SharpWit

Apologies for the length. I'm not used to expressing these characters to this extent, nor to writing dialogue. Magnus Looked upon the stack of papers before him. It must have been a foot tall. He turned about from the desk they sat upon. All around the study were wooden crates and tins of cookies. He felt somewhat bewildered, and offput by the hundreds of containers bearing his likeness. He recalled seeing such tins in his youth, laughing at the multitudes of his grandfather all about. It seemed rather silly at the time. This had a strangeness too it, particularly since it was not he who was on the throne. "Shouldn't these be of father?" He asked turning toward his mother. "Originally yes,,," She paused with a bit of awkwardness, her hooves tightly pressed together. "He wasn't up for posing for his portrait, so the engravers didn't have a chance to finish." A chance to start was more like it, Magnus thought to himself. His poor father wasn't up for much these days, as he'd been ill before the passing of his grandfather, and the coronation seemed to all but take the life out of him. Most days were spent bedridden with the best doctors in the nation hounding about. He was lucky to hobble his way out to the garden just to see the stars every fortnight. "Ah yes, that doesn't explain why I'm plastered about like so. If not his portrait, why not the commemoration for your wedding?" "We considered that, and while our marriage is a union to inspire the masses to come together, it's difficult to show such strength when he can't stand by his wife, strong though he be in heart. Your Jubilee seemed an appropriate substitute given its recency." "This is meant to inspire? The birthday boy's picture for the holidays?" "Not just the birthday boy!" She said slightly aghast. She strut forward, placed her hooves on her shoulders and spun him back around to the stacks. "The soldiers will see the image of a strong young man. One they can see themselves in, that they can trust, knowing he represents a grand future, not just for the few within view of the throne, but the country as a whole!" He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Inspiring!" "Oh shut up!" She said before lightly smacking the back of his head. "Besides, it won't be questioned after you sign these." She walked around and slid her hoof across the stack of papers, and stared at him expectantly. He stared pack confused. "Copies of the Hearths Warming Eve Speech you'll be giving tomorrow evening." "Wha- how did you manage this? I've only finished the first draft. It's hardly ready for the world to hear!" "Oh nonsense, I took the liberty of having one written for you." "I'm supposed to spew words from the terrace that aren't my own? What kind of message does that send?" "An inspiring one to all who are none the wiser, and one of gratitude to the prince's mother who's had all of the hard work done for him." "They'll see through it, just as they always have! It'd be nice to contribute something of my own for once." She was growing quite impatient at this point. "That's what these are for." She said with a sternness and tapped the stack. "It's a tradition that every high-ranking officer receive a signed copy to read to their troops if stationed abroad, and to otherwise retain it as a gift. To behold a parchment that you once held is a blessing from the royal family, and recognition of their sacrifice to maintain this house." She strode past him, done with his stubborn bout of independence. "And what of the shipment to Cidonia?" He asked. She froze, before slowly turning. "I beg your pardon?" "Cidonia? I'm seeing crates labeled for every outpost except theirs. Did we cede our southernmost trade route or are we forgetting a garrison? She stood there silently for far too long, eyes large like plates of fine china looking to shatter. Finally, she laughed and clasped her hooves together. "I'm afraid we've sent theirs off already. It's one thing to miss a celebration, but another to not have the necessities for the winter solstice!" "Even the blessed parchment you so desperately want me sign?" "I'm sure the majority of them have been recalled to the capital, and those in the field will understand. Good day my son." The Kaiserin stormed out of the bustling study. A servant hushedly approached her. "Your grace, as requested, the post master has just informed us that a shipment of letters of letters from Cidonia has arrived. Do you wish for them to be inspected?" "No!" She practically spat. Burn them. Make sure they never see moon light!" She gritted her teeth and brushed past him. She would make sure there was no means of exchange between that harlot and the prince. Magnus sighed with her exit, failing to witness the scheme just outside. He took a seat, pulling the first of many sheets down from the stack. No pony should ever have to sign their name so many times he thought, to authorize words he himself did not utter no less. He wished to have completed the speech he had stayed up well past the sun's rise working on. Had Vera been here to help, he surely would've finished and surely could've given his instead of this royalist dribble. If only his Vera were here. As I see this as a bit of an experiment, I don't intend to follow any of these up with immediate aftermaths, but merely reflect the experiences these characters within a 24 hour period of each other near the holiday in question. I've taken much joy in this exploration.

She'd love to celebrate if she really could, but she's been unofficially exiled, so there's certainly a bitterness when what should be a time of happiness comes to pass.

Art wonderfully done by @Usager Hearths Warming Eve, though still widely celebrated across the nation of Abendstern, was considered a lesser holiday within the Empire. It could not exist without the founding of Equestria, but the Royal Sisters ascending the throne, and Princess Luna's ascension to Nightmare Moon were held much more significance. No, Hearths Warming was merely an event leading up to the far greater Winter Solstice, a night of reverence within the territory of thestrals, for though the night was always theirs, this being the longest was more than any other. A celebration for common citizens in search of bonus festivities rather than a day of recognition by the Lunar Church. This was a time when families typically got ready, making Conifer Crescents to hang on their doors, cookies for active duty soldiers, and preparing homemade candles to light on the holier occasion. Those free of such responsibilities would use this day as an excuse to party before the quieter ceremonies and vigils to follow. Circa 93 years before the events of friendship is magic. Vera Fervor however, was not in Abendstern. She was Luna knows where within the Cidonian Dessert, a thousand miles from home, awaiting a rendezvous for a caravan with escaped slaves for her platoon to escort back to their masters. Those chained individuals knew nothing of such celebrations, and the ponies waiting back at the capital lived lavishly to the point that they would see such things as beneath them if they did. They didn't know they'd be on this mission at the time, so they weren't prepared to celebrated. One soldier was gracious enough to share a bottle of liquor he had smuggled, and another happened to have a pocket case of miniature cigars leftover from the year before, one of a variety of gifts provided by the royal family to soldiers during this time of year. They were much too far to have received the latest batch. This night wasn't too different from most for them. They sang songs and told stories around their lanterns, but they differed in tune and carried a certain nostalgia. Vera too did what she did most nights, and took first watch, allowing her eyes to ease in the darkness. That was the second worst part of being abroad, conforming to the schedules of the day walkers. She pined for home, and the stars she knew beyond the horizon. This was her third year away. Her third year of wondering what everyone was up to. Her father would've ordered extra food for the servants to have a feast of their own. The great hall would've been alive with music and laughter, and while everyone was too busy smiling, she, her sister, and the youngsters of the time would've been sneaking away cookies. The boot shaped ones were her favorite, as she'd always knock some crumbs loose marching them along the table top. There was plenty of marching out here, but no thunderous cracking of heals to enjoy. Just the soft plodding of sand. One of the soldiers came up to offer her a cigar, holding out the open tin. Her eyes locked onto the visage of the Kaiserin. She wanted nothing more than to cast it as far as she could, the mare who damned her to this wretched place. Vere politely declined. After glaring into the distance for a moment, she smiled at the thought of seeing herself on such a tin one day. "Someday my prince." she said with a sigh.

Ooh, this is a fantastic opportunity to explore a unique moment with deep cultural ties for a fictional character! I hadn't considered this for world building but what a way to go about it! Mine personally, SharpWit is catching an extra late flight out of Canterlot. He had to stay behind for some finalization of some proposed legislation so the offices of the capital are awfully quiet. Once he does make it to the station, he has to wait an extra hour for the weather to clear. An especially heavy snowfall was scheduled to make up for a loss of melt over the previous summer. Though it interferes with the timing of his airship, it's the least impactful as it would have the fewest passengers and isn't a connecting flight. He's tense from the cold, but boards the airship with excitement. Only four other passengers get on with him, on a vessel capable of holding a hundred with ease. One a unicorn, is instantly upset that the onboard cafe is closed for the evening, and begrudgingly pour themselves some from the lukewarm pot that's been left out. They use their magic to add three sachets of sugar and give it a swirl before grumbling to themselves off in a corner. Then there's the young couple who mind not the late hour or the cold, for the find warmth in each other, and to those not too bitterly hardened by the brunt of the day, that warmth is infectious via their coy whispers and hushed giggles. The final passenger is an older gentleman. He lands himself in a seat he's all too familiar with. Sharp has seen him a few times before, and as always, he's promptly passed out before they've even set off. Sharp strides to the front of the airship, smiles and nods at a tired crewmate who looks confused, before stepping back out into the cold, making his way to rest against the railing at the bow of the ship. The Captain finishes the same announcement he's heard many times before for the route, and off they go. The wind carries Sharp's mane back in a blaze of glory. It's freezing chill is no bother in the face of exhilaration, for here his responsibilities are left behind and the mind of a foal comes to the forefront. He will savor the sense of adventure until he finds his wings too stiff to shake loose the beard of ice that has grown about his maw. Then he will return to the cabin to thaw. Seeing the couple have drifted off as well, and that he may as well get some shut eye. Five hours from now, he'll be home, surrounded by loved ones who've saved the last of the marshmallows for his cup of cocoa.

Probably secondary receiver of some grant money via their equivalent of a humane society. That's also why she could "afford" to take of so many animals, because their care and her efforts to provide it were covered/compensated for. Pretty decent gig if that's the life you want, but its round the clock.

Hail Luna I actually found the answer to this! This is 1 of 25 versions given out to VIP Pass Holders during BronyCon 2013 at the Hasbro Booth after participating in voting for their favorite pony. Thank you old Ebay listings! My guess was that this was going to be from 2012 given the current state of politics and the way meme culture used to be, so not too far off! Had no idea this was a thing, never been to a one of our fandom's con's myself, so a neat and very niche bit of history! Fluttershy won by the way.

Art and other forms of being creative I think fall into a unique category for being more likely to get one's cutie mark sooner rather than later. It can be hampered by a lack of encouragement or not having access to materials, but ultimately most artists make things they like, regardless of what others think, and are resourceful enough to find a medium one way or another. It's a passion that requires a lot from ourselves, but little else, and can begin at a very young age. It also nicely falls into the grouping of special talents that don't have to be put towards a career, though that'd be nice, and praise to those who do so successfully! As for age and cutie marks overall, I think there's two ways to go about it, and both are a little sad. Either they're supposed to appear when you're relatively young because it's not just skill, it's passion! Which has no connection to livelihood, they can appear generally at anytime, and it just takes a while longer for some to find out what that thing they're good at is. I'm all both, and they can even work together, if our cultural upbringing plays a role as well. What does your environment foster? Does a suppressed society eventually see little to no cutie marks altogether? Or if ponydom took place in our current setting, would we see a severe increase in late bloomers, and call it an epidemic as the youth just try to get by? In the latter I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't until college or beyond that a significant portion of the population got theirs.