Friendship Letters
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on November 6, 2020
The hum of the elevator filled the gaps between the silence. Necessary white noise to ease young Cynbel’s mind. Today’s birthday was... different. But no less exciting. Rather than give Cynbel a physical gift, his father decided to pass on something a bit more meaningful to his oldest son. A tour of the factory, something Cynbel had been asking about for a while now.
His father stood beside him, his snow white mane all slicked back revealing the coming widow’s peak. The family resemblance was strong with these two, near perfect copies in terms of color. He patted the ascot in his breast pocket and gave his son a quick glance. “Nervous, Cynbel?”
“No, sir,” the young alchemist stiffly replied. One would think the poor child was about to meet a renowned general based on his militaristic stance and the beads of sweat.
“You can be honest. Did you not think I was nervous when my father took me here as well?”
“Great men don’t get nervous. I’m not nervous.”
“Cynbel...”
“Okay. I’m a little nervous. What if they don’t like me?”
“They? You mean the employees? They’re a fine bunch, you’re a charming kid. What makes you think they won’t like you?”
“I can’t stand it when ponies don’t like me,” the young unicorn replied while loosening the large lavender scarf around his neck. A birthday gift from his mother, something she managed to knit together in her rare moments of sobriety. Dear Chantal overkilled the size a little... the size was about adult size, which forced Cynbel to be a little creative around its wrapping.
Before Clovis could say more, the lift dinged. The doors opened. Dozens of workers were before him in an assembly-like fashion. Some were peering over the quota, others were mashing up plants, the rest were at the cauldrons and potion sets. They all stopped what they were doing to stare. Cynbel felt like he dropped a glass in a quiet room. All eyes were on him...
Clovis stepped in front. “No need to pay him any mind, everyone! Just giving my dear boy a tour. Continue about your day. Thank you!”
Cynbel peered our from behind his father’s leg. A hair-covered eye scanned the room as he judged their reactions. He expected indifference, but they all fell immediately back in line. Huh. Must be his father’s strong leadership. He stepped forward and tried to find his ‘loud voice’. He would lead them one day, so he felt first impressions should be made well.
“I’ll— I’ll really try not to b- be— in — not to...” a small whimper played out the rest of the sentence. The adults didn’t seem to mind... one of the assembly workers even seemed to find it endearing. Cynbel’s face turned a bright pink when he noticed their smiles, like they were looking in the shopping mall window and saw a cute puppy scratching at the glass. Thankfully the embarrassment didn’t stick for long, as his eyes were drawn to the cauldron workers. They didn’t seem to dance around the cauldron like he imagined other alchemists to. Instead it was a begrudging stir with the long, wooden paddle while the fumes and steam rose to a conveniently placed chimney. Even with the ventilation, the room seemed cloudy. “Father, which one’s the head alchemist?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Merlot is on a vacation. Poor man’s wife has been sick for quite some time. She isn’t well.”
“Oh...” the younger unicorn answered. His heart broke for the poor alchemist... but at least he can be there with his wife. He gave her a moment of silence and a prayer of well wishes. Maybe... maybe he could try to fix her. It was a passing thought, one quickly cut off by an intense looking man in an eyepatch and a pristine white lab coat, a direct contrast to his darkened gray coat. Other lab coat wearers followed behind.
“Sir,” the man spoke, his voice deep and gruff. He tried to keep a low voice, but the young alchemist and his sensitive ears could still manage to overhear. “There’s been a breach in the west wing. We’ve contained it for now, but—”
“Doctor Granite, I know you only have one eye, but even you should be able to see that I’m with my son.” Clovis clicked his tongue. His golden eyes drifted to Cynbel, who stood close to his side. As he pondered the next step, a stoutly looking stallion pulling a cart passed by. Dusty hair, even dustier coat. Essentially the perfect picture of a working stallion. Clovis raised his hoof, “Mr. Moorsom, a moment! Could you keep an eye on my son for me? What are you doing currently?”
“Just bringing some stuff to the north potion room. Clay, preserved specimens. Shelves needed refilled. Hey, while we’re talkin’ about it, the ventilation needs—”
“Another time. Thank you so much! I’ll remember this when the subject of raises come up. Cynbel— help Mr. Moorsom out. Do whatever he says.”
Both Cynbel and the worker looked at each other nervously, their eyes focusing back on the boss after he had already begun the process of stepping away. “But I—“
“Bup! See you later, Cynbel!”
And then the two were left in an awkward silence. They both refused to look at each other, until they decided the notion was a silly one. Then, they each shot a glance and lost the nerve. Moorsom cleared his throat while Cynbel messes with his large scarf. Without the addition of another, young voice, the awful exchange may have gone on forever.
“Your speech sucked,” cried a colt’s voice from behind a few boxes.
Moorsom’s eyes thinned to the size of pinheads. He turned his head and snapped at the boxes, “Boy! Stop that. Forgive him, Mr. Cynbel, my son speaks his mind far too often.”
Cynbel looked down in a depressive slump. The colt’s words rang true, even he knew that sad, slippery-worded mess sucked. “No, it’s okay. ‘Sucked’ is being a little too kind. I... lost my nerve halfway through. This all came as a surprise to me.”
The little heckler made himself known by now. A young colt poked his head up. He resembled his father, color-wise, but instead his coat was more splotchy, with more tan in his coat than brown, and the hair was at a raggedy, uneven mess. “Really? We thought you’d be coming down a while ago.”
“No, Father sprung it on me during my birthday dinner last night.”
“Happy birthday, Cynbel,” Moorsom said after he secured a loosened strap to a wooden crate. Cynbel responded with a kind smile. “Thanks. I turned eleven yesterday, which was the same age my father was when his father began to show him the ropes. Then his father before him. I guess it’s a tradition at this point.” A pleasant hum escaped Mr. Moorsom while Cynbel told his tale of family history. It lead him down a train of thought, one that ended with the question of the young colt. “Why are you down here? Is today ‘Bring your child to work’ day?” asked Cynbel with a hint of disappointment. He didn’t mind being among his own age, but the hope lied within Cynbel’s trip being special... not a festivity.
Mr. Moorsom focused his attention on tightening the straps. Something to distract him from the unease is Cynbel’s topic of choice. He felt he had no choice but to answer, no matter how uncomfortable the question may be. “No, young Tonnage stays with me when he’s not in school. My wife passed away a few years ago and I’ve got no one to look after him.”
“Oh. I’m sorry...” the young Cynbel replied with a frown.
Touched by his empathy, Moorsom sadly smiled. “It’s okay, son. You had no way of knowing. Besides... some real world experience is good for him! He’s picking up some things about alchemy— and the world could always use more alchemists.”
“Mmhmm,” Tonnage nodded. “I wanna become one so I can go to a village that can’t afford doctors. I won’t be able to fix broken bones, but an alchemist could help them! Make their crops grow better, which gives them more money, which gives ‘em doctors!”
Already, Cynbel saw a solution in mind. A little smile crept upon his lips as he divined the young colt's reaction to the news he was just about to receive. "If you want to be an alchemist, I can see about teaching you what I know. I'm still learning myself... my transmutation's not as good as my mortar-and-flask, but I'm getting used to it. I could give you lessons after school! Or better yet, maybe you could join my instructor and I. Doctor Krypton's a wonderful teacher, I'm sure she'd be happy to have you."
Just as Cynbel envisioned, young Tonnage turned starry eyed at Cynbel's idea. His mouth moved like he wanted to talk, but he couldn't stop looking between his grinning father and the proud alchemist. "Do you really mean it?" The unicorn nodded in kind. "Of course. I wouldn't be so mean as to trick you. Plus, having another classmate would be fun! The only other pony there is my brother, and he's too young to care." Mr. Moorsom stepped between the two colts, a proud smile adding a gentle light to his kind features. "That's kind of you, Cynbel. I-- I don't know what to say, but thank you."
"No need to thank me. I'd be happy to have a... a friend with me," he cleared his throat and nervously twirled the end of his scarf. It took a lot for him to say, but he felt better once he did. Tonnage laughed in response, but not at him. While he laughed, he threw his hoof around Cynbel's should and leaned into him, his feather-weight laughter blasting poor Cynbel's eardrum. "A friend? Of course, we'll be friends 'til the end!"
How true that statement would ring.
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