a thriving flea market.
The basil colored pony let her mind wander as she explored every corner of the marketplace. She'd soon know each of these stalls and tents as well as she knew her own Cutie Mark. Don't sell what the others sell unless you can sell it for cheaper, never sell somepony else's signature product, use what you can to repackage what you buy and resell it for profit, never charge significantly less than anypony else, never charge significantly more. As these lessons bubbled around under her bowler cap, she came to an empty lot between two tents. Lot 648. She'd had the foresight to write to Ponyville's offices of planning and plotting to make certain there'd be a space for her, and much to her amazement there had been no charge for reserving a space of her own. Still 20 bits to her name, and she had a location.
Without wasting any time she unfurled her tent, a dull gray thing designed more to keep its occupant dry than anything else. It wasn't fashionable, charming, or inviting, but it should keep you dry, provided the patches held up. Given that her grandfather patched it up, they'd hold up through a monsoon. When fully erected it was your classic, triangular tent, the sort that was essentially two triangles and four rectangles. So that was that, she had a tent. A business. She smiled and bobbled slightly, pleased. It would be a fine bazaar, she was certain of that. She just had to get something to sell. Anything, really. They always said a good salespony could sell ice in the Crystal Empire or sand in Saddle Arabia, but that was a good con artist. A good salespony could package things to make them more appealing, make distant products easily accessible, save their customers time and money, bring convenience to various avenues of life, and find a practical reason to sell a bucket full of rocks.
Tent unfurled, her hoof-woven blanket spread on the ground, she was open for business! And she absolutely nothing to sell, aside from the tent and the blanket. Perhaps her hat if things got difficult. The pocket calculator from her grandfather was a gift and that was not to be sold under any circumstances. She ran back through her mental check of the marketplace. She needed paper, pen, and twine to begin with. The blanket was rolled back up and replaced in her bag but the tent could stay where it was as she trotted about. Apples, exceedingly delicious looking ones. She couldn't sell these, but she could certainly eat them. A loaf of fresh bread, a few vegetables, twine, paper, a candle, two large jars, a bag of jellybeans, a number of small folding paper boxes, a miniature wooden barrel, a small chalkboard, even with some chalk thrown in for free. She even was lucky enough to find some distressed objects. Misshapen jugs, jars that were too small, misfired pots, fabric scraps, she managed to get away with a dozen laughably tiny bottles and another dozen tiny earthenware pots for just one bit together.
All of this gathered, she quietly set to work. The bread and vegetables were neatly sliced, arranged, and cautiously wrapped in paper and twine. Ponyville's rivers were remarkably clean and pure, and it was from here she drew fresh water into the tiny bottles. She harvested small amounts of lemongrass from where it grew wild along the banks, and then set to work trying to remember every minor magic spell her family had ever used. Simple things you could easily teach but wouldn't just happen to come across. She cut up some of the excess paper and scribbled down the spells onto each slip, rolling them neatly and sealing them each with a single drop of wax from the candle.
Her work finished she reopened her bazaar, a collection of sandwiches wrapped in paper, some of them neatly tucked into boxes with the apples, jars of water, and lemongrass. While it was true she couldn't sell the apples, she could certainly include them with another purchase as incentive. The spells went into a larger jar as a sort of randomized drawing, the jellybeans went into another jar as a guessing game, and the chalkboard was strung up with a trivia question upon it, and a promise of five bits to the pony who submitted the correct answer, with the cost of just a single bit to play. It was a gamble as she had less than 10 bits to her name now, but without risk came no profit.
And without customers, came a very long, cold day.
The little unicorn mare sat on the blanket with her wares, watching ponies trot by throughout the day. They barely even saw her despite the fact she was a fairly striking young unicorn, and her stare was so intent that you could trip over her gaze. That was how it went until the sun went down and the other merchants packed up and headed home. But of course, Riddle was already home. She neatly assembled everything, quietly ate one of the boxed lunches herself for dinner, and pushed her wares back into her tent.
It was cold in Ponyville, Winter was encroaching and the tent, though dry, did little to keep the cold out. Wrapping herself in the blanket and resting her head on the pile of tiny clay pots, she reasoned out that all in all, it wasn't a bad first day. Considering she had no word of mouth for her business, very limited visual flair, and the fact she'd begun selling lunches after lunchtime, it had to look up tomorrow. That was it. She'd get an early start, be a dazzling, mysterious presence, make a profit, go out and buy more to sell, and keep at it. She'd keep at it, and who knows. Maybe in a few days she could afford a proper merchant's tent or some shelves. Or a pillow and a warmer blanket.
--------
The Ponyville Marketplace was cold. Cold and dark, now that business had concluded for the day. Several of the merchants had rolled their tents up, others hadn't properly secured them so that the fabric flapped noisily in the cold wind. Through this gloomy gallery came a low, cheerful rumble. It started off as what could've been mistaken for a distant chorus of cows mooing in unison, but as it grew it became more seasoned and hearty, a happy sound like some enormous ruler being twanged against a desk and allowed to reverberate for ages.
It rolled through the marketplace like someone had upturned a massive bucket of warm, bubbling water, and swimming along with it was a large blue pegasus. He was clopping along merrily, swaying slightly as he sang, and with a combination of his girth and winter coat, a proper blue furball. His size alone made him seem like he should've been some sort of inflatable advertising mascot holding a wagon over his head and promising tremendous deals on used carts.
Dusty was having a cheerful evening. A smattering of cider and chips at the Stirrup Cup with friends after a long day of work, and now he was weaving himself through town in his typical style en route back to the junkyard. It had been a nice day, but of course as far as Dusty Pan was concerned they were all nice days, followed up by nice nights. He was filled up with so much good cheer that it was bubbling out from under his hat and tickling his ears.
He regarded the marketplace happily as he clopped through it, noting with some amusement how spooky it looked in the moonlight. Perhaps one evening he'd invite Waxy on a stroll through it to give her some inspiration. The dark stalls, the shuddering fabric, the ghostly moonlight, the small warm light flickering weakly amongst it all.
The large stallion stopped and tried to fix his eyes on that again. It was incredibly weak, actually, really no more than a soft splash of dim light against an even dimmer background, but it caught his attention well enough. He slowly approached it curiously, picking his way around crates and barrels, through a thoroughfare and towards the tiniest tent he'd seen outside of a Junior Ponyscout Jamboree.
A miniature image appeared on the tarp for just a moment, it was brief but he could make out ears quite clearly. Somepony was camping, and on a night like this? Dusty shook his head and couldn't entirely believe that, especially feeling the continually dropping temperature that was even beginning to sneak through his own thick blue coat. He peered again, inching as slowly as he could towards the tent, again seeing a brief flickering image of a pony outlined in the dark again, and from what he could make out, a small one too. In a tent, in the cold.
He cleared his throat politely, and suddenly the candle went out, and the tent went silent.
He waited for a moment and raised his eyebrows. "Hallooo?"
Nothing, the tent remained silent. He frowned, wondering what to do. It'd be rude to intrude on someone else's tent, but his gentlecolt nature wouldn't let him leave either. He ventured again, "hallooo?"
Still nothing. He frowned. It was genuinely too cold for some little pony to stay in such a small tent. Dusty thought for moment, and smiled.
"I do believe I've had a trifle too much to eat, and simply can't walk all the way home. I suppose I'll just tuck up alongside this little tent until morning."
He waited for a moment, then picked the side most deluged by the cold wind and dropped his bulk in front of it, leaning ever so carefully against the tent. All tucked up, he was like a big blue radiator on this cold night and with any luck he could do a fair job keeping somepony warm. After a few minutes of this, a small voice came from inside the tent.
"...What are you doing?"
"Ah, my apologies," said Dusty warmly, "I didn't realize there was somepony inside this little tent! But where are my manners, I am Dusty Pan, your friendly Ponyville waste collecting pony, and I am currently attempting to keep you from freezing, miss...?"
There was silence inside the tent. Dusty swore he could hear the sound of eyes darting back and forth in thought while he waited for a response.
"Riddle."
The large stallion blinked in momentary confusion, shrugged his fluffy blue shoulder, and proceeded, "alright then, what can go up a chimney down but not down a chimney u-"
"An umbrella," came the rapid response from inside the tent.
"Very good," he cried happily, "truth be told I was just glad to have one on hoof to give you, it is not often I'm asked for riddles from unseen ponies."
"My name is Riddle," said the voice inside the tent. A moment later the front of the tent shuddered slightly and undid itself, a small green face with large ears and bright almond eyes peering warily at him around the tent's edge.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Riddle. I am still Dusty Pan, sanitation pony."
She peered at the large, smiling blue thing that had moored alongside her tent. He didn't seem necessarily dangerous, but it was quite honestly the largest pony she'd ever seen in her life and on a dark night she certainly wasn't stupid enough to venture out to a stranger and leave her modest tent in...
Riddle's brain played out a quick scenario. This stallion was easily larger than her tent, and the only thing that would keep him out was a wall of thin fabric. If he wanted to, she reasoned it would be entirely possible for him to simply lift the entire tent and carry her off. Or simply tear open a wall, or just shake her out like a hamster from a sock. She opened the flap entirely and trotted out to look at Dusty in his entirety.
"What exactly is it you want, sir?"
Her voice had a seasoned Saddle Arabian accent that gave it a musical quality, even when peppered with suspicion and mild annoyance.
"Ah, well you see miss, I feel it is my duty as a gentlecolt to ensure that a young mare does not freeze solid in the Ponyville Marketplace, by offering her a warm room at the Ponyville Junkyard."
She regarded him with worry.
"I might add miss, that I am not the only pony who lives and works at the Junkyard, a number of mares and stallions will be happy to share a warm meal and quarters with a new friend."
"And if I refuse?"
"Well then you go back in your tent and I resume sleeping alongside it until the sun rises."
"...very well," said Riddle Bits, as she went back inside her tent and closed the flap.
While she was a shrewd, albeit young, merchant, she still lacked an ability her parents both had. Her mother when she made a sale, her father when he made an arrest, they could both read ponies. It wasn't unicorn magic, it was some sort of innate ability that a seasoned merchant picked up as they went. They could size up a pony with a glance and read their intentions, nature, attitude, trustworthiness, it was the gleaming sword of business that could cleave a way to an easy sale. So to her this large blue stallion was a complete mystery. A large mystery with a Prench accent.
She eyed the wall of her tent, and could almost feel the heat coming off of it. Was he really going to stay out there all night? Fine, let him. She still was wondering about the logic of her decision, wondering about the validity of the offer of a hot meal and warm bed. He'd seen her worry at the idea of going off with a strange stallion, he'd assured her there were other mares and stallions, and while she couldn't read ponies well yet, she was certainly not getting a lascivious vibe off of him. Despite his size, he didn't really seem threatening. Sort of puffed up and warm, like a big loaf of fresh blue bread.
Minutes passed, possibly even an hour. She hadn't moved, and neither had he, still napping alongside the tent despite the cold. He at least seemed honest about that much of his offer. She thought back to her time in Ponyville thus far. Getting the lot in the Marketplace without paying for it. The other merchants offering her additional things along with her order. Pleasant, smiling faces on all of the ponies wandering to and fro without any worry about where they strayed. She sighed nervously, and came to a decision.
The tent opened and the small mare emerged. "Very well, lead on."
Dusty lounged happily for a moment then cascaded to his feet, "very good! If you'd follow me miss, we will be there presently."
"My name is Riddle Bits, sir. You may call me as much."
"Ah, very good miss Bits-"
"Riddle, please."
Dusty nodded as they trotted. He'd surreptitiously placed himself on the left, still acting as a wind guard for the young mare. With a cheerful grin he replied, "it's not often I'm called sir, and while I relish the novelty, I think I'd be far more at ease if you would call me Dusty."
The smaller mare didn't reply as they continued on their way. It wasn't until she saw the wooden fence surrounding the junkyard and heard a cheerful collection of voices from inside that her worry suddenly shifted off of her in one great slough.
"This is where you live, sir? Dusty?"
"Mmhm, welcome to the stacks."
As the two walked from the entrance and to the doorway of a large shanty a rousing chorus of cheers came up, issued by a number of Ponyville's other mares and stallions dedicated to the fine tradition of carting off rubbish.
"Everypony! Might I introduce you all to a new friend who will be sharing our company this evening, Riddle Bits, Riddle Bits, everypony!"
He fired off a list of names that Riddle quickly matched up to a variety of smiling faces and waving hooves. There were earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi there of all shapes and sizes. It seemed that the entire room served as sleeping quarters for the lot of them, numerous beds built out of all sorts of odds and ends, discarded cushions, blankets, pillows, mattress bits, mats and more, making the entire room look like a massive patchwork quilt.
Riddle's nose wriggled, as some delicious odor wafted through the air. Bubbling away on a stove was a large stew pot with something inside, and in moments she found herself being presented with a hearty, steaming bowl of leek, lentil, and cabbage soup, and a torn hunk of freshly baked bread. She was sat between Dusty and an earth pony mare at a large circular table which really served as more of a gravity anchor as the ponies orbited it happily, sharing stories, playing cards, singing songs, hoof-wrestling, and so on. In an odd sort of way, Riddle was reminded of home.
That night she found herself sleeping amongst a pile of warm, snoring bodies, which again seemed to remind her of her siblings back home. With a full belly and a warm (though slightly crowded) bed, she drifted off into a safe sleep.
In the morning, a number of the ponies had already ventured out to begin their rounds in Ponyville, while Dusty stayed on to see her off.
"You know," he said warmly, scratching one of his shoulders against the a corner of the shanty, "one of the things we pride ourselves on here is not just taking trash away, but making it not trash again. You know the old sayin, one pony's trash-"
"-is another pony's treasure," finished Riddle, her eyes scanning the giant heaps of objects that filled the yard. She turned to the pegasus, "I am grateful sir, Dusty, sir, for the meal and shelter but... I would not feel right taking these things to sell them."
"Perhaps consider them a gift?"
"Then I would most certainly not sell them sir, Dusty, sir, one is not meant to sell away gifts."
"Well that is a predicament." He leaned back and closed his eyes in thought for a moment as he scratched a particularly good itch. His eyelids opened again as a thought dawned on him. "Then... what about an investment?"
"I would rather not take financial-"
"No no little Riddle," said Dusty smiling brightly as he walked over to a heap and inspected it, "I mean, perhaps myself and the other dustponies offer you access to whatever scraps and bits you might need from here, in the hopes that should your shop succeed we might all have a new favorite place in the marketplace to frequent?"
Riddle blinked as her brain chewed on the prospect. There were certainly things here she could use, repurpose. Maybe nothing that could be fairly sold, it was mostly trash after all, but wood scraps. Empty barrels. Wooden crates. Scraps, odds and ends. Bits here and there. It could all be made useful again, display shelves, storage of products...
"You'd really allow me to do such things?"
"It is not in the nature of a gentlecolt to refuse a lady," said Dusty, smiling and bowing his shaggy head low.
The small basil unicorn took a deep breath and nodded in satisfaction as she beheld possibility. That's all she really needed in this world, possibility. Enough of that, and you could go anywhere. She glanced at Dusty and smiled, "I think, Dusty, sir, that we are in business."
But no, of course that couldn't be right. Most of her siblings had all struck off on their own years ago. Even her own twin sister had bid them a tearful farewell as she went off to study medicine. With the realization that all of them had made their way in the world, and her little brother was already thinking about going off as well, she suddenly realized she was becoming a homebody. Spurred on by perhaps a mixture of wishing to maintain some level of equality with her twin sister and an urge to prove she could stand on her own four legs in the world, Riddle struck out with the traditional allowance. 20 bits, a small tent, and whatever possessions she could carry on her back. So in total she had her small allowance, the tent, a homemade blanket her mother had woven, and a mechanical calculator that looked like a small pepper mill.
The 20 bits was a family tradition. It was assumed that a proper merchant needed little more than that and their own cunning to start a thriving business, but of course Riddle's family wasn't archaic or cruel. There was no shunning, no penalty for failure. Anypony that couldn't manage as much simply returned to their family and was welcomed back with good cheer, and assumed a role working in the family business.
But that wouldn't happen to Riddle Bits, she was certain of it. More than certain, she had made a decision that she'd only return triumphantly, or not at all. She knew they'd be happy to see her again no matter how she returned, but in the back of her mind she was certain there'd be a lingering disappointment that she wouldn't dare taint the memory of her family with.
The marketplace. It certainly was a thriving marketplace, especially for such a small town. Riddle had grown up in various marketplaces, moving about with her family as they'd pull up and put down stakes here and there, establish trade routes, join up with extended family members and separate again to seek out new opportunities. She already felt a strange sense of familiarity as she walked between the tents and overheard the chatter of ponies eagerly doing business. It wasn't just in her blood, it was in her bones, her pelt, her hooves, merchandising was so ingrained in her that any flea that ever bit her had the insatiable urge to set up a wee tent and establish itself as a thriving flea market.
The basil colored pony let her mind wander as she explored every corner of the marketplace. She'd soon know each of these stalls and tents as well as she knew her own Cutie Mark. Don't sell what the others sell unless you can sell it for cheaper, never sell somepony else's signature product, use what you can to repackage what you buy and resell it for profit, never charge significantly less than anypony else, never charge significantly more. As these lessons bubbled around under her bowler cap, she came to an empty lot between two tents. Lot 648. She'd had the foresight to write to Ponyville's offices of planning and plotting to make certain there'd be a space for her, and much to her amazement there had been no charge for reserving a space of her own. Still 20 bits to her name, and she had a location.
Without wasting any time she unfurled her tent, a dull gray thing designed more to keep its occupant dry than anything else. It wasn't fashionable, charming, or inviting, but it should keep you dry, provided the patches held up. Given that her grandfather patched it up, they'd hold up through a monsoon. When fully erected it was your classic, triangular tent, the sort that was essentially two triangles and four rectangles. So that was that, she had a tent. A business. She smiled and bobbled slightly, pleased. It would be a fine bazaar, she was certain of that. She just had to get something to sell. Anything, really. They always said a good salespony could sell ice in the Crystal Empire or sand in Saddle Arabia, but that was a good con artist. A good salespony could package things to make them more appealing, make distant products easily accessible, save their customers time and money, bring convenience to various avenues of life, and find a practical reason to sell a bucket full of rocks.
Tent unfurled, her hoof-woven blanket spread on the ground, she was open for business! And she absolutely nothing to sell, aside from the tent and the blanket. Perhaps her hat if things got difficult. The pocket calculator from her grandfather was a gift and that was not to be sold under any circumstances. She ran back through her mental check of the marketplace. She needed paper, pen, and twine to begin with. The blanket was rolled back up and replaced in her bag but the tent could stay where it was as she trotted about. Apples, exceedingly delicious looking ones. She couldn't sell these, but she could certainly eat them. A loaf of fresh bread, a few vegetables, twine, paper, a candle, two large jars, a bag of jellybeans, a number of small folding paper boxes, a miniature wooden barrel, a small chalkboard, even with some chalk thrown in for free. She even was lucky enough to find some distressed objects. Misshapen jugs, jars that were too small, misfired pots, fabric scraps, she managed to get away with a dozen laughably tiny bottles and another dozen tiny earthenware pots for just one bit together.
All of this gathered, she quietly set to work. The bread and vegetables were neatly sliced, arranged, and cautiously wrapped in paper and twine. Ponyville's rivers were remarkably clean and pure, and it was from here she drew fresh water into the tiny bottles. She harvested small amounts of lemongrass from where it grew wild along the banks, and then set to work trying to remember every minor magic spell her family had ever used. Simple things you could easily teach but wouldn't just happen to come across. She cut up some of the excess paper and scribbled down the spells onto each slip, rolling them neatly and sealing them each with a single drop of wax from the candle.
Her work finished she reopened her bazaar, a collection of sandwiches wrapped in paper, some of them neatly tucked into boxes with the apples, jars of water, and lemongrass. While it was true she couldn't sell the apples, she could certainly include them with another purchase as incentive. The spells went into a larger jar as a sort of randomized drawing, the jellybeans went into another jar as a guessing game, and the chalkboard was strung up with a trivia question upon it, and a promise of five bits to the pony who submitted the correct answer, with the cost of just a single bit to play. It was a gamble as she had less than 10 bits to her name now, but without risk came no profit.
And without customers, came a very long, cold day.
The little unicorn mare sat on the blanket with her wares, watching ponies trot by throughout the day. They barely even saw her despite the fact she was a fairly striking young unicorn, and her stare was so intent that you could trip over her gaze. That was how it went until the sun went down and the other merchants packed up and headed home. But of course, Riddle was already home. She neatly assembled everything, quietly ate one of the boxed lunches herself for dinner, and pushed her wares back into her tent.
It was cold in Ponyville, Winter was encroaching and the tent, though dry, did little to keep the cold out. Wrapping herself in the blanket and resting her head on the pile of tiny clay pots, she reasoned out that all in all, it wasn't a bad first day. Considering she had no word of mouth for her business, very limited visual flair, and the fact she'd begun selling lunches after lunchtime, it had to look up tomorrow. That was it. She'd get an early start, be a dazzling, mysterious presence, make a profit, go out and buy more to sell, and keep at it. She'd keep at it, and who knows. Maybe in a few days she could afford a proper merchant's tent or some shelves. Or a pillow and a warmer blanket.
--------
The Ponyville Marketplace was cold. Cold and dark, now that business had concluded for the day. Several of the merchants had rolled their tents up, others hadn't properly secured them so that the fabric flapped noisily in the cold wind. Through this gloomy gallery came a low, cheerful rumble. It started off as what could've been mistaken for a distant chorus of cows mooing in unison, but as it grew it became more seasoned and hearty, a happy sound like some enormous ruler being twanged against a desk and allowed to reverberate for ages.
It rolled through the marketplace like someone had upturned a massive bucket of warm, bubbling water, and swimming along with it was a large blue pegasus. He was clopping along merrily, swaying slightly as he sang, and with a combination of his girth and winter coat, a proper blue furball. His size alone made him seem like he should've been some sort of inflatable advertising mascot holding a wagon over his head and promising tremendous deals on used carts.
Dusty was having a cheerful evening. A smattering of cider and chips at the Stirrup Cup with friends after a long day of work, and now he was weaving himself through town in his typical style en route back to the junkyard. It had been a nice day, but of course as far as Dusty Pan was concerned they were all nice days, followed up by nice nights. He was filled up with so much good cheer that it was bubbling out from under his hat and tickling his ears.
He regarded the marketplace happily as he clopped through it, noting with some amusement how spooky it looked in the moonlight. Perhaps one evening he'd invite Waxy on a stroll through it to give her some inspiration. The dark stalls, the shuddering fabric, the ghostly moonlight, the small warm light flickering weakly amongst it all.
The large stallion stopped and tried to fix his eyes on that again. It was incredibly weak, actually, really no more than a soft splash of dim light against an even dimmer background, but it caught his attention well enough. He slowly approached it curiously, picking his way around crates and barrels, through a thoroughfare and towards the tiniest tent he'd seen outside of a Junior Ponyscout Jamboree.
A miniature image appeared on the tarp for just a moment, it was brief but he could make out ears quite clearly. Somepony was camping, and on a night like this? Dusty shook his head and couldn't entirely believe that, especially feeling the continually dropping temperature that was even beginning to sneak through his own thick blue coat. He peered again, inching as slowly as he could towards the tent, again seeing a brief flickering image of a pony outlined in the dark again, and from what he could make out, a small one too. In a tent, in the cold.
He cleared his throat politely, and suddenly the candle went out, and the tent went silent.
He waited for a moment and raised his eyebrows. "Hallooo?"
Nothing, the tent remained silent. He frowned, wondering what to do. It'd be rude to intrude on someone else's tent, but his gentlecolt nature wouldn't let him leave either. He ventured again, "hallooo?"
Still nothing. He frowned. It was genuinely too cold for some little pony to stay in such a small tent. Dusty thought for moment, and smiled.
"I do believe I've had a trifle too much to eat, and simply can't walk all the way home. I suppose I'll just tuck up alongside this little tent until morning."
He waited for a moment, then picked the side most deluged by the cold wind and dropped his bulk in front of it, leaning ever so carefully against the tent. All tucked up, he was like a big blue radiator on this cold night and with any luck he could do a fair job keeping somepony warm. After a few minutes of this, a small voice came from inside the tent.
"...What are you doing?"
"Ah, my apologies," said Dusty warmly, "I didn't realize there was somepony inside this little tent! But where are my manners, I am Dusty Pan, your friendly Ponyville waste collecting pony, and I am currently attempting to keep you from freezing, miss...?"
There was silence inside the tent. Dusty swore he could hear the sound of eyes darting back and forth in thought while he waited for a response.
"Riddle."
The large stallion blinked in momentary confusion, shrugged his fluffy blue shoulder, and proceeded, "alright then, what can go up a chimney down but not down a chimney u-"
"An umbrella," came the rapid response from inside the tent.
"Very good," he cried happily, "truth be told I was just glad to have one on hoof to give you, it is not often I'm asked for riddles from unseen ponies."
"My name is Riddle," said the voice inside the tent. A moment later the front of the tent shuddered slightly and undid itself, a small green face with large ears and bright almond eyes peering warily at him around the tent's edge.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Riddle. I am still Dusty Pan, sanitation pony."
She peered at the large, smiling blue thing that had moored alongside her tent. He didn't seem necessarily dangerous, but it was quite honestly the largest pony she'd ever seen in her life and on a dark night she certainly wasn't stupid enough to venture out to a stranger and leave her modest tent in...
Riddle's brain played out a quick scenario. This stallion was easily larger than her tent, and the only thing that would keep him out was a wall of thin fabric. If he wanted to, she reasoned it would be entirely possible for him to simply lift the entire tent and carry her off. Or simply tear open a wall, or just shake her out like a hamster from a sock. She opened the flap entirely and trotted out to look at Dusty in his entirety.
"What exactly is it you want, sir?"
Her voice had a seasoned Saddle Arabian accent that gave it a musical quality, even when peppered with suspicion and mild annoyance.
"Ah, well you see miss, I feel it is my duty as a gentlecolt to ensure that a young mare does not freeze solid in the Ponyville Marketplace, by offering her a warm room at the Ponyville Junkyard."
She regarded him with worry.
"I might add miss, that I am not the only pony who lives and works at the Junkyard, a number of mares and stallions will be happy to share a warm meal and quarters with a new friend."
"And if I refuse?"
"Well then you go back in your tent and I resume sleeping alongside it until the sun rises."
"...very well," said Riddle Bits, as she went back inside her tent and closed the flap.
While she was a shrewd, albeit young, merchant, she still lacked an ability her parents both had. Her mother when she made a sale, her father when he made an arrest, they could both read ponies. It wasn't unicorn magic, it was some sort of innate ability that a seasoned merchant picked up as they went. They could size up a pony with a glance and read their intentions, nature, attitude, trustworthiness, it was the gleaming sword of business that could cleave a way to an easy sale. So to her this large blue stallion was a complete mystery. A large mystery with a Prench accent.
She eyed the wall of her tent, and could almost feel the heat coming off of it. Was he really going to stay out there all night? Fine, let him. She still was wondering about the logic of her decision, wondering about the validity of the offer of a hot meal and warm bed. He'd seen her worry at the idea of going off with a strange stallion, he'd assured her there were other mares and stallions, and while she couldn't read ponies well yet, she was certainly not getting a lascivious vibe off of him. Despite his size, he didn't really seem threatening. Sort of puffed up and warm, like a big loaf of fresh blue bread.
Minutes passed, possibly even an hour. She hadn't moved, and neither had he, still napping alongside the tent despite the cold. He at least seemed honest about that much of his offer. She thought back to her time in Ponyville thus far. Getting the lot in the Marketplace without paying for it. The other merchants offering her additional things along with her order. Pleasant, smiling faces on all of the ponies wandering to and fro without any worry about where they strayed. She sighed nervously, and came to a decision.
The tent opened and the small mare emerged. "Very well, lead on."
Dusty lounged happily for a moment then cascaded to his feet, "very good! If you'd follow me miss, we will be there presently."
"My name is Riddle Bits, sir. You may call me as much."
"Ah, very good miss Bits-"
"Riddle, please."
Dusty nodded as they trotted. He'd surreptitiously placed himself on the left, still acting as a wind guard for the young mare. With a cheerful grin he replied, "it's not often I'm called sir, and while I relish the novelty, I think I'd be far more at ease if you would call me Dusty."
The smaller mare didn't reply as they continued on their way. It wasn't until she saw the wooden fence surrounding the junkyard and heard a cheerful collection of voices from inside that her worry suddenly shifted off of her in one great slough.
"This is where you live, sir? Dusty?"
"Mmhm, welcome to the stacks."
As the two walked from the entrance and to the doorway of a large shanty a rousing chorus of cheers came up, issued by a number of Ponyville's other mares and stallions dedicated to the fine tradition of carting off rubbish.
"Everypony! Might I introduce you all to a new friend who will be sharing our company this evening, Riddle Bits, Riddle Bits, everypony!"
He fired off a list of names that Riddle quickly matched up to a variety of smiling faces and waving hooves. There were earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi there of all shapes and sizes. It seemed that the entire room served as sleeping quarters for the lot of them, numerous beds built out of all sorts of odds and ends, discarded cushions, blankets, pillows, mattress bits, mats and more, making the entire room look like a massive patchwork quilt.
Riddle's nose wriggled, as some delicious odor wafted through the air. Bubbling away on a stove was a large stew pot with something inside, and in moments she found herself being presented with a hearty, steaming bowl of leek, lentil, and cabbage soup, and a torn hunk of freshly baked bread. She was sat between Dusty and an earth pony mare at a large circular table which really served as more of a gravity anchor as the ponies orbited it happily, sharing stories, playing cards, singing songs, hoof-wrestling, and so on. In an odd sort of way, Riddle was reminded of home.
That night she found herself sleeping amongst a pile of warm, snoring bodies, which again seemed to remind her of her siblings back home. With a full belly and a warm (though slightly crowded) bed, she drifted off into a safe sleep.
In the morning, a number of the ponies had already ventured out to begin their rounds in Ponyville, while Dusty stayed on to see her off.
"You know," he said warmly, scratching one of his shoulders against the a corner of the shanty, "one of the things we pride ourselves on here is not just taking trash away, but making it not trash again. You know the old sayin, one pony's trash-"
"-is another pony's treasure," finished Riddle, her eyes scanning the giant heaps of objects that filled the yard. She turned to the pegasus, "I am grateful sir, Dusty, sir, for the meal and shelter but... I would not feel right taking these things to sell them."
"Perhaps consider them a gift?"
"Then I would most certainly not sell them sir, Dusty, sir, one is not meant to sell away gifts."
"Well that is a predicament." He leaned back and closed his eyes in thought for a moment as he scratched a particularly good itch. His eyelids opened again as a thought dawned on him. "Then... what about an investment?"
"I would rather not take financial-"
"No no little Riddle," said Dusty smiling brightly as he walked over to a heap and inspected it, "I mean, perhaps myself and the other dustponies offer you access to whatever scraps and bits you might need from here, in the hopes that should your shop succeed we might all have a new favorite place in the marketplace to frequent?"
Riddle blinked as her brain chewed on the prospect. There were certainly things here she could use, repurpose. Maybe nothing that could be fairly sold, it was mostly trash after all, but wood scraps. Empty barrels. Wooden crates. Scraps, odds and ends. Bits here and there. It could all be made useful again, display shelves, storage of products...
"You'd really allow me to do such things?"
"It is not in the nature of a gentlecolt to refuse a lady," said Dusty, smiling and bowing his shaggy head low.
The small basil unicorn took a deep breath and nodded in satisfaction as she beheld possibility. That's all she really needed in this world, possibility. Enough of that, and you could go anywhere. She glanced at Dusty and smiled, "I think, Dusty, sir, that we are in business."