Of Hooves and History

A Cloverleaf Conversation

Sunny was an early riser. It was barely half-past 7 am when I heard the gentle thuddering of the elevator's wooden cogs and the calm rush of the kitchen tap. My mind swam a little, and I shuffled my sore ankles around a bit, rolled over, and dozed off. But not before my ears briefly caught wind of an audible grin.

Five hours later, my eyes started flickering and my stomach started grumbling. Yup, it was about damn time I got up. Wincing a little at my sore joints, I pulled out a tube of ointment from my bag to alleviate some of the pain. One wash-up session later, I entered the kitchen and popped some bread into the toaster, only to notice a pot of baked beans left on the stove. How sweet of you, Sunny.
Sitting back in a chair, I gently rolled my ankles in a massaging motion whilst chowing down on crisp buttered toast. The rest of my body would gain total relief over time, but my ankles were needed pretty much immediately.

With my belly full and my mind fully awake, I tossed my shirt into a plastic bin, and slid on a pair of camel-colored khaki pants, white dress shirt, and a grey V-neck sweater. Hopefully Sunny wouldn't mind me using her dad's clothes hamper. Feeling rather freshened up, I slipped on my Vans and hit the streets – this time on foot.

Noon time was rather interesting; it felt rather quiet, aside from a few colts and fillies rushing to the restaurants to get a quick lunch, and some oldies chilling together and reading the newspapers – all of which had my photos on them. No surprises or accidents there. A few ponies still gasped, frozen in shock upon sight of me, but I simply waved back, and their postures relaxed.

Climbing the steps to the Canterlogic factory was a little tasking, but I soon made it to the top. Double grins where had as my eyes gazed upon the town spread out below and my ears perking up at a little colt's exuberant chatter about the sweetness of raisins.

At the entrance, I was greeted by a rather cross-looking pony with a hard hat and a stocky body. "Who are you and what are your dealings?" he demanded.

I cleared my throat loudly. "Good afternoon sir. Would it still be lunch break by chance?"He glanced down at a watch on his wrist. "It is, alright."

"Perfect," I said with a slight grin. "I request to speak privately with Mrs. Phyllis Cloverleaf, please. If she is currently available, that is."

"Wait here," he ordered, and rang a bell. I stood off to the opposite side of the doorway and listened attentively. Sure enough, the smoothly charming voice of a lady could be heard, gradually getting louder and closer. From the tone, it sounded like she was having some prior conflict.

The doors opened, and before me stood a pony who, apart from being a pony in the physical sense, was a dead ringer for a 1960s librarian. I bit back a smirk at how stereotypical it was. Composure was everything now.

"Whoa! What the – who are you?!" she gasped.

"Hi Mrs. Phyllis," I began, smoothening out the ridges in my voice and holding out my hand. "My name is Aiden. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Phyllis glanced sideways awkwardly, as if looking for reassurance. Another worker pony smiled and nodded, so she extended her hoof out and stared up at me.