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// One; Madame Mackenzie 
// Story: The Toymaker and his Assistants 
// by abandoned2123 
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As many individuals well-versed in Equestrian lore know, Canterlot was the main hub of all things related to the pony race. It was here that the all-powerful Princess Celestia resided, and it was here that all pony scholars journeyed to douse themselves in studies of magic and myths. Flocks of the studious equines would find themselves at the city gates nearly every day of the year, flush faced and beaming with the youthful capacity for knowledge.

Not only that, but one would find a great plethora of shopping duplexes and venues littered about the city as well. The looming towers and bulky mansions of the well-off and famous seemed to silently dominate over the tiny businesses, their presence a constant reminder for the endless need of economic flow and stability. 

But of course you’d expect such a bustling metropolitan community to have a great many learning facilities, and you’d be right. Education was valued highly in Canterlot, particularly for the prestigious school for gifted unicorns. The various wandering scholars and adults that piled in every day were automatically carted to a meeting spot where they’d pick the college of their choice to try for.  However, the little fillies and foals were placed on an even higher pedestal for their own good. 

Many young ponies that went to school only needed to fill out their basic three years of education in order to become productive members of society. After their rudimentary courses many of the adolescents would often seek an apprenticeship to further their skills, or they would simply start up their own independent business and hope for the best.

Donkeys, on the other hand, were far more restricted in terms of what their own options were. Due to the measly numbers of the donkey population in Canterlot the required burro-centric education facility that was required had minimal funding. Of course, such a lack of finances was justified due to economic reasons. The job market for donkeys had never completely lifted off the ground, especially in a society that was purely dominated by telekinetic unicorns. There was simply no need for them. 

Because of this, there was only one basic public school available for young burros, and that Madame Mackenzie’s Institution for Long-eared Equines. As if the name wasn’t hard enough to swallow, the school itself left much to be desired. The shanty appearance of the run-down building itself seemed to scream of a limited budget. It was a typical one-room schoolhouse, the type of facility you’d most commonly see in a more rural section of Equestria. The cheap white-wash on the sides had started to peel years ago, leaving behind nothing more than a dull brown skeleton of a school in its wake. 
It was situated on the outskirts of Canterlot, amidst the more run-down sections of the suburbs. Its odd location was, as the builders put it, for the convenience of the parents considering that nearly the entire donkey population lived in the area. However, many burros merely took the placement as an insult, arguing that its peculiar placement kept their kind ‘out of the way’.

Whatever the real reason, there was still no changing the fact that it was Dorian’s first day of mandatory education. Upon waking up in the morning after being roughly shoved by his mother’s hoof, the young foal sat up to look out of his tiny bedroom window with an increasing sense of dread. 

No matter what his parents tried to do to reassure him, Dorian had not wanted to start his schooling. The very idea of sharing a room with members of his own age didn’t excite him; rather it made him queasy to even think of such a scenario. He was perfectly content with shutting himself up in his room to experiment and use the few materials that he had to try and create some new ‘inventions’, as he called them. 

Dorian’s ‘inventions’ were really nothing more than a collection of amateurish stuffed animals and wooden sculptures that he had created with a shabby butter knife.  His room in of itself was a workshop to him, the carpet coated with both wood shavings and bits of discarded fabric from failed experiments. A pile of various oddities was displayed by the bedroom door, from stuffed shapes to crude portrayals of faceless donkeys and ponies alike.

For a few moments, the foal simply stared out the grime-crusted glass, his ears dangling at the sides of his head. A stray lock of his mane fell on his eyes, and he blew it away with a soft whistle. He had never bothered to have it cut, and Millie had never likewise bothered to get him to cut it. And with a lack of a proper supply of running water, baths were hard to come by on most days. His light grey mane hung in greasy clumps atop his scalp, stringy and unkempt both from his and his mother’s neglect.

His bed was nothing more than a torn mattress strewn on the floor, its corners burst from continuous wear and tear. Earnest’s job as a miner had never particularly paid well, and it showed. It was commonplace for donkeys in Canterlot to make up a lower middle class anyway, though that was more or less due to the abysmal job market.
Dorian struggled to find his footing and stepped down from his bed, his body aching from his peculiar sleeping positions throughout the night. For a few short seconds, he allowed himself to stretch each individual limb, if only to stall for time.

“Dorian!” Earnest barked from the kitchen. 

“Coming…” the foal muttered, his ears falling to the sides of his head as he made his way out the door. As he walked, a few flakes of wood shavings caught into the fur on his ankles, clinging like sharp barbs. He hardly noticed it at all, being one who was used to carrying his hooves through a carpet of debris on a near daily basis. 

As Dorian pressed open the door with his forehead, the high squeal of an angry tea kettle sliced through his lax ears, causing for them to jump back into their typical erect positions. He winced, his glazed over eyes shutting tightly as he made his way down the hall.

“Took you long enough, Dor.” Millie chided from the counter as her son reluctantly made his entrance. “Your father might be late to work because of you. He wanted to see you off.” She gestured to Earnest with the tip of her muzzle.
From his seat at the table, Earnest glared down at Dorian with a sour expression, his lips knotted into a perpetual frown. 

The foal simply stared back up at him in return, unabashed. He had never seen his father wear any sort of smile. Then again, perhaps his contempt-ridden faces were his own ways of expressing happiness. Dorian never knew, nor did he particularly want to find out. 

“Be good.” The burro finally growled, scooting his chair back to take his leave. “I’ll be home tonight.” He announced, dropping down on all fours. As he walked out the arch-way kitchen door, he let the bushy end of his tail brush against Dorian’s side. It was a subtle gesture, though the foal could appreciate it well enough. He had always had the feeling that his father had never really been able to effectively express affection to him, just like his mother. 

As soon as he heard the click of the front door, Dorian turned to his mother. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked, his nostrils flared as to try and catch any fleeting wafts of air. His mouth watered as he sensed the delectable aroma of bubbling grits. 
Millie shook her head and turned towards the dining table, her tail swishing in annoyance. “Well, you woke up late and I can’t have you showing up late to school on your first day.” She reasoned simply, craning her neck down to grab a light blue ribbon in her maw. “Now come here and let me put on your ribbon…”

It had been a sort of time-honored tradition that all young donkey foals have their own special indication of their service as students. It was a badge of sorts that distinguished them from other younger foals and generated a common respectful response from the pony population. It wasn’t anything much, simply a ribbon tied in a neat little bow around the foal’s neck. While their symbolic meaning differed from region to region, Canterlot donkeys had often used a more simplistic approach. Instead of having various colors that identified a young donkey’s socioeconomic class, there were merely two colors to go by. Male foals had light blue ribbons, while the females were given pink. 

Dorian had only gotten his own ribbon in the mail a week before.  However, while many foals would have been excited for the reminder of up incoming classes, Dorian had merely taken the thread with a sense of naive dread. Staring at the blue ribbon had given him such a feeling of apprehension and sizzling stress that he had immediately discarded the offending item on the dining table. 

There were many reasons why exactly the young foal felt such a natural uneasiness towards the prospect of education, the main one being his own selfish desire to have time for himself. He would have been perfectly content to live out the rest of his days in working at his ‘craft’ under the care of his parents. However, he was wise enough to know that such an idealistic view would never fully come to light. 

The other reason was that he simply didn’t have the courage to socialize with others of his kind, be they pony or donkey. Oh, he had always yearned to speak with the little fillies that would trot down the other side of his street, and he had always wanted to embrace a closer connection with his parents. Any poor beast would have been terrified to suddenly find themselves in a group full of their fellow peers, especially if they had lived a life of isolation beforehand.

“Hopefully they sent you one long enough…” Millie was muttering to herself, a gleeful smile on her face as he draped the thick ribbon about Dorian’s neck. Of course she would be happy. For the first time in months she would be able to leave the house as much as she pleased. No longer would she have to carry the burden of a small foal. Now the house would be all to herself, at least in the daytime. 

“When will I get to leave?” Dorian ventured to ask, lifting his muzzle upwards to expose the underbelly of his throat. He felt his mother gently wind the thread up into a tight knot.  It wasn’t enough to choke him, but the sensation was unpleasant all the same.

“Oh… afternoon at some point.” Millie rolled back her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Don’t worry about it though, Dor, you’re gonna have a great time.” She reassured, pulling back to survey her handiwork with a satisfied nod. The bow itself was less than stellar, but it was the best one could do with teeth.  After a short pause, she raised an eyebrow. “Dor, come on, raise your ears. You look like you’re going to an execution with that look.” She chided.

Dorian hadn’t even noticed the lax position of his ears, and he quickly pulled them back up. “I’m just nervous.” He admitted sheepishly. 

“And speak up, dear. I know your voice is high but you can’t be so quiet.” Millie sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “I guess it can’t be helped. I’m sure you’re not the only one nervous. It’s a big day for you.” She turned to the clock that was situated above the sink. Its glass surface was cracked in several places, though the sight of it made her start. “We need to go. Here, I got your saddlebags all packed for you.” She turned to lift a set of cream colored bags off the table. With a quick motion, she draped the interlocking straps across Dorian’s back, the two evenly weighted sacks balancing on either side. 

“Your lunch and inkwell is in there, your quill and your reader are in the other one.” Millie walked as she talked, urging her son to the front door with a nudge of the head. “Come on, I’ll walk with you today, but you have to get home by yourself.” She pushed open the front door for him, letting it slap down behind them with a sharp crack.

The saddlebags atop Dorian’s back were awkward to bear. His movements were labored as he stepped outside. The suburbs were drenched in early morning fog, so much so that he could only see silhouettes of the houses that lay across the street. The air was crisp, and it was enough to wake him up a bit. He followed his mother close behind, keeping careful watch as to not lose sight of her in the mist. 

As far as he could tell, the roads were deserted, though that was probably due to the time. It was early, but they were late. Most of the donkeys were probably gathered about the schoolhouse, awaiting the arrival of the Madame herself. As for the ponies, the majority of them were probably already at their respective jobs. The emptiness of the area was a comforting sight for Dorian. It felt like a huge weight was being lifted from him, if only for a short time. 

As they turned the bend on the trodden earth road, it soon became apparent that it had rained the night before. With every step, Dorian could feel his hooves sinking into the wet mud, taking hold like a suction cup. His mother wasn’t faring well either. 

As the morning waned, the fog began to clear, and Dorian could soon make out a crowd of equines knotted together some ways down the road. They were donkeys, from the outlines of their ears, and they were all clustered together in front of a lone building. It was only one story tall, and it remained isolated apart from all other places of residence in the suburbs.

They neared closer, and Dorian could see the little foals like himself that were scattered amongst the crowd. They all wore ribbons like himself, some pink and some blue, though they were very few in comparison to the adults. There couldn’t have been more than seven or eight including himself.

Despite being in a crowd, each respective family bore a little distance from one another. Each knot of donkeys occasionally would steal a glance at the other, particularly the foals. As Dorian and Millie neared the vicinity, a procession of heads perked up at their arrival.

As they took their spot, Dorian snuck underneath his mother and eyed the schoolhouse. It looked like a skeleton of a building, its shutters had been ripped away, and the door was held up by no more than one brass hinge. There was a porch, though it looked so unstable that the slightest weight would send it collapsing. There were two windows in the front, though they were boarded up, no doubt because they lacked glass panes. Its wooden sides gave off a rustic mien, though one could argue that they made it look noticeably cheap. Still, it was the best that Canterlot had to offer for their cousins. 

Several of the adults were tapping their hooves in impatience, their ears ticking in annoyance. It was clear that the Madame was late. For a short second, Dorian smiled to himself. Perhaps she was sick for the day. Perhaps they could go home soon!
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the foals staring at him. Pressing his ears to the back of his scalp, he shot a returning glance. From the color of the ribbon around the other foal’s neck, he could determine that it was a girl staring at him. Her mane was blonde, a color that clashed with the dull brown of her pelt. Her expression was stoic, but interested all the same. From the short distance that lay between them, Dorian could see a pair of buck teeth poke outwards from her upper lip, exposed for all to see. 

“Attention! Could I please have everydonkey’s attention, please?”

A loud, brassy voice sliced through the dull murmur of the crowd, and the burros looked up to find a middle-aged mare standing on the rickety school porch. Her fur was greyed at the tips, a sure sign of old age, and her mane was done up in a neat bun between her erect ears. She wore a heavy pearl necklace, coupled with a set of gaudy earrings that dangled from the tips of her ears. Her hooves were neatly polished, shining against the approaching sunlight as if they had just been coated in a generous layer of glistening oil. 

Her tail swished to the side as she watched the crowd die down and turn full attention to the front. Foals were shoved to the center, including Dorian. He walked slowly, his pace forcefully hastened by a quick nudge of his mother’s mud-caked hoof.

“Go on, Dor.” Millie hissed, watching as he took his place near the end of the little group. His small body had broken out in a cold shiver, and he looked at the two youngsters that had taken their stance at his sides. He recognized one of them as the buck-toothed filly. She flashed him a small smile, giggling when she saw him turn away as a result. 

The mare at the porch looked down at the small group of foals, casting them a short glance before turning her attention to the crowded adults. “Alright, I understand that many of you are eager to get to your jobs, so I’ll be quick in explaining the regulations and procedures.” She announced.

A collective groan ran through the crowd. 

Ignoring the protest, the mare continued. “As some of you already know; I am Madame Mackenzie, caretaker and instructor of this institution, the only one you’ll find in Canterlot!” she boomed proudly. Dorian could almost see the puff of fur on her chest bristling in pride. “And the most prestigious! I can guarantee… I say that I guarantee your foal’s education will be an enriching, memorable, and fantastic experience!” 

Members of the crowd started to shuffle about on their hooves, their tails whipping back and forth in impatience. Several young students were looking at one another with exaggerated expressions of boredom and snickering. 

“Class will be seven days a week! Three hours a day! I also encourage you all to pick up your foals at closing time! I will not be liable for missing students!” Madame Mackenzie barked over the crowd's dull murmur, the corners of her mouth turning down in a slight frown.  “If you have not picked up the supplies from the list I sent you all earlier in the month, then please do so!” 

Several parents had begun to leave, offering their children a parting goodbye as they did so. Dorian looked behind him, hoping that his mother would still be there. She wasn’t, and all that was left were the indentations that her hooves had made in the soft mud. He looked at his own dirty legs, surprised to find that even the tips of his mane had been splattered with muck as well. 

Madame Mackenzie watched as the crowd dispersed, her left eyebrow twitching in such a way that it unnerved the little knot of foals below her. An awkward silence seemed to fall on the group, broken only by the titter of a nearby bird or the sound of far-off hoof beats.

And then, all at once, Madame Mackenzie changed. While Dorian was unable to comprehend it then, he would later think back to his foalhood teacher as one of the rare beings who could force herself to undergo an emotional metamorphosis. In the span of a few quick seconds, her posture relaxed and her shoulders slumped downwards. Her ears lowered themselves, the bulky earrings clinking gently as they moved. A deep sigh escaped her throat, low and rasping. 

Then she smiled. It wasn’t a smile of warmth or hopeful promise. No, the tight curl of the mare’s lips looked noticeably plastic, as if she were putting on a show for her new students. Whatever it was, Dorian didn’t like it at all, and his eyes immediately went to her forehead. 

“My! It looks like we’ll be having a rather small class this year…” she mused loudly. The pearls stringed about her neck clacked as she lowered her neck down to eye the little group. “And such hardy students, too! Much stronger than my second and third-years… Well, no sense standing out in the mud, is there? Come on up, children!”  Turning about, the Madame walked back to the door. Before entering the school-house she gestured to a ratty welcome mat. “Make sure that you wipe your hooves off. I can’t have you tracking dirt around, can I?” a pseudo chuckle bubbled from her mouth.

The foals looked at each other uneasily, waiting for the first to walk up. Dorian held himself back, preferring to simply watch and wait for what was to come rather than act rashly. 

Finally, the buck-toothed filly beside him shrugged and trotted forward. Without any hesitation she clambered on up the steps and wiped her muddy hooves against the bristled rug. With a satisfied smile, she butted open the door and squeezed inside. 

The rest of the group was a tad slower in their approach, particularly Dorian, who stayed at the far back of the bleary-eyed procession.  Finally, one of the colts tipped his head to the door and walked up. The others fell in behind him, likely from a herd mentality. Besides, what choice did they have?

As Dorian walked through the door, a strong smell of chalk dust and moldy paper rammed into his snout, causing for his nostrils to flare in agitation. Shaking his head, he allowed for himself to survey the tiny room.

It was an old-fashioned set-up, though practical. Several wooden desks were lined in neat little rows, with a wide berth to allow for a small pathway in which Madame Mackenzie would walk. The entire front wall was composed of a chalkboard, bearing the cheery inscription “Welcome new first years!”

A map of Equestria and its surrounding provinces was draped across one of the boarded up windowpanes, its edges yellowed from age. There was a little bookshelf to the left, filled to the gills with all sorts of contemporary literature, most of which was written by ponies. 

Situated in front of the wall-high chalkboard was what Dorian assumed to be Madame Mackenzie’s desk. For such an old building, the glossed oak seemed much out of place with the rest of the room. For a short moment, the foal wondered if she had bought the piece with her salary. 

Dorian followed the lead of his classmates and placed his saddlebags into one of the cubbies on his right. Noting that several of the students were doing the same, he nosed open the sack to pull out his reader. Handling the musty book in his mouth had always been a bit of a challenge for him, if only because he had a tendency to drool on accident. The spine was already coated in indentations from his teeth and a dark stain from his saliva. 

Many of the students had already chosen their desks, mainly in the back of the classroom. Because of the pitifully small number of students, many of the seats were empty, giving the room its own feeling of lonely isolation. Little knots of youngsters formed about the room, as well as a few of the more shy loners. Dorian awkwardly scanned the room a second time, noticing that he was the only one who hadn’t taken a seat. He saw Madame Mackenzie grace him with an expectant smile, and he cringed. Scuffing his hooves against the ground, he trotted over to take the first seat he saw, an empty chair in the back row. 

Dorian noticed some of the students were staring at him. A few of the fillies had turned up their snouts in disgust at his disheveled mane, while some of the colts were nudging each other and snickering. An embarrassed flush bled into Dorian’s cheeks, and he slumped down into his chair, hoping to not be seen. 

“Right then.” Madame Mackenzie flashed a smile and strolled over to her massive desk, peering over to look at a sheet of paper that laid on the surface. “Let’s start by taking roll, shall we? I’ll need to start memorizing all of your names sooner or later.”  A fake, bubbly laugh erupted from her throat. “Now then, just call out ‘here’ when I say your name, okay?” she took a quick glance at the list. “Alright, Cornelius?”

“Here!” a loud baritone rang out from the front row, accompanied by a frantic hoof wave. The colt looked on a bit more of the chunky side, his ribbon taut about the flabby contours of his neck. He was sitting alone, by himself. In the back of his mind; Dorian felt a little sorry for him.

“Good.” The teacher smiled, turning back to her roster. “Eloise?” 

“Right here!” a little filly piped up. Dorian could recognize her as the little buck-toothed thing he had seen staring at him earlier. As soon as she spoke; she turned around to look him, offering a little wave of encouragement. Dorian ducked his head down in reply.

Nodding, Madame Mackenzie went on. “Dorian?” she called.

A long, awkward pause settled over the room. Several of the students looked at one another in confusion. Dorian? Who was Dorian? Some of the colts nudged each other and whispered into each other’s ears. Madame Mackenzie scanned the room, her tail flicking in slight annoyance. 

Finally, a small murmur echoed across the vicinity.

“Here…”

At that moment every head turned to the elusive Dorian himself, his muzzle staring down at the cracked surface of his desk as strings of his greasy mane hung in front of his eyes. His face was beet red from humiliation for the high tenor of his voice. It was unlike a normal donkey's, loud and brassy with a growl of an undertone to it. No, it rang clear and high. 

An awkward silence draped itself over the room, broken only by a faux cough from Madame Mackenzie. "Yes, um... Very good, Dorian, but do try to be a bit more quick in speaking up next time." her smile seemed to falter slightly, though it quickly righted itself as she turned from him. "Alright... Cedric?"

"Here."

Slowly, as more and more names were called, the students turned their heads away from Dorian's slumped form, looking at one another with curious glances. A colt seated besides Eloise chuckled, only for her to give him a sharp glare to make him go silent. 

"Alright class! Why don't we start by going over some basics as to why you're here." Madame Mackenzie cantered over to the center of the front, her smile nauseatingly wide as her ears ticked to the sides. "There comes a point in everydonkey's life when he or she needs to consider their future. Now, our pony cousins are more fortunate in that they have their lives paved for them upon obtaining that little mark on their, ahem, rumps." 

Several of the students giggled, even Madame Mackenzie herself. Dorian, on the other hand, simply stared, his wide grey eyes soaking up the surroundings. Indeed, he couldn't understand what was so funny. After wallowing in confusion for a few brief seconds, his ears lowered in his own ignorant shame. Perhaps he had made some sort of social blunder that he hadn't caught, or perhaps it was something else entirely. 

Even so, the teacher had moved on to other matters. "Now, we donkeys are a special race. We've been graced with an acute sense of hearing, and we have the ability to chose whatever career pathway suits our fancy. However..." she eyed the students with a critical stare. "You'll have to figure out a profession that suits your liking on your own. No hints." 

She held onto a dramatic pause for effect, casting her gaze onto the eyes of her students. "If you pick a job that you enjoy, then you'll never have to work a day in your life." she finally declared. 

For the first time, as far as Dorian could tell, Madame Mackenzie's smile was not of the same plasticity he had observed before.

"I would like everydonkey to participate in a little event for tomorrow..." she finally proposed. The knots of students looked at each other, their tails from the seats of their chairs wagging in anticipation. "I'd like to know more about each and every one of you, just to try and help you find your special talents in the next three years we'll know each other." 

Dorian's lax ears pricked up at the prospect, his eyes widening in attention. 

"It's called 'show and tell'. What your homework will be for tonight is to find an object that you particularly cherish, something that you can show the class to tell a little something about yourself and what your interests are." Madame Mackenzie explained, earning herself a quiet murmur of conversations from the students. What would they bring?

The teacher cleared her throat to reel back in her student's attention. "Tomorrow, I'd like each and every one of you to come to the front of the class and present what you've brought as well." 

It was here that a hush fell over a room, and a few of the students, including Dorian, starting squirming uneasily in their seats. Just the idea of public speaking was enough to fill some of them with dread.

Dorian himself, who had been having fruitful fantasies of selecting the finest of his wood sculptures or stuffed ponies, couldn't help but lower his gaze back down to the wood grain of his dismal desk. Just the thought of being stared at by strangers, whether his peers or not was intimidating. It wasn't that he was shy, really, it was just that he was constantly under the fear that he would commit some terrible social blunder and ruin his reputation. 

Granted, the high tone of his voice had probably already lessened his credibility to begin with. 

He snapped back into attention as Madame Mackenzie walked back to her desk to take up a rather musty book. By the lavender color of the binding, Dorian could only assume that it was a copy of the reader that had been in his supplies list from earlier. He looked at his own copy, occasionally blowing away any strands of his mane that got caught over his forehead.

"Now, with that said... How about we begin class with a little reading lesson? Please turn to page fifty-two..." Madame Mackenzie's cheery voice reverted back to its uncomfortably plastic tone as she nosed through the pages of her own reader. The students followed suit, albeit in a much more clumsy fashion. Most of them weren't used to handling books without the assistance of their parents. 

As the teacher talked, and as the students listened, Dorian found his own eyelids growing heavy. He wasn't even paying attention to the lesson. For him, the idea of bringing in one of his inventions was more than enough to chew on for the next three hours. 

And so the teacher talked and talked, and Dorian's attention grew less and less. 

At some point, the brassy voice was tuned out, and the murky shades of the classroom had begun to darken. He felt the fleshy part of his throat gently lay on top of his desk as he fell asleep, oblivious to the going-ons around him.

So he slept.

Dorian didn't know how long he had slept, but it was easy enough to gather that he had dozed off for the rest of the class period as he was sharply poked with the end of a wooden ruler. Blinking groggily, the foal jolted back into an attentive pose, wincing as he saw Madame Mackenzie glaring back down at him. 

Not only that, but the other students were already gone. 

A cold shiver ran up his spine as his teacher addressed him. 

"Well, Dorian, I can see that someone doesn't particularly care about their education..." she began. There was no faux smile now, no forced happiness. If anything, her deadly serious mien was even more unpleasant to look at. 

"It's not that!" Dorian rushed to defend himself, his small voice cracking in desperation. He looked about the room in a panic, anywhere except the scowl on his teacher's face. "I... I was up late last night..." he admitted. 

"Oh? That wasn't a very wise thing to do..." Madame Mackenzie raised an eyebrow. "And what were you doing, 'last night'?" she asked suspiciously. 

Dorian didn't seem to catch her suggestive meaning, his own face flushed from embarrassment. "I... I was making something..." he murmured in reply. His ears pressed against his dandruff-ridden scalp, causing for a few clumps of his mane to fall in front of his eyes. For once, he didn't blow them away.

For a long moment, Madame Mackenzie regarded him with a hard stare, as if contemplating what his fate was to be. "Well, you've gained quite an image from your peers. Perhaps that's punishment enough." the hopeful smile on Dorian's face was short-lived. "However, you need to understand that your education is a top priority. I can't have you missing vital information and getting behind..." she frowned, then shook her head in exasperation. 

"I'm sorry..." Dorian bit his lower lip, weighing the words that his teacher had spoken, only to throw them away. To him, building and creating was leagues more important than boring arithmetic and reading books. His view of the world was only natural for a foal of his age. 

"Just don't let it happen again." the instructor warned. Her cumbersome pearl necklace clattered as she gestured towards the door. "You can leave now. I have my second and third years coming in soon, and I can't have you loitering in here." she grimaced. 

"Okay..." the foal slid out of his seat, his lower back screaming in  protest as cramps began to set in. His head was dipped to the ground as he slithered over to the empty cubbies to grab his saddlebags. Clumsily, he placed the two straps over his slender back and moved to take the reader from his desk, all the while being held under the scrutinizing glare of Madame Mackenzie.

"Have a good day, Dorian." she beamed a fake smile as the foal butted open the door. Dorian mumbled a farewell as well, though it was nearly incomprehensible from the shakiness of his tone.

Letting the door gently shut behind him, Dorian looked out to the main courtyard of the school, noting sadly that his mother... or anydonkey for that matter, was no where to be found. 

With a heavy sigh, the foal clambered down the porch steps and made his way back home.

As he walked, an idea started to worm its way into his head. Of course it was in regards to his show and tell project, but it was something more as well. 

As he rounded the corner of the street to the Canterlot suburbs, a small smile graced the foal's lips. 

Oh yes, he would prove to Madame Mackenzie that his craft meant more to him that menial skills and superfluous school-work. 

It would take all night, but he would do it.

So, with the childish hope for the next day, Dorian quickened his pace to a fast gallop, his loose saddlebags beating against his thin sides as he ran. For once, he forgot about about the inevitable stares  he would receive from pony and donkey alike.