//------------------------------// // Chapter Five: Growing Family, Part II // Story: Citizen Weevil // by Magic Man //------------------------------// Citizen Weevil Chapter Five Growing Family, Part II For the first time on a Saturday, Weevil and Echo had reason to be excited. It’d been far too long since they’d had a night to enjoy just each other’s company like the same couple of horny youngsters who met at boot camp, with no hatchlings nipping at their fetlocks. Ever since arriving in Manehattan all those years ago, he’d been collecting for himself a little list of leaflets, detailing all the places he planned to visit with Echo or his friends. Most of them were bars and restaurants. Unsurprisingly, as the store ate up so much of his and Echo’s time, they very rarely had the chance to make it out. Tonight, however, their luck was going to turn around. There was this nice new restaurant only a short train ride from Six Points. From the reviews he read up on, it wasn’t half shabby: the food, service and the atmosphere had been well-received by its local patrons. Weevil could hear his bottomless pit of a belly whining to be nourished ages before they closed shop. Even Echo looked more than just a little impressed when he showed her the place’s promotional leaflet. “Four stars, hmm?” she mused while reading through it, taking in by the offers of quality wine and her favourite dish; roasted mutton leg served with a garnished salad on a mahogany plank. “And there’s no reserving?” “Nope,” he smirked, sounding proud of himself. “And you’ve picked the movie?” “That’s right, baby.” “And that being…?” Weevil held her gently under the chin, saying smoothly, “Ah ah, that’s gonna be a surprise, my sweet. We can even get a few drinks afterwards if you want.” “Well now,” she chuckled and playfully used the leaflet to bat him on the snout, speaking to him in all too suggestive tone, “somechangeling’s working real hard for an extra special treat tonight.” Knowing precisely what she was talking about caused his face to turn green with embarrassment. “Honey!” Laughing her flanks off at his expense, Echo planted a fat kiss on his forehead. She then hauled an overflowing washing basket into their bedroom with the intention of preparing their clothes for the following week like normal, only this time carrying herself with ten times the enthusiasm. “Who knows?” She stopped for a few seconds, sashaying those wide, egg-bearing hips and behind, designed to get a particular rise out of her hubby. “If all goes well, you might just get lucky.” In the confines of his mind where he still possessed the body of a chiseled stud in his prime, Weevil was doing somersaults forward and back. It’d been awhile since the two of them made sweet, hot ‘snu-snu’, and an even longer since Weevil had a proper burst of love to slake his inner-hunger more than that government swill ever could. His wedding night was, to tell the truth, the single most amazing night of his life; come sunrise, they’d literally destroyed their honeymoon suit. True, he may no longer was quite the same stud muffin from back in the army, but all the pounds put on by beer and his wife’s cooking couldn’t change the fact he still had it. Yessir, tonight, he was gonna mount that beautiful, magnificently-toned flank! Weevil’s tantalizing fantasies ceased when he realized he was panting out loud and touched his face to find it covered with a film of sweat. ‘Ugh, what is wrong with me?’ he thought as he went to wash his face off in the bathroom sink. ‘Save it for tonight’s action, soldier. It’ll be worth it.’ Hangovers were the worst. As a young mare in college, Babs was no stranger to Discord’s nectre. Heck, she was a member of the Apple clan, for crying out loud, and they packed away cider like fresh spring water. She remembered having her first mug of crisp cider at only ten-years-old and the buzz she felt back then was phenomenal. You may not remember the first time you got drunk, but you’ll always your first hangover. Her Manehattan socialite parents, casual drinkers themselves, naturally wouldn’t let her anywhere near the stuff with a fifty foot pole at her young age. Then along came highschool and the saddle came right off. From that point on, she was exposed to, among other things, ciders, wines, lagers, ales. You name it, she’d already tried it. Dear old Dad, as he was pouring her her first sparkling rosé, gave Babs some advice she wouldn’t soon forget. ‘I feel sorry for ponies who don't partake, Babsie, because when they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they're going to feel all day.’ If that was the case, Babs envied all those sissy teetotallers, because the hangover she had right now made her feel like she was going to puke her very soul out every orifice of her body. She opened one heavy eye to scan around her huge pigsty of an apartment bedroom. The bleak winter overcast was thankfully blocked out by the window blinds, leaving her with the bliss of darkness and the familiar smell of old fast food, beer and used clothes. She hadn’t a clue what time it was in the afternoon, not like she gave a damn. Thank Celestia she turned off her alarm clock. Babs scarcely remembered what went down last night. She had flashbacks of herself at the nightclub with Sweetie Belle and their college buddies, tossing down appletinis and going on her third u-boot of the evening. They were out partying again. The occasion? Well, when you were a college mare and had the money her family had, you didn’t exactly need a reason to party your plot off. The blinding strobelights and pounding beats of the music were still playing in her mind like a tape on unending repeat, the intensity threatening to pop her skull open. “Sweets…” Babs croaked after an eternity of agonizing silence, a trembling hoof rising weakly out of the thick blankets she was snugly buried under. “Sweets…” She angrily lifted her head from her scrunched, drooly pillow and forced herself to holler, “Sweetie Belle! I know ya can hear me!” No sooner than she called, Sweetie Belle appeared in the doorway, a self-pitying frown on her muzzle. She carried with her a box of reheated pizza from last night and a sixpack of beer. At the sight of light pouring into their room, Babs let out a shrill vampire’s shriek and buried her face in her blanket. “Morning, sunshine,” Sweetie Belle sighed heavily as she braved her way through the landfill, unable to move without stepping in something sticky or crunchy. “Oh, Celestia’s sake… Get up, Babs. I got your stupid breakfast.” Babs kept the blankets close to her chest and futilely nursed her throbbing temples, reluctantly sitting up on the mattress. Sweetie Belle dropped the open box of pizza on her lap and cracked open a cold one for her, which fizzed a bit over the lip. “And here I thought we had somepony to keep this place clean,” she joked dryly. “Same here,” Babs bitterly ravaged the lukewarm slice of pepperoni and cheese, regarding the newly lit bedroom with disgust. “The place’s still a dump. Where the buck is Cicada, anyways?” “I think her kids are sick.” “Seriously?! Ugh, that’s what ya get when you have two dozen kids. Un-bucking-believable...” She took a swig of beer, some sweet hair of the dog, and bristled like a twig from the sensation. “Brrr, that’s the stuff!” Sweetie looked around and heaved another sigh. Knowing full well Babs wasn’t going to do anything about this mess, she used the magic she was supposed to be honing in college to excavate the thick layers of rubbish herself. “I hate it when you get like this,” she muttered. “Sweets, it’s like there’s a buckin’ drill in my head, okay? I’ll be as grouchy as I buckin’ want!” Neither said anything else for a while, save for the frequent groans of disgust and disapproving tut-tuts from Sweetie Belle. Babs felt her hangover, as well as her attitude, assuage with each sweet, refreshing gulp she took. Babs checked her mute clock. 1:37 PM. Damn. That must’ve been one heck of a night out. “What time did we get home?” she asked. Sweetie folded up a Manehattan Nyx jersey with a dried mustard stain on it. “I got home at eleven. You somehow found your way back around six. That’s the last time I carry you into our bed!” “Thought I smelt strawberries last night.” Babs stuffed one last rolled-up slice in her mouth and hauled her plot out of their queensized bed. “I’m gonna take a shower.” “Good! I suggest you take a good, long one, because you smell like a brewery!” “Buuuck you.” Stumbling into their bathroom, huge enough to put a changeling bathhouse to shame, Babs clambered lazily into their narrow, walk-in shower. The chilled sensation of high-pressured water running down her back was just the wake up she needed. Sometimes, she’d sit in this secure glass box for a straight hour, letting the high-pressured downpour blast the shame off out of her mane and coat. She gargled a mouthful of shower water and spat it on the wall, ridding herself of the lingering taste of beer and pizza in her mouth. Her monster of a hangover was also now crawling back into whatever dark crevice from whence it emerged. Washed and refreshed, Babs swaggered out the bathroom and took a deep breath of clean, lemon-scented air. She met up with Sweetie Belle, who was sitting in the kitchen, reading a magazine and applying what looked like eye drops into those gorgeous green orbs. “Eyes still hurtin’ ya?” Babs asked, taking one of two lattes Sweetie had prepared for them both. “That jerk used ursa mace on me!” Sweetie gritted her teeth in anger, squeezing droplets into the other stinging eye. “Daddy’s looking if we can sue!” “Still thought it was awesome the way you called that pig a ‘pig’” Seeing her still vexed, Babs put her legs over her shoulders comfortingly. “Hey, c’mon, at least now you can call yourself a real activist, now you’ve suffered for your cause and all.” A ghost of a smile crossed Sweetie's face and she put her hoof over hers. “Nah, I’d much rather my eyes didn’t hurt.” “Aw, c’mere you…” Babs rubbed her bristly gamboge cheek against Sweetie’s white plush, before reaching down to work the neck, inhaling her natural aroma mixed with strawberry shampoo. Sweetie’s face lit up with crimson and she let out a soft, low nicker. “C’mooon, where’s that smile? You want Babsie to kiss ya eyes better? Cuz you know she’ll do it.” Her normally upbeat demeanour flaring up, Sweetie nuzzled her back. “Heh heh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary!” They topped off their embrace with a kiss. Babs stayed where she was, using Sweetie’s mane as a makeshift cushion as the latter resumed nonchalantly reading up on article about her favourite zebra pop singer, her eyes only a minor distraction. It’s thanks to the little moments like this Sweetie Belle wasn’t too regretful she agreed to become roommates with Babs when both first enrolled in Manehattan U. The two of them were an original odd couple. Bab’s crude and abrasive behaviour was topped only by her sloppiness; a chimera’s den looked like a five-star hotel in Canterlot compared to her bedroom. Sweetie was naturally the polar opposite. Growing up with her big sister Rarity likely contributed to developing her compulsive need to keep things neat and tidy; her doctors put it down to a mild case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Maybe that’s what gradually drew her to the mare. ‘Opposites attract’ wasn’t just some cheap throwaway line to describe peculiar relationships. “So…” came Babs’ muffled voice from the mulberry locks. “Ya wanna come out with me again, tonight?” And just like that, Sweetie once again regretted every decision she ever made. “Babs!” she snapped incredulously, banging down on a printed copy of Bomb Chell’s face. “I mean, seriously, is partying all you think about?” “Of course not, I think about plenty of other stuff…” Babs stroked her chin, racking her brain for something, anything. “You know, like about how much joke I'm gonna have to blow after my tests and lectures.” Sweetie raised her hoof, looking as though she were about to say something. She gave it second thought and sulked off into the living room with her magazine, her disappointment clear by her shaking head. Babs sank down at the table and stayed sat for a good long while, slurping her now lukewarm latte all by herself. Slowly but surely with each refreshing sip, she could feel whatever remnants of her hangover fade into nonexistence and her overall mood improved. The gentle tapping of rain against the kitchen window in the otherwise total silence was quite therapeutic as well. After polishing off a third latte, Babs fixed herself a daffodil and daisy sandwich. Then she went off in search of her roommate in the living room, who she found curled up deep into their hideous brown faux leather sofa which stood out like a cracked horn. “Whatcha readin’ there?” she asked with her mouth full. Sweetie’s eyes didn’t leave the article she was on. “Ah, Zuri’s had tail extensions. Apparently.” “Oh Celestia!” Babs snickered, nearly choking on her sandwich, dramatically holding a hoof to her forehead. “Can’t blame her! That girl’s plot’s so big, I almost forgot she had a tail!” “Uhh-huh…I’m thinking of getting mine done.” “Go for it, girl.” She stuck the sandwich corner in her mouth. “Dunno how hotter you can make that flank, but feel free to try.” A naughty idea coming to mind, Babs took a seat on the sofa next to Sweetie. She curled up to her slowly, snuggling against her coat as if it were a silk cushion. The two of them looked like a pair of beached whales splayed out on the tacky leather. When it became painfully clear she wasn’t getting any further reading done, Sweetie dropped the magazine to the floor. Languidly, she rolled on her side so their muzzles touched. “What?” She cocked an unimpressed brow. A cheeky, ear-to-ear grin stretched the aspiring young mane stylist’s face. One toned gamboge leg snaked around Sweetie’s chest, crossed her shoulder, and hugged her tight to her chest. She then whispered something into her ear, tickling her with her skilled tongue. Shades of pink popped from underneath Sweetie’s fur, turning her stunned face from white to scarlet. She tried but failed to stop herself from breaking into a giggling fit. Before long, they were on top of each other, wracked with the intimate laughter found only between the closest of ponies. Babs darted in for the crook of her neck, peppering her with kisses. “Babs, you cut that out!” cackled Sweetie, wiping he now salt stained cheeks. She shoved away her hungry lips with both hooves. “It’s too early for this, c’mon!” Babs stayed on top of her, keeping her pinned down by her shoulders. “Okay, ya wanna I whine and dine ya first?” she suggested with that suggestive tone of hers. “I’ll take you out for lunch again, on me.” Both eyes rolled across to Babs’ red saddlebag, which had been left open on the coffee table in the middle of the room from the previous night. It was practically overflowing with thick wads of cash and flashy credit cards from her parents. They were crying desperately out to the pair, begging to be spent on designer clothes and fancy dinners at five star restaurants. Sweetie must have heeded their cries, because the idea of lunch with Babs was sounding quite appetising to the young singer-in-training. “Oooh, you know, I really liked that restaurant we went to last week for lunch.” “Wherever my Sweetie Sweets wants,” Babs said almost patronizingly, cupping her cheeks. “Sounds like a plan. And ya know what? I don’t hafta go drinking; we could go out for roach food for dinner tonight. I’ll pay; I’m feeling piggy.” “You really spoil me, Babsie.” “I do, don’t I?” Their plans set, they climbed off each sofa, their hooves eventually finding their way onto the crunchy carpet. “I just gotta finish my vocals first,” Sweetie jabbed her hoof in the direction of the door leading into her own private rehearsal studio. Another generous gift from Babs’ parents to go with their deluxe apartment. “Maybe you should get some practice done too. I seem to recall you’ve got workshop tomorrow.” “Alrigh’.” They parted with one last fat, fizzy smooch on her cheek, and true to her word, Babs got straight to searching for her practice mannequin bust. It was no easy task, considering the state of… ‘organized chaos’ she kept the place in. Miraculously, after rummaging through a random pile of jerseys and hoodies, she found the damn thing. “Daaaaaamn!” This bust had been completely mutilated, lipstick and mascara mushed over the expressionless plastic surface; the horn had been broken off, for what perverted purpose she didn’t want to imagine. Worst of all, the faux mane half the mane had been shorn off, whatever was left dyed in at least five mismatching colours and a knitting needle tangled in the mess. “The buck happened here?” she gawped at the horrific handiwork. “You were baked off your plot,” Sweetie answered from her studio’s shut door. “Ah yeah.” With the chilly, soggy afternoon rolling on, Shroud found himself spending it with his friends, sitting around a pile of comics on his parents’ dampening porch underneath the canopy. It wasn’t their first choice, and the weather hadn’t been too bad when they began, but Shroud wasn’t prepared to give his mother sass and risk incurring her wrath over something so petty. Besides, they could always move along if the rain died down. Scruffy’s parents were out and Bigmouth was absolutely adamant that they couldn’t read at his place. That just left their friend Chirper’s apartment, but only once his mother was finished with the stallion she had over for an ‘appointment’. Ponies and changelings kept coming and going through the shop’s front door, most carrying heavy brown bags with them as they brazened out the rain and wind smacking them in the face. The colts and lone pup didn’t care about the customers coming and going out the door so much as they did the overhanging bell constantly ringing. “Shroud, dude, seriously? I’m gonna smack you over the head with that bell…” grumbled Bigmouth, under whose weight the porch’s inferior wood was whining. Shroud ducked back into his Power Ponies comic; it was the second in a current four issue arc about the team’s latest clash with their arch-nemesis, the malevolent Maneiac. His friend Chirper only introduced him to the world of these brightly coloured picture books two months ago and already he was caught up with almost a hundred issues and two micro-series. It beat reading nothing but the thick, oversaturated tomes his mother always got for his birthdays. Not like these comics were exactly Haycarte in terms of quality. You could mostly put it down to endless exquisite drawings of sexy mares clad in skintight spandex. A harsh gust of wind blew some comics off the pile and smacked both him and Scruffy in the muzzle. Bigmouth and Chirper laughed. “Dude!” Scruffy tore away the bristling paper that seemingly wanted to glue itself to his face. “Why can’t we just go read inside your house?!” “Because Shroud’s mom always thinks you’ve got fleas!” Bigmouth remarked snottily, pushing Chirper off him, who was trying to use his plushy body as some kind of bean bag chair. “I could be chillin’ on that sweet couch right now and eating chips if it weren’t for you.” “Ugggh, I-don’t-have-fleas!” he insisted, diddy fangs bared and a growl rattling his chords. If you were a Diamond Dog, you’d know the most annoyingly stereotype tossed about your species, aside from supposedly being dumber than a sack of hammers, was always the damn flea thing. It drove the young pup up the wall. “I’m so sick of you guys saying I’ve got fleas! I’ve never had them once in my life!” Bigmouth snorted, “Yeah, right, you scratch yourself all the—See, you’re doing right now!” He immediately ceased scratching himself behind the ear with his hind leg and yelled, “That’s because I get dry skin, you Lardo!” Listening to those two loudly exchange shots made ogling the Masked Matterhorn from behind too great a challenge for Shroud’s normally focused mind. His attention drifted away, lazily surveying Loyalty Street and Harmony Square; the usual stuff was there like Muleshnik’s place, the barbers, and the edge of his family’s favourite changeling restaurant. The gloomy weather was all too common as well. Honestly, the only thing worthy of the colt’s interest was the potpourri of different creatures bustling past, none paying his existence any notice. Most of them were changelings, so much so Shroud created a game out of the non-changelings he saw. 10 points for a zebra. 25 for a pony. 50 for a griffin. 100 for a dragon. He’d include donkeys, but if he had to count points every time Old Muleshnik came out, spitting tobacco and cussing at the kids loitering outside his store, there’d be no point in playing. When he got up to four ponies for 100 points, he spotted Zamira walking by and lost count then and there. She was in a group of other zebras he guessed were her family, who carried a load of plastic and tote bags. They must’ve been doing a lot of shopping today. Shroud didn’t think she could see him, which was fine. It was easier admiring and mentally photographing her beauty this way. That sassy, confident way she carried herself as she trotted on those pretty striped legs. Her mane hanging to one side and those earrings shining in their grey surroundings, both statements to tell the world she didn’t give a buck what they thought, that she did what she wanted, when she wanted. What he would give to lick her face. “Dude, are you drooling?” Reality came a knocking like wiffle bat over the head. Shroud looked from Chirper to the silvery line of drool creating a puddle on his comic, wiped his mouth and made himself out to look like nothing happened. Chirper, a matchstick of a changeling colt whose hoodie looked too big over his needly frame, just grinned mischieviously, holding a new comic on a certain page up to his face. “Heh heh, dude, check out Marvelous.” Another sideways glance and he saw Zamira was already gone, much to his disappointment. The two proceeded like the naughty colts they were to gorge their eyes on a choice page showcasing a sweet shot of Mistress Marevelous’ tight, firm flanks. Shroud figured the artists did it on purpose, that they knew exactly what their young readership wanted and were just refilling the troughs. He and his buddies were interrupted from their reading session once again by the jingle of that infernal doorbell. Only this time, it was accompanied by a familiar, sing songy voice beckoning from inside the shop. “Shroudy dear!” If Echo had screeched it any louder, Shroud would’ve sworn she was standing right by his ear. Snapping the comic shut and nearly shoving it in Chirper’s mouth, he instinctively stood up to greet her, putting on his most innocent ‘mama’s angel’ facade for her. Echo returned a loving smile, carrying with her a tray of plastic cups filled with cola, which she gave out to her son and each of his friends. “You boys playing nice?” “Yes, Mrs Shroud’s Mom,” the group, sans Shroud, collectively droned, though Bigmouth and Scruffy still glared at each other. “Shroudy, your father and I are going out tonight,” she told her son, holding him under his chin.“We’re having ourselves a…” she blushed and chuckled, covering her mouth, “romantic evening. Zigzag’s gonna be looking after of you while we’re gone.” Behind his figurative mask, Shroud was retching violently. So that’s why he saw his father acting so upbeat all afternoon, even after his embarrassing meltdown just hours ago. He’d been cantering around the store with a spring in his holey step and an actual smile as he served his customers. It was as if somechangeling, probably Mom, had snuck up on him and stuck an adrenaline shot in his rump. That would’ve been the only plausible explanation until now. Now it all made sense. Mom and Papa were gonna make the four winged monster tonight. The same four winged monster he had the grave misfortune of walking in on one traumatic morning after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. Just thinking about it made him want to molt his chitin. At least that way he’d feel a little less dirty. Worse still, the thought wasn’t lost on his friends, who were bursting to hide their snickering. The matriarch patted her cherished grubling on his cheek and disappeared back inside her store, her flank bouncing left and right all the way. “Dang, Shroud, wish I was your Dad.” All eyes rounded on Bigmouth, muzzle in his cup and lapping up his cola like a foal on its bottle. He looked confused by the withering glares he was getting all of a sudden. “What? It’s a compliment. Your mom’s foxy!” Shroud gave no retort, as per usual. He downed his drink, weighed it in his hoof and then lobbed it straight at Bigmouth’s head. Closing time couldn’t have come quicker. The last of their customers were out the door and with that came the sweet relief of flipping the door sign to ‘Closed’. Another day fought and won. “Where is Zigzag? He should be here by now,” fussed Echo, applying her small jade earrings in front of her vanity and opened her lip balm. She checked the clock on the table. If they were gonna get a meal and have enough time to catch a movie, they’d need to get going soon. “He did say he might run a little late,” Weevil replied while he sprayed on some of his cheap cologne, but was too concerned by the clock hands ticking away. Good thing they were near enough ready to go already. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there in time.” “Remind me why we can’t just fly there again.” He stopped rubbing the musky perfume into his neck, looking really uncomfortable at the mention of flying. “Train’s quicker,” he muttered, though the logistics of that he really had no idea. “‘sides, I like taking the train anyway.” “Flying’s healthier.” “There’ll be too many ponies flying by now anyway, Echo. Last thing I want is knocking into another pegasus’ flank like last time.” Satisfied with her plump and supple lips, Echo moved on to the mascara, the same type that made her eyes pop like firecrackers. There was something putting him off taking a short flight besides the off chance he’d accidentally crash into a very large and very angry mare’s backside again. That psycho pony chased him around the city skyscrapers for hours on end. Echo wisely chose not to prod him about it, preferring not to provoke an argument over it. “So…” her voice trailed off, concentrating not to poke herself in the eye. “Sure you don’t wanna give me a clue about that movie you’re treating me to?” Weevil rubbed the musky perfume into his neck, grinning as he cantered over to her, “Nuh-uh. I told you, it’s a surprise.” He put his legs over her shoulders and his chin found haven in that spot where her collar ended and shoulder began. “You’re gonna enjoy tonight… oh baby, did I tell you today how hot you are?” “Mmm, probably,” she spoke silkily, taking his hooves in her own. “Wouldn’t mind hearing it again, though.” They marvelled each other’s reflections for the longest time; after almost ten years married, they still found each other irresistibly attractive. Together, they were living proof of their culture’s teachings, despite the many, many, many bumps in the road: that when a changeling finds the right partner, they mate for life. The fact changeling temples didn’t permit divorce had nothing to do with it. Weevil moved his mouth to her ear, his forked tongue tickling her ever so slightly, whispering, “Alright, baby, you’re so… gawgeous, when the Kami made you, they broke the mold.” Echo’s body became wracked with a shiver and she gave a little shimmy. “Ooo, do go on, big colt,” she whispered back. “I like it even better when you talk dirty.” “Oh yeah, baby? Well, when we get back, I’m gonna carry you all the way to bed and ride you like a…” A knocking from downstairs shattered the mood. “That must be Zigzag.” She gave him a parting lick on the snout before she got up and went off downstairs. “I’ll get the door. You go sort out your mane, it’s a mess.” “Okay, okay.” Remembering his trusty comb still to be in the bathroom sink, gathering mold, he made for the bathroom. Might as well have some mouthwash while had the chance. He opened the door to find Zamira, that zebra filly who his son hung around with at school. She was standing at the sink on top a plastic stool, not noticing him come in, rather too busy gazing and making kissy faces at the mirror. Seeing this child in his bathroom didn’t seem to shock Weevil much at all, nor did it cross his mind how she got into his apartment. He instead cleared his throat. The little zebra’s head spun around, eyes shot wide, mouth agape, and in a burst of green magic Shroud had taken her place on the stool. Weevil jabbed his hoof over his shoulder. “Out.” Shroud, face as green as a seasick crocodile, stumbled over the stool in his mad scramble out the door. The elder changeling shook his head and, after rinsing his comb of flakes, got busy tidying up his mane. Sometimes, he wished it’d hurry up and fall out entirely and spare him the effort of keeping these ratty remains kempt. He’d most likely regret thinking that later down the line. It then dawned on him after he’d finished that he now had a rare moment alone. Choosing to make the best of it, he locked the door, returned to the cracked and smudgy mirror and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw a very different changeling staring back at him, somechangeling Weevil hadn’t seen in in a long time. This guy looked a lot like him, save for years younger, a couple hundred pounds lighter and rocking the mane of a rock idol. A demigod chiseled from the marble of the Kami themselves. “Hey there, stud, been a long time,” he spoke, only the voice that came out his mouth was younger and dripping with confidence than his own, perfectly suited for his youthful doppleganger. “Whatchu been getting up to?” “Oh, you know, been pumping my guns, beating off the mares with a stick,” his reflection replied proudly in the exact same voice. Raising his foreleg, he flexed his ripped-up triceps, glowing green veins rising over the chitin. “You know, the usual. My life’s awesome. You?” “Me? I’m gonna go paint the town green with the missus tonight.” “So, you’re gonna wasted too?” “Maaaybe.” Mirror Weevil flexed again, this time showing off his prominent, rock hard pectorals in sync with Weevil, smirking arrogantly as he asked, “And I bet tonight you’ll be showing her the thickness, right? You still got that, don’tcha?” “I’m gonna take my Echo Echo straight back to the trenches!” Weevil spent the next few minutes posing and exchanging compliments with his equally vain mirror counterpart. It was a hobby he indulged in whenever he had the chance, which given his daily workload was few and far between. “Weeeviiil!” he heard Echo holler him from downstairs. “Get your rump down here!” In a flash of green, Weevil’s younger, handsome body was gone. His worthless mane and haggard face returned, topped off by the undignified whoosh of his huge gut between his legs. Judging from his wife’s tone, she wasn’t too happy. He hit the lights on his way out, grumbling, “Oh, what now?” “What do you mean you can’t foalsit?!” Weevil’s voice reached several octaves in the span of a sentence. Zigzag stood deflated across from the irate changelings, the counter separating them and the hot tensity in the air re-creating bad colthood memories in the old zebra’s mind of his school headmistress’ office. Not to say a pair of pissed off friends matched the anger of mare who with her stick moulded posteriors more than she did minds. Honestly, neither were preferable. All he could offer was an innocent shrug, “I can’t foalsit… What part of that don’t you guys understand?” “He means why.” Echo sighed, looking more annoyed compared to her positively enraged diminutive husband. “You said you could!” Weevil stressed the words through iron clenched teeth. “I know that, and I’m sorry, but something came up at the last minute and I can’t put it off.” Zigzag held up a calming hoof to the fiery chitinous dough ball. Past his prime and balding he may be, he knew Weevil could still deal out some serious pain when pushed far enough. “But don’t worry, cuz I have an idea: I’ve got somepony who’s happy to fill in.” He turned his head to the store door. “Hey, Cue, get in here!” The tip of what looked like a large, speckled egg peeked out into view. It was one stallion’s big bald head as Cueball walked into the dim shop, wearing a nervously hopeful expression, the reasons being obvious to everybody in the room. Echo made her feelings clear immediately. “Ohhh, no! NO!” “O-Okay, okay, now Echo,” he stammered, wiping away a layer of sweat from his forehead. “I know you’re probably still mad about earlier—” She guffawed. “But lemme make it up to you, okay?” Cueball tried to reason, taking his spot next to Zigzag. The changeling couple saw their perfect reflections in the sweating mass that was the stallion’s head; Echo brushed back a few loose strands. “I’ve got no other plans… I never do.” “No!” “I’d be happy keeping an eye on little Shroud and Eggie.” It took Weevil a pregnant pause to reply. “Eggie?” His wife beamed and headed to the backdoor with a dismissive flick of her tail. “Welp, I better go and order a pizza. It was a nice idea, Weevil, we can try again another night.” Alarm bells rang inside Weevil’s flaky head. Like a rickety house of cards, his plan was falling apart. No fancy dinner. No film to get the blood-pumping. No film meant no drinks for extra measure. No sweet, sweet poontang! He wouldn’t allow this to happen. He’d already come this far! “W-Wait! Hold on!” Everyone stared at him concerned, Echo herself frozen midway in pushing open the door. “I mean, look,” he laughed uneasily, working hard to regain his composure and save face. “L-Let’s calm down, huh, honey? I think we’re underestimating our friend. Cue, you’re good with kids, right?” “Yeah, they love me,” Cueball said but sounded unsure himself, itching the top of his head. “Well, least I think they do. A lot of them like to rub my head for good luck.” Before the changeling could exclaim with all the enthusiasm of a cheerleader that Cueball was hired, Echo took him rough by his ear, dragging him on his hooves across the floor. She gave their friends a look telling them ‘give us a minute’ as she took Weevil behind the backdoor. “Weevil, we’re not leaving our offspring in this rube’s care,” she told with him with a certain finality in her tone which Weevil normally crumble under. “Why not?” he asked exasperated. “Look, Cueball’s a nice pony. He likes the kids and I’m pretty sure Shroud… doesn’t mind him.” “So you’re okay with him breaking our property?” she snarled back, hooves crossed firmly against her barrel. “He’s not that careful, I’ll give you that, but it’s not like he’s, you know, a dick about it,” he argued, even though he didn’t sound too convinced himself. “I trust him.” “Oh, that’s reassuring!” “Uh, we can hear you,” they heard Zigzag’s voice from beyond the door. “You guys are bad whisperers,” Cueball chipped in. Glaring white, hot daggers to both her husband and the two stallions past the varnished wooden door as if with x-ray vision, the matriarch stormed up back to the counter. Like a frightening, imposing golem of days old, she towered with unnering silence over the slapheaded stallion who was now wishing he’d stayed at home with a bucket of saltlick and hayfries. For what felt like forever, even though it could’ve only been minutes, Echo glowered at Cueball with her piercing violet eyes, unclear whether she was analyzing him and the situation or contemplating lunging forward and crushing his skull with her impressive teeth. The tensity in the air was provided with some welcome relief when Echo arched her back, a subsequent groan signalling her defeat. “Weevil,” she said, “go get our coats.” Ten minutes later everybody was out on the porch, the streetlanterns already lit and covering the streets in their amber glow. Echo and Weevil were cozily wrapped up in their jackets, the latter dragging a cigarette while Cueball was chittering by the doorway. Shroud was there too, still as a statue, completely unaffected by the biting temperature like his caretaker. “... The egg’s already been given her bath,” Echo said, giving him the final run through of instructions while she checked the insides of her saddlebag, “so all you need to do is keep an eye on the incubator, make sure it stays on.” The earth stallion pinned a mental sticky note of it to the fridge that was his mind. “Okay, but… what if she suddenly starts hatching?” “Don’t worry about that, we’re only going to be gone for a few hours.” Weevil took the cigarette from his mouth, clearing his throat, “Shroud won’t be much to handle. He’ll be up in his room finishing his homework. “Just have Shroud in bed and the building standing by the time we get back,” his wife added cooly. Cueball smiled, “I think I can manage that.” “Alright then!” Doing a happy little twirl, Weevil galloped down the steps, simultaneously rounding off any last necessary details, “Money for pizza’s on the counter, don’t order from the ponies down the street, they’re buckers, aaaand yeah, have yourselves a great time, we sure will.” He held a hoof out back to her in a romantic gesture. “Coming, my love?” Echo shot him a glare telling him to hold his horse flies. She got down on her knees so she could address Shroud first, cradling his chubby little face in her softened hooves. “Now sweetie, you be a good colt like you always are,” she then whispered in his ear, “and try not to let Mr Cueball break anything while we’re gone.” With an affectionate parting kiss on his cheek, Echo made her way off with her special hunk of stallion, their tails crossed and flanks side-by-side. “You two have a fun time together, we’ll be fine!” Cueball called as they waved them a goodbye. “I’ve got it all under control, don’t you worry.” He gave Shroud a hearty pat on the shell, much to the lad’s discomfort. “Right, partner, now it’s just you and me. Let’s go order that pizza. I’m gonna get so much garlic bread…” When they were inside, Shroud dashed straight upstairs. He gazed out his bedroom window; it sure was a pretty night for his parents’ date. But the weather wasn’t what he was focusing on. Down by the pitch-black alleyway by Muleshnik’s store, he made out a bunch of colourful eyes staring right up at his window. He flashed the tip of his horn, giving them the signal to wait just a little longer. Mom and Dad weren’t the only ones who got to have fun tonight.