//------------------------------// // "The Things I Do For Scoots..." // Story: The First 'Prettiest Young Changeling' Contest // by Wise Cracker //------------------------------// “Ocellus, you’re up,” Serrate started. What am I supposed to do? I can’t do my cheerleader act now. “Ocellus? Come on, it’s your turn,” Trachea added. But I have to. Everyone’s watching. She looked out into the crowds. Her mother and father were there, in the back, along with Tarsus and Fillyform. Ocellus smiled. Everyone’s watching. Then it hit her. So everyone will be listening. Okay, I can do this. I’ve still got one talent worth showing off. She let off a little green flare to come onto the stage without her outfit, and instead went right to the middle of the podium. “Hello, everyone. My name is Ocellus, and for my talent portion I’d like to do something a little different, if that’s okay.” She looked over to Cheese Sandwich. “Different, how?” he asked. “My talent… is storytelling. And I’d like to dedicate this story to my little brother and sister sitting back there. No spoilers, you two!” The pair giggled. “Once upon a time, in a land long forgotten by pony kind, there was an Earth pony, and like a lot of Earth ponies, he was a merchant. He would travel the lands to find good wares to sell where they were rare.” Ocellus closed her eyes, concentrated, and turned herself into an Earth pony stallion with a turban and traditional desert garb. “One day, this merchant ran across one of his suppliers, a fruit seller. And he noticed his old friend had a lot more coin on him than usual. So, of course, he asked why. An inheritance, a lucky gamble, or perhaps a rare fruit he’d managed to sell?” She changed into a different stallion and warped her voice to narrate his part. “You know, it’s the darnedest thing. I got lost on my way East, and I stumbled into a little city state on the edge of the desert. I was lucky to have all my goods intact, I tell you. Of course I tried to sell my wares, what was left of them, but only the apples for a high price. Wouldn’t you know it? These ponies had never tasted apples!” Hopping back in her normal form, she used a minor illusion spell she’d picked up from Miss Trixie to show a crudely drawn map. “This was an isolated city state. They didn’t get a lot of contact with their neighbours, so they were out of the loop on a lot of things. And like any good salespony, well, the merchant saw an opportunity there.” Back into merchant form she went, stroking that fake beard. “And those apples went for a nice price, you say?” Another quick change, and the fruit seller replied, “I’ll say. My apples made it all the way to the throne room. And let me tell you: this land with no apples is ruled by a fair and just King. He does not suffer swindlers, and he pays a fair price, always.” Balancing the illusion magic with her shapeshifting strained her concentration, but she managed it just barely. She made some red dots appear on the map to chart out a course and went back into her normal form, suppressing the beads of sweat forming on her brow. “The merchant went and bought as many apples as he and his family could carry, and then he went on a long and difficult trip to find this Land With No Apples. But that wasn’t the only thing he bought up. He went and found some saplings of apple trees: grafted plants ready for an orchard. Because, of course, if apples were so valuable, and these ponies really wanted them, eventually they’d start asking for trees of their own. He was welcomed in, and brought before the King.” Another shift, and this time the illusion showed a throne room, another illustration from the book. “These are the best fruits you’ve ever tasted, Your Highness. They can be sweet, sour, soft, hard. Eaten alone, they are a prime source of refreshment. Baked into pies, they are a delicacy. Covered in molten sugar, a decided pick-me-up after a long day.” She chanced a glance at the crowds, and was pleased to see a lot of her fellow changelings nodding along, a few even getting hungry, from the looks of it. No response from the judges, though. Back into her normal form she went, back straight and chest out to show confidence. “The king made sure the apples were checked for their quality, and our clever merchant expected no less. That very night, a feast was prepared with the new bounty of apples: apple pies, apple fritters, caramel apples, and all the nobles of the court agreed that this was good food and the merchant should be compensated justly. They also agreed that the merchant had been polite and respectful in bringing apple trees, because this King did not want his ponies to be deprived of this new fruit, not if he could help it.” That got a few nods of appreciation, most likely because of everyone’s experience with royalty. She cleared her throat and shifted the illusion to show a vault full of apples. “First, the king ordered his vaults to be filled with the rest of the apples, so they wouldn’t spoil. The King With a Vault Full of Apples then, of course, asked his wisest and most trusted advisors how to repay this revelation and this kindness. And so it was that the clever merchant went home with a bag full of diamonds and precious gems, as well as a chest of gold that would be carried by two porters, now in his service. Besides that, it was decided that this pony was now considered a friend of the court, and would be welcome to return to the markets when he pleased.” For the finale, she turned herself into the merchant again, completely bedecked in fine fabrics and jewelry. “As for the trees? The King had them planted, and found that they mostly didn’t grow in desert soil. But, as luck would have it, there was a patch where the trees took root and thrived. That means they grew really well. So, while it would take years for the kingdom to have apples like its neighbours did, and many more for them to have their own kind of apples, thanks to the merchant the kingdom was now no longer a Kingdom with No Apples. A good deal was done, and everyone was happy. Or, almost everyone.” There was a wave of hesitation in the crowds, a few who’d wanted to applaud too soon. Ocellus continued, and turned herself into a different stallion, one with a little more show in his movements. “There was another merchant, who heard of this, and he thought to himself: 'Well, if they like apples so much, they’ll love pears! Pears are juicier, stronger in flavour, superior to apples in every way. And what a fool to bring them their own trees, doesn’t he know that rare things are priceless and common things are worthless? The less they have, the more they’ll pay for it. I’ll go alone and be covered in gold for my troubles!'” Ocellus paused as she shifted back to her normal self. Confusion washed over the crowds, but she knew she had their attention. “And so he did. He bought up as many pears as he could carry on his own, and he trekked to the Land of a Few Apple Trees In The Near Future. He went before the King and made his case.” Again, she shifted the illusion, to show a sinful glut of pears (though still only enough for a single feast) behind a salespony, presenting himself to the King. This was her favorite part. “Your Highness, I bring you a superior fruit, better than any apple. A pear is juicier, its flavour drips from its very core. Surely you must agree that a pear is worth more than an apple?” She shed that form, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her voice felt worn out, her word quota for the day already more than surpassed. “The King went to his advisors again, seeing the load of pears delivered to him. He couldn’t refuse the offer, for he was a just and fair King who treated everyone equally. But at the same time, he couldn’t empty his gold reserves even for something so precious. The King had only one solution: to pay for the pears with the one thing more valuable than gold.” She let the pause hang for dramatic effect, then shifted the illusion again to show the result of the negotiations. “And so it was that the greedy merchant went home with a buttload of apples.” Laughter erupted from the crowds. Polite, soft laughter, nothing so raucous as a Ponyville comedy act. Now came the truly terrifying part: the moralising. Ocellus hated doing this to her peers, or to adults. “There are a few lessons to this story. The obvious one is to be fair in every trade, don’t try to swindle others, and to be careful what you wish for.” She looked out at her family and smiled. “But the other lesson is a little harder to see, and might be even more important to think about. What’s priceless to you might be worthless to someone else. And what you think is worthless… might be priceless to someone else. So try to keep a close eye on which is which. Thank you.” With that, she took a bow. The day went past in a blur. Serrate got a lot of praise for her clarion act, Sensilla and her trained raccoons did pretty well (until one of them took a bite out of Cheese Sandwich’s cutie mark), all in all it seemed like a close game. “You okay?” Ocellus looked up. Seta had come backstage. Ocellus was sitting in a corner, thinking. “I think so,” she replied, rubbing her sore throat. “Sorry I couldn’t do it. I tried my best.” “Don’t be sorry. You did really well.” Ocellus sighed. “In fact… I’m proud of you, Ocellus. And you should be proud of yourself.” “What for?” “For doing something that’s against your nature, and still finding a way to stay true to it. That’s a tough thing to do for anyone. Ponies, changelings, grownups, kids… you did a hard thing, and you did great.” True to form, Seta cheered her up, if only a little. “Thanks.” “And hey, at least Cuticle messed up pretty badly. It’s not gonna be her, most likely. And maybe the other girls aren’t so bad.” Right at that moment, a shuriken flew through the air, followed by a grenade tossed in the opposite direction, which was retaliated with a flying raccoon. Both girls stood stoically as the explosion sounded behind them, and the sounds of feral trash pandas mixed in with calls of ‘jutsu’ this and ‘nani’ that. “Okay, that’s a big maybe.” One of the contest changelings came into the changing room. “Girls? The judges have reached a verdict. Line up, please.” Seta offered a hoof. “You’re on.” Ocellus sighed and let Seta pull her back on her hooves. “Hey, Ocellus?” “Yeah?” “Good job on the story. The whole worthless and priceless thing? That’s pretty deep.” “Thanks.” “You should consider which is which for you, too.” The girls lined up with much of the same enthusiasm as for a criminal lineup, which in the case of at least three contestants was a recurring thing. Cheese Sandwich wasted no time with pleasantries now. “Alright, everyone, after much deliberation, the judges have made their decision, and the winner of The Changeling Hive’s first Prettiest Young Changeling Contest is…” He fiddled with an envelope, read it, checked with the judges, and waited for them to nod. Ocellus sighed in defeat. “Trachea?” “Ocellus!” She froze. All the girls in the line stared at her. She shook her head. “What?” “Step on up, Ocellus, you won!” Slowly, haltingly, she stepped forward to receive her prize: a train ticket to Geneighva. “But how? Why?” “Your presentation showed character, and integrity,” Photo Finish started. “You reminded me of a lot of of the more recent models in Canterlot and Ponyville. It’s easy for a strong pony to show weakness, but it’s much harder for a weak pony to show strength. You are not so weak as you feel to be, but still, a rare skill in the modelling business.” “I think I know better than anyone here that this was not easy for you,” Tymbal added. “And yet you didn’t buckle under the audience pressure, you composed yourself when you had to. You acted like a natural.” “You can think quick under pressure, and look good doing it,” Pharynx finished. “You can follow through with your decisions, and as for your talents… I’m okay with a storyteller being our representative. We’re gonna need more of that soon.” “I-I… I don’t know what to say.” She felt the blush setting in. “The traditional response is ‘thank you,’” Cheese Sandwich joked. “But being flustered does happen, even to the best. So, how about we get the lucky pair together for a picture?” The crowd erupted with cheers. Ocellus gulped. “Wait, pair? Scutes is here?” “Just got here five minutes ago,” a voice said behind her. She gulped. Her wings bunched up under her carapace. She didn’t dare turn around. “Scutum?” He went to stand beside her and smiled. “Good to see you, Ocellus.” She felt him next to her before she saw him, before she had to look up just a smidge. He’d had a growth spurt since last time, but then so had she. Not much had changed, though: he still had the same vibrant orange on his body, contrasted with a deep purple in his scaly mane. His chin was starting shape up nicely, too, losing some of that boyish softness already. His smile had lost nothing of its softness, though, and neither had his eyes. She’d missed that look, that perpetual mix of wonder, curiosity, and bravery. Then again, it might have just been her imagination. She did let that run away with her sometimes. Still, seeing him again after so long, the family resemblance with Seta was barely noticeable, but it wasn’t hard to see why both siblings got into the modelling business. Ocellus chuckled softly, and for once, she didn’t bother trying to hide her blush. “Umm, hi. Good to see you, too.” “Okay, so… we leave tomorrow, Headmare Starlight knows already, I’ve packed my things, and I made sure to get some new reading material and bring money in case anything happens. What am I forgetting?” Ocellus checked and double-checked her luggage, before pacing back and forth in her room. “Maybe you should go and talk to someone?” her mother said. “Who’s there to talk to?” “Well, either Scutum or the two dozen girls who decided they want to look like you. I swear, I’ve grounded at least eight of them on my way here.” A knock came at the door. Cornea called out. “Ocellus, honey? Someone here to see you.” She cantered over to the door and, mixed feelings rushing through her, Scutum was there. He chuckled and waved in greeting. “Hey, Ocellus. Can I talk to you in private? Assuming that’s the real Ocellus? You kinda ran off after the contest.” “I did not,” Ocellus objected. “You turned into a rabbit and bolted through the Hive like you were being hunted,” he replied. She bit her lip. “I… needed to use the bathroom really quickly?” Her mother was having none of it. “That’s her, and she can talk in private. And she will, or you can report it to me.” Ocellus groaned and went outside. “Fine, mom. You don’t have to go full inquisitor on me. I’ll talk.” Of course, she delayed that promise as long as she could, and Scutum didn’t press the issue as they made their way through the vine- and hole-riddled structure of the Hive. Once they were clear of any eavesdroppers, Scutum sat down on a rock. “So, beauty contest, huh?” “Yeah.” “Did my sister put you up to it?” “Yup.” “I’m glad.” Her heart skipped a beat. “Y-you are?” “Of course. We get to be together for a little bit, catch up. Isn’t that what you want?” “Of course it is,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He fidgeted. “Because you, you know…” She winced. “Right, I never got to apologise for that. I missed Hearth’s Warming Eve, I’m sorry. There was an emergency at school. I had to.” “So it’s not because you don’t… umm…” “I don't like you?” she blurted out. “No, of course not, I do like you. A-as a friend, of course. Or, umm, w-whatever ponies might call a close friend. I mean, we learned how to read together, we went on infiltrations together, why wouldn’t I like you?” Scutum nodded. “So it’s just because we spent time together, then?” “No. I mean, it helps, but… we spent important time together. You’ve seen me when I’m scared. Not that everyone else hasn’t, obviously, but you’re the only one who helps. That means something, doesn’t it?” He shrugged. “Maybe. But what?” “I don’t know. It means something. I’d like to find out what, exactly.” Again, he nodded. “I guess I should probably come clean, then.” “About what?” “You know how I got surgery recently?” She tensed up. “Yeah?” “And nobody knows what for, or why?” Oh no. “What happened?” “I, umm… do you remember when we were little, and I always turned into the same sort of colt? Black and white, or grey shades, never into a specific pony?” The memories came flooding back. They never replaced anypony, they only inserted themselves as fake personas. Scutum always picked a form in shades of gray, or white and black. Even when they had art class, he specialised in black and white. She’d always just assumed he liked it that way. And why not? Most print media was in black and white, pulp fiction was in black and white, it was a legitimate art form, one he was really good at. It had never occurred to her he might not have had a choice in the matter. “Oh. I never noticed. You mean you were-” “Born colourblind, yeah,” he admitted. “That’s what they went and fixed. Had to use magic for it, obviously, since you can’t get a sense that you don’t know yourself. I’ve… never been able to see colours before now.” “So when we changed…” Ocellus slapped herself. “That’s why you started looking at me so weird. Everyone got colours, and you couldn’t even tell.” He wiped away a tear and stared into her eyes. “It really is good to see you, you know. All of it. I like your colours. It’s calming, but strong.” The implications still hadn’t fully sunk in. “Gosh. You were colourblind this whole time? If Chrysalis knew, she might have-” “No, she would have, that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always been. That’s why it was a secret for so long.” He shrugged. “Does that change anything?” “Why would it?” “I shouldn’t be alive by now, Ocellus, not with how things used to be. I was born defective. And now that I’m not? I’m gonna have to figure out what I am. How much of me is me, and how much was just a handicap? Are you sure you want to hang out with me, knowing that?” She shuffled closer and pulled him in for a hug. “I think we both need to figure some things out. And there’s no one I’d rather have with me than you. I know that much.” Slowly, carefully, he hugged her back. “So what do we do? Are we dating now? Is that what you're supposed to do? Is that what this is? I never really saw that sort of thing.” Of course Seta shielded her little brother from that sort of thing; she shielded Ocellus the same way back when they were on a mission. Ocellus shrugged. “I don’t know. I'm sure I could ask my friends in Ponyville." She shuddered at the thought of some of the possible outcomes. "Okay, some of them must have good advice, statistically speaking. Besides, I'm sure they'd love to meet you.” "You really think so?" "I'm sure. And hey, no matter what happens: we'll always have Geneighva." The End.