> Affection Therapy
>  by Blazewing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Starlight Glimmer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

How can you even describe the jumbled mishmash of feelings dancing about inside you? Excitement, anxiety, nervousness, plus a little puzzlement...Yes, that sounded about right. Maybe there was more, but they were clashing together so much that it was hard to accurately dissect one from another. Why shouldn’t you have such mixed feelings, however?

On the one hand, you’ve been invited to Princess Twilight’s castle. On the other hand, you’ve been invited to Princess Twilight’s castle. The summons itself didn’t say anything bad; all it said was that your services were in need at the castle, and that it would greatly benefit someone near and dear to Her Highness. Well, who were you to refuse a request from a princess? Still, this was a request from a princess, something not to be treated so lightly.

At last, after what felt like hours, you stand before the polished doors of Twilight’s castle, easily the most recognizable building in all of Ponyville. Raising a slightly trembling hand, you knock. You can hear those knocks echoing inside. Then, you wait, your heart thudding rather hard, anticipation running high.

Finally, the doors open, and there stands Princess Twilight Sparkle herself. You can still vaguely remember the days when she had been a simple unicorn. Now, as an alicorn, she seems much more regal, and has a kind of ‘aura’ to her that you can’t quite define. She still looks much as she used to: lavender coat, bluish-purple mane and tail (streaked with purple and pink), amethyst-colored eyes, cutie mark of a six-pointed star surrounded by tiny white stars. However, what stands out are the obvious wings tucked at her side, as well as the fact that she’s a bit taller and slimmer than she was as a unicorn. Nonetheless, her face is still as kind and friendly as ever.

“Hello!” she says, brightly. “Welcome!”

“Good day, Your Highness,” you say, giving her a polite bow.

“Oh, no need to be so formal,” she says. “Just call me Twilight. Come in, come in! I’m so glad you agreed to come!”

“Well, I can’t exactly say no to a request from the princess, but even as a friend, I’m always willing.”

Twilight smiles warmly at this. She steps aside so you can enter, and the doors close behind the pair of you. Even though you’d visited the castle before, you still can’t help gazing around at the impressive architecture.

“So, what is it that you need me to do?” you ask.

“I figured that was obvious,” says Twilight. “I need your ‘special talent’.”

You raise an eyebrow at her.

“Twilight, I wouldn’t go so far as to call it that.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” says Twilight, waving an airy hoof. “Before you came along, I’d never even considered anything like affection therapy before.”

You can’t help but grin, in a slightly embarrassed way.

“Heh. To be honest, I’m glad you didn’t find it creepy or insulting,” you say.

Twilight looks mildly surprised.

“Creepy? Insulting? Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t done anything wrong at all. You have a lot of love to give, and a unique way to give it. Besides, your friend had nothing to complain about, right?” she asks, with a wry smile.

“Well, true,” you concede.

To think that you would be appointed Ponyville’s first-ever ‘affection therapist’, something that had never happened before. What was even stranger was that it had all started by accident, and by such a simple one, too. 

You had been hanging out with a good pony friend of yours, a sweet-tempered and patient Earth pony mare, not very talkative, but excellent at listening. In giving her mane a friendly ruffle, your fingers brushed the base of her ear. The effect was instantaneous. The sensation had melted her to your touch like putty, almost exactly like a cat. Well, to say that you were surprised would be an understatement. Surprise gave way to worry, though. You were worried about how she might react to being treated like a common animal or pet. After all, even if she still had the instincts of a regular pony, she was still a civilized Equestrian. 

However, she seemed to like it, and even asked you to keep going, so you did. Eventually, by experimentation, it went further than simple ear scratches: chin scratches, tickling, belly rubbing; she loved it all. She was the happiest you’d seen her in a long time, and that made you happy. 

That’s when you got to thinking: maybe there are other ponies out there in need of this kind of treatment. Perhaps other ponies out there wanted a little love, a little affection, to help them loosen up, forget their troubles, to know that someone cared for them. So, you talked it over with Twilight, and, after she discussed it with Princess Celestia (who seemed quite keen on the idea, surprisingly), you were appointed Ponyville’s first official affection therapist. This was your first real ‘assignment’ since being appointed.

“So, who exactly is in need of my help?” you ask, as the pair of you start walking down the hall.

“Starlight Glimmer,” says Twilight.

Starlight Glimmer. The name seems familiar to you.

“I vaguely remember seeing her before,” you say, thoughtfully, “but I don’t think we’ve actually been acquainted. She’s your, uh, protege, right?”

“Student, actually,” Twilight amends. “I took her under my wing to teach her a thing or two about friendship.”

“Is that so?” you ask. “Has she had problems with it before?”

“Something like that,” says Twilight, after a pause.

You feel troubled by the hesitation, as well as the slight change in Twilight’s expression and tone. She seems to sense that you want to question it, but she says,

“I’d rather not say it myself. It’s not my place. It’s her choice to if she wants to say it herself.”

“Oh. All right, then.”

“What I will say,” she continues, “is that she’s been feeling down lately. She’s having trouble adjusting to Ponyville and making new friends. She made one not too long ago, but that friend had to leave Ponyville for her job. They’d really started bonding, too.”

Whoa. That sounded like a harsh blow. You can’t admit to never having that happen to you before, either.

“That’s sad,” you say, sympathetically.

“It is,” says Twilight, nodding sadly. “That’s why I think she needs something to give her a little boost, something to show that there are ponies who care for her, even if you’re not exactly a pony yourself,” she adds, lightly.

You smile down at Twilight, feeling warm in the chest at this.

“You’re very compassionate, Twilight,” you say, “to care so much for her well-being. I'll do whatever I can to help her.”

Twilight merely smiles back in response, then she stops, bringing you up short before a door.

“This is her room,” she says. “Last I checked, she was reading, so you can head on in and tell her I sent for you. She shouldn't ask too many questions, then. Oh! And take this with you.”

Her horn flares up, and a bright flash of light nearly blinds you. Once you blink the spots out of your eyes, you feel something heavy in your hands. You can now see that Twilight has magicked a large, fully-laden tea tray in your hands, with a teapot, cups, saucers and plates of cakes and cookies. You give Twilight a quizzical look.

“Trust me,” she says. “Sharing a meal with a friend is a good way to build trust and familiarity. Besides, she loves sweets. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.”

Giving you a confident smile, she knocks on the door as a preliminary, magicks it open, and ushers you inside. You stagger in, under the weight of the tea tray and perplexed by the suddenness, and she swiftly closes it behind you. Feeling befuddled, you still look about you. 

The room is rather simple compared to the rest of the castle, though you do like the cloud motif running along the walls. Plus, it’s comfortably furnished. You see a large bed beneath a window, with a nightstand and a bookshelf on either side. A potted plant and an hourglass sit atop the bookshelf, while a framed photo sits on the nightstand. A writing desk, bearing an open book and an inkstand with a quill in it, occupies the space to the right of the door. Framed photos of scenic landscapes, a smiling mare wearing a wizard’s hat, and an equal sign with a ‘No’ symbol superimposed over it line the walls. A jumble of miscellany, including more books, a pair of kites, and a jar full of large scrolls sits beside it, while a sextant rests on the nearby windowsill. A taller and fully packed bookshelf stands to the other side of the window. A more ornate black table bearing a curious blue orb stands beside a chest beside the next window. A globe of the world sits beneath the last window, on the sill of which is another potted plant.

That was the layout of the room, but what should have been mentioned first and foremost, and what your eyes should have encountered first, was the sleeping unicorn mare lying on the bed, a book lying discarded on the floor beside it.

So this is Starlight Glimmer, Twilight Sparkle’s pupil.

She’s light pink, and her mane is purple, broken up with a streak of light blue, same as her tail. It’s styled in a way that drapes silkily down her neck and over her shoulder, with one large bang that curls right beside one of her eyes. It’s quite cute, you think. Her cutie mark looks like a purple diamond, with four white star points extending from behind it, and a pair of two-toned blue wisps that seemed to fly away from them. You already find her pleasant to look at, but the cuteness seems only heightened by little details you note in her physique. While certainly not fat, she has a noticeable little belly to her, a sign of good living or, as Twilight mentioned, a fondness for sweets. Even her cheeks, one pillowed on her hooves, look soft and squishy. Your heart swells at the sight of her, and for the life of you, you can’t understand how anyone so sweet-looking could be so friendless.

The seconds tick by as you just stand there, looking awkwardly at her. How would she react, waking up and seeing a perfect stranger in her bedroom? Why didn’t you bring this up with Twilight? Why didn’t she check to see if she really was still awake? This could go south quickly; you have to tread carefully.

You set the tea tray carefully on the bookshelf near the bed, then, gingerly dragging over the stool from the writing desk, you sit down beside her. Her face looks so peaceful, so calm. You really hate having to wake her up, but this is what Twilight wants. Very softly, you place a hand to her shoulder and give it a little shake.

She mumbles drowsily. She stretches and gives off a big yawn, just missing bumping you with her hooves. Smacking her lips sleepily, she opens her eyes. They’re a pretty shade of purple. She catches sight of you, and snaps awake instantly, looking startled.

“Don’t be scared,” you say, holding up a placating hand. “I’m here on Twilight’s request. She sent for me.”

It looks like you made the right call. Knowing that this was in relation to Twilight seems to relax her apprehensions. Perhaps she’s learned to trust her judgement. In any case, she sits up, no longer fearful, but curious.

“Hi,” you say, kindly.

“Hello,” she says, her voice very pleasant to listen to. “Who are you? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“You might have, and I know I’ve seen you, Starlight Glimmer,” you say. “I’m Ponyville’s first resident affection therapist, here on behalf of Twilight.”

Starlight raises a confused eyebrow.

“Affection therapist? What’s that?”

“It means I comfort and ease ponies’ worries and woes through platonic interactions,” you say, remembering how Twilight phrased it to Princess Celestia. “If a pony’s feeling down, I show them a little love. Platonically, of course,” you add, to ensure no mistake on the matter.

Starlight still looks unconvinced. You’d been expecting this.

“Here, take a look at this.”

You dig around in your jeans pocket until you pull out a folded-up piece of paper, unfurling it for her to see. It’s your occupational contract, written up and approved by Twilight herself. This thing’s served you like a kind of talisman for the skeptical or disbelieving, as there have been on occasion when you brought up the matter. You direct Starlight’s attention to one paragraph in particular.

“By order of Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, and in accordance with my position as an officially-appointed Affection Therapist, I, the undersigned, have been granted full permission to perform the following therapeutic actions, and variations thereof, with the willing consent of the recipient:
Ear scratches
Chin scratches
Nose boops
Cheek squishes
Belly pokes
Belly rubs
Tickles
Hugs
The choice of said recipient to reciprocate any of the actions listed on the initiator is in accordance with the willing consent of both parties.”

Starlight stares from the contract to you, seemingly at a loss for words. You can’t tell whether she’s impressed or dumbfounded. Finally, she says,

“Wow. All of this has actually worked?”

Well, that’s a good sign. She sounds more impressed than disbelieving.

“That’s right,” you say. “Well, I’ve only ever tested it out once. Still, it was enough corroboration for Twilight to approve it.”

Starlight says nothing at first. She seems to be thinking something over. Then, she asks, in a quiet voice,

“Is that why you’re here? Because Twilight thinks I need therapy?”

Oh dear…

“It’s not like she thinks you’re crazy!” you say, hastily. “Twilight just said you’ve been feeling down lately, something about a friend who left. She thought you might want someone to talk to about it.”

At the mention of this friend, something in Starlight’s eyes flickers, and you see her briefly glance at the picture of the wizard hatted mare on the wall. Was that the aforementioned friend? She doesn’t say a word, but you can see a tremulous light in those eyes. Was she about to cry? If so, then she really must be in need. You cast your eyes around for some way to continue the conversation, or divert to another topic, and you spy the heavily-laden tea tray. That gives you an idea.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, and she perks up. “Why don’t we have some tea and something to eat? Twilight left us some, after all. Maybe you can tell me a little about yourself over it.”

The warning sign of potential tears fades from Starlight’s eyes. Almost at that same instant, a loud, deep gurgling fills your ears. Startled, both of you look down at her belly, which appears to be the source. She grins sheepishly at you.

“I guess I am a little hungry,” she says. “Um, sure, we can do that. I’m willing.”

Good. She’s starting to trust you. She really must need this, or she might not have been so willing. She even shifts over so you can sit on the bed with her. Another good sign. You take her up on this offer and sit next to her, making the mattress creak a bit.

Her horn flares with a bluish aura of magic, and the tray is levitated onto the bed beside the pair of you. She pours out two cups of hot tea, then, with a rather guilty smile, loads up a plate with a little heap of cookies. You say nothing, but just smile and sip your tea. It’s a nice, soothing blend, one of those berry-flavor types. You watch as Starlight starts popping the little cookies into her mouth, her cheeks bulging adorably.

“Twilight wasn’t kidding. You like your sweet stuff, don’t you?”

Starlight swallows, then says, smiling,

“Yeah, I suppose I do. I think I’ve actually been putting on weight since I came to live here. Spike’s just too good a cook, and Pinkie Pie and Applejack bake better than anypony I’ve ever met, except maybe Sugar Belle. So, between the three of them, it’s hard to keep a trim figure when you’re not an athlete.”

“How does Twilight stay so fit, then?” you ask, helping yourself to a cookie.

“Alicorn metabolism, I guess,” says Starlight, then adds, poutily, “Lucky mare. She eats whatever she wants and hardly ever gains a pound.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” you say. “You look fine the way you are.”

Starlight blushes, though she looks pleased.

“Thank you,” she says, before helping herself to a cake.

The two of you sit there, working your way through the tea and sweets. All the while, you’re waiting for Starlight to start talking about why she was having problems. The longer you wait, however, the more it becomes clear that she’s not actually ready to start talking. You don’t want to interrupt or upset her, but you have a job to do, and Twilight’s counting on you.

Finally, you set down your empty teacup and clear your throat. Starlight, her face smeared with crumbs and icing, looks up at you.

“Starlight,” you say, “this is really pleasant, it honestly is, but we’re avoiding the main reason I’m here. I want to help you feel better, and to do that, I’d like to know more about what it is that’s troubling you. I'm a certified therapist, after all.”

Starlight bites her lip, then levitates a napkin to clean her face. That done, she says, in a gentle but hesitant manner, 

“Listen. You’re very kind, and I appreciate you wanting to help me, but I’m just not sure. I know this might sound...well, a bit extreme, but if I told you about what was really wrong with me… Well, you might not believe me. Or else, you might think worse of me for it.”

Her tone worries you. You reach across and place a hand on her hoof.

“Don’t talk like that,” you say, gently. “Whatever happened, I won’t judge you for it. Twilight trusts you enough to take you under her wing. You can’t have done anything really bad.”

You smile at her.

She does not smile back.

On the contrary, at your words, her face becomes stony, her eyes flinty. You feel a bit intimidated, and you remove your hand.

“You think so?” she asks, in a quiet, yet nonetheless deadly, voice. “You think what I’ve done couldn’t be really bad?”

You have no answer. You don’t like where this is leading. Then again, if she has something to get off her chest, it might prove beneficial for the therapy session. Even so…

As Starlight speaks, her voice starts low, but gets more and more heated as she continues. 

“You have no idea. You have absolutely no idea what I’ve been through. How could you know? You’re not even a pony. You don’t have to deal with your best foalhood friend getting his cutie mark before you! Sunburst and I had done everything together, but him getting his cutie mark changed all that! He got sent off to Celestia’s magic school, leaving me behind! 

“I grew bitter. I started to hate cutie marks. To me, different cutie marks only meant tearing apart old friends. I wanted to make sure it never happened again! So, I started my own village, and filled it with ponies seeking to distance themselves from the lives they’d forged with their old marks. Well, I soon got rid of those for them. I started them afresh, all of them with a blank slate, all of them...equal!”

She pauses for breath; she’s panting heavily. For your part, words fail you, but it looks like she isn’t done, because she continues, even more vehemently than before.

“And then, when everything was all hunky-dory for me, Twilight and her friends came along and stopped me! They broke up my Town of Equality, and I had to go on the run! Well, I wasn't going to let them get away with that. I wanted revenge, so I studied a spell to go back in time and destroy Twilight’s little band of friends! I was close to winning, but she stopped me again, and...and…”

She falters, the anger receding from her face, replacing itself with a look of grief and pain. Real tears spring to her eyes.

“She showed me how wrong I’d been, what I was leading Equestria into with my actions...She could have punished me severely for it. I deserved it, after what I did, but she took me as her pupil instead, and she’s been teaching me about friendship ever since…”

You simply sit there, mouth hanging open. She had really done all that? She took cutie marks from an entire village? She went back in time? You had no idea she could’ve had such a dark and...troubled past. 

However, Starlight still isn’t finished. The tears begin to build up.

“I was...evil,” she said, her voice very choked. “Completely, utterly, evil. And even now, when Twilight’s done so much for me, I still feel like I don’t deserve it. What if ponies find out what I did? What if they shun me, drive me away? I’m scared that’s going to happen, one of these days. Even the one friend I did manage to make on my own isn’t around to talk me through it. She was the first pony to really understand what I'd been through, because she'd been down a similar road herself. But she's not here anymore. She left only a week after we’d met. She’s a traveling magician, and she had to go on tour. She said she’d be back to see me, and I’m happy for her, but...but it’s just...just so...”

And before you know what’s happening, she collapses against your chest, and begins to cry. The stunned feeling from her narrative fades away, leaving you with a heart aching with sadness for the poor mare weeping into your shirt. You put your arms about her and hold her close, stroking her mane with one hand.

“Shh…” you whisper. “It’s ok. It’s all right. Just let it all out. I'm here for you.”

She sniffles and hiccups for a little while, then pulls back, wiping her eyes and muzzle.

“Thank you,” she mutters. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s all right,” you say. “You had to get it off your chest. I understand.”

“I’m not trying to sound ungrateful,” she said. “Twilight and Spike are such good friends to me, and so are Twilight’s other friends. I just wish it was easier for me to make friends myself...and for them to stick around…”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, nodding. “It's tough, but the fact that you're so willing to make amends for what you did is very admirable.”

She says nothing, but she nestles a little deeper against you. You both sit there, Starlight still leaning against you, as though still hoping for comfort from you. You continue to oblige, keeping your arms about her, stroking her mane gently. Finally, she looks up at you and says,

“Um...so that therapy that you do.”

That perks you up instantly. Could she really…?

“Yes?” you ask.

“Do you think...Well...I think I’d like to see how it works,” she says.

You feel your heart give a leap. She’s giving you her consent! She’s even smiling! A small smile, sure, but still a smile.

“I’d be happy to show you,” you say, grinning. “There’s really nothing complicated to it. Sometimes, it’s as simple as being a little playful.”

You punctuate this word by gently booping her nose with your forefinger. Her muzzle scrunches up adorably, and she has to fight back a giggle. As though it were required by the sacred laws of boopage, she boops you back with her hoof, making you chuckle. Then, you reach up and give her a little scritching behind the ear. Her eyes widen at first, and then, her expression goes dreamily slack, her eyes closing in utter bliss. You do one ear, then the next, then both at the same time. After that, you scratch under her chin. Her head tilts up, eyes still rapturously closed. If she could purr like a cat, you’re sure she would.

“You like that?” you ask.

“Oh, yes…” she murmurs.

With a sigh, she lays herself down on her back, across your lap. You wonder if she meant to do that. She opens her eyes, gazing up at you cutely, her hooves curled over her chest. You can’t help but chuckle.

“You’re just a little filly at heart, aren’t you?” you say.

You cup her chin in your hand, and with your thumb and fingers, squeeze her cheeks. They’re very chubby and squishy, indeed. Now she giggles in earnest, and what a cute giggle it is, but you’re just getting started. With her hooves guarding her chest, she’s left her belly wide open. You boop it with your finger. It sinks in noticeably; she’s got a nice bit of tummy pudge there. She lets out a snort, her eyes popping wide as her mouth tightens, trying to keep from laughing. A lost cause, as you initiate a tickle attack. She bursts into a paroxysm of giggling laughter, her legs kicking, her eyes watering. You ease off eventually, letting her regain herself. She just lays there, across your knees, panting, but smiling.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“A lot better,” she says. “But you’re not done yet, are you?”

She asks this in a hopeful sort of tone, as though she wants more.

“Not if you don’t want me to be,” you say. “This is your session, after all.”

Starlight smiles rather guiltily again.

“Because,” she says, hesitating, “I saw that one of your techniques is, um...belly rubbing.”

Her cheeks go bright red as she says it. She is just being so adorable right now.

“Yeah, it is,” you say. “My friend really liked it.”

“Well, um...do you think you could…?”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to.

“Of course,” you say.

You lay a hand on her soft belly, and slowly begin rubbing it up and down, back and forth. Starlight’s eyelids droop, her face relaxing into another blissful smile, murmuring a dreamy ‘Mmmmmm’ of contentment. You wonder if maybe you’re easing some bit of stomach ache she’d gotten from binging on those tea treats. All you know is that she is clearly loving it, and it’s not bad for you, either. Ponies’ coats were so soft, so smooth.

You don’t know how much time passes. You don’t bother checking your watch. It’s enough to sit there, Starlight lying across your lap, rubbing her belly, now with one hand, now with two. As long as it makes her happy, you could go on for hours.

At last, however, she opens her eyes, and you pause. She sits up. She looks the happiest you’d seen her yet.

“How do you feel now?” you ask, smiling back.

“Wonderful,” she breathes. “I’ve never felt so relaxed in my life, not since I was a filly. That affection therapy stuff really does work.”

“You’re too kind,” you say, modestly. “You’re only the second pony I’ve ever performed it on.”

“Well, I can honestly say anypony would be lucky to have a session with you,” she says, glowingly.

“Thank you,” you mumble, feeling yourself blush.

“No,” she says, in a quieter tone. “Thank you. Not just for the session, but, well, for hearing me out.”

“But of course,” you say. “I’m glad to have been here for you.”

She smiles warmly at you. She seems to hesitate for a second, then, leaning forward, she gives you a peck on the cheek. This catches you quite off guard. You weren’t expecting that. You don’t have time to react to that, however, as next second, she throws her forelegs around you, gripping you in a tight hug, nuzzling her cheek against yours. The bewilderment slowly fades away. You smile and return the hug, rubbing her back as you do.

“If you ever feel like you need to talk again,” you say, as you pull apart, “all you have to do is send for me. All right?”

She nods, still smiling.

“Well, good day, then, Starlight,” you say.

“Good day.”

You stand up and walk for the door. As you open it, you turn to look at her one more time. That warm, glowing smile is still on her face. You tip her a wink, then exit the room...

...and nearly have a heart attack. Twilight’s standing just outside, an expectant grin on her face.

“T-Twilight!” you splutter. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” she says. “I just couldn’t wait to hear how it went! So?”

“It went very well,” you say, feeling your heart rate return to normal. “We had a good talk, and she accepted therapy right after. She’s in a wonderful mood.”

“Oh, good!” says Twilight, delighted. “I knew calling you was a good idea! Thank you so much!”

“Happy to help, Your Highness,” you say, bowing graciously.

“Two successful cases,” Twilight goes on, as you start down the hallway. “This’ll really help your therapy business now!”

“I’d imagine so,” you say. “You don’t know anypony else who needs it, do you?”

“Not at the moment,” says Twilight, “but if something comes up, I’ll let you know right away.”

“Great,” you say, smiling.

You approach the front doors, but Twilight doesn’t open them. She looks like she just had an idea, an idea that might be embarrassing her, as her cheeks are growing steadily pink.

“Actually,” she says, rubbing her forehoof awkwardly, “I know this might sound like an extraordinary thing to ask, but...do you think you could, um...schedule a session for...me?”

Your jaw falls open at this. Did you really hear that right?”

“Y-You?” you splutter. “You mean, you want me to...For a princess? A-Are you sure?”

Twilight nods, her blush deepening.

“I-I mean, if it really did lift Starlight’s mood so well, I’d like to know what it’s like for myself,” she says. “The ear scratchings and the belly rubs.” She then blurts out, rather loudly, “For research!”

Ahh, so that’s what it was. She was trying to hide her want for affection therapy by making an excuse for needing it. You grin at this.

“Sure, Twilight,” you say. “I can pencil you in. Strictly for research, though,” you add, playing along.

“Of course!” says Twilight, eagerly. “How about tomorrow? Does that sound all right?”

“It sounds perfect,” you say. “Same time?”

“Yes, same time. That sounds fine.”

“All right, then. See you tomorrow.”

“See you!”

She opens up the doors, rather hastily, and with a rather big smile, but as you step out and start on your way, you turn to look back at her. Her smile becomes much more sincere, and you see her mouth ‘thank you’. You smile back, give her a small salute, and continue on your way. Today had been quite a day, and it was looking like tomorrow was going to be the same. All in a day’s work for Ponyville's resident affection therapist.

> Twilight Sparkle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s a new day, and after your successful therapy session with Starlight Glimmer, the euphoria from that is still lingering. Even the sky seems to know how you’re feeling: a vast expanse of clear, untroubled blue, sprinkled here and there with fluffy clouds, the sun shining bright and warm. It’s the kind of day out where you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone feeling gloomy or glum. Unfortunately, ill feelings and sour emotions can occur anywhere and at any time, no matter how welcoming the skies look. Well, that’s what you were here for.

There’s still time before you have to meet with Twilight for her own session, so you decide to take your time walking to the castle. You still can’t quite believe it: Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, wants her own affection therapy session. Not even Princess Celestia or Princess Luna have requested your services since you were appointed, even though you never exactly expected them to. You’re not sure why, but it just feels like royalty wouldn’t be the first or most forward to asking for affection therapy, no matter how harmless and altruistic your intentions are. Besides, you’d never been on close personal terms with Their Majesties of the Sun and Moon. Oh, sure, you’d seen them before at public events, but you’d never had a one-on-one talk with either. You hardly feel qualified for that kind of honor, anyway.

Twilight, though, is a slightly different case. Princess though she may be, she’s still a very humble pony, just like when she was a unicorn. You remember seeing her in the newspapers and on TV in the past, before you’d moved to Ponyville, reading and hearing about her exploits ever since she and her friends defeated Nightmare Moon. You couldn’t help marveling at the strength of the bond between those six mares, their dedication to each other and to Equestria. It was something you certainly hadn’t seen where you came from. 

You do have to grin to yourself, however, when you recall how embarrassed Twilight was when she requested your services. She wanted to mask her wants under a need for research on what made your techniques tick. You can’t help wondering how long she can keep up such a front. Princess or not, she’s sure to be susceptible to the same affection weak spots as other ponies. 

Hmm...actually, ‘weak spots’ didn’t sound like a very positive term. You’ll have to think on that.

You arrive at the castle, right on schedule and much less nervous than on the previous day, and knock. Once again, you can hear the knockings echo inside, even from out here.

“Must get pretty annoying every time someone comes to call,” you mutter to yourself.

Presently, the door’s opened, not by Twilight this time, but by Spike, the little dragon who acts as Twilight’s assistant. He reaches about the level of your knee in height, with purple scales, green eyes, green spines running down his head and back, and green frills where his ears would be. Despite being a dragon, a species usually known for being aggressive and greedy, Spike is a friendly little kid and a responsible assistant, though he can be a little clumsy at times, and hot water shortages in Ponyville can usually be attributed to his lengthy bubble baths.

“Hey, Spike,” you say.

“Hi!” he says, smiling up at you. “Are you here for Twilight?”

“Yep. She’s got an affection therapy appointment. For research purposes, of course,” you add, in a jokingly serious tone.

“I getcha,” says Spike, winking. “Come on in.”

You follow him inside, though you have to check your walking speed as you start down the hallway. Each single stride you take equals several for Spike at a jog, so you regulate yourself so that the two of you can walk more or less side by side.

“So, how was Starlight doing after I left yesterday?” you ask.

“Really well,” says Spike. “Happiest I’ve seen her in a long time, since before Trixie left, anyways. That affection therapy stuff must really work wonders.”

“Well, I’ve had two successes so far now,” you say, “but they’re the only two I’ve ever performed it on.”

Spike stays quiet for a moment or two, then he says, rather uncertainly,

“Uhh, I know this might sound like a weird question, but...do you think you could give it a try on me for a sec?”

You stop and look down at him in surprise. He’s holding his tail in his claws, looking awkward.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Nothing too fancy,” Spike says, hurriedly. “Just a scritch behind the frills? I, uh, kinda liked it when I was a dog for a little while, and, uh…I just figured if Twilight knew, she might kid me for it.”

Spike was a dog at one point? When did that happen? However, you decide not to question it. It was probably just the result of one of Twilight’s spells, either as a test, or by accident.

“Say no more,” you say, genially, before kneeling down. “Come here, little pal.”

Beaming, Spike scampers over to you, resting both claws on your knee. You reach behind his frills and start gently scratching. Spike’s expression melts into a slack smile, his eyes half-closed, and even his foot twitching. It really does remind you of a dog’s behavior.

“Ohhhh, yeah. Ohh, that feels good,” he murmurs. “That’s been bugging me for hours…”

An amused giggle makes you pause, and both of you look up. Starlight has just entered the hallway, a hoof covering her muzzle to stifle her laughter. Catching your eyes, she smiles warmly.

“Hi again,” she says.

“Hello, Starlight,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks,” she replies. “You’re here for Twilight, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“She’s in the library right now. I can take you there, if you’d like.”

“I was just leading him there,” says Spike, as though Starlight was doubting his reliability as a guide. “He was just, er, getting an itch I couldn’t scratch.”

“Of course, Spike,” says Starlight, rolling her eyes playfully. “Why don’t we lead him together, then?”

Spike makes a scoffing noise, but as you straighten up, you catch his eye, and he mouths ‘thanks’ with a smile. You smile back and nod. The two of you then follow Starlight down the hallway. She slows her pace a bit so that you’re more abreast of her on one side, Spike trotting along on the other. Looking at her, you can’t help but see that she really does seem to be carrying herself in a lighthearted, easygoing way today. It warms you to the core.

Looking about, you can’t help but notice the gleaming luster of the decor. Now, being made of crystal, this was to be expected, but something about it felt...even shinier than it ought to be. The crystalline walls, columns, and fixtures shone as though polished with an obsessive fervor. Had Twilight done this to make sure you didn’t feel yourself in the presence of a lazy slob? If you were to be perfectly honest, you couldn’t care less how the place looked. In your opinion, when you were royalty, you could leave the place however the heck you wanted it, without worrying about what the common folk thought of it. 

Then again, you remind yourself, Twilight’s more humble than that, so she must still want to make a good impression. Very sweet of her, but you hate the thought of her going to so much trouble. That’s especially uppermost considering the fact that the hallways of this castle are very long and maze-like. Each door looks exactly the same, too. It would be very easy, you think, for someone to get lost in here.

“You haven’t been in the castle much, have you?’ Spike asks you.

“No, I haven’t,” you say. “I mean, I’ve had a few audiences with Twilight about getting my job squared away, and then Starlight’s appointment yesterday, but before that, I never had much to do with this place. I will, say, though, that this castle looked a lot smaller from the outside.”

Starlight and Spike both laugh.

“Trust me, I know what you mean,” Starlight says. “When I was first allowed to live here, it took me forever to find my way around.”

“You get used to it,” says Spike. “When you’re sent all over the place to do chores and errands for Twilight, you don’t wanna forget where everything is.”

“I’d imagine not,” you say.

At last, the three of you come to a stop in front of a particular set of double doors. It seems, for convenience’s sake, a small placard has been placed above them, reading, in bright, neat writing: ‘The Library’. Spike steps forward and knocks.

“Come in!” comes Twilight’s voice.

Spike nods to you, and you open the doors. You step into a very large, circular room, the walls of which are composed primarily of packed bookshelves. Books upon books fill every available space in them. A movable ladder leans against the wall to your right. The doors you’ve just walked through are set into a great archway of purple crystal, which gives it a nice aesthetic touch. A table sits at one end, covered in books and parchment. Another circular table sits in front of a comfortable-looking sofa. Sitting on this sofa, her face hidden behind a large volume floating before her, is Twilight, using her magic to both hold up the book and write with a quill on a piece of parchment on the table. You can hear her mumbling to herself.

“And if that were to be the case...but in the last passage, he clearly states…which would render his previous argument...unless, what he was really trying to convey was...”

You clear your throat. Twilight looks up. Something tells you she may have pulled an all-nighter. There are lines under her eyes, and her mane has a hair or two out of place. However, she still smiles at the sight of you.

“Hello!” she says. “So good to see you again!”

Her eyes stray to a clock on the wall, and they widen in surprise.

“Goodness, is it time already? I’d lost track!”

“It’s ok,” you say, smiling. “How are you, Twilight?”

“Oh, I’m doing well, thanks,” says Twilight, setting her work aside. “Please, have a seat.”

She pats the space beside her. You take her up on her offer and sit down, wherein she edges just a little closer to you. Starlight and Spike both take their leave, closing the door behind them. No sooner are they gone than Twilight heaves a huge yawn, her wings poofing out as she does, bumping you. She tucks them in hurriedly, looking shocked.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says. “I’ve been kind of busy with what you saw me working on just now, and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

She really didn’t need to apologize. You’d hardly felt anything, with only a soft wing tapping you in the side.

“It’s all right,” you say. “Were you doing some cleaning too, though? I thought the halls looked a bit, er, shinier today.”

“Oh, that?” Twilight asks, the smallest hint of pride in her voice. “Starlight and I were doing our usual morning spell practice, and on our list for the day was a scouring spell for quick, widespread cleaning. Between the two of us, we got the halls spic and span in no time! Spike was definitely happy for that, I can tell you.”

“Impressive!” you say, genuinely. “Are you still up for your session, though?”

“Of course!” says Twilight, brightly. “I could use a little relaxation more than ever. I’m well-prepared to take plenty of notes, too! I don’t want to miss a thing!”

So saying, she levitates a great stack of parchment paper and plunks it down on the table before her. You can’t help but stare, dumbfounded, at the size of it. Does she really expect to document that much on simple gestures of platonic affection?

“So, how do we start?” Twilight asks, with adorable, quite un-princess-like, eagerness.

“Er, well, where do you want to start?” you ask. To be honest, Twilight’s behavior is throwing you off a bit. “Ear scratches? Belly rubs?”

Twilight puts a hoof to her chin in thought for a second or two.

“Let’s start with ear scratching. You mentioned that that’s what triggered what happened with your friend, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you say. “Rose and her friends have been really good to me ever since I first moved to Ponyville, but she’s the one I’ve been on best terms with. She’s not as…”

You pause, waving your hand vaguely as you try to find the proper term, then finally say,

“...faint-hearted as Daisy or Lily.”

Twilight giggles.

“Trust me, I know full well what you mean. Well, whenever you’re ready, go right ahead!”

Her horn flares, and a quill, loaded with ink, poises itself over the topmost page. She then leans her head closer to you, smiling expectantly. Honestly, you’re torn between bewilderment and amusement at how far Twilight is taking this. You never considered anything deeply scientific or ground-breaking in what you did. It was all simple displays of affection. Still, Twilight’s a princess, and you don’t want to insult her by disagreeing with her, so what can you do?

You reach over and start gently scratching the base of her ear. She stiffens, her eyes going wide. Then, her eyelids start to droop, a dreamy smile on her face.

“Ooh...Ohh, wow...That feels...really good! I had no idea...Is it just a finger thing, or...Fascinating!”

The quill starts whizzing across the page, writing up a storm that you can barely make out. It reminded you of the ‘professional illegibility’ of doctors’ notes. The more you scratch, however, the slower the quill goes. You see a slight crease in Twilight’s brow. She's noticed, it seems. Again, the quill speeds up, and again, it slows down. 

It seems that Twilight’s eagerness for note-taking is being tested by the pleasant sensation you’re administering to her, and she clearly doesn't like that. She even seems to be fighting to keep her eyes open so she can focus. This starts to concern you, so you pause. Twilight’s eyes fully open, and she looks puzzled.

“Why did you stop?” she asks.

“It just looked like you weren’t enjoying it anymore,” you say. “Do you still want me to keep going?”

Twilight opens her mouth, then looks at her paper, closes her mouth, then appears to think hard. She looks conflicted.

“Well, I can’t exactly expound upon the sensation if I’m not feeling it,” she muses. “But if I focus on the feeling, it’s harder to focus on writing.”

That definitely sounds like a conundrum. You would’ve liked to suggest that maybe she just forego the note-taking altogether, but she’s the princess, so she ought to decide. At last, she says,

“Let’s just move on to something else,” she says. “Chin scratching, maybe?”

“All right, then,” you say, shrugging. 

You start scratching under her chin. Once again, her expression melts dreamily, but something’s still wrong. Even as she tilts her head up, she continues trying to write. Her face tenses up, as if she’s fighting the feeling to focus on her notes. She doesn’t look so relaxed anymore, and that troubles you.

“Twilight,” you say, unable to hide the concern in your voice, “just relax. This is a therapy session. You won’t feel better if you don’t relax.”

“But...I can’t...I have to...For posterity,” she says, in a strained voice.

Ok, this was getting ridiculous. Princess or not, you can’t stand seeing Twilight so conflicted. You have to say something!

“Twilight!” you say, firmly, getting her attention fully. “I’m sorry to speak up to a princess, but you can’t continue like this! How do you expect to fully appreciate affection therapy, the very practice you helped certify, if you keep fighting it? Please, just put down the quill, quit overthinking it, and enjoy it for what it is!”

Twilight looks at you, then at her paper, indecision etched all over her face. Her quill has come to a stop, dangling over the page, shaking as if about to explode. Twilight’s mouth scrunches up, her cheeks bulging slightly and going red. You’re quite troubled by this.

“Twilight?”

And then, Twilight suddenly blurts out,

“Oh, to hay with it!”

She magically slams the quill down with such force that it sends her stack of papers spilling to the floor, making an untidy heap. You draw your hand away, startled and a bit apprehensive. Twilight breathes deeply for several seconds, trying to compose herself. At last, she sighs, then looks at you with contrition in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I ought to have realized trying to balance affection therapy with note-taking wouldn’t work out. There’s just some things that can’t be mapped out or explained on paper. Now I’ve ruined the session.”

She turns her gaze away from you and looks down at the floor, her ears drooped. Just like with Starlight yesterday, it pains you to see Twilight so low in spirits. You reach out and start gently petting her silky mane, going from the back of her head down her neck. Her eyes close at your touch, and you take it as a good sign that she doesn't tell you to stop.

“You haven’t ruined anything, Twilight,” you say. “I’m not mad at you. I didn’t think it was my place to tell you how to conduct your own session. Besides, you’re a princess.”

Twilight chuckles slightly, and she leans over, nuzzling you.

“That’s sweet of you,” she says, “but just because I’m a princess doesn’t mean I’m perfect, or that I automatically know best. I should’ve just left it to you. You’re the expert, after all.”

“Aw, shucks,” you say, modestly. “Do you like this, what I’m doing now?”

“Mm, yeah,” she says. “It feels really nice.”

Glad to see her spirits restored, you continue stroking her mane and back. Both the hair of her mane and the fur of her coat are really soft and smooth to the touch. You wonder if it's all-natural, or if she has some kind of ‘royal conditioner’ that she uses. 

At one point, your hand brushes against her wing. Her eyes snap open, and she lets out a surprised ‘Eep!’ as both wings flare out to their full wingspan with startling swiftness, nearly giving you a heart attack.

“W-What?!” you stammer. “D-Did I do something wrong?”

Twilight folds her wings back up, looking flummoxed.

“N-No, no. It’s just...Of course you wouldn’t know. You see, pegasus (and, I suppose, in this case, alicorn) wings are a bit...sensitive. Most ponies don’t like them being touched, unless they’re preening themselves.”

“Oh, I-I see.” you say.

You feel your face go hot, and you can hardly even look at her now. You’d had no idea. No one had ever told you. Now you feel like you just intruded on something private and personal, and against a princess, no less! 

“Sorry,” you mutter, still avoiding her eye.

You feel a hoof touch your shoulder. You look up at Twilight, and her expression is full of understanding.

“It’s all right,” she says. “You didn’t know, and now you do. Just, try to be more careful in future, all right?”

“Y-Yeah, of course,” you say, more than willing to agree, and glad that she's not angry with you.

The question is, where do you go from here now? How do you get back on track after that? However, after a little contemplation, you think you have the answer.

“Do you think we ought to just start over, Twilight? You know, beginning with the ear scratches?”

Twilight’s face lights up.

“That’s a good idea!” she says. “Let’s do that, then.”

“All righty!”

So, you begin where you'd started in the first place, scratching behind her ear. This time, Twilight yields to the sensation without resistance or bothering to take notes. Her whole self relaxes, and she lets out a contented sigh, nuzzling her cheek against your palm in a very cat-like way. That’s all right, as all you need is your index finger, anyway.

From there, you move on to chin scratches, without complications this time. Once again, you have the feeling that if ponies could purr, Twilight would be right now. She’s certainly not being very ‘princess-like’ right now, but you don’t care, and you can imagine she doesn’t, either.

After that, with Twilight draping herself across your lap, just like Starlight did yesterday, you move on to belly rubs. Though slimmer than her pupil, her belly is still warm, soft, and just a little bit doughy to the touch. You'd seen her compared to Princesses Celestia, Luna, and Cadence, and you couldn't help thinking how positively skinny they looked compared to her. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but it did make you wonder if Twilight would soon be that thin when she was about Cadence’s age. 

Speaking of age, Twilight’s behavior has reached positively filly-like levels at this point, nestling deeper against you in comfort and contentment, and giggling as you hit ticklish spots, as well as when you spice it up with a boop to the nose, or squeezing her cheeks. She, like Starlight, has a very cute giggle to listen to. You wonder if it’s just a common thing among Equestrian mares, since so many of them are adorable just to look at. She even adds to the silliness by bopping your nose or tickling you in the side with her hoof, so that the library rings with laughter from both of you.

Soon, however, once everything’s settled down, and you resume simply rubbing her belly, Twilight starts to drift off, and eventually, you can hear her snoring quietly, her stomach rising and falling with her breath. She looks so at peace, all her cares and worries wiped from her face, her hooves curled in front of her chest, one ear flicking from time to time. You feel as though your heart might burst from your ribcage from the overdose of adorableness you’ve been a part of up until now. Smiling, you softly pet her mane again, just once. Even in her sleep, you can see her smile as well, as she lets out a soft, peaceful ‘Mmm’ that would melt a heart of stone. After that, you just sit there and let her sleep, unwilling to disturb her repose.

At last, just when you’re feeling about ready to fall asleep yourself, Twilight’s eyes open. Yawning, she sits up, stretching her forelegs as she does so.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” you say, genially, as she shifts back again to sit beside you. “How do you feel?”

“Fantastic,” says Twilight. “That’s the most relaxed I’ve been in a while. I never doubted that your techniques worked, but that was wonderful.”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” you say, putting a hand to your chest and half-bowing.

Twilight smiles warmly.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “I probably didn’t make things easy with the whole ‘research’ thing at first.”

“Think nothing of it,” you say, waving an airy hand. “I didn’t want to stand in the way, if that was how you wanted your session to go.”

“Well, I’m glad you helped me see sense. It was way better not trying to concentrate on note taking. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”

And so saying, she puts her forelegs around you in a warm, tender hug. 

Darn it, how much more cuteness can your heart take with these ponies!? Nevertheless, you return the hug, though you’re careful to keep clear of her wings this time. When you pull apart at last, Twilight says,

“Oh, that’s right! I nearly forgot!”

Her horn flares, and with a flash, two small but hefty-looking burlap sacks appear on the table. You stare at them in surprise.

“What are those for?” you ask.

“Your therapy dues, of course,” says Twilight. “One for Starlight’s, and one for mine. I’d forgotten to give you the first one yesterday. I just teleported them from my bedroom.”

Truth be told, you’d completely forgotten about pay as well. Then again, Twilight had helped set up your therapy fee when she arranged for your new job. Money just didn’t seem as important at the time.

“Well, thanks very much, Twilight,” you say, standing up and taking up the two bags. “I’m glad you reminded me, even though money wasn’t my foremost thought in this.”

“Oh, I know,” says Twilight, smiling, as she joins you. “It’s your heart that guides you, not your wallet.”

You can’t help but blush, though you’re more grateful than embarrassed for the compliment.

“Well, why don’t I walk you out?” asks Twilight. “I realize the hallways may seem a little labyrinthine.”

“I’d really appreciate that, thanks,” you say.

With that, the two of you head for the library doors, side by side. Once more, you can hardly believe your luck. You’ve now had two successful official therapy sessions, and one of them was with a princess. You can’t help but wonder what the future may hold out for you, if this was how you were kicking off your new career. Well, for now, all that matters is the fact that you were able to help Twilight relax, and, just like Starlight, the smile on her face was more than enough reward for you.
> Derpy Hooves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's the following day. The weather is nice, and you're spending the early afternoon sitting outside with Rose in her back garden. The perfume of her carefully-grown calla lilies and zinnias provides a nice additional fragrance to her special rosebud tea.

Rose, or Roseluck, as was her full name, had been one of the first ponies you'd come across after moving to Ponyville. You'd spent most of your money in getting here with your belongings, and you had been pretty low on funds as a result. You met her as she was selling flowers, and you offered to help her out. After briefly freaking out over seeing a human for the first time, she graciously granted permission. As she got to know you a little better over the day’s work, she took pity on your situation and invited you to stay with her until you could get back on your feet. Despite protesting against imposing, you still took her up on her generous offer, and the two of you have been good friends ever since, even after you managed to get a place of your own. Although not as close, you also struck up a good friendship with her fellow florist friends, Lily and Daisy.

Rose is a cream-colored mare with a casually messy dark red mane and tail streaked with pink, light-green eyes, and a cutie mark of her namesake on her flank. Although she can get easily excited, and is even prone to swooning at times, she's less faint of heart than her two friends, as you'd told Twilight. She's also very kind, an excellent listener, and the pony you owe your current circumstances to. If not for your friendship with her, your role as an affection therapist might not have come to be, but more importantly, you'd probably still have been on the streets, barely able to get by.

Rose takes a sip of tea and smiles up at you.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’ve gotten a job you really enjoy, and that makes other ponies happy,” she says.

“It is,” you agree, “but it was only possible because of you, Rosie.”

Rose blushes.

“Oh, stop,” she mumbles, bashfully.

“No, I mean it,” you say. “You took me in when I was bit-less and wandering. You fed me, housed me, provided for me until I could get a place of my own. Even after I left, you’ve remained one of my best friends, and it’s partly because of that that the entire idea of affection therapy could even get off the ground. I owe a lot to you and your friendship, Rose.”

Though still blushing, Rose smiles warmly at you. Then, she puts her forelegs around you in a close hug, which you gladly reciprocate as she nuzzles your cheek. You’re glad you can enjoy this kind of thing in private. Although you’re not ashamed of showing that the two of you are friends, you can’t help but feel that there are always those out there who would twist and misconstrue every little thing, every tiny aspect and make a big deal about it. You hate that kind of thing, especially if it would embarrass Rose, when she didn’t deserve it.

“Hey,” says Rose, still snuggled against you, “do you think I could get a little ear scritching?”

You smile at her.

“Of course,” you say. “Anything for you, my friend. I won't even charge you for it,” you add, jokingly.

Rose giggles. Soon, that gives way to a sigh of contentment as you begin scratching behind her ear. She rests her chin on your shoulder, closing her eyes sleepily, while bees and butterflies hover among her lovingly-grown flowers.


***


Some time later, you're wending your way home from Rose’s. She had rather cheekily convinced you to add a free belly rub after the ear scratching, and you'd been quite happy to oblige. As you'd said, anything for your best friend. When you had bid each other goodbye, she was therefore looking very cheerful, and that warmed your already melt-prone heart to the core.

*CLANG!*

You jump. That sounded extremely close by. In fact, judging by where you're now standing, it sounded like it came from the direction of your house. Heading more quickly in that direction, you soon find the source of the commotion: a gray-coated, blonde-maned mare in the most bewildering of predicaments. 

She’s somehow managed to cram herself halfway through your mailbox, so that her head, neck, and forelegs are poking out of one end, while her hindquarters, much too large to fit through, stick out the other end. Her back legs kick heartily as she tries to extricate herself, but neither pulling backwards nor forwards makes her budge an inch. You feel as though you might have seen her before. 

As you approach, she looks up and sees you, first looking startled, then slightly scared. Either she knows the mailbox belongs to you, and so she thinks you're going to yell at her, or else she might think you're going to make fun of her, neither of which is true. Her eyes are golden-yellow, and looking off in different directions. That might have been the source of her crash, but you’d rather not say something like that. It sounded rude. 

Then, all of a sudden, you realize that you do recognize her. She’s a mail mare working here in Ponyville. You’ve seen her either flying about with a mailbag, strolling about with her little unicorn daughter, or hanging out with that eccentric Earth pony scientist, the one everypony simply calls ‘Doc’. You recall that she’s rather clumsy, and has a bad tendency of causing small accidents, but you also know that she’s a very sweet mare, always greeting everypony with a smile, even you. The only thing is, her name escapes you. You’ve heard at least four different ones associated with her: Derpy Hooves, Ditzy Doo, Bright Eyes, and even Muffins. You decide to just let her choose which one she wants to be called.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to crash into your mailbox, sir! It was an accident!”

Tears are brewing at the corners of her eyes. It goes right to your heart to see her in so much distress. You put on a gentle, sincere smile as you approach her front half. Seeing you smile seems to ease her fears a bit, though she still looks rather pitiable.

“It’s all right,” you say. “I’m not angry with you.”

The mare blinks, surprised.

“Really?” she asks. “You’re not going to yell at me?”

“No, of course not,” you say. “You say it was an accident, and I believe you.”

The mare’s surprise melts away into teary-eyed relief and gratitude. She wipes her muzzle with her hoof.

“I’ve seen you around a lot,” you say, “but I don’t think we’ve ever properly met.”

“We haven’t?” asks the mare. “I hadn’t realized. Well, I’m Derpy Hooves.”

Ahh, so that was the name she preferred.

“It’s nice to meet you, Derpy,” you say. “Do you need any help?”

Derpy nods sadly. 

“I really do,” she mumbles. “I’m stuck.”

She gives a wriggle, but still doesn’t budge, though the mailbox does creak rather ominously. 

“I’ll help pull you out, then,” you say. “Probably back out the way you came.”

“Yeah, I think that’d be easier,” says Derpy. “My rump won’t fit through if I go forwards.”

You walk around to the back, then, where her hind legs are just kinda swinging idly, her tail drooping. She has a cutie mark of several bubbles on her flank. Much as you don’t want to stare at another pony’s rump, you can’t help but note that hers is rather...sizeable, leaving little doubt as to why she can't fit. To be fair, however, you doubted even a skinnier pony, like Twilight’s friend Fluttershy, would be able to fit through a mailbox this size. 

You take hold of Derpy’s hind hooves in your hands, count to 3 in your head, and give a heave. At first, she doesn’t budge, but as you give another tug, she begins to slowly slide backwards, inch by inch. You can see, too, that her stomach is rather tightly crammed in as well.

“Nearly there,” you reassure her, though you’re already short on breath. “Just a little more.”

You give another almighty tug, and she suddenly comes popping out, sending you tumbling backwards onto the ground. She almost comes crashing down on top of you, but instinct seems to kick in for her, and her wings stop her in midair, her rump inches from landing on your torso. She turns around and offers you a hoof up, which you gratefully accept, and she helps you back onto your feet.

“Thanks,” she says. “You have no idea how often that happens to me.”

“No problem,” you say. “It must be tough for you.”

“Oh, it's not so bad,” says Derpy, waving an airy hoof. “I'm pretty used to it by now. I can deal with it.”

You don't fully buy that. She sounds casually cheery, but her tone and smile have a bit of a forced quality to them. She seems to notice your faint disbelief, as she adds,

“I mean, sure, I wish it didn't happen so often. It'd save a lot of time and stress on ponies who don't deserve me crashing in and messing things up. And some ponies can get a little...unkind in how they respond,” she adds, in a more subdued tone, twiddling her hooves, before saying, hurriedly, “b-but who can blame them, really? What's a name or a few words thrown my way, anyway?”

Now you can definitely sense her resolve wavering, especially in her voice. A faint, tremulous gleam is in her eyes, and you think you even see her bite her lip. Your heart, already having gone out to her for getting wedged in your mailbox, is hit with another pang of sympathy for her.

“Ah, but listen to me, prattling on and taking up your time,” she says, in a louder and even more exaggeratedly bright tone. “I should be off, get out of your hair and all that.”

And she turns around, about to take off. A sudden thrill goes through you. Here was somepony clearly suffering and trying to hide it! You can't just let her leave in that state! You have to help her!

“Wait!” you say, more hurriedly than you'd intended. 

She pauses and stares at you in surprise. You clear your throat and say, more composedly, yet compassionately, 

“I mean, please, don't leave on my account. You're not taking up my time at all. On the contrary, that's what I'm here for: to hear ponies out and help them feel better.”

She stares at you, her interest peaked.

“You mean, like a psychiatrist?” she asks.

“Something like that,” you say, drawing out your contract. “I'm a licensed affection therapist, appointed by Princess Twilight herself.”

Derpy looks awed, and her off-kilter eyes rove over the paper in your hand, her brow furrowed as she read. She looks from it to you, then back again, her lips pursed in thought. It seems like she's struggling to decide about something, and you have an inkling for what it might be. At last, after checking to see if anypony is watching, she looks at you with an almost pleading look on her face, and asks,

“Can you help me, then? I'm sorry, but I really need someone to talk to, someone who’ll listen to what I need to say.”

Ok, that's a good sign. She's willing to accept your services.

“Of course,” you say, gently. “Please, come inside. I'll get you some tea, or hot cocoa, if you'd like.”

“Cocoa would be nice,” she says, with a little smile.

Smiling back, you put a hand on her shoulder and lead her to your front door, bringing her inside with you.


***


You make sure Derpy’s comfortable on your sofa, then go to make some hot cocoa. As you bustle around the kitchen, getting the essentials, you remember that Derpy has a rather well-known fondness for muffins, and it just so happened that Pinkie Pie had gifted you with a basket of them just the other day. She didn't really say why she was gifting it to you, beyond saying you ‘looked like you could use some muffins’. She'd punctuated this with a hug before bouncing off, leaving you pleased, but nonetheless bewildered. Still, now her random gift seemed expertly timed.

You return to your guest with two cups of hot cocoa, a bowl of miniature marshmallows, and a plate of blueberry and chocolate chip muffins on a tray. Derpy looks up, spies the muffins, and her expression lights up at once.

“You like muffins, right?” you ask, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

“I love muffins!” Derpy says, eagerly.

“Well, then, I guess it's lucky Pinkie Pie ran into me with a basket full of them,” you say, grinning. “I can't eat them all by myself, so please, help yourself.”

“Don't mind if I do,” says Derpy, licking her lips.

Now fully attentive to her own comfort, Derpy alternates between munching down on muffins to taking sips of her cocoa, into which she's put quite a few marshmallows. You feel your spirits lift at seeing her more at ease, and you take more moderate portions of each while she fills up. Perhaps this fondness for muffins is the cause of her rather curvy figure. Now that you think of it, a lot of ponies in Ponyville seem to have a little bit of plumpness to them. It’s just that some have a bit more of it than others, or else it’s more noticeable on some, like with Starlight. That doesn’t matter to you, though; on the contrary, you find it rather cute, an endearing attribute to already endearing ponies.

At last, Derpy seems to have eaten her fill. She wipes the crumbs and cocoa residue from her muzzle and sits back, patting her belly with both hooves.

“Thanks,” she says. “That really hit the spot.”

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” 

You settle yourself more comfortably, facing her, clear your throat, and say,

“Now, I don’t want to dampen the mood, but whenever you feel like it, I’d like to know what it is you need to say. No need to feel rushed. Take your time.”

Derpy’s smile slowly fades. You hate having to bring up why she was really here, when she was happy again, but you both knew it had to be gotten over sooner or later. With a soft grunt, she heaves herself into a more upright position, looks down at her hind hooves contemplatively for a second or two, then says, in a rather subdued voice,

“I feel like nopony really likes me, and that they secretly hate me.”

You open your mouth wordlessly, then shut it again, at a loss. You hadn't been expecting that.

“Why would you ever think that?” you ask, quietly.

Derpy hesitates for a second or two. Her eyes look wet again.

“Because...because I’m always messing things up,” she says, her voice tremulous. “I know my eyesight’s not the best. It’s been like this since I was a filly. And I know it messes with my flight coordination and all that, but I still want to be as helpful and useful as I can. I don’t want to only be remembered as the clumsy pegasus with the wonky eyes...but no matter how hard I try, I just keep that legacy going. Like I told you, I’m always getting myself in awkward situations: getting my head or my butt stuck in mailboxes, windows, fences; bumping into signs, knocking things over, misplacing ponies’ mail, wrecking the town hall, screwing up the invitations to Cranky and Matilda’s wedding…!”

She takes several deep breaths. Just like Starlight, her tone had become more vehement and frenzied as she went on, and you don’t dare stop her until she’s done. She goes on, her voice now very choked,

“I...I try not to let it get to me. I keep telling myself (and the ponies I make mad) that I’ll do better next time...but it feels like I just keep making the same mistakes over and over again...I already get ridiculed for my klutziness and my eyes by a lot of ponies, and I do have friends, but...but I’m scared that one day, it’ll be one time too many for them, too, and that...that I’ll be all alone...not knowing what went wrong…”

She clearly can’t go on. She closes her eyes, the tears dribbling down her cheeks as she quietly sobs. You feel as though your heart’s about to break. You knew the poor girl had bouts of bad luck, but you had no idea she felt so strongly about it, or that she kept all this bottled up inside with a cheery smile on her face. You lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Derpy,” you say, quietly and with sympathy. “I’m so sorry you feel that way.”

Derpy sniffles, leaning her head to rest her wet cheek on your hand.

“It’s...it’s not your fault,” she says, with a slight hiccup. “It’s nopony’s but mine. I’m the only one to blame, and I know it too well.”

“Now, Derpy, I can’t let you talk like this,” you say. “‘Hate’ is such a strong word, after all, and I highly doubt anypony hates you.”

She reaches up to grip your hand with her hoof.

“That’s very sweet of you, but-” she begins, but you cut her off, making her look up at you in surprise.

“But nothing,” you say, firmly. “I might not know you as well as your closest friends, but I can tell you’re really a kind and caring pony who only wants to be helpful to those she cares about. You prove that just by delivering everypony’s mail everyday; that’s your way of being helpful. Sometimes you’re not always going to be successful. Sometimes you’re going to feel like your bad luck outweighs your good.” 

Derpy nods sadly.

“However, that’s only because you’re focusing on nothing but the bad. If you do that, you’ll never focus on the good. Now, come on: tell me something good about you, something positive between you and your friends.”

Derpy blinks at you, something like admiration in those eyes of hers, then looks thoughtful. Granted, you’re a little surprised that a speech like that could come from your lips as well; they sound more like the words of a seasoned professional, rather than someone who’s just started his profession.

“Well,” she says, slowly, “my friend Doc once said I’m ‘an absolute delight to be around’, and he’s always so patient and kind with me. And Mr. and Mrs. Cake always have a fresh batch of my favorite muffins ready whenever I come to call. And Dinky, my little girl.” Here, she smiles fondly. “She really knows how to brighten my gloomiest days. She says...she says I’m the ‘best mama she’s ever known’.”

Her eyes grow wet again, though this time from happiness. You give her an encouraging smile.

“See?” you say. “You’re plenty loved, Derpy, and by the ponies who matter most to you. As long as you know that they care about you, those ponies who know the true you, it shouldn’t matter what other ponies think, so don’t you ever believe that nopony likes you. In fact, I’d say you’re somepony other ponies are missing out on being friends with.”

Derpy’s eyes are completely flooding over by this point, her lips trembling. However, she’s still smiling. With a happy little sob, she throws her hooves around you, hugging you tightly and weeping quite openly against your shirt. Surprised at the suddenness, you nonetheless feel completely warm and toasty from the gesture, and put your arms about her to reciprocate.

“Thank you…” she chokes out, barely in a whisper. “Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” you say, softly. “Do you feel open for the therapy portion now? Of course, if this is good enough for you-”

“It is,” she says, looking up. “I mean, I don’t want to offend your methods-”

“Derpy, you’re doing nothing of the sort,” you say, kindly, and she smiles.

“Then, can we just hug for a little longer? It’s just what I need right now.”

“As long as you like. It’s your session, after all.”

Derpy therefore snuggles against you, nuzzling under your chin. She even shifts herself so that she’s sitting comfortably in your lap, her belly pressed against your front. She’s kind of heavy, but most adult ponies generally are, and you’re not exactly the strongest of humans physically. 

You strengthen your hug just a little bit, enough not to make her uncomfortable, and just sit there, holding the teary-eyed, tender-hearted pegasus in your arms, gently stroking her mane and back, while keeping clear of her wings. You half-wish you had a lullaby to sing to her, though you don't quite consider yourself the greatest of singers. Nevertheless, she sighs softly, in a way that tells you that the worries and woes she had carried with her into your house (and mailbox) are a thing of the past now, as she nestles deeper against you, like a child being comforted from a nightmare by a loving parent.


***


The sun is sinking low over the horizon by the time Derpy finally stirs. She looks up at you with the sweet smile of someone who's had a good nap, and you gently release your hold on her. She stretches, extending her wings out as she does, and looking much happier than when she first came in, even after you’d given her cocoa and muffins.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Great,” says Derpy. “So much better, all thanks to you.”

“I’m happy to help,” you say, smiling. “If you ever have another hard day and need to pop in again for another hug, or to just talk, my door will always be open.”

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” says Derpy. “And, uh, I’ll try to miss the mailbox next time,” she adds, sheepishly, making you chuckle.

She pauses for a moment, then looks you full in the face. You’re a little surprised to see her eyes align correctly.

“In all honesty, though,” she says, “thank you so much for hearing me out and being there to hug. I’m glad there’s someone like you who’ll listen to a pony’s problems.”

She leans forward and gives you a peck on the cheek, just like Starlight had. And here you thought you couldn’t feel any warmer just now.

“You’re welcome, Derpy,” you say, bashfully blushing a little.

She gives you one last nuzzle on the other cheek, scoots herself off your lap, and heads for the door. As she opens it, she turns, smiles at you, waves goodbye with her wing, and closes the door behind her. 

Still smiling yourself, you get up and start clearing away the dishes, before heading to the kitchen to start dinner. Another successful therapy session had been accomplished, and you hadn’t even had to roll out the full arsenal of therapy techniques. That was nothing to be disappointed about, however. That just went to show that sometimes, one simple gesture or display of affection was enough for some ponies, as long as it meant that much to them.

You've just finished dinner some time later, when there comes a loud *CLANG* from outside, making you jump. Wondering if Derpy had crashed again, you rush out of the house, in time to see her flying away into the darkness. Bewildered, you check your mailbox, and see that a small burlap bag has been stuffed inside. You prod it with your finger, and by the jangling sound that comes from it, you can guess that it's full of bits.

“Oh, of course, her therapy bill,” you say, clapping a hand to your forehead. “I hadn’t even bothered to ask. Didn’t seem that important, anyway.”

Taking a last look at the spot where Derpy had vanished, you pull the bag out, pocket it, and head back inside, shutting the door behind you.
> Rarity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week has passed since you helped lift Derpy’s spirits. Things have been pretty quiet in your corner of Ponyville. Well, unless you counted Pinkie Pie marching through the streets, playing a one-pony band ensemble. Again. This month. When she came by for another lap, you’d leaned out your window to ask her what the occasion was, but her only reply was ‘No occasion in particular! Sometimes, you just get that ‘one-pony band’ itch, ya know?’

No, you didn’t know, but you would rather not question it, especially as it came from Pinkie Pie.

Otherwise, you’ve had one or two ponies coming by to seek affection therapy, partly out of curiosity after hearing Derpy talk about it. One was Golden Harvest, a yellow Earth pony with a curly orange mane who runs a carrot stall in the market. She’d had a rough day, and per her friend Derpy’s suggestion, came to see you. She’d proven quite fond of having her mane petted, and had sat against you in pure contentment as you gently stroked those orange curls. As thanks, she gifted you a free bundle of her finest carrots, which you appreciated. 

Another was Berry Punch, a purple Earth pony who worked as a juice-maker and brewer. She’d been having trouble with a sour stomachache, and when she’d heard that belly rubs were part of your practice, she came to you for a possible solution. You were more than happy to oblige, and so you let her stretch out across your lap, rubbing and massaging her plump little beer belly. Or was it ‘wine belly’? Either way, she belched a couple times throughout, but it looked like that was doing the trick, as the pain wiped itself away from her face, leaving a very relaxed smile as you continued. By the time you were done at last (not that you were complaining about time), she was so grateful that she gifted you a bottle of her freshest grape juice.

It did your heart good to know that word of your practice was spreading at last. You weren’t expecting a huge tidal wave of clients, but the knowledge that more ponies knew, at least, was a comfort to know. The ponies you’d helped so far would tell their friends about it, and they’d know they had a place to go if they were feeling down or bluesy. Who knows? Word might spread even beyond Ponyville, perhaps to Canterlot or Manehattan. The prospect both excited and intimidated you slightly. However, you were confident Twilight would be able to help you if things got too complicated.


***


Today, around early afternoon, there comes a knock at the door. You look up eagerly from the book you'd been reading. Could it be Rose again? She usually came by around this time, when she dropped by for a visit. Or maybe it was a new patient. Either possibility was very welcome.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens. Instead of Rose, it’s Daisy. She's a pink Earth pony with a curly light-green mane and tail, dark-green eyes, and two daisies for a cutie mark. As mentioned before, you’re not quite as close with her and Lily as you are with Rose, but you’re still on very good terms with them.

“Oh! Hello, Daisy,” you say.

“Hi,” says Daisy.

Her tone is kindly enough, but there's also a hint of worry on her face that concerns you.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“Erm, well, yes,” says Daisy, fidgeting with her forehoof. “Rose actually sent me over to tell you that she won’t be able to see you today.” 

“Oh? Did something happen?”

“Well...Rose’s...She’s...She's…”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, her teeth clenched, as though what she's trying to say is too painful to articulate. Apprehension settles over you. What could have happened? You jump up from your seat, hurry over, and grip Daisy by the shoulders.

“What?” you ask, urgently. “Rose’s what? What's wrong with her, Daisy?! Tell me!”

Daisy’s cheeks bulge briefly, and then, she screams out,

“She's got the flu!”

And before you can stop her, she swoons, collapsing into your arms.

“Oh, it's awful! The horror! The horror!”

You simply stare, bemused and exasperated. The flu? That was all? It wasn't pleasant, sure, but Daisy made it sound like Rose was on her deathbed. Honestly…

“There, there, Daisy,” you say, patting her mane. “There's no need to fall to pieces.”

It takes some time to restore Daisy to her senses. She keeps wailing on about how much pain and suffering Rose is under right now. Even though you feel very sorry for Rose, you still think Daisy's being ridiculous. Everyone got sick sometimes, and the weather was getting cooler. It was bound to happen. At last, however, Daisy recovers enough to get back on her hooves.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “Knowing her, she probably doesn’t want me to come over and risk getting sick either.”

“No,” says Daisy, shaking her head. “She was emphatic about that, the poor sweetheart. Nurse Redheart and the rest of the hospital staff are already busy with other flu victims.”

“Still, if there’s anything she needs, I’d love to help her out,” you say. “Anything, no matter how small.”

Daisy looks thoughtful for a moment, then her face lights up, as though an idea’s struck her.

“There might be something you can do for her,” she says. “Rose ordered a dress from Rarity some time ago, and it’s supposed to be ready for pickup today. Of course, in her condition, that’s impossible, and both Lily and I are too busy with taking care of her and the flower stall to spare much time. If you’re not too busy, I’m sure it would mean the world to Rose if you picked it up for her.”

Picking up a dress for Rose? That wouldn’t be too difficult, and it would definitely cheer her up. Besides, it’s been a while since you last saw Rarity. When you’d first arrived in Ponyville, she very kindly offered you fresh sets of new clothing at a very reasonable discount, despite barely even knowing you. You’d been touched by her generosity, but had not yet found a way to properly repay her.

“Of course!” you say, eagerly. “I’d be more than happy to!”

“Oh, wonderful!” says Daisy, beaming. “No rush about it, either. Just make sure you pick it up by the end of the day.”

“You’ve got it, Daisy,” you say.

“Great! Now, I’ve really got to get back home. It’s almost time for Rose’s next medicine dose. I’ll let her know her dress is in good hooves. Er, hands,” she appends, glancing at yours briefly.

“All right,” you say. “Send her my wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“I will,” says Daisy, and she takes her leave, giving you one last smile before closing the door behind her.



***


Carousel Boutique is one of the most eye-catching establishments in Ponyville, literally designed like a mix between a fairground carousel and a castle tower. As you open the door, a bell charmingly tinkles above you. You take one step inside, then come to an abrupt halt as a voice calls out, 

“Good afternoon! I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

The melodious voice, flavored with a cosmopolitan, ‘Canterlot-ian’ accent, would have been enough of a giveaway, but the mare herself is standing right before you. 

She’s a pure-white unicorn with an immaculately curled purple mane and tail, very pretty sapphire-blue eyes, and a cutie mark of three four-sided blue diamonds on her flank. She has an attractive, curvaceous figure that tends to draw stallions’ eyes, along with her pretty face, and while you know she can be a bit uptight and fussy, you also know she’s a very kind-hearted and charitable mare, as evidenced when she helped you with your clothing situation. She also has a love for gemstones, and impeccable, outstanding fashion-design prowess.

At the moment, she’s in the middle of assisting none other than Starlight Glimmer, standing on the big platform in the middle of the boutique, surrounded by three large mirrors. Both unicorns are facing away from you, as Rarity, a pair of red-framed spectacles perched on her nose, telekinetically tape measures Starlight around the middle.

“Honestly, dear, you worry too much,” says Rarity. “You haven’t gotten that much bigger, not enough to cause concern, anyway. You’re perhaps just a little rounder in the tummy, but your dress will still fit just fine.”

“You think so?” asks Starlight, sounding relieved. “I was afraid I’d be giving you extra work by having to make a whole new-sized dress, Rarity.”

“Oh, pish-posh, Starlight,” says Rarity, patting Starlight’s cheek in a maternal way. “I appreciate the concern, but you’re not the first to come to me with weight worries, nor will you be the last. The dress should be ready in another week.”

“Oh, good. Thanks, Rarity.”

Starlight steps down, and only now do both mares notice you.

“Oh!” says Starlight, looking surprised and delighted. “Hi!”

“Hi, Starlight,” you say, smiling. “Hello, Rarity.”

“Oh, hello, darling!” says Rarity, beaming. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I've been pretty well. Sorry if I interrupted anything.”

“Not at all, not at all,” says Rarity, waving an airy hoof. “Starlight was just checking in on a dress she commissioned from me. Was there anything else you wanted to ask, dear?” she asks, turning to Starlight.

“No, I don't think so,” says Starlight. “I should be off, anyway. Twilight’s hinted we'd be studying a new spell today, and I don't want to miss out. Thanks again, Rarity. See you,” she adds, turning to you and smiling warmly.

You nod, smiling back, and Starlight trots out, shutting the door behind her.

“So!” says Rarity, briskly. “What brings you by, darling?”

“I’m actually here on Rose’s behalf,” you say. “She’s got the flu, so I thought I could help her out by picking up her new dress for her.”

“Ohh, the poor girl,” says Rarity, sympathetically. “Well, I hope it’ll make her feel better to see how her dress has turned out. She’ll look stunning in it at the next social gathering she attends. But tell me, how has your new venture been going?”

“Venture?” you ask, puzzled, before you add, in realization, “Ohh, right! Affection therapy. Well, I haven’t had many clients so far, but those I have had definitely appreciated it.”

“Splendid,” says Rarity. “Twilight told me about it just the other day, but I’m afraid I’m still a little puzzled about it. How does it work, exactly?”

“Oh, there’s nothing too complicated about it,” you say. “All I do is help ponies relax and be happy through gestures of platonic affection, especially if they’ve had a bad day. Here.”

You take out your occupational contract and hold it out for her to read. She takes it in her magic and draws it closer, her pretty eyes roving from line to line. You can see her silently mouthing some of the words to herself. She finally looks up at you, something twinkling in her eye.

“So, does a pony necessarily have to have had a bad day in order to enjoy a little affection therapy?” Rarity asks, a definite hopeful tone in her voice.

“Oh, no,” you say. “If they just want to relax or unwind, that’s perfectly fine as well. Are you interested?”

A little smirk crosses Rarity’s muzzle.

“I am rather intrigued,” she says. “And I have been feeling a tad overtaxed lately. Have you any idea how enormous my workload can get? Three dresses for three separate cuteceneras, a ballgown for a garden party in Canterlot, and two sets of wedding ensembles for both the bridesmaids and the groom-stallions!”

She raises a foreleg to her forehead in dramatic fashion, letting off a dainty but weary sigh.

“A fashionista’s work is never done,” she says.

“I don’t know how you get through it all,” you say, sympathetically.

“Some days, I wonder how I manage it myself,” says Rarity. “But these ponies count on me, and it wouldn’t do to disappoint them. It does take its toll, however. Just look at these bags under my eyes!”

She leans in close, putting one hoof to her cheek to show you. Perhaps it’s just you, but you can’t see any bags there. You think you see a wrinkle or two, but you don’t mention it.

“And some of these dresses require more precise hoof-stitching,” she goes on, showing you both hooves. “It gets taxing and tiring for them as well.”

Again, you don’t really see anything wrong, but you don’t question it. Besides, if she really is feeling exhausted and overworked, this was a perfect opportunity.

“Well, if you’re willing,” you say, “I’d be more than happy to give you a therapy session, free of charge.”

“Free?” Rarity repeats, surprised. “Oh, darling, I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” you say, firmly. “Think of this as my way of thanking you for the generous discount you gave me when I got those new clothes from you.”

Rarity stares at you for a moment or two, then her face melts into a warm smile.

“Thank you,” she says. “I graciously accept. Should we have it done here, or at your home?”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” you say, honestly. “Whatever makes the client comfortable, that’s what’s important.”

“I see,” says Rarity. “Perhaps it’d be best if I dropped by your home, after I’m finished for the day. Say, 6 o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says Rarity. “I’ll see you then.”

She’s about to walk off when she suddenly stops.

“Oh! Goodness me! I nearly forgot what you’d come here for! Rose’s dress, right? Here it is.”

She levitates a clothing box sitting nearby and floats it over to you. She opens the lid to give you a brief look inside. The dress itself is leaf-green and silky-looking, with a crimson-stoned brooch shaped like a rosebud sitting at the neck. You’re not that big an expert on fashion, but even you have to admit it looks nice.

“Wow,” you say. “Rose’ll love it.”

“Thank you,” says Rarity, kindly. “Send her my regards and wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“I certainly will,” you say. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Ta-ta, darling.”

And with that, you take your leave, the bell over the door tinkling behind you.


***


You duly delivered Rose’s dress over to her house. This time, Lily met you at the door, and gratefully accepted it, along with your message from Rarity. She too was confident that seeing her newly-completed outfit would lift Rose’s spirits in her time of ill health, and promised that she and Daisy would keep you posted on her recovery. Thanking her, you headed off for home. You had to make sure the place was presentable for when Rarity arrived for her therapy session. You even prepared tea and homemade cookies, hoping they would suit her tastes.

That evening, at 6 o’clock, very nearly on the dot, you hear a soft tap at the door. You get up and open it, and there stands Rarity, looking a bit tired, but smiling all the same.

“Good evening, Rarity,” you say, bowing. “Please, do come in.”

“Why, thank you,” says Rarity, stepping inside. “My, what a charming home you have,” she adds, looking around. “A bit small, but I daresay it suits your comforts just fine.”

“I don’t need all that much,” you say, humbly, closing the door. “So, are you ready to get started?”

“Oh, yes,” says Rarity, eagerly. “It's been another busy day, and I've been looking forward to this.”

“That's good,” you say, smiling.

“Oh!” she adds, sounding mildly surprised and noticing the tea tray sitting on the table. “Refreshments as well? Oh, you are an absolute darling!”

“It was nothing, really,” you say, modestly. “I just like being a good host to my clients and friends.”

You sit yourself down on the couch, and expect Rarity to follow suit, but she hesitates.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“Well, I was only wondering,” says Rarity, looking and sounding slightly embarrassed. “Would it be all right if I...if I lay across your lap? I mean, is that allowed?” she adds, blushing.

“Of course,” you say, brightly. “As long as the client’s comfortable, that’s all that matters.”

Smiling and looking grateful, Rarity hops up onto the couch. Then, she allows herself to fall across your legs on her stomach, in a very cat-like way. She sighs happily, gazing up at you and batting her long eyelashes.

“Comfy?” you ask, smiling down at her.

“Very,” she replies.

“Good. Is there any method you’d like me to start with, or are you not very particular?”

“Oh, start however you like, darling. I don’t mind. Only,” she adds, somewhat hesitantly, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather not have my mane or tail touched.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “Every client’s got a different preference. No mane or tail touching. Got it.”

You reach down and begin scratching behind her ear. As with everypony you’ve observed receiving the sensation for the first time, her eyes widen at your touch, and then her eyelids start to droop, a smile appearing on her pretty face.

“Ooh...Oh my...Ohh, that feels heavenly...Now I see what Opal enjoys about it…”

“Opal?”

“My cat. She’s usually very grumpy, prefers being left alone, but on those rare days I can get near enough to her, a good scritch behind the ears makes her absolutely melt. Just like I am now, in fact.”

Her speech is a bit slurred as she says this, owing no doubt to the relaxed feeling she’s undergoing. You start with one ear, then the next, then start gently stroking her under her chin. She gives off a low ‘Mmmmm’ as she tilts her head back, and from her chin, you work your way to her cheeks. She now rests her head against your torso, utterly absorbed in her comfort as you delicately pet her.

Her fur is exquisitely soft and warm to the touch, more so than anypony else you’ve ever encountered. She must use some kind of beauty product to make it feel so nice. Plus, her cheeks, like with so many other ponies, have a bit of squishiness to them. That, coupled with her white fur, makes you very briefly joke in your mind that she must be made of marshmallow. You keep that to yourself, however; you don’t think Rarity would appreciate it, however light the jest might be.

“How do you feel so far?” you ask.

“Wonderful,” she murmurs. “I’m really beginning to see the benefits of this kind of therapy. A belly rub would really feel good right about now, though.”

She turns herself over so that she’s on her back, forehooves curled atop her chest. You can’t help chuckling.

“Wish granted.”

You lay your hand on Rarity’s slim and smooth belly and begin gently rubbing back and forth. Her eyes close completely, her smile widening ever so slightly. Every so often, she utters a little sigh, or a light giggle. It’s quite amusing. You’d always considered Rarity as a prim, proper, dignified sort of pony, graceful and simply overflowing with etiquette. You’d had no idea anyone like that could be so- there was no other word for it- adorable. 

You give a start as you feel her belly rumble beneath your hand. Her eyes snap open, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh! Oh, dear. How embarrassing,” she says. “I usually have dinner around this time.”

“It’s all right,” you say. “Would you care for a cookie?”

Rarity’s eyes light up keenly.

“I’d love one,” she says, licking her lips. “Though, perhaps, maybe not just one.”

You chuckle, reach over, and pull the plate of cookies closer. You pick one up and offer it to her, expecting her to simply accept it in her magic. Instead, with a rather cheeky smile, she takes a bite out of it while it’s still in your hand. Once she swallows it, she takes another nibble, and now you begin to see the game she intends to play, and you can’t help grinning at it.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” you ask, wryly.

“Maybe,” Rarity answers, coyly.

She snaps up the remainder of the cookie in your hand, swallowing it and licking the crumbs from her muzzle.

“Care for another?” you ask.

“Well, don’t mind if I do.”

You pick up another cookie and hold it out for her. This time, she nibbles daintily at it, and you swear you can even hear her going ‘nom nom’ as she chews. You only need one hand for this. You keep rubbing her belly with the other, as the pile of cookies slowly begins to diminish. Between cookies, she invariably asks for a sip of tea, which you very carefully give her. Thankfully, it’s cooled enough to the point where there’s no danger of scalding her delicate mouth. You have the very distinct impression that she feels pampered by all this, and is enjoying every second of it. Well, if it makes her happy, that’s all that matters.

At last, she seems to have eaten her fill, as when you offer her another cookie, she considers it, then shakes her head.

“No thank you, dear, I think I’ve eaten enough,” she says, and you put it back. “They were very delicious, however.”

“Thanks. Pinkie Pie gave me the recipe for them. I had no idea chocolate chip cookies could be made even more delicious than they already are, but she found a way.”

“She always finds a way to achieve the impossible,” says Rarity, with a playful eye-roll. “I’d expect nothing less from Pinkie Pie.”

“So, was there anything else you wanted done?” you ask, politely.

Rarity muses for a moment, then smiles again.

“Just one more thing,” she says. “Some days, when the stress of work weighs me down, I feel like I could just use a nice big hug.”

You smile back, comprehending perfectly.

“That can be easily arranged,” you say.

Gently, you help Rarity ease up into a sitting posture on your lap. She's considerably lighter than Derpy was, meaning no offense to the pegasus. She swivels around on her rump to face you, still smiling that lovely smile, then puts her forelegs about you, nestling her cheek against your chest. Careful not to touch her mane, you reciprocate, clasping her warmly, softly stroking her back at the same time.

She sighs deeply and happily, almost as if she might just fall asleep in this attitude. As for you, you continue to simultaneously hold her and stroke her back. You even feel her giving you a soft nuzzle under your chin. You can practically sense the last vestiges of her tiredness and stress leaving her, like poison being drawn from a wound. Her whole self just seems to radiate a feeling of relaxation and contentment.

At last, she raises herself again to look you in the eye. A smile of utter warmth and gratitude is on her lovely face.

“Feel better?” you ask.

“Much,” says Rarity, something like a tear sparkling in her eye. “Thank you so much, darling. I really needed that.”

“You’re very welcome, my lady,” you say, putting a hand to your heart and giving a half-bow.

Rarity smiles more warmly still.

“You really are a sweetheart, you know,” she says. “Taking time to ensure ponies are happy and relaxed, and in the most heartwarming way I've ever experienced. And besides that,” she adds, now looking thoughtful, “your techniques really do wonders for one’s stress levels, almost like a trip to the spa. You might find a more profitable use for your talents if you put them to practice there.”

The spa? Were your techniques really as good as a spa treatment? You’d never really thought about that before, but now that she brought it up, the idea had some merit.

“You think so?” you ask, slightly intrigued.

“I know so,” says Rarity. “Just think: a pony comes in, weary and aching from the toils of their day-to-day life, and they come to treat themselves to a hot steam, a massage, a dip in the hot tub, or a little affection therapy courtesy of you. It’d bring in a lot more revenue than sporadic appointments, for one, though money’s probably just an afterthought for you.”

“It kinda is,” you say, a little sheepishly. “I mean, I know it’s technically my job now, but my first and foremost thought’s always been my clients’ comfort.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, dear,” says Rarity, patting your hand with her hoof. “But a pony has to get by, you know. I’m not saying it’s something you need to do. It’s merely something to consider.”

You nod.

“I will. Thanks, Rarity.”

“Of course, darling. And, again, thank you.”

She leans in and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Your face, especially that spot, grows fairly warm. First Starlight, then Derpy, and now Rarity. Their gratitude for being given affection therapy really must be greater than you imagined, if they insisted on rewarding you with a peck on the cheek. No doubt it was merely a platonic display of gratitude, if they were just little kisses, but they still made you bashful all the same.

You walk Rarity to the door and see her on her way. She turns to give you one last smile before trotting away. You close the door behind her, glad you could help out another pony in need, and pondering over what she had said. You wondered if maybe you ought to put your therapy to work at the town spa, if Rarity considered it just as good as a massage or the like. Next time you saw Twilight, you'd have to put the question to her. For now, though, you could really use some dinner.

“For somepony so lady-like,” you say, looking at the greatly diminished pile of cookies sitting on the coffee table, “she can really put sweets away. And who's to say that's a bad thing, really?”
> Applejack
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! It feels so obvious now!”

First thing the next day, you headed to Twilight’s castle first thing, and after losing your way in the hallways for about 10 minutes, you met up with her and told her of the proposal Rarity had made last night. This really seemed to set the gears in that clever brain of hers turning as she mulled it over. At last, her face lighting up like a beacon, she declared it ‘brilliant’, and wondered how on earth she had never thought of it before.

“I mean, when it comes down to it, it really does feel like a spa treatment,” she says. “When I had my session, I felt completely relaxed and rejuvenated, as though I'd just had a massage. Still,” she adds, with a smile, “if anypony were to come to that conclusion, I'm glad it was Rarity. She really is the best-versed in anything spa-related amongst my friends.”

“So, since you approve of the idea,” you say, “what's the next course of action?”

“Well, do you want to pursue it?” Twilight asks. “Would you feel comfortable performing affection therapy in a more public setting?”

Would you? You had been mulling it over ever since Rarity had left, considering and reconsidering the proposal and everything that went with it. On the one hand, this would be a huge leap, going from conducting your practice from your own home to doing it in a much more public venue. On the other hand, it would bring in a much wider range of clientele, which not only meant larger profits, but also more ponies to help relax and feel at ease. That had been the clincher.

“As long as the rest of the spa doesn’t suffer from lack of patronage,” you say, “I think I would feel comfortable.”

Twilight smiles.

“Oh, I think there’s little worry about that,” she says. “It'll have to be sanctioned by the owners of the Ponyville spa, but I'm sure Aloe and Lotus will more than approve, given your current track record. I’ll handle all of the, *ahem*, ‘technical’ stuff, and we should be good to go.”

You smile gratefully down at her.

“Thanks, Twilight,” you say. “I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you've done for me.”

Twilight smiles more warmly and pats your hand with her hoof.

“Anything for a good friend,” she says. “You just leave it to me. This is going to be revolutionary!”


***


Revolutionary.

The word rings in your head as you wend your way through Ponyville, hands in your pockets. Some ponies wave and smile at you as you pass, and you reciprocate in kind. However, it doesn't mitigate the buzzing in your head.

Revolutionary? You? Something you had done, revolutionary? Yes, Twilight had often assured you of how ground-breaking and innovative affection therapy would be, but somehow, that word left a different, more significant impact. If you had been told, back in Manehattan, that anything you would ever do would be ‘revolutionary’, you would think the pony who said it had had too much hard cider.

Not that you'd ever gotten that much encouragement from anypony before. Back when you still lived in the big city, you'd been nothing. A nobody. Practically a non-entity. That was why you had moved to Manehattan in the first place, to make something of yourself, and you knew how well that had turned out. It was why you were here in Ponyville now.

“Why are you even bothering to try? You don't even have a mark. How do you know you're meant to be good at anything at all?”

You give your head a vigorous shake. You shouldn’t think that way anymore. Those days are behind you now. You have a better home now, and what was more, you have better friends.

Friends who don't care if you have a cutie mark or not.

If you can do magic or not.

...If you’re a human or not.

*Whump!*

“Whoa! Careful there, pardner!”

You come to an abrupt halt as you bump into somepony. Several thuds punctuate the air, telling you that this somepony was carrying something, and you had just upset her load. Dazed from being jerked out of your preoccupation, it takes a moment or two for you to process who you had just collided with.

You now see that it's an orange-coated Earth pony with a blonde mane and tail, both loosely tied with hair bands. She has green eyes, freckles on her cheeks, and a brown Stetson perched atop her head. She's a bit short and stout of figure, with rather thick, powerful-looking legs. A pair of baskets are slung at her curvy hips, full to the brim with apples, and several more lay scattered on the ground.

This is Applejack, one of Twilight’s friends. She works at Sweet Apple Acres, a farm that provides Ponyville and Equestria with mouth-wateringly delicious apples, and annually churns out tasty apple cider and Zap Apple Jam. You had tried some of their imported wares in Manehattan, and found to be absolutely delectable. Yet, somehow, they seemed even tastier being eaten in Ponyville, where they came from. You’d noticed this seeming anomaly when you sampled a gift basket of Red Delicious that Applejack had given you when you first met her.

As for the mare herself, you know her to be hard-working, strong, kind-hearted, and honest. Though she already has an older brother and younger sister, she acts like everypony is part of her family. She has a sweet habit of calling her close friends ‘sugarcube’, and she generally gives off a vibe of being somepony you can talk to about anything, somepony who will lend a listening ear and offer advice.

Needless to say, the fact that it’s her that you just collided with and whose cargo you just upset puts you into a bit of a fluster.

“S-Sorry, Applejack!” you blurt out. “That was completely my fault! Let me help you with those!”

You hurriedly stoop down and begin picking up the fallen apples, trying to brush off any dirt that may have gotten on them. You’re too afraid to look up at her and see how angry or upset she might be, but she just chuckles in a good-natured way.

“Simmer down, there, hun. Ah ain’t mad. It was just an accident.”

She has a very mellow, easygoing voice, flavored with a country accent that really adds an extra layer to her hospitable temperament. Hearing her assure you that she didn’t consider you at fault calms you down, and you finish putting the misplaced apples back in her baskets.

“I still should’ve been watching where I was going,” you say.

“Don’t sweat it,” says Applejack. “You looked like you were pretty deep in thought.”

“Heh, yeah, I kinda was,” you say. “I was thinking about taking my job to the next level.”

Applejack tilts her head in polite puzzlement.

“Yer job?” she asks, before the answer hits her. “Oh! Right! That therapy stuff Twilight mentioned. How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

“Pretty well,” you say. “Nothing but satisfied clients so far.”

“That’s good to hear,” says Applejack, smiling. “So, how does it work, exactly? Twi tried to explain it to me, but she was insistin’ on usin’ big, fancy words Ah couldn’t rightly follow,” she adds, sheepishly.

“I getcha,” you say. “Well, to put it in laypony’s terms, affection therapy helps ponies relax and feel comfortable through little displays of affection or playfulness. A good scratch behind the ears, a belly rub, even something as simple as a hug. There’s nothing really complicated about it, and a few of your friends can vouch for its effectiveness,” you add, with a grin.

“Ohhh, is that right?” Applejack asks, sounding interested. “And ya say it helps ponies relax?”

“Yep. Why, is it something you’re interested in?”

Applejack seems to think it over for a minute or two. At last, she says,

“Ah reckon so. Buckin’ trees all day can make a pony sore, y’know?”

“I'd imagine so,” you say, “having never been a farmer myself.”

“Well, Rarity’s been takin’ me to the spa a lot lately, and it's been doin’ me a world of good, so Ah’m more than willin’ to see what yer affection therapy’s all about.”

“Excellent!” you say, eagerly. “Where and at what time?”

Applejack taps her chin in thought for a moment or two.

“How does down at the farm sound, just after dinner? That'd be about sundown.”

“Sounds good,” you say. “I'll see you then, Applejack.”

“See ya then, pard,” says Applejack,

With a genial wink, she shifts her saddle baskets up a bit and starts off towards Sweet Apple Acres, while you wend your own way home, your mind buzzing more than ever.


***


The sky is a brilliant golden-yellow, shot with pink and red as you make your way towards Sweet Apple Acres. It isn't often that you visit the farm. Still, you're on fairly good terms with the rest of Applejack’s family. Well, the members in Ponyville, at any rate. The Apples have farms and orchards all over Equestria, and the only ones you've ever met were right here; you have no idea just how many Apples there must be.

In any case, as mentioned, you were on good terms with the Ponyville Apples. You'd often run into Applejack or her brother, Big Macintosh, selling their wares in the market. Big Mac was a stallion of few words, but extremely strong and infinitely courteous, happy to assist if muscle or architectural skill was wanted. You'd once seen him haul an enormous wagon full of lumber through town, without any appearance of tiredness.

Applejack’s little sister, Apple Bloom, was also a common sight in town, either off playing with her two friends, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, or putting her unique talent to use. She and her friends had a knack for recognizing a pony’s true potential, whether they didn't have their cutie mark yet, or didn't understand what their talent was. They were all bright, cheerful, friendly fillies, as adorable as puppies, and the big pink bow Apple Bloom always wore only heightened her adorability factor in your eyes.

As for Applejack’s grandmother, Granny Smith, she doesn't leave the farm much except for market visits. You'd heard stories about how she was one of the first ponies to ever settle in Ponyville, so it was anypony’s guess how old she was. Despite her age, she still has a razor-sharp wit and admirable memory, and an absolute fund of stories and wise sayings, while overall being a very amiable old mare. Even though the three siblings do most of the work, it's not hard to see that it's Granny Smith who really runs things around the farm.

As you approach the farmhouse, the hearty smell of apples filling your nostrils, a pink shape comes bobbing into view, bouncing like something that would say the most wonderful thing about it was being the only one. It only takes a second or two for you to realize who it is before it stops right in front of you.

This is Pinkie Pie. It's impossible for anyone living in Ponyville to not know who Pinkie Pie is. She makes it her business to know everypony, and that does mean everypony. She works at Sugarcube Corner, alongside the Cakes, but her main talent lies in throwing parties. Whatever the occasion: birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, cuteceneras, national holidays, even things remote and obscure, she can whip up a celebration like nopony else. Well, unless you counted the time Cheese Sandwich visited Manehattan; the party he threw was one of the only times you'd really felt connected with the other ponies of that city.

Pinkie’s coat is a bright pink, while her mane and tail, both almost deliberately messy, are magenta. Her baby-blue eyes match two of the balloons that make up her cutie mark, the other being yellow. She has a plump, round-bellied physique, evidence of her love of sweets, though she moves with the flexibility and agility of a much-slimmer pony. Nevertheless, this chubby build makes her hugs, which she gives out for the least of reasons, very cozy and comforting, even if her grip can be a little tight at times.

Pinkie is...there's no other word for it: Pinkie. She's quite silly and bubbly, easy to laughter or to make others laugh. She can also be a bit odd at times, however. She sometimes says or does things that make no immediate sense, often even defying the laws of physics, and never once deigning to explain how she does them. In spite of this, Pinkie's a very sweet-natured and affectionate mare, always happy to see others happy. In some ways, she's like a foal in a mare’s body, though smarter than she lets on. How else could she have a self-made, working party cannon?

“Hiya!” says Pinkie, beaming up at you.

“Hey there, Pinkie Pie,” you say, with a smile. “What brings you around here?”

“Visiting Applejack,” said Pinkie. “It was dinner time when I stopped by, so they invited me to stay!”

“Well, that was sweet of them.”

“I know! But don't worry, there might still be some pie left for you, before you have your therapy session with Applejack, or maybe after. Pie’s good at any time, I say!”

“Heh, I have to agree there,” you say, before something else Pinkie said clicks into place in your brain. “Wait, how did you know I'm on my way to a therapy session?”

“Cuz Applejack was talking about it at dinner, silly,” says Pinkie, with the air of one explaining the obvious. “She said a full stomach might make a belly rub more relaxing. I'll have to see if it's true myself one of these days.”

“Well, if you're ever in the mood,” you say, “just drop by.”

“I will!” says Pinkie, brightly. “See ya later!”

And, pausing only to rear up and give you a quick hug (“just because”, she says), she hops off. Smiling and shaking your head at her antics, you continue onwards toward the farmhouse. You approach the front door and knock, whereupon a dog starts barking from inside.

“Come in!” calls Granny Smith’s voice over the barking.

You ease upon the door, only to be greeted by a brown and white dog, who leaps onto you, almost knocking you off your feet, and begins enthusiastically licking your face. Laughing, you gently set her back down on the ground.

“Down, Winona, down! Easy, girl. It's good to see you too.”

You pat her head, and she calms down almost immediately, wagging her tail all the while. Looking up, you see Granny Smith, an elderly green Earth pony, her mane and tail in white buns, and an apple pie for a cutie mark, sitting in her rocking chair, smiling.

“Hey there, sonny,” she says. “Thought you might be Pinkie Pie come back for another helpin’. That girl’s got an appetite that could put Applejack’s to shame.”

“Hello, Granny Smith,” you say. “I actually just ran into Pinkie Pie on the way over, but it wouldn't surprise me if she did do that.”

Granny chuckles, then says,

“Yer here for Applejack and this ‘affection therapy’ you do, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She's upstairs waitin’ fer ya, and if ya want, Ah’ll have a piece of apple pie ready fer ya to take home when yer done.”

“That's very generous, Granny Smith, thank you,” you say, graciously. “You don't want any affection therapy yourself, do you?”

“Oh, no, thanks,” says Granny, genially. “Just knowin’ it'll make Applejack happy is good enough for me.”

You smile, then start up the stairs. Granny whistles, making you stop in your tracks, but you then see it’s just to call Winona to her side.

“Don't want her interruptin’ ya,” said Granny, giving Winona a rub behind the ear. “Winona’s a good girl, but she likes attention, too. Applejack’s room’s down the hall, second on the right.”

“Thanks,” you say, gratefully, then continue the ascent.

The second floor landing comprises of four doorways, leading to what you can only suppose are the Apples’ rooms. Following Granny’s directions, you approach Applejack’s door and knock.

“Come in,” comes Applejack’s voice, and you enter.

Applejack is lying atop her bed, forehooves behind her head, hind legs crossed, her hat pulled over her eyes. She might have been asleep. In that posture, her belly looks a bit distended, rounder and plumper than usual. You can only surmise it to be evidence of a very hearty dinner.

Applejack tilts her hat up to look at you, smiling gently as she sets it aside.

“Howdy, sugarcube,” she says.

“Good evening, Applejack. Are you ready?”

“You betcha. Just a sec.”

With a grunt, she heaves herself up into a sitting posture, making her stomach look even bigger and rounder. You take a seat on the bed; it creaks a little under your combined weight. Then, to your slight surprise, she drapes herself right across your lap, on her back, her forelegs behind her head. She might have been getting ready to take a siesta on the grass. She's unsurprisingly heavier than any other pony who has lain down in the belly rub position like this.

“I take it you want a belly rub?” you ask.

“How'd ya guess?” asks Applejack, cheekily. “Ah give ‘em to Winona all the time, so Ah’ve been curious to know what it's like.”

“Fair enough,” you say, with a grin. “Big dinner, I'm guessing?”

“Yeah,” says Applejack, not looking the least abashed. “Ah’ve always been a big eater. Ah burn most of it off workin’ in the fields, but Ah can never really get rid of mah gut. Havin’ Pinkie stay for dinner kinda made me careless, so Ah guess Ah really let maself go.”

She pats her stomach, which jiggles from the contact.

“No problem,” you say. “So, before we begin, are there any restrictions you'd like to impose? I mean, anywhere you don't want me to touch, like your mane or tail?”

Applejack thinks for a moment or two, then says,

“Nah. Ah trust ya, hun. Do yer stuff.”

This encouraged, you place a hand on her full belly and start gently rubbing. First you go back and forth, then in circles, then gently press your fingertips in, giving a little mini-massage. You also can't resist giving it a little pat or two, making it jiggle a bit more. In spite of all the muscle that must've been the chief cause of her heavier weight, her belly is still soft and cushy. You also have a shrewd idea, as you did with Starlight, that you may be easing some stomach pain she might have from her big meal.

You watch as Applejack's eyes close, a long and deep sigh emanating from her, looking about ready to fall asleep. Smiling, you reach down and start stroking her smooth and silky mane with your free hand. And, to your surprise, she actually nuzzles her freckled cheek into your palm, eyes still closed. She really is trying to experience what her dog gets; it's absolutely adorable.

After a time, you start scratching behind her ear with the hand at her cheek. You see the telltale look of momentary surprise on her face from the sensation, and then it melts away into a contented smile, eyes closing again. Her tail even gives a swish.

“Land sakes…” she murmurs. “That feels good…Now Ah know how Winona feels when Ah do it to her…”

“Do you want me to keep going?” you ask. “I mean, is this all you want right here?”

“Mhmm,” she replies. “Just the scratchin’ and the rubbin’. Yer doin’ just fine, hun.”

Smiling in token of this, you continue, rubbing her belly with one hand and scratching behind her ear with the other. You don't pretend to know the full strenuousness of farm labor, so you can't exactly gauge how badly she needed this. However, the peaceful, almost filly-like smile on her face gives you a good idea.

The minutes trail by, the sun sinking lower and lower over the horizon. Between the influences of both the ear scratching and belly rubbing, you wouldn't have been surprised if Applejack really had fallen asleep. She's breathing quietly, that same peaceful smile on her face. You hate the idea of waking her up too soon, so you kept quiet, all the while dreading some other interruption that might wake her.

The sun is completely out of sight by the time Applejack finally stirs. Her eyes slowly open, and she gives a big yawn as she stretches her legs. Bracing one forehoof on your shoulder, she heaves her stout bulk up into a sitting position on your lap, smiling.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Like a million bits,” she says. “Haven't felt this relaxed in a timberwolf’s age. Ah’m just sorry if I kept it too simple. Didn't really let ya show off all yer therapy skills.”

“Oh, no, no, it's fine,” you say, earnestly. “Nothing wrong with simple. Not everypony has the same tastes. Some might even be content with just a hug.”

“Swell,” says Applejack. “And come to think of it, that might not be a bad way to end this off. C’mere.”

Putting her forelegs around you, she pulls you into a tight but warm hug. Smiling, you return the embrace, feeling her nestle against you, her chin on your shoulder, her cheek against yours, as you gently stroke her back. She gives off another contented sigh, and you can practically feel her muscles relaxing underneath your hold. It's as though she had been tightly-sprung, like an old wind-up toy, and this hug is the last act in completely loosening that tightness.

At last, the two of you ease apart, and you see nothing but relaxedness and gratitude in those green eyes of Applejack’s.

“Thanks, hun,” she says. “Ah really needed this. It was really kind of you to do this for me.”

“You're welcome, Applejack,” you say. “It makes me happy seeing ponies happy.”

Applejack chuckles and tousles your hair affectionately.

“Between that and the hug, yer a regular Pinkie Pie yerself,” she says.

As it clicks into place what she means, you laugh too. At just that moment, there's a knock at the door, and the two of you look up.

“Sis? Can Ah come in?”

It’s Apple Bloom’s voice. Applejack shifts herself off of your lap before answering.

“‘Course, Apple Bloom. Come on in.”

The door opens, and Apple Bloom steps in. She's a yellow filly about half her sister’s height, with orange eyes, a red mane and tail, the former decorated with the previously-mentioned bow, and a cutie mark of a three-toned shield. She's a bit stocky and sturdy for a filly, but that’s to be expected when she’s already helping out with farm work. At the moment, she looks rather hesitant, as though afraid she just interrupted something.

“What's the matter, sugarcube?” Applejack asks, kindly. “Ain't quite bedtime yet, so it can't have been a nightmare.”

“Nah, it ain't that,” says Apple Bloom. “Ah just wondered if you were done with yer therapy yet.”

“Yep, just finished,” says Applejack. “Why?”

Apple Bloom shuffles her hooves awkwardly, looking from Applejack to you to the floor. At last, looking up at you, she asks, timidly,

“Do ya think...do ya think Ah could try it too?”

Both you and Applejack look astonished. Then, at the same time, your faces break into identical kind smiles.

“Of course, Apple Bloom,” you say. “Come on up.”

Smiling hopefully, Apple Bloom trots over and, with a crouch and wriggle of the hindquarters that reminds you of a cat about to pounce, bounds into your lap, making you laugh.

“Easy there, kiddo,” you say. “Your sister was just laying across my lap for a belly rub, and she's not exactly a feather.”

“Oh, shush,” says Applejack, giving you a playful nudge as Apple Bloom giggles.

“So, how does it work?” Apple Bloom asks.

“Oh, it's nothing complex,” you say. “Sometimes it's as simple as play.”

To demonstrate, you boop Apple Bloom’s nose. Her nose scrunches up and, once again, as though the law of boopage demanded it, she boops you back. In retaliation, you open a tickle attack on her little tummy. She collapses onto her back in your lap, writhing and squealing with laughter.

“A-Appleja-ha-ha-hack!” she cries out. “H-Help!”

“Sorry, little sis,” says Applejack, looking away innocently with her hooves behind her back. “Ah don't think Ah oughta interfere.”

At last, you ease up, and she lays there, panting and giggling. Reaching down, you start scratching under her chin, and her giggles subside into a peaceful sigh, her head tilting back, her eyes closed, as you also start rubbing her soft little belly. It's almost exactly like giving the same sort of affection to a cat, even if Apple Bloom is more puppy-like in cuteness. You keep this up for a little while, scratching and rubbing, Applejack watching with a warm smile on her face.

After a time, Apple Bloom opens her eyes, smiling relaxedly, and you stop.

“How was that?” you ask.

“Really good,” says Apple Bloom, sitting up. “Ah feel great. Thanks a bunch.”

She rears up and gives you the biggest hug she can muster. Smiling, you pat the back of her head in return.

“You're welcome, Apple Bloom. Happy to help.”

The little filly looks up at her big sister, who beams and nuzzles her nose against hers. Giggling, Apple Bloom lets go, hops back down onto the floor and trots to the door, yawning.

“Ah'm gonna head for bed. G’night, y’all.”

“Good night, sugarcube,” says Applejack.

“Good night.”

Apple Bloom opens the door, then pauses, as though she bumped into something.

“Oh! Sorry, Big Mac. Didn't see ya there.”

As she leaves, Big Macintosh is visible in the doorway, looking awkward, as though caught in the act of something private. He's a red stallion, close to you in height, with green eyes, an orange mane and tail, and a cutie mark of half a green apple. Even indoors, he still wears a large yoke around his neck.

“What's up, Big Mac?” Applejack asks. “Need somethin’?”

Big Mac scratches the back of his head and doesn't say a word, still looking like he wished he hadn't been discovered. Suddenly, a shrewd idea comes into your head of what's going on.

“Were you looking for some therapy yourself, Big Mac?” you ask. “Maybe a scritch behind the ears?”

Still looking rather embarrassed, he mumbles,

“Eeyup.”

Applejack chuckles.

“Well, Ah’ll be,” she says, putting her hooves to her hips. “Ah never thought Ah’d see the day, Big Mac.”

Big Mac shoots her a glare, but you say, with a smile,

“No need to be ashamed, Big Mac. I gave a little scratching to Spike, and he loved it. Come on over.”

Big Mac hesitates for a second, then steps over, sitting down in front of you. You reach up and start scratching him behind the ears. His eyelids droop, and a relaxed, almost dopey smile comes across his muzzle. You even almost swear that his hind hoof twitches, like a happy dog's. Applejack snickers.

“You're not gonna let him live this down, are you?” you whisper to her, so that Big Mac couldn't hear.

“Nope,” she whispers back, with a cheeky grin.

This goes on for a little while, just like with Apple Bloom. Given how hard Big Mac works, just like Applejack, you can imagine how much he needed something like this to relax his nerves. You also had to admire his courage for asking while his sister was still in the room, knowing she'd tease him for it. You just hope Applejack will keep her ribbing on a good-natured level.

At last, Big Mac opens his eyes again, a look of great contentment on his face, and you pause.

“Feel better?” you ask.

“Eeyup,” he says, with a nod. “Thanks.”

“Anytime," you say, smiling.

With that, Big Mac stands up and makes rather hastily for the door, as though desirous of avoiding hearing Applejack tease him again. Once he's out of sight, his little sister only manages a soft chuckle.

“Yer one lucky fella,” she tells you. “You got to work yer magic on me and mah siblings.”

“I was glad to,” you say, smiling at her. “And hopefully, if Twilight gets the spa ponies’ approval, I'll be helping out a lot more ponies.”

“Well, ain't that somethin’?” says Applejack, looking impressed. “Bringin’ it to the spa, huh?”

“Yep, and it was Rarity’s idea.”

“Heh, shoulda figured,” says Applejack. “Well, Ah may have to schedule an appointment with ya there.”

She winks at you, bringing a grin to your face. With a much warmer and genuine smile on her face, she draws a foreleg around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug against her side, nuzzling your cheek.

“Thanks again. You really are a sweet fella, doin’ all this fer ponies.”

“Aw, well,” you say, bashfully. “Like I said, I'm just happy to make ponies happy.”

She gently releases you, hops down off the bed, and says,

“Here, Ah’ll walk ya out.”

You stand up to accompany her. The two of you head down the stairs to the main floor. Granny Smith is nowhere in sight, but sitting on the kitchen table is a rather large box, much too big for a single piece of pie. Upon closer inspection, you see that it's an entire apple pie. On a note stuck to it is written,

“For your kind and generous services. Thank you.
-Granny Smith”

You stare, dumbfounded, from it to Applejack, who smiles and nods encouragingly. You pick it up carefully in both hands and carry it as though the box were made of glass. Applejack walks you to the door and holds it open.

“G’night,” she says.

“Good night,” you reply.

You step out, and turn to see her giving you one last smile before shutting the door. Your heart nearly full to bursting with warmth and happiness, you start off, intending to cut up a nice big slice of pie for dessert once you get home.
> Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days have passed since your triple-session with the Apple siblings. In those few days, you’ve eaten up the pie they had given you, and you haven’t heard a word from Twilight about any updates on her promise to present your idea to the ponies of the spa. It seems that she’s either been too busy to find time to present the idea, or she had, and the ponies of the spa have not yet made a decision. Either way, you try not to allow it to dominate your every thought. Worrying about it constantly is a surefire way to give you acne or make you lose sleep, and how ironic would it be for a therapist to need therapy himself?

Today, you find yourself reading in your favorite spot on the couch just after lunch. Rose is still not fully recovered, but is expected to be up and about again very soon. Lily had told you that poor Rose is very bored, cooped up in the house all day, and misses having her human friend around. You had promised to give her a good affection therapy session when she was well, but for now, all you can do is wait for something to crop up.

“Feeling bored, huh?”

You jump in your seat at the sudden voice, then look around. Hanging halfway through one of your smaller windows, and filling the whole space of it rather snugly, looking as though it were a spot she was accustomed to using as a place to loiter, is Pinkie Pie, smiling innocently at you. You simply stare at her, utterly perplexed.

“Hi,” she says, looking at you with those baby-blue eyes of hers.

“Er, hello, Pinkie Pie,” you say, your heart still thudding rather hard from the scare she’d given you. “Nice to see you.”

“Same to you,” says Pinkie. “Do you mind if I come in? I know half of me is already in, but I figured I ought to ask if all of me can come in.”

You can’t help but chuckle at this innocent question. There’s just something about Pinkie that makes it impossible not to smile when she’s around.

“Sure, Pinkie, come on in,” you say. “You don’t need any help, do you? That window looks a little tight for you.”

“I think I’m good,” said Pinkie. “I’ll let you know.”

So saying, and giving a little wriggle, she gives a push forward against the wall. At first, due to her puffed-up cheeks, scrunched muzzle, and redding countenance, you think she really might be stuck, which would be small wonder for a pony of her rounded figure. Then again, you have witnessed her popping out of places patently too small for even an average-sized pony. 

However, by very slow degrees, she begins to slide through, so that her chubby middle gradually squeezes inside fully, and only her rump end remains outdoors. She stops to take a rest, wiping her forehead.

“Phew,” she breathes, patting her stomach. “My tummy was putting up a good fight, and I don’t think my tushy’s going to fit so easily.” 

She glances back at her rump and gives it a little wiggle. You can only imagine how odd this might look for ponies passing by, if it wasn’t Pinkie doing it.

“Could you give me a little pull?” she asks, putting on her best beseeching look, complete with big, soulful eyes.

“Of course, Pinkie,” you say, offering your hands, into which she places her hooves.

You mentally count to three, then give a tug. You expect Pinkie’s curvy backside to put up a big resistance against fitting through the window. However, all it takes is two good tugs, and with a pop and a lurch, Pinkie slides completely through, landing with cat-like agility on all four hooves on the floor.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m usually a lot better at that.”

“You’re welcome,” you say. “So, was there something you needed?”

Without even deigning to ask for permission this time, Pinkie hops up onto the couch beside you, looking very much at home.

“Oh, it’s not about what I need,” she says, casually, “but what you need.”

She compliments the word ‘you’ with a boop to the nose.

“And what do I need?” you ask.

“To go out and find more ponies who need affection therapy,” says Pinkie. “You can’t just sit around all day waiting for somepony to come to you. There might be ponies who can’t or don’t want to leave their houses. It’s why we sometimes do deliveries at Sugarcube Corner, and you should do the same! You’ve got to start making house calls, doc!”

“What, like peddle my therapy door-to-door?” you ask, not really sure how to feel about being called a doctor.

“Not peddle, silly,” says Pinkie. “You’re a therapist, not a salespony. And you don’t have to knock on everypony’s door asking ‘do you want an ear scratch’ or ‘do you want a belly rub’. Just take a look around and see if you can find ponies who look like they need it. You can usually tell. At least, I can.”

You muse over this for a little while. Honestly, what Pinkie said makes a good deal of sense. It would get you out of the house, and potentially find you more ponies in need of your brand of ‘magic’. You can’t even say why this never occurred to you before, and you feel a little foolish for not considering it before. Still, you’re grateful for the inspiration.

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Pinkie,” you say. “And it does beat sitting around all day doing nothing.”

“I knew you’d like it,” says Pinkie, beaming. “And I think I know just the pony to start with.”

“Oh really?” you ask. “Who?”

“Fluttershy!” says Pinkie, sounding triumphant.

“Fluttershy?” you repeat.

“Yeah! She works really hard taking care of her animal friends. I bet she’d love a good therapy session from you! Besides, the fans have been asking for her turn for a while!”

You blink.

“Fans? What fans?”

“The ones following the story, silly!” says Pinkie, as though the answer was obvious. “It’s only been a few days for you, but it’s been, like, months for them! They wanna see some affection therapy for their favorite ponies!”

You stare at Pinkie, bemused. You have no idea what she’s talking about. Then again, she did have a tendency to blurt out odd statements like this, and act like what she said was common knowledge that didn’t need explaining. She just looks at you with an innocent smile, as though what she said wasn’t strange at all, so what can you do but just let it pass?

“Err, right,” you say at last. “Well, thanks for the advice, Pinkie. The next time I’m in Fluttershy’s neighborhood, I’ll definitely see if she’d like a session. And how about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?” Pinkie asks, tilting her head curiously.

“You’re here,” you say. “Would you like a session?”

Pinkie thinks for a moment, then says, with a smile,

“Why not? I’m not really in a sour apple sour mood, but I wouldn’t mind seeing what you do!”

“Great!” you say. “Well, where would you like to start? Most ponies ask for an ear scratch first.”

“Ooh, then I wanna start with that!” says Pinkie, eagerly.

She scootches over so that she’s right beside you, beaming up at you. Smiling back, you first tap her nose in a friendly boop, making her giggle, then reach over and start rubbing the base of her ear. Unlike most ponies, her eyes don’t snap wide open at the sensation, but her smile does take on a more dreamy, lazy look to it, as her eyelids begin to droop.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she murmurs. “That feels soooooooo good. Your fingers are like...like magic…”

Chuckling, you use your other hand to stroke her mane. Now, you had observed her putting things away inside it, disappearing into its depths until it was out of sight. You half-expected it to make a lot of noise from all the things that must be in there, or else for it to feel variably rough or odd. However, such isn’t the case. Her mane is very soft and fluffy, like the cotton candy it smells like. It yields easily as well, shifting like putty wherever your hand touches it, then puffing back into shape after a few seconds.

Pinkie has soon nuzzled up against your torso, sighing contentedly, her hooves curled up in front of her chest. You stop petting her mane and loop your arm around her, whereupon she clasps it with her hooves, almost tenderly. You turn your hand over and start scratching her chin. Her ear twitches, and her eyes close completely.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Super-duper relaxed,” Pinkie sighs. “I feel like I’m lying down for a nap after wrapping up a big party. You really know your stuff.”

“Aw, shucks,” you say, modestly. “Is it so hard, putting parties together? You make it look easy.”

“It’s a good kind of hard,” Pinkie says. “It takes time, and it gets pretty exhausting. You have to plan for the right crowd and the right event, because not everypony likes the same parties.”

You could see her point. Some like loud and boisterous bashes, while some were more content with quiet, mild soirées. You felt more inclined towards the latter.

“But it’s worth it seeing how happy ponies are while the party’s going on,” says Pinkie. “Their smiles are my reward.”

That was one of the things you admired most about Pinkie. While she was undoubtedly paid well for her work as an apprentice baker and a party pony, all she really wanted was to see happy faces wherever she went. There weren’t enough ponies in the world who were so humbly sweet, at least not where you came from, and you wish every city or town had its own Pinkie Pie.

After a pause, Pinkie tilts her head to look up at you.

“Do you think,” she asks, innocently, “you could rub my tummy, too?”

“Of course,” you say. “It’s your session, after all.”

You take the hand that had been at Pinkie’s ear and start massaging her plump middle. As expected from the look of it, it’s soft and very doughy to the touch, more so than anypony’s belly you’ve rubbed so far. There are plenty of slender, skinny ponies in Ponyville, like Rose and Rarity, but their smoother stomachs were just as soft and warm to the touch. Pinkie’s feels like a generously-stuffed pillow, comfortably plump and full. 

It amazes you how nimble and quick a pony like Pinkie can be despite her figure, yet you can’t help but feel, too, that she’s rather proud of being a little chubby. She eats sweets with remarkable voracity, after all, and you’ve never heard anypony judging her looks. Mrs. Cake, one of her employers, is rather plump as well, but seems perfectly content with it. You wouldn’t have found many ponies in Manehattan who could claim to be as comfortable, though you do remember once seeing a stout mare working as a popcorn vendor, despite having a coffee pot cutie mark. She had been rough around the edges, but a bit friendlier than most Manehattan strangers when you tried her wares. 

Pinkie giggles and squirms a little bit at first, no doubt from ticklishness, but soon, you feel her relax. She practically melts against you as you rub her stomach. Her mane tickles your chin, and the smell of cotton candy’s stronger than ever.

“You like that?” you ask.

“Very much,” Pinkie murmurs. “I give tummy rubs to Gummy all the time, and I know he really likes them, but I never realized how good it’d feel.”

“You’ve never had a belly rub before?” you ask.

“Only when I was really sick,” says Pinkie. “My mom or Mrs. Cake would sit up with me, rubbing my tummy and singing lullabies. It feels good to have one when I’m not feeling all icky inside.”

“I can bet,” you say, smiling.

You both fall silent as you continue to rub. This, apart from seeing the smile and hearing the gratitude from ponies’ lips, was what you liked best about this: the silence that bespoke complete relaxation and contentment. It was proof positive of the effectiveness of your altruistic efforts, and the happiness of the ponies you hoped to benefit with them. To even instill calm and quiet in a hyperactive pony like Pinkie felt like an achievement.

At last, Pinkie gives an adorable, squeaky yawn as she stirs and stretches. You release your hold on her and remove your hand from her belly. She swivels around on her pudgy backside to face you, looking up at you.

“Feel good?” you ask.

“Really good,” says Pinkie, earnestly. “So good that I need a new word to describe it.”

She taps her chin thoughtfully, her lips pursed.

“How about...snugglerific!” she says at last, triumphantly.

“Snugglerific?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” says Pinkie, wrapping her forelegs around herself. “Terrifically snuggly, like being held by a big teddy bear.”

You blush slightly. You’re not exactly the skinniest of humans, but you never considered yourself that big. Even so, you’re sure Pinkie means it in the best way.

“Thanks,” she says, more seriously . “Even if I wasn’t having a bad day, that still felt really good. You’re one of the best kinds of friends, along with all my best besties.”

So saying, she rears up and, putting her hooves around you, gives you a hug nearly as warm and tender as the one Applejack had given you. It was surprising at first, because you were used to Pinkie giving tight, bone-tenderizing embraces, rather than more sedate ones. Still, you feel nice and warm inside, and reciprocate the hug as she affectionately nuzzles your cheek. You can actually feel the steady beat of her heart beside yours against your chest. Never before had you appreciated what it really means to have a friend like Pinkie Pie.

At last, you break away, and you walk Pinkie to the door. You don’t put much faith in her getting out the window easier than she came in, but she makes no mention of it.

“Can I ask you something?’ asks Pinkie.

“Of course.”

“Do they ever get boring or repetitive for you?”

“Do what?” you ask, curious.

“Your therapy sessions. Do you ever get bored just giving the same ear scratches and tummy rubs to ponies?”

You have your answer practically ready-made as you say, smiling,

“Not at all. If it works to make ponies relaxed and happy, I don’t mind having that kind of routine at all. Besides, not every pony wants the same techniques done every time. Some prefer a simple petting or a rub. Some just want a nice long hug. It might come down to the same thing, but it’s never simple, boring repetition.”

Pinkie beams, apparently satisfied with your answer.

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” she says. “Now, don’t forget about what I said. Look around for ponies who could use a little scritching or rubbing, and drop by Fluttershy when you get the chance.”

“I will,” you say. “Thanks, Pinkie. I’ll see you around.”

“Yep-yep!” she says, brightly. “Buh-bye!”

And with that, she bounces away, humming more merrily than you can remember ever hearing her hum before. You simply stand there, watching her go until she’s out of sight. There’s something remarkable in the fact that you had made Pinkie Pie, already one of the happiest and cheeriest of ponies, even happier, if that was even possible. The idea fills you with warmth and, it must be confessed, a little pride.

“Well,” you say to yourself, “I can’t say today was uneventful now. There’s still plenty of daylight left today, so I might as well take Pinkie up on her idea and just take a wander, see if she’s right.”

So saying, you put on your shoes, lock up the house behind you, and set off.


***


In your exhilaration over your session with Pinkie, you let your feet carry you where they please. You pass by many ponies who greet you cheerfully, and whom you greet in return. It beats walking sullenly through the streets of Manehattan, hearing ponies shout at you to get out of the way, or shooting you filthy looks as though you’d kicked a puppy.

Soon, you leave the main hustle and bustle of Ponyville altogether, and make for the more rural parts, where peace and quiet reign supreme. This is an expanse of greenery that you have only previously seen depicted in art galleries, with rolling hills, flower-filled meadows, and a sky dotted with fluffy clouds. It was like paradise.

This was something above all, besides the kindness of its ponies, that made Ponyville far superior to Manehattan. It was nearly impossible to get a moment’s peace of mind with ponies and taxis bustling down the street, talking, shouting, and arguing. Not even its large park was much of a refuge from the noise. This, however, was exactly what the soul needed to get away from the hectic rush and noise of civilization.

There must have been some kind of serendipitous magic afoot, as, by pure chance, even though you hadn’t set a definite course in your steps, you soon find yourself heading in the direction of the Everfree Forest. It’s a foreboding mass of trees that most ponies steer clear of if they can avoid it. From what you had heard, it’s teeming with dangerous creatures, like timberwolves. However, they keep to the boundaries of the forest, so ponies aren’t in danger of a sudden wolf attack. You had also heard tales of a zebra who lived in the heart of the forest. That sounded like someone worth meeting.

Situated near the forest, not terribly close, but not too far off from it, either, there sits a cozy two-story cottage thatched with greenery, with a beautiful garden, a footbridge over a clear pond, a paddock with a chicken coop, a rabbit hutch, and quite a number of birdhouses. It’s the sort of house that seemed to be reserved for fairytales alone. It’s far out of the way of any other pony habitation, and seems the perfect place for quiet, comfort, and peace.

And there, sitting in the garden, all by herself, is Fluttershy.

Fluttershy is a pegasus with a pale-yellow coat, something like the color of fresh butter. Her mane and tail are a shade of pink similar to Pinkie Pie’s coat, and both very long. Her mane in particular is long enough to shield her face from view, like many shy persons are apt to do. Her eyes are a lovely shade of sea-green, full of warmth and gentleness. Her wings are a bit larger than those of most pegasi, but as fluffy and delicate-looking as a swan’s wings. She’s of an average build, neither as thin as Rarity nor as plump as Pinkie, but she moves with indescribably delicate grace and poise, like the most well-bred of young ladies.

Truth be told, you haven’t had much interaction with Fluttershy before. When you first met her, while you were helping Rose at her flower stall, she didn’t know what to make of you, and even seemed inclined to run away from you. However, Rose managed to convince her that you were harmless, and she seemed mollified. Even so, whenever you’d seen her since, she didn’t seem able to do more than give you a smile, small, but genuine, nonetheless. It was some progress, anyway. 

Still, you do know some things about her, thanks to Rose. She's not one to mix much with crowds, and can be very shy, especially around strangers. She’s usually either by herself, accompanied by animals, or with her pony friends. Despite being a pegasus, she seems much more at home on the ground, and can only rarely be glimpsed flying. She can also be very apologetic, and sometimes awkward, but polite to a fault.

Still, she’s a very charming and good-looking pony, all the more so because, unlike Rarity, who’s very lovely in her own right, she doesn’t use products or makeup to accentuate her appearance. Her loveliness is all natural, though she doesn’t flaunt her looks, like you’ve seen Rarity do.

More than that, as Rose attests in glowing terms, she has a very kind, sweet, and loving heart, closely rivaling Pinkie’s. Nothing could make that plainer than the menagerie’s worth of animals she cares for. She has the remarkable talent of being able to communicate with them, and to understand their varied languages. All animals adore her, and she adores them: furry, feathered, scaly, slimy, winged, clawed, hooved, pawed, finned, herbivore, carnivore, and omnivore. She deems all worthy of love.

Something’s different this time, though. You notice that Fluttershy’s smooth brow is furrowed, her eyes closed. She’s taking deep breaths, and her mouth is rather thin. It’s clear that something is troubling her. Was this what Pinkie meant when she said Fluttershy could use some affection therapy? How could Pinkie have known? Then again, it was Pinkie Pie.

You approach cautiously, so as not to put a scare into her by blundering up like a clumsy bear. Once you’re near enough, you clear your throat gently, but distinctly. Fluttershy gives a start and looks around, her consternation giving way to surprise, which lessens a little at the sight of you.

“Oh!” she says. “Hello there. How are you?”

Her voice is very soft and demure, the sort of voice that seems to rarely exceed whisper-level. It’s the kind of voice that you expect to belong to a mother: soothing you in times of distress, reassuring you that everything will be all right, and sending you to peaceful sleep with a well-sung lullaby. The animals she looks after must never be in fear with her around.

“Hello, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’m fine. I was just taking a walk through here when I came upon your cottage. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” says Fluttershy, modestly. “I was just...thinking.”

“It looked like you were thinking about something troubling,” you say.

Fluttershy’s pale cheeks turn slightly pink, and she looks away.

“It’s...nothing,” she mutters. “It’s not something I’d want to trouble a friend with.”

Your heart gives a little swoop of excitement. She considers you a friend! Still, you don’t want to be tactless.

“Well,” you say, delicately, “I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it. I just want you to know that if anything is bothering you, I’d be happy to help if I can. I’m an affection therapist, after all.”

Fluttershy looks at you again, looking a little curious.

“Affection therapist,” she repeats, as though trying to work out the term. “Twilight mentioned that the last time I saw her. She said that was what you do now. I don’t really understand what it means, though. Can you explain?”

It’s funny how many ponies have heard of the phrase, but still need it explained. No matter. You don’t mind.

“Of course,” you say. “To put it as simply as I can, I help ponies relax and feel comfortable through little displays of platonic affection. They include nose boops, ear scratchings, pettings, tickles, belly rubs, and even hugs. They especially help for ponies who are feeling stressed or put-out. It’s worked wonders so far, if I can be allowed to toot my own horn,” you add, modestly.

Fluttershy looks surprised at this, her face lighting up eagerly.

“Pettings?” she asks. “Scratchings? Belly rubs? Those sound like the things I do for my animal friends! It always makes them feel better if they’ve been feeling grumpy or sad.”

Ah, good! So she has a frame of reference for this kind of thing! That’ll make it easier for her to understand!

“Well, this follows similar principles,” you say. 

“And it really works on other ponies?” Fluttershy asks.

“That’s right,” you say. “Of course, it’s up to you whether you want to go through with it or not.”

Fluttershy falls silent, looking thoughtful. It seems like she’s seriously trying to make up her mind about it, though the fact that she can draw a similar parallel with your techniques is already a good sign. You stay silent during this, as it would be in poor form to further promote your trade, as though you were desperate for it and were trying to wheedle an assent out of her.

At last, Fluttershy says,

“Maybe I should give it a try. At the very least, I think I need to get this off my chest. Would you like to come inside? We can talk more in there.”

Your heart gives another bound. Fluttershy’s opening up! She trusts you!

“Lead the way,” you say, bowing politely.

Fluttershy giggles. Your heart nearly melts at how adorable it is. She stands up and starts walking back towards her cottage, whereupon you follow.


***


The inside of Fluttershy’s cottage is like nothing you’ve seen before. It’s both comfortable and cluttered. The floor is wood-paneled, with a red, rectangular rug in the middle of the floor of the den, immediately off the front door. A stone fireplace sits in one corner, as does a moderately-filled bookcase. The large windows look out upon the beautiful landscape surrounding the cottage. A staircase leads to the upper floor, while another door leads off to the kitchen. The den holds a comfortable-looking sofa and armchair, separated by a small table. Some small tables bare framed photographs, while others hang on the walls. Several more birdhouses hang from the ceiling, and the walls are dotted here and there with mouseholes. A sizeable pet bed, well-supplied with pillows, sits near the fireplace.

In other words, the cottage is well-suited both for the habitation of a home-lover like Fluttershy and for the comings and goings of animals.

“Very nice place you have here,” you say, turning your head this way and that.

“Thank you,” says Fluttershy. “I’m glad to let my animal friends use it to rest and be comfortable, but sometimes I wish it was a little bigger, or that I had a place more open for them.”

At that moment, you find yourself brought to a halt. A white rabbit has hopped up in front of you and is eyeing you beadily, a look of unmistakable mistrust on its face. You regard it warily, put-off by a creature so cute looking so aggressive.

“Angel,” says Fluttershy, firmly, “don’t be rude. He’s a guest.”

Angel? An ironic name if ever you’ve heard one, going solely by the stink-eye that bunny’s giving you. However, the rabbit does no more, and hops away.

“Don’t mind him,” says Fluttershy. “He doesn’t do well with strangers, but he’s really a good bunny.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Fluttershy says. “I’ll go get some tea.”

She disappears into the kitchen, and you sit down on the sofa. You continue to look about at the decor of the cottage, and the accommodations made for visiting animals. You receive a small start when a bird peeks out of a birdhouse to gaze at you, tilting its head in polite curiosity, before going back inside. You receive another when two mice scurry past your feet, from one mousehole to the next. Fluttershy must obviously be used to these comings and goings. You’d probably never get used to it yourself.

Fluttershy soon returns with a tea tray balanced on her back, supported by her wings. She lays it down on the table, pours out the tea, and hands you a cup before sitting down with her own. You take a sniff at the tea, then take a sip.

“Orange tea?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” says Fluttershy. “It’s actually my first time making it, truth be told. How is it?”

“Very citrusy,” you say, approvingly, and Fluttershy smiles.

You both sit in silence for a little while, sipping your tea. One of you is going to have to break the ice eventually. Might as well be you.

“So, what’s on your mind?” you ask, gently, setting your cup down. “What’s been troubling you?”

Fluttershy takes a long sip, swallows, sets her cup down as well, then says,

“I’m feeling stressed about my brother.”

“Your brother?”

You didn’t know Fluttershy had a brother. Then again, there must still be much you don’t know about her.

“Yes,” says Fluttershy. “My younger brother, Zephyr Breeze. He’s a smart and talented pony...if only he’d let it show,” she adds, bitterly.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Fluttershy sighs.

“He always sets his mind on something he wants to do, and makes a big deal out of it to my parents and me,” she says. “He says it's ‘what he’s meant to do.’”

“So he has job fads?” you ask.

“That’s a good way to put it,” says Fluttershy. “And since they’re nothing but fads to him, he always gives up on what he’s doing after only a few weeks, or even a few days. After that, he comes home to move back in with Mom and Dad. It wouldn’t be so bad if he actually did anything to help out around the house, but he doesn’t! He just lazes around and makes them do everything for him! It’s been going on for so long, and I just...I can’t…”

Fluttershy’s voice has been rising in heat and pitch as she goes on, and now, she seems at a loss for words to express her frustration. She breathes deeply, trying to compose herself, while you sit staring at her, amazed. You lay a hand on her shoulder, and you take it as a good sign that she doesn’t shrink away from it.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’ve never had siblings, but I can imagine how tough it must be for you. It sounds like your brother’s wasting his life and invading your parents’ lives. Have you ever tried talking to him?”

“More times than I can count,” Fluttershy says, regretfully. “I’ve tried being reasonable with him, but he just won’t listen. He keeps saying he has to be ‘free to make his own way’, to ‘find his own path’. He just won’t settle for anything he doesn’t immediately like.”

“I see,” you say. “What’s he going for now?”

“Mane therapy.”

“Mane therapy?” you echo, puzzled.

“He swore it was his calling,” says Fluttershy, rolling her eyes. “I just hope he’ll stick with it this time, with how earnestly he talked about it.”

“Wow,” you say. “No wonder you’re stressed.”

Fluttershy nods sadly.

“And it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately. I’ve tried to distract myself from it, but nothing works. My mind keeps wandering back to Zephyr sooner or later. I need something to take my mind off him, even for a little while. My spa day with Rarity isn’t for another few days, and Discord’s away until our next tea party. My critter friends have tried what they could, and I really appreciate it, but it’s just been too much.”

The name ‘Discord’ makes you start a little. You’d heard tales of the self-styled Lord of Chaos and the insanity caused by his magic. In fact, you remember hearing how he joined forces with the magic-stealing tyrant Tirek, but then betrayed him after Tirek double-crossed him. He had reportedly supplied the final component in bringing about his defeat. Everypony else seemed to have forgiven him, so you didn’t see much reason to make a fuss about it, especially if he was Fluttershy’s friend.

“Well, I’ll do my best to help you,” you say, kindly. “That is, if you do want a session.”

Fluttershy looks at you for a second or two, then says, with a smile that warms your heart,

“Yes. I think I’d like to give it a try. To be honest,” she adds, looking a little bashful, “I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like myself. To be the pet for once, instead of the petter.”

“Heh, I can imagine,” you say, grinning.

“So, um, how do we start?” Fluttershy asks.

“How would you like to start?” you ask. “What do you feel like you’ve wanted to experience the most?”

Fluttershy ponders for a moment, then says, with no small amount of blushing,

“I think I’d like to start with a belly rub, if that’s ok.”

Well, that’s a different start already. Most ponies want a belly rub as one of the last things in the session, unless that’s the only thing they want. Still, it’s Fluttershy’s session, and you’re not about to argue.

“All right, then,” you say. “Just lay yourself down on your back.”

Still looking a little bashful, Fluttershy drapes herself across your legs on her back. With her forelegs tucked up in front of her chest, and her innocent aquamarine eyes gazing up at you, you feel as if her cuteness might be lethal for your health, almost too much to bear. One of these days, these ponies may be the death of you, but it’d be worth it.

You place your hand on her stomach, and can’t resist giving her a little tickle as a preamble, making her giggle. Smiling, you start slowly rubbing up and down along her belly, watching as she closes her eyes in relaxation. Like Rarity, Fluttershy’s coat feels much softer and smoother than most ponies’. You can only equate it to her using a special kind of product to keep it nice and healthy, perhaps from the spa. Like Twilight, Fluttershy’s belly only has a fraction of doughiness to it, but it’s barely noticeable. She’s thin enough to keep her stomach from jiggling from contact, yet not to the point of being able to see or feel her ribs. She keeps her physique at a reasonable middle ground.

Fluttershy looks utterly at peace as she lies there, any trace of her previous vexation gone. You feel it’s safe to start with other techniques in conjunction. You reach over and start scratching her ear. Like with Pinkie, her eyes don’t pop open at the sensation, but her smile broadens, and she lets out a contented sigh. She doesn’t say anything, but that little sigh speaks volumes. You alternate between her ear and her chin, and the results are the same: pure happiness and serenity.

As you continue to rub and scratch, you start to hear little noises: scurrying, rustling, chirps, and squeaks. Looking up, you see that several animals have gathered to watch. Several birds are perched on the rafters: jays, finches, and even an owl. Squirrels, mice, ferrets, and rabbits, including the one called Angel, still eyeing you warily, are on the floor, hunkered down on the rug. And at the far back, to your great surprise, is a large brown bear. 

All of their eyes are on you and Fluttershy, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it at first. Are they jealous of the attention Fluttershy’s getting? No, that can’t be it. She must already show them boundless care and devotion, a sweetheart like her. Are they, perhaps, making sure nothing bad happens to her? That could be possible, seeing as how she was something of a mother to them, and you were practically a stranger. Perhaps Angel had put them up to it somehow.

You wish you had Fluttershy’s power of speech with animals. You’d love to be able to help them understand that you were here to help their caregiver, not do her any harm. But just at that moment, Fluttershy lets off another sigh, and, like Applejack before her, snuggles her cheek into the palm of your hand as it’s scratching her ear. Looking back up at the animals, you see something that quite erases your trepidation.

You see unmistakable relief on their various faces. They’re all looking upon Fluttershy with tenderhearted smiles on their beaked and muzzled faces. The bear actually has its big paws clasped over its heart. Even Angel looks much less hostile as he smiles at his owner. And now you start to understand: they had been worried about Fluttershy’s continuing stress over her brother, and to see her finally relax was a relief for them. It was touching how devoted they were to her, as she no doubt was to them.

Separately, the animals depart to leave you two in peace: the birds back into their birdhouses or out the window, the mice to their holes, the squirrels, rabbits and ferrets off to different rooms, and the bear out the door. Angel himself has gone out, without so much as a backward look. You’ve won the critters’ approval, which feels in itself like some kind of victory.

After a while, Fluttershy yawns sleepily, half-opening her eyes. You feel her belly rise from the yawn beneath your hand, and remove it.

“How do you feel?” you ask, gently.

“Really relaxed,” she says. “Now I know what my forest friends feel when I give them belly rubs. It’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say, smiling. “Anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Just one more thing, if you don’t mind,” says Fluttershy. “Do you think you could pet my mane for a little while?”

”Certainly,” you say.

Smiling, Fluttershy turns herself over onto her stomach, resting her chin on her hooves. She looks exactly like a contented dog. You can’t help but wonder if her time among her animals friends has rubbed off on her in some ways. Then again, you’ve seen several ponies act in ways that are more doggish than ponyish.

Very gently, and taking care to keep clear of her wings, you start stroking her pink locks. It astounds you how unbelievably soft and smooth her mane is. It hardly feels like hair at all, but the finest silk fabric in the world. Each and every hair is immaculate and in place, to create a uniform appearance and feeling. No doubt her tail must feel the same way. You knew Fluttershy had natural beauty, but you had never realized how much effort she must put into just looking like her usual self, without makeup or anything.

Fluttershy settles deeper into her relaxed pose, her chin slipping between her hooves and settling on your knee, her hooves pillowing her cheeks instead. Her ear twitches almost imperceptibly, and even her wings move a little. From her breathing, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had fallen asleep. That tends to happen often with these ponies, but, again, it’s merely a sign that the therapy is working.

You can never quite explain why you never check the time before you start, to gauge how long these sessions take. Somehow, it just never seems important. Whatever the case, it feels like at least an hour’s passed before Fluttershy at last stirs, and you stop petting. Very slowly and gradually, she sits up and stretches, in a very cat-like way, yawning. She then sits down beside you, wearing a very warm smile.

“Feel better?” you ask.

“Very much,” she says, glowingly. “That was just what I needed. I feel like a whole new pony. Thank you so much.”

She leans forward and nuzzles your cheek. You feel that cheek grow very hot, but in a pleased sort of way.

“You’re welcome, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’m happy to have helped.”

When Fluttershy pulls away, you see her smile falter a little, and she’s blushing a little as well.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“No,” she says. “I was just thinking...But I wouldn’t want to ask something you might find odd.”

What could she mean? You don’t understand.

“Go ahead,” you encourage gently. “Ask away.”

Fluttershy swallows.

“Well...would it be ok if...if I did the same for you?”

You blink at her.

“If you did what for me?” you ask.

“If I...pet your hair for a little,” Fluttershy mutters, her cheeks going crimson. “I just thought it’d be a nice way to repay you for helping me, and to give you a chance to relax after what you did. I don’t really know which of your techniques work for humans the way they do for ponies or animals, and I thought it was the most, well, reasonable.”

You stare at her for a second or two, surprised. This was the first time a pony’s asked to reciprocate an affection therapy technique on you. Yes, reciprocation was an option in your occupational contract, but nopony had really taken you up on it beyond a nose boop or a tickle. Granted, you don’t think you’d be much inclined to have your own stomach rubbed. Still, Fluttershy’s request is so innocent and genuine, that there’s no way you could simply refuse.

“Of course you can,” you say, smiling. “I’m flattered that you’d want to return the favor for my simple services.”

“Oh, it was far from simple,” says Fluttershy, earnestly. “You’ve taken a huge weight off my shoulders by letting me think about nothing for a while. It’s the least I can do.”

“Then I’d be honored,” you say, graciously. “Just tell me how I ought to position myself.”

In the end, Fluttershy settles herself in a sitting position, allowing you to lay your head across her lap. At first, you express worry that you might be too heavy, even with just your head, but she assures you that it’ll be nothing. So you lay the back of your head across her knees, gazing up into her gentle, smiling face.

She takes her hoof and starts running it gently through the tumbled mass of hair on your head. You’d only ever followed the most basic of hair arrangement: running a comb through it a few times, like Verne’s Passepartout. Seeing the different ways ponies wear their manes, you feel far from self-conscious about your own looks. You actually find it cute to see how many mares prefer a more boyish style to their locks.

At Fluttershy’s first touch, you immediately feel your muscles begin to relax. You’re a little surprised at this, since you don’t recall ever feeling stressed or uptight during the session. Nevertheless, you feel your body practically melt and unravel as Fluttershy strokes your hair. You look up at her, and she gazes down at you with a soft, motherly smile. She had looked absolutely precious as you gave her her therapy session. Now you were seeing her in a whole new, wonderful light. This was the Fluttershy her animals saw when she tended to them. 

And then, as if it were the last thing needed to complete this cycle of serenity, she starts to sing, in a low and soothing voice.

“Sleep, my dear, it’s time for bed
The stars are shining bright
The day is done, so rest your head
Until the morning light

Sweet dreams to you, to you
Until the night has gone
Sweet dreams to you, to you
Peace until the dawn”

You feel your eyelids begin to droop. Fight as you might to keep them awake, you can’t resist. Finally, your eyes close altogether, and you drift off into slumber.


***


When you open your eyes at last, everything seems to be bathed in a golden-red glow. The sun must be setting. Your head is still resting in Fluttershy’s lap, and she’s still looking down at you, still smiling.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she says, warmly. “How do you feel?”

You gradually sit up and stretch. How do you feel? How can you describe how you felt?

“Never better,” you say, smiling at her. “I can’t remember ever feeling so relaxed in all my life. I’ve helped several ponies relax by now, but that’s the first time a pony’s ever done the same for me. Thank you, Fluttershy.”

Though she blushes, Fluttershy still smiles.

“You’re very welcome,” she says. “It was the least I could do for you.”

“But is the sun setting already?” you ask, looking out the window. “I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. I should let you see to your animals, since I must’ve been keeping you from them for too long already.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” says Fluttershy. “You haven’t imposed at all.”

Here, her expression becomes much softer and more tender, and a quavering light appears in her eyes. All at once, she puts her forelegs around you, pulling you into a hug.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “It really means a lot that you would want to help me, even if I never took the time to get to know you before.”

It’s a miracle that your heart isn’t exploding from so much cuteness. Nevertheless, you return the hug, just as warmly.

“It was my pleasure, Fluttershy,” you say. “I’ll try to drop by every so often, if you’d like. Not for therapy, necessarily, but just to talk, maybe?”

“I’d like that,” says Fluttershy, nodding.

At last, you ease apart, and Fluttershy walks you to the door. As you approach it, the animals of the house peek out from their various places to watch you go, even Angel. It still feels gratifying that you’ve earned their trust for helping Fluttershy.  You do receive a start, however, when the bear you had observed earlier suddenly pops up and clumsily pats your head with its big paw.

“Aww,” says Fluttershy, giggling. “That’s Harry’s way of saying he likes you.”

“Is it?” you say, grinning awkwardly from the rather rough patting. “I’m honored.”

Fluttershy watches you out as you make your way out the door and down the main path. You turn to look back at her, and see her give you one last warm smile before she closes the door. Turning your head forwards again, you let out a sigh.

“Maybe it’s not so surprising,” you say to yourself, “her wanting to give me therapy in return. She’s used to caring for animals, and humans aren’t too far off from monkeys, so it was probably no different than what she normally does for her critters. In any case, I think all animals need a Fluttershy in their lives, the same way everyone could use a Pinkie Pie in theirs.”
> Rainbow Dash
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s happening at last!

Twilight’s worked her magic, and the two of you are currently standing in the Ponyville spa!

It’s only been a day since you gave a therapy session to both Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. You had only just had breakfast after getting dressed when Twilight teleported to your front door, looking very excited. After apologizing for the delay, saying she had been tied up with other matters (which you couldn't blame her for, being a princess and all), she told you that she had secured a meeting with the owners of the spa at noon today, to discuss the possibility of your employment.

A mixture of excitement, anticipation, and alarm had struck you at this proclamation. 

On the one hand, you were finally going to act upon Rarity’s brilliant suggestion to bring affection therapy to the spa. You still marvel at how it had never occurred to you before then.

On the other hand, to have this meeting only a few hours from then was rather disconcerting. You felt ill-prepared, as though you were supposed to have had a speech prepared or something. Suddenly, you started to wonder if this was a good idea after all, and whether or not you ought to go through with it.

Thankfully, Twilight told you she was going to accompany you, to help explain and provide evidence to your work’s effectiveness. That definitely made you feel better, and you agreed to meet her outside the spa before noon.

So now, here you stand, in a side room of the spa, with Twilight at your side. 

You try to keep your calmest, friendliest smile on your face, despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach, as you stand before Aloe and Lotus, the joint-owners of the spa. They’re a pair of Earth pony twins, both slender and pretty, with the same mane and tail styles, the former held in place with white headbands. The main difference is in their colors. Aloe has a pink coat with a blue mane and tail, while Lotus has a blue coat with a pink mane and tail.

“So, you are wanting to join the Ponyville spa?” Aloe asks, speaking with a rather exotic accent.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, humbly.

“And you have your own special technique?” Lotus asks, speaking with the same kind of accent.

“W-Well, in a way, yes,” you say. 

“It’s a new revolutionary kind of relaxation therapy,” says Twilight. “It promotes a sense of contentment through platonic displays of affection. The techniques themselves vary. It can be done through ear scratches, chin scratches, pettings, nose boops, tickles, belly rubs, even hugs. The list is ever-growing and ever-evolving. Everypony who has accepted therapy from my friend here has had nothing but the highest praise for its effectiveness.”

It sounds a lot more professional and complicated when Twilight puts it in her own words. You merely smile and nod at Aloe and Lotus, who look genuinely intrigued. They look at each other for a moment, then turn back to you.

“We do not doubt the honesty of Princess Twilight’s words,” says Lotus, “but you will understand if we wish to see proof for ourselves, yes?”

“O-Of course!” you say. “I’d be more than happy to demonstrate! Er, should I do it one at a time, or at the same time?”

“You can give therapy to two ponies at once?” Aloe asks

“Sure,” you say, holding up your right hand. “I usually only need one free hand for my techniques. All we need to ensure is that the two of you are comfortably situated.”

The two look at each other again, nod, then turn back to you.

“Follow us, please,” says Lotus.

You look at Twilight, who gives you an encouraging smile and nod. The butterflies surge back up again, and you step forward, with stiff and wobbly legs. Twilight walks beside you, her presence adding some comfort, and helping you relax a little. 

The two masseuses lead the pair of you into another room, this one housing a pair of massage tables. Whether on purpose or by coincidence, they’re situated in a way so that someone could sit down on a chair or stool between them, and there, in fact, is a sturdy-looking stool sitting in the gap. Primly and delicately, Aloe and Lotus each clamber up onto one of these tables and lie down on their stomachs, their eyes on you.

“Whenever you are ready-” begins Aloe

“-you may begin,” Lotus finishes.

You hesitate. Now that the moment of truth was here, you suddenly feel as if this may have been mistake. It felt like everything you had been working toward was hinging on this one moment. These ponies were professional masseuses. Surely your amateur, self-made techniques couldn’t possibly amount to what they do on a daily basis for other ponies. What if they scoffed at your attempts? What if they called you a disgrace to massage therapy and ordered you to never set foot in a spa again?

What if this turned out just like Manehattan?

You look down at Twilight, the pony who was responsible for even allowing you to reach this far. What would she think if you failed here? How could you stand to be in her presence knowing you’d let her down? You have half a mind to tell her that you can’t do this, and that they should just leave.

Perhaps she recognizes your anxiety, sees it in your eyes. With a gentle smile, she places her hoof on your hand, and you feel some of the tension leave you. She gives you a small nod, telling you to go ahead. 

In that moment, you feel significantly smaller and ashamed. You can see unwavering confidence in those amethyst-colored eyes, confidence in you. How could you even think of backing out now? You can’t let her down now, not when she’s gone this far for you. What kind of repayment would that be?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you walk over between the tables and sit down on the stool. You take a deep breath, let it out slowly, then reach up both hands until your fingers rest at the base of their closest ears. Then, you start gently rubbing.

Looking from one to the other as you do so, you see that the sensation has taken them aback. Both are wide-eyed, as you had seen many times with ponies before, when giving them a scritch for the first time. Then, very gradually, their expressions change to dreamy smiles. It seems that even experienced masseuses like them are utterly unfamiliar with sensations such as these. 

“Oh my goodness,” murmurs Aloe. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“Neither have I,” says Lotus. “It’s wonderful.”

Your spirits begin to rise, as though someone had filled you with helium. You look over at Twilight again, who beams at you. Emboldened, you keep scratching their ears a little more, then move on to scratching under their chins. Their heads tilt up accordingly, and their eyes close. They both let out a soft, low ‘Mmmm’ of contentment. All their stately professionalism is melting away in the face of this new experience.

So far, so good!

“Whenever you both are ready,” you say, now positively grinning, “we can move on to belly rubs.”

As if they need no further prompting, both turn over onto their backs, hooves curled in front of their chests. You scoot your stool back to situate yourself better, then, placing one hand on each slim and smooth stomach, begin gently rubbing up and down, back and forth. Just like Rarity and Fluttershy, there’s a velvety softness to their fur that exceeds that of normal pony coats. Undoubtedly, it has something to do with the products they use at the spa.

As for the two themselves, they are utterly at peace, looking more asleep than anything, their expressions tranquil and untroubled. Not even a giggle escapes either of them as you rub; they must not be ticklish. It doesn’t matter, though. Their silence is solid proof of how well the therapy is working for them. It’s just hard to believe it’s working on spa professionals like them. Performing it on a princess is one thing, but since helping ponies relax is their job, this feels like a whole different level.

This goes on for quite some time, until at last, Aloe and Lotus stir. You stand up, remove your hands from their bellies, and stumble back to stand by Twilight. Your old nervousness has suddenly come back, and you have no idea what they’re about to say. You wait as they sit up, stretch, then step down onto the floor to face you.

Both of them are smiling.

“And that’s really all there is to it,” Twilight says, speaking for you. “Of course, it depends on the techniques used or preferred by the client, but it doesn’t get more complicated than that.”

You only nod clumsily. Aloe and Lotus exchange a look between themselves, nod, then turn to you, still smiling.

“For years, we have helped ponies achieve total contentment, relaxation, and rejuvenation through the techniques we practice,” says Aloe.

“But never, in all of that time, have we ever experienced anything the likes of what you have given us today,” says Lotus.

“We wish to humbly thank you-”

“-And would be honored to offer you a position here at the spa.”

“Ponyville will greatly benefit from what you can do.”

Your jaw falls open, and you feel yourself go numb in the legs.

Had you heard that right?

Did they actually say yes?

They did!

It takes a bit for your mouth to function properly, so stunned are you, but you finally manage to say,

“You...You mean it?”

“Mm-hmm,” say the two in unison, nodding and beaming.

You can’t believe it.

This is really happening!

“How does next Monday sound as a start for you?” asks Lotus.

“S-Sounds perfect!” you say. “Thank you both so much!”

You bow rather hastily, but humbly all the same. All three mares giggle.

“Oh, no, good sir, thank you,” says Aloe, “for such a wonderful experience.”

“You will make so many ponies happy with what you have to offer,” says Lotus.

“Thank you both very much for your time,” Twilight says, graciously.

“It was our pleasure, Princess Twilight,” says Aloe, bowing along with her sister.

“We will see you on Monday morning, good sir,” says Lotus. “Have a wonderful rest of the week.”

“Thank you,” you say, “and thanks again.”

You stumble out of the room, your legs still shaking from the excitement of the moment. Twilight follows, closing the door behind her, and the two of you make your way out of the spa. Neither of you say a word as you step outside, even though your insides are practically doing the conga.

You’ve done it!

You’re going to bring affection therapy to the Ponyville spa!

Wait until Rarity hears about this!

Once you two step outside, the first thing that happens, catching you quite off guard, is Twilight letting out a delighted squeal, rearing up, kicking her front hooves and flapping her wings. You simply stare, as you can’t recall her ever acting this giddy before.

“You did it!” she says. “You’re going to be an official spa-sanctioned affection therapist! You did so well in there, and I am so proud of you!”

She throws her hooves around you in a tight hug. Your surprise soon gives way to a giddy joy of your own, as you return her hug and even swing her around, bringing her hind hooves off the ground and making her giggle. You stop and look down into her amethyst-colored eyes, full of happiness and pride.

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you, Twilight,” you say, gratefully. “I was about to get cold feet in there, but you gave me the confidence to follow through. Thank you so much for giving me the chance. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Twilight warmly nuzzles your cheek as the two of you stand there, arms and forelegs clasped around each other, oblivious to ponies passing by and staring, wondering what could be causing such a display of affection between the Princess of Friendship and the lone human in Ponyville. At last, the two of you break apart, big smiles on both of your faces.

“I only gave you a little guidance,” Twilight says, kindly. “The rest was all you, my friend. I know you’re going to be wonderful here.”

“Thanks, Twilight,” you say. “And now that I think about it, I do know how I can repay you: by penciling you in for a therapy session free of charge.”

Twilight looks surprised at this, as well as a little embarrassed.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she says, modestly.

“I want to, though,” you say, seriously. “You helped get me this far, and I feel it’s only right to thank you properly. Now that I think about it,” you add, suddenly struck by an idea, “I need to find a way to thank Rarity as well, for giving me the idea to apply to the spa, and Rose, for helping kickstart the practice in the first place, not to mention being the first friend I ever made here. There’s so many ponies to thank!”

There’s a slight desperation in this declaration that Twilight notices. She smiles and pats your hand with her hoof.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “You’ll have a proper time to thank everypony you want to thank. I’ll definitely consider your kind offer myself.”

Her calm reassurance helps set your momentary worry at ease, and you feel relaxed and happy again.

“You’re right,” you say. “Thanks, Twilight.”

“Anytime,” says Twilight. “Now, I need to get going. I promised Starlight and Spike that we’d go kite flying today.”

“Oh, of course,” you say. “I don’t want to keep you. Have fun!”

“Thanks! Goodbye, and good luck on Monday!”

With a flash of purple light, Twilight vanishes on the spot, leaving you by yourself. And so, you start wending your own way home.


***


You had never been to Cloudsdale before, so you can’t accurately say what it feels like to walk on clouds. However, the way you feel right now might just be the closest approximation to it. You feel so elated that you only barely register the ponies you almost bump into, but you still manage to step out of their way in time. Looking back, you can even seem them glancing back at you, and apparently, the smile on your face is infectious, and they can’t help but grin back.

This was the greatest feeling you’d ever felt, second only to the happiness you feel whenever you see a pony relaxed and happy because of a session with you. Affection therapy had taken the next step, and was now going to be an official spa treatment, in a place where ponies already came to relax and rejuvinate. Could it get any better than this?

All of a sudden, the air is rent with a loud roar, stopping you in your tracks. Something speeds past you like a rocket. It feels as though an express train has missed you by inches, but is still buffeting you with the force of its slipstream. You topple backwards, knocked off balance, and land on your backside, dazed and disoriented. 

“Whoops! Sorry about that. Lemme help ya.”

A raspy female voice greets your ears as a pair of hooves helps you up. Upon regaining your equilibrium, you can now see the pony who has both bowled you over and assisted you just now, hovering in the air at eye level.

It’s Rainbow Dash.

She’s a pegasus with a light-blue coat, nearly the same shade as the sky. Her eyes are a vibrant shade of magenta, but it’s her mane and tail that are the most eye-catching. Both are streaked with all of the colors of the rainbow, lending little doubt to how she acquired the first part of her name. They’re also both very messy and frizzy, in an almost deliberately careless way that isn’t by any means unpleasant. Her wings are sleek and strong in appearance, each feather standing out boldly and proudly. Her cutie mark is a white cloud letting loose a multicolored lightning bolt. She’s of a slender, trim build, similar to Rarity, though not quite as curvaceous. Even if it doesn’t stand out, one has the impression of toned and powerful muscle underneath her fur.

Rainbow is one of the fastest flyers you have ever seen. You’ve seen plenty of speedy pegasi who seem to soar by in the blink of an eye, but that’s nothing on Rainbow. When she puts her mind to it, which is often, she speeds off like a rocket, leaving ponies dazed in her wake, and a technicolor trail behind her. Whatever distance normal pegasi cover in minutes, she does in mere seconds. She’s also quite dexterous, able to pull off tricky maneuvers while going at such ludicrous speeds. That likely contributed to her current position as the newest Wonderbolt, as you had heard being gossiped around Ponyville.

Likely because of this aerial finesse, Rainbow is also a pony of incomparable pride. Every time she appears, one expects a loud fanfare to precede her entrance, so bold and pronounced is it. One would think she were the daughter of royalty. Even the way she walks, when she deigns to do so, preferring to fly, can be rather swaggering: head held high, wings flared, a slight sway to her hips and a broad smile on her face, as if to say ‘check me out, you know you want to’. She’s undoubtedly egotistical, never failing to talk about how awesome of a pony she is, which, despite her being able to back up her statements 90% of the time, can be a bit grating.

Nevertheless, she’s a good-hearted pony. She’s a staunch ally to those in need, and never leaves her friends hanging when she can lend a hoof. This is especially evident in her relationship with Scootaloo, one of Apple Bloom’s friends. Though not related by blood, one would almost swear the two were sisters, seeing how close they were with each other out in public. She even has a pet tortoise that she takes with her in public on occasion. He’s hooked up with a flying apparatus, allowing him to keep up with his pegasus owner, which is sweet. It’s comforting to know that beneath the ego and the bragging is a heart of gold.

You haven’t had much interaction with her. At the most, you usually see her speeding by through the air, sleeping on a cloud, or hanging around with her friends. You are acquainted with her, however, and she usually greets you with a smile and a wave if she catches sight of you.

“Hello, Rainbow Dash,” you say.

“Hiya,” says Rainbow. “Long time no see. Sorry about knocking you over like that.”

“It’s all right. What’s the big rush, though?”

“Nothing, really,” she says, shrugging. “It just feels good to be back in Ponyville after a good training session. Don’t get me wrong,” she adds, “I love being a Wonderbolt, but some of their drills are even more intense than I would’ve thought. The Academy feels like foal’s play compared to the real deal. My joints are killing me.”

She lands on all fours and rubs the base of her wing as she says this, wincing slightly. 

“Ouch,” you say, sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” says Rainbow. “All of us on the team tend to push ourselves a little too hard sometimes, but it’s worth it in the end, when we get to wow ponies in the stands with our stunts.”

She’s regained a bit of her zeal by saying this, and there’s a twinkle in her eye.

“How do you usually relax after a workout?” you ask.

For some reason, this question seems to catch Rainbow off guard. She looks suddenly awkward, a very faint blush reddening her cerulean cheeks.

“Oh, nothing too fancy,” she says, airily. “I, er, just head to the spa, for a deep-tissue sports massage.”

She says the name of her treatment with pronounced determination, as though wanting to make absolutely certain you heard her right.

“Is that right?” you ask.

“Only the finest for an athlete of my caliber,” she says, proudly. “It’s why I was kind of in a rush. I wanted to set up an appointment before it got too crowded.”

“I see,” you say. “Well, I'll be joining the spa soon myself.”

“Oh, really?” Rainbow asks, intrigued. “Did they hire you as a new masseuse? Those hands of yours look like they’d be good for the job,” she adds, glancing at your non-hooves.

“Well, yes and no,” you say. “I’m actually bringing my affection therapy to the spa.”

Rainbow tilts her head.

“Affection therapy?” she asks. “I remember Twilight mentioning that before when talking about you, but what is it?”

Ah, the familiar question. Well, time for the tried-and-true answer.

“Well, to put it simply,” you say, “what I do is help ponies relax by giving them little displays of platonic affection: ear scratches, nose boops, belly rubs, pettings, even something simple as a hug.”

Rainbow actually looks intrigued by this, but she gives a shake of the head, as though trying to get rid of a bothersome bug, and shrugs with an indifferent look on her face.

“Eh, sounds like a load of mushy stuff to me,” she says, casually.

Well, now, that was a bit of a harsh generalization. Sure, it was a bit intimate, but there was nothing but platonic altruism behind it.

“Maybe, but it really does work,” you say.

“I’m sure it does,” says Rainbow, still sounding aloof, “but I dunno if it’s the kind of thing for an athlete like me. No offense.”

You’re starting to see where this is leading. A pony with Rainbow Dash’s pride and tomboyish nature would balk point-blank at something as innocent-sounding as affection therapy. That was understandable, since she likely prided herself on keeping a certain reputation. However, the interest in her expression when you described it hadn’t been lost on you, nor had the times you‘d seen her with her friends, Scootaloo, or her tortoise. You didn’t want to force her into the idea, but you felt like she could stand to try a new way to unwind, and should let her know how well it actually works.

“That’s too bad,” you say, conversationally. “Your friends expressed their interest in it once they heard about it. Not to toot my own horn, of course.”

Rainbow glances at you, eyebrow raised.

“All of them?” she asks. “Applejack, too?”

It was interesting to hear her bring up Applejack. She was the one pony within Twilight’s circle of friends that she’d be most likely to be seen with. Despite their closeness, they liked to compete, and were quite vocal about it. You vividly remember a publicly-held hoof wrestle between the two outside Sugarcube Corner. It went on for, no lie, 10 whole minutes without either one holding the advantage for long. Applejack finally emerged victorious, which had put Rainbow in a sour mood for a while afterwards.

“That’s right,” you say.

Rainbow hesitates, looking somewhat conflicted. Perhaps she had thought it odd that a fellow tomboy would enjoy something she was dismissive of. However, she shakes her head again.

“Well, that’s good for her,” she finally says, indifferently. “She’s more into that frou-frou stuff anyways. That’s not really my thing.”

“I getcha,” you say. “It’s not for everypony. I had a feeling about that from the outset.”

There’s a pause. You feel like maybe you ought to leave it there and not keep Rainbow delayed any longer. Then, Rainbow says, in a tone that sounds a little too forced to be perfectly casual,

“So, uh, let me ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“I’m only asking this for a friend,” Rainbow goes on, rather hastily. “Got that? For a friend.”

For a friend, huh? Well, with that tone, you’re not sure you buy it, but you decide to humor her anyway.

“I get you,” you say. “Go on.”

“Say that I knew a friend who wouldn’t mind your, uh, therapy. Somepony who was more into that kind of stuff. Do you, uh, charge much for it?”

Is she really worried about the cost, or is she doing a little digging for herself, in case the itch really did strike her? It’s hard to tell.

“Not a whole lot,” you say. “In fact, I don’t usually ask for payment anyway. I’m happy to do it free of charge, but I guess that’ll change once I start working at the spa.”

Rainbow looks contemplative and, again, conflicted. You feel like you know what’s going through her head, but say nothing. You could be wrong, after all.

“Good to know,” she says, still trying to look indifferent, but with a rather comical scrunched-up mouth. “I’m sure my friend will be happy to hear that. Well, I’d better get going if I wanna make an appointment at the spa. See ya!”

Before you can say ‘bye’ in return, she zooms off. You’re not knocked off balance this time, but it’s still quite sudden. You watch as she vanishes from sight, befuddled.

“Well, that was weird,” you say. “She didn’t need to put on such a forced show if she really was interested. Still, if she doesn’t want a therapy session after all, I won’t force it on her. I just thought she ought to know about it in case she did want it.”

With that, you continue making your way home, thoughts about this coming Monday coming back in full force.


***


The rest of the afternoon passes away in contentment. You’ve already marked on your calendar that you’ll be starting work at the spa the following Monday, and it gives you a little jolt of excitement every time you glanced at it. You’re planning to drop by Rose’s place this evening to check up on her and give her the good news. You hope she’s gotten over her bout of sickness, because you’ve already promised her a therapy session for her recovery.

The sun has just begun to set, and you’re relaxing in your favorite chair, awaiting the time you designated to head out, when you’re suddenly roused by a tap at your window.

Puzzled, you look up. You’re just in time to see a hoof rise up from below to tap again. Was it Pinkie again? Who else would choose such an odd way of knocking?

You stand up and look out, but don’t see anyone there. You open up the window, and soon as you do, something zips in with great agility. Startled, you turn to see your intruder.

“Rainbow Dash?”

“Shhh! Close that window!”

Hastily, you shut the window, then turn back. Rainbow is sitting on her haunches, looking anxious.

“No one else is here, right?” she asks.

“No,” you say, bewildered. “I live alone. Rainbow, what are you doing here?”

Rainbow bites her lip, pawing the floor with her hoof nervously.

“Well, I gave it some thought,” she said, slowly. “About your, uh, therapy, I mean.”

“Oh? For your friend, you mean?”

Rainbow sighs.

“No,” she says. “For me.”

There’s a pause. Neither of you speak. You simply stare at Rainbow Dash as she keeps her eyes off of you, looking rather ashamed, her cheeks pink.

She really did want to try it after all?

You hardly know what to say.

After several seconds, she looks up.

“Well?” she asks.

“Well what?” you ask in return.

“Aren’t you gonna laugh?” Rainbow asks, a defensive note in her voice. “Make fun of me?”

“What? No!” you say, surprised. “Why would I?”

She stares hard and fierce at you, as though convinced you’re lying. You stare calmly back, meeting her rose-colored gaze. Finally, her gaze softens and she sighs again.

“Can you imagine what ponies would think of me if they knew I liked being pampered?” she asks, in a defeated tone. “I had to make up that I go for sports massages just to keep ponies from asking why I’m at the spa!”

“What’s wrong with that?” you ask, shrugging. “Everyone deserves to treat themselves every once in a while.”

“But I’m an athlete!” Rainbow protests, standing on all fours now, wings flared. “I’m a Wonderbolt now! Ponies look up to me as a tough, nerves-of-steel, awesome hero! I’ve already had to endure my friends finding out I’m a book-reading egghead, but if ponies knew my ‘sports massages’ were really frou-frou pampering treatments, I’d never hear the end of it! I’d be a laughingstock, and my reputation would be over!”

She’s far from crying, and really, Rainbow Dash seems like the last pony in the world who would dissolve into tears, but you can definitely feel the pained emotion in her voice, see it in her eyes. It hurts to hear somepony so strong sound so scared and conflicted. You kneel down in front of her and put a hand to her shoulder. You take it as a good sign that she doesn’t slap it away.

“Rainbow Dash,” you say, softly, “no one’s going to think less of you for having a soft side. I certainly don’t, and I’m sure your friends don’t either. I’ve seen you with them, and with Scootaloo, and your tortoise. They don’t think less of you just because you’re not pulling stunts and talking about your accomplishments all the time, do they?”

Rainbow ponders this for a moment, lips pursed.

“I guess not,” she says, finally. “They know me well enough to know what I’m like. It’s just hard in public, you know? Around ponies who don’t know everything about me, I mean.”

“I get you,” you say. “You have an image you want to maintain, and I understand that. You still shouldn’t be ashamed to show your soft side every now and then. You’re still awesome either way.”

Boy, how does this stuff come to you? This sounds more like something Twilight would say. She has a much better gift for speech than you.

All the same, Rainbow looks slightly mollified, and even manages a smile.

“Thanks,” she says. “I really appreciate that.”

There’s another pause, and she rubs her foreleg awkwardly.

“So, uh, about your therapy,” she says.

“You still want to try it?” you ask.

“I-I mean, it won’t be the same as my usual treatment,” she says, her cheeks reddening again, “but if you really wanted to, I guess I could let you try it out on me, just once.”

You smile.

“Of course,” you say. “I’d be happy to.”

Rainbow’s gaze suddenly becomes hard again.

“But if you tell anypony else about this, I’ll deny it to my last day. Understand?”

It looks like she still has some baby steps to take, even after that pep talk.

“I understand,” you say. “Client confidentiality is an integral part of any therapy session, after all.”

Rainbow raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve been hanging around Twilight too long,” she quips.

Choosing to regard it as a compliment, you simply stand up, then take a seat on the couch. You pat the cushion next to you, and she nimbly hops up beside you.

“So, how would you like me to start?” you ask.

“How do you usually start?” Rainbow asks.

“That’s up to the pony receiving the treatment,” you say. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to do, like touch your mane or whatnot, just say so.”

“Oh,” says Rainbow. “Well, it doesn’t matter to me. Do your stuff. Just one thing,” she adds.

“Yes?”

“You know pegasi wings are sensitive, right?” she asks, fluffing them a little for demonstration and looking slightly wary.

“I know,” you say. “Twilight told me. Don’t worry, I won’t touch them.”

“Good,” says Rainbow, giving you a small smile again. “Ok then. Affection away.”

Chuckling at her terminology. you decide to start with the tried and true: a good ear scritch. But first, you give her a boop on the nose. Her muzzle scrunches up adorably and, right on cue, she boops you back with a chuckle of her own. You reach behind her ear and start a gentle scratch. The smile still on her face broadens, her eyelids drooping.

“Wow...That actually doesn’t feel too bad,” she says. “I mean, it’s ok, if you’re really into that sorta…”

She’s still trying to play it cool, but her speech is becoming slurred with the relaxed stupor she’s being put under. You go from one ear to the next, her eyes now fully closed in utter contentment. To your surprise, she actually nuzzles her cheek against your palm as you do so. She’s completely losing her prideful inhibitions, and it’s adorable to watch.

Eventually, however, she jerks her head up out of your palm. Apparently, she caught herself getting too into it and didn’t want to seem like she was enjoying it too much. She’s not fooling you, though. 

You move on to chin scratches, and soon, she’s got her head tilted all the way back as you give her a good scritching, a peaceful smile on her face. With your other hand, you stroke her multicolored locks, which are surprisingly soft and smooth despite their messy appearance. There’s even a faint rainwater smell about her, no doubt from all her time spent in the clouds. She does nothing to stop you, and lets you carry on. You can’t help but chuckle on the inside. Her ego is no match for her love of being pampered.

She soon drapes herself across your legs onto her back, eyes still closed. You don’t even need to ask what she wants at this point. You start running a hand gently along her slim belly. It’s a bit more firm and unyielding than other pony bellies that you’ve rubbed, no doubt due to the athletic muscle she possessed, but her fur is still pleasantly soft. 

She gives off a soft sigh as you rub, and nestles closer against you, like a filly seeking comfort. Knowing her penchant for napping even in public, you wouldn’t be surprised if this really did make her drop off to sleep. If she is, then she must be having the sweetest of dreams, judging by her face. Not to mention, one of her back legs is twitching, like a dog having a good dream. 

Unable to resist, you cup her chin in your hands, giving her cheeks a gentle squeeze. Even she, such a slim and fit pony, isn’t exempt from the adorably chubby cheeks that all ponies seem to possess. She doesn’t seem to notice, and you continue to rub her stomach, now using both hands. For such a brash and boyish pony, Rainbow Dash was a lot cuter than she would dare to admit.

The sun has sunk even lower, and the street lamps are lit, by the time Rainbow Dash finally wakes up. She’s been lying across your lap for a good while, snoring gently. You’d left off rubbing some time ago, and just let her rest. She sits up and yawns, stretching her forelegs and wings.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you say, smiling. “How do you feel?”

She looks at you for a moment or two, looking uncertain, then says, with a genuine smile,

“If I can be honest with myself, that was really, really relaxing. I can see why you landed a job at the spa. There’s some real magic in those hands, man. You got me more relaxed than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Aw, shucks,” you say, modestly. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it. Was it as good as your usual treatment?”

Rainbow thinks for a moment.

“It’s hard to say,” she says. “Both make me feel really good, so for now, all I can say is they’re pretty much neck-and-neck. Yours is maybe about 10% better, though.”

“That’s a good enough answer for me,” you say, grinning.

There’s a pause, and Rainbow says, in a more subdued but genuine tone,

“Seriously, though, thanks for putting up with me. I know I’m not the easiest pony to deal with, especially when it comes to more touchy-feely stuff. You’re all right, buddy.”

She gives you a friendly cuff on the shoulder. Coming from her, that practically amounts to a hug.

“You’re welcome, Rainbow Dash,” you say. “I’m happy to have helped.”

“Just remember,” Rainbow warns, pointing a hoof at you, “not a word to anypony else. Got it?”

You pantomime zipping your lips, and she looks satisfied. You both stand up, and she asks you to check if anypony’s around outside. You peer out the window, and see that the street’s deserted.

“All clear,” you say, opening the window for her.

“Thanks,” she says. “See ya later.”

“Good night.”

With a whoosh, she flies out the window and off out of sight. You close the window after her with a smile.

“I’m glad she got to experience it for herself,” you say to yourself. “She still shouldn’t be ashamed to admit she has a soft side, but maybe she’ll come around eventually.”

You look at the time. It’s 6:30.

“Good grief, look at the time. I’d better hurry if I want to see Rose. If she’s up for it, maybe I can treat her to dinner tonight. I think she’d like that. I’ve got loads to tell her, too.”

With that, you’re soon abroad in the streets again, heading for Rose’s house, imagining the look on her face when you told her what you’d been up to lately. Minus one small detail, of course, as promised.
> Roseluck
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

5 minutes after leaving home, you arrive at Rose’s house. All the lights are on, which tells you that she’s still up and about. Then again, there’s little to doubt about that. You don’t know anyone who goes to bed at only 6:30, unless they’re seriously ill. This gives you confidence that she really has made a full recovery.

You only have to wait a few seconds after knocking. The door opens, and there stands Rose, looking hale and hearty, as though she had never been sick at all. She beams at the sight of you, and practically tackles you to the ground, so forceful is the hug she gives you. Laughing, you return her embrace with matching vigor.

“I was just thinking of coming to see you!” she squeals excitedly. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “Call it a lucky chance.”

Rose giggles and nuzzles your cheek, while you just stand there with your arms about her, soaking in the warmth of the embrace.

“I’ve missed you, Rosie,” you say as you ease apart.

“And I’ve missed you,” says Rose. “Can you imagine what it was like being cooped up at home, sneezing and coughing for days, not able to see anypony else?”

“I’ve had colds like that,” you say, grimly. “They’re no fun. I wish there was more I could’ve done for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” says Rose. “Getting my dress from Rarity’s was a huge relief for me. Thank you so much for doing that.”

“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’ve got a lot to tell you about what I’ve been up to since you got sick.”

“Oh? Find yourself some new clients?” Rose asks, interested.

“A lot more than that,” you say, grinning. “But first, I thought maybe it’d be a nice treat to take you somewhere for dinner, to celebrate your recovery.”

“Aww, you’re such a sweetheart,” says Rose, modestly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” you say, humbly.

“Well, then, I’d be honored,” says Rose, giving a stately and playful bow. “Lead the way.”

“Delighted to, my lady,” you say, bowing back.

Giggling, Rose trots by your side as the two of you make your way down the street, the lamplights casting their glow about as the sky grows ever-darker.


***


You’ve decided to treat Rose to dinner at a modest Neightalian restaurant with outdoor seating, so you could watch the sun set and the moon rise. It’s one of your favorite spots to visit when you feel like treating yourself, to just sit and enjoy the atmosphere while eating good food. It had been a good place to contemplate your situation after just moving to Ponyville, before you and Rose first discovered affection therapy, when you were still unsure of what you would do now that you had left Manehattan behind. Well, just look at how far you’ve come since those days.

In fact, at that very moment, you’re just finishing telling Rose about what you had been up to. You’ve both ordered hearty bowls of salad with refillable breadsticks, one of the staples of this restaurant, and between bites, you related how you had given affection therapy to Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy, leaving out your meeting with Rainbow Dash, of course. Now, you were coming to the big news, and you had been careful to remain vague about the subject until you came to it.

“...And so, thanks to Twilight,” you say, grinning, and with a half a breadstick in your hand, “I’m gonna be bringing affection therapy to the Ponyville spa!”

“The spa?!”

Rose claps a hoof to her mouth, her cheeks bulging slightly from the food still in her mouth. She clearly didn’t mean to shout so loud, especially as it draws the eyes of ponies sitting nearby, and it had even made you wince from how sudden it was. Blushing, she swallows, wiping her lips hurriedly with a napkin. You feel like laughing from how adorable she’s acting, but you try to keep a straight face, at risk of offending her.

“Sorry about that,” Rose says at last, still looking a little embarrassed.

“It’s all right,” you say. “It’s a surprising bit of news to take in, I know.”

“You’re telling me,” says Rose. “I mean, the spa? You’re seriously going to be working at the spa?”

“That’s right,” you say. “Starting next week.”

“And you said it was Rarity’s idea?”

“Yep,” you say, polishing the breadstick off at last. “She thought affection therapy would make for a perfect spa treatment, with how well it relaxes ponies. I mean, you’d know from experience, right?”

Rose nods.

“I mulled it over for a while,” you go on, “giving it a lot of thought, and I decided to go through with it, with Twilight’s help, of course. I just didn’t feel confident marching into the spa all by myself, without her professional testimony. She’s been a massive source of support for me since this whole thing started. I’d hardly even know where to begin if she hadn’t worked her princess magic, so to speak. And of course,” you add, fondly, “I would never even have gotten this far without you, my dear friend. I know I say it often enough, but you’re the one who helped me develop this practice in the first place, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

You smile at Rose, but your smile fades at the expression on her face. You’d expected her to look excited, happy at the news, perhaps a little bashful at being praised. Instead, her eyes are averted from you, and she’s wearing a slight frown, as though she herself is mulling things over, and they’re not entirely to her liking. She’s also poking at her salad, as though she had lost her appetite.

What had happened? Was it something you said? 

“Rose?”

Rose looks up.

“Hmm?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” she repeats, casually. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m very happy for you, and proud.”

She smiles. However, it doesn’t feel like the right kind of smile. There’s something forced, something unnatural to it, and in her tone.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“Absolutely,” says Rose, a little too cheerfully. “I guess I’m just still feeling a little sluggish from getting over the flu, but I’m fine, really. It’s so good to hear how well you’ve been getting on. I really missed out on a lot while I was sick.”

As if to prevent further discussion on the topic, she stuffs another forkful of salad into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge as she chews. You stare at her, puzzled, but she doesn’t say anything else, and just crunches away. It’s not quite the reaction you expected, but it would perhaps be best to change topics for now.

“If you say so,” you say. “By the way, did you hear about what happened with Starlight Glimmer earlier this week?”

The change of topic seems to be what Rose wanted, as she perks back up at once, in earnest.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “Why, what happened?”

“Apparently, she got a letter from her friend Trixie, saying she was going to be back in town soon. Next thing, I see her popping up all over town, teleporting from here to there, shouting ‘Trixie’s coming back! Trixie’s coming back!’ She looked as giddy as a foal on Hearth’s Warming Day!” you add, chuckling.

“Oh, that!” Rose says, giggling. “I thought I recognized her voice outside my window, but I could barely make out what she was saying. My ears felt all clogged up from being sick. I can only imagine how it must’ve looked.”

“Oh, it was quite a sight,” you say. “And then Pinkie joined in, because of course; she hardly needs a reason to celebrate anything, and she even brought out the party cannon!”

“Of course she would,” Rose chuckles.

From there, the rest of dinner passes amicably and cheerfully, as though nothing had happened to interrupt it or dampen the mood. However, while you had decided to change the subject away from your new alteration in employment, you by no means intend to let it stay dropped, and you determine to talk to Rose about it when you get back to her house.


***


Night has fully settled in, and Luna’s moon hangs crisp and clear in the sky as you and Rose make your way back to her house. Your progress is slowed a bit by Rose’s lethargic walk, bringing you to not quite a snail’s pace, nor even a tortoise’s, but perhaps the nearest thing after. 

“Ooh, boy, am I stuffed!” Rose moans, putting a hoof to her stomach. “I was really hungry after eating nothing but soup for the past few days, but I think I overdid it.”

“Would it help if I carried you the rest of the way back?” you ask.

Rose snorts, amused.

“You’re joking, right?” she asks.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you say, shrugging and smirking.

Rose chuckles.

“Nah, I wouldn’t make you do that,” she says. “I’d probably crush you if I made you carry me.”

“A dainty mare like you?” you say. “Not likely.”

“Oh, hush, you flatterer, you,” Rose says, her cheeks going faintly pink.

Your pony pal had certainly eaten much more than you had at dinner, though to look at her slender frame, even after such a hearty meal, one wouldn’t guess it. She was one of those lucky ponies who, despite still looking adorable and cuddly, managed to remain slim and fit no matter how much they ate.

Despite how much you and Rose had enjoyed yourself, however, you’re still determined to find out what’s truly bothering her, and why the news about your new job didn’t seem to sit well with her. She might have tried to deny it, but you weren’t fooled. More than that, though, you can’t help but wonder why she should feel the need to lie about it to you, when she was your best friend. Surely there was no reason to keep secrets from each other.

At last, the two of you reach Rose’s house. Rose fumbles a bit in her saddlebag, but soon brings out the key and unlocks the door.

“Would you like to come in for a bit?” she asks. “It’s still a little messy inside, but I mostly got everything cleaned up once I started feeling better. I didn’t want to sit around in a pigsty any longer.”

“Certainly,” you say. “I’d be delighted.”

The two of you step inside, and really, apart from a couple books sitting out here and there, and a box of tissues in plain sight, the interior looks relatively tidy. That’s just like Rose: fretting about the house being a mess for guests when there’s not that much wrong with it. You appreciate her consideration for her guests’ comfort, all the same.

“I’ll get some tea started,” says Rose. “I need something soothing for my stomach, anyway.”

She disappears into the kitchen, and you settle on her favorite couch. As you sit and wait for her, you ponder over how to approach the topic. You don’t want to spring it on her out of nowhere, accusing her of not being honest about how she felt. You also don’t want to sound ungrateful for not getting the reaction you hoped for; that’d make you come off as rather petty. You decide to just wait and see, and hope the opportunity presents itself.

Rose soon returns with a tray bearing two cups, and you can already tell, from the aroma wafting even from such a distance, that they contain her specialty rosehip green tea. She sets the tray down, hands you a cup, then settles herself beside you before grabbing her own cup. Almost simultaneously, you both take a sip, and let out identical sighs of contentment as the soothing aroma and taste of the tea wash over you.

“Ooh, that really hits the spot,” Rose murmurs, “especially for an upset tummy like mine.”

“No kidding,” you say. “Even if there’s nothing in particular bothering you, a good cup of tea just makes you feel...complete.”

Rose smiles.

“That sounds like something Jasmine Leaf would say,” she says, referring to the pony who ran Ponyville’s tea shop. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear that from you.”

“Aww, shucks,” you say, modestly.

For a little while, the two of you simply sit there, side by side, letting the tea fill your body with a feeling of comfort and relaxation. You still don’t see an opportunity to breach the topic yet, but you resolve to remain patient and wait for it to come. For now, you can just enjoy the company of your dear pony friend.

At last, Rose sets her cup down and sighs again.

“I really needed that,” she says, “but my stomach’s still feeling a little sour. Do you know what would help it feel better?”

With her hooves curled to her chest, she looks up at you with big, beseeching eyes, her lips formed into a little pout. You can’t help but smile at this. She’s done this to you before, and she knows it, but it’s become something of a bantering playfulness between the two of you when she wanted some affection therapy of her own, something you can never help but humor.

And now that you came to think on it, this might just be the chance you were waiting for.

“Why, I’m only a therapist, and not a doctor,” you say, wryly, “but if you wanted my opinion, I’d say a good belly rub might do your poor tummy some good.”

Rose sticks her tongue out playfully.

“You think so?” she asks.

“We can see,” you say, and then, adopting a more sober tone, you continue, “but before that, I’d like to ask you something serious.”

Rose’s ears droop, and her smile fades. The fact that she doesn’t look puzzled or even dismayed tells you that she knows what you want to talk about, and she’s been dreading it coming up.

“I know you do,” she says, “and I know what it’s about. I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“I’m afraid not,” you say.

You reach out and put a hand to her hoof. She doesn’t draw it away, which is a good sign, and her green eyes meet yours.

“Rose,” you say, “what’s bothering you? Is it about me taking on a job at the spa? Talking about that seemed to be what made you start acting weird, at least until I changed the subject. You know you don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m your friend, Rosie, and I’ll hear you out no matter what.”

You can see a faint glimmer in those green eyes of Rose’s, like the beginning of tears. Her lip quivers, and she closes her eyes, as though afraid your gaze will overpower her. When she speaks, it’s with a lot of deliberation, as though she’s fighting to keep her emotions in check.

“It’s...it’s not that I’m not happy for you. I’m very happy for you. I think it’s wonderful that you’ve managed to advance so far with affection therapy, and it makes me proud to have been able to help you discover it. As your friend, I feel nothing but pride and admiration for where you are now.”

You feel your heart swell at this, and yet not without a sense of foreboding. Touched as you are by her honest praise for your achievement, it makes you wonder what could be so wrong as to eclipse that happy feeling.

Rose pauses, then, opening her eyes, which are now undeniably wet with tears, she continues,

“But...if you’re working at the spa, does this mean you won’t be able to do what you’ve been doing before?”

You blink, puzzled.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Rose swallows.

“I mean, just giving affection therapy to ponies who come to call,” she says. “Part of what I enjoy about you becoming an affection therapist in the first place is how you’re always available for ponies whenever they need someone to talk to and help them. You’ve always made them feel welcome, like they have a place they can come to when they need guidance and reassurance. If you’re working at the spa now, are you going to be too busy for all of that? Will ponies have to make an appointment there just to see you and get therapy? ...Will I?”

A tear rolls down Rose’s cheek as she asks this last question, her voice breaking as she does so.

And now you understand.

It’s as if a bolt of lightning had struck you right in the brain, and plunged straight down into your heart.

Rose was worried about losing what had made affection therapy special in the first place, and afraid of losing the time you two have together, because of this new job.

You feel like such an idiot.

You had been so sure that she would be proud of what you’d accomplished in bringing affection therapy to the spa, that you never even entertained the idea that she might be worried over how this would affect how much time you’d be able to spend with her, or other ponies who might not want to book a spa appointment just for a session.

How could you have been so thoughtless as to not consider this?

What kind of friend are you?...

…

I’ll tell you what kind of friend…

The kind who cares more about making it big than playing it safe.

The kind who wants to make a lot of money, no matter how much you say you’re not doing it to get rich.

That’s why you weren’t cut out for Manehattan: it’s every pony for themselves in that town, and you were too naive to see it…

…

No!

That’s not who you are!

Who you are is someone who isn’t about to let a pony you care about stay in misery and gloom!

In an instant, you pull Rose close so that she’s nestled against you. You take it as a good sign that she doesn’t try to break away. In fact, she snuggles up against your chest, as though seeking the comfort you’re more than ready to give her.

“Rosie, don’t think that,” you say, stroking her back gently. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not gonna stop doing what I’ve been doing just because of this new job.”

Rose doesn’t answer, but merely sniffles again. It sounds like hollow reassurance at first, but as you sit there, holding her close, you start to rationalize the position you’re in. 

Sure, taking on a new job might reduce the time you’ve otherwise had for other things, and especially for unscheduled meetings with ponies in need of therapy. It might also cut into the time you had with Rose, which seemed to be her chief fear. However, as you consider what happened when you first set out to apply at the spa, you can’t recall a matter of a schedule or hours ever being brought up. All Aloe and Lotus said was that you could start on Monday, and presumably, the finer points of employment would be elaborated on there.

That’s it!

“I haven’t ironed out all the details yet, and some things still need to be finalized as I’m going forward,” you say. “All that was decided on was that I’d be starting next Monday. We never discussed a schedule.”

Rose says nothing. You hug her just a little tighter as you continue, speaking earnestly.

“Rest assured, though: I’m not giving up the house calls or the impromptu appointments, and certainly not our own sessions, not by a long shot. I would never have agreed to it if I intended on giving up what made me appreciate doing it in the first place. No matter what, I’ll always find a way to find time for ponies who need me.”

And that was true enough. Not once have you ever entertained the possibility of anything preventing you from carrying out your duty as an affection therapist. You just needed Rose to remind you of what might change when you went further with it professionally, it seems.

At last, Rose looks up at you. Her eyes are still damp, but she’s no longer crying. She looks more hopeful, even reassured.

“...You mean that?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Every word,” you say, stoutly. “Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

Rose wipes at her eyes, giggling a little at your use of Pinkie’s oft-repeated promise, and smiles up at you. Seeing her genuinely smile and hear her laugh again warms your heart to the core.

“There’s my happy pony pal,” you say, tenderly, giving her mane a gentle stroke.

“I’m sorry,” Rose says. “I was being silly, I know.”

“Not at all,” you say. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I guess I just got so excited about taking affection therapy to the next step, I took for granted how it might affect my schedule, especially when it comes to my friends. I wasn’t being very sensitive about how it’d impact you at first. Can you forgive me?”

Rose smiles sweetly, puts her hooves around you, and hugs you close, nestling under your chin.

“Of course,” she says.

Smiling, you return her hug. Now that the mystery had been cleared up, and everything’s out in the open, you feel much better, and you know Rose does, too. You could’ve sat there with her in your arms all night, if that’s what she wanted, but you remember something that’s sure to improve her mood even more.

“You still feel up for that belly rub?” you ask.

She gently pulls away, looking up at you with that same peaceful smile on her face.

“Always,” she says.

You gently release her, and she settles herself across your knees, on her back, hooves curled to her chest and her eyes closed. You lay a hand on her smooth, soft middle and start gently rubbing away, up and down. Her smile widens ever so slightly, and she sighs deeply as she nestles against you. 

It’s the reaction you come to expect every time you perform it on anypony, but some ponies add a whole level of preciousness to it. Some simply lie there and drift off in pure bliss. Some, like Rose, actually cuddle up closer to you, as though desiring deeper comfort. It’s adorable how ponies could behave in a foal-like way when shown such attention and care.

As you continue to rub away with one hand, you use your other hand to scratch behind Rose’s ear. It causes her other ear to twitch like a cat’s, and her contented smile becomes even more pronounced. Her head tilts slightly, until her soft cheek is resting against your palm, her boyishly-cut locks tickling your fingers. This was another nuance in reactions that you’ve noticed. Some ponies simply sit there and marvel at the sensation. Some again, like Rose, seem to seek further reassurance and comfort in nuzzling into your hand.

Suddenly, Rose’s left hoof twitches, and it lays itself across your belly rubbing arm, gripping it tenderly, as though she were holding a stuffed animal. It doesn’t obstruct your movement, but it’s such a sudden and sweet gesture that it makes you stop for a moment or two. You’ve had this reaction before as well, but not quite as often, and it once again bespeaks a pony’s desire for closeness and comfort. 

Your heart melts anew, and you use your other hand to softly stroke her mane as you continue to rub her stomach. She sighs again, looking utterly at peace, all traces of her previous worries vanished completely. Rose was such a pure and sweet soul, so it pains you to ever think of her being sad, hurt, or distressed, but it also makes you feel warm inside to see her happy, content, and blissful. You feel lucky to have such a wonderful friend as her, and you wonder how you could ever be so fortunate as to have deserved her friendship.


***


Time passes gradually on. The house is completely silent, except for the ticking of the clock and Rose’s gentle breathing. You’ve stopped rubbing after a while, and simply sit with your hand resting on her barrel, her hoof still clasped around your arm, and your other hand cradling her cheek. You can feel her heart gently beating beneath your palm, and her tail gently moves every now and then, along with a flicker of the ear or a twitch of the hind hoof. She must be having a very sweet dream, and you have no intention of disrupting it. That at least saves Princess Luna one less nightmare to deal with in her nightly vigils.

All of a sudden, the clock chimes, startling you. The quiet atmosphere inside makes the noise much louder and more alarming. Rose stirs, shifting about slightly, then yawns squeakily, removing her hoof from your arm, and you draw it gently away. She opens her eyes and blinks sleepily up at you. Smiling, you give her a tickle in the side, making her giggle.

“How are you feeling, Rosie?” you ask.

“Wonderful,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, my dear friend,” you say.

Rose eases herself into a sitting posture, stretching. Then she turns to face you, her expression full of warmth and tenderness.

“In all seriousness,” she says, “thank you. Not just for the session, but for helping me earlier. I didn’t mean to put a damper on your news, and I’m sorry for that.”

She clasps your hand between her hooves, looking you full in the face.

“I truly am happy for you, and very proud of you. I can still remember when you first arrived in Ponyville: alone, nervous, not sure how you were going to get by. And now, here you are: a full-fledged affection therapist, about to make your practice public. I know you’re going to make a lot of ponies happy in the spa, the way you’ve made so many ponies happy outside of it already, and you can count on me to support you every step of the way. I’m so lucky to have a kind and compassionate friend like you.”

She leans forward and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. You feel that spot grow warm, as it always does when a mare’s given you a platonic kiss out of gratitude for your help. It’s rare and a little embarrassing, but not unwelcome.

“Shucks, Rose,” you mutter. “I’m the one who’s lucky. You made me feel welcome ever since I first came to Ponyville. You’ve stood by my side through everything, and even helped me discover my calling. I’ll always be grateful for everything you’ve done for me, and will always be your friend.”

Rose’s eyes gleam, as though fresh tears are starting, but she simply puts her hooves about you in a close, warm hug, and you return it gladly.

“How did I ever get so lucky as to have a friend like you?” you murmur.

“I was asking myself that same question,” Rose says, chuckling.

Eventually, you ease apart, still smiling, and you both look up at the clock.

“It’s gotten pretty late,” Rose says. “Was I out for that long?”

“Pretty long, yeah,” you say. “You looked so peaceful, though, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Aww,” murmurs Rose, touched. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you too much longer, then. You’ll probably want some sleep yourself, after spoiling me all night.”

She sticks her tongue out cheekily, and you chuckle and ruffle her mane. You both stand up and walk to the front door.

“I’ll update you as soon as I find out what my new hours will look like,” you say, “though of course I’ll see you around before next Monday.”

“Sounds good,” says Rose, cheerily. “Good night!”

“Good night!”

Rose sees you out the door, still smiling brightly, and softly closes it behind you as you start off down the street, your heart all aglow, feeling as bright as the moon above. It’s always a good feeling making ponies smile, even more so when the pony is a close friend. Whatever happens with your new post at the spa, you’re confident that you’ll still be able to do what you’ve been doing for the ponies of Ponyville, because good friends always find a way to make time for each other.

“Good friends always find a way to make time for each other,” you mutter to yourself as you walk along. “That almost sounds like something Princess Twilight would say.”

A rattling noise draws your attention ahead. A pony is approaching down the empty street, drawing a large wagon behind them. As you step out of the way to let them pass, you see that the pony is a unicorn mare of an average build, with a blue coat, a silvery mane and tail, purple eyes, and a cutie mark resembling a magic wand. She looks up at you as she draws near, then stops, looking more than a little surprised.

“Good evening,” you say, pleasantly.

“Good evening,” she returns, still looking a little agog. “So there really is a human living here! I thought Starlight had just caught my flair for the astounding when she wrote to me about it. Imagine that!”

Taking in her appearance, the wagon, and her mention of Starlight, it doesn’t take long for you to piece together who she is.

“You wouldn’t happen to be the Great and Powerful Trixie, would you?”

The unicorn gives her mane a prim toss, smirking.

“Your eyes do not deceive you,” she says. “It is indeed I, the Grrreat and Powerful Trrrixie, who graces you with her presence!”

It’s amazing how her tone could switch from casual to grand so quickly, and you notice that she seems to like rolling the ‘R’s of her title, to add a little flair, you suppose.

“Well, I’m very honored to meet you,” you say. “I’m-”

“Oh, no need,” says Trixie, interrupting you with a raised hoof. “I’ve heard about you from my dear friend, Starlight Glimmer. You helped her when she was having a bad case of the blues, with some kind of ‘affection therapy’, I think she wrote.”

“That’s right,” you say, grinning.

“Well, I only know about it from what she said,” Trixie continues, before adopting a much kinder tone, “but I’m still very grateful that you were there for her. Being a traveling performer is a very rewarding career, allowing me to see many new sights and towns, and meet and astound many fans, but it unfortunately involves being away for a long period of time, which can be hard on those closest to you. Starlight’s the first real friend I’ve made in my wanderings, you see. She and I share a lot in common, and I was worried she might pine away for me once I was back on the road, so it means a lot that she has friends to look out for her, even if they aren’t as great and powerful as yours truly.”

You hardly know what to say. For somepony as grand and important as Trixie undoubtedly is, and in spite of the traces of ego and smugness in her speech, she’s equally devoted to those she cares about. The way she talks about Starlight is proof enough of that. This mare is something else.

“Your gratitude means a lot, Trixie,” you say, humbly. “I’m glad to have been able to help Starlight out of her funk, for her sake and her friends’. Are you on your way to see her now? It’s pretty late.”

“I know,” says Trixie. “I had actually written to Starlight that I’d be arriving later, and didn’t know I’d make such good time. I think it’ll be a nice surprise for me to drop in early, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it will be,” you say. “I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you,” says Trixie, inclining her head in a polite bow. “And if you haven’t yet, you really should come see me when I’m back on the stage. A show by the Great and Powerful Trixie is not to be missed.”

“I’ll be sure to be there when it happens,” you say. “Good night, Trixie.”

“Adieu,” says Trixie.

She starts back off down the street, the wagon rattling behind her. You watch her as she makes her way towards Twilight’s castle, still very visible from a distance, even at night. Then, you turn back around and make for home again, still a bit amazed that you had gotten a chance to meet the same Trixie that Starlight had been missing, and feeling certain that she, Starlight, was going to be in for a very pleasant surprise soon.
> Cheerilee
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s Sunday, the day before you officially begin work at the Ponyville Spa. Things have been pretty normal since your evening with Rose. Now that she’s no longer contagious and bedridden, she’s back to work in the market, selling flowers with Daisy and Lily. You’re unsure if it’s the nice weather, not having to be cooped up in her house, or the talk you shared, followed by her therapy session, but Rose has been in a very sunny mood, even more so than her usual cheerful, kindly self. Whenever you see her while you’re out and about in town, she’s always ready with a bright smile and a cheerful wave, which you are more than happy to return. What’s more, and what may possibly be odd to say, the flowers she and her friends sell seem to be even brighter and more vivid than they usually are. Perhaps that was simply the result of the kind of magic only Earth ponies possess.

Rose isn’t the only one in cheerful spirits, either. Ever since Trixie’s return, you’ve spied her and Starlight milling through Ponyville from time to time, chatting amicably about this and that. Like Rose, Starlight is always ready to greet you with a bright smile whenever you come across each other, while Trixie, no doubt still grateful for how you’ve helped her best friend, has been nothing but courteous towards you. 

Just yesterday, in fact, she decided to do a magic trick for you in the street.

“You should feel lucky, my bipedal friend,” she said, grandly, “for I am not normally in the habit of performing my tricks just anywhere and for anyone, unless I’m on the stage. Consider this a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a gift horse whose mouth you dare not look into.”

Starlight had rolled her eyes at this, though with a smirk that seemed to tell you, ‘This is normal. Just play along.’ You therefore decided to humor Trixie with a humble bow, professing your gratitude at being given such an honor by such a pony. Looking positively tickled at having her ego stroked, Trixie drew a purple, star-patterned wizard’s hat out of one of her saddlebags, and from the other, she drew a large silk top hat. She held them both up for you to observe, clearly to show that both were empty.

“Nothing in the hats, you see,” she said.

You nodded. With a sly grin, Trixie set both hats down, so that the wizard’s hat was sitting on its brim, while the top hat lay upside-down, its opening facing up. Then, to your astonishment, she reared up and stepped inside the top hat, then began lowering herself into it, past her legs, past her hips, past her chest, until only her head was outside of it, and yet the hat didn’t stretch or distort at all. With a wink, she levitated the wizard’s hat onto her head, then ducked down, so that only the two hats were visible, sitting one on top of the other.

With your jaw hanging open, you had been about to turn to Starlight to express your amazement, when suddenly, the wizard’s hat floated off and hovered to the side. The top hat tipped over, completely empty. Next second, as though coming down a chute, Trixie’s hind hooves hit the ground from within, and the hat rose up, revealing the rest of her, before settling itself daintily on her sleek mane.

Words failed you. Starlight clapped. Trixie bowed.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, before turning her eyes on you. “What did you think?”

“That was...I don’t even...How did you do that?!” you spluttered.

Trixie giggled, levitating both hats back into her bags.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but you know the golden rule of magic: a magician never reveals their secrets. I’m pleased that my trick left you at such a loss for words, though. That tells me its wow-factor is just right. And there’s more where that came from, should you attend one of my shows.”

Then, she closed your dropped jaw with her hoof, patted you on the cheek, said ‘Ta-ta’, and walked off with a pronounced sway in her step. You looked at Starlight, who simply giggled herself, winked, then followed after her friend. You had watched them until they were out of sight, chatting with each other again, before your brain reminded you what you had even gone out to do in the first place, and you stumbled off. 

You’re still thinking about it even now, as you’re finishing up tidying your living room.

Truth be told, though you have seen displays of magic plenty of times before, it’s usually only in the form of levitation, or select other spells unicorns use that are tied to their cutie marks. Stage magic is something you haven’t seen much of, not up close and personal, at any rate. Even if it seems more mundane than the kind of magic needed to make plants grow or move the sun and moon, there’s still something awe-inspiring and fascinating about it, something that makes you wish you could do tricks just like it.

Maybe that would show ‘em, those snobs in Manehattan. They wouldn’t ignore you and take you for granted if you could use magic. Give ‘em the old razzle-dazzle, a little hocus pocus, and they’d never forget your name…

You shake your head. When are these thoughts ever going to leave you alone? That’s not what you want at all…

A knock at the door jerks you out of your reverie. Hurrying over, you open it up, and are a little surprised to see Twilight standing there.

“Oh! Hello, Twilight,” you say.

“Hi there,” says Twilight, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I can’t stay for long, and what I have to say won’t take long at all.”

Slightly puzzled, you watch as she draws out a folded up piece of parchment with her magic, along with a pen. She unfolds the parchment and holds it up for you to see.

“This is your new contract, certifying your employment with the Ponyville Spa,” she says. “Now, don’t worry, it doesn’t negate the one I drew up for you when you first became an affection therapist. It simply outlines the terms of your employment: your hours, wages, etc. Aloe and Lotus asked me to deliver it to you, since I’m technically your vocational advisor.”

You nod to show her you understand, and she hands it off to you to read, as she continues.

“Of course, at the spa, things will be a little different with how long you can perform your therapy sessions. They have clients who show up by appointment, and they may wish to undergo other treatments before or after receiving affection therapy. Therefore, you will be allotted up to one full hour per session, with a minimum of three clients and a maximum of five per day. Does that sound all right so far?”

“It does,” you say.

You’re not really surprised that they would decide to meter how long you can perform your therapy sessions at a time. After all, like Twilight said, it may not be the only reason ponies visit the spa on a given day. You have to take that into account.

Twilight reads on,

“Your shift will begin at noon, and end at 5 PM. You’re currently set on a basic Monday through Friday schedule, but if they need you to come in on a weekend, they will notify you in advance. Your wages will be 20 bits an hour, which will add up to a nice 500 bits a week. Vacation days are all accounted for here, holidays, sick leave, appointments, etc. So, how does all of that sound? I know it’s a little jargony, but they legally have to do it like that, you know.”

“Well, it all sounds right to me,” you say. “It might take a little getting used to, measuring out the time I give to ponies for a therapy session, when I’ve never really done it before, but if that’s how they want it done, then that’s how I’ll do it.”

“Well said,” says Twilight, beaming. “Just sign on the dotted line, and I’ll deliver it to the spa.”

Using her magic, she lifts a book from the top of a stack sitting on your coffee table and floats it to you. Putting the contract against it for a writing surface, you sign your name on the designated line, and hand it  and the pen to Twilight, who accepts them while putting the book back where she got it.

“Excellent!” she says. “Well, I’ll be off, then. Thanks, and good luck tomorrow!”

“Thank you, Twilight,” you say. “I know I’ve probably said that to death by now, but I really mean it.”

Twilight smiles warmly, then steps out of your doorway back into the street. She suddenly gives a start, her wings springing open in surprise. Apparently, she bumped into somepony, as you hear somepony else give a surprised grunt, as well as the sound of several objects falling to the ground.

“Whoops! Excuse me, Cheerilee.”

You look outside to see what’s going on. Cheerilee, the main teacher at Ponyville’s elementary school, is indeed just outside, seated on her rump and looking a little dazed. An overturned shopping bag sits next to her, with various pieces of produce scattered on the ground.

Cheerilee’s one of those ponies whom you see often enough while taking a walk through Ponyville, but you never really talk to. Somehow, you had just never struck up more than a casual acquaintance with her, but then again, the same is true for a good number of ponies in town. Knowing every single pony by name and keeping an equal bond with them all is a feat only the likes of Pinkie Pie can muster, it seems. Still, at the very least, Cheerilee’s one of those ponies who will give you a smile when she sees you, despite not knowing that much about you.

She’s still a young adult by pony standards, around the same age as Twilight and her friends. She’s of an average build, with a purple coat, light green eyes, and a fluffy mane and tail in two light tones of pink. She has a kind, sweet-natured face and, from the few times you’ve heard it, a motherly and melodious voice, the sort of voice that a student would want from a teacher: calmly and kindly instructing them while making them feel welcome and valued. It reminds you of your old elementary school teacher, honestly.

Looking apologetic, Twilight uses her magic to right Cheerilee’s bag and replace the spilled groceries back into it. For her part, Cheerilee gets back to her hooves, none the worse for wear.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Twilight says. “I should’ve looked to see if anypony was coming before backing out like that.”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry about it, Twilight,” says Cheerilee, waving a hoof carelessly. “It was my own fault. I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was walking. I was a little preoccupied.”

“I know what that’s like,” says Twilight, with a guilty grin. “I’ve kind of a bad habit of reading while walking. The number of ponies I’ve bumped into when I’ve got my nose in a book, you wouldn’t believe.”

Back in Manehattan, you didn’t even need to have your nose buried in a book to keep bumping into ponies on the streets. Plus, if you tried to apologize or excuse yourself, you’d more often than not get a surly ‘Watch it!’ or ‘I’m walkin’ here, ya bozo!’

“I’ve had my fair share of that, believe me,” says Cheerilee, “but I don’t have that excuse this time. I’ve just been thinking about the past couple of days, what with...one thing and another...”

“Oh? Did something happen?” Twilight asks, a note of concern in her voice.

You look over at Cheerilee, who still hasn’t noticed you by this point. Her young and pretty face looks troubled, a frown creasing her brow. However, it quickly vanishes as she puts on a big smile, rather too big to be natural, exactly the kind Rose was wearing when she was trying to hide how she was feeling.

“It’s nothing important, Twilight,” she says. “Really. At any rate, it’s not something I’d want to trouble the Princess of Friendship with.”

“Cheerilee,” Twilight says, kindly, “I may be a princess, but that doesn’t mean anything you or anypony would have to tell me isn’t important. I want to be here for anypony who has a problem or needs somepony to confide in. You don’t have to feel like I wouldn’t care about anything you had to say, because I do.”

You had already felt a great deal of admiration for Twilight and what she did, but hearing her say this just makes you feel an even deeper appreciation for her. Cheerilee looks touched, but still unsure, and doesn’t say anything. It seems she’s still not convinced to divulge whatever’s troubling her. 

Twilight looks thoughtful for a moment or two, before her face lights up, as though she’s just had an idea.

“But, if you don’t think it’s something you’d want to talk with me about,” she says, “then maybe I can suggest someone you can talk to: someone with the proper qualifications.”

To your surprise, she glances over at you as she says this. Cheerilee finally looks in your direction, and gives a start upon seeing you.

“Oh! Goodness, I didn’t even notice you there,” she says. “Hello.”

“Hello, Cheerilee,” you say.

There’s a pause, and a rather awkward one at that. You glance at Twilight, who gives you a fervent nod, as if urging you to keep talking. Honestly, after that assurance she just gave Cheerilee about being willing to hear what she had on her mind, you’re surprised she’d suddenly delegate the duty to you. Even if it’s within your scope as an affection therapist, and your sense of principle as a human being in general, to hear what’s troubling ponies, somehow its effect feels lessened compared to the power of the Princess of Friendship.

On the other hand, there’s something both comforting and touching in this sudden circumstance. Even though Twilight could handily counsel Cheerilee herself, she’s willingly giving you the chance to do it for her. She seems to feel that, if talking with a princess might appear too intimidating, perhaps Cheerilee might feel comfortable talking with someone more on her level as a Ponyville citizen, and someone who actually has therapy credentials.

She really has that much faith in you to handle this.

Feeling a bit bolder, you clear your throat, turn to Cheerilee, and say,

“As Twilight said, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, something you need to take your mind off of, I have it within my power to give you that chance, and to hopefully help you feel better. I am an affection therapist, after all.”

Cheerilee blinks, looking puzzled.. 

“Affection therapist? I don’t think I’ve ever…”

Then her eyes widen.

“Oh, of course!” she says. “I heard Apple Bloom talking about it with Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo during recess one day. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Something about helping ponies relax through, erm, belly rubs?”

When she puts it like that, it does sound a little far-fetched. Twilight giggles, and you can’t help but chuckle either.

“Well, that’s only part of it,” you say. “Affection therapy allows ponies to relax through simple gestures of affection. It can be through belly rubs, ear scritches, pettings, even something as simple as a hug.”

Cheerilee’s confusion has given away to genuine interest at your words. She genuinely looks as though she’s giving it proper consideration. Twilight looks from her to you, smiling broadly.

“If you’d like,” you continue, “you can come inside with me and tell me what’s troubling you, and I’ll do what I can to help put your mind at ease. Of course, if you still feel it’s too personal to talk about, I won’t force you.”

Twilight nods at you, her smile wider than ever. It’s plain that she’s proud of you for conducting yourself in such a professional and respectful manner, just like during your interview with Aloe and Lotus. Honestly, it makes you feel as though your face is on fire from blushing.

After several seconds of thoughtful contemplation, Cheerilee looks at you with resolve in her expression.

“You know what? Why not?” she says. “I really could use somepony to talk to, even if they’re not exactly a pony. No offense,” she adds, apologetically.

“None taken at all,” you say.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it, then,” says Twilight, still wearing her big grin. “I still have to go drop this contract off. Good luck!”

And with that, she flies off, leaving you and Cheerilee to yourselves. You step out of the doorway and bow, gesturing her inside.

“After you, Miss Cheerilee.”

“Why, thank you,” says Cheerilee, flattered, and she steps inside, followed by you.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you say, as she looks about, taking in your living space. “I can make us some tea or cocoa, if you’d like.”

“Tea sounds perfect,” says Cheerilee.

You bustle off to get the tea ready, all the while wondering what could be bothering Cheerilee. She always seems like such a cheerful, happy pony. Heck, ‘cheer’ is part of her name. It somehow just didn’t seem right to think of her in any kind of ill mood. It’d be like if Pinkie wasn’t pink, or if Rose sold fruit instead of flowers. Still, you shouldn’t be quick to make such assumptions. Names only told so much of one’s story, after all. 

With the tea finally ready, you add a plate of cookies to the tray before taking it with you. Cheerilee has seated herself on one end of the sofa, looking up with a smile as you approach and set the tray down. She’s set her bag of groceries upright on the floor next to her. You pour out the tea and hand her a cup, which she accepts gratefully.

“Help yourself to a cookie or two, if you want,” you offer, taking your own cup.

“Thank you,” says Cheerilee, taking a sip. “You’re very hospitable.”

“Aw, well,” you say, modestly. “Even if I wasn’t a therapist, I still like to make guests feel welcome and comfortable. I, er, didn’t have much of an opportunity for it back in Manehattan.”

“Oh? You used to live in Manehattan?” Cheerilee asks, taking a bite out of a cookie.

“I did,” you say, your tone becoming a bit more bitter as you continue. “It didn’t exactly work out for me, so I moved here. I should’ve done so long ago, to be honest. I don’t really know what kept me there so long. There was nothing for me there, not like there is here.”

There’s a long silence as Cheerilee looks at you, a mixture of curiosity and sympathy in her eyes. You hastily take a drink of tea, feeling as though you’d said too much. What were you doing? You didn’t invite Cheerilee in here just to dump your own problems on her, not when she was the one who wanted to talk to you. This was her session, not yours. It wasn’t your business to monopolize her time. 

Setting your cup down, you clear your throat.

“But enough about that,” you say. “When you feel up to it, Cheerilee, why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Cheerilee continues to give you that odd look for a second or two, finishes her cookie, then gives a small sigh, looking down at the floor.

“I’ve just been having a rather stressful weekend,” she says. “And it’s because of something that’s been building up for a long time, something I haven’t had much of a chance to talk about. It’s not something I can easily talk about, either.”

You say nothing, merely nodding to allow her to go on. After a second or two, she says,

“I fell behind on grading papers. I’d somehow gotten the syllabuses for two different classes mixed up, and had already started grading a set of homework based on one before realizing it was actually meant to be the other. Correcting that mistake set me back quite a bit, eating up a good chunk of time that I’d set aside for other things. That’s never happened to me before.”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty rough,” you say, grimly.

“But that’s only part of it,” Cheerilee continues, “because I know exactly why I got so distracted like that. I usually grade homework on Saturday, so that my Sundays are work-free and properly relaxing, before the start of the next school week. On Friday, after school, who should I run into but Big Mac?”

“And what did Big Mac want?” you ask, wondering what the taciturn stallion could have to do with this.

Cheerilee pauses, looking as though she’s desperately trying to work up the nerve to say what she had to.

“He told me that...that he...that we…”

She sighs.

“But then again, you probably don’t know, do you?”

“About what?” you ask. 

Cheerilee takes a long, steadying sip of tea, sets her cup down with a purposeful ‘clink’, takes a deep breath, and says,

“It’s a long story, and a very confusing one, involving love potions and good intentions gone awry…”

You blink in bewilderment.

“Did you say ‘love potions’?” you ask.

“But, to put it simply,” Cheerilee continues, not answering your questions, “circumstances led ponies to believe Big Mac and I were, well...seeing each other.”

You nearly drop your cup in surprise at this.

“Ponies thought you and Big Mac were a couple?” you ask. “I had no idea. I mean, hang on…”

You wrack your brain, trying to think. Now that she brought it up,crazy as it sounds, there’s something about it that seems to ring a bell.

“Come to think of it,” you say, slowly, “I thought I did see you and Big Mac out and about a couple times, but I never really thought anything of it. I mean, is it strange for two ponies to just be walking and talking together?”

Cheerilee gives you a sad smile.

“How lucky it can be to not be following the gossip of the day,” she says.

She sighs again.

“If I can be honest,” she says,  “I’ve always admired Big Mac for what a kind and hardworking pony he is, but I only ever really saw him as a good friend, and I can only assume he felt the same. We did start spending more time together after that particularly crazy Hearts and Hooves Day, mostly because it started out as something to joke about, and we did find some pleasure in each other’s company, when we had never really hung out before. I learned that Big Mac was more than just the strong, silent farmer he appears to be. Also…” 

Here, Cheerilee’s purple cheeks flush a vivid pink, and her voice becomes quieter.

“I’d be lying if I said that, maybe, a part of me wasn’t hoping there was something there between us. At least, I felt there might be.”

You can find nothing to say to this. What do you say to something like this? It sounds sweet and innocent, and yet you can already tell it’s not going to have a happy ending. Why else would she be talking about it in association with her troubles?

Cheerilee looks wistful as she goes on.

“Eventually, however, we both seemed to come to the conclusion that there was simply no romantic chemistry between us, and that we’d only ever be friends. I said as much to Big Mac, and he was perfectly understanding about it. Of course, I should have known it would be this way all along, but like I said, a part of me did hold onto that hope, however fleeting it might be. I could have stood the feeling better...if it weren’t for the gossip.”

Here, Cheerilee’s kind voice takes on a distinctly bitter tone. 

“As I said, ponies believed Big Mac and I were seeing each other, and you know how quickly rumors can spread. I began to hear ponies on the street dropping little sly hints about me and Big Mac, wondering out loud if he’d proposed to me yet, or I to him, or else warning me not to be jealous if he was in the market helping another mare. I even heard some of my students whispering about it. I know they don’t mean anything malicious by it, and I know I haven’t been helping matters by spending more time with Big Mac, but it’s all I ever hear anymore, and it’s making me feel sick just thinking about it...”

She starts taking deep, calming breaths, trying to steady herself, looking as though she wants to scream. You notice that her cup is empty, and quickly fill it back up. She takes a long, grateful swig, looking as though that had been just what she needed at the moment. You know all too well about the power of rumors spreading. Make one wrong move within view or earshot of a group of facetious and gossip-hungry ponies, and you could practically kiss your privacy goodbye. Not that it ever happened to you, though. Nopony in Manehattan had given a rat’s whiskers about what you did. You’d witnessed it on the street, though, and had heard plenty of gossip cycling through the pipelines, though you always took it with a grain of salt.

Cheerilee takes another deep breath, and the bitterness in her voice disappears, to be replaced with a much more wistful tone.

“So, now that you know all that, I should get back to what I was saying before, about running into Big Mac on Friday.”

“Go ahead,” you say, gently.

Cheerilee sniffs, then says,

“He said...that he’d met somepony else, in another town. He hadn’t told anypony else about it yet, and wanted me to be the first to know, considering, well....”

“Oh.”

That’s all you can say to that. What else can you say at this point? You already have a bad feeling about where this is going to lead, as if you hadn’t had one already. Still, you wait for Cheerilee to continue. She wipes at her eyes, which are beginning to fill with tears.

“And...of course I’m happy for him,” she said, her voice thick. “I know it sounds hollow coming from me right now, but I really am. This whole thing between us started because of a love potion, artificial romance. There hadn’t been anything between us before it happened, and there isn’t now. I know that. I’m glad that he’s genuinely found somepony that he likes, and if she likes him back, then they’ll both be very lucky, and I can only wish them the very best.”

Cheerilee’s eyes well up again.

“It’s just...hard, you know? Even though I knew the truth, I still held onto that foolish hope that there might actually be something there. I suppose it’s just in anypony’s best interest to wonder when they’ll find their special somepony, and if they might not have found them already.”

Yes. You can understand that. Even you still hold onto that hope, even though you know it can’t happen.

“I’m just scared,” Cheerilee sniffles. “I’m worried about what ponies will think when I tell them the truth, that Big Mac and I aren’t, and never were, a couple. Will they even believe me? Will they pity me? Try to comfort me? I don’t want ponies to fret about me: not my friends, and especially not my students. I know it sounds silly, but I feel as though I have an image to maintain. Everypony knows me as Miss Cheerilee, the sunniest teacher in Ponyville, all smiles and sunshine from her face to her cutie mark. I don’t want ponies to feel like I’m less than what they expect of me. I don’t want them to form the wrong conclusions again when they learn the truth. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all weekend, and I just don’t know what to do…”

The tears start flowing freely now, as Cheerilee collapses against your side, sobbing. Your easily-meltable heart, already turned to goo from hearing her plight, melts anew at her grief and sorrow. You can see clearly what she meant, and what you yourself had observed not too long ago. It doesn’t seem feasible seeing someone acting contrary to how they tend to be seen, when in reality, there’s much more to them than what’s on the surface. This was exactly what she’s been afraid of. 

You draw an arm around her and pull her close, so that she’s resting against your torso, her cheek against your chest. You feel her protectively put a foreleg around you, clearly seeking comfort, and you just sit there with her, hugging her, while gently stroking her back at the same time.

“There, there,” you say, softly. “Don’t hold it in, Cheerilee. Let it all out.”

Cheerilee sniffles and hiccups, unable to answer articulately yet, but you can feel her hug strengthen a little. After a little while, her crying begins to subside, apart from a few sniffs. You wonder how often she must do this for any of her students who are feeling sad, and how strange it must be to be on the receiving end of comfort this time.

“I know it must be hard for you, Cheerilee,” you say. “I’ve never been part of a romantic relationship before, but I know what it’s like to wonder where my special someone might be. I don’t begrudge the friends that I’ve made, of course, but I still can’t help thinking about it occasionally.”

Cheerilee looks up at you with puffy eyes, her cheeks stained with tears. You stroke her mane, which feels very soft to the touch, and her eyes begin to close, soaking in the sensation.

“Still, even if things haven’t worked out with you and Big Mac,” you say, “it doesn’t mean you can’t try again. It only means that your somepony’s still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. I know it’s hard to wait and wonder, when it feels like it’ll never come, but that will make it all the more worth it when it does happen. It’s a difficult thing to accept, but it’s the truth. And besides, at least Big Mac still wants to remain friends with you. He didn’t want you to find out about this second-hoof and form the wrong ideas.”

Cheerilee opens her eyes again, looking up at you, a slightly more hopeful look on her face. She’s no longer tearing up, though her eyes are very puffy and bloodshot. You keep stroking her mane as you go on.

“As for what everypony will think, you have to tell them the truth. The rumors will just keep going unless something’s said. And what if you still keep quiet, and everypony finds out about Big Mac and this other pony? That would only make things worse.”

Cheerilee looks away, giving a sad nod.

“Not everypony may believe you,” you say, “but what you should worry about are the ponies you count as your truest and closest friends. As long as they believe you and stand by you, then what does it matter what anypony else thinks? I feel like there’s a famous saying in that, only, er, I can’t exactly think of one. Kind of embarrassing to say to a teacher, I know.”

To your relief, Cheerilee actually giggles. You pause in your petting, and she looks up at you with a small smile on her face.

“It’s all right,” she says. “Thank you. I really needed a bit of a laugh right now.”

You smile back at her. Seeing her perk back up a little is very heartening.

“Would you like me to keep going like this?” you ask. “Or would you prefer another method, like an ear scratch and a belly rub?”

Cheerilee looks thoughtful for a moment, then asks,

“Can you do both at the same time?”

“Of course,” you say, giving her nose a gentle boop. “Providing clients with the comfort and care they need is my top priority, after all. Just lay yourself on your back, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Cheerilee giggles again, gives your nose a brief tap in return, then you two let go of each other, so that she can drape herself across your legs, her hooves curled to her chest in that cute way ponies always do. You rest the back of her head in one hand, enough so that you can get one finger behind her ear, then place the other on her soft and smooth stomach. This time, you take a look at the clock before you begin. Then, you start rubbing in a circular pattern along her belly, while gently scratching her ear at the same time.

Cheerilee’s eyelids droop, a sleepy and dreamy smile coming across her face as they fully close. She turns her head slightly to the side, resting her cheek against your leg, making it squish up in that adorable way all ponies’ cheeks seem to. Like Fluttershy, Cheerilee has a moderate figure, not plump like Pinkie, not trim like Rarity. It’s the kind of physique you associate with living well and healthy, without denying yourself a good treat every now and again. You’d actually once seen Cheerilee at Sugarcube Corner when Pinkie brought her ‘her usual’ treat: cherry oatmeal cookies with yellow sprinkles. Yum.

After a little bit, you start to use not just your index finger, but your pinky, so that you’re rubbing both ears at the same time with one hand. Cheerilee wriggles a little, giving a soft hum of comfort as her smile broadens ever so slightly. Her front hooves twitch, but they don’t clasp around your arm the way Rose’s did, but her back legs twitch a little, too. A little bit after that, and you switch over to scratching under her chin. Her head tilts back, and she lets off that soft hum again, still smiling that same dreamy smile.

Again, you can’t help but imagine Cheerilee being an invaluable source of comfort and counsel for her students when one of them is feeling low. You can just see her giving one of them a hug and some encouraging words, staying with them until their tears are dried. Even someone who looks out for others needs someone to look out for them. If anyone deserved somepony special in their lives, it’s Cheerilee, and you can only hope it doesn’t take her long to find that pony, whoever they may be.

You spend some time alternating between rubbing her belly, scratching her ears, and scritching her chin, doing it in cycles of two techniques at a time. All the while, Cheerilee remains as she is, with eyes closed and a placid smile on her face, all traces of her grief and sadness gone, except for a bit of puffiness remaining about her eyes. This transformation speaks volumes, however, and it’s all you could ask for, after hearing her pour her heart out.

The sudden chiming of the clock startles you, making you stop, though Cheerilee remains in a doze. You look up, and now that you know when you started, you can see that you were at this for just 10 minutes shy of a full hour, if that included hearing Cheerilee’s story. It always amazes you how long these sessions go on for, though you never cared, as long as ponies got the comfort they needed. Now that you needed to time yourself for sessional increments, however, you can at least confirm that it can be done.

After another minute or two, Cheerilee’s eyes flutter open drowsily. She yawns and sits up, looking very well rested, and gives you a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “I didn’t realize how much I needed something like that. I’m usually the one my students can lean on when they’re feeling down. It’s a strange feeling, leaning on somepony else for a change, but I’m very grateful for it. Thank you for that, and for hearing me out through my woes.”

She gives you a warm hug, nuzzling your cheek. Feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside, you return the hug.

“You’re welcome, Cheerilee,” you say. “I just hope what I said helps you.”

“I’m sure it will,” says Cheerilee, easing away to look you in the eye. “You’re right. I can’t give up so easily just because of one setback, and I shouldn’t be so concerned about what everypony will think when I tell them the truth. That Hearts and Hooves Day may have started this mess, but I’ve long forgiven the ponies who caused it. They were only trying to help me because they cared that much about me.”

You feel like you ought to ask who she’s talking about, but decide that, unless she herself was going to name them, you shouldn’t impose.

“And I didn’t help matters by allowing these rumors to keep circulating,” Cheerilee continues. “That wasn’t fair to Big Mac, when he’s a part of this as well. I’ll set the record straight, and keep holding out hope that, someday, I’ll meet my special somepony.”

“That’s the spirit,” you say, smiling. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from whatever else you need to do today. But please, take another cookie with you, if you want. Take two, even.”

“You’re very kind,” says Cheerilee, sweetly. “Thank you.”

She settles for one more cookie, polishing it off daintily before hopping back to her hooves and gathering up her grocery bag. As you walk her to the door, she asks,

“By the way, did Twilight say something about a contract before she flew off?”

“Huh? Oh! Right! Well, it just so happens that starting tomorrow, I’ll be working at the Ponyville spa.”

“Really?” Cheerilee asks, amazed.

“Yep,” you say. “Of course, I still intend to take house calls when I’m not performing affection therapy there, so ponies don’t have to go to the spa to get it if they so choose.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” says Cheerilee, brightly. “You’ll do just fine there, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” you say, as you open the door for her. “Good day, Cheerilee.”

“Take care,” she says, smiling.

With her grocery bag perched on her back, she steps out and starts off down the street. You watch her until she’s gone, and then close the door. Unexpected as it was, it was nice to get in one more affection therapy session in the ‘old style’, before you got started as a spa-appointed affection therapist the next day. And besides, it was not merely comforting that Cheerilee felt comfortable confiding her worries to you, but that Twilight had had the faith to recommend you to do so over herself. 

Things are moving and changing quickly for you here in Ponyville, in ways that are both astounding and exciting, and you can’t wait to see what comes next.
> Lyra Heartstrings and Bon Bon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is it.

The day has finally arrived.

As of this moment, you are now officially employed at the Ponyville spa.

It’s nearly noon, and your first shift is about to start. You’re feeling that same level of nervous anticipation that you had when you were asked to come to Twilight’s castle. There really should be a word for this kind of feeling. Nervicipation? No, that sounds stupid. Nervousited, perhaps? Now that sounds like the kind of word Pinkie Pie would make up, and yet, it’s oddly fitting.

To complete the feeling of employment finality, you're even attired in the official spa uniform: a white shirt with a broad collar, decorated with a red button, and a white headband to keep your hair back. Well, to be honest, only the collar and headband are part of the uniform, since most of the spa ponies don’t even wear shirts, with the exception of Bulk Biceps. You’d seen the massively muscular pegasus around town before, easily recognizable from a distance, either by his size or his loud, enthusiastic yells of ‘YEAH!’ The fact that he’s a masseuse is both humorous and terrifying; you’d rather trust the gentle hooves of the female spa ponies.

In any case, you’d arrived early so that Aloe and Lotus could get you accustomed to what would be your therapy room. They must’ve taken advice from Twilight to ensure that it conforms to an adequate setting for affection therapy. The wallpaper is a soothing blue, decorated with beautiful landscape portraits, and the floor softly carpeted. A sofa is set in the very middle, wide enough for two ponies, or a pony and a human, to sit together upon it comfortably. A coffee table sits before it, a plate of fresh-baked cookies you’d brought set upon it, to allow for a slight relaxation in the spa rules: treats can be consumed only in this room, allowing you to prepare snacks for your clients. Quite a sweet deal, you have to say. 

A gramophone occupies a corner of the room, to provide relaxing music, even though it’s not something you’ve employed before. That’s not to say you never would, just that it never crossed your mind before. You’ll have to see how well it works. 

There’s a clock above the door, which has had its ticking magically muted so as not to be distracting, but which still chimes every hour. It even has a ‘five-minute warning’ chime, letting you know when an appointment is almost over. 

Next to the door is affixed a clipboard detailing who has appointments on the given day. As Twilight had said, your schedule allows for a minimum of three ponies and a maximum of five. To be honest, you’ve been curious to know how many ponies would show up for your first day, considering that most ponies have at least heard about what you’ve been doing. Advertisements for the change have been posted around Ponyville over the course of the past week, and you’d seen ponies regarding them with interest, sometimes looking over at you, as though they’ve connected you with it. 

One of the highlights of that time was Rarity running up to you just outside your home, looking as delighted as if a fairy tale prince had asked her to marry him. She practically squealed that she ‘knew it was a good idea’, and congratulated you heartily for putting it into effect. It made your face glow, being given such praise, and all you could do was mumble that it had been her idea. To this, she simply scoffed, saying it was only an idea, and that you actually made it happen. 

Then she made your heart melt even more by giving you a peck on the cheek, thanking you for the gift you’d sent her. As thanks for her inspiration, you’d decided to send her a dozen purple petunias, specially chosen by Rose, who knew what the lovely fashionista loved best in flowers. Rarity then wished you the best of luck for your first day and trotted off, while you could only stagger back inside, giddy with bashfulness.

In any case, the list of appointments for today came as quite a surprise. Not only are all five of the maximum slots for the day occupied, but Lotus had informed you, with incredulous delight, that there was already a waiting list for ponies who had signed up after the maximum had been reached. So many ponies wanted to try affection therapy for themselves.

This was going to be one busy week.

“Well, look at you, Mr. Big Shot. You managed to crawl your way up to a fancy-shmancy job in this town, and all you had to do was pamper and spoil a few ponies. It’s like I always said: you’re too soft to be anywhere else. If you had a cutie mark, it’d be a big bleeding heart, just to show the world the kind of mushy sap you are.”

You give your head a vigorous shake. Why are you still thinking these things, and in that same voice? Manehattan’s far behind you, and everything and everypony that comes with it. This isn’t the time for those thoughts. It’s time to focus on your new job.

The clock chimes noon, and almost as soon as the twelfth chime dies away, somepony knocks at the door. Butterflies surging in your stomach, you take a seat on the couch, clear your throat, and call out,

“Come in!”

The door opens, and in walks your very first spa client, Lyra Heartstrings.

Lyra’s another pony you see around town quite a bit, usually in the company of Bon Bon, the proprietor of the local sweet shop. As for herself, she’s a musician, as you’ve also seen her occasionally playing a lyre. And no, it’s not a harp, it’s a lyre. You thought it was a harp at first, but you’ve been assured that it is, in fact, a lyre. It’s not just you, though. Seems ponies make that mistake all the time.

In any case, Lyra’s a mint-green unicorn with a cyan mane and tail, both with white streaks running through them, bright orange eyes, and a cutie mark of a lyre. Like Rose, Lyra keeps her mane styled in a boyish pixie cut, giving her a sporty, carefree look. She also happens to be one of the, *ahem*, pudgier ponies in town, sporting a noticeable little belly, kind of like Starlight. You suppose it must come from being best friends with a candy-maker. That would tend to net you a few free samples now and then, which would impact your figure.

While not intimate, you’re on fairly good terms with Lyra, though you’ve only really talked to her when she comes by the flower stalls to visit Rose, Daisy, and Lily. She’s a sweet, bubbly mare with a lovely voice, and can be quite energetic at times. You saw this for yourself when she first met you. She went into an absolute delirium of delight, since, according to her, it had been her lifelong dream to meet a real human, and you just happened to be that lucky human. She had to exercise a lot of restraint not to bombard you with too many questions, though you would’ve been only too happy to answer what you could, and you couldn’t help noticing that she seemed particularly fixated on your hands. Sure, other ponies sometimes gazed at them (living your life only seeing hooves will have that effect), but honestly, they’re not that different from Spike’s claws. You know, apart from the fact that he’s a dragon and you’re not.

Knowing the kind of pony she is, you find it rather disquieting to see her wearing a more subdued, even glum expression on her face. Then again, if she was in her usual high spirits, or unless she was just curious, she wouldn’t likely have put herself down for a therapy appointment. Still, you put on your best smile for her.

“Good afternoon, Lyra.”

She looks up at you, and seeing you seems to brighten her up a bit, as she gives you a small smile of her own.

“Good afternoon,” she says.

“You’re one lucky mare,” you say. “You have the honor of being my very first client here at the spa.”

Lyra giggles.

“That is pretty lucky, I guess,” she says.

“Please, have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the empty side of the couch.

Shutting the door softly behind her, Lyra crosses over and hops onto the couch. You notice her steal yet another glance at your hands. Well, now she’ll get to see what they can do, as far as affection therapy is concerned.

“Help yourself to a cookie or two,” you say, gesturing to the plate. “I always make it a policy to make my guests feel welcome.”

Lyra glances at the plate. Contrary to the usual reaction of seeing readily-available sweets, her smile fades, and she looks askance.

“Maybe later,” she mumbles. “I’m not really in the mood for sweets right now.”

“Perfectly fine,” you say, not wanting to force her. “So, Lyra, you know how affection therapy works, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Lyra, nodding. “It was in that update the spa had posted around town: making ponies feel better with ear scratches and belly rubs, right?”

“Well, in a nutshell,” you say, with a half-shrug. “I help ponies relax from what’s troubling them with a bit of platonic affection.”

You tap her nose when you say this, making her wrinkle her muzzle cutely.

“So, if anything’s on your mind that’s weighing you down, feel free to let it out, and I’ll see if I can help.”

Lyra looks at you for a moment, then your hands again, back to you, then she sighs.

“I do need to get this off my chest,” she says, “and I figured this’d be a good place to do it in. I mean, you are a therapist, and you’re one of Rose’s friends, so I can trust you.”

She places a hoof on your arm. Touched, you smile and pat her hoof.

“I’m always here for a friend,” you say.

She smiles slightly at this, then says,

“It’s kind of complicated. Do you mind if I put it to music?”

You blink.

“Put it to music?” you repeat.

You only just notice that she’s brought her signature instrument with her. Well, she is a lyrist, so you suppose it makes sense.

“Of course,” you say. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Lyra shifts her position on the couch, with her shoulders and back resting against the back of the couch, so that she’s sitting more like a human would, rather than sitting on all fours or on her stomach, like a typical pony. This makes her little paunch more pronounced than before. She holds her lyre in her magic, gives a few preliminary plucks at the strings to reach the right key, then, with eyes closed, and in a beautiful, yet melancholy voice, sings as she plays,

“What do you do when your friend’s uptight
When she’s strict and demanding from day until night
When it feels like you can’t do anything right
When nothing you do seems to please her

What do you do when she gets in your face
When she calls you lazy, a chubby disgrace
When she yells ‘Just get out and give me some space!’
And all because you tried to tease her

‘Was it something I did?’ ‘Was it something I said?’
Your mind’s in a whirl as these thoughts fill your head
And they daunt you from dawn ‘til you’re lying in bed
‘Just what did I do to unease her?’

What do you do when your friend’s uptight
When she’s strict and demanding from day until night
When it feels like you can’t do anything right
When nothing you do seems to please her”

She plucks the last few notes, her voice growing choked as she finishes the last verse. Even with her eyes closed, you see tears welling at the corners of them, and the sight goes right to your heart. With a sniff, she sets her lyre down and wipes at her eyes. You clear your throat; it’s feeling a bit husky after that.

“So, from what I can glean from that song,” you say, “which was beautifully-sung, by the way, your friend’s been in a bad mood, and you somehow rubbed her the wrong way, without knowing why. Does that sound right?”

Lyra nods glumly. Now, she hasn’t named who this friend was, but something tells you that you know who this friend might be. Still, if she doesn’t want to name her, that’s her business, not yours.

“Did you ask her what you’d done to make her so mad?” you ask.

“I should have,” says Lyra, “but she caught me off guard by exploding the way she did. I was too shocked to process anything else. Meanwhile, she was too busy criticizing me about things I do that annoy her, and that really stung me.”

Her eyes start to tear up again. You put a hand on her shoulder. You’re about to ask what these things are, if it wasn’t impolite to ask of her, but she saves you the trouble.

“I mean, sure, I crack jokes a lot,” she says, “but I thought she liked my jokes. She laughs at everything; she said so herself. And I can be a little lazy, too, when she wants something done and I don’t help her right away, but she’s the one always telling me to leave her to her work when I offer to help, so she’s kinda sending me mixed signals there. Then she brought up my weight.”

She puts a hoof to her belly, watching it sink into the pudge.

“Well, who let me be her personal candy taste-tester, huh?” she asked, bitterly. “If I didn’t, she’d be the one putting on the pounds. I’m doing her favor, and this is how she thanks me? She’s just so...Argh!”

She lets out a growl of frustration as she covers her eyes with her hooves, pulling down her lower eyelids as she brings them down again. The fact that she mentioned being a candy taste-tester more than confirms your suspicions about who she’s had a falling out with.

“When did this all happen?” you ask.

Lyra’s momentary anger fades away, and she looks gloomy again.

“About a week ago,” she says. “She made it clear she didn’t want to see me, so I’ve been doing my best to stay out of her way. I really miss her, though, and I want to apologize for...whatever it is I did to make her snap at me like that. I don’t know if she’d accept it, though. What if this was one time too many? What if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore?...”

Sniffling, she leans against you, tears running down her cheeks. Hearing her story had already reduced your heart to a pile of aching mush, but this adds a whole new layer to it. You put your arms around her and hug her, as she nestles against you, seeking comfort and reassurance.

“There, there,” you say, soothingly. “Let it all out. It’s ok.”

Lyra sniffs and hiccups, but eventually, her crying subsides, though she remains cuddled to you. You softly stroke her back, and she lets out a sigh.

“It’s never easy, having an argument with someone you care deeply about,” you say. “It feels like everything you had is blown to the wind in a matter of seconds, like it can never be mended.”

Lyra sniffs again.

“But you care about her enough to want to apologize, even if you don’t know what you did wrong,” you say. “That speaks volumes to how much her friendship means to you. And I’m sure she’d feel the same way about you.”

Lyra looks up at you with those vibrant orange eyes of hers, tears still lingering beneath them.

“The best of friendships are strong enough to withstand a few angry words,” you say. “No relationship is free of an occasional squabble or disagreement. It’s working through those tough times together that makes a friendship that much stronger, but it can only be together.”

Lyra wipes at her eyes, looking awed at your speech. To be honest, you’re always amazed at what springs into your mind at these moments. Seeing these lovable ponies in distress really seems to bring it out in you.

“But what if she’s still mad?” she asks, in a small voice.

“Then talk things out,” you say. “Try to come to an understanding with each other, see where you’re both coming from, get each other’s side of the story. It’s possible this could’ve been a misunderstanding or just bad timing. You never know until you find the truth.”

Lyra continues to gaze up at you, and then, slowly, a smile returns to her face. It’s a small one, but still a smile, and that’s always encouraging.

“So, you feel up to some affection therapy?” you ask.

She nods.

“Absolutely,” she says, easing apart from you. “Apart from wanting to get that off my chest, I’ve really wanted to see how those hands of your work for this kind of thing.”

Just as you thought. Well, you decide not to waste time in showing her, as you start scratching behind her ear. Like a charm, you see her eyes widen, then her eyelids droop, and her smile goes slack. Her head sways to one side, like a curious puppy tilting its head, but forgetting to right itself again. Her tongue even pokes out as you continue to scratch, adding to the overall adorability of the display. You eventually start on the other ear, and her head tilts the opposite way, still with that same silly expression.

“So that’s how fingers work,” she says, her voice slurred.

You can’t help but crack a grin at how goofy she’s being. Without further ceremony, she flops into your lap, twisting over so that she’s on her back. Then, all of a sudden, she reaches up and taps you on the nose with her hoof.

“For the boop earlier,” she says, winking.

Smiling, you start scratching under her chin, making her head tilt up. Her eyes close in blissful relaxation, and she lets out a deep sigh. Her hoof reaches up and grips lovingly around your wrist, as if she never wants to let it go. This kind of foal-like behavior never fails to make you want to go ‘aww’. 

For a split second, you swear that she’s actually purring, like a contented cat. Then you realize that the rumbling is actually coming from her stomach. Her eyes open, and she glances down at it with a slight giggle.

“My gut was feeling all knotted up from stress,” she says, “but now I guess I’m properly hungry. Are those cookies still up for grabs?”

“Of course,” you say. “Help yourself.”

Her horn lights up, and a large cookie floats off the plate over to her. She licks her lips, then chows down, sending crumbs everywhere. In three bites, the cookie’s gone, and she wipes her muzzle with her hoof.

“Delicious,” she says. “One more couldn’t hurt.”

So saying, she nabs another cookie, and it too disappears.

“Your belly feeling happy again?” you ask, giving her paunch a pat.

“A lot happier,” says Lyra, giggling. “I do try to eat healthy so I don’t get too fat, but I just love sweets too much. It also helps that I know a good dentist.”

“Lucky you,” you say, with a chuckle.

You give her belly a tickle, making her giggle again.

“Don’t make me tickle you back,” she warns, playfully.

“Well, I’m not about to start a tickle fight here,” you say, and she grins.

There’s a pause, and then Lyra asks,

“Do you think, maybe, you could give me a tummy rub now?”

She looks up at you with the biggest pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, and she even pouts her lower lip.

“Of course I could,” you say. “It’s your session.”

Lyra beams. Your hand is still resting on her belly, so you immediately start rubbing circles along it. It’s not unlike Pinkie’s in its doughy softness, but you believe the pink party pony still has her beat in that regard. 

Lyra sighs deeply again, stretching her hind legs and tail out. You use your free hand to pillow the back of her head, and she looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, a blissful smile on her face as you continue to rub. It’s a far cry from the glum mare who first walked into the room.

After a time, while you’re still rubbing, her hoof reaches out and lays itself atop your hand, which stops, still on her belly. You glance at her face, and see that her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open, her breathing indicating that she’s dozing. She must be dreaming, and yet she’s still unconsciously aware that you’re there with her, comforting her. You give her hoof a gentle squeeze, and she smiles ever so slightly in her sleep. Bless her.

Eventually, the clock chimes, and you look up. It’s the five-minute warning. How the time’s flown.

Lyra seems to have to heard it as well, as she stirs and yawns, sitting up and stretching. She smacks her lips sleepily, then turns to look at you, looking relaxed and content.

“Feeling better?” you ask.

“A whole lot better,” she says. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” you say, smiling. “I’m happy I could help you.”

Lyra smiles back, then puts her hooves around you in a hug.

“Thanks,” she says. “It means a lot that you let me speak my mind and get it all out there, and I’ll definitely take your advice to heart. I’m still a little nervous, but I’ll talk to her, so thanks.”

Beaming, you return her hug.

“You’re welcome, Lyra. Good luck.”

You ease apart, and she gives you one last warm smile before she hops down from the couch and heads for the door. She’s about to leave, when she pauses, turns, then magically lifts another cookie from the plate.

“One for the road,” she says with a wink, then takes her leave.

Chuckling, you wipe some stray crumbs away from the table and couch. It always does your heart good to see a smile back on a previously sad pony’s face, and you honestly hope Lyra does have luck in reconciling with her friend. Of course, that may come about sooner than she thinks, if your assumptions are correct.

A few minutes later, one o’clock strikes, and there’s another knock at the door.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, and in walks Appointment #2 for the day: Bon Bon.

As mentioned before, Bon Bon runs the local sweet shop, and she’s often seen around town with Lyra. Similarly to Lyra, while not very close with her, you’re on genial terms from running into each other from time to time. You’d even stopped by her shop one time to sample her wares; the caramels are simply divine.

Bon Bon’s a cream-colored Earth pony with a blue and pink-striped mane and tail, done up in neat curls, blue eyes, and a cutie mark of three wrapped candies. Contrary to what one would expect of someone whose trade deals in sweets, she has a rather slender build, though recent history has given you an idea as to why that is. From what interaction you’ve had with her, you know her to be good-natured and inventive, always coming up with new treat ideas. She also has a rather clever knack for changing her voice.

Judging by how punctually she’s arrived, you doubt that she ran into Lyra on the way out, since she’d had a few minutes’ headstart. Either that, or they had, and Lyra had still been too nervous to initiate conversation with her just yet. Either way, Bon Bon looks like she’s thinking something over as she steps inside, and doesn’t look up until you address her.

“Good afternoon, Bon Bon.”

She jumps a little. Apparently, she was in rather deep thought.

“Oh! Good afternoon,” she says.

“Please, take a seat, and help yourself,” you say, gesturing to the couch and cookies in turn.

Bon Bon eyes the plate for a moment, shakes her head slightly, then gets up onto the couch.

“I’ll pass for now,” she says. “I’m not much in the mood for sweets at the moment.”

Now where have you heard that before?

“That’s all right,” you say. “So, what brings you here today? What’s on your mind?”

Bon Bon rubs her foreleg awkwardly with her other forehoof, looking as though she’s embarrassed about what she’s about to say. Then, with a rueful expression, she sighs and says,

“It’s about a friend of mine, a very dear friend.”

Avoiding naming names again. Your suspicions have been more than confirmed by now, but again, you’ll leave it to her if she wants to be more open about it.

“Yes?”

“I feel like I’ve been a bit unfair to her, and I don’t know how to make things right.”

“How do you mean?” you ask.

Bon Bon pauses, biting her lip, then says,

“I’ve been busy trying to recreate an old candy recipe I heard about long ago, but I can’t quite get it right.”

“Oh? What sort of recipe?”

“Edible candy flutes.”

You blink.

“Edible candy flutes?” you repeat.

“Yes,” she says, keenly. “Hollow fruit-flavored sweets with holes on top, that allow you to blow into them and make music, like a flute. It’s meant to combine dessert with playtime, a fun treat for foals and music-lovers.”

Now that actually sounds like a pretty good idea. You’d certainly try one.

“That sounds interesting,” you say, genuinely. “But you say you’re having trouble with it.”

Bon Bon nods.

“The trick is raising the boiling point of the sugar higher than normal. That puts holes in the sweets. The trouble is getting it in a way that puts the candy flutes in proper musical harmony. The sound just comes out all wrong whenever I blow into them, so that it sounds like either a dog whistle or a duck call. Plus, the taste is very inconsistent, and not in a good way.”

“Oh dear,” you say. “It sounds like you have a lot on your plate.”

Bon Bon nods again.

“It’s consumed my thoughts for a while now. I’ve been desperately trying to fix the recipe wherever I can, trying to find where I went wrong. I’ve been at my wit’s end, and it's made me, well...a bit bad-tempered.”

She looks askance, guilt written all over her face.

“Last week, I was running over new ideas I could employ in making the next batch, when my friend just started talking away, cracking jokes and being silly. I suppose she was just trying to make me feel better, since I looked a pretty bad mess in my stress, but I wasn’t in the mood for distractions, and after one joke too many, I...I…”

Bon Bon sniffles, and tears spring into her eyes. You instinctively place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shift it away, which is a good sign.

“You snapped?” you offer, mildly.

She nods, a tear leaking out.

“It was as if all the stress I’d been feeling just...burst out of me, but my thoughts focused on...on her, so I...I lashed out at her. I...I said some awful things to her, but...but I was too angry to care if I hurt her feelings...I told her to get out and leave me alone...and I haven’t spoken to her since…”

Now things are starting to make sense. You’re beginning to see things from both sides of the conflict, now that Bon Bon’s here to fill in the gaps. Gratifying as it is, however, you regret that it’s at the cost of her grief and guilt.

Bon Bon wipes at her eyes, still sniffling.

“After I calmed down, I...I realized what I’d done. I’d exploded at my dearest friend, when she didn’t even do anything wrong, and all because I couldn’t get some stupid candy recipe right. What good is some candy I can’t even make if it means driving away the pony I care about most? I didn’t really mean what I said…”

No. Nopony ever does when they lash out like that. Well, most of the time, they don’t, but you know Bon Bon wouldn’t have.

“I mean, sure, she cracks some corny jokes, but I laugh at everything. And sure, she doesn’t always help me out right away when I need something, but then again, I do tell her to just leave me to it, so that’s my own fault. And, ok, she’s gotten a little chubby, but I allow her to taste-test my sweets, just so I can keep my own figure, so of course she’s going to put on a few pounds. She really does look out for me.”

This really is like listening to both sides of the same coin. It’s almost surreal.

“Thinking about all of that,” Bon Bon continues, her voice growing husky, “really made me realize how much I took her for granted. I want to make things right with her, but how can I apologize to her after what I said? I feel like I went too far this time, and it’s not the first time I let her down…”

Rather than collapse against you like Lyra did, Bon Bon simply covers her eyes with her foreleg, silently weeping into it. You sympathetically rub her shoulder, feeling that, unless she initiated it herself, a hug might not be warranted at that precise moment. Luckily, it seems to be doing the trick, as her crying quiets down after a time, and the two of you simply sit there quietly, as you let her let it all out.

“It’s a harsh feeling, I know,” you say, “taking your anger out on someone, realizing too late what you’ve done. It makes you feel like you can never take it back.”

Bon Bon sniffles.

“But it’s never too late to make amends,” you say. “If you really want to make things right again, that shows just how much your friendship means to you, and I’m confident it goes the same way for your friend.”

Bon Bon looks up at you, her blue eyes reddened and puffy.

“A good friendship can withstand the worst of times,” you say. “No relationship’s free of an argument or two. That’s unavoidable. It’s getting through those tough times together that makes your bond come out stronger than before.”

You’re really getting deja vu here, but in this case, since it’s two sides of the same story, it’s fitting.

“You should go find her and talk things out,” you continue, “come to a better understanding. Avoiding her isn’t going to make the problem go away on its own. You both need to work through this.”

Bon Bon looks at you in silence for a few moments, as though she’s taking in what you’ve said. Finally, she seems to make up her mind. She nods.

“I will,” she says, resolutely. “I’ll find her and try to make amends for how poorly I treated her. For now, though, I could really use a hug.”

Her voice breaks at the end of this statement, and new tears spring into her eyes. You give her a kind smile.

“That’s what I’m here for, Bon Bon,” you say, opening your arms.

She collapses against you, putting her forelegs around you and resting her chin on your shoulder, sniffling. You hold her close, rocking her gently and stroking her back. She nuzzles her cheek against yours, sighing as she settles into your embrace. This feels just like when you comforted Derpy; all she needed was a hug from someone who cared. Well, sometimes, all it takes is a simple hug.

Some time later, her grip on you relaxes, and she settles under your chin, still nestling against you. Still keeping one arm around her, you begin scratching behind her ear. You can’t see her reaction, but she settles even more snugly into you than before, and you hear give off a sigh of contentment. She even mumbles something sleepily.

“So that’s why she’s so obsessed with hands…”

You chuckle to yourself at this, but say nothing. You just continue to hold her and scratch behind her ear, letting her relax. Eventually, you move to stroking her curly mane, which feels silky to the touch, and even gives off a faint, sweet smell, not quite the cotton candy smell of Pinkie’s mane, but one that reminds you of something sugary. You feel her head shift as she nuzzles into you, tickling your chin with her mane, nearly throwing off your concentration. 

Before you know it, she’s twisted herself over, so that her back is against your torso. Her hooves grip around your arm, as though asking to just hold her there like that, still in a hug. You look down at her, and see that she’s resting against your chest, already looking like she’s falling asleep, her expression peaceful. Smiling, you put your other arm around her and hold her close anew. With her barrel resting against your arm, you can feel her gentle breathing, and the soft beating of her heart. It’s very soothing.

As you sit there, holding the sleeping Bon Bon, you still can’t help but marvel at what an odd coincidence has been thrown at you. On your very first day as a spa-appointed affection therapist, your first two clients are dealing with problems with each other, and likely with no knowledge that the other has made an appointment to see you. This will make quite a story for them once they decide to meet again, and you hope they do come to an understanding with each other. It was hard to see how they couldn’t, when they both wanted to make amends with each other.

Before the clock even reaches the five-minute warning, Bon Bon starts to stir. It seems she’d gotten the comfort she needed from that hug, and by the smile on her face as she sits up and turns to face you, it’s done her spirit wonders.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” you say, smiling.

“I really am,” says Bon Bon. “That hug was exactly what I needed, along with getting all of that off of my chest. Thank you for giving me that chance.”

“You’re welcome, Bon Bon,” you say. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here for.”

Bon Bon leans in and gives you a gentle nuzzle.

“I’m going to find my friend,” she says, “and I’m going to apologize for what I said to her. I just hope she’ll accept it.”

“I’m sure she will,” you say. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” says Bon Bon, smiling.

She hops down from the couch, and has only taken one step towards the door, when she pauses, turns to the table, picks up a cookie from the plate, and gulps it down.

“Mmm,” she sighs, licking her lips. “Now I’m back in the mood for sweets.”

With a light laugh, she heads out the door, closing it behind her. 

Smiling, you stand up and stretch. Bon Bon’s early departure has given you a little time before your next appointment, so you might as well stretch your legs a bit, get ready for the next one. You feel confident that Lyra and Bon Bon will repair their friendship, and that the next time you see them, they’ll be walking the streets side by side again, or else working together at the sweet shop. Those two tender-hearted ponies seemed made for each other, after all. 

Still, with all that’s happened in only two appointments, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly happen during the next three of the day.
> Spoiled Rich
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the clock strikes two, and just as you’ve settled back in your place on the couch, there’s another knock at the door, but before you can even say ‘come in’, it’s already opened, and rather forcefully at that.

This must be Client #3 for the day, and one you actually had not been looking forward to, once you saw the name. 

Spoiled Rich.

Now this is a pony you’ve seen very sparingly, and only surrounded by ponies of business and importance, like Mayor Mare. You do know that she’s married to Filthy Rich, the owner of Barnyard Bargains, Ponyville’s premiere retail shopping center, which also had a few locations in other cities. You’ve seen the two together once or twice, alongside their daughter, Diamond Tiara. From the way she goes about, one would expect to find her in Canterlot or Manehattan, not a quiet town like Ponyville, and perhaps she’s conscious of that.

Spoiled Rich has a salmon-pink coat and a purple mane and tail, the former styled in a rather meticulous way. It’s the sort of look that seems to belong on someone who would demand to see a company’s manager over the slightest infraction. She also has icy-blue eyes and a cutie mark resembling a diamond ring. Unlike most ponies in Ponyville, she wears clothing on a regular basis. In this case, she’s dressed in a sea-green blouse with a golden, gem-studded hem, with a golden chain necklace around her neck.

Now, it would be rude to call her ‘unattractive’, which she isn’t. However, she doesn’t exactly inspire much envy from her looks, though she must have looked lovely when she was younger. Her default expressions, whenever you’ve seen her, have either been smug superiority or scornful disdain. She often has that look of somepony with a nasty smell under their nose, but fate seemed to take things a bit too literally in her case. For reasons you can’t even fathom, her nose is actually turned upwards, not exactly like the beak of a bird, but more like the horn of a rhinoceros. You’ve seen some snooty and entitled ponies in Manehattan with their noses in the air, but this was taking things to a whole new level. 

Perhaps that’s part of the reason that seeing her gives you an unpleasant feeling, or even seeing that she’d put herself down for an appointment today. Her whole demeanor recalls uncomfortable memories, ones you’d rather keep tucked away in the back of your mind...

Nevertheless, you have to remain professional, so you put on your best smile.

“Good afternoon, Spoiled Rich,” you say.

She gives you a sharp look, as though you’d just uttered something vulgar. Was she not in the mood for pleasantries?

“Good afternoon,” she says, dryly. “I’d prefer to be called ‘Mrs. Rich’, if you don’t mind.”

The lofty condescension in her tone makes your skin crawl, but she’s your client, and you have to accommodate for her,

“Right, of course, Mrs. Rich,” you say. “Please, take a seat.”

She eyes the couch beadily, and you can already tell it’s not up to her high standards. Still, it’s the only seating in the room besides the floor, so she struts over to it with her head held high, then comes to a stop just before it. There’s an awkward pause as she looks at you, as though expecting something. For a moment, you can’t imagine what the problem could be this time, and wonder what she’s waiting for. 

Then, a strange thought comes to you. Surely she isn’t expecting a hand-up? Not onto a simple couch, surely. Getting into or down from a carriage is one thing, but a couch? And yet, there she is, standing stock-still, watching and waiting with that expectant look on her face. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at such presumption and laziness, you offer her your hand. With a smirk of satisfaction, she puts her hoof in it, and you help her ascend up onto the couch.

“It’s good to see that common courtesy isn’t lost on the youth of today,” she says, as she makes herself comfortable, “even if you’re not exactly a pony.”

Was that meant to be a compliment? You certainly hope it was.

Her eyes stray to the plate of cookies sitting on the table, and she looks faintly amused.

“Homemade cookies? How delightfully simple. I must decline, however. I’m trying to watch my figure.”

She doesn’t seem to be watching it very well. She appears to be developing a bit of a double chin, from what you can see. Still, you say nothing.

“Perfectly fine,” you say. “Accommodation is the cornerstone of this practice, after all.”

Spoiled gives you a sidelong look, but says nothing. It may be your imagination, but there’s something almost pitying in that look. Not sympathetic, but more like someone amused by someone’s naivete. You try to ignore it and press on.

“So, you’ve decided to try out affection therapy for yourself, Mrs. Rich?”

Spoiled gives a short, derisive laugh.

“Try it out? Goodness, no.”

You blink.

“Come again?”

“Look, I’m sure you’re doing a world of good for ponies with all of this cuddly, lovey-dovey nonsense, but let me tell you something, dear: hugs don’t make the world go round. Maybe they do in Ponyville, but not the rest of Equestria. That’s what a nice big sack of bits is for.”

You’re starting to get an unpleasant tingling sensation. This talk coming from her sounds very familiar, and not in a good way. You clear your throat.

“So, if I understand correctly,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “you signed up for an affection therapy appointment, without intending to undergo affection therapy?”

Spoiled didn’t look the least bit abashed.

“I simply saw that the spa was advertising a new treatment, and I had bits to burn, so I decided to set up an appointment and, perhaps, give you a little advice for the future, so that you’re not just spinning your wheels and wasting your potential. A human like you could be doing so much more.”

It’s taking every ounce of restraint in you not to snap at this infuriating woman. She signed up for an affection therapy appointment just to tell you you’re wasting your time? The nerve!

“Mrs. Rich,” you say, still trying to keep your voice even, but finding it difficult, “you do realize that the time you’re taking for this appointment, time you yourself admit you don’t intend to use for its intended purpose, could have been reserved for a pony who was actually in need of it?”

“I hardly see why that matters,” says Spoiled, carelessly. “Given how much the ponies in this town have lapped up your ‘therapy’, you must have quite the waiting list. You might even have ponies coming back for a second time. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“That’s hardly the point, Mrs. Rich-”

“And, really,” Spoiled goes on, “if you’re to start a practice like this in the first place, why not in this podunk of a town?”

...Podunk?

Is that how she views Ponyville?

“By Celestia, this town’s gone to the dogs,” she continues, derisively. “Not that it was ever that noteworthy to begin with.” 

Not noteworthy? Was she blind to the presence of Twilight and her friends?

“And do you know what’s worse?” she continues. “It has such a corrupting influence on sensible ponies. My successful and enterprising husband picks a family of farmers to be his business partners, all because of some silly jam trade his grandfather made with them years ago. I still can’t fathom what he sees in them to make them equal partners in his business.” 

She surely can’t be talking about Zap Apple Jam, the most delicious seasonal treat of anything apple-related ever. You’d once heard an abridged version of how discovering the apples that made it led to Ponyville being discovered in the first place. How could the wife of the stallion who dealt with the stuff know nothing about it? Or, at least, speak so uncaringly about it?

“Then my daughter, the heiress to our family legacy, the pony I’ve been raising to uphold our reputation, not only loses the election of class president to that undersized transplant from Trottingham, but chooses to side with a trio of bumbling blank flanks over her own mother, embarrassing me in front of her whole class. So what if they got their cutie marks that very day? That still does not give her the right to speak back to me in such a way!” 

Trio of blank flanks? The only trio of ponies you’d seen together in one place were the Cutie Mark Crusaders. You’d never known them as ‘blank flanks’, but you’d heard snippets of the crazy things they’d gotten up to to earn their cutie marks. The way Spoiled Rich used that term made it sound like an offensive slur. And ‘transplant from Trottingham’? Did she mean little Pipsqueak?

“And now we’ve got folks like you making ponies think a few hugs and ear scratches can make all their problems go away. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I even bother with this town anymore.”

This is too much!

She can come in here just to tell you you’re wasting your time with your practice. It’s her opinion, and she’s entitled to it. You never went into this practice assuming everypony would approve of it. But when you she uses that opinion to disparage Ponyville as a whole, that’s something you simply can’t condone!

You can feel your blood boiling, and your fingers twitch, as though itching to ball up into fists. Your teeth clench behind your lips, and a furious diatribe is already poised at the end of your tongue, as she sits there, smugly aloof, not even looking at you, apparently proud of what she’s just poisoned the air of your therapy room with.

“Yeah, that’s right, let her have it! Tell her what you think of her! Don’t let her get away with talking like that! You’ve been burning to tell those Manehattan ponies what you thought of them, and you never got the chance when you left. Well, this mare’s practically Manehattan personified, so let ‘er rip! Don’t hold back!”

...No.

This isn’t right.

Almost as quickly as your blood and brain had ignited, they start to cool down again, and rationality begins to return as well.

Why should you bring yourself down to her level? She wanted to take time away from ponies who would actually want affection therapy to talk about how you were wasting your time and talents? That’s her problem. It shouldn’t have to be yours. Retaliating with harsh words isn’t going to solve anything. It might be what she wants. The bullies and thugs back in Manehattan just wanted to get a rise out of the ones they tormented, to let them know they’d gotten under your skin. Why give them that satisfaction? Besides, it would reflect poorly on your reputation as a spa employee. A lack of professionalism, especially in the face of a difficult client, would paint you in a very poor light.

The diatribe you’d been prepared to hurl at her dies away like a melting ice cube. Instead, you reflect on what she’s said, all the disparaging remarks she’d made. You decide that you should play off of that, make polite conversation, address her points of grievance, and act like this is still a professional session. 

You take a deep breath, clear your throat, and say,

“I’m sorry to hear Ponyville’s not up to your satisfaction, Mrs. Rich. I’m quite fond of it myself.”

Spoiled makes a light scoffing noise. Possibly, she’s annoyed that she didn’t get a rise out of you from what she said. You ignore it and carry on.

“It’s a far better home than Manehattan ever was for me.”

This simple declaration knocks Spoiled out of her smug reverie. She looks at you disbelievingly.

“...You used to live in Manehattan?” she asks. “Funny, you don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not,” you say, honestly. “It’s a fine enough town with a lot going for it, but it just wasn’t for me. That’s why I finally had enough and moved here. It’s been like a breath of fresh air ever since.”

“Is that so?” Spoiled asks. “Well, I suppose it’s all right for some…”

You can sense that she’s about to start on Ponyville again, so you decide to cut in.

“Honestly, I feel lucky living in a town like this.”

She raises an eyebrow at you.

“Lucky?” she repeats.

“Sure! Think about it: it’s the same place where the Princess of Friendship and her friends live. They’ve saved Equestria who knows how many times by now, and yet they’re such humble and approachable ponies. Ponyville has a lot to be thankful for because of them.”

The sneer slowly vanishes from Spoiled’s face. It seems like she hadn’t considered that before, or else didn’t like that that was being brought up.

“I suppose…” she says, slowly.

“Do you know Princess Twilight, Mrs. Rich?” you ask, casually.

Spoiled blinks in surprise.

“Do I know her?” she repeats.

“I mean, she and her friends are pretty important ponies in Equestria,” you say, “and I often see you surrounded by ponies of importance. I just wondered if Princess Twilight was among your social circle.”

Spoiled looks rather awkward at this question. A very faint blush tinges her reddish-pink cheeks.

“Well...no,” she says, after a pause.

“No?” you ask, mildly.

“Not to say I wouldn’t, of course,” says Spoiled, hurriedly, giving a bold show of her usual swagger. “It’s the highest honor to have royalty among your acquaintances. It’s merely that she prefers, as you said yourself, humbler company.”

“Ah, I see,” you say. “That’s too bad. As the Princess of Friendship, I’m sure she would be more than happy to get to know as many ponies as she could, though I suppose nopony can surpass Pinkie Pie for that.”

Spoiled says nothing to that, but you do see her roll her eyes. Seems she’s not fond of Pinkie, either. Then again, is there anypony she is fond of? Now that you think about it, you can’t exactly see even a pony like Twilight having much patience for Spoiled’s attitude.

“If that’s the case,” you continue, “I suppose you don’t really know Applejack, either.”

A faint look of distaste creases Spoiled’s brow at this.

“I do know her, yes,” she says. “I was introduced to her and her brother when Filthy and I were engaged, back when he had just taken over his family’s business. Now that was a day I’ll hardly forget, much as I’d like to.”

“Ah, yes, that’s true,” you say. “You were quite vocal just a bit ago about not understanding why your husband would have a partnership with a family of farmers. You said it was symptomatic of a corruption of sensibility, I believe.”

You say all of this quite casually, as though you were discussing the day’s weather, but the effect isn’t lost on Spoiled Rich. That same flush has returned to her cheeks, and she doesn’t look you in the eye. It seems she doesn’t like her words being used against her. You press on.

“It may just be because I don’t know the whole story, but I’m a little surprised you see it that way, given what the Apples have done for Ponyville and your husband’s business. From what I’ve heard, it was the Apples who made the Zap Apple Jam that put both Ponyville and Barnyard Bargains on the map. Without the Apples, Filthy Rich might not have become the businesspony he is today. Ponyville might never have come to be. Just imagine.”

You flash Spoiled a smile, and, surprise surprise, she doesn’t return it. Her eyes are narrowed, and her teeth are bared.

“I’m not unaware, thank you very much,” she says, through gritted teeth. “I’m fully aware, and that’s the problem. The fact that my husband became a success because of a family of dirt-trotting, tree kicking apple farmers is an embarrassment I simply can’t abide. Any reasonable pony of wealth and rank would die of shame to know that the reason they have their money is because of ponies at the bottom of the social totem pole.” 

A new hot flash of anger surges through you at all of this, but again, you keep it down.

“And now my daughter’s become friends with their youngest, when I specifically told her not to fraternize with such low company, and if she must, then she should assert her superiority at every opportunity, especially when she hadn’t even gotten her cutie mark yet. I mean, honestly, if a pony her age couldn’t even earn her cutie mark when everypony in her class already had...”

She doesn’t finish, and yet again, you have to work hard to keep your temper in check. By the sound of it, she had specifically raised her daughter to torment Apple Bloom, just because she, Spoiled, resented her family for giving Filthy Rich his wealth in the first place. There was ingratitude, and then there was just being petty.

“I don’t see the problem with associating with the Apples, personally,” you say.

Spoiled shoots you a nasty glare, one that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a cockatrice, ready to turn you to stone...

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she hisses. “You have no idea of the kind of world I live in, the position my family and I hold, the image we carry in Ponyville, in all of Equestria! How could someone like you possibly understand?!”

You can’t help but feel intimidated by the venom in her voice. It’s almost as disconcerting as when Starlight divulged her dark past to you. Thankfully, Spoiled isn’t a unicorn, so there’s no danger of anger-induced magic possibly being used against you.

Nevertheless, you have an answer for her, one that’s been on your mind all the time you’ve lived in Manehattan.

“You’re right, Mrs. Rich. I don’t understand. I don’t know what drives ponies of a higher station in life, or those who believe they are, to obsess about the company around them, and what makes them treat others so poorly at times. I’ve seen it often enough in Manehattan: ponies acting like they’re better than others, just so they can bring them down or get what they want out of them. I’d like to understand why, but I don’t.”

Spoiled glares at you for another moment or two, but then, her expression gradually softens. This alteration in demeanor shocks you more than her sudden rage. She looks resigned, weary. She sighs, gazing down at the floor.

“Why is it so hard for anypony to understand?” she asks. “We’re Riches. It’s our destiny to climb the social ladder to the pinnacle of aristocracy. We’re meant to rub elbows with the elite of the elite, not the common folk. Even when I wasn’t a Rich yet, it was still the same. I have a reputation to maintain as a member of two wealthy families. Should I sully that by associating myself with farm ponies and common city folk? I would never be seen the same way again…”

She turns her head away from you, but you can still see her expression. There’s no trace of a sneer on her face. Instead, she looks sad, even lonely. 

You hardly know what to say to this. After listening to Spoiled speak so smugly and condescendingly, to now hear her sound so...vulnerable is very disquieting. All you can do is sit and stare at her, before she continues. 

“I even took special care to impress that on my daughter. If she’s to inherit the Rich family legacy, she needs to maintain the reputation of a wealthy pony. She’d only ruin it if she goes about fraternizing with ponies like those bl- er, former blank flanks. And now she’s forgetting everything I ever taught her. At least,” she added, quietly, “that’s how I saw it.”

It’s becoming clearer to you now. Now you’re getting a better picture of what makes this pony named Spoiled Rich tick, much as you doubted you ever could. She’s a victim of high expectations, and has been valuing her reputation and social standing over the way she treats other ponies.

It’s strange, but at the moment, you’re actually starting to...pity her. It doesn’t seem possible, but there it is. This is a pony who looks and behaves like everything you’ve come to resent about living in Manehattan, and you’re feeling sorry for her.

You almost feel like putting your hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but something tells you that she wouldn’t like that. Instead, you clear your throat, and say, quietly,

“I might not have personal experience with being from a wealthy or influential family, but I do know the stress of living up to ponies’ expectations. Ponies expect you to live your life a certain way, and you do what you can to appease them and fulfill that vision they have of you. I’ve had that happen to me. Being a human in a world of ponies isn’t easy.” 

She looks up at you, not with hostility or disdain, but a kind of sad curiosity. You wonder if, maybe, she wants to know more, but feels it beyond her dignity to ask.

“Even so,” you continue, “I’ve learned that what ponies see you as shouldn’t come from being mean and hurtful to others. I’ve had ponies try to make me believe that it’s everypony for themselves, to trample or be trampled, but that just never sat well with me. I want to be remembered for trying to do some good for ponies, even if it’s not something huge or spellbinding. I don’t want to be remembered as someone who treated everypony else like my inferiors. I didn’t want followers. I wanted friends.”

It’s ironic. You never expected to say so much that had been sitting in your heart about your life in Manehattan to somepony who reminded you of everything wrong with Manehattan. Still, there you are.

Something flickers in Spoiled’s eyes when you finish speaking. She stares off into space for a moment or two, looking as though she’s been reminded of something.

“Friends…” she mutters. “Something I don’t have…”

“Come again?” you ask.

“It’s what Diamond Tiara said to me when she spoke back to me,” says Spoiled. “The day she stood up for those three fillies. She wanted something I didn’t have: friends.”

You wince at this. Truthfully, you’d think it unlikely that many ponies would willingly call somepony like Spoiled Rich a friend, but given all the ponies she and her husband surrounded themselves with, surely there must be a pony or two. ...Isn’t there?

She seems to answer for you, however, in that same slow and distant voice.

“I have my husband and my daughter, and a circle of wealthy acquaintances...but when I think about it, I don’t think I could call them ‘friends’...I suppose I never really did have friends…Even when I was a filly, there seemed to just be foals chosen for me to associate with, because my parents knew theirs. I suppose my name didn’t help matters, before I was known as Spoiled Rich.”

“What was your name, if I may ask?” you ask, feeling wary about what the answer could be.

“Spoiled Milk.”

...She wasn’t serious, was she?

“...Spoiled...Milk?” you repeat, blankly.

“I know, it’s not the prettiest name,” says Spoiled, with a sigh, “and not one ponies would want to have among their friends. To this day, even I don’t know what my parents were thinking when they named me that. If I can be honest, I never really thought about it at length. All that mattered was that I did what was required of me: live wealthy, marry wealthy. That’s all I was told to care about.”

You nod slowly, comprehending.

“And you passed those beliefs on to your daughter,” you say.

She nods in turn, still not looking at you.

“...It’s all I’ve been thinking about, ever since that day. I still try to keep a bold face on when I’m out in public. Ponies do see me a certain way, after all, and I feel that I have to maintain that, even if it means...well, acting spoiled. It’s what they’ve come to expect, after all…”

There’s a definite note of bitterness at the end of this statement. It seems Spoiled is well aware of the way other ponies see her, and yet, she’s done nothing to try and change it. Perhaps she thinks it’s too late?...

“But inside, I’ve been wondering if I’ve been wrong all this time, and if they, Filthy and Diamond Tiara, have been right. I love them, of course, both of them. I only want what’s best for our family, and I thought I knew what it was. I thought I did.”

She falls silent after this, still gazing down at the floor, and you can see a wavering glimmer in her eyes. You’re starting to feel moved to tears yourself. You never would’ve expected this kind of emotional depth, this level of complexity, in a pony as openly spiteful as Spoiled Rich. And yet, here was proof to shatter your expectations. 

Here before you is a pony molded by strict and austere expectations, sent out into the world to live a certain way, to accomplish what her status mandated, and to distance herself emotionally from everypony else in the world, except those on her level.

Here, also, is a pony who’s scared and lonely on the inside, who knows no other way but that set before her by her family, who can’t even claim anypony as her friend, who wants to do right by the family she genuinely loves, but doesn’t know how.

“It’s not too late, Mrs. Rich,” you say, quietly.

She looks up slowly, meeting your gaze with hers, looking puzzled.

“I know it feels like you can’t go back and make a change, after everything you’ve done,” you say, “but it’s never too late to make amends.”

She continues to stare at you, a hint of doubt in her expression now. It doesn’t escape you.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you continue. “As you said, ponies have come to expect to see you a certain way, and changing it now might raise more than a few eyebrows. However, if you’re really serious about making an honest change in yourself, with time and effort, you can make it happen. I know at least one pony who didn’t think it was possible, and she’s living a much happier life than she used to after turning her way of thinking around.”

As you say this, you can’t help but wonder what Starlight would think hearing this, and if she might find a kind of kinship in a pony like Spoiled Rich. Then again, Spoiled hadn’t been ‘evil’ per se, as Starlight told you she herself had been, but it didn’t make what you’re saying any less true.

“If you feel unsure about it,” you say, “you can always talk to Princess Twilight. She is the Princess of Friendship, after all. I’m sure she and her friends would be more than happy to give you some guidance.”

You smile hopefully at her. She continues to stare up at you, the lingering doubt vanishing as she does so. Finally, she closes her eyes, sighs, then says,

“...I suppose you’re right. I’ve lived the way I have for so long. I don’t know if I can shake it off as easily as my little Diamond Tiara has...but I suppose it’s worth a try. I have her and Filthy in my life, so I could ask them as well. They know a lot more about dealing with ponies than I do.”

She laughs softly. It’s such a relief to see her gloom disappear that you can’t help but grin.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, then you glance at the clock. “There’s still some time left in this session. I know you said you didn’t really want any affection therapy, and I won’t force you to change your mind, but I just thought I’d ask if there’s anything you’d like before the hour’s up.”

Spoiled looks at you, then looks away again, blushing.

“There is one thing…” she mutters. “I feel utterly embarrassed to ask of it now, after how I’ve behaved today.”

“What is it?” you ask.

Her blush deepens.

“...I wouldn’t mind...a hug.”

You blink.

That’s all she wants? A hug?

...Well, nothing wrong with that.

“Certainly,” you say, kindly.

You gently open your arms out to her. She looks at you uncertainly for a moment, then shifts closer, so that she’s right beside you. You put your arms around her, and pull her close. She doesn’t seem very willing at first, or, at the very least, she isn’t sure how to proceed. You can’t help but wonder if she’s ever received a hug before. Surely she must have, from her husband and daughter at least. 

Eventually, you feel her relax, and she settles against you, resting her cheek against your chest. You don’t feel her hug you in return, but you weren’t really expecting her to. She seems to just want to be hugged, not hug in return. You don’t want to overwhelm her with any unnecessary pettings or anything extra. All she wanted was a hug, so she’s getting a hug. You look down at her, and see that her eyes are shut, and that her face has relaxed. She looks...contented, peaceful, as though a great weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. It’s the kind of expression you always tend to see in affection therapy patients, and it never ceases to melt your heart.

You hear the clock chime its five minute warning sometime later. Spoiled opens her eyes, and rather hurriedly straightens up. You release her, and she make a bit of a show of straightening her blouse and patting her mane. However, she can’t hide the effect the hug has had on her expression, which still looks more relaxed and complacent.

“I hope that hug was what you needed, Mrs. Rich,” you say.

“It...certainly was a new experience,” she says. “I’ve given hugs to Filthy and Diamond before, but...never with that much warmth. I had no idea...”

She genuinely seems at a loss. So it isn’t that she’s unfamiliar to hugs after all, just ones like yours. Still, it’s flattering to hear her actually compliment you like that, even in a roundabout way.

She holds out her hoof again. At first, you wonder if she wants to shake your hand. You grip it, and then all of a sudden, she hops down off the couch and trots toward the door.

You feel a little stunned, as well as annoyed. After all of that, after she poured her heart out and you had lent her an ear, after that hug, she wasn’t even going to say thank you? She couldn’t be relapsing already, could she?

She pauses at the door, turns to look at you, then says,

“I still think you have the potential to do more than, well, this, but if you’re making ponies happy...you must be doing something right.”

Then, to your inexpressible surprise, she smiles.

It’s a very small smile, but still a smile.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t say it very loud. You see her lips form the words, and you barely hear them spoken, but there’s no mistaking it.

Then, she opens the door and takes her leave.

You sit there, absolutely bemused. Had that really just happened? Did you actually earn gratitude from Spoiled Rich?

That had to be some kind of an achievement.

You shake your head to clear away the stupefaction, allowing a smile back on your face. She may not have been very expressive about it openly, but you can tell that she genuinely does appreciate you taking the time to be patient with her attitude, and to give her advice on how to live the better way she wants to. If even a pony like Spoiled Rich wants to live their life for the better, then there can truly be no shortage of miracles in Equestria.

Three appointments into your first day, and so much has happened already, and there’s still two ponies left to see today before the day’s out.
> Mrs. Cake
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not long after Spoiled Rich has departed, the clock chimes 3. You sit up straight on the couch, expecting your next client any second now, just like the others before them. You’re feeling both amazed and gratified over what’s happened so far, with the ponies you’ve helped up to this point, and hope to keep this momentum going.

However, the chimes of the clock die away, and no knock is heard at the door. A full minute passes, and the silence remains unbroken.

Your client is late.

This has never happened before. Even when you had informal sessions, the ponies you helped were always punctual. This is unprecedented.

Well, that’s not too big of a deal. Sometimes ponies are a little late to their appointments. It happens. There are factors to take into account that may delay them, after all. It’s no reason to be worried just yet.

The minutes creep by, and there’s still no sound at the door. Every second, you expect to hear the sound of an approaching pony, but nothing happens.

It’s now ten past 3, and you’re starting to feel a little anxious. It has nothing to do with the appointment itself being kept. You’re more worried about the client. What could be holding them up? Did something happen? Did they have an accident? There are factors to take into account that may delay them, but some may be more serious than others. You hope they’re all right.

“Maybe they’ve decided to chicken out. Maybe they made the appointment, but then thought about how silly it sounded, and canceled. Can’t fault them for a last-minute change of heart over something like this. You can’t win them all.”

You hate to admit it to yourself, but that’s certainly a possibility. Ponies are free to change their minds, after all, and it’s not your place to make their decisions for them. If something’s not their cup of tea, it’s not up to you to make them accept it. Still, the idea that a pony would sign up for affection therapy, then decide not to go through with it, is a little disheartening. Could it be because of you? It’s not a comforting thought to imagine so.

But even if they did cancel, who’s to say it’s because they don’t want the treatment in the first place? It’s just as likely that something else came up today that they hadn’t expected, and they’d be looking to reschedule for another day. Yes, that’s just as plausible. One has to account for the unexpected, whatever it may be. There’s no reason to fault yourself for it just now, without all the facts.

“You’re so naive. Always trying to latch onto any optimistic hope, even if the truth’s staring you in the face. Not every explanation’s happy and innocent, you know. Sometimes you’ve got to accept when it really is the worst-case scenario. You really are too soft for your own good, and so are these ponies for buying into this. Well, the ones who bother to show up, anyway.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head!” you snap, rapping the knuckles of your left fist against your forehead.

Why? Why do you have to keep hearing these words in your head? Are you going to go your whole life being haunted by these taunts, in his voice?...

All of a sudden, there’s a knock on the door, and your heart gives a leap of surprise. You straighten yourself back up, even though your forehead’s smarting a little, clear your throat, and say,

“Come in!”

The door opens, and Guest #4 of the day finally enters: Mrs. Cup Cake.

Mrs. Cake and her husband, Mr. Carrot Cake, are two ponies that everypony in Ponyville knows, just like Pinkie Pie. All three of them work in Sugarcube Corner, the town’s primary stop for sweet treats. It’s a great place to grab a tasty baked good, then sit down and chat a while with other customers. It always sees good business due to its convenience, its delicious wares, and its prompt, friendly service. You always make it a point to stop by at least once a week to see what’s new, sample their latest confections.

Mrs. Cake is a blue Earth pony with a mane and tail that look like silky swirls of pink cake frosting, which match her rose-pink eyes, as well as her spherical earrings. She’s quite curvy, with a round belly and a plump, dimple-cheeked face. This, combined with the apron she’s always attired in, gives her a very hospitable, motherly appearance. As she actually is a mother, it’s only fitting. However, she’s not wearing her apron today; possibly she left it back at home since she’d be going to the spa, but it is a bit odd to see her without it. Her cutie mark is a trio of cupcakes.

Mrs. Cake is the sort of pony who any young foal would be lucky to have for a mother: very kind and doting, always greeting others with a sunny smile and a fresh-baked treat. Combined with the polite and friendly demeanor of Mr. Cake, Sugarcube Corner is always a pleasant place to hang out. You sometimes see them outside the shop as well, out on a stroll with their adorable twin foals, Pound Cake and Pumpkin Cake. Strangely, while their parents are Earth ponies, the two foals are a pegasus and unicorn. No one seems to question it, though. Pony genetics seems to be a subject you’ll never understand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cake,” you say.

“Hello, dearie,” says Mrs. Cake. “Good to see you. I’m so sorry I’m late. There was a last-minute order put in just as Carrot and I were about to leave for the spa, and we had to leave the instructions with Pinkie.”

Aha. So it was an innocent hold-up, as you’d expected.

“No worries at all,” you say. “Some things are unavoidable, I know. We should still have plenty of time.”

Mrs. Cake smiles gratefully, and her eyes encounter the plate of cookies on the table.

“Oh! You made cookies for your guests!” she says, delighted. “Well, isn’t that a funny coincidence. Here I thought I was the only one bringing treats.”

She laughs, and it’s only then that you notice the box perched on her back. A strong, sweet smell is coming from it, and there seems to be a bundle of napkins fastened to the top of it with a rubber band.

“That is quite the coincidence,” you say, chuckling. “You can set that right on the table here, if you’d like.”

Mrs. Cake does so, popping the lid off as she does so. Inside are half a dozen cupcakes, topped with chocolate icing.

“Those look delicious,” you say.

“Thank you,” says Mrs. Cake. “They’re peanut butter cupcakes with chocolate icing, one of our best-selling recipes.”

“Very nice,” you say, approvingly.

“Would you like one now?”

Would you? How could you possibly refuse?

“Well, don’t mind if I do!” you say, eagerly.

You reach over, pick one from out of the box, and take a big bite. As someone who loves both chocolate and peanut butter, the result is an absolute explosion of deliciousness in your mouth. Before you know it, the cupcake is gone, and your face is besmirched with frosting.

“I guess that means you liked it,” says Mrs. Cake, with an amused titter, as she hands you a napkin.

“Liked it?” you echo, wiping your face clean. “I loved it! Sugarcube Corner always makes the best treats.”

Mrs. Cake beams at the compliment. 

“Well, then,” you say, as you put the napkin aside, “if you’d like to join me up here, Mrs. Cake, we can get started.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Bracing her front hooves on the couch, Mrs. Cake heaves herself up onto it, although it looks like it takes a bit of effort from her, as she sits back and wipes her brow.

“Whew,” she breathes. “I came here as quickly as I could, so I’m a little bit winded. I was never in the best shape, even when I was younger, so I’m not used to doing a lot of running. You’d think keeping up with two energetic foals would make me a bit fitter, but I guess not, when I’m still surrounded by so many sweets.”

She pats her protruding stomach with a good-humored chuckle, and you can’t help but smile as well. Pinkie was certainly right; she really does take her larger size in stride, and seems quite proud of it, too. It’s something she certainly shares with her plump pink protege. It reminds you of something you once heard, though you don’t remember who it was from: ‘ponies who love to eat are always the best ponies’. Well, the ones you’ve met with good appetites, like Pinkie, Applejack, and Mrs. Cake, are all amiable and friendly.

“So, Mrs. Cake,” you say, “you’ve decided to give affection therapy a try.”

“I certainly have,” says Mrs. Cake. “I heard Pinkie talking about it, and it got me curious. Helping ponies relax and feel better through ear scratching and belly rubs? Well, it does certainly sound like the kind of thing she’d be excited about. Well, when we heard the spa advertising that they’d be offering it as a service, I knew I had to see it for myself, so I signed up as soon as I could. Lucky I did,” she adds, with a friendly wink. “Your sign-up sheet filled up pretty fast, I think.”

“Quite a surprise, believe me,” you say, modestly. “I guess I didn’t really think about how many ponies would be into it, to necessitate a waiting list.”

Mrs. Cake merely smiles at this.

“So, since you know how affection therapy works,” you go on, “I feel I should ask: has anything been troubling you lately? Of course, it’s not just for the troubled and stressed, specifically. It’s for any and everyone.”

Mrs. Cake pauses, a slight frown creasing her amiable face. She looks as though something’s on her mind, and she’s on the verge of saying it, but she gives herself a little shake.

“Oh, no, nothing troubling, really,” she says, casually. “Carrot and I just need some time at the spa every now and again, after everything we have to do all day. It gets very busy and very tiring.”

“Ah, that’s right, you said Mr. Cake was here, too,” you say.

“Yes. He settled for a massage, while I decided to give affection therapy a try. He’s a bit more comfortable with what he’s familiar with, so he wasn’t sure about signing himself up for a session just yet.”

“Perfectly understandable,” you say.

You have noticed that it’s largely been mares who’ve been actively willing to participate in affection therapy. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but you can’t help but wonder if there are any stallions who would be willing to give it a try for themselves. Perhaps they’re put off by some of the techniques, thinking them too cutesy for their liking, but that didn’t stop Spike and Big Mac from getting ear scratches at the very least. You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see how things pan out.

“But I can understand why you’d both need some time away,” you say. “Even if it’s doing something you love, it must get pretty busy at Sugarcube Corner.”

“Very busy,” says Mrs. Cake. “Some days can be a bit slower and easier to deal with, but usually, we’ve got a lot of customers popping by for treats, or else some heavy orders for catering. All three of us have our hooves full on days like that. Carrot and I have all of our baking and catering on top of taking care of Pound and Pumpkin. Like you said, we’re doing what we love, but it can be a bit much at times.”

“That’s right, your twins,” you say, recollecting. “Keeping up with them on top of everything else, I can’t even imagine.”

“Well, thankfully, we’ve got Pinkie Pie to help with that,” says Mrs. Cake. “She handles all of what we can’t do at the time for us, on top of her occasional adventures to save Equestria or help out somepony in need. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

“She’s a remarkable pony,” you say, nodding.

“She truly is,” says Mrs. Cake, fondly. “Ever since she first came to Ponyville as a little filly, we’ve always felt like she’s been part of the family. Carrot and I had always thought about having children, you know, and Pinkie’s been as good as a daughter to us.”

Now that’s an unbelievably sweet thing to hear. You can certainly see that kind of bond being possible between Pinkie and her employers. You’ve never met Pinkie’s biological family, though you’ve often heard her sing the praises of her older sister, Maud. To have both blood relatives and a surrogate family must be wonderful. It makes you wish you had had something like that growing up...

“Sometimes I worry, though.”

You give a start. Mrs. Cake’s words have stirred you out of your momentary reverie. You can see that the smile has vanished from her face, to be replaced by a preoccupied frown. It’s the same expression that was on her face when you asked if anything was troubling her.

“About what?” you ask.

“That we don’t show Pinkie the appreciation she deserves.”

You blink in surprise. How could she be worried about that, given how close they all are?

“What would make you think that?” you ask.

Mrs. Cake sighs.

“Well, like I said, she has to deal with so much. She’s one of the ponies who represents the Elements of Harmony. She’s helped save Ponyville and Equestria at least a dozen times by now, and she’ll probably keep on doing it, and each time, she comes back with a big smile on her face, as though she just went away on a vacation.”

That’s certainly true. Even you sometimes wonder how Twilight and the others are still able to lead relatively normal lives, while they’re the ponies who routinely keep Equestria safe from harm on a semi-regular basis. It must get exhausting after a while, and yet you’d never think so, from the way they act.

“And then there’s all that she does with throwing parties for everypony,” Mrs. Cake goes on. “There’s always something to celebrate in Ponyville at least once a week, so she’s constantly planning for birthday parties, cuteceneras, holidays, and other events. She has a whole system set up to keep track of what everypony likes at the parties she throws, so that they’re just right whenever she throws them.” 

“Wow,” you say, impressed. “She’s got quite the organized mind to keep up on everypony’s party preferences.”

“Absolutely,” says Mrs. Cake. “Sometimes she even makes up her own reasons to throw a celebration, when there isn’t a particular one to celebrate. It’s the sweetest thing, seeing her come up with her own holidays, just so she can surprise her friends. She especially loves baking pies for Rainbow Dash.”

“Is that so?” you ask. “Rainbow must really love pies. I know I do, whenever she’s gifted me with one.”

Mrs. Cake nods with a small smile.

“But in any case, with everything that she does for Equestria and Ponyville, she still manages to find time to help out at Sugarcube Corner. Like I said, we can get pretty swamped with catering orders or lines at the counter, but Pinkie always finds a way to chip in and make it easier. She’ll hop up to the counter to deal with orders and chat with the customers while we handle the catering, or watch the foals when we’re too busy to. She is our go-to babysitter, after all.”

“Wow,” you say. “I knew Pinkie was talented, but I never imagined she did so much.”

“I don’t know how she does it all,” says Mrs. Cake. “She’s got so much on her plate, and she still keeps that sweet smile on her face, like it’s nothing, without asking for anything in return.”

Yes. Pinkie’s very modest that way. You once heard her say that ‘a smile’s the perfect pay for a party well done’. All she wants in return for what she does is the knowledge that she’s made ponies happy. It’s a very touching and compassionate sentiment. You’d certainly never seen anything like that back in Manehattan, where the philosophy of ‘what goes around comes around’ usually lent itself to mutual ill feeling and squabbles.

“It’s why I worry, sometimes,” Mrs. Cake continues, “that Carrot and I don’t do enough to show how much we appreciate her for everything she does, not just for us, but for all of Ponyville. We all love her so much. We’ve never really said it to her, of course, since she has got a family of her own, but we do think of Pinkie as our daughter, and of course, Pound and Pumpkin adore her to pieces. I just want to be sure she knows just how loved she is, but I don’t know what would be enough to say so, after all that she’s done. What do you give to a pony who’s given everything and asked for nothing in return?”

You think you feel something in your eye, and a sudden tightness in your throat. Your vision suddenly goes blurry. It’s touching to hear so much heartfelt devotion from someone as full of motherly care and affection as Mrs. Cake. It stirs something in your memory, something you hadn’t recollected in a long time, something from your days before you even lived in Manehattan.

Something...bittersweet.

“I’m gonna be the best human Equestria’s ever seen, Mom! When I come back, I’ll even have my own cutie mark! Just you wait and see!”

“Dear? Are you all right?”

With a sniff, you look down. Through your blurred eyes, you can see Mrs. Cake looking up at you, concerned. She’s also laid her hoof on your arm, the way a mother would to comfort a child. You hurriedly wipe your eyes and clear your throat.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, shakily. “It’s just...hearing you talk about Pinkie like that...really touched my heart. She’s lucky to have ponies like you and Mr. Cake, who have her best interests at heart.”

Mrs. Cake still looks mildly concerned, and keeps her hoof kindly on your arm. She’s clearly been a mother too long not to realize when someone’s trying to cover something up, though she also doesn’t seem to want to press the point, much as she’d like to know. 

It’s tough pulling yourself together again after that, but somehow, with a deep breath, and another clearing of the throat, you manage to get your voice back to its natural tone, and though you can still feel where the tears had been on your cheeks, your eyes feel normal again. You have to keep your composure. This isn’t a therapy session for yourself, after all.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Pinkie, Mrs. Cake,” you say. “I understand the feeling, worrying that what you do might not feel like enough, even if you really mean it. For someone as giving and easy to please as Pinkie, I’m sure that just knowing the ponies she helps are happy is a good reminder of how much she means to everypony.”

Mrs. Cake looks thoughtful at this, the worry ebbing away from her face. 

“If you still feel like you want to show her how much you love her,” you continue, “I’m sure something as simple as doing something she really likes would be enough. It could be as simple as making her favorite treat and surprising her with it.”

At these words, Mrs. Cake’s expression lights up, and she smiles brightly.

“Yes,” she says. “Of course! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. What a fretful filly I’ve been. Here I was, worried that nothing would be good enough to show Pinkie our appreciation, when something simple is just as good. It’s just like it says in ‘A Hearth’s Warming Tail’: it’s not what the gift is that matters, it’s what the gift means.”

Now there’s something you hadn’t heard quoted in a long time, though it’s quite appropriate. You still make it a yearly thing to read that story at Hearth’s Warming Eve.

“Of course,” you say. “And one small thing does go a long way to making a big difference. I mean, I never would’ve thought a few ear scratches and belly rubs would lead to where I am, but here we are.”

“Oh! That’s true!”

Mrs. Cake laughs richly, and you can’t help but join in as well. She has such a jolly laugh, pleasant to listen to, the laugh that makes everything feel ten times funnier than it really is. Once you’ve both laughed to your heart’s content, you look up at the clock. It’s barely half-past by now.

“Speaking of,” you say, “we do still have some time left. Was there anything particular you wanted out of this session?”

Mrs. Cake wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes, and a faint blush colors her blue cheeks.

“Oh, well,” she says, “there is something, but it’s a silly thing, really.”

“Nothing’s too silly for affection therapy,” you say, tapping her nose gently. “What is it?”

Mrs. Cake fiddles with one earring with her hoof, looking down at her hind hooves, before finally speaking up again. It’s surprising to see her act this bashful.

“Well, I did bring these cupcakes along to apologize for being late, but I wouldn’t mind trying some of those cookies you have there. They do look tasty. Maybe with a nice long hug or a tummy rub to go with them.” she adds, in a quieter tone, the blush deepening. “It feels kind of silly, asking at my age, and to someone younger than I am.”

“It’s not silly at all,” you reassure her. “It’s your session, and that can easily be done.”

You both make a shift in your positions, so that Mrs. Cake is sitting with her back against your torso, your arms across her barrel, the plate of cookies beside you. She’s probably the heaviest pony you’ve had resting against you, which you’d previously thought was Applejack, with her combination of muscle and pudge. She’s a very soft, cuddly sort of bulky, though, and her mane smells sweet and sugary. You look down at her, and she smiles up at you.

“Comfy?” you ask.

“Yes, thank you, dear.”

With one arm, you reach for a cookie on the plate, grab a nice big one, and hold it up to her muzzle. She takes a bite out of it, considers it for a second, gives a delighted ‘Mmmm!’ and snaps up the rest from your fingers, licking the crumbs from her lips.

“Scrumptious!” she says. “Is this Pinkie’s recipe?”

“It is indeed,” you say. “Did she make it herself, or did she get it from you?”

“She made a few tweaks to my original recipe,” says Mrs. Cake. “Honestly, I think her take on them is quite a bit better. I’d say the student’s surpassed the teacher there.”

She laughs again. It’s delightful that the slightest thing can inspire her to break out that lovely laugh. She’s such a jolly pony.

With one hand on cookie duty, the other hand gets to work rubbing Mrs. Cake’s belly. Just like Pinkie’s, it feels very doughy and cushy, yet also soft and pillow-like. You can’t help but imagine little Pound and Pumpkin napping against her stomach after a long day, while she cradles them to her, singing a lullaby. It perfectly fits the motherly image she carries with her.

“How does that feel?” you ask her, after a time.

“Mmm...very soothing,” she murmurs. 

You can feel her nestling against you, settling in from the feeling of the rub. It’s remarkable how even a pony her age can be reduced to a foal-like state of contentment from such a simple gesture.

“Sometimes, when Pinkie’s feeling really sick, I rub her tummy while she’s lying in bed, and it’s always helped her feel better. She offered to do the same for me when I got sick, but I told her she didn’t need to. Now I see how it feels.”

“Belly rubs are very popular with affection therapy clients,” you say. “Maybe even more so than ear scratches.”

Mrs. Cake giggles, just before she takes a bite out of another cookie.

“It’s easy to see why,” she says, after swallowing. “It’s very relaxing, especially for a pony as big as I am.”

“You’re not that big, Mrs. Cake,” you assure her, and it’s true. You’d seen ponies bigger than her, even if only once or twice.

“Oh, you’re sweet,” says Mrs. Cake, kindly, patting your wrist, “but I know I’m not the skinniest of ponies. Getting tired out just getting here is proof enough. Plus, it’s getting a little harder for me to go everywhere that Pound and Pumpkin want me to play with them. A few days ago, we all went to the park, where there was a playhouse for foals. They wanted me to join them inside, but I could only get halfway through the door. I just had to sit there, half in and half out, playing with them, all the while worried that I was going to stay stuck.”

“Oh dear,” you say.

You have a brief mental image of Mrs. Cake’s bottom half sticking out of a playhouse door, while her top half is inside, having a tea party with her foals. Something about it makes you think of bears and rabbits, for some reason.

“Carrot and Pinkie managed to pull me out by the end, though,” says Mrs. Cake, “and we all had a good laugh about it.”

“That’s good,” you say. “I’ve known quite a few mares back in Manehattan who weren’t comfortable with being the size that they are, even if they didn’t look that big to begin with. They’d never shut up about these crazy diets that they intended to go on. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be fit, of course, but ponies should be able to feel happy with who they are, and not feel like they need to change.”

“Exactly what I think, dear,” says Mrs. Cake, nodding. “Pleasantly plump, and proud to be. That’s what I always say.”

You smile at this, and continue to rub Mrs. Cake’s belly, while she settles in more comfortably. You offer another cookie to her, and she nibbles it down more slowly than before. Perhaps she’s getting full. She seems more content to just sit against you, enjoying the soothing sensation.

After a time, you pick up another cookie, but as you hold it to her muzzle, she shakes her head sleepily.

“I think that’s enough cookies, honey,” she says. “They’re very tasty, but I’m already getting full.”

“No trouble at all,” you say, giving her stomach a pat. “Do you want me to keep rubbing, or did you say you wanted a hug, too?”

“Mm, yes, that sounds lovely,” she says, sounding drowsy. “I wouldn’t mind a hug.”

She twists herself around so that her belly is resting against you, and she puts her forelegs around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and her cheeks against yours. You reciprocate in kind, putting your arms about her and holding her close. You feel and hear her sigh in deep contentment as she settles in. It’s a very warm, cozy feeling, the two of you sitting there, nestled up against each other.

It also feels...familiar.

“I’ll come back, Mom, I promise! I’ll tell you all about Equestria, and then we can all live there together!”

Your throat feels tight again, and your eyes are starting to sting, but you fight hard to keep it together. This is Mrs. Cake’s session, after all. You can’t bog it down with your own reminiscenses. You tighten your hug around her a little bit, almost without thinking, and you feel her return the pressure, giving you a gentle nuzzle on the cheek. Does she know?...

The clock is soon chiming the five-minute warning. Mrs. Cake releases her hold around you, and you do as well. She pulls away to smile up at you.

“Thank you, dearie,” she says. “Not just for the therapy session, but for the talk. I know just what to do for Pinkie now, and I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Mrs. Cake,” you say, smiling back. “That’s what affection therapy’s all about: providing for everypony’s needs in their time of need.”

Mrs. Cake’s smile fades a little, and she looks a bit more serious.

“Are you doing the same for your needs as well?” she asks.

You feel as though something drops into the pit of your stomach. Her dark-pink eyes seem to be boring into your own, as though she’s trying to ride your mind.

“I can tell something’s bothering you, dear,” she continues. “I saw it earlier, when we were talking about Pinkie, and I could feel it during that hug. Call it a mother’s intuition.”

It looks like you really were that obvious. You can’t think of anything to say.

“I won’t pry, of course,” says Mrs. Cake, “but I do think you should talk to somepony about it. It’s not healthy to keep sad feelings bottled up. Even therapists need somepony to confide in, after all.”

Again, you can think of nothing to say. However, Mrs. Cake doesn’t seem bothered by this, as, with a gentle smile, she gives you another squeeze of a hug, then pats you on the cheek with her hoof. 

“Just give it some thought,” she says. “All right?”

After a pause, you nod.

“I will,” you say.

“Good,” says Mrs. Cake. “Thanks again, dearie. See you soon.”

You manage to smile again.

“You too, Mrs. Cake.”

She hops off the couch, walks to the door, and opens it up, just as a lanky yellow Earth pony stallion with an orange mane and a square jaw appears outside. It’s Mr. Cake.

“Oh!” says Mrs. Cake, pleasantly surprised. “All done, sweetheart?”

“Just finished, sugarplum,” he said. “You too?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve got a good idea of what we can do for Pinkie, thanks to our friend here.”

Mr. Cake peers inside the room, sees you, and gives you a friendly smile. You wave in return, smiling back. Husband and wife take their leave together, closing the door behind them.

You sit there, feeling dazed. Mrs. Cake’s words are still ringing in your head.

“I can tell something’s bothering you, dear…”

“You should talk to somepony about it…”

“It’s not healthy to keep sad feelings bottled up…”

“Even therapists need somepony to confide in, after all…”

You know she’s right, but you’re not sure what you can do. Who can you talk to? You’d never told anypony about your past, beyond a few details about living in Manehattan. You hadn’t even told Rose, and you feel a guilty squirm in your stomach at the thought. What are you supposed to say, though, and who can you say it to?

How do you describe the events that led you to Equestria in the first place, and how they brought you to Ponyville?...

You give your head a shake, trying to clear it. You make a mental promise to tell somepony about all of this, to get it off your chest, but it has to be the right pony, and at the right time, and right now, you have no idea who or when. For now, though, you need to concentrate on your final affection therapy patient for the day, and as you make everything look nice and neat again, with both cookies and cupcakes sitting front and center, you wonder if this last client will give you as much food for thought as Mrs. Cake just did.
> Cadance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 o’clock draws ever closer, and you’re almost giddy with anticipation, your mind still buzzing. In the span of one afternoon, you’ve offered guidance and comfort to two best friends whose relationship had turned rocky, given one of the most entitled ponies in Ponyville someone to talk to, and perhaps helped her turn her life around, and had experienced emotions you hadn’t felt in a long time, making the last session feel just as much for you as for the pony it was meant for. Each time, you wondered what could happen to top it, and now, as you approach the final session for the day, you hardly know what to expect at this point.

The clock chimes 4, and as the last note fades away, somepony knocks at the door.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, and a pony you don’t recognize steps in. Whoever they are, they’ve enveloped themselves in a dark-red trench coat that extends to the hooves, keeping their cutie mark obscured as well. A broad-brimmed hat hides their mane, and a pair of dark sunglasses covers their eyes. You can’t help but stare in surprise, as you’ve never seen somepony go to such lengths to keep their identity hidden. However, you shake it off, clear your throat, and say, politely,

“Good afternoon. Your name is...Cadenza, I believe?”

At least, that’s what it says on the appointments sheet. The mystery pony gives a soft laugh.

“That’s right,” they say, in an unmistakably female voice, “though my full name is Mi Amore Cadenza.”

There’s a flare of bluish light, and the coat, hat, and sunglasses are whisked off in a twinkling. You give a start at such an abrupt disrobing, even though ponies tend to go around without clothes in the first place. 

That, however, is nothing compared to the shock you receive upon recognizing the pony underneath the disguise. Your jaw feels ready to drop straight to the floor, and quite possibly even further down. You can’t believe your eyes.

It’s none other than Princess Cadance herself!

An alicorn princess, the Princess of the Crystal Empire, at that, is standing in your very office!

You’ve never been granted an audience with any of the princesses before, never having a pretext for it. Well, of course, there’s Twilight, but she’s very casual about her status as a princess, and never insists on others treating her any differently, so that it’s often easy to forget she’s even royalty. You’ve also thought you had caught glimpses of Princess Luna while you were dreaming, but these moments have been very fleeting, and never distinct. As for Princess Celestia, you’ve only caught glimpses of her, and have never met with her in person. Twilight had been the one to handle the affairs surrounding your therapy license with her. You’ve never been given the indescribable honor of having a princess of a whole kingdom standing before you, let alone going to the trouble of coming to you in disguise.

She’s closer to your height than any pony you’ve ever met, except perhaps Big Macintosh. She’s also quite thin, even more so than the slimmest mares you’ve ever met, making them look a bit chubby in comparison. As an alicorn, she, like Twilight, has both the horn of a unicorn and the wings of a pegasus. Her coat is pale pink, with the feathers on her wings turning purple at the tips. Her long mane and tail are violet, dark pink, and pale yellow, and end in delicate curls at the ends. Her eyes are a light shade of purple, and unlike most mares, who have a rounded muzzle, hers is squared. Her cutie mark is a heart made of blue crystal, surrounded by golden brackets. However, her royal finery, including her crown, necklace, and shoes, are missing.

While you’ve never met Princess Cadance, you have heard a few details about her, mainly from Twilight. After all, who would be a better source of insight on a princess than another princess, especially when they’re in-laws?

Cadance used to be Twilight’s foalsitter when she was a filly, and is currently married to Twilight’s older brother, Shining Armor, the former Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard. The two rule the once-vanished Crystal Empire, after it was liberated from the menace of King Sombra, and are most recently the proud parents of the first alicorn born in Equestria, making Twilight an aunt. You’ve seen pictures of this baby, named Flurry Heart, and have personally concluded that she is absolutely adorable, though her wings are very large compared to the rest of her. Besides that, Twilight never failed to stress that Cadance was one of the prettiest, kindest, and most caring ponies she had ever known.

You find yourself standing up very abruptly from the couch, only to sink onto one knee, bowing your head low. To all appearances, you’re getting ready to be knighted.

“P-Princess Cadance!” you splutter. “I...You...This...I-I don’t know what to say!”

“Shhh!”

You look up. Cadance casts a quick look at the door, as though she’s worried somepony is eavesdropping. She looks back at you with a slightly anxious expression, not so much annoyed as wary.

“Not so loud, please,” she says, quietly. “I don’t want anypony overhearing that I’m here. I came in disguise and used a pseudonym for a reason. Princesses don’t exactly go waltzing down the street in broad daylight on a normal day.”

She has a point there. She also has a very lovely, soothing voice. Not only that, but you can see what Twilight meant about her nature. She has a very kind, gentle face, the face of a devoted caregiver. Well, she was one for Twilight as a foalsitter, and now she is for her new baby. 

Somehow, the combination of her face and voice eases the tension of being in the same room with a princess, and your brain jumpstarts back into semi-working order. You stand up, though your legs are still a bit shaky.

“D-Don’t worry,” you say, still stumbling a little over your words. “This office is m-magically soundproofed, to provide protection from distractions as much as possible. Your s-secret’s safe with me..”

Cadance smiles.

“That’s good to hear,” she says. “Very considerate for your clients. Twilight’s work, I’m guessing?”

“Y-Yes.”

“She always was a genius when it came to tricky spells,” says Cadance, fondly.

You can’t argue with that. Still, the most pressing question of all is still on your mind, and you feel that it needs to be asked.

“T-To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Your Highness?” you ask, unable to refrain from giving another bow. “Having a princess visit is an indescribable honor, but very unexpected.”

Cadance giggles. Apparently, she’s finding this awkwardness amusing.

“You’re very kind,” she says, “but please, just call me Cadance.”

“As you wish, Prin- er, Cadance. Please, have a seat.”

You gesture towards the couch, then stand beside it without sitting down. As Cadance approaches, you hold out your hand. With a gracious smile, she lays her dainty hoof in your palm, and you help her ascend the couch before sitting beside her. Her gaze falls upon the treats still sitting on the table.

“Ooh! Cookies and cupcakes?” she says, intrigued. “You really do know how to spoil your clients.”

You grin bashfully.

“Well, I only brought the cookies,” you mumble. “The cupcakes are from Mrs. Cake.”

“Oh, really? How wonderful! That was very generous of her to send you some.”

“I quite agree.”

“May I?” she asks, pointing to the treats.

“Oh, yes!” you say. “Please, do! As much as you like!”

Smiling, Cadance levitates both a cookie and cupcake toward her in her magic. She takes a dainty bite of each, as though to test their flavors, and when it’s apparent that they’re both much to her liking, she finishes them up with gusto. She licks her lips to get the crumbs and frosting dotting them, then uses a napkin to get the rest.

“Delicious,” she says. “I had no doubt the cupcake would be, if it was from Mrs. Cake, but you’ve got some excellent cookie skills.”

“Thank you,” you say, humbly. “It’s Pinkie Pie’s recipe.”

“Ah, of course,” says Cadance. “She’s quite the treat-maker herself. I’ve always loved sweets, though you probably can’t tell just by looking at me.”

She puts a hoof to her flat belly.

“Celestia and Luna are the same, really,” she says. “They’ve both got pretty big appetites. You need one when you attend royal feasts and banquets, not to mention all the cake Celestia eats, but they never look like they gain a pound afterwards. I guess alicorns are just meant to be tall and skinny when they get old enough. I think Twilight feels a little envious about it, honestly. She told me she feels fat looking at us, but I’ve told her she shouldn’t worry about the shape she’s in. She’s perfect the way she is.”

“She certainly is,” you say.

You’re definitely feeling a lot more at ease around Cadance now that she’s made herself comfortable. It’s still a wild feeling to be talking so casually with another princess, but the shock has begun wearing off little by little.

“So, Cadance,” you say, “you’re interested in affection therapy?”

“I am!” says Cadance, brightly. “Twilight told me all about it, how she was helping a human start a revolutionary new practice in Ponyville. Celestia confirmed it with me when she said she’d given her royal approval to appoint Equestria’s first-ever affection therapist. In her last letter, Twilight said that that same therapist would be starting at the Ponyville spa. The opportunity seemed perfect, so I decided to sign up, under a pseudonym, of course. Nopony would believe I was here for anything but important business if they saw me as I was. Such is the way of royalty, I’m afraid.”

“I suppose so,” you say. “I’m afraid someone like me wouldn’t know what that feels like. No one exactly comes running to greet you when you’re a human surrounded by ponies. I’ve certainly never had that happen to me.”

You try to say this as casually as possible, and yet the slightest hint of bitterness seeps into your tone as you say this. Cadance gives you a quizzical look, but doesn’t say anything.

“I have to say,” you continue, “I’m a little surprised that a princess like yourself would choose something as simple as affection therapy. I was under the impression that you already had royal masseuses or the like to ease away the stress of a day on the throne.”

“Well, I do,” says Cadance, “but I was in the mood to try something different. I love living in the Crystal Empire, but for me, life’s become a little…”

She pauses, waving her hoof vaguely as she tries to find the right word to use.

“Tiring?” you ask, helpfully.

“That’s one word for it,” says Cadance. “Tiring, predictable, even, dare I say it, downright boring. Everypony thinks the life of a princess is full of glamor and splendor, being able to do whatever you want, sitting in the lap of luxury, as whatever you decide what to do for your kingdom becomes law the second you speak it. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy being a princess, and it greatly warms my heart to know that ponies look up to me, but there’s days when I just want to be a pony, and not just a princess. I have a life outside the throne room, with my amazing husband and darling foal, and I feel like I don’t get to indulge in that life as much as I’d like.”

Hearing her speak so frankly about the caveats that come with a royal life is rather surprising, and yet quite refreshing. She may be one of the rulers of an entire empire, but she’s also a wife and mother who just wants to have some measure of domestic normalcy in her life. It really does remind you a lot of Twilight.

“Sure, I think I can understand that,” you say. “I’d imagine anyone would feel overwhelmed from living the life of a celebrity for too long. I guess I never really thought about it at great length, and it’s just one of those things many of us tend to take for granted when we fantasize. The only celebrities I’ve ever known are Twilight and her friends, and to all appearances, they all live normal lives, apart from the adventures they go on.”

“Exactly,” says Cadance. “Twilight’s told me before that she was lucky to have me as a foalsitter, and now feels even luckier to have me as a sister-in-law, but in all honesty, I’m the one who feels truly lucky to have her in my life. She’s never let the fact that she’s a hero of Equestria go to her head. She’s remained as kind and as humble as she was when I foalsat for her, when she thought she was just a ‘regular old unicorn’.”

Well, you’ve never known Twilight when she was a unicorn, but you find it both astonishing and amusing that any creature blessed with magical powers could ever think to consider themselves ‘regular’. The glowing praise Cadance has for her, as well as the fondness with which she brought up Shining Armor and Flurry Heart makes you feel pretty warm inside as well.

“Oh, but, listen to me just ramble on like that,” says Cadance, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I came here to try out a new type of therapy, not talk my therapist’s ear off.”

“Nonsense,” you say. “Nothing wrong with wanting to talk. It’s your session, after all. I had one client in here earlier who only really needed someone to talk to, along with a hug. So, whatever you want done during your time here is up to you.”

Cadance smiles at you. It’s a very kind, sisterly smile, and makes the warmth inside you redouble.

“Well, the first thing Twilight mentioned when talking about affection therapy was ear scratches. I’d love to start with that and see what it’s like.”

“Certainly,” you say, brightly. “And please, make yourself comfortable, if you’d prefer to have it while sitting or lying down.”

Cadance settles herself more comfortably against the back part of the couch, giving her shoulders a cute little shimmy as she snuggles in deeper. Reaching up, and still hardly believing you’re doing this for a princess, you start gently rubbing the base of her ear. She doesn’t display the look of surprise, followed by the dreamily slackened expression that ponies normally show at the sensation. Instead, her eyes close gradually, her smile becomes a little more pronounced, and she sighs softly.

“That feels wonderful,” she murmurs. “All of the trips I’ve made to the royal spa, and I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Nopony ever seems to have felt anything like it before. That’s why the sensation always comes across as a surprising yet pleasant feeling for them. You’ve yet to meet a pony who doesn’t like the feeling of a good scritch behind the ears. Not yet, anyway.

As Cadance soaks in the feeling as you continue, you reach up with your other hand and stroke her chin. Her other ear flicks, and she gives a soft ‘mmmm’. Then, her head tilts, not upwards, as ponies usually do when given a chin scratch, but sideways, so that her cheek is resting against your shoulder. 

This is a rather rare reaction, as the only other pony who’s ever done that outside of a hug is Rose, and that was from the first time you gave her a chin scratch. You’re a bit wary of her horn, but she seems conscious enough to make sure it doesn’t poke you, even if it is rather close within your field of vision. Unprecedented as it is, you decide to roll with it, and continue to rub beneath her chin. She snuggles in deeper, one hoof draped over your free arm. Her voluminous mane gives off a very sweet scent, something that reminds you of both flowers and candy, though it’s hard to pin down which one distinctly.

Eventually, you ease off, and almost as if that were the trigger, she slowly slides down until she’s lying across your lap. The jolt seems to have awakened her, as her eyes flutter, and she turns until she’s on her back, looking up at you with her hooves tucked to her chest. No matter how many times you see ponies in this pose, it never gets any less cute, even if it’s from a princess.

“I hope I didn’t startle you by stopping,” you say.

“Oh, no, not at all,” she says. “I’m feeling in the mood for a belly rub anyways.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” you say, grinning, punctuating it with a tap on the nose.

She giggles, scrunching her muzzle up, then boops you in return, not just with one hoof, but both, one after the other.

“What was that?” you ask, laughing.

“A royal double-boop,” says Cadance, playfully. “Shining Armor came up with it one day when he was playing with Flurry. He booped her nose, and she booped him with both hooves, so we named it the royal double-boop.”

“Very cute,” you say, approvingly, and she smiles.

You lay your hand on her slender middle and began gently rubbing up and down. She is, by far, the skinniest pony you’ve ever given a belly rub to, even compared to ponies like Rose or Rarity. However, there’s a very soft, almost downy feel to her smooth coat, which leads you to wonder what kind of beauty products royals use to keep them looking so pretty and clean. There are several ponies here in Ponyville, especially those who frequent the spa, who seem to have softer and brighter coats than other ponies, though the distinction is only just visible.

Cadance’s eyes close as you begin rubbing, and she nestles in deeper across your lap. Once again, the fact that the pony displaying this foal-like behavior is the princess of an entire kingdom is astounding. It’s true what she said: at the end of the day, princesses are ponies like any other, and they want to be able to enjoy some more modest and humble comforts than the extravagances that are heaped upon them. It makes more sense than ever why she’d want to come in disguise, and hide the fact that she was attending an affection therapy session. You can only imagine what the public would say if it was reported that the princess of the Crystal Empire had come down to Ponyville for ear scratches and belly rubs. The press would have a field day.



As you continue to rub, she gently shifts over to her right, so that she’s nestled more snugly against you, rather than simply lay stretched across your legs. She seems to derive more comfort from being in close contact than from a distance. While it gives you the adorable impression of a foal settling in while having a nice dream, it also puts you in mind of something else Twilight has told you about Cadance. 

Her magical talent involves spreading love and happiness to others, especially those in great need of it. If two friends or a couple were arguing, she’d use her magic to reaffirm the bond of friendship or love between them, and remind them of the bond they share with each other. It isn’t controlling what ponies are thinking, per se, but simply giving them a little nudge to remind them that they shouldn’t jeopardize their relationship over petty squabbles. It’s a very compassionate power to possess and use for others, and it's a small wonder why Cadance is also known as the Princess of Love. She’s been a foalsitter, a princess, and now she’s a wife, a sister-in-law, and a mother.

A mother…

A mother’s love...

Your hand briefly pauses. Once again, unbidden, a memory long thought forgotten rises to the forefront of your brain, and your eyes start to sting, your throat tightening.

“Mom...I’ve been writing to you every week to tell you what I’ve been learning in Equestria...Every letter you send back, I read and reread at least a dozen times. It makes me remember what I left behind, where I left you...This is the first week where I’ve written, and you haven’t written back...Maybe the post pony got delayed or something. I’ll still be waiting for your reply, Mom. I’ll wait as long as it takes, for that, and for the day when we can all live in Equestria together…”

And then, with a sharp, jarring pang, you hear his voice again.

“You’re still thinking about that? Just let it go. She’s never gonna write to you again. That’s a fact, so accept it. It’s what everypony here has to learn eventually, to let it go and move on with their lives. If you can’t even do that, you’ve got no business being here. And you call yourself a therapist…”

You don’t recall if you shouted out loud or not. At the very least, you heard your own voice inside your head. All that you know is that when you regain your senses, you’re sitting stock-still, your hand still frozen from when you were rubbing Cadance’s belly, tears stinging your eyes and dotting your cheeks.

Cadance!

You give your head a shake to try and clear it. Why did that have to happen now? It was bad enough when you lost yourself in front of Mrs. Cake, but now you had to go distracted in front of a princess? What must she think of you? Would she think you ruined her session by getting weepy?

When you see her, however, she doesn’t look angry or annoyed. On the contrary, she’s sitting up so that she’s more or less on eye-level with you. There’s deep concern in those light purple eyes of hers, a motherly concern, not unlike what Mrs. Cake showed you when you blanked out on her.

“Are you all right?” she asks, gently.

You hurriedly wipe at your eyes, but you know perfectly well she’s already seen, and that it’s pointless to try and hide it. You want to say ‘I’m fine’, but you know she won’t buy it. Mrs. Cake didn’t.

“I’m...sorry about that,” you say. “I’ve had...a lot on my mind lately. I’m terribly sorry about that, if I’ve spoiled your session.”

“Oh, no, no,” says Cadance, shaking her head. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I felt you stop, and when I looked up, you looked like you’d been mesmerized, and you were...you were crying.”

She places her hooves on your shoulders, looking you straight in the eye.

“I know it’s not my business, but if there’s something troubling you, and you need somepony to talk to…”

She doesn’t finish, but you know what she’s offering. It’s exactly what Mrs. Cake had put in your mind before she left: to find somepony to confide in. Was Princess Cadance that pony, however? Could you confidently reveal what’s been bothering you to a princess you only just met? You’d never even told Twilight, or Rose, for that matter.

“I...I don’t really know,” you mumble. “It’s nothing to do with you, Cadance, It’s just that my...my personal problems shouldn’t bleed into my job. This is about other ponies, after all, not me. It’s very...very unprofessional of me, and I-”

Before you can finish, you feel a pair of soft but strong forelegs wrap around you, enveloping you in a warm hug. Then, a pair of soft and fluffy wings surround you, adding to the warmth. You feel Cadance rest her chin on your shoulder, her cheek resting against yours.

“Shhh,” she whispers. “It’s all right.”

Your eyes start to water anew, but you say nothing. Automatically, you put your arms around her in return, and the two of you sit there, in a close and quiet embrace. You can feel her gently rubbing your back with one hoof.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of being unprofessional,” she says, softly. “You have feelings just like anypony who comes to see you. You’re...well, you’re not ‘pony’, but you are ‘human’.”

But how can you be the counselor ponies need when you have worries of your own? What kind of therapist needs a therapist themselves? These questions bounce in your head, but you’re unable to give voice to them at that moment. You just sit there, almost entranced by the power of the hug.

“I know what it’s like to feel like your duty always comes before yourself,” Cadance continues. “Ponies expect you to act a certain way, and they expect a lot from you that often puts what you want and what you need to the side. It creates this unrealistic image of who you are and what to expect of you. That’s why you need to find the right balance between what others want and what you want.”

“And...how do you do it?” you ask, croakily.

“It hasn’t been easy, knowing where to draw the line,” says Cadance, “but it became easier once I had Flurry Heart. It’s why I came down here, actually. I decided that this was something I wanted to do, even if it meant putting aside royal duties for the day. I still have an obligation to my subjects, but I also have an obligation to myself. The same applies to you and your clients.”

You have no reply to this. You’re stunned by the wisdom in Cadance’s words. She’s clearly speaking from experience, being a princess, a wife, and a mother all at once. The fact that he could so easily compare the life of royalty to the life of a commoner like yourself is quite astounding as well. She truly sees you not just as a subject, but as an equal.

You take a deep breath, strengthen the hug ever so slightly, and say,

“I...I can’t promise I’ll have the strength to tell you everything, but...but I’ll try.”

You feel Cadance nuzzle you gently.

“That’s just fine,” she says. “Do the best you can.”

You take another deep breath, let it out slowly, then continue.

“It...it doesn’t feel easy, being a human among ponies. Ponyville has been nothing but wonderful for me, and it’s been more than I feel I deserve, since moving from Manehattan.”

“Has anypony made you feel undeserving of appreciation there?” Cadance asks.

You pause. That kind of question really hit home.

“...You could say that,” you say. “Ever since I came to Equestria, I’ve had...certain ponies making me feel...discouraged, unwelcome...Like I’d never amount to anything…”

You feel Cadance’s grip strengthen.

“It’s been a long time since I left that kind of...toxic environment,” you say, “but...it still haunts me, along with...other things...Certain voices taunting me in my head...And memories of...of someone dear to me…”

Your voice catches at the end of this. Cadance stays silent for a moment, then she whispers,

“I’m so sorry.”

She gently pulls away from you to look you in the face, her own full of gentle sadness and compassion.

“Did I remind you of this someone?”

You feel your throat tighten again. You don’t want to make her feel guilty by saying ‘yes’, but she doesn’t sound like you were accusing her of anything.

“...You did,” you mumble. “You and Mrs. Cake did.”

Cadance looks a little startled at this, no doubt wondering where she and Mrs. Cake both fit in. Then, it seems to click in her mind, and her eyes widen in shock. She puts a hoof to her mouth, and you see the beginning of tears in her own eyes.

“You poor thing…” she whispers. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, hurriedly. “I was just blown away, you see. Blown away by the bond ponies like you and her share with the ponies in their lives: your husbands, your friends, your families, and your children. It reminded me of that...when I still had it…”

Cadance continues to look at you with compassion and pity in her teary eyes. You feel like there’s more you could be saying, but you feel like you’ve already done more than enough, letting your personal problems override what was supposed to be her therapy session.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “This was meant to be your affection therapy session, and here I am, letting my own worries interfere with it. You don’t deserve that.”

“Don’t say that,” says Cadance. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and I’m not angry or disappointed. This was clearly something you needed to get off your chest, and I feel glad that you felt confident enough to confide in me as much as you felt you could. That’s one of our many duties as princesses: to hear out ponies’ problems and offer the help we can.”

She says this with a smile, and you can’t help but feel one come to you as well.

“I do think you need someone to fully confide in, though,” says Cadance, a bit more soberly. “I might know somepony who knows a thing or two about battling inner demons, and I can ask for her advice on your behalf, if that’s all right. Of course, the best time she’d be able to reach out to you is in the evening. I hope you don’t mind.”

You blink in surprise. She knows somepony like that? Who could it possibly be?

“S-Sure,” you say. “That’s very kind of you.”

Cadance’s smile returns.

“Good,” she says. “I’m just glad I was able to be here for you, and you did make me feel very relaxed during that session. I might have to convince Shining Armor to come for a session himself. He’s a lovable goofball, but he overworks himself sometimes, like a certain somepony we both know.”

The two of you laugh. You know exactly who she’s talking about. You definitely feel more at ease now, after that little episode of yours.

The clock chimes the five minute warning, and the pair of you look up at it.

“I’d better get back in disguise,” says Cadance. “‘Cadenza’ walked in, so ‘Cadenza’ has to walk out.”

“Right,” you say. “Listen, Cadance, I’d be more than happy to give you another session one day, hopefully one where the patient doesn’t have to counsel the therapist.”

You say this last part a bit guiltily, but Cadance just giggles.

“It’s fine, really. Like I said, I’m just happy to have been able to help.”

Her expression becomes noticeably more tender, and, to your surprise, she gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead, followed by a warm nuzzle.

“Thank you, and take care,” she says. “I hope you find the help you need. You deserve it, for all the help you give others.”

You feel at a loss for words for a moment or two, and by the time you manage to stammer out a ‘thank you’, Cadance has already put on her disguise and headed for the door. She pauses, nudges her sunglasses down so you can see her eyes, gives you a wink and a smile, then steps out of the office, shutting the door behind her, leaving you to yourself and your numerous thoughts.
> Princess Luna (Part 1)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clock is now showing 5. Your first day as a spa-appointed affection therapist has come to an end at last. Has it really only been one afternoon? It feels like days at least, from the myriad of emotions and experiences that happened in that office. And you’ll be doing the same tomorrow, too. It’s surreal to think about.

Still feeling dazed, you tidy up your office, though nothing is particularly out of order, gather up the remaining cookies and cupcakes, then take your leave out into the main hallway. Setting the treats down on a bench for just a moment, you take a stop in the restroom. 

After washing your hands, you splash some water in your face and look at yourself. Your eyes look a little red and puffy from crying earlier, though you can imagine you looked worse than you do now. There’s not much to do about it now, so you dry your hands and face, then head back out into the hallway, taking the treats with you.

In the lobby, you come across Aloe and Lotus, who smile at the sight of you.

“Hello again,” says Aloe.

“We witnessed several satisfied ponies coming from their appointments with you,” said Lotus.

“It seems like you have had a very successful day today,” says Aloe.

“Well done,” the two say in unison.

You can’t help but smile at their praise.

“I’m just happy to lend my talents where they’re needed,” you say.

Their smiles fade a little as they look at you.

“Is everything all right?” Lotus asks, in mild concern.

“Have you been crying?” asks Aloe, delicately.

Of course they would notice. It would’ve been hard not to.

“I suppose I have,” you say, ruefully. “I know I must look like a poor sight, but I was rather affected by what some of my clients had to say.”

It was true, after all. Thankfully, this answer seems to satisfy them, as they say no more on the subject.

“Therapy is a private matter,” says Aloe, “so we shall not pry. We can only hope that it brings more smiles than it does tears.”

“Oh, it does, rest assured,” you say.

“Well then, we will see you again tomorrow at noon,” says Lotus.

“Thank you, Aloe, Lotus,” you say. “Before I go, would either of you care for a cookie or cupcake?”

You offer the treats you’re holding, and the two ponies look delighted.

“Oh, thank you!”

“Do not mind if I do!”

Aloe takes a cookie, and Lotus takes a cupcake, and with a ‘good night’ between the three of you, you walk out of the spa. As you step outside, you very nearly walk into somepony. Looking down, you see none other than Rose, smiling up at you.

“Rosie!” you cry, in delighted surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come see you after your first day at the spa,” she said, “to congratulate you and see how it went. I would’ve signed up for a session myself, but you’ve already given me so much that I couldn’t bear to take the chance away from somepony else.”

“You always were compassionate that way,” you say, kindly, making her blush. “Today went really well, I think,” you add, as you start walking alongside her. “I can’t really go into details, though. Client confidentiality and all that.”

“Oh, sure, I understand,” says Rose, nodding. “I can’t help but wonder who you might’ve seen on your first day, though. I saw some interesting sights out in the market today, while I was running the flower stall with the girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. For example, Lyra’s been kind of moody lately, so I wasn’t surprised to see her going towards the spa. When she came back, she looked a bit more cheerful, and stopped to talk with me. I guess Bon Bon had the same idea, since she went to the spa today as well, about an hour after I saw Lyra head that way, and she looked down as well.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Lyra sat by the fountain for a while, and then Bon Bon showed up and sat by her. I didn’t catch everything they were saying, but it sounded like they were apologizing to each other for something. Then they both just started crying and hugging each other, and after, they just sat side by side, nestled up against each other, looking happier than I’d seen them in days.”

She looks at you knowingly.

“You had something to do with it, I’m sure.”

“Can’t say,” you say, shrugging, though you find it hard to suppress a smirk.

“I get you,” said Rose, nodding. “But that wasn’t even the strangest sight. I saw Spoiled Rich walk by about an hour after that. She didn’t seem herself today.”

“Oh no?”

“No. She usually walks about with her head held high, looking all smug and high-and-mighty, but today, she looked kind of...distracted, like she had a lot on her mind. I still said hello to her as she passed, and I think it startled her. She mumbled something back, and then just kept walking. It was weird.”

“That does sound unlike her,” you say.

“I know, right? And then Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon showed up together. School must’ve let out by then. Diamond Tiara greeted her mom, and Spoiled Rich just paused, looking down at her with that same distracted look. Then, in front of everypony, she pulled her daughter into a hug.”

“Is that right?” you ask.

“Filly Guides’ honor,” says Rose, seriously. “Diamond Tiara seemed pretty startled, and Silver Spoon looked like she didn’t know what was going on, but eventually, Diamond hugged her in return, and looked a little happier too. Then the three walked off together, and it sounded like they were having a pleasant talk.”

“That sounds pretty wild, coming from Spoiled Rich, of all ponies,” you say.

“I know! It certainly made for good conversation with Daisy and Lily.”

“I’ll bet.”

You don’t say it out loud, but you can’t help but marvel at the information Rose has just related to you. Did your sessions with Lyra, Bon Bon, and Spoiled Rich really produce such quick results in only a few hours? You hadn’t had much doubt that the first two would be able to patch things up, as they were both very much willing to after their time with you, but you hadn’t expected Spoiled Rich to try acting better so soon.

“Everything ok?”

You give a start. You didn’t realize how long you had gone without saying anything, but it must’ve been enough for Rose to notice. You look down at her, and see that she is regarding you with mild concern.

“Of course,” you say, almost automatically.

Rose looks unconvinced.

“Are you sure? Your eyes look a little red. Have you been crying?”

Of course she would notice. Rose has eyes that can spot a single aphid crawling along the stem of a flower.

“I suppose I have,” you say. “Things got a little emotional in those sessions.”

“Oh, I see,” says Rose, nodding in understanding. “I guess ponies who need affection therapy might have some things to get off their chests. Then again, I’m one to talk.”

She averts her gaze, a faint blush redding her pale cheeks. You feel sure you know what she’s talking about.

“It’s ok, Rosie,” you say. “I really don’t mind. It’s always been a comfort that ponies feel comfortable confiding their troubles in me, even when I’m little better than a stranger to some.”

Rose looks up at you again, and she smiles.

“That’s because you’re such a sweet guy, and it’s easy to talk to you,” she says, nuzzling up to your side.

“Shucks,” you say, bashfully, giving her a pat on the head. “I don’t think I can ever get used to compliments like that, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Rose giggles.

“Wanna go grab some dinner?” she asks. “Celebrate your first day as a spa affection therapist?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” you say. “And afterwards, I still have some therapy session treats for dessert.”

“Oooh, lovely,” says Rose. “You really spoil everypony when you make sweets to give them, but in a good way, just like affection therapy itself.”

Smiling, you pat her head, and the two of you walk on, side by side.


***


That night, you lie awake in bed, trying to will yourself to fall asleep, but to no avail. All of the events of today are still whirling about in your mind, making it difficult to settle your thoughts. It’s not simply the thrill of having completed your first day at the spa, or the joy of helping Lyra and Bon Bon patch up their friendship, or even the surprise of managing to unearth a hidden good side in Spoiled Rich. What’s more prominent in your mind is what happened with Mrs. Cake and Princess Cadance.

You do not possess a heart of stone, of course. As you yourself told Rose just this evening, you have often been moved by the plights and worries of others, especially when they feel they can trust you enough to confide them to you. You have often felt on the verge of tears at these times, though you always strove to maintain as much professionalism as you can, while giving ponies a shoulder to cry on and an arm to comfort them. 

But today, you allowed yourself to be led into the opposite end of this therapist/client relationship. You became the one in need of comfort and reassurance, from memories you had long thought behind you. It was Mrs. Cake and Cadance who had reminded you of them, through no fault of their own.

Because they’re mothers.

Because they remind you of her.

You cover your eyes with your hands, letting out a deep sigh. How long are you going to allow these feelings to eat away at you? How long do you intend to go before you confide how you feel in someone you trust? You haven’t even told Rose, and she’s been your first, best, and dearest friend. How long are you going to keep her, of all ponies, in the dark, when she should have been the first pony who comes to mind?

And how long is that voice, his voice, going to torment you, to fill you with doubt, to remind you of what you left behind?...

At long last, you find yourself drifting off into sleep.


***


At first, you’re unsure where you are. Everything seems foggy, with no distinct shapes. Then, your surroundings start coming into focus, and you know exactly where you are.

You’re standing in the sitting room of your old house. Even after so many years away, you remember every detail of it, from the shelves full of knick knacks on the walls to the cuckoo clock above the fireplace. As you look about, taking it all in, you give a start. 

Sitting in the old, worn armchair before the fireplace...is your mother.

She’s just as you remember her: a thin woman with long brown hair, a bright twinkle in her brown eyes. At first, you think she’s reading a book in her lap. However, as you step closer, you see that she’s talking to someone: a little boy, no older than 10, kneeling before her.

...It’s you.

“I’m gonna be the best human Equestria’s ever seen, Mom! When I come back, I’ll even have my own cutie mark! Just you wait and see!”

His mom chuckles.

“That would be wonderful.”

“I just hope the pony they send to live here is nice.”

“I’m sure he will be. From what it sounds like, he’s very eager to come here.”

“I wish I could get to know him before we had to swap. It’d be like having a brother.”

“Well, if all goes well, we can keep in contact with him after.”

“That’d be great! And maybe, maybe while I’m in Equestria, I can learn magic like the unicorns, and then you wouldn’t need to...to see the doctor all the time…”

The enthusiasm in his voice fades, and he becomes very quiet. His mother smiles gently and runs her fingers through his hair.

“It’s ok, dear. It’s sweet of you to think of me that way, but I’ll be all right. You just focus on your time there, all right?”

The boy’s silent for a moment. Then, he looks up into his mother’s eyes and nods.

“I will, Mom.”

“That’s my boy. It’s just going to feel very different without you around.”

“I’ll come back, Mom, I promise! I’ll tell you all about Equestria, and then we can all live there together!”

“That sounds lovely, dear. I’d like that very much.”

The scene fades. 

The boy now stands in a different, but still familiar, living room, less tidy and comforting than his old one. Two grown ponies stand before him, their faces obscured in shadow.

“You want to learn magic?”

You know that male voice only too well. How could you possibly forget, when it’s been ringing in your head for so long?

“Uh-huh,” the boy says. “When I go back home, I wanna be able to make my mom feel better again. I know I’m not a unicorn, but I still wanna learn. You can do magic without needing a horn, right?”

The voice laughs derisively, and the boy’s face falls.

“Boy, did we get saddled with a real winner here,” the voice says, scornfully. “A human who wants to learn magic? We exchanged our boy for this?”

“Don’t be so rude, dear,” admonishes a kinder, female voice. “He only wants to help his mother. I think it’s sweet that he wants to learn. And he is here to learn about Equestria, after all.”

One of the figures stoops down and strokes his hair kindly.

“We’ve certainly never heard of a human learning to do magic, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. We’ll see what we can do while you’re with us, honey.”

The boy’s face lights up again.

“Really? Thank you!”

“Hmph,” grunts the male voice. “If he wants to set himself up for disappointment, fine by me.”

The scene fades again. Now the boy is seated at a writing desk, with books stacked untidily around him, each bearing elaborate and even faded titles, all having to do with magic. He’s writing a letter, and he looks serious, not to mention worried.

The scene shifts once more, and now you see the boy kneeling in front of a bed, his head buried in his arms.

He’s crying.

An opened letter lies forgotten beside him. The words are blotched, the paper damp with fallen tears. You can’t see the letter, but the words are imprinted in your mind, and you remember them vividly.

Words of apology and sympathy.

...Words about your mother.

Behind the boy stands the same two figures as before. One of them kneels beside him and rests their hoof on his shoulder. The other remains standing where they are.

“Let it all out, dear,” the female voice says. “It’s all right. We’re here for you.”

“He’d better let it all out,” said the male voice, coldly. “I don’t want anything lingering after.”

“Dear!” says the female voice, reproachfully. “Can’t you see he’s grieving? Would it kill you to show even the slightest bit of compassion?”

“He’s got to accept that what’s done is done,” said the male voice. “No one wants to see it happen, of course, but what’s the point of crying about it? If he really wants to do well by his mom, would she want him to sit there sobbing and moping for the rest of his life?”

“Of course not, but you could do something for him now. He needs reassurance. He needs comfort.”

“What he needs is to learn that this is the way of things. He needs to let it go and move on with his life, just like the rest of us. We never should’ve let him fill his head with fanciful ideas about learning magic. No one’s ever heard of a human doing magic, because it never will be done. And he thought he was gonna make his mom feel all better by learning. What a fairy tale ending that would’ve been.”

“That’s enough! If you’re just going to stand there and make him feel worse, leave the room!”

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave him to you. We’re gonna have to make arrangements now that he can’t go back…”

The scene fades once more, and you find yourself once again in an empty, shapeless void. You can feel your breathing catch in your throat, and your cheeks feel wet.

You’re alone.

...No.

You’re not alone.

There’s something else there.

From out of the shadows, the figure of the faceless male pony comes into focus. Except, he’s larger, much larger than before, a giant, towering over you. Though you crane your face to look up at it, you still can’t make anything out on his face. And yet, you can feel a cold, pitiless stare aimed down at you.

“So naive, even now…”

“You know it was never going to work. Humans never could do real magic, and they never will. Did you think you could just wave your hands, say some nonsense, and your mom would be all better? Save those kinds of wishes for the stars, kid.”

You shut your eyes and cover your ears, trying to block the spiteful words sending their poison into your brain, but it’s as loud and present as ever.

“She’s gone, and she’s never coming back. That’s just how it is. Move on. There was nothing you could’ve done for her anyway. In this world, it’s everypony for themselves. Not just in the big city, but anywhere. You never know when life’s gonna take a wrong turn for you, so it’s best to look out for no one but yourself. Let other ponies deal with their own problems. Besides, it’s not like your precious ‘affection therapy’ would’ve kept her around or brought her back if you knew it then. But now you can just wile away, giving ponies scratches and rubs to make them feel better. That’s the only magic you’ll ever be able to do, and it still won’t fix a thing…”

You fall on your knees, eyes still shut tight, hands still pressed over your ears. You feel as if the walls of a box are closing in around you. 

Why won’t it go away? Why won’t it stop? Why won’t he leave you alone? 

You’re not in Manehattan anymore! You’re in Ponyville! Ponyville is not Manehattan! Ponies in Ponyville aren’t ponies in Manehattan!

“Try and block me out all you want, kid. Face it, you’re who you are because of me. You left Manehattan because of me. You took up this silly practice in some feeble attempt to spite me, to prove me wrong. You know it, but you won’t admit it. But I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, forever!”

That ‘forever’ booms out like the explosion of a cannon, shaking you to your very core. You cry out, though whether out loud or in your head, you’re not sure.

“NO!!”

And in that instant, everything changes.

The air feels...calmer, lighter. It’s as if the box that had previously been trying to crush you has suddenly expanded.

The voice has also been silenced.

You open your eyes and look up. The towering figure has disappeared.

Your surroundings have also changed. Instead of an indistinct void, you now sit in the midst of a sea of stars against a deep, velvety sky. The sight is...soothing, relaxing.

A bright flash of light temporarily blinds you, as though one of the stars had expanded. As it clears, you can see a new figure approaching you, one much smaller than the terrible being that had loomed over you.

In the next instant, you recognize who it is, even before she speaks, in a tranquil and refined voice, one full of both nobility and gentleness. 

“Greetings, human of Equestria. Long have I hoped to meet you.”

You find your voice at last.

“P-Princess Luna!”

And so it is.

Princess Luna, co-ruler of Equestria, and the princess who governs the night.

You’ve glimpsed Luna before, fleetingly, within some of your dreams, but should you have had the subconscious presence to take a second look, she would already have been gone. You do know that it’s her duty to visit the realm of dreams, watching over ponies as they sleep, and protecting them from nightmares. It certainly sounds like a difficult job, since anything is possible in dreams.

Luna’s a tall alicorn, bigger than Princess Cadance. Her coat is dark blue, as are her eyes. She has an inky splotch of black on her flanks, decorated with a white crescent moon for a cutie mark. Her mane and tail are both a lighter shade of blue from her coat, but they’re speckled with star-like dots, and translucent at the edges, making them look like nebulae in outer space. She has a calm and benevolent face, full of wisdom and care.

You can hardly believe your fortune. You met Princess Cadance earlier, and now you’re face to face with Princess Luna. You struggle to your feet, your legs shaking quite a bit, and you bow rather clumsily.

“I-It’s an honor to meet you at last, Your Highness.”

“Likewise. I had hoped, sooner or later, that I should get the chance to speak with you, even if it is within the confines of a dream.”

“I’m glad this is only a dream,” you say, grimly.

The memory of the faceless monster is still vivid, to the point where you can’t help looking about, wondering if it’s still lingering somewhere. Luna observes this and smiles faintly.

“Be at ease. We are alone.”

“Good,” you say with a sigh. “It’s a comfort being in your noble presence, princess.”

“Thank you,” says Luna, kindly, before her smile fades into a sober expression. “I have seen that you are in need of comfort and counsel yourself. You are troubled, dear human. Troubled by demons of your past.”

You give no answer to this. It’s only natural Luna would have noticed. It’s her duty to patrol dreams, after all. She would’ve seen everything. Even so, you can’t be the only creature in Equestria having bad dreams. What’s made her choose now of all times to visit you?

...And then it hits you.

“Forgive me for asking, Your Highness,” you say, “but did Princess Cadance speak to you about...about me?”

Luna nods.

“She did. She told me of the wonderful care she was given under your healing hands. She also confided in me about the worries that you were beset with. She believed that I could offer words of guidance, as we are kindred spirits.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded.

“Us?” you say at last. “What do you mean? I’m just a simple human, Your Highness, and you’re...well, you’re the Princess of the Night.”

Luna giggles softly.

“You are exceedingly humble and polite,” she says, “but I can assure you, we have quite a bit in common. We both seek to ease the anxieties of ponies, for example. You do so through affection therapy, and I do through my patrolling of the Dream Realm.”

Huh. You’d never thought about that before, but when she puts it that way, it makes a certain degree of sense.

“And,” Luna continues, in a more somber tone, “we also have difficulty quieting the voices of the past in our heads.”

Your mouth falls open, and you stare at her in silence. There is a look of wistful pain in her beautiful eyes.

“Do you recall the tale of Nightmare Moon?” she asks.

Nightmare Moon? Well, of course. Ponies growing up are all told the tale of Nightmare Moon, or the Mare in the Moon. Even when you were a child, learning about Equestria, you read that old tale, and even learned the shocking truth that Princess Luna herself had been Nightmare Moon, many years ago. It was proof that not all fairy tales are just, well, fairy tales. Why was the princess bringing this up, though?

Without giving voice to any of this, you nod, and Luna continues.

“For the longest time, I’ve been plagued by the memory of what I had done. I was driven by anger, hurt, and selfishness, believing that I was not as beloved as my sister. Ponies basked in the light of day, and hid themselves away when the sun set and the moon rose. I believed myself less important, less loved because of that, and I let those thoughts fester, until they became a voice in my head, a voice that both did and did not belong to me. It consumed me, turning me into Nightmare Moon.”

Slowly, comprehension dawns on you, and you begin to understand why she’s talking about this.

“Even after I returned to myself, and after I was forgiven for what I had done, I still felt the pain and regret of my actions. There was still a voice in my head, but it had changed. It no longer tried to tell me what I deserved, but admonished me for my misdeeds, never letting me forget what I had become.”

She looks away, that same pained look still in her eyes. You instinctively reach out a hand to comfort her, then stop yourself. She’s a princess, after all. You can’t just lay a hand on her without her consent. She seems to recognize what you were about to do, however, as she gives you a slight smile.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m alright. I have Celestia by my side, as well as Twilight Sparkle and her friends. Without them, I would never have been freed of the curse of Nightmare Moon. I would never have begun the process of reintroducing myself into pony society after so long, and the process of forgiving myself. I owe so much to them.”

“They are remarkable,” you agree.

Luna looks you full in the face.

“You, too, face difficulties that stem from your past, if your dreams and what Cadance told me are any indication. I am no therapist myself, but if you need somepony to confide in, I will lend an ear, and hopefully offer some guidance.”

You hesitate for a moment or two. Luna divulging her inner thoughts of before she became Nightmare Moon, and after she was freed from the hold of Nightmare Moon, was staggering in its own right. Compared to that, your problems seem microscopic. And yet, she says she sees kinship in you, so perhaps she doesn’t believe they’re that small after all. More than that, this is a princess offering her help. That’s not something to decline so easily.

At last, you take a deep breath, then say,

“...You saw it all, Your Highness. You know what happened to me.”

Luna nods, but looks steadily at you, inviting you to speak on. After a pause, you continue.

“...My mother was always delicate. She was seeing a doctor every other week, practically. She never told me what was wrong with her, and maybe I was too young to understand. All I knew was that she got tired easily, and she couldn’t walk very far for too long. She told me she was fine, but I couldn’t help worrying about her.

“Then, when I was invited to take part in an exchange program with an Equestrian, I was excited. I’d always wanted to visit Equestria and see what it was like. A whole kingdom full of magical talking ponies. It sounded like a dream come true. I even thought...I even thought I could earn a cutie mark like other foals, if I stayed there long enough.”

Luna lets out a half-suppressed giggle. You can’t blame her. It was a childish thought, after all.

“But most importantly,” you say, a catch in your voice, “I wanted to learn magic, because I thought...I thought if I could, then I could...I could make my mom feel better…”

Luna’s expression turns sympathetic, but she says nothing. After another pause, you continue.

“My foster family was...less than encouraging. Well, I mean, my foster mom was nice. She cared about me. My...my foster dad, though...He and I…”

You stop, your throat feeling constricted. Your fists clench. A flickering image of the same faceless figure flashes across your mind. At last, you manage to say,

“We...never saw eye to eye. He...didn’t think much of humans.”

Luna nods quietly.

“He never had a kind word to say to me about anything. He didn’t like that I wanted to learn magic. He didn’t care when Mom started writing less and less. He...he wasn’t sympathetic when...when I got the news...about Mom…That she...she was...gone…”

You can feel your eyes starting to burn with tears, and your throat tightens again. Luna crosses over and lays a wing comfortingly across your shoulders. Unconsciously, you find yourself leaning against her, just as many ponies have during therapy. Never would you have expected to be in the same position, and under such circumstances.

Still, talking about all of this feels like poison being drained from a wound. In a way, it’s oddly reinvigorating. Besides, you’ve come this far. No sense in stopping now, as long as you can find words, even if they’re coming out with a good deal of effort.

“He...he tried to teach me that it’s every...everypony for themselves, that I needed to...to let it go and...and move on. I just couldn’t bear it. I’m sure he was trying to help me in...in his own way...but he didn’t even pretend...to know what I was going through. He just...didn’t care. He never cared...

“I...I couldn’t...I couldn’t stand to be around him...Not after what happened...But I didn’t have a choice. I had nowhere else to go. My foster brother came back, and...and he helped me get by, along with...with my foster mom...But he was still there...He made me feel...useless...inadequate...Like I wouldn’t amount to...to anything...

When I got older, I...I finally found a new place, away from him...But it didn’t do any good...Manehattan was...was the wrong fit for me...I didn’t belong…Nopony else wanted anything...anything to do with me...I couldn’t find anything that...that suited me...I should’ve left sooner, but...but I didn’t...Not for a long time...I didn’t think there was anywhere else I could go...Until I came to Ponyville, and everything changed for me…”

Luna’s soothing embrace becomes a bit more pronounced. It gives you the boost you need to continue. You’re almost done.

“I’ve been so happy here...Ponyville felt as much like home as it did back where I came from...I often wondered why I couldn’t have been transferred here instead...It’s here where I met so many wonderful ponies: Roseluck, Princess Twilight and her friends...And I finally found what I’m meant to do thanks to them. I might not get a cutie mark for it, but it’s still something. I owe so much to all of them, especially Rose...

“But even then...when I’ve finally found somewhere I can be happy...I can’t get his voice out of my head...Every time I start to doubt myself, or even when I feel sure about something...he starts speaking in my head, making me question what I’m doing...making me wonder if I don’t have some other motive for...for doing what I’m doing...I’ve worked so hard to try and get away from his influence, but I just...I just can’t make him go away…I just want it to stop...I want to keep making ponies happy, but I don’t want to be haunted by what I left behind…”

You’re unable to go on. You simply sit there, eyes wet and stinging, throat tight, resting against Luna as she sits beside you, her wing still draped over you, clasping you to her side. Both of you sit in silence at first. Then, at last, Luna speaks, in a soothing, tender voice.

“You bear such a heavy burden. You put on a brave face for other ponies who come to you for comfort, not wishing to burden them with your own difficulties. Many go to seek counsel, but few wonder if the counselor himself is in need of it.”

You feel her hoof under your chin, and she tilts your head up so that you can look her in the eye.

“It can be hard to let go of the past, especially when it has a lasting impact on who you’ve become. I know only too well. However, I also know that if you do not confront these feelings in time, they can develop a hold on you that you will not be able to break free from, and by then, it will be too late...”

A chill runs through you at her words. In your mind, you have a fleeting image of yourself, but very unlike yourself: dark, brooding, adorned in armor that gleams coldly and sinisterly, while a cruel light gleams in your eye. You don’t know how Nightmare Moon would’ve looked as a human, let alone a male human, but that seems a haunting approximation to you. You shudder.

“What do I do?...” you ask, in a croaking voice.

Luna draws herself up, while tightening her wing’s grip around you.

“The first thing I would suggest you do,” she says, “is confide these feelings to those closest to you. Am I right in guessing you haven’t told them?”

You feel a sinking feeling of guilt in your stomach.

“...No, I haven’t,” you say. “I didn’t want Rose or Twilight or anypony to worry about me. I didn’t want them to think I was being dramatic, or that I couldn’t take care of myself. Not when it’s my job to comfort ponies and make them feel better.”

“Not an unfounded worry,” says Luna, “but you shouldn’t think that way. Your friends would want to help you, no matter what you’re going through. Do not shut them out from what’s troubling you, or you’ll find yourself facing them alone. I shut everypony out when I became Nightmare Moon, when I should have kept my heart open. You yourself possess a kind and compassionate heart for all ponies. Do not let it become barred against them in your own time of need.”

Another pang of guilt goes through you. Rose had always been honest with you. You remember vividly when she divulged her worries to you about the change in your lifestyle. Shouldn’t you do the same for her? Shouldn’t you repay her trust by confiding in her?

“...You’re right, Princess,” you say finally. “I’ll tell them.”

Luna nods, satisfied.

“What I would also suggest,” she says, “though it may prove more difficult, is confronting the source of your anxieties personally and coming to a resolution. Of course, in this case, that would mean…”

“...Meeting my foster father again,” you finish for her, in a hollow voice.

“Yes.”

You hesitate.

“...I don’t know if I can do that…” you mumble. “Not after...not after everything.”

“It will not be easy,” says Luna, “and you don’t have to do it immediately, but it should be done. Allowing him to continue to be a voice of discouragement in your thoughts will only make matters worse for you. You’re not the child you were when he took you in. You are an adult now. Speak to him, man to stallion. Let him know how you’ve been feeling. Speak truthfully on how his actions affected you.”

You shake your head grimly.

“He won’t listen. He won’t care. He never did.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” says Luna. “Time has a way of changing things. He may have changed in the intervening time, or he may have not. You won’t know until you have made the effort. You at the very least still have your foster mother and foster brother to vouch for you.”

That’s true. You do still write to them occasionally, although their replies back to you are sparse. Not out of ill feeling, because they’re always full of encouragement when they do come, but likely because your foster father doesn’t want to keep up correspondence with you, even if he’s not the one writing.

“Give it some thought, at the very least,” Luna says, gently.

You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Finally, you say,

“...All right. I will.”

“Very good,” says Luna.

She gives you a gentle squeeze, then removes her wing. You shakily stand up and face her, already feeling as though a heavy load has been removed from your back. It felt good to get all of that off your chest, even though you know this was only the first step. Luna’s smiling again, evidently pleased at the result of your talk with her.

“Now then, there is a lighter topic I wish to speak to you about,” she says. “It’s regarding your practice.”

To your astonishment, she suddenly looks awkward. Her ears have drooped, and she shyly rubs the back of one foreleg with the other.

“I don’t suppose it would be too much to ask...I’m not suggesting it in return for counseling you, understand. I would happily have done it regardless, seeing how troubled you were. I just wondered…”

She can’t surely be asking what you think is, can she?

“Princess Luna, do you want to have an affection therapy session?” you ask, surprised.

“Only if it isn’t inconvenient for you,” says Luna, hastily. “It certainly sounds like an enjoyable and relaxing experience, from what Cadance told me. It gets very...tiring and stressful, dealing with ponies’ intense dreams every night. Not that I begrudge my duties, by any means. It is what I am meant to do, and I do it gladly. Even so, I could use some relaxation now and again. So, I would like to give affection therapy a try, yes.”

You can hardly believe your ears. Princess Luna, one of the rulers of all of Equestria, is asking you to give her a therapy session? Giving one to Cadance was grand enough, but this?

And yet, how can you possibly say no? Luna took time out of her nightly duties to personally console and comfort you, to give you good advice. It would be a poor return to deny her when she’s asking.

Smiling, you bow to her, much less awkwardly than the first time.

“I would be most honored, Your Highness.”

Luna’s face lights up with joy.

“However,” you continue, as a thought comes to you, “will it even work here? I mean, this is all a dream, and your body can’t feel what happens to you in a dream.”

“Perfectly true,” says Luna, nodding. “Even the most lucid of dreams only convey a facsimile of sensations that one would experience in the waking world. It shall have to be done in person, then.”

She says this so casually that it’s quite astounding.

“May I ask how, Your Highness? I’m booked with appointments as it is, and I don’t know if I can take the day off to come to Canterlot on such short notice.”

“You shan’t need to,” says Luna with a smile. “What time do you work?”

“Er, from noon to 5.”

“And how long do these sessions last?”

“Usually an hour.”

“Perfect,” says Luna, decisively. “Let us make arrangements to meet at your dwelling before your shift tomorrow. Will 10 AM suit you? That should give you time to get things ready.”

You goggle at her. Princess Luna is offering to come to your humble abode in person? A Princess of Equestria, in your home! The only other princess to ever do so is Twilight, and she’s practically a neighbor!

“T-That should work just fine, Your Highness,” you stammer out, and you give her your address in Ponyville.

“Then it is settled,” says Luna. “Rest now, Equestrian of the human realm, and may the remainder of your dreams be untroubled until the morning.”

“Thank you, Princess Luna.”

A glowing circle of light suddenly flares up brightly behind Luna, until she becomes little more than a shadow against it. However, you can still see her smiling at you, in a gentle, motherly way. And then, in the next instant, she’s gone.
> Princess Luna (Part 2)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awake the next morning, around 8 o’clock. The memory of the dream you had gone through is still fresh on your mind. You can still see fleeting images of the memories you revisited, as well as the terrifying figure that stood over you, taunting you, beating you down with its words, promising to never give you peace…

More vivid than that, however, is the memory of your nocturnal visitor, the one who saved you from that terrifying image and those painful memories: Princess Luna. Princess Cadance had been right after all, when she said she knew someone with experience in dealing with a dark past, although you’d prefer to consider your past more ‘troubled’ than ‘dark’. 

Even so, Luna gave you the confidence you needed to speak your mind, and then gave you some wise advice for the future. You still don’t know how you’re going to face your foster father, but you’ve made up your mind to talk to Rose after work today, to tell her everything. After everything she’s done for you, she deserves to know.

For now, though, you have to prepare for Princess Luna’s arrival, for her own affection therapy session before your shift starts. You have about two hours ahead of you before she arrives, so you get up to get yourself ready. The imminent arrival of a Princess of Equestria in your own home is not to be taken lightly, after all.

Once you’ve showered and had breakfast, you have just enough time to get a new batch of cookies started. You had already made some last night for your clients for the day, and now you intend to have some ready for Luna. You’re unsure if her royal palate will even be accepting of homemade chocolate chip cookies, but it doesn’t hurt to try. Besides, you’ve seen how humble and down-to-earth Twilight and Cadance are. Hopefully Luna will be the same, despite her lofty position.

It’s almost 10 AM by the time you have everything as ready as it can be. The sitting room is straightened out, the couch cushions and pillows have been fluffed, and a plate of cooled cookies has been set on the coffee table. The kettle is warming on the stovetop, and you have your assortment of tea bags laid out, hoping any flavor among them will suit Luna’s fancy. The blinds are drawn around the windows, in spite of the bright sunlight outside, to ensure privacy. Everything seems fine on the surface, but the imminent arrival of a princess still has you feeling particularly nervousited.

Nervousited. Pinkie Pie really is rubbing off on you.

Presently, the clock on the wall begins chiming the hour, giving you a start. Any second now, and she’ll be here.

The instant the clock strikes 10, a bright flash of light, as instant as the flash of a camera, illuminates the room. You shield your eyes as spots blink in and out in your line of vision. When it clears, you see none other than Princess Luna herself standing before you, in all her majesty, though bereft of her royal accessories, just like Cadance had been.

“G-Good morning, Your Highness,” you say, bowing.

“Good morning,” says Luna, smiling. “You look well-rested.”

“Thanks to you,” you say.

“Tis my duty and my pleasure,” says Luna. “Everypony, and every human, deserves a good night’s rest, and I do what I can to ensure that.”

“It’s very noble what you do,” you say, “though it must be pretty exhausting, staying up all night and dealing with ponies’ dreams. You said so yourself last night.”

Luna nods. Looking closer at her, you can see dark circles under her eyes, in spite of her friendly smile.

“It’s not easy to get started in the morning as a result,” she says. “I don’t truly start feeling myself until the afternoon, and I fear I’m not always in the best of moods until then. Celestia is quick to tell me when I’m being grouchy, but I’m usually too out of it to listen or care.”

“Well, I certainly hope I can relieve some of that stress,” you say. “I never imagined I’d be granting a therapy session to two princesses in one week.”

“You truly must be the luckiest human who lived,” says Luna, with an amused giggle.

At that moment, you hear the whistle of the kettle. Luna perks up her ears.

“Oh! I hope you don’t mind, but I got some tea ready. Do you have any preference?”

“I don’t mind at all. I tend to prefer soothing flavors such as peppermint or chamomile, but I shall leave it for you to decide.”

“All right, then. Please, make yourself comfortable, and help yourself to some cookies.”

“Oh, how delightful!”

You head to the kitchen, and prepare two cups of peppermint tea. It’s a particularly strong blend from Jasmine Leaf’s tea shop, and the smell alone is appetizing. You return to the living room to find Luna sitting on your couch, on all fours, nibbling daintily at a cookie.

“Here we are,” you say, setting her cup down. “I hope it’s to your liking, Your Highness.”

Luna swallows and wipes crumbs from her lips with her hoof.

“Thank you,” she says. “It smells delicious.”

“Once you’re all settled in and cozy, let me know, and we can begin.”

You sit down next to her, and from there, Luna alternates between sipping tea and nibbling at cookies. From the dainty way she eats, and the rather stiff way she’s sitting, she’s clearly not completely at ease yet. As a princess, she must be used to a stuffier atmosphere, and has not had much of a chance to loosen her nerves and be herself. Hopefully you can change that.

At last, Luna sets her cup down, licks her lips, and sighs in satisfaction.

“Ahh...That really hits the spot. I don’t often have the chance to indulge in sweet foods myself. Much as I hate to admit it, I envy the ease with which Celestia consumes cake on a regular basis. The royal kitchens are more than happy to churn them out for her. She always makes sure to leave a slice for me, but it’s not the same.”

“Have you ever requested the kitchen ponies make one for you?”

“They have offered, but I don’t trust Celestia not to eat up what I don’t finish. Believe me, she’s done it in the past. She complains that I’m bad at eating up leftovers. Well, excuse me, but I’d rather not eat the same thing two days in a row.”

“I understand. So, what do you do when you get that craving for sweets?”

“There’s a donut shop in Canterlot which provides particularly delectable wares. When the urge hits me, I order half a dozen for myself. Of course, I return the favor my sister gives me by saving her favorite for her.”

Between the cake and the donuts, you’re amazed at how the princesses stay so thin. There must be something to alicorn metabolism that leave them looking slender and regal no matter what. On the other hand, there’s Twilight, who’s a little chubbier than her fellow royals, and you know she enjoys sweets as much as anypony. Perhaps it’s just one of those intricacies of being an alicorn that nopony understands.

“Well, that’s very sweet of you,” you say, before adding, “no pun intended.”

“She gets on my nerves on occasion, especially when I’m still tired from my duties, but that’s normal for siblings. I do love her very much, and she knows I’m only teasing when I tell her all that cake is going to her flanks.”

You nearly spit out your tea at this. Luna put that out so bluntly that you hardly know what to say in response. It’s certainly not something the average pony would feel safe bringing up in casual conversation. Then again, this is Celestia’s sister you’re sitting with, and a fellow princess.

Your attempt to hold back a spit-take did not go unnoticed, as Luna giggles.

“It’s fine,” she says. “As I say, I’m only jesting when I tell her that. I’ve seen her devour nearly a whole cake by herself, and yet she hardly looks like she’s gained a pound. Only the royal bathroom scale knows the truth.”

Putting aside the image of Celestia standing on a bathroom scale, and looking either disappointed or angry, this lines up pretty well with what Cadance told you yesterday. You can’t help but wonder if Twilight will eventually become as tall and slim as her fellow princesses when she gets older.

You set your cup down as well. Luna gives another contented sigh.

“Well, I believe I’m ready to begin now,” she says.

She certainly does look more at ease. That’s a good sign.

“Excellent!” you say. “So, Princess, how would you like to begin? This is your session, after all. However you want to proceed is up to you.”

Luna smiles.

“That’s very obliging of you. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to lie down and rest a bit, and perhaps during that time, I wouldn’t mind an ear scratching.”

“Absolutely, Your Highness.”

You prepare to get up to give her room to lie, content with sitting on the floor to administer her ear scratches. However, before you can do that, she stretches her forelegs, turns, and lays herself on her stomach across your lap. She’s so tall that her barrel rests across your knees. In spite of your surprise, you still manage to move a pillow for her to rest her head on.

“Is that comfortable for you, Your Highness?” you ask.

“Indeed,” says Luna, placidly. “And please, call me Luna.”

“Of course, Prin- er, Luna.”

Still marveling at this, you begin gently scratching behind her left ear. You feel her forehooves curl in, and she lets out a dreamy sigh as her eyes close.

“Wonderful,” she murmurs. “I never knew such a sensation could be experienced...And from so simple a gesture…”

She’s not the first to think that, nor is it likely she’ll be the last. From one ear, you start scritching the other. Her wings give a little twitch, and her star-speckled tail swishes. This brings to mind something you always wanted to know.

“Luna? May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” says Luna, sleepily.

“I’m sure many ponies have asked this already, but how do your and Celestia’s manes do what they do? Flow freely like that, I mean.”

Luna chuckles softly.

“You’re certainly not the first to wonder about that,” she says. “It’s simply a side effect of the alicorn powers my sister and I possess. It comes from having the magic necessary to raise the sun and moon.”

“Ohh,” you say. “I never even thought of that. Is that why Twilight’s and Cadance’s manes don’t do that, even though they’re alicorns?”

“That’s right,” says Luna. “We can’t even feel it when they’re flowing, so it’s no hindrance to us. You may feel mine for yourself, if you like.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. You have my permission.”

Tentatively, you place your hand on Luna’s mane. To your amazement, it doesn’t stop moving at your touch, and yet you can’t feel it moving at all. It feels very smooth and silky as you run your hand along it. Even the translucent edges are solid enough to be touched, and feel just the same..

“Astounding,” you say.

“Thank you,” says Luna.

With that question answered, you resume scratching Luna’s ear with one hand. With the other, you start scratching under her chin. She tilts her head up, a sleepy smile on her face, already looking more rested than when she first arrived. How many ponies has she soothed in much the same way by protecting them in their dreams? Too many to count, very likely.

After a time, with a soft grunt, she turns over onto her back. She’s rather heavier than a normal pony, which isn’t a surprise, given her stature, but she’s not insupportably so. Just like many a pony who has done so before, she curls her hooves up to her chest in a very cute fashion. She opens her eyes and looks drowsily up at you, a small smile on her lips. Grinning, you tap her nose in a boop. Her muzzle crinkles, and she automatically reaches out to tap your nose in return. It never fails.

“Would you care for a belly rub now, Luna?” you ask.

She nods. So, you place your hand on her flat and slender belly and start gently rubbing back and forth. Her coat has a velvety softness to it, almost as though she’s covered in down instead of fur. 

Luna’s eyes close again, and she lays her head back on the pillow. Her back leg twitches, and her tail gives another swish. On a whim, you gently tickle her side, and she wriggles a bit, giggling adorably, and quite unlike the Luna you’ve come to expect. You don’t keep it up for long, though, and soon resume rubbing, and she relaxes again.

With your other hand, you cup her chin and give her cheeks a gentle squeeze. Despite her more angular muzzle, they feel soft and squishy as well. She giggles again and nuzzles her chin into your palm, resting her cheek against your fingers. At the same time, her hoof reaches out and clasps your arm gently. She looks utterly at peace.

So there you sit: the second-tallest alicorn in Equestria, the princess who controls the Moon and guards over dreams, snuggled across the lap of a human, enjoying a belly rub. It’s unbelievable, to say the least. Seeing this kind of foal-like contentment in a pony like Cadance is one thing, but it’s quite another seeing it in somepony like Luna. She’s behaving very much like a large dog, one that looks intimidating, but is an absolute teddy bear in reality. 

Suddenly, you feel a rumble beneath your belly-rubbing hand. Luna must still be a little hungry. Taking your hand away from her belly, you reach over and grab another cookie, holding it before her muzzle. Her nose twitches, sniffing at it, and then she takes a bite of it, without even opening her eyes. You have to suppress a laugh at this, as she snaps up the rest in the same way, licking her lips afterwards. She seems satisfied now, so you resume the interrupted belly rub, as she nuzzles against your palm again.

Time passes slowly and silently. You never think to look at the clock and see how long you’ve been at these sessions. Why should you? You’re not trying to limit how long these ponies get to enjoy affection therapy. The hour allotment is one set in stone at the spa, after all. This is Luna’s time.

Speaking of Luna, what she does next is most surprising. With a murmur, she stirs, and you stop rubbing, removing your hands from her belly and chin. She sits up, yawns, and then, looking at you with a gentle smile, she leans forward and puts her hooves around you, as well as her wings, and pulls you into a close hug. 

You’re so caught off guard that you don’t know how to respond at first. You’re used to receiving hugs, but not so unexpectedly. However, as she settles into the embrace, nuzzling your cheek, your surprise soon ebbs away, and you put your arms around her in turn, returning the hug. You can feel the soft beat of her heart against your own chest, and you detect, for the first time, a scent of something calming and flowery. Is it lavender?

“Thank you,” says Luna. “I feel much better now, thanks to you. Your methods truly are wondrous.”

“It was my pleasure, Luna,” you say. “After all that you do for ponies in their dreams, you deserve some relaxation yourself.”

You feel her hug tighten a little bit, and then she releases you, smiling with that sage soft smile at you.

“Will you be all right with what I suggested last night?” she asks, her smile fading a little, and her tone a little more serious. “About your circumstances?”

You pause. Then, you say,

“I will be. It may take some time, but I will take your advice.”

Luna’s smile returns.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, I must be off, but may the ponies you see today become as relaxed and content as you’ve made me feel, and I hope to see you again, in a happier dream.”

She leans forward and kisses your forehead, then gives you one more hug for good measure. Then, she spreads her wings. With one flap, she lifts up into the air, hovering over the floor. You watch as her horn starts to glow.

“Fare thee well, human of Equestria.”

You smile back at her.

“Goodbye, Luna.”

There’s another bright flash of light, and in the next instant, she’s gone.

For a moment or two, you sit there, still staring at the place where she had been. Then, the clock strikes 11, startling you. You’d better hustle and have lunch before heading over to the spa. It’s sure to be another busy day today.
> Trixie
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today certainly started off in a very interesting way, but you don’t regret it in the slightest. After your talk and session with Princess Luna, you feel much more at ease with yourself. You still haven’t forgotten what you went through yesterday or that previous night, but you no longer feel weighed down by old memories. You’re ready to carry on as you did before, with a new resolve. You have another full afternoon of clients, all of them seeking affection therapy, and you need to keep your mind in the present to help them, without wallowing in the past.

You arrive at the spa before your shift starts, with plenty of time to get the office in ready condition. You’d already tidied up the office the day before, but it never hurts to give it a once-over. You also lay down a new plate of freshly-baked cookies for your clients. At least you know these won’t go to waste. Many ponies possess a good sweet tooth. They’d have to, or else Sugarcube Corner’s business wouldn’t be what it is today.

You take a look at your roster for the day, which Aloe handed to you when you came in. There are a couple names you recognize, ones you think you know, and one that you’d never heard of before. You briefly wonder if this could be another ‘Cadenza’ situation, as you don’t recall meeting a pony in Ponyville with a name like this. 

You can worry about that later. For now, it’s time to get to work.

Like clockwork, just as the clock strikes noon, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, but instead of a pony appearing, something tiny is thrown into the room. It looks like a silvery marble, but you only see it for an instant before it hits the floor, and with a tinkle of glass and a hiss of steam, a cloud of purple smoke fills the room. Alarmed, you cover your mouth and nose and wave your hand about, trying to waft it away, wondering what in the world is happening. 

Then, a familiar voice speaks through the smoke, loudly and dramatically.

“Greetings, affection therapist! Consider yourself blessed, as you have the honor, privilege, and good fortune to have as your first client for the day…”

There’s a loud flapping noise, as though someone is sweeping a large cloth through the air, and the smoke is wafted aside...gradually. 

You can now see a figure swathed in a cape, a broad-brimmed and pointy hat atop their head, waving the cape frantically to flap away the smoke. Coughing, they finally manage to dissipate it, and you can now see that it’s Trixie, in full performance garb. Of course, her name was on the roster, so you already knew it would be her. In retrospect, you probably should’ve expected such a flashy entrance.

Wiping at her watering eyes, she suddenly spies you looking at her, draws her cape around herself, clears her throat, and says, theatrically,

“As I was saying, you have the honor, privilege, and good fortune to have as your first client of the day...the Grrreat and Powerful Trrrixie!”

She sweeps her cape aside, smiling grandly, as if she hadn’t just had a face full of smoke. You sit there, staring in bemusement at her, before you give your head a shake to bring your mind back to the present.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to make an entrance,” you say. “Good afternoon, Trixie. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

With a glow of her horn, Trixie sets aside her cape and hat, then walks over and hops up onto the couch, giving her silvery-blue mane a prim toss as she settles in. Her purple eyes spy the plate on the table and light up with interest.

“Ooh, cookies! Are these for your clients?”

“Why, yes,” you say, smiling. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She levitates a cookie from the plate and chows down on it hungrily.

“Mmm-mmm!” she hums in satisfaction. “A delicious treat worthy of a great and powerful pony.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say, “even if I’m just using a friend’s recipe. Does a great and powerful pony have a very selective palate?”

“But of course,” says Trixie, haughtily. “I’m a performer, destined to wow and amaze audiences of all sorts, from the common row ponies to the most pre-eminent figures of Equestrian society. As such, I’m used to the finest and tastiest of delectables to fuel my magical prowess and stimulate my mighty imagination. Not any old treat will do.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad my baking has satisfied your great and powerful tastes, Trixie,” you say, fighting an urge to chuckle at her bluster.

“Indeed it has,” says Trixie. “Of course, not to disparage your cooking, but my first culinary love shall always be peanut butter crackers.”

Peanut butter crackers? After all of that talk about having a refined palate, that’s what she considers her #1 snack? Not that there’s anything at all wrong with peanut butter crackers, of course. It’s just that you were expecting something a little…fancier.

You don’t say this aloud, naturally.

“Oh?” you say. “Those are pretty tasty.”

“You think so too?” Trixie asks, sounding pleased. “You have good taste, my human friend. I just can’t get enough of them. Once I’m finished putting on my show, I like to relax in my wagon with a nice big plate of peanut butter crackers. I have to watch myself when I do, though. A magician has to keep her great and powerful figure, after all.”

She picks up another cookie as she says this. Not exactly showing much concern for her figure, but again, you say nothing about that. She seems in fine shape anyway.

“Of course,” you say. “So, how have you been lately?”

“Very well, thanks,” says Trixie. “Busily well, actually. I’m putting together my next magic show here in Ponyville, scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Oh, that’s interesting!” you say. “I’ll be sure to be there.”

“Excellent,” says Trixie. “It’s sure to amaze and astonish even my most frequent viewers.”

She settles herself more comfortably on the couch, which in this case means, without preamble, stretching herself at full length along it, so that her head is resting across your lap, while she takes periodic cookie bites. You’re a bit startled by this, not because she’s heavy, but from how suddenly and nonchalantly it was done. Usually ponies only do this when they’re ready for a belly rub. Still, this is her session. If this is how she wants to be at her comfort, let her.

“It will be a change-up to the usual formula of my magic shows,” she says, “for you see, I used to perform solo, no assistants or aid whatsoever.”

“You have an assistant this time?” you ask.

“The best assistant a magician could ask for,” says Trixie, with a gleam in her eye. “Starlight Glimmer.”

“Starlight?” you repeat, a little surprised. “I mean, I knew you two were friends, but I didn’t know she helped you with your shows now.”

“She does, and what a help she’s been,” says Trixie. “Without her, I never could have pulled off Hoofdini’s Moonshot Manticore Mouth Dive, and it was a very near thing, let me tell you.” 

Moonshot Manticore Mouth Dive? Did she mean actually diving into the mouth of a live manticore? You can’t help but shudder at the thought. Trixie seems to notice.

“Fear not, my good human,” she says, reassuringly. “As successful as the trick was, I shan’t perform it again. It’s a legendary trick etched into Equestrian history, and it’s best not to wear out its welcome with too many performances of it. Besides, it doesn’t exactly do wonders for my stress levels, or the audience’s.”

“I can imagine,” you say, grimly. “So, Starlight’s helping you with other tricks?”

“That’s right, but no less exciting or enthralling,” says Trixie. “I only wish I could help her look the part of a great and powerful assistant, but she’s balked at every costume I’ve shown to her.” 

Here, she puts on a whiny voice, which is apparently supposed to be Starlight’s.

“‘I don’t look good in a leotard, Trixie’, ‘tights make me chafe, Trixie’, ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that headdress, Trixie’. She wouldn’t even try them on!” she says, switching back to her normal tone. “How is she supposed to know how she’d look if she won’t even give them a chance?”

You have a brief mental image of Starlight on stage, wearing a shiny leotard and a feathered headdress, and looking utterly miserable. Honestly, you never pictured Starlight as a very dressy or flashy pony.

“I’m very fond of her as a friend,” Trixie continues, “but she can be very picky sometimes. I even offered to make her her own version of my magical ensemble, but she said she doesn’t want to copy me. I wouldn’t mind. It would be flattering to have her in a costume like mine. We are magical partners, after all.”

She sighs, wiping cookie crumbs from her muzzle.

“Oh well. If she wants to join me on stage as she is, I won’t stop her. Perhaps it’s better that way. Everypony ought to know Starlight Glimmer as she truly is: one of the most magically-talented ponies in Equestria, and the most willing to atone for her mistakes. It’s the same way with me: what ponies see is what ponies get.”

There again is what makes Trixie more than the boasting egotist she presents herself as: her consideration of Starlight as a friend, compounded by trusting her as a magician’s assistant. It shows that Trixie is more than loud talk and exaggeration. She truly does care about ponies other than herself.

“An admirable sentiment,” you say, genuinely, “and open-minded, giving Starlight a little free reign.”

“Thank you,” says Trixie, proudly. “I may be the Great and Powerful Trixie, but I’m also the Considerate and Magnanimous Trixie as well. All should bask in my bountiful humility.”

And there she goes again. Still, it’s actually kind of cute how vain she can be.

“Naturally,” you say. “So, did you sign up for a session out of curiosity, or did you need to unwind from your show preparation?”

“A little of both,” says Trixie. “I was intrigued when I first heard about it, and was already planning to try it for myself, but now I feel I need it more than ever.”

Here she drapes her foreleg across her forehead in a dramatic fashion, sighing wearily. It’s the sort of behavior you’d normally see in a pony like Rarity. Then again, Trixie’s a performer. Theatrics are her bread and butter. Or would that be peanut butter?

“It’s exhausting work getting ready for a big show. Magic isn’t all pulling rabbits from hats, guessing the card you drew, and poofing from one end of the stage to another. There’s a lot of effort put into making sure those tricks go off without a hitch. I can’t say how, of course. You already know why.”

“Right. Magicians can’t reveal their secrets.”

“That’s right. Otherwise, you end up looking like a fool on stage in front of dozens, if not hundreds, of ponies. I’ve had that happen before, believe it or not, and it’s experiences like those that have taught me to be diligent in rehearsing my tricks. Starlight’s been a big help with that. Magician’s assistants are the only ones who can be privy to how a magician’s tricks work. They’d have to be, or else, what would be the point of them being an assistant?”

She seems to be going off on a tangent. Perhaps it’s best to steer her back to her original discourse.

“So you’ve been very busy making sure you can perform your tricks perfectly,” you say.

“Yes, I have,” says Trixie. “On top of that, I have to make sure the performance has new material, and coming up with it can be exhausting as well. You can’t just go on stage and pull out the same tricks you’ve done a dozen times before. No matter how flashy and extravagant a routine is, if you show it too often to the same ponies, they’ll eventually grow tired of it. You have to give the audience something new, something they haven’t seen before, something they wouldn’t expect when they’re already expecting the unexpected. Does that make sense?”

“Oh, sure,” you say. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be, coming up with new material.”

“I spend whole nights wracking my brains for new ideas,” Trixie says wearily. 

“I’m sorry to hear,” you say, sympathetically. “But it all pays off in the end, doesn’t it? You get to amaze ponies with your great and powerful magic.”

To your surprise, Trixie gives a hollow laugh.

“Yes and no,” she says. “I mean, I do more so these days, but some time ago, and even with some ponies today...not so much.”

Both her expression and voice become bitter as she says this. You feel like you’re treading into precarious territory here.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you begin, slowly, but Trixie interrupts.

“I’d rather not go into that much detail,” she says, shortly. “Not because I don’t trust you,” she adds, hastily, “but because...I’m not very fond of reliving the mistakes of my past.”

She turns her head to look away from you, with a sad, wistful look in her eyes that goes right to your heart.

“Let’s just say that I bit off more than I can chew, making boasts that I couldn’t back up, making enemies by letting taunts and heckling get to me...letting jealousy of another pony get the better of me, and allowing it to lead me to two of the worst choices I could make…”

You can see a tear sparkling at the corner of her eye, one that she quickly wipes away.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’m not proud of displaying myself like this, ‘off-stage’, in front of others. Ponies see me a certain way, the way I am when I perform, and I don’t like to tarnish their impression of me, not when I’ve been working hard to mend it. I’ve already made an infamous image of myself, and I’m still grappling with it. It’s one of the things Starlight and I have in common: we both have done terrible things, and are having trouble making up for it, and having others believe we’re being genuine.”

Now that’s some interesting food for thought. Starlight established a village of rigid equality, then tried to alter history when Twilight and her friends undid that. It can’t be easy coming back from all of that. What could Trixie have done to equal Starlight in what she did? She doesn’t seem willing to tell, so you don’t think you should pry.

You’d also be lying if you told yourself you weren’t struck by what she said about ponies seeing her a certain way, and not wanting to ruin that image. Now where have you heard that before?...

You compassionately place a hand on Trixie’s shoulder.

“No need to apologize, Trixie. I know what it’s like to live a certain way, with others expecting you to live up to that, and I know other ponies who feel the same.”

Trixie turns her head slightly to look at you.

“Even if I don’t know what you did,” you continue, “the important thing is that you know you want to change, and that you’re willing and are trying to change. Ponies might not recognize it at first, but give them enough time, and they’ll see you’re trying to be a better pony than who you were. The same holds true for Starlight. With how close you two are, and with the two of you looking out for each other, I’m confident you’ll give Ponyville, maybe even the rest of Equestria, the best reason to remember your names.”

Trixie stares at you for the longest time. You wonder if perhaps you were a bit too flowery in what you said, given that you had no idea what her past was. You do have a habit of doing that whenever you’re making a speech.

Finally, Trixie smiles.

“Thank you,” she says. “I really appreciate that. It means a lot to know there are ponies who believe in what I’m trying to do, even when they’re not ponies themselves.”

She cheekily boops you on the nose to punctuate this. You’re not slow in returning the boop, and she giggles, her muzzle scrunching up.

“You’re welcome, Trixie,” you say. “So, are you ready to begin?”

“Absolutely,” says Trixie. “I think I’ve talked your ear off enough for one day.”

You chuckle.

“It’s your session, so you could’ve gone on as long as you wanted, and I wouldn’t want to stop you. So, how would you like to begin, Trixie?”

Trixie ponders for a moment, then says,

“Well, the first thing Starlight told me about was the ear scratches, so I think I’d like to start with that.”

“You’ve got it.”

You start rubbing at the base of her ear, which flicks at first from your touch. As you rub, you watch for the telltale smile of relaxation that everypony gains when you start rubbing, and you’re not disappointed. Trixie snuggles deeper into you, her forelegs curling up to her chest, her eyelids drooping sleepily.

“Mmmm,” she hums. “Now that’s a magical sensation...”

Funnily enough, she’s not the first pony who thought affection therapy was like a work of magic, nor is there doubt that she’ll be the last. 

You continue on, first scratching one ear, then the other, then both at the same time with both hands. Trixie shifts and stirs with each new sensation, before becoming settled again and taking it all in with a contented smile and a sigh. With both hands scratching at an ear, her face is cupped between them, and she nuzzles against your palms in a very cat-like way. It results in giving her a squishy, chubby-cheeked face that’s adorable to witness. You compound this by rubbing her chin with your thumbs, making her tilt her head back until her horn is touching the armrest. You honestly half-expect her to start purring any minute now.

Her eyes open drowsily while she’s in this state, her cheeks pillowed against your palms. She reaches up and softly grips your wrists in her forehooves.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask.

“Oh, yes,” says Trixie, her voice slightly muffled. “I’m feeling more and more like my great and powerful self again. While I hate to break off the scritching, I think I’m ready for a nice belly rub now.”

“Certainly,” you say. “It’s your session, after all.”

You remove your hands from her face, and are about to lay them on her stomach, when she holds up a hoof.

“One second,” she says. “Let me just get myself comfy again.”

With a grunt, she sits up, then shifts over so that she’s sitting with her hindquarters in your lap. She rests her back against your front, her head under your chin, then lays her forehooves on your arms, holding them gently. You look down at her, and she smiles contentedly up at you.

“That’s better,” she says. “You may proceed now.”

Smirking at her, you place a hand to her soft stomach and begin rubbing in circles. Trixie sinks deeper against you, turning her head so that her cheek rests against your chest, giving off a relaxed sigh as she does so. It’s like holding a large dog that just wants to snuggle against you while in your lap. It’s moments like this that make you forget that these are ponies, and not just overgrown, affection-loving cats and dogs.

Your foster family had a dog.

You can remember him well: a big Labrador. Eddie was his name. He was someone you could talk to when you felt alone. Sure, he obviously couldn’t talk back, but he could at least listen. He’d grown fond of you, probably because you showed him so much attention.

You wonder how he’s doing these days.

You give your head a shake, willing yourself back to the present. You have to focus.

All of a sudden, you become aware of Trixie saying something. You hope she hadn’t been trying to get your attention while you were briefly distracted.

Looking down, your hand still at her belly, you can see that her eyes are closed. It looks like she drifted off. However, she seems to be mumbling in her sleep, while feebly raising her hooves up.

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” she murmurs, “prepare to be amazed by the Great and Powerful Trixie…Watch in awe as Trixie shows you magic like you’ve never seen…”

It sounds like she’s dreaming about putting on a show, and is already in front of her audience.

This is certainly new. You’re used to ponies drifting off for a nap while being scritched or belly-rubbed, but until now, you’ve never had a pony who talked in their sleep. Perhaps performing is so deeply ingrained in Trixie’s subconscious that she rehearses even while dreaming. You’re torn between admiration at her commitment and worry over how much she’s putting herself through to rehearse somnambulistically. 

At the very least, it’s a good thing she’s only dreaming about talking to her audience, and not actually performing tricks in her sleep.

You sit with her and continue petting her belly as she dozes on, occasionally murmuring another grand dramatic address while feebly gesturing with her hooves. The effect is a bit dampened by her saying these things so drowsily, truth be told, but you’re sure it’d sound perfectly impressive if she were fully awake.

After a time, you hear her say, sleepily, but distinctly,

“Thank you all. You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

She dips her head forward, clearly giving a bow, but so suddenly that, had you not acted quickly in holding onto her, she would’ve tumbled to the floor. You pull her back up into her original position, and with a grunt, she stirs, blinking her eyes up at you.

“Oh, hello,” she says, yawning. “I must’ve dozed off. I never realized how powerful a simple tummy rub was.”

She doesn’t seem to realize what she’d been saying. Maybe she’s unaware of her sleep-talking.

“You’re not the first to realize that,” you say, grinning. “It tends to be a favorite among ponies wanting affection therapy. How do you feel, Trixie?”

Trixie raises her forelegs up and stretches. You hear the crick of her joints.

“The most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time,” she says. “I feel like I could put on a dozen shows in a single stretch, encores and all.”

“Er, maybe you should still pace yourself,” you say, cautiously. “You don’t want to burn yourself out.”

“I know,” says Trixie. “I was only being metaphorical. No reason to wear myself out when I only just got a nice energy boost. All the same,” she adds, with a smile, “I really appreciate you doing this for me, and for other ponies. Now I see why Starlight spoke so highly of you.”

You feel your cheeks go warm at this. No matter how many times ponies compliment you on your practice, it still makes you feel bashful.

“I’m happy to help, Trixie,” you say. “It might not be magic in the usual sense, but I’m glad it has such a positive effect for ponies.”

“Well said,” says Trixie. “And now, before I depart, I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

Trixie flares up her horn, and her hat comes floating over. From inside it, she inexplicably pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. Upon closer inspection, you find that it’s not actually a paper, but a glossy black and white photograph of Trixie, in full garb, winking at the camera. It’s autographed, too, with Trixie’s fancy signature, the ‘I’ dotted with a star.

“Your autograph?” you ask, looking from it to her.

“A priceless treasure for anypony to possess,” says Trixie, proudly. “Consider it a gift for the service you’ve done for me.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, genuinely. “This is very generous of you.”

“I know it is,” says Trixie, smugly, before adding, in a kinder tone, “but you’re welcome, and thank you again.”

With that, she hops off the couch and summons her hat and cape to her, putting them on with a grand flourish.

“Until we meet again, o Kind and Compassionate Affection Therapist,” she says. “See you on Saturday?”

She’s even given you your own ‘Trixie-fied’ title now. Grinning, you give her a bow with your hand to your chest, and say,

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, o Great and Powerful Trixie.”

Beaming, Trixie magically doffs her hat, then, with a flap of her cape, takes her leave.

Well, you can honestly say that might have been your most interesting session yet. At any rate, it was the most conversational you can remember, at least when it didn’t involve you explaining your sudden fits of painful remembrance. Still, Trixie’s a performer, so loquacity is only natural for a pony like her, and you’re glad you got to help her relax in the midst of her preparations. At least she didn’t drop another smoke bomb to make her exit.
> Marble and Limestone Pie
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not long after Trixie has departed, the clock chimes one o’clock. 

Except this time, there’s no knock at the door.

Two minutes pass, and there’s still no sound of a knock. Early as it is, you’re starting to get a feeling of deja vu from yesterday, when Mrs. Cake was running late. Could the same thing be happening today? In hindsight, you suppose this is just an indication of how used you are to prompt, on-the-dot appearances, when that’s been the norm up to this point. 

However, it seems like there is someone outside the door at least. You could swear you can hear someone whispering on the other side, though you can’t catch a word.

At last, three minutes past one, there comes a knock on the door, and a rather sharp one at that. The suddenness of it makes you jump.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, but nopony appears. Through the gap, you can’t even see anyone on the other side, meaning they’re behind the door. You stare, puzzled, wondering what’s going on. Was your client having second thoughts? Were they feeling too shy to come in?

Now you can hear the voice from outside more distinctly, a rough female voice.

“Come on, sis, don’t keep him waiting. You’re the one who wanted to come down here.”

There’s a pause, and then comes the sound of barely-audible whispering. Even with the door open, it hardly sounds like words are being used at all, so quiet is the voice

“For Celestia’s sake,” says the first voice with a sigh. “I knew this would happen. Hang on.”

A head pokes through the open door. It belongs to an Earth pony mare with a purplish coat, a white mane with straight bangs and the back rather rigidly swept to the side, and lime-green eyes with very prominent eyebrows set into a scowl. She looks rather intimidating.

“Scuse me,” she says, brusquely. “Do you let clients come in with visitors?”

It takes you a moment or two to answer, not only due to the unexpected question, but the rough way it’s asked. This is certainly a new way of proceeding, one you hadn’t dealt with before. However, you manage to regain yourself, clear your throat, and say,

“If it makes the client feel more at ease, I have no objections.”

“Good,” says the mare. “That’ll make things a lot easier.”

She pulls her head back into the hallway.

“He says it’s ok, sis. so I’m comin’ in with you. Come on, move your rump!”

The next second, another Earth pony mare comes hurriedly into the room, quite unwillingly, as the first mare is shunting her along forcefully from behind with her head. Once both are in, the terse-spoken mare closes the door, and now you have a better look at both ponies.

The pony who was so unwilling to come in has a light-gray coat, a very voluminous dark-gray mane and tail, both streaked with lighter shades of gray, purple eyes, one of which is obscured by her mane, and a cutie mark of three purple spheres. She has a dainty, delicate appearance to her, and she’s determinedly avoiding your gaze, keeping her visible eye averted as she sits on the floor before you. She seems almost painfully afraid to be here. Even Fluttershy isn’t this timid, or at least, not since you’ve ever known her.

The other mare is still scowling, as if her eyebrows are frozen in that state. She has a fit, toned build compared to her sister, and her cutie mark resembles half of a lime over a pair of white cubes.

“Well, good afternoon,” you say, smiling. “One of you must be Marble Pie.”

The shy one looks over at the stern one.

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “He’s the one talking to you.”

Slowly, the shy one meets your gaze and nods silently.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you say, kindly. “And you must be her sister, then,” you add, turning to the other mare.

“Limestone Pie,” she says, with a curt nod.

“And both of you are Pinkie Pie’s sisters?” you inquire. “I had an inkling when I saw the name on the appointment sheet.”

Marble says nothing, though her expression does relax slightly at the mention of Pinkie’s name. She nods.

“Yeah, that’s right,” says Limestone. “You’d probably never believe it just by looking at her, but she’s our sister. Most ponies never make the connection.”

It certainly would be hard to believe upon first glance. Pinkie is vibrant, bouncy, and energetic, whereas her sisters seem more muted and moody. Still, you can’t judge simply by appearances. Besides, you’ve known that Pinkie had sisters, just from listening to her talk for long enough, and that she came from a rock farm, the last place anyone would think to be where an exuberant party pony was born and bred. Wonders never ceased in Equestria.

“I’ve heard Pinkie mention you before,” you say. “She thinks the world of you two, as well as another sister she mentioned: Maud, I believe her name was.”

Limestone says nothing. She simply rolls her eyes and looks away, looking moodier than ever. Did you say something wrong? Perhaps you’d best not press the point.

“Well, in any case,” you say, turning back to Marble, “please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

You gesture to the unoccupied cushion on the couch. Marble looks from it to you, then back again, biting her lip. She seems hesitant. Her eye briefly flicks in Limestone’s direction, as though asking her for directions. Perhaps she isn’t used to making decisions without input.

“Well, go on,” says Limestone, gruffly. “You heard him.”

At last, Marble tentatively steps forward, places her forehooves delicately onto the couch, and pulls herself, a bit awkwardly, up onto it, twisting about to get in a comfortable sitting position. She brushes her bangs with her hoof, blushing slightly at her momentary clumsiness. 

“Help yourself to some treats as well,” you say, kindly, gesturing to the cookies. 

Her gaze lingers on the plate, and you swear you hear a faint rumble come from her stomach. She leans over and takes a sniff at the cookies. Her expression brightens considerably, and for the first time, you see a smile on her face. It’s a small smile, but a cute one nonetheless. She picks one up daintily with her mouth, holding it between her hooves as she nibbles on it. There’s something adorably demure about her mannerisms, as though she had been raised to be a more refined lady. She certainly gives a different impression of manners compared to her more grumpy sister. 

Speaking of whom, you look over at Limestone.

“You can have some yourself, Limestone,” you say.

She glances over at you, then at the plate. She shrugs, walks over, and picks one up. She takes an experimental bite, and though she doesn’t smile herself, her eyebrows contract a little, so that she looks less fierce.

“Not bad,” she says. “Tastes like something Pinkie would make.”

“I’m glad you like them,” you say. “She did lend me her recipe after all.”

Limestone nods appreciatively and gulps down the rest of her cookie, just as Marble finishes hers. She looks marginally more comfortable. She’s definitely looking at you more, though her visible eye keeps looking away from time to time. 

“Well, then, Marble,” you begin, but Limestone interrupts.

“Hang on,” she says. “Just wanna give you a word of warning. You might’ve noticed that my sister’s not the chattiest pony. No offense, Marbs,” she adds, looking at her sister.

Marble shakes her head, as though to say ‘none taken’.

“She’s a sweet pony, but she’s quiet even at home, and she clams up something fierce around strangers,” says Limestone. “Nothin’ to do with you, just sayin’. You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble if you try sticking to yes or no questions with her.”

You look bemusedly from her to Marble, who toys with her mane shyly. Her behavior seems to confirm what Limestone has said, as she shows no sign of denying it. This is certainly the most unusual session you’ve had so far, and you had a princess as your client the previous day, and one this morning, not to mention the hour you just spent with Trixie. You’re not entirely confident you can get Marble to open up enough to speak about anything that might be troubling her, if that’s even a possibility. Still, she signed up for a session, so you have to do what you can for her. The comfort level of a client is the most essential aspect of a therapy session.

“Well, ok, then,” you say. “I’ll do my best. I hope you don’t mind answering anything she doesn’t wish to, Limestone.”

“I’m used to it,” says Limestone, shrugging.

Well, that’s settled, then. You clear your throat and turn to Marble.

“So, Marble, are you feeling well today?”

There’s a pause. Marble looks you straight in the eye. The eye of hers that you can see is quite pretty, and it feels a shame that she wants to keep one covered. Then again, Fluttershy’s mane is long enough to hide her face behind as well. It seems to be a common trend for introverted ponies.

Finally, she makes a sound.

“Mm-hmm.”

Even her voice is delicate. It’s not quite like Fluttershy’s, which tends to be barely louder than a whisper, but it’s very close. It’s quite pleasant to hear, honestly. And at the very least, you got an audible response from her. That’s progress.

“That’s good,” you say. “You and your sister work on a rock farm, correct?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I imagine it must be hard work, dealing with rocks.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Our parents own the farm,” Limestone says, “but I’m the one who keeps it running.”

She says this last part with a hint of pride, drawing herself up and puffing out her chest.

“Oh?” you ask. “Not by yourself, surely.”

“Nah,” says Limestone. “Marble helps, but mostly with smaller stuff. She’s not weak, of course, but she doesn’t quite have the Pie Family Muscle that Maud and I have, the kind needed to farm the big rocks. Marble’s more of a thinker and a planner.”

You look from her to Marble, who gives a confirmatory nod. Certainly, Limestone looks in better shape, but it’s gratifying to hear her compliment her sister in spite of that.

“I see,” you say. “Well, do you come to Ponyville often?”

“Mm-mm,” says Marble, shaking her head.

“Pinkie invites us all the time, but it’s hard to get time away from the farm,” says Limestone. “We only have so much time in a year that we can step away and take a vacation.”

“Oh, I see,” you say, sympathetically. “Well, what inspired you to sign up for a session, Marble? Did Pinkie recommend it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I had a feeling,” you say. “And did she invite you here to take part in it?”

Marble shakes her head.

“Mm-mm.”

“Oh?”

“Darnedest thing,” says Limestone. “Pinkie’s the one who told us about it, but Marble’s the one who made the decision to come here. It’s the first time I can remember her being so proactive. She usually waits for somepony to make a decision for her.”

Marble shoots a cold frown her way, nowhere near as intense as her sister’s scowls, but surprising to see in a mare so timid and gentle.

“Well, I mean, she did insist I come along,” says Limestone, shrugging, “but neither of us have been to Ponyville before, so it only made sense not to let her go alone.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” you say. “It shows how much you care for your sister.”

Marble smiles. Limestone looks taken aback. Her cheeks flush crimson, and she averts her gaze, her lips pursed. She looks as though she had actually swallowed a lime. Perhaps she’s not used to compliments. 

Figuring you’re not going to get much more out of her right now, you turn to Marble.

“So, has Pinkie explained how affection therapy works?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm.”

“And where would you like to start?”

Marble ponders for a moment, then points at her ear with her hoof.

“An ear scratch? Certainly. Make yourself cozy, and we can begin. You could have it sitting as you are, or you could lay yourself down. Your session, your choice.”

Marble hesitates, cocking her head rather cutely as she mulls this over. Then, she slowly eases herself onto her stomach, so that her chin is resting on her hooves, across your knees. She looks up at you, as if to ask if this is acceptable. You smile down at her and nod, and she looks relieved. 

You place your hand gently on her head, noting how smooth and silky her mane is, and begin rubbing behind her ear with your forefinger and thumb. Her visible eye starts to gradually close, and a contented smile forms on her muzzle. She softly hums to herself, her chin slipping between her hooves so that they press against her cheeks, causing her mane to spread out onto your lap. Her long tail, long enough to hang over the opposite armrest and nearly to the floor, flicks and swishes as the ear rubbing continues. All vestiges of worry and timidity have vanished completely, and she looks utterly at peace.

You look up for a moment, and can see that, despite keeping her back to you, Limestone’s watching from where she’s sitting. When she sees you looking, however, she hurriedly looks away. She really does seem to be concerned for her sister, but doesn’t appear willing to admit it or show it too much.

After a time, you move from scratching one ear to scratching the other, and Marble gives a little giggle of contented pleasure. Then you give her some scritches under the chin, making her ears flick as she tilts her head back. She looks completely enraptured. 

Then, right in the middle of it, and without warning, she suddenly turns herself over onto her back, curling her hooves up to her chest. The action has swept her bangs back, so that she’s now looking cutely up at you with both eyes visible. Well, you don’t need to be a mind-reader to tell what she wants. This is the universal gesture that says ‘belly rub, please’, a request impossible to deny. It seems she’s feeling much more at ease in this session now.

Smiling, you place a hand onto her stomach and begin rubbing in slow circles. As you noted before, she’s a bit softer in build than her more toned sister, but she’s not as plump as Pinkie. Working on a rock farm must be good exercise, even if, as Limestone said, Marble’s more used to smaller tasks.

Whatever the case, Marble closes her eyes again, and snuggles herself more comfortably against you as you rub, shimmying her shoulders as she settles into the best position for herself. She lets out a low, long sigh, looking utterly relaxed. You can feel your heart melting at the sight, and can’t help but give her a little tickle on her side. She giggles squeakily, twitching her hooves adorably, before settling back again as you return to rubbing.

You hear a soft chuckle nearby. Looking up, you see Limestone watching again, and there’s actually a smile on her face. This time, she doesn’t look away at your gaze, and in fact, has twisted herself around so that she doesn’t have her back to you.

“Look at her,” she says, quietly, and with a fond tone in her rough voice. “I’ve never seen her look so peaceful. She’s like putty in your…well, not hooves, but, you know what I mean.”

You smile.

“I’ve found that the one thing ponies tend to love more than ear scratches is belly rubs,” you say.

Limestone says nothing. She simply watches Marble doze as you continue to rub her stomach.

“She really doesn’t have any problems going on at home, does she?” you ask, delicately.

“Well, no,” says Limestone, after a pause. “Like I said, she’s one of the nicest ponies you could ever meet, and we all love her. She’s just really shy, and it’s hard getting her to try new things, even when it’s something we know she’d like, like this. I hate having to be forceful about it, but sometimes she needs a little push to get her motivated.”

“Right. I see,” you say.

That was certainly the impression you got the more Limestone talked. She might be a bit rough, but it’s evident that she’s protective of her sister and wants the best for her.

“She’s kinda been that way ever since Pinkie left home to live in Ponyville.”

You pause in surprise. Then, realizing you’d stopped belly-rubbing, you catch yourself and continue, hoping Marble didn’t notice. Limestone herself looks surprised at what she said, as though she felt she said too much.

“Is that right?” you ask.

Limestone remains silent, looking wary. This feels like you’re treading in delicate territory, and you don’t want to destroy any goodwill you’ve garnered up to this point.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to elaborate, Limestone,” you say, kindly. “I won’t force you. I just want you to know that, should you wish to, what you say won’t be repeated outside this office. You have my word on that.”

Limestone looks hesitant, keeping her eyes anywhere but on you. You can tell she’s doing some deep thinking about this; those eyebrows of hers are working furiously. Something tells you that she has things she wants to get off her chest, but perhaps she isn’t used to being so open, at least around others outside her family. You keep your silence as she thinks.

Finally, she lets out a deep sigh, stands up, and walks over to sit beside you, next to the couch. Marble continues to doze, oblivious to all that’s going on.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Limestone says. “None of us blame Pinkie for leaving. She’s meant to make ponies smile and throw parties, and she can’t do that by hanging around a rock farm. She changed our lives and gave us all a reason to smile, but it would’ve been selfish to keep her from living up to what she was meant to do. She still comes by to visit, and she even started a tradition of taking each of us on day trips once a year, but we still miss her.”

“I see,” you say, sympathetically.

“It’s not just her, either,” Limestone continues. “Maud doesn’t hang around the rock farm much anymore. She’s studying to earn her rocktorate and become a geologist.”

A ‘rocktorate’? That’s certainly something you’ve never heard of before. Of course, it sounds like the sort of thing that a pony who works with rocks would go for.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yeah,” says Limestone. “She’s been traveling about, conducting studies on different rocks in different parts of Equestria, so she’s able to get away from the rock farm more than the two of us can. She’s also been able to visit Pinkie more often, even more than we have our yearly travel days. The two of them have always been really close, while Marble’s always stuck by me.”

“Ohh, I see,” you say.

“And it’s the same thing with Pinkie,” Limestone continues, sounding as though she’s trying to make a point perfectly clear. “I don’t have anything against Maud doing what she’s doing. We’re all happy that she’s getting her rocktorate. It’ll be really neat having a certified geologist in the family. It’s just that…”

She pauses and looks away. For the first time, you can see a hint of sadness in her normally-scowling face.

“You wish you could do more than work on the farm?” you supply, gently.

Limestone nods.

“It just feels like my sisters are leaving me behind,” she mutters. “It’s a stupid thing to worry about, but I mean...Pinkie’s here in Ponyville, Maud’s doing field study...Even Marble’s thinking about going away for school…”

You look down at Marble in some surprise. Was that true? As the pony herself is still in a state of belly rub euphoria, she’s in no state to provide an answer, and she seems unconscious of the discussion in any case. Limestone continues.

“Mom and Dad are getting older, so they can’t break and farm rocks as easily as they used to, and of course, Marble can only do so much. It’s mostly up to me to make sure things run smoothly, keep the crystal mine in working order, and make sure nothing happens to Holder’s Boulder.”

So rocks aren’t the only thing on the Pie family farm. They also apparently have a mine and something called Holder’s Boulder, whatever that is.

“So you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders,” you say.

She nods. That does go a good way to partially explain her sour mood: stress from managing so much by herself.

“Sometimes I just feel trapped, you know? Like the farm’s all I’m ever gonna have. I know I shouldn’t be ashamed of being a good rock farmer. I come from a long and proud family of rock farming ponies, and Pa never gets tired of saying I’m doing his grandponies proud, but when I see my sisters moving on to bigger and better things, away from the farm, it...it makes me wonder if there’s something I’m missing. I can’t help but wonder if they even look up to me anymore. It makes me wonder if what I do matters to anypony anymore.”

There are no tears in Limestone’s eyes, and indeed, she hardly seems like the type of pony to cry, but she’s no longer scowling. She avoids your eyes and looks down at her own hooves. It hurts your heart to hear her speak like this. For a pony so tough and self-assured, you had no idea she was harboring such feelings of self-doubt. It must have taken a lot of effort for her to be willing to open up to you like this.

Almost instinctively, you reach down and place your free hand gently on Limestone’s head. She doesn’t duck away from it, or even try to swat it away, as you might have expected her to. She’s clearly too glum to muster up the energy to. Taking a chance, you start gently rubbing at the base of her ear. She gives a barely perceptible start, but then, very slowly, her eyelids start drooping, until her eyes are completely closed. Her rigidity melts away completely, and she leans over so that she’s actually resting against the armrest of the couch. You adjust your hand so that it’s in between the couch and her face, and her cheek is soon resting in your palm as you keep scratching. Both her scowl and her gloomy look have disappeared completely, and she looks blissfully calm and peaceful. Even with how ponies normally relax as they get their ear scratches, the effects seem to have taken a much more instantaneous effect than usual. It’s also not easy concentrating on rubbing the belly of one pony and scratching the ear of another, but somehow, you manage for a little bit.

After a time, Limestone gives another start. She opens her eyes, and looks surprised at the position she’s in. She turns her head so that her chin is now in her palm, and she looks up at you. You smile down at her, and she blushes, pulling her head away and fiddling with her mane.

“Silly of me,” she mumbles.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you say. “You looked like you really needed that.”

She glances at you, then looks away, still pink in the face.

“I’m sorry you feel the way you do, Limestone,” you say, gently. “I know it can feel difficult seeing your friends and family moving on, and feeling like you’re being left behind. I kinda know what that feels like. There’s only so much that a human can do in a world of ponies.”

Limestone’s eyes rove over you, taking in your non-pony self, but she says nothing.

“But it’s like you said,” you continue. “Ponies like Pinkie and Maud were born to do more than spend their lives on a rock farm. Pinkie’s meant to spread laughter and smiles wherever she can. From what you described of Maud, it’s her destiny to discover what can be found in rocks found all over Equestria. Even Marble, as you’ve said, is more suited to smaller but no-less-important tasks on the farm. It’s what they were born to do, and only they can do those things.”

Limestone nods, looking as though she’s wondering where you’re going with this.

“But you, Limestone Pie,” you continue, tapping her nose, and making her muzzle scrunch up in the process, “from what you’ve told me, your talent lies in keeping the traditions of your family’s rock farm strong and alive. It’s an important job that’s made for a pony like you. I know it might seem like other ponies don’t place as much value in rock-farming as your family does, and to be honest, if I hadn’t been told about it, I wouldn’t even know rock-farming was a thing. Still, it’s clearly something that’s important enough to have endured and prospered for generations, and you’re doing your part to keep it going. It might not seem as flashy or grand as being a party pony like Pinkie, or as beneficial as being a geologist like Maud, but it’s still an important job, and it’s what you were born to do.”

Limestone stares up at you, struck by what you’ve just said. Once again, affection therapy has an unusual power of loosening your tongue and opening up the floodgates of eloquence, even when it’s based primarily on information you’ve only just learned. Not that you begrudge it, of course, as it always seems to come when it’s needed.

“And as for your sisters,” you add, gently, “I’m perfectly sure they value and love you just the same because of that. Working hard to keep the family farm going, while still being supportive of their own destinies and ambitions...They must feel pretty lucky to have a sister like you.”

Limestone’s cheeks flush, and her mouth quivers. She doesn’t seem sure of what to say.

“Mm-hmm!”

You both jump, and you look down. You haven’t realized you’d paused in your belly rubbing, but sure enough, your hand has paused, resting on Marble’s stomach. The mare herself has opened her eyes, and is smiling up at the pair of you. With a squeaky yawn and a stretch, she sits up, so that she’s sitting with her rump in your lap. Limestone looks flustered.

“Did...Did you hear all of that, Marbs?” she asks.

“Mm-hmm.”

Limestone’s blush deepens. She clearly wasn’t expecting anyone else to hear. Her brows lower as she looks suspiciously at her smiling sister.

“...Did you know I wanted to say all that?” she asks, shrewdly.

At this, Marble’s smile becomes startlingly sly.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And that’s why you wanted me to come with you?” asks Limestone, her brows rising.

“Mmm-hmm!” says Marble, looking quite proud of herself.

You stare from her to Limestone, who looks both surprised and outraged. You would never have imagined a pony so shy and quiet could be so devious. Marble evidently is smarter than she lets on.

Limestone’s mouth works soundlessly, as she’s clearly at a loss for words. You start to worry that she’s about to explode with fury at the deception. Even Marble’s smile falters a little. However, as the blush fades, Limestone shakes her head, and then chuckles.

“You sneaky little stinker,” she says. “I never would’ve imagined it.”

Marble puts a hoof to her muzzle and giggles. You let out a breath of relief, glad an explosion has been averted.

“Well, I’m glad that both of you got something out of this session,” you say, “even if Marble was the one who signed up for it.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” says Limestone, before looking more serious. “You did say you wouldn’t tell anypony else about this, right?”

“Cross my heart,” you say, solemnly. “Client confidentiality is a key requisite of being a therapist, after all.”

Limestone’s expression relaxes.

“Good,” she says. “I just don’t want Pinkie worrying about me, if she hears that I’ve been thinking stuff like that.”

“She won’t hear it from me,” you say. “I’ll leave it to you, should you feel the time’s right.”

Limestone nods gratefully. You turn to Marble.

“Well, Marble, I hope you feel more relaxed.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, smiling.

“I’m glad to hear,” you say, smiling back.

Marble opens up her forelegs. Taking the hint, you allow her to give you a warm hug, which you gladly return. She gives you a nuzzle on the cheek, then you release each other, and she hops down onto the floor. You turn to Limestone.

“I’m not that big on hugging myself,” she says, “so this’ll have to do.”

She holds out her hoof and gives you a grin. Smiling back, you bump your knuckles against it. Then, Marble walks up beside her and gives her a tender nuzzle. Limestone rolls her eyes, but smiles.

“Aw, Marbs,” she mutters.

She returns the nuzzle all the same.

“Thanks, sis,” she says, quietly.

She then looks up at you.

“And thank you for, well...you know.”

“Mm-hmm,” says Marble, nodding.

“You’re welcome,” you say, warmly. “I hope you two will be able to come by Ponyville more often.”

“Can’t make any promises, but we can try,” says Limestone.

“Mm-hmm,” says Marble.

“Well, take care,” you say.

“So long,” says Limestone.

Marble inclines her head politely, and the two Pie sisters take their leave out the door.

Now this had to be the most unusual affection therapy session you’d ever undertaken. Pinkie’s introverted sister freely signing up for a session, bringing her rougher and grumpier sister along as a chaperone and partial translator, all the while banking on her feeling comfortable enough to open up about what she was going through, so she could take part in the therapy as well? It doesn’t seem likely that you’ll see the like of such well-intentioned slyness again.
> Vinyl Scratch and Octavia
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not long after Marble and Limestone have departed, the clock strikes 2. The instant the reverberation of the chimes die away, there’s a knock at the door. Except, it’s not like any normal knocking that you’ve ever heard before. There’s a musical rhythm to it, though you can’t say you know the song it’s replicating. Admittedly, you’ve been guilty of similar behavior before, when you had a song stuck in your head; you just feel the urge to dance, tap out the beat, or even sing to yourself. You get stared at for it much less here in Ponyville than you did in Manehattan.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, accompanied by a refined and exasperated female voice saying,

“For Celestia’s sake, Viny, there was no need for that.”

Two mares enter, only this time, both enter under their own steam, rather than one being shunted along by the other. Other than that, you feel deja vu strike you once again.

One of the mares is a unicorn with a white coat, an electric-blue mane and tail that are both in a state of extreme frizziness, a slightly chubby figure, and an eighth note for a cutie mark. A pair of purple headphones circle her neck. Her eyes are completely obscured by a pair of purple-tinted sunglasses, and her head bobs from time to time, as if she’s listening to music in her head, all with a complacent smile on her face.

The other mare has a gray coat, light-purple eyes, a long and well-groomed black mane and tail, a slender, if slightly curvy, figure, and a treble clef for a cutie mark. A collar and pink bow tie decorate her neck. She has a dignified, poised look to her.

You’ve seen these two before. 

The first pony is Vinyl Scratch, though she’s more often known by her stage name, DJ-PON3. As that name implies, she’s a DJ who’s often hired to provide music at parties and clubs. You’ve seen her working her magic behind the turntable at some of Pinkie’s parties. Her bass-heavy music is rather hard on the ears, but it does get the blood pumping and make one want to dance.

As for the other pony, her name is Octavia. She’s a cellist who happens to be part of an orchestral ensemble. You’ve seen her performing at more reserved functions, filling the air with the deep and sonorous notes of her cello. It’s nothing short of musical bliss listening to it.

It’s a bit surprising, therefore, to see two ponies who represent two completely opposite genres of music standing together in your office.

“Good afternoon, Vinyl Scratch, Octavia,” you say, politely.

“Good afternoon,” says Octavia, giving you a small but kind smile.

Vinyl silently nods in token of acknowledgment.

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you both here,” you say. “My roster says that Vinyl is scheduled for an appointment at this hour, and you’re scheduled right after, Octavia.”

“Ah, yes,” says Octavia. “I do beg your pardon for this bit of confusion. The both of us had signed up for therapy sessions on the same day, one after the other, coincidentally enough.”

“I see,” you say, though this didn’t really answer your question. “Did you want to exchange sessions, or was there something else you had in mind?”

“Oh, no, no,” says Octavia, earnestly. “We have no complaints about the scheduling at all. It’s just that Vinyl needed me to accompany her to her session.”

“Is that so?” you ask. “Would it be all right to ask the reason? I’m perfectly fine with her having accompaniment during her session, of course. I’m just wondering if it’s due to shyness or a different reason.”

Octavia looks inquiringly at Vinyl, as if she’s silently asking for permission to keep speaking. You can’t see Vinyl’s expression behind those large shades of hers, though you could swear you saw her raise an amused eyebrow at being suspected of being shy. Nevertheless, she looks at Octavia and nods. Looking mollified, Octavia says,

“Vinyl’s mute, you see, and she needs an interpreter.”

And now it clicks in your brain.

Now that you think about it, in all the times you’d seen Vinyl Scratch around town or at her parties, you can’t recall ever hearing her speak a word. You’ve always just chalked that up to her being lost in the beat of her music. You didn’t know she actually couldn’t speak.

“Ohh, I see,” you say, slowly. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

Vinyl waves her hoof airily, as if to say she’s not at all offended. She then makes other signs with her hooves. Octavia watches her, then says, with some amusement in her voice,

“She says ponies are always shocked to learn that, given how bombastic her music is. I certainly was when we first met. She’s long learned to live with it, but it’s sometimes difficult for ponies to know what she wants unless they know PSL. Fortunately, I had been studying it before the two of us became acquainted,” she adds, with a hint of pride as she puts her hoof to her chest.

Vinyl gives her a small bump with her hip, earning her a reproving look.

“Oh, please,” Octavia says, “as if you never preen yourself about your talents.”

Vinyl makes a careless gesture with her hoof, as though to wave off Octavia’s comment.

“I see,” you say. “I’m afraid I haven’t done enough study on Pony Sign Language myself. I always meant to, but somehow or other, I never got around to it.”

“Understandable,” says Octavia. “I simply hope you don’t mind me being here for her session.”

“Not at all, Octavia,” you say. “One of the prime commitments of affection therapy is proper accommodations for clients. If having you here will make Vinyl more comfortable during her session, then by all means. Plus, we’ll be able to move right into your session afterwards, so it’s win-win.”

“I quite agree,” says Octavia.

“With that said,” you say, “please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Vinyl crosses over to the couch and leaps, or rather vaults, onto it, making the frame creak from the sudden impact, and making you jump slightly. You don’t distrust the sturdiness of the couch, as Vinyl’s by no means the heaviest pony to come in for a session, but no pony you’ve known has ever turned the simple act of sitting down into such a cavalier demonstration.

“Vinyl!” snaps Octavia, in precisely the same tone as a mother scolding a naughty child. “This isn’t the time to practice your ‘stage dives’.”

Completely unperturbed, Vinyl sits up in a relaxed slouch and runs a hoof through her messy mane, ruffling it. With an annoyed ‘tsk’, Octavia seats herself delicately on the floor beside Vinyl’s spot, giving her silky mane a prim flick, accompanied by a pointed look at her unicorn friend, as though purposefully trying to demonstrate proper decorum. It has no effect on Vinyl whatsoever.

“Help yourselves, as well,” you say, gesturing to the plate of cookies.

Vinyl grins, her horn lighting up. Two cookies float from the plate, and she levitates one in front of Octavia, almost hitting her on the nose. She shoots another reproachful look at Vinyl.

“Thank you, Vinyl, but I’ll pass for now,” she says.

Vinyl shrugs, brings both cookies in front of her face, and chows down on them, licking her lips and patting her stomach after.

“Vinyl attends a lot of party functions,” says Octavia, dryly, “so she has a particular fondness for sweets and snack foods, hence that little belly of hers. I keep warning her that such a diet isn’t doing her weight any favors, but she never listens.”

Vinyl simply sticks her tongue out at Octavia, whose nose crinkles indignantly. You confess to yourself that you’re a bit bemused by these antics, making you wonder if you’re witnessing some sort of comedy routine, but you decide it’s best to just press on. You clear your throat.

“So, Vinyl,” you say, “what brings you here for a session? Do you have anything going on, or did you just want to see what affection therapy was like?”

Vinyl gestures with both of her hooves, one after the other, miming holding something on top of each one.

“A little of Column A, and a little of Column B,” Octavia translates. “She’s intrigued with the idea of affection therapy, but she’s also been feeling overtaxed with a surplus of performances.”

Vinyl gesticulates to Octavia, waving her hoof in a negative fashion. Octavia rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Of ‘gigs’, I mean,” she says, wincing as she says the word. “Such an uncouth word,” she mutters. “It’s hardly any wonder she’s tired,” she continues in a normal tone, “when most of these parties last until midnight.”

“I see,” you say. 

Vinyl starts making more gestures.

“Vinyl, I’m sure he’s not interested in hearing about that,” says Octavia, snippily.

Vinyl gestures again, this time more insistently. Octavia sighs.

“Honestly, Vinyl,” she mutters.

“What’s she saying?” you ask.

“She’s recounting something ridiculous that happened at the last party she provided music for,” says Octavia. “I’ll spare you the details, but it was nothing short of cider-fueled chaos, thankfully without any involvement from Discord.”

Vinyl gestures again.

“No, I don’t think you should send him an invite to your next party. The last thing we need is the Spirit of Chaos cutting loose on the dance floor.”

Vinyl shrugs.

“Yes, it will suit myself, thank you very much,” says Octavia, loftily.

This is getting a bit awkward, so you clear your throat, and both look up. Octavia’s cheeks turn as pink as her bowtie.

“Dear me,” she mumbles. “So sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, genially. “Therapy’s all about airing out what’s grieving you, after all.”

Octavia gives you a small smile.

“So you’re feeling a bit of party burnout, huh, Vinyl?” you ask.

Vinyl nods.

“I can’t entirely say I know what that’s like,” you say. “I’ve never been much of a party person, though I do enjoy the parties that Pinkie throws.”

Both mares nod in agreement. If there’s one thing no pony can ever quibble on, it’s the quality of Pinkie’s parties.

“Of course, living in Manehattan, you have ponies who listen to music and party at all hours of the night,” you say, “along with the neighbors of said ponies who make even more noise trying to get them to shut up. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Vinyl silently laughs. Octavia shakes her head in commiseration.

“But I digress,” you say. “I’ll certainly see what I can do to help you relax and wipe away that feeling of stress. That’s what affection therapy is all about.”

Vinyl grins.

“Before we begin, though, do you have any restrictions? Anything you don’t want done during this session?”

Vinyl thinks for a second or two, then taps the frame of her glasses purposefully.

“She wants her sunglasses to stay on,” says Octavia. “She’s rather particular about wearing them, though I can’t see why. Everypony already knows who she is. It isn’t like she’s concealing some hidden identity.”

You can’t see Vinyl’s eyes behind those shades of hers, but the movement of her head tells you that she just made a very pronounced eye-roll at Octavia’s comment.

“Keep the glasses on,” you say, making a mental note. “All right, easy enough. Where would you like to start, Vinyl?”

Vinyl points to her right ear, giving it a flick at the same time.

“Ear scratches? Excellent choice. Make yourself cozy, and we can begin.”

Without further ado, Vinyl stretches herself out on her stomach, so that she’s resting across your lap. You stare down at her for a moment or two, caught off guard, but she just grins up at you. You have to admire her boldness and ease of manner. Nothing seems to phase her or give her pause, even for a second. Of course, that kind of free-spiritedness might land her in trouble.

Recovering yourself, you begin scratching at the base of her ear. Even though she’s already stretched herself along the length of the couch, as you scratch, you can feel her inch forward just a little more, her forelegs stretching out, and her hind legs as well. A sleepy smile crosses her muzzle, and her free ear flicks. She clearly can’t keep her cool and unflappable demeanor under the soothing influence of an ear scratch.

After a time, you start scratching her other ear next. You didn’t believe it was possible, but she sinks even further into the feeling, as though she’s expecting to just melt into the couch. One of her hind hooves twitches, and she buries her chin against your leg. From your vantage, you can actually see past her sunglasses and down at her eyes, but, unsurprisingly, they’re hidden behind her blissfully closed lids. You glance up at Octavia, who’s watching all of this with a mixture of interest and amusement.

You soon go from ear scratches to chin scritches, cupping her chin in your hand as you scratch it with your fingers. Vinyl tilts her head up, smiling dreamily, as her back hoof thumps against the opposite armrest. Even in the midst of affection bliss, there’s an unmistakable rhythm to those hoof thumps, tapping out a beat. It’s as if music is in her very blood. Still, it’s a wonder how her sunglasses are able to stay on her nose from the wriggling and shimmying she’s been doing while getting scritched.

Eventually, you feel a tap on your arm. Looking down, you see that Vinyl has put her forehoof on it. You pause, gently removing your hand from her chin so she doesn’t just plop back down.

“Everything going ok?” you ask.

Vinyl nods with a smile, and then, without further ado, twists herself over so that she’s lying on her back. At the same time, she removes her headphones from around her neck and levitates them beside her, just before she lies down. Some quick reflexes on her part, you have to say.

Looking up at you, she pats her belly. You don’t need Octavia to translate that for you.

“A belly rub?” you say, smiling. “Of course.”

Just as you’re moving your hand, however, Vinyl holds up a hoof to forestall you, then points to her headphones. You look from her to Octavia, puzzled.

“She wants to know if she can wear her headphones during it,” says Octavia. “She didn’t bring any actual music with her, but she says just having her headphones on lets her hear the music in her head better, and it allows her to relax.”

So Vinyl always has music going on in her mind? That’s pretty easy to believe; you can’t help but imagine that nearly every musician constantly has songs on the brain.

“Is that right?” you ask. “Well, if it makes you feel more comfortable, Vinyl, then by all means. I’ll just give you a signal when time’s just about up. Ok?”

Vinyl nods, then levitates her headphones over her ears, snapping them into place before laying her head back across your lap and folding her hooves across her chest. With that done, you place your hand on her pudgy middle and start rubbing in circles. She has surprisingly smooth fur for a mare with such a frizzy mane and tail, and while not as chubby as Pinkie, her tummy is still quite soft.

Vinyl doesn’t make a sound, but you can almost feel the contented ‘Mmmm’ rising up from within her as she settles in. You brush your fingers along her side, gently tickling her, and she gives a little squirm, her mouth curling into an adorable little smile. You can’t help but feel that Vinyl is exactly the sort of pony who lives to be pampered and spoiled, even if she’s not as refined as Rarity. It’s quite cute.

As you continue to rub her belly, one of her forehooves twitches, and she makes a grab at thin air, as though she’s trying to reach for something. Acting on a hunch, you gently touch her hoof with your free hand, and she wraps both hooves around it, clutching it to her chest just like a foal grasping a favorite toy. Her smile broadens ever so slightly, and you feel your heart melt. 

With your palm to her barrel, you can feel the soft, muted thumping of her heart, which, contrary to what you might have expected from her already, beats with the same steady rhythm as a normal heart, rather than with a musical beat. Well, it’s just as well: an irregular heartbeat would be cause for concern.

Octavia chuckles softly.

“Just look at her,” she says. “She’s just like a filly in a grown mare’s body. Of course, she does quite a lot of silly and foalish things that she should know better about, and not just at the parties she attends. I feel like a foalsitter half the time I’m with her. Still, it’s rather precious seeing her act like this, when she can wind down and just relax. She deserves it.”

You feel touched by the warmth in Octavia’s tone. She really does care about Vinyl, in spite of those brief moments of annoyance you observed.

“You know her pretty well, don’t you?” you ask.

“More than I ever thought I would,” says Octavia. “We are housemates, after all.”

This little comment makes you pause for a moment, looking wide-eyed at Octavia. Catching yourself, you give your head a shake and continue belly-rubbing, all with Vinyl none the wiser for the momentary interruption.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous,” says Octavia, guessing from the look on your face, “hearing that after seeing us as we are.”

“Ridiculous?” you echo, hastily. “No, no, I wouldn’t say ridiculous. Unexpected, maybe, but not ridiculous.”

“Well, you’re not the first to be surprised about it,” says Octavia, “nor will you be the last, I’m sure. It’s only been about a year or so.”

“Oh really?” you ask. “And how did you and Vinyl become housemates? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. I’m kind of intrigued to know how a cellist and a DJ became such good friends.”

Octavia gives you a little smile.

“I’d be happy to answer that,” she says. “I doubt Vinyl would object, though she can’t hear us anyway, through the combination of her internal soundtrack and a good tummy rubbing.”

“Heh, true,” you say, glancing at the peacefully insensible unicorn lying across your lap.

“It was quite a stroke of chance that we met,” says Octavia. “It was during our university days, when we went to the same college. We both took music classes, though, of course, our interests in music differed greatly. I was more interested in music appreciation, theory and composition, while Vinyl majored in music production and technology classes. That’s paid off handsomely with her skills behind her DJ booth.

“Our paths didn’t cross often in those days. We’d pass by each other on the way to class, when she was surrounded by her peers, and I by mine. I could hear her music even with her headphones clamped over her ears. I thought it quite inconsiderate at the time, and frankly, I still do.”

“I’ve never been a fan of that,” you say. “Then again, whenever I listen to music through headphones, I’m always paranoid that others can hear it. But please, continue.”

“I also saw her at lunch, but she always sat by herself. It didn’t look like she minded; she seemed off in her own little world. Still, I couldn’t help wondering about it, when she always seemed to be in the thick of a crowd of ponies between classes. I was curious about this change, though I couldn’t really say why.

“So, one day, I decided to strike up an acquaintance with her. That’s when I learned that she was mute. I learned from her gestures that she didn’t really have many friends, simply ponies who were impressed with what she made in class, but who couldn’t hold a real conversation with her. Some even thought she was stuck-up because of her silence. 

“It explained a great deal to me, as I’d never heard her speak a word, despite how loud she liked to be with her music. I felt sorry for her, though I was sure she wasn’t looking for pity. Because I knew PSL, I strove to spend time with her and keep her company. I even introduced her to some of my own friends, some of whom became part of my ensemble today. I really do think she was grateful, though she never told me so with signs. She’s always liked to keep an aloof attitude about everything, and act as though nothing can surprise her, but deep down, I knew she appreciated my company, as I grew to appreciate hers.”

“That’s very sweet,” you say.

Vinyl gives a little squirm, and you look down at her, wondering if she could hear after all. However, she simply snuggles deeper into her relaxed position and dozes on, still clutching your hand. You and Octavia both smile down at her before looking back up at each other.

“Please continue, Octavia,” you say.

“We kept in touch after we both graduated. She moved to Ponyville, while I stayed in Canterlot to form my orchestral ensemble. Vinyl must have found out where and when we’d be performing, because I could nearly always spy her in the audience during one of our shows. I was amazed and touched by that level of devotion, to see that she was willing to make the trip to Canterlot just to see me play music outside of her usual interests. I returned the favor by attending one of her parties. My ears were ringing for days after, but it was well worth it. I’d never seen her so alive as when she was working her magic at the turntables, and my being there really made her happy, as she afterwards told me. Since then, we both have dabbled in each other’s tastes. Vinyl found some orchestral pieces she likes, and I found some discotheque music that didn’t numb my ears.”

The two of you laugh, with Vinyl still none the wiser for it.

“That’s incredible, the way you two found common ground,” you say.

“I quite agree,” says Octavia. “There was one odd thing, however. Although I had Vinyl over to visit me at my home in Canterlot several times, I’d never seen her home in Ponyville, and she always avoided the subject when I brought it up with her.”

“Is that so?” you ask, puzzled.

“Yes. So, one day, I paid her a surprise visit.”

Octavia pauses, swallowing before continuing.

“I’ll never forget what I saw,” she says, grimly. “Vinyl was living in an apartment in a state nothing short of squalor. Trash and food containers lying about, dirty dishes piled in the sink, a positive miasma of rank odor permeating every square inch, and there she was, on a dirty couch, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and drink cans, still wearing that self-complacent smile of hers, acting as though she were seated upon a throne of polished gold.”

You shudder. Octavia’s description paints a vivid picture of a dingy and derelict apartment in your mind, with Vinyl amidst the very debris and detritus she mentioned.

“How did she let it come to that?” you ask. “Wasn’t she already a successful DJ?”

“Yes,” says Octavia, “but she’s always been rather helpless when it comes to keeping neat and tidy. She also couldn’t practice her music for long at that apartment. She was already given fines for noise complaints by the neighbors, and she wasn’t on the best of terms with her landlord.”

“I see,” you say, simply.

“For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how she could live that way, or why she had never told me that was the condition she was living in. If I’d known, I would have done everything I could to help clean her home up and set her right.”

“Did she give any reason for why she didn’t tell you?” you ask.

Octavia sighs.

“She didn’t want to worry me,” she says, quietly. “She knew I would fuss over her if I knew the truth, and she felt I had enough on my plate with my ensemble’s schedule to add herself to my list of concerns. She never wanted to be a burden to anypony, and she was determined not to become one for me.” 

You look down at the snoozing unicorn. Who would have thought that beneath the aloofness and loud music was a thoughtful and caring soul, sacrificing her own needs to keep her friends happy? Appearances truly can be deceiving.

“I was touched by her consideration towards me,” says Octavia, “but at the same time, she should never have allowed herself to reach such a state just because of that. I resolved then and there to do something about it, and in fact, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I had been considering buying a home in Ponyville at the time, you see.”

“Were you?” you ask.

“I was,” says Octavia. “Canterlot is a lovely city, but it’s too noisy and busy, and it was beginning to stifle my creative spirit. I wanted someplace quiet and peaceful to settle down in and work on my compositions. The house I had my eye on was perfectly suited for just that, and it could easily accommodate two ponies.”

“So you invited Vinyl to live with you, to get her out of her old lifestyle?” you ask.

“Precisely,” says Octavia. “She was hesitant at first, but it didn’t take long for her to come around to the idea, once she knew how serious I was. I don’t think anypony has ever stuck their neck out for her the way I did before. And so, the two of us have been living together for almost two years now.”

“That’s very sweet, Octavia,” you say, touched. “You really are a true friend to look out for Vinyl’s best interests like that.”

Octavia smiles sweetly.

“Thank you, dear,” she says. “It hasn’t always been easy, as you saw evidence of yourself. Vinyl’s still a bit careless, and she says I nag her worse than her mother ever did.”

Octavia rolls her eyes at this.

“Still, she has been taking strides to make sure I’m living just as comfortably as she is, and that we can both work on our music without disturbing each other. She’s quite handy with auditory spells, you see.”

“Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

“Nor would I. She’s always been full of surprises.”

“So I can well believe,” you say.

The clock chimes its 5 minute warning, making the both of you jump. Time really flew as you were talking with Octavia. 

“Goodness,” says Octavia. “Have I been prattling on for that long?”

“Oh, don’t call it prattling, Octavia,” you say, genially. “It was very nice hearing all of that from you. I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to share it. I feel like I understand the two of you much better now.”

Octavia smiles. You remove your hand from Vinyl’s belly and gently boop her nose. Her muzzle crinkles and she stirs, releasing your other hand, which you remove from her chest. She sits up, stretching and yawning silently, then moves her headphones back to rest around her neck.

“Feeling better, Vinyl?”

Vinyl nods earnestly.

“I’m glad for that,” you say, smiling back. “Now you’ll hopefully be feeling fit and primed for your next gig.”

Vinyl grins, showing her white teeth.

“Now, would you like to sit here and wait for Octavia to finish?” you ask.

Vinyl shakes her head, gesturing with her hooves. You look to Octavia to translate.

“We both agreed that she’d wait for me at home,” says Octavia. “You’re very kind to offer, though.”

Vinyl makes a couple more gestures, then puts her foreleg around your shoulders, giving you a friendly squeeze, while also giving you a light punch on the arm with her other hoof. Octavia giggles.

“And that’s her way of saying ‘thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome, Vinyl,” you say. “Take care.”

Vinyl hops down off the couch. She pauses at the table for a moment, then selects another cookie and gulps it down. Octavia simply shakes her head, and Vinyl walks to the door. She waves to Octavia, who nods in acknowledgement, then turns to you. Her horn lights up, and, to your surprise, she lifts her sunglasses up, showing a pair of vibrant, rose-pink eyes. She winks at you, puts her glasses back down, then takes her leave.

“Well, look at that,” says Octavia, smiling. “Vinyl hardly lets anypony see her eyes under her sunglasses, unless she really trusts them. You must have rendered her a great service with your therapy, to trust you that way.”

You can feel yourself blush at this sort of praise.

“I’m glad to have helped her,” you say, modestly, “and I hope I can do the same for you.”

The clock chimes 3 at that very moment.

“And look at that,” you say. “We’re right on time. Please, have a seat, Octavia. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” says Octavia, politely.

You offer your hand to her. She places her hoof in it, and you assist her onto the couch, whereupon she seats herself gracefully.

“I know you weren’t in the mood before,” you say, gesturing to the plate of cookies, “but the offer’s still open.”

Octavia eyes the plate with interest, just as her stomach rumbles. Her cheeks briefly flush.

“Now that you mention it, all that talk did make me rather peckish,” she says. “One wouldn’t hurt.”

She selects a cookie from the plate and, just as Marble had done, daintily munches on it, holding it between both hooves. While you’re impressed with the delicate and refined way she eats, you also can’t help thinking of squirrels, seeing her hold and munch her food that way. You say nothing, of course, and the cookie soon disappears. You hand her a napkin to wipe her muzzle with.

“Thank you,” she says, dabbing at her lips. “I don’t indulge in sweets very often, but I do enjoy the odd treat now and again. I know Vinyl couldn’t care less about her figure, but I try to keep myself in good shape, and I wish she’d do the same. I’ve been encouraging her to cook healthier meals rather than subsist on junk food. It’s a slow process, but it’s proving marginally successful. She’s eating less instant meals, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say. “Even if it’s only baby steps, it’s still progress.”

“Yes, I agree,” says Octavia. “Of course, whenever I bring up her weight at home, she just retorts that I’m more fit as a cello than as a fiddle.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What does she mean by that?” you ask.

“That I have big hips, very likely,” says Octavia, patting her sides.

She is a bit curvy at the hips, as you noted when she first came in, but hardly cello-shaped, as far as you can see. Again, you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I suppose it sounded clever in her head,” she says, “but I think it got lost in translation when she put it into signs.”

“Oh dear,” you say, somewhat bemused.

“That’s just her way,” says Octavia. “She hasn’t got a mean-spirited bone in her body, but when she has something she wants to express, she doesn’t spare a syllable in signs, and she can be a bit bold in her vocabulary.”

“I see,” you say.

Truth be told, it’s a bit perplexing to hear someone spoken of as having a lot to say when they were completely silent, and could only communicate through sign language. Still, they do say that actions speak louder than words, and Vinyl certainly has no issues with being loud in other ways.

“But I digress,” says Octavia. “I don’t want to talk your ear off with more chatter.”

“Oh, please, don’t feel like you have to hold back on saying anything,” you say. “This is your session, after all.”

Octavia smiles gratefully, then settles herself more comfortably on the couch.

“So, Octavia, what inspired you to seek a therapy session?” you ask. “Curiosity? Fatigue?”

“A little of both,” says Octavia. “Like Vinyl, I was fascinated by the sound of affection therapy. Well, fascinated and puzzled. Relaxation and contentment through ear scratches and belly rubs? I’d only ever seen it prove useful for dogs and cats, never for ponies.”

“You’re not the first who’s wondered about it that way, believe me,” you say. “I don’t think you’ll be the last, either. There’s always going to be somepony who’s baffled by the idea of affection therapy.”

Octavia giggles, then says,

“Well, unusual as it sounded at first, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I genuinely needed it, especially as of late.”

“How so?”

Octavia rests her hoof against her temple, looking suddenly weary.

“I’ve been going through composer’s block lately,” she says. “My ensemble has a performance coming up, and I promised a new solo piece on my cello. The trouble is, I’m having difficulty thinking up a song. I’ve been wracking my brain for days, but nothing’s come to me. I’ve had lapses before, but they’ve never been this bad…”

You can certainly understand how that feels. You once thought about trying your hand at writing, but it didn’t come to anything. All you did was sit in front of a blank piece of paper, pen in hand, trying to bully your brain into a state of creativity, to no avail. Irritatingly, you found that you only had ideas flow while you were standing and walking around, but when you actually sat down to write, it all vanished. It was impossible.

“Oh my,” you say, sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear. A creative block of any kind must be torture to deal with.”

“It really is,” says Octavia. “The closer the date of our performance comes, the greater the pressure and the worse the stress. I was so sure I’d have something by now, but ever since I made that promise, it feels as though all of my creativity has ebbed away, and nothing I do to distract myself makes it any easier.”

“What do you usually do to distract yourself?” you ask.

“Oh, anything that gets me away from my cello and my mind off music,” says Octavia. “Reading, having some tea, taking a walk. They’ve always worked before, but somehow, this feels different, and nothing works anymore. It’s as if it’s because it’s something I promised would be done that’s making it so difficult.”

Here, her voice grows louder, more agitated.

“My mind just keeps drifting back to the deadline, and the fact that I’ve barely even started! I keep thinking about what will happen when the day comes, and I have nothing to show for it! I’ll just be standing there, on stage, looking like a fool! It’s driving me mad, but I don’t know what to do! I-don’t-know-what-to-do!”

She presses both hooves against her temples now, taking deep breaths, her pupils shrunken to pinpoints. It’s quite distressing and alarming to behold, and it sends a pang through your heart to see her in such a state.

Something instinctive tells you that what she needs right now is the assurance that she isn’t alone, and that you’re here to help her. So thinking, you put a hand to her shoulder, and that little act seems to do the trick. Her features slowly start to relax, her hooves lowering, her breathing becoming calmer. She tilts her head, so that her cheek is resting against the back of your hand. You can see tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to lose control like that. I’m usually more composed than this. I don’t even want Vinyl to see me like this...”

“It’s all right, Octavia,” you say, gently. “That’s why you’re here: to let all of your grievances out and clear the air. Take the time you need to recompose yourself.”

She sniffles and dabs at her eyes with the other end of the napkin she used. You sit in silence for a bit, letting her calm down, before speaking up again.

“You know, I once heard a good remedy for relieving stress: playing the piano, and getting any aggressive feelings out by slamming the keys as hard as you can.”

Octavia looks up at you.

“Of course, I don’t know if the same method would work quite as well on a cello,” you admit.

“No, I suppose not,” says Octavia. “I could scrape my cello bow across the strings, but what an evil hiss that would make. Besides, I’d rather not take my frustrations out on my dear musical partner when it’s my own lazy brain that won’t cooperate.”

“Have you tried asking Vinyl for help?” you ask.

Octavia blushes, looking away.

“Well…she knows I have a solo coming up,” she says, awkwardly, “but I haven’t told her I’m suffering composer’s block. I didn’t want her to needlessly fret over me when it’s my burden to bear. She has enough to do with her own work without worrying about me.”

Now where have you heard that before? These two really are kindred spirits.

“In any case, her methods of clearing the mind are...a bit more boisterous and exuberant than I’m used to.”

“Like what?”

“She distracts herself by listening to loud music and drowning out all bothersome thoughts. I’m sure it’s quite effective for her, but I simply don’t have the hearing capacity to endure that kind of prolonged ‘distraction’.”

“No, I’d imagine not,” you say, grimly.

Even you had barely come out of one of Vinyl’s parties with your hearing intact. Taking a leaf out of her book would likely render you deaf, if you ever took her up on the offer.

“So, you see,” says Octavia, “as much as I hate to say so, I’ve become my own hindrance in this trialsome affair.”

“When your own worst enemy is yourself,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Octavia. “I know what that’s like.”

“I’ve been at my wit’s end,” says Octavia, who doesn’t seem to have heard you, “so when I saw the advertisement for your affection therapy, I was more than willing to give it a try. I won’t be so dramatic as to say it’s my last hope, but it’s a hope nonetheless.”

“Well, I’ll certainly do what I can for you,” you say, genuinely. “I don’t know if it will relieve you of your composer’s block, but I can at least try to help you relax and get your mind off your worries.”

Octavia raises her head from your hand, smiling gratefully at you.

“That’s all I can ask for, dear,” she says.

You smile back, happy to see her looking happy again.

“Are you ready to begin, then?” you ask.

“Yes,” says Octavia. “But before you do, could I ask for a small favor?”

“Of course,” you say.

“I spied your phonograph over there,” says Octavia, pointing to it. “Could I see what music you have for it?”

Aha! You were wondering when you might actually get some use from that, and how fitting for a pony like Octavia to notice.

“Oh, certainly. One moment.”

You get up and cross over to the cabinet under the phonograph. You unearth your collection of records from inside it and bring them over, handing them to Octavia. One by one, she flips through them, scrutinizing the covers closely. At last, she settles on one that seems to satisfy her, as she nods and hands it to you on top of the others. 

You see that she’s chosen a record devoted to atmospheric music mixed with the sounds of nature. It’s a personal favorite of yours, actually.

“Would you mind putting this record on?” she asks.

“Not at all,” you say.

You place the record in and start it up. A soothing melody comes trickling out, mixed with the gentle sound of rushing water. Octavia’s features instantly relax.

“The perfect accompaniment,” she says, dreamily. “Now I’m ready, dear. Could we begin with an ear scratch?”

“Absolutely,” you say. “Make yourself comfy.”

Slowly and gently, with as much possible decorum, Octavia lowers herself onto her stomach, so that her head is resting across your knees. She really needn’t go through so much ceremony, especially when Vinyl isn’t around anymore, but you suppose that’s just the way she is. 

You begin rubbing at the base of her right ear. Her eyelids have already started to become droopy from the music playing, but now they close completely as she smiles and sighs contentedly.

“Wonderful,” she murmurs. “So simple, but so soothing.”

She nestles deeper against you as you continue. The song goes on, the sound of water soon changing to the sound of wind blowing, intermingled with birdsong. It makes you feel a little drowsy yourself, and you can even feel your eyelids getting heavy, but you have to keep yourself awake. Octavia’s the one in need of rest and peace of mind, after all.

You switch over to the other ear, and Octavia shifts and sighs again. After the stress and panic you had seen in her only moments ago, it does your heart good to see her looking so peaceful.

The ambience of the song now changes to the sound of raindrops falling, filling the room with a gentle pitter-patter. You’ve moved on now to chin scratches, supporting her head with the palm of one hand as you stroke her chin with the fingers of your other hand. She suddenly starts humming softly, and you can feel the vibration of it, exactly like the purring of a cat. Not only that, but just like Vinyl’s rhythmic hoof thumps, you find that Octavia’s hum has an oddly musical quality to it. It sounds like she’s going through the range of scales, from one do to the next, and back again. It’s not just Vinyl who has music in her veins, it seems.

After a time, while you’re still administering chin scratches, Octavia opens her eyes, yawns, stretches, then sits up.

“Is everything all right, Octavia?” you ask.

“Oh, yes,” she says. “I’m feeling much better already. I was just going to ask if we could move on to a belly rub.”

“Oh, of course,” you say. “Whatever you like.”

“Well, in that case, I have…another small request,” says Octavia, now sounding a bit awkward.

“What would that be?” you ask.

Octavia hesitates for a moment, runs a hoof through her silky locks, then asks,

“Would it be all right if I placed myself…like this?”

So asking, she shifts over so that she’s seated with her rump on your lap, and with her back against your front. She looks up at you with those pretty eyes of hers.

“I saw the way you administered one to Vinyl,” she says, “and I imagine it’s how most of your clients receive one, but I just feel like I could really use both a hug and a tummy rub at the same time, if that’s all right.”

There’s something so polite and innocent in this request, and in the way she’s looking up at you, that you’re struck for a moment or two, giving your already malleable heart time to melt anew.

“Of course it’s all right, Octavia,” you say, kindly. “I can easily make that work for you.”

You draw one arm around her and draw her in close to you, whereupon she places her forehooves on that arm, and you place your other hand on her middle. She shifts herself so that she’s as snuggled up against you as she can be, and lays her head back against your chest, just under your chin.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Perfect,” Octavia murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

With that, you begin slowly rubbing circles along her slim belly. Though she had already snuggled up against you, you can feel her body relax from her shoulders downwards, and her head tilts so that her cheek is against your chest. She lets out a long, deep sigh, and you feel her hooves take a firmer grip on your other arm. This isn’t the first time you’ve administered belly rubs in this way, and it likely won’t be the last, either.

The ambience of the song has once again changed, going from the sound of raindrops to the sound of the wind rustling tree branches. Octavia continues to rest against you, a little smile on her face, as you hold her gently to you and rub her stomach. If the vestiges of her bout of panic had already begun to vanish, they’re completely gone by now. She looks as peaceful as if she was having the most blissful dream imaginable. 

You can probably guess what she’d be dreaming about: coming up with the perfect cello solo and wowing her audience. In your mind’s eye, you can practically see her on stage, her cello propped at her side, her bow in her hoof, standing amidst her fellow musicians, with a packed auditorium watching, Vinyl’s vivid blue mane standing out like a sore thumb.

As you continue rubbing, you can hear Octavia humming again, not to mention feel it reverberate through her barrel. It's very curious humming, too, as you noted before. It’s not quite like the idle hum of someone walking along with a song in their head; it’s much more subdued than that. It’s a quieter, softer sound, barely a murmur of a hum, if there even is such a comparison for that. It’s as if she’s humming in her sleep, the same way some ponies might talk in their sleep. You’ve never seen anything like it, but, as you concluded before, perhaps this is simply evidence of her love of music, to the point that’s in her very blood.

As this goes on, with the ambient music playing and you rubbing her belly, she continues to hum, and as she does, it starts to gain definition. At first, it seemed like a few scattered notes, done for practice’s sake. Now, however, you can discern a definite melody to it. It doesn’t sound like any song you’ve heard before, but it certainly sounds like a song being hummed along to, a song already in her head. Also, the longer and clearer she hums, the bigger the smile on her face as she dozes on. Whatever this melody is, it’s making her very happy.

The clock suddenly chimes its 5 minute warning. Octavia opens her eyes drowsily, yawning. You remove your hand from her belly, and she releases your arm, turning around to face you. She looks nothing short of joyful.

“I take it you feel better?” you ask, smiling.

“I feel wonderful,” she says. “Better than wonderful. I feel like a great weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” you say, “and I’m happy to have helped.”

“You’ve done much more than that,” says Octavia, with earnest sincerity. “My mind feels clearer than it has in days. To think that what I needed to empty my mind and take my thoughts off of an impending deadline was a few simple scratches and a belly rub.”

You blink.

“Are you saying…” you begin, in amazement.

Octavia nods.

“I think I finally know what to do for my performance,” she says. “I finally have a song to use for my cello solo, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Is that what that humming was about? Had she actually overcome her composer’s block and discovered a melody at last? And all from that one session? You’d certainly hoped you’d help ease her mind and take it off of music, but you weren’t expecting it to disappear all in a single session. Was this some new hidden power of affection therapy? Erasing creativity blocks?

Before you can express your surprise, or even say anything, for that matter, she leans up and gives you a kiss on the cheek, followed by a warm, tight hug, nuzzling you. You’re far too caught off guard to know how to respond to this, and you feel your face grow a bit hot. Still, you put your arms about her and return the hug, and you hear her sigh happily.

You let go of each other, and you lend her a hand back down onto the floor. She trots to the door, then turns to face you.

“Thank you again, dear,” she says. “I’ll send you a ticket for the performance, as a token of my gratitude. I’ll make sure it’s one of the best seats in the house, so you get the full experience.”

Your bemusement comes undone at this kind sincerity, and you smile.

“I’d be delighted to see you and your ensemble perform, Octavia,” you say, graciously.

You put a hand to your heart and give her a short bow. Octavia gives you a glowing smile, bows in return, then takes her leave.

You hardly know what to think. Yesterday was wild and eventful enough, but just today, you’ve had a great and powerful client, a double-showing which turned into an unexpected double-session, and a pair of sessions resulting in a brief glimpse under the mask of a DJ and a cured case of composer’s block. This is only your second day at the spa, and even though it’s about to come to a close with one more session, you’re not sure whether you can handle any more surprises like what you’ve just experienced.
> Spike
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The clock strikes 4, and just as the chimes die away, you hear a knock, signaling the final client for the day. You feel a thrill go through you at the thought. After this one, it’ll be time to seek out Rose, and have the talk you promised Luna you’d have with her. But you can’t worry about that now. Right now, it’s this client’s time.

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens, and a very small figure peeks around it before entering, shutting it swiftly behind them. Just at a glance, and apart from the obvious issue of size, you can tell that this isn’t a pony, because the client is walking on two feet. That’s right, feet. Not hooves. They’re also heavily enveloped in a trenchcoat, sunglasses, and a fedora hat.

You stare at the figure without speaking for several seconds. In the first place, this is the second time a client has come to their appointment with a disguised appearance, and the first time was only yesterday. Secondly, you were already unfamiliar with the name set on the schedule for this time, but just judging by the mystery guest’s height, as well the conspicuous purple claws poking out of the sleeves and the purple feet under the hem, it’s easy to guess who this might actually be.

Finally, with a shake of the head, you clear your throat and say, politely,

“Good afternoon, Sp- er, sir. Your name is ‘Quill’, correct?”

You decide that it would just be best to humor them and play along for now. They dressed up and chose a contrary name for a reason, after all.

“Yes, that’s right,” they say, in a husky male voice. “Quill Spadetail, that’s my name. Good afternoon. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Very much so. Well, Mr. Spadetail, please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, my good sir.”

‘Quill Spadetail’ removes his hat, revealing a conspicuous ridge of green rounded spines. Then he removes his coat, revealing himself to be a short, stoutly-built dragon. Finally, removing the sunglasses, he reveals a pair of bright green eyes. It’s Spike, just as you surmised.

“Oh! Well, hello there, Spike,” you say.

“Shh!” Spike urges, putting a claw to his lips and looking around warily. “Not so loud!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you say. “No one else is going to know. This office is soundproof, after all.”

Spike breathes a sigh of relief, then gives you a shrewd look, folding his arms.

“Be honest,” he says. “You knew it was me from the start, didn't you?”

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. To be fair, though, how exactly was he expecting to fool anyone? He’s the only dragon who lives in Ponyville, and no other creature who lives here goes about on two feet. Well, except for Discord, but he doesn’t actually live in Ponyville, and you’ve never actually met him yourself.

“Well, yeah, I had a feeling,” you confess, “but you clearly have a reason to not want to be recognized, and I felt I ought to respect that.”

Spike’s expression relaxes.

“That makes sense,” he says. “I appreciate it. On the other hand, I may need to change it up if it’s easy to recognize me. Maybe if I used a wig along with the hat, or comedy glasses. Or I could ask Twilight to give me a mustache again.”

That’s what he’s worried about? You can’t help but feel that some dragon is lacking a little self-awareness, but you keep that thought to yourself.

“Well, in the meantime, please, have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the couch.

Setting his tools for deception aside, Spike crosses over and lifts himself up onto the couch, quite easily for a kid of his stature. He scooches in to settle himself comfortably, and you see his eyes drift to the plate of cookies. He’s already gotten comfortable, and you don’t want to make him move again, so you pick up the plate and hold it out for him in easy reach.

“Help yourself,” you say, smiling.

“Don’t mind if I do!” he says, eagerly.

He leans over, his claw hovering over the plate, clearly trying to pick which cookie to take. Finally, he grabs one of the bigger ones and scarfs it down in one gulp.

“Mmm-MMM!” he hums in satisfaction, licking the crumbs from his lips. “Delicious! Pinkie Pie’s recipe?”

“That’s right,” you say. “I’m glad it’s so easy to recognize, even if I’m just replicating it.”

“You did a great job,” says Spike. “There’s always something a little extra in Pinkie’s recipes that makes it easy to tell it’s one of hers.”

“Must be the sprinkle of cinnamon,” you say. “I don’t remember it usually being used for chocolate chip cookies.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” says Spike. “I may prefer gems any time of the day, but I love me some sweet stuff as well.”

Ah, yes. That’s something you’ve never understood about dragons: their taste for gemstones. You can easily believe they’re able to eat them, with those sharp fangs of theirs, not to mention that they must have strong powers of digestion to consume whole minerals, but is there something in how gems taste that you’re missing? You’ve never exactly had reason to find out for yourself, not wanting to lick a gemstone. Perhaps dragon taste buds work differently than pony or human ones. You make a mental note to ask him, but you have to put your mind back on the session.

“So, if I may ask, Spike, why did you come here all dressed up? You’re not embarrassed about being seen at the spa, are you?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that,” says Spike, without a trace of evasiveness. “My friends know I like to relax just as much as anypony. Well, probably more so than anypony, considering all the work I do for Twilight. Not that I’m complaining about that!” he adds, hastily. “I like being Twilight’s assistant. I just need my ‘me’ time as well, you know?”

He’s rather quick to assure you that a heavy workload doesn’t bother him. You’re not sure whether he really means it, or whether he’s been asked about it so much that he feels the need to put it beyond doubt. Maybe he really does like keeping busy, or maybe there’s something he’s not admitting. You put it aside for now.

“Easily understandable,” you say, nodding. “No one wants to be burned out, even when they’re doing something they enjoy. So, then, why the disguise?”

“Well, I’m accompanying Twilight and Starlight on a visit to the Crystal Empire soon, and I’m trying to perfect my incognito look.”

You raise an eyebrow at this.

“Why would you want to be incognito at the Crystal Empire?” you ask. “Do they have something against dragons?”

Come to think of it, an entire kingdom made of crystals might not be the best place for a dragon with a big appetite and low self-restraint to visit, unless those crystals were magically able to regenerate themselves if damaged. You’d have to ask Cadance about that the next time you see her.

“Oho, far from it,” says Spike, putting his fists proudly on his hips with a rather big grin. “I don’t know if Twilight’s told you, but I’m kind of a big deal there.”

“Really? How so?”

“Oh, just that I’m responsible for saving the Empire twice.”

You’re not sure whether it’s what he just said, or the careless and casual way he says it, that strikes you more. Either way, this is definitely something Twilight has had yet to tell you. All she’d said was that the Empire had been saved from its former tyrannical ruler, not how it was accomplished.

“What?! Really?”

“Yep! It’s kind of a long story, but I helped save it from King Sombra when it first came back after being gone for a thousand years, and then I saved it again by averting an icy disaster at the Equestria Games.”

The Equestria Games. You’ve heard of those: a series of athletic events where ponies from all across Equestria compete for honor, glory, and medals. It sounds a lot like something that takes place back in your old country. You’re not sure what this ‘icy disaster’ Spike alluded to could have been, but as a fire-breathing dragon, it makes sense that he’d be instrumental in stopping it.

“That’s incredible,” you say. “It makes me wish I’d been there to witness it.”

“So, since then, I’m known as Spike the Brave and Glorious there,” says Spike. “Practically everypony there knows who I am.”

Now you think you’re starting to understand the why and wherefore of the odd disguise. How he still intends to fool anypony with it is beyond your understanding, of course.

“So the disguise is to ensure you don’t get mobbed by your adoring fans?” you ask.

“You got it,” says Spike. “The last time I was there, I could hardly walk three feet without an admirer asking me for an autograph, or to retell how I saved the Empire. Not that I mind, of course, just that I had other business to take care of. They’ve even got a statue of me in their town square.”

“That’s certainly much to be proud of,” you say, “especially for one so young.”

“Thanks,” says Spike. “Of course, I’m only a really big deal there in the Crystal Empire. Here in Ponyville, I’m just Spike, Twilight’s #1 assistant.”

“Which is still nothing to sneeze at,” you say.

“Exactly,” says Spike, smiling.

It’s quite gratifying hearing Spike talk like this. He’s still a kid, by both pony and dragon standards, and sometimes his age shows in the way he speaks and acts, but at other times, he’s wise and mature beyond his years. Growing up with a smart pony like Twilight must have had something to do with that. She raised him well.

“So, what brings you in for a session?” you ask. “Have you been feeling tired or exhausted lately? Or did you want a full experience after that free sample I let you have at Twilight’s castle?”

Spike laughs.

“A little of both,” he says. “I was definitely intrigued after that frill scritching you gave me, but I could also really use some cool-down time from my duties. There’s only so much I can do on my own without wearing myself out, and the amount of stuff I have to take care of really went up when we moved into the castle, especially doing the dishes.”

“Does Twilight make you do all the chores by yourself?” you ask.

Spike sounds fairly nonchalant about the upkeep of an entire castle. You know dragons are hardy and tough, but he’s still only a kid.

“No, not all of them,” says Spike. “She and I do a lot of cleaning up together, but she’s a princess now, and I can’t expect her to worry about the mundane stuff when she has a lot of royal responsibilities. Besides, I like being helpful and keeping busy. I feel like it’s my way of having a special talent without needing a cutie mark. Although, if I did have a cutie mark, it’d probably be a scroll burning from dragon fire.”

Right, that’s another quirk of Spike’s: being able to send messages by breathing fire on them, and receiving them by belching them out. You never got around to asking whether it’s something any dragon can do, or if he’s been specially trained to do it, or if it only works on certain parchment. That’s another thing you’ll have to shelve for later.

You had also caught what he said about having a special talent without needing a cutie mark. You can still remember your younger days, before you came to Equestria. You had been under the (admittedly naive) belief that every youngster in Equestria would be given a cutie mark once they discovered what they were meant to do. It wasn’t until you had started living here that you found out that it only happened to ponies. A slight disappointment, but you still wanted to find out where you belonged. You’d even made a habit of doodling potential cutie marks on sticky notes and placing them on the legs of your pants, to see how it would look. You were forced to stop when your foster father scolded you for wasting sticky notes, while your foster mother found it amusing.

You give your head a shake to bring yourself back to the present. Spike seems to have noticed your brief moment of spacing out.

“You ok?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just reminded of something. Since cutie marks and special talents are a huge part of Equestrian life, it’s nice to know that creatures who can’t get cutie marks can still make their own mark with their own talents.”

“I’ll say,” says Spike. “I mean, look at you. Affection therapy’s definitely your special talent.”

“I’ve had that same thought myself,” you say, modestly. “But, to get back on topic, you say you’re happy doing chores for Twilight?”

“And being helpful to anypony I can,” says Spike. “Rarity, especially. She always likes having help with her shopping or her sewing or collecting gems, and I’m happy to be there to lend a claw for her. She’s always worth it.”

A dreamy, lovestruck look comes over Spike’s face. Recent resident though you are in comparison with everyone else in Ponyville, even you’ve caught on to the young dragon’s barely-disguised crush on Rarity. It’s hard to blame him, as she is quite a lovely pony, but it seems like one of those youthful infatuations that could pass as he grows older.

“I’m sure she greatly appreciates having such a gallant helper,” you say, “and I’m sure your friends all appreciate what a dutiful and diligent dragon you are.”

The look of infatuation fades from Spike’s face, to be replaced with a somewhat sad smile.

“I know they do,” he says, quietly. “I didn’t always, but I do now.”

You feel a sudden check at these words. Spike had been speaking with complete sincerity and goodwill before, but now he sounds a little glum. Were your suspicions correct? Does he have more to say than he’s letting on?

“What do you mean?” you ask, gently. “Have you doubted whether your friends appreciate you?”

Spike doesn’t answer at first. He looks as though he regretted letting that slip.

“It’s ok to be honest and open, Spike,” you say. “I won’t force you, of course, but letting out what’s bothering you is an important part of any therapy, affection or otherwise.”

Spike looks up into your face for a moment or two, then he sighs.

“I know it’s silly to think it,” he says, “but in the past, there were times when I felt like…well, like I didn’t matter to Twilight and the girls, like I was a kind of third wheel. Or would that be ‘seventh wheel’?” he briefly ponders. “Anyway, there were times when I felt ignored or unappreciated, like I was just an afterthought.”

Ignored? Unappreciated? Not only does it hurt to hear Spike talk like this, but these words resonate strongly with you, for good reason…

“Oh, Spike,” you murmur. “What would make you think that?”

“Well,” Spike says, “just to give an example, when we were all going to the Grand Galloping Gala for the first time, I was all excited about spending time with the girls, but they all had their own agendas, and kinda just left me all by myself.”

“Oh dear…”

“They did come find me after their own plans were ruined, and Twilight did admit that I had the right idea about how to spend the evening, but it still hurts a bit remembering how she assured me we’d spend time together, and then basically ditched me.”

You can’t blame him. Who wouldn’t feel hurt when a promise like that is broken? You have some experience with promises not being kept…

“That certainly doesn’t sound fun,” you say, “but I’m sure they didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

“No, I know they didn’t,” says Spike, without a trace of doubt in his voice. “There’s been other times, of course: having to stay behind and watch the library while the others went on important errands, sticking behind while Twilight had her birthday party in Canterlot, not getting invited to meet the Equestria Games Inspector at the Crystal Empire, keeping the place nice for when Pinkie’s sister visited, stuff like that, but at those times, they at least had the courtesy to let me know about it, rather than going off without a word.”

“I can’t argue there,” you say. “It’s better to be forewarned than to be left to find out for yourself. Although, I’m a bit puzzled why you wouldn’t be invited to the Empire when you’re considered a hero there.”

“Oh, Twilight and Princess Cadance told me about that once the Equestria Games were underway,” says Spike. “They wanted everything to run smoothly for the Games Inspector’s visit, and didn’t want to risk the citizens getting distracted by a celebrity, and they also wanted to surprise me with the fact that I’m a hero. Certainly made up for the initial disappointment.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” you say. “But, returning to the topic at hand, I’m at least glad you know your friends wouldn’t make you feel left out on purpose.”

“Yeah,” says Spike. “I wish I could say the same for other ponies, though. It’s not easy feeling respected when everypony pays more attention to Twilight and the others. I mean, who wouldn’t? They’ve saved Equestria about a dozen times now. I’ve always been happy to support them on the sidelines, but after what happened in Canterlot…”

He trails off, again looking like he’s said too much.

“What happened in Canterlot?” you ask.

“I don’t wanna bog you down with the details,” says Spike, “but Twilight needed some rest during an important conference, and I started taking care of things in her name to give her peace and quiet. It…kinda went to my head, and I royally messed up, all because I wanted to feel just as important as her.”

He looks away, looking melancholy again.

“Oh, I see.”

You certainly know what that feels like. Not ordering things in the name of royalty, of course, but wanting to feel like you mattered, when you felt overshadowed and overlooked. It seems dragons have it just as hard as humans, trying to find a niche and recognition in a pony-populated society.

“Have you ever discussed these feelings with Twilight?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” says Spike. “I mean, I hadn’t at first, mostly because I didn’t think it was anything worth talking about, but when things started piling up, and especially after what happened at Canterlot, I had a long talk with her about how I felt.”

“Well, I’m glad you turned to someone you can trust with these feelings,” you say. “What did she say?”

Spike rubs his arm awkwardly.

“She was…honestly surprised with the specific times I brought up to her, and kinda hurt that I didn’t think to bring them up to her before. I know I should have, but…well, I guess I don’t really have a good excuse, except that I didn’t want her to feel worried about me.”

“Understandable,” you say. “What did she say then?”

“She said she never wanted me to feel like I was left out. She admitted that sometimes things get overlooked when our minds are busy with other stuff, like the time we left Rarity and Pinkie Pie behind in the desert.”

“Come again?”

“Long story. The point is, she admitted how easy it is to get distracted, and she sometimes took for granted that I’d just roll with any change of plans without complaint. Which, to be honest, I have been, so I guess it’s kinda on me. I really should’ve let her know sooner, I know, but she did say recently that she understands better how it feels to be left out of the fun now, after everyone else had fun with Discord while we stayed inside sorting books.”

That sounds like it would be another long story. So much seems to happen to Twilight and her friends, even when they’re not out saving Equestria, to the point where they can bring up occurrences that are eyebrow-raising or jaw-dropping to those without proper context, all with the casual demeanor of one talking about yesterday’s weather. 

“Well, I’m just glad you’ve had the chance to talk with her about this,” you say. “I’m sorry that you’ve felt this way, when no one should ever feel excluded or neglected, but at least Twilight understands how you’ve been feeling, and you can work to ensure it doesn’t happen again. You two sound very close.”

“Yeah,” says Spike, smiling. “I love her like she’s my own family, and I know she thinks of me the same way, too, and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

You feel something in your eye, and a warmth in your heart, at this pronouncement. It brings to mind a conversation you overheard your foster parents had about you. Well, less a conversation and more an argument, shortly before you were set to move out and find your own way.

“Was sending him to his room really necessary?”

“Of course it was. I won’t be disrespected in this house!”

“And what’s so disrespectful about him wanting to call you ‘Dad’ or me ‘Mom’?”

“Because it gives him the idea that we’re his parents! We’ve been his guardians, Olive, that’s it! I won’t have him thinking he can claim us as being his family!”

“Why? Because he’s human?”

“Because he thinks he can be like a pony, and we both know that’s not gonna happen! All that talk about getting a cutie mark and learning magic…I’m trying to keep him grounded in reality, and he keeps going about with his head in the clouds! He needs to wake up and face the world like the man he is, and not the pony he thinks he is!”

“Let me tell you something, Clay: you’ve always been too hard on that poor boy. Nothing he does has ever been good enough for you. He lost his mother while he was with us, and you were as unsympathetic then as you are now. I don’t care if he’s not related to us by blood. He still lived in this house, and he was still under our guardianship. That means he’s been part of this family. If you don’t want him to call you ‘Dad’, well, that’s a pity, but have it your way. If he wants to call me ‘Mom’, or if he wants to call Spruce ‘brother’, I’m not going to stop him, and neither will you.”

“...You always side with him…”

“And you always side against him. But I suppose you’ll finally be happy once he moves out, and you’ll never have to see him again.”

“Of course I will. You, me, and Spruce will be far better off without him in our lives anymore.”

“You say that, but I know you don’t mean it. Not for me, anyway. I’ll miss him every day that he’s gone. Even if you never loved him like a son…I did…and I do…”

You give your head a shake to clear your thoughts again, and wipe at your eyes. Spike’s been watching.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say. “I was just really touched by what you said, about you and Twilight being family. It reminded me of something.”

Spike says nothing to this, but looks at you curiously. You clear your throat.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to take time away from your session with meandering.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” says Spike. “I like having a good chat, and it’s nice being able to get this kind of stuff off my chest, even if it’s stuff I’ve mostly moved past by now. It’s one of the reasons I signed up for a session. Just feels good to cleanse the air, you know?”

“I do,” you say, smiling. “You can’t keep stuff like this bottled up, or it’ll just keep festering until it just bursts out.”

Something you know about all too well, and quite recently, too…

“So, then,” you continue, “we still have plenty of time for this session. I’m guessing you wouldn’t mind another frill scratch?”

“Absolutely!” says Spike, eagerly. “Also, and this might sound weird, but…”

He hesitates, looking slightly embarrassed.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Do you think you could also…rub my belly scales while you do it?”

It takes a second or two for you to process this.

“You’d like both at the same time?” you ask.

“If that’s ok,” says Spike, still looking a little awkward. “Belly rubs are something else I only experienced after becoming a dog, and, well…”

Ok, you seriously need to ask Twilight about what circumstances turned Spike into a dog. Lacking context for these casual mentions is getting to be a bit much.

“That’s not a problem at all,” you say. “It’s your session, after all. Just make yourself cozy and we can begin.”

Grinning, Spike scooches over, then settles himself down on your lap. For a small guy, he’s a bit heavy, but not as heavy as the average pony. He stretches himself out so that he’s reclining against the armrest, with his arms behind his head. Grinning yourself at this, you place one hand behind one of his ear-frills, and one on his belly, scratching with one and rubbing with the other.

The instant you begin, Spike seems to simply melt, letting out a sigh of deep contentment as he closes his eyes. His foot twitches in an unmistakably dog-like way, and even his spade-tipped tail swishes about. Whatever happened to turn him into a dog, that feeling definitely still lingers. You’d normally find it unusual for a dragon, but you’ve seen plenty of ponies display canine or even feline behavior at these little displays of platonic affection, and Spike’s been raised by ponies all his life, so it’s natural he’d pick up some pony-ish habits.

It’s certainly a different experience giving an ear scratch and a belly rub to a dragon versus giving them to a pony. For one thing, you’ve grown used to the soft and smooth coats of fur a pony has. Spike’s scales are smooth as well, but there’s also a faint yet noticeable distinction in the feel of the individual scales that make up his skin, barely discernible by sight. The frills that are placed where his ears would be also feel more like the delicate fins of a fish, compared to the pointy and twitchy ears of a pony. Lastly, a pony’s belly is soft, furry, and sometimes cushy, whereas the ribbed underbelly of a dragon is a completely different sensation, like running one’s hand along a washboard. You’ve heard of alligators being soothed by rubbing their stomachs, and you wonder if dragons feel the same way. It’d certainly be an effective deterrent against their wanting to set fire to things, but the hard part would be getting close enough to do so.

The minutes tick by, and you continue in the same attitude: scratching and rubbing. After a time, you switch hands, so that you’re giving his other frill a scritch while continuing to rub. He gives a little squirm of comfort, and brings his arms down from behind his head, so that they’re curled up at his chest, much like a pony does. Taking a chance, you give him a scratch under the chin. His foot twitches again, and his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth. It’s honestly quite endearing, and it helps that Spike already has a charm of endearment by virtue of being a baby dragon.

You’d hoped, from the outset, to make affection therapy inclusive for everyone, since anypony could be in need of relaxation and comfort. Since starting, as you’ve remarked to yourself before, you’ve found that the ones most willing to partake in it, or the ones who have been the least shy about it, have been mares, though you have evidence to confirm that stallions wouldn’t mind it either, from Big Macintosh and now from Spike, even if he’s more of a drake than a stallion. You find yourself wondering who else in Ponyville is willing to give it a try, or even beyond, since Princesses Cadance and Luna requested sessions. And why should that be limited to ponies? What if other creatures outside Equestria become interested? That’s something that hasn’t really crossed your mind much until now.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the clock chimes its 5 minute warning. Your last session for the day is coming to a close, and the prospect of confiding in Rose looks ever closer. It gives you a sudden knot of anticipation in your stomach. You remove your hands, and Spike slowly sits up, stretching and yawning.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Excellent,” says Spike, grinning. “I can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you say, smiling. “It’s gratifying to know affection therapy works for dragons as well as ponies.”

“Oh yeah,” says Spike. “I wonder if I can convince Ember to go for a session.”

“Ember?”

“The new Dragon Lord, and a new friend I made,” Spike explains. “I think you’d like her. She’s tough, but she’s got a soft side. I’ll write to her and see what she says.”

“I see,” you say, not entirely sure whether a Lord of Dragons would really be up for it, as opposed to a normal dragon like Spike. “Well, it’d certainly be interesting to have the input of such an important figure as the Dragon Lord.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” says Spike, before adding, “and thanks again. You’re really doing something special here for everypony. Twilight was right to put so much faith in you and what you do.”

You feel your heart grow quite warm at this, though you’re not sure what to say at first. Spike simply holds out his fist, knuckles first, and, taking the hint, you lightly bump your fist against his. With that, Spike hops down from the couch and starts putting his disguise back on. Soon, ‘Quill Spadetail’ is back.

“I hope your trip to the Crystal Empire goes well,” you say.

“Thanks,” says Spike. “Hopefully we can have one visit with Cadance and Shining Armor that doesn’t put the fate of Equestria hanging in the balance.”

As you’re trying to process this, Spike crosses over and picks up a few more cookies.

“One for the road, one for Twilight, and one for Starlight,” he says. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not,” you say. “Please, feel free, and tell them I said hi.”

“Will do. See ya!”

“Take care.”

Putting the cookies carefully in the pockets of his coat, Spike tips his hat in token of farewell, then, opening the door and peering out to make sure the hallway is empty, takes his leave. In the meantime, you’re still trying to work your mind around the latest casual declaration of adventurous doings that Spike dropped on you. While you’re grateful that Twilight and her friends have remained humble in spite of their status as heroes, you don’t envy the constant pull towards adventure and danger that seems to hang over them. You don’t know how they handle it without losing their minds.
> Confiding in Rose
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Another day of affection therapy sessions at the spa has come to a close. Has it really only been one day? It feels like it lasted at least a week, even more so than the previous day. Perhaps your visit from Princess Luna has something to do with it. Did that really only happen this morning? Is tomorrow going to feel just as long, if not longer? Is every day working at the spa going to feel like this from now on?

While you’re still pondering over how much can happen in just one day, you start packing up and preparing to leave. There are still a few cookies left over, but you’re glad that you’ve hit upon such a welcome means of showing comfort and hospitality. You’ll have to thank Pinkie for not only giving you some useful recipes, but also some useful baking tips. Of course, you’ll have to leave the more unique recipes that she shared with you, such as jelly bean cookies or peppermint cupcakes, to her. Somehow, those feel like the kind of treats that should remain the sole property and product of her imagination.

As you close up the office, you once again come across Aloe and Lotus to bid them good night. Just like yesterday, you present each of them with one of the leftover cookies, which they graciously accept. With that, you leave the spa, but after only stepping away from the door, you stop.

You half-expected to see Rose waiting for you, just as she had been yesterday, but there’s no sign of her. Around this time, the market stalls would all be closed by now, and she, Daisy, and Lily would all be off for home, or doing whatever they needed to once their day was done. That doesn’t really bother you. After all, you can’t expect her to put herself out of her way for you all the time. You wouldn’t ask that of her.

There’s another reason you’ve stopped. For a moment, you felt inclined to turn towards home and start getting ready for the next day. A sudden jolt had brought you a halt, however. Luna’s reassuring advice, and the promise you had made, ring vividly in your mind, clear as a bell. You’d been bracing yourself for this all day, and now’s the time to fulfill your promise.

It’s time to tell Rose the truth.

You had decided that, first and foremost, it should be Rose whom you confide in about what’s been on your mind, the thoughts and worries you had been trying to suppress and keep down. Twilight would be the next one to tell, since she’s been so supportive and helpful to you, and has been instrumental in getting your affection therapy practice off the ground, but deep down, you feel sure that Rose ought to be the first to know. She opened up to you about her own worries not too long ago, so it would be a poor return of her friendship if you didn’t do the same. You only hope it won’t be too much for her to take.

With that in mind, you set your course for Rose’s house. You see plenty of ponies still milling about as you go, some of whom have already had sessions with you. You pass Lyra and Bon Bon, strolling so close to each other that they could have gripped their tails together. They both give you a friendly smile as you pass them, which you return.

You pass by Sugarcube Corner. There seems to be a party going on. You hear music drifting out, and hooves stomping to its beat as ponies cheer, while a voice that’s unmistakably Pinkie Pie’s sings along to it. You almost feel inclined to pause and take a peek inside, but you can’t let yourself be distracted. You’ve already put this off for too long. Besides that, when Pinkie invites you to a party, even while the party itself is going on, you’re there until it’s over.

You pass by Carousel Boutique. Rarity is speaking with Fluttershy at the front door. They don’t see you as you pass by, and you can’t hear what they’re talking about, but you know better than to interrupt a conversation in progress, so you continue on. Whatever it is that they’re discussing, it seems to be serious, as Fluttershy has a weary frown on her face, and Rarity looks sympathetic. You wonder if it has anything to do with what Fluttershy was worrying about before, concerning her brother.

You see Spoiled Rich, alongside her daughter Diamond Tiara. She’s a filly about the same age as the Crusaders, with a pink coat, blue eyes, a well-groomed purple mane and tail streaked with white, and a silver tiara on her head that matches her cutie mark. As you approach, Spoiled Rich spots you, her eyes widening in momentary surprise. She looks rather awkward, but she still nods her head in token of greeting. You nod in return, giving her a smile that, while she doesn’t quite return, doesn’t seem to disagree with her. You look down at Diamond Tiara, who’s noticed her mother’s behavior, but simply moves closer to her side in a reassuring way, giving you a friendly little smile as she looks at you. You’re certainly glad to see that Spoiled Rich appears to be making an honest effort to be, if not more openly friendly, then at least less hostile. Diamond Tiara seems to appreciate it as well, though you’re doubtful her mother would have told her she had attended a therapy session that opened her eyes to how she’d been acting.

Finally, you arrive outside Rose’s house. The lights are on, so you know she’s already home, as you’d hoped she would be. You just hope you’re not catching her at a bad time. 

You knock, and about half a minute later, the door opens. There stands Rose, looking a bit tired at first, but her face lights up with delight as she sees who it is.

“Well, hi!” she says, brightly.

“Hello, Rosie,” you say.

“I hope you weren’t waiting for me at the spa. I thought about meeting you there like I did yesterday, but today was a really busy day, and I just felt like heading home and putting my hooves up.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that. I just came by because…”

You pause. Now that you hear that Rose is tired, you’re not so sure whether this is a good time. She just wants to rest after a long day at work, and here you are coming by with revelatory news. That doesn’t seem fair.

Rose tilts her head with a puzzled look at your hesitation.

“Because what?” she asks.

You take a deep breath. You’ve gone in too deep to just back out now, and you don’t want to lie to her. It’s now or never.

“…Because I have something important I need to tell you,” you say. “Something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

Rose looks mystified by this. Her green eyes have gone wide.

“Really?” she asks. “Well, by all means, come in!”

“Are you sure? You did say you had a busy day and-”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m not going to make you stand outside and talk. Besides, you’re always welcome here, no matter what time it is. Please, come on in.”

She steps out of the way to allow you to come in. You still don’t want to impose, but Rose has insisted on letting you in, and when she insists on something, you know better than to try and argue with her. Sweet as Rose is, you don’t want to annoy her. 

So, you take her up on her offer and walk in. The two of you take your accustomed places on her sofa, and you place the plate you’re carrying onto her coffee table. You see Rose’s eyes follow it, her eyes lighting up with interest.

“I still have some cookies left over from today’s sessions,” you say. “Would you like one?”

“Is this your way of buttering me up for dropping in unannounced?” Rose asks, coyly.

“Not intentionally, no,” you say. “And didn’t you just tell me it was no trouble?” you add, wryly.

“Fair point,” said Rose, giggling. “I’d love one, thank you.”

She picks one up and nibbles at it in that dainty way of hers.

“Mmm. Delicious, just like all your treats. You really spoil your clients, you know that?”

“I’m not about to apologize for adding to their feelings of comfort and contentment,” you say, chuckling. “That’s the whole point of affection therapy, after all.”

“Nor should you apologize,” says Rose, with another giggle. “I just hope it’s not too much bother whipping up a batch of treats every day.”

“No, it never takes long,” you say. “I’ve set it as one of the last things I do before going to bed, so that they’re nice, cool, and still fresh by the next day. It also helps that Pinkie loves sharing recipes and baking tips. It’s thanks to her that I’m able to provide a nice addition to my therapy sessions.”

“That’s very sweet of her, and very like Pinkie Pie,” says Rose, taking another bite.

Soon, she’s polished her cookie off and wiped away the crumbs. Now she turns to face you.

“So, what’s on your mind? What have you been wanting to tell me?”

This is it: the moment of truth. You take a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“First of all, Rose,” you say, “I want to apologize for not telling you any of this sooner. You’re my first and best friend, and I’ve kept you in the dark for so long. My only defense is that I didn’t want to saddle you with my whole life story, especially when it’s…not a happy one.”

Rose looks at you with sympathy, and puts a hoof on your hand.

“It’s fine,” she says. “It wouldn’t have been my place to ask anyway, if you weren’t comfortable telling me. I also know that I can get a bit…flustered easily,” she adds, her ears drooping, “so I don’t blame you for not wanting to potentially freak me out.”

“I always did think you were the tough one, though,” you say, with a small smile. “Well, compared to how Daisy and Lily can get, I mean. No offense to them, of course.”

Rose laughs.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It’s long become something of an inside joke for us. We’re still working to get better at it, but it’s at least something we can laugh about.”

That’s something you’ve always admired about Rose. She’s a tougher pony than she gives herself credit for, and she and her two friends are well aware of and even working towards overcoming major faults. It’s a far cry from a lot of ponies in Manehattan, who preferred to push away their problems and even blame them on others, rather than take accountability.

“You’re sure you want to hear what I have to say?” you ask. “Like I said, it’s not a happy story.”

There’s a pause. Then, with a resolute look in her eyes, Rose draws herself closer so that she’s nestled beside you, still holding your hand, and says,

“I’m sure.”

“Well, all right, then,” you say. “I’m not the best storyteller, but I’ll do the best I can. It all started several years ago, before I came to Equestria…”


***


Something else you admire about Rose is what a good listener she is. She listens to the recitation of your tale in its entirety, without taking her eyes off you. She giggles when you bring up your initial childish hopes about living in Equestria (“You must’ve been such an adorable little boy,” she says) and smiles glowingly at the bond you shared with your mother. You know it won’t last, and you feel guilty that what you’re going to say next will burst her bubble, but you have to carry on.

Sure enough, the smile she gained slowly fades as you describe your foster life, grimacing as you talk about the detached coldness of your foster father. When you reach the moment when the fateful letter arrived, bearing its bad news, Rose actually gives a tiny gasp, covering her muzzle with her hoof as her eyes grow wide. You pause there, as you need to steady yourself in turn. Remembering that moment is always painful.

“I had no idea…” Rose whispered. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s all right,” you say, quietly. “It’s been years, but I still think about it…”

Rose gives your arm a squeeze with her hoof. Her comforting touch steadies your nerves. You feel like you can go on now. You continue with your tale, and Rose listens in shocked and sad silence as you relate your state of affairs after that fateful day: the increasing coldness of your foster father, your futile attempts to integrate in Manehattan society, and your eventual decision to move to Ponyville.

“But even after all that,” you say, “I still hear his voice in my head. It’s persistent, and it comes up whenever I’m feeling doubt, whenever I second-guess myself. I thought I’d gotten away from that life, but it looks like I was wrong. I haven’t escaped it at all…”

Rose looks at you in stunned silence, tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. Finally, she speaks.

“You poor thing,” she says, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

She puts her hooves about you and pulls you into a hug. You don’t do anything to resist it, and why would you? What she does next is a bit of a surprise, though. You feel her start to pet your head, running her hoof through your hair. Fluttershy did the same thing when she asked to reciprocate the affection therapy you gave her. It was an oddly soothing feeling then, and it feels the same way now. You feel yourself sinking deeper into Rose’s embrace, until you find yourself resting your head on her shoulder, as she continues to gently pet.

“You’ve been holding onto this for so long,” said Rose, soothingly. “I can’t even imagine how much pain you’ve been in, and you’ve been helping ponies with their own pains.”

You say nothing. You just allow her to talk and pet.

“I know you didn’t want to make me or anypony worried, and I completely understand, but you needed somepony to talk to about this sooner. If you keep all of these feelings bottled up, they’re going to break out and explode when you don’t want them to.”

You shift guiltily. Luna said much of the same.

“To be honest, that kind of already happened,” you mutter.

Rose pauses.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, during my last couple of therapy sessions yesterday, I was reminded of some things from my past, and I got…a little emotional.”

“Oh,” says Rose, quietly. “I see.”

“Thankfully, the ponies who had sessions when that happened were very understanding,” you say, “more than I feel I deserved. They encouraged me that I needed someone to talk to about what I was feeling.”

“That was very sweet of them,” says Rose. “And I’m the pony you wanted to confide in?”

“Well, of course,” you say. “You’re the one pony I feel the most comfortable talking to.”

Rose continues patting your head, and she gives you a little nuzzle as well.

“If I can be honest a bit further, though,” you say, “Princess Luna got to me first.”

“Princess Luna?” Rose echoes.

There’s a pause, then she says, slowly and quietly,

“Ohhh, I see. It got all mixed up in your dreams, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ve had dreams about my past before, but never like that. I’ve never needed Princess Luna to step in and save me.”

“I can’t remember speaking with Luna in my dreams before either,” says Rose. “I mean, there was that time when all of Ponyville had a shared dream to fight some kind of monster. It was really weird.”

It certainly sounds weird. You’ll have to ask her about that later.

“So, she told you that you should talk to someone you trusted?”

“Yes,” you say, “but there was more. She also said…”

You pause. In spite of the comfortable feeling of being with your best friend, of having her at your side and soothing you, the other half of Luna’s advice still twists your insides into an uncomfortable knot.

“What else did she say?” Rose prompts, gently.

You swallow, but even then, your throat feels tight as you speak.

“She said…that since the voice in my head was…was his voice…that I’d have to…have to…talk with him.”

There’s a deep silence after you force this truth out. Rose once again pauses in her comforting petting. You look up at her face, and you can see a troubled look in her green eyes.

“Talk with him,” she echoes, quietly. “Talk with the pony you want to think about the least…”

You nod silently.

“And you said that he was cold and distant while you were staying with him?” Rose asks.

You let out a deep sigh.

“He never felt like a father to me,” you say. “He let me stay, he didn’t starve me, but he never made me feel like I was welcome. My foster mom and foster brother stood by me, but maybe that’s why he liked me even less: he was the only one who didn’t like me. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him, and I’ve had to live with his voice in my head, trying to break me down.”

Rose puts both forelegs around you and gives you a close hug.

“He doesn’t know what he was missing out on,” she says, firmly. “Any pony would be lucky to have you as part of their family. It’s his fault he couldn’t see that.”

You feel tears come into your eyes at this. You put your hand on Rose’s hoof and give it a squeeze.

“Thanks, Rosie,” you say. “Princess Luna still thinks I should talk with him, though.”

“Are you going to?”

There’s another pause. That’s not an easy question to answer

“I know I should,” you say, finally. “I’m not going to be able to move past this until I confront him, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it.”

“Of course not,” says Rose. “Facing someone who’s made such a negative impact on you is never going to be easy. He probably doesn’t even realize the effect he’s had on you.”

“I hope you haven’t had to deal with anything like that,” you say.

“Well, no, not personally,” says Rose. “I do know ponies who have gone through tough situations like that, though. When you’re a shopkeeper, ponies like to shoot the breeze about anything, even more sensitive things. I don’t encourage it, of course. It just…happens.”

You nod. It’s your job to listen to what’s troubling ponies and do what you can to help them. Shopkeepers and business owners, ones that ponies see every day, often build up a rapport, one that extends to those ponies keeping said shopkeepers and business ponies in the know about personal matters, for better or for worse. You’d never thought to talk about that kind of thing with Rose before.

“So, what should I do?” you ask. “I can’t just drop everything and take a trip to Manehattan, right after I’ve started a new job.”

“I know,” said Rose. “I wouldn’t advise that either. Have you been in contact with your foster family at all?”

“Sure,” you say. “I’ve written letters. It’s always been my foster mom or foster brother who replies. They’ve been doing well since the last time I heard from them, which was before I got my job at the spa.”

“That’s good,” says Rose. “Well, maybe you should write them a letter now. Let them know what you’ve been up to, how you have a new job now, and how you’d like to meet up and talk with them in person. It’ll be a start, at least.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It’ll be a slow start, but still a start. I should also talk to Twilight, too. She’s the one pony besides you that I feel like I ought to confide in.”

Rose smiles.

“I think you’re right,” she says. “She’s the Princess of Friendship, and she’s been giving you a lot of help with getting affection therapy started. I’m sure she’ll be able to help.”

“Yeah,” you say. “The thing is, should I talk to her first and then write a letter, or write first and then talk to her?”

“Good question,” says Rose, thoughtfully. “This is just my opinion, but maybe it’d be better to talk with her first. She might even give you some good advice on what to put into your letter. I know she has Spike take a lot of notes when they’re out and about.”

That’s certainly true. Twilight has a natural inclination towards note-taking, as you noticed when she tried to document the sensations of affection therapy during her own session. Her assistance in writing a proper letter to get the process going would be invaluable.

“That’s true,” you say. “Do you think I ought to see her tonight, though, or should I wait until tomorrow? I don’t know if I can go through another day of sessions with the anticipation of talking to her hanging over my head.”

“I understand,” says Rose. “I don’t think it would hurt to try calling on her tonight. I’m sure Twilight would be more than happy to set time aside for a friend.”

“You’re right,” you say. “Thanks, Rose, and thanks for bearing with my tale of woe.”

Rose gives you a sympathetic look.

“Do you feel ok after telling it?” she asks.

You pause to consider. Do you feel better, now that you put your thoughts and worries out into the open?

“...I do,” you finally say. “It still hurts to think about, but knowing a dear friend like you was willing to hear me out while I got it off my chest makes it feel…less hurtful. I know it was a heavy story to tell you, so I hope you’re ok after hearing it.”

Rose smiles tenderly.

“I am,” she says. “It was certainly a lot to take in, and I’m sorry that you’ve been holding it back for so long, but I’m glad you felt comfortable confiding in me. I want to be here to support you no matter what, so don’t be afraid to tell me anything you need to get off your chest.”

“I won’t, Rosie,” you say. “Be afraid, that is.”

Rose giggles, then pulls you into a warm hug, which you gladly return.

“I know I’m a broken record for saying so,” you say, “but I feel incredibly lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Right back at you,” says Rose, nuzzling your cheek.

You ease apart, then you stand up from the couch. Rose follows suit.

“I’d better head to Twilight’s castle,” you say. “Hopefully it won’t be too late to call on her.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” says Rose.

“Would you like the rest of these cookies?” you ask, gesturing to the plate on the coffee table. “Think of it as compensation for listening to a sad story after a long day.”

Rose giggles.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “If anything, you should take them to Twilight. You could call it compensation for calling upon her at night.”

You laugh.

“Not a bad idea,” you say, picking up the plate.

“Besides,” says Rose, “any more of your treats at once, and I might not be able to fit in the new dress you delivered to me.”

She pouts in exaggeration, and you both laugh. Rose walks you to the front door.

“Good night, Rosie,” you say.

“Good night,” says Rose.

She gives you one last sweet smile, then closes the door behind you. You let out a long sigh. It really did feel good to get all of that out in the open with Rose, though you still feel guilty for dropping a heavy story like that on her out of the blue, even if she did accept hearing it. You really don’t feel like you deserve to have such an understanding and patient friend, especially when you kept all of that hidden for so long.

You give your head a shake. You can beat yourself up about it all you want, but it’s not going to make things any better. Besides, it’s a bad habit, one you really need to work at. For now, you turn your steps in the direction of Twilight’s castle, mentally preparing yourself for yet another revelatory talk, and hoping to get some good advice in return.
> Advice From Twilight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This feels very familiar.

Here you are, on your way to Princess Twilight’s castle, for a matter of importance. This is just like when you first arrived to render your therapy services to Starlight Glimmer. The feeling of deja vu rests strongly upon you.

There are a couple of key differences, of course. First of all, it was daytime when you went to see Starlight, and now it’s just after nightfall. Secondly, you had been summoned personally to the castle, whereas here, you’re arriving unannounced and without anyone’s prior knowledge.

You still hope you’re not going to be making any waves by calling upon Twilight without her knowledge. It’s still fairly early in the evening, so it’s not likely that she would be heading to bed yet. On the other hand, it’s around the dinner hour, and you have no idea what the dining habits are in the castle. You resolve that, if it is a bad time, then you can simply arrange a better time for it. No harm, no foul.

Even so, you’re still feeling the same jangling in your nerves as you get closer to the castle. Confiding in Rose had already been a big step for you, as she’s your closest friend. Twilight is the one who paved the way for you to become an affection therapist. She’s been an important source of support and friendship since you came to Ponyville, and just like Rose, just like everypony you know, she’s been kept in the dark about your past.

As you approach the front doors of the castle, the feeling of nervous excitement begins to mount higher. Not only that, but the resolution you had just determined on begins to waver. You’ve already told yourself that if Twilight is too busy to see you, you can just arrange to come back another day. However, by that logic, if there was already a chance that this was a poor time to call, you could always just turn around, head home, and try again another day. If you do that, though, you run the risk of constantly putting it off day by day, constantly telling yourself that it’ll happen tomorrow, but then that tomorrow never comes…

By the time you reach the end of this circuit of second-guessing, you’re already before the castle doors. Well, you’re here now, and it would ultimately be pointless to have come this far just to turn around. It’s now or never.

You reach up and knock.

Seconds pass. A minute passes.

Then, you hear the doorknob turn. Too late to turn back now.

The door opens, revealing Starlight Glimmer on the other side. Her eyes widen in surprise at the sight of you, then she looks delighted.

“Oh, hello!” she says.

“Hi, Starlight,” you say, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’ve been great!” says Starlight. “How about you? How’s your spa work going?”

“Really well so far,” you say. “It’s hard to believe I’ve only been at it for two days.”

“That busy, huh?”

“That’s one word for it. I hope I haven’t come by at a bad time, but there’s something I need to talk to Twilight about. Is she occupied?”

“Oh, no,” says Starlight. “We just finished dinner. Spike’s taking care of the dishes, and Twilight went off to the library, as usual. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind seeing you. Would you like me to go ask her?”

“If you don’t mind,” you say, humbly.

“Not at all. Wait right there.”

You expect her to close the door and trot off to find Twilight. Instead, with a flash of blue-green light, and a faint popping noise, she disappears from the doorway. You stand dazed, rubbing at your eyes as little spots wink and blink in your line of sight. You’ve seen ponies teleport before, but that’s the first time somepony’s done it right in front of you. The effect is very disorientating for a bystander at such close range.

Not too long after you’ve gotten over the shock, there’s another flash and pop, and Starlight’s returned. After the first surprise, it’s not as bad, though still a bit alarming in its suddenness.

“She says you can come on in,” Starlight says, brightly. “Would you like to walk in, or should I just teleport you there?”

“Thanks for the offer,” you say, “but I think I’d prefer walking. I’m not sure I’m up for sidealong teleportation just yet, and besides, it gives us a chance to talk a bit on the way.”

Thankfully, Starlight doesn’t look too put-out by your declining teleportation, as the offer of a chat seems to agree with her.

“Fair enough,” she says. “Right this way.”

You follow her inside as the doors close behind you. Even as she uses her magic to keep them from slamming, the sound of them shutting still echoes in the front hall, as does every foot and hoof-step the two of you take.

“So, I know you can’t say who you’ve had for clients,” says Starlight, “but I have seen quite a few ponies around Ponyville lately, looking happier than I’ve ever seen them. Hard not to imagine who might be responsible for that.”

She gives you a sly look.

“You said yourself, I can’t say,” you say, simply. “Still, if ponies are happy, that makes me happy.”

“You sound just like Pinkie Pie,” says Starlight. “At least, you sound like the part of her that makes sense.
Sometimes it feels like she’s having two different conversations at once, but with only one pony.”

“I think I’ve experienced something like that before,” you say. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“Me neither,” says Starlight. “I’ve never known anyone like you, either, but then again, I haven’t met many humans. Are all of them like you? Nice, helpful, and caring?”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m flattered you think that, and I wish that were the case, but humans are as different from each other as…well, as any two ponies are from each other. I mean, not that that’s a bad thing, of course. Everyone being the same as each other would be really boring, but…well, it doesn’t help that plenty of humans can be…unkind.”

“Plenty of ponies, too,” says Starlight, quietly. “I know that all too well.”

So do you, and that’s one of the reasons you’re here…

There’s an awkward silence, which, thankfully, Starlight breaks in a more cheerful tone.

“Still, after getting to meet you, I wouldn’t mind meeting other humans, too, seeing what they’re like. Do you know if any others have come to Equestria?”

That question gives you a moment of pause. Strange as it is to admit, that’s something you hadn’t thought much of before.

“I’m…not sure,” you say. “I was invited to Equestria for an exchange program, and…one thing and another made it a permanent stay. I haven’t really thought about other humans taking part in it. I doubt the program dropped after I was sent over, so they must be, but I haven’t heard anything about it. For all I know, there could be humans in other parts of Equestria, or even outside it, as well as ponies where I came from.”

“That’s something to think about,” says Starlight. “Twilight would be all over something like that, I’m sure. There aren’t saddlebags big enough to carry enough paper and pens for her to take notes on human stuff.”

You both share a laugh at this. It’s funny: you’ve spent so long just living in Equestria, you haven’t given a lot of thought to the fact that other humans might be experiencing it as well, and that ponies might be experiencing the human lands you came from. You’d think you would’ve heard more about it.

At last, you and Starlight stand before the doors leading to the library.

“Here we are,” says Starlight. “Living in a big, maze-like castle has a lot of perks, like eventually finding your way around and being able to guide guests who might get lost.”

“Always a plus,” you say, grinning.

You reach out your hand to open the library door, but Starlight holds up her hoof to stop you, suddenly looking serious.

“Hold it!” she said. “Before I can allow you to see Twilight, you must complete an important task first.”

You stand staring at her, bemused by her sudden change in demeanor. What’s this about? Why is she suddenly acting like the gatekeeper of a bridge?

“What sort of task?” you ask. “Do I have to answer three questions or something?”

Starlight blows a dismissive raspberry.

“No, nothing like that,” she says. “But if you did, I could make it easy and just ask for your favorite color, or be mean about it and ask what the capital of Abyssinia is.”

That would be mean. You haven’t been studying Equestrian geography as much as would likely be sensible.

“No,” says Starlight, “the important task I have in mind is…”

She then tilts her head, wiggling her ear and giving you an expectant smile. It takes a second or two for it to click. So that was her game, was it? Cheeky mare.

“My, my, that’s quite the daunting task you’ve set before me,” you say, banteringly. “Are you sure you want to entrust me with it?”

“Only if you think you can handle it,” says Starlight.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Glimmer,” you say, “but so be it.”

You kneel before her, reach up, and start rubbing the base of her proffered ear. Her cheeky little grin melts away into a blissful smile, and she leans her cheek against your palm. This goes on for, maybe, a full minute, before she finally straightens up and clears her throat.

“Very well, affection therapist,” she says, importantly. “You have passed, and you may enter.”

“Thank you,” you say, bowing. “And as repayment for your kind company, accept this as well.”

You hold out one of the cookies you have remaining. Starlight’s eyes light up.

“Mmm, tempting,” she says. “I just ate, and Spike already gave me one earlier, buuut one more won’t hurt.”

That’s right, Spike did take a few cookies home with him to share. You’d nearly forgotten. Starlight accepts the one you offer in her magic and eats it up.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll leave you to your meeting. Good night.”

“Good night, Starlight.”

With a last smile at you, she trots away, leaving you alone in the hallway. Turning to the door, you reach up and knock.

“Come in!” calls Twilight’s voice.

You open the door and step inside. Sitting on her sofa, a book floating in front of her face, is Twilight. As you approach, she places a bookmark in the section she’s in, closes the book, and sets it aside.

“Good evening,” she says, smiling. “Starlight told me you wanted to see me.”

“Evening, Twilight,” you say, “and yes, I did. I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” says Twilight. “Please, have a seat.”

She pats the spot on the couch beside her, and you sit down. You look down at the plate you’re holding, still bearing a few cookies.

“As an apology for bothering you unexpectedly, would you like a cookie?”

You hold out the plate to her.

“You don’t need to apologize, really,” says Twilight, kindly. “Besides, I’ve already eaten.”

She looks down at the plate, thinking.

“Still,” she says, after a pause, “since you’re offering, one more wouldn’t hurt.”

It looks like she and Starlight think along the same wavelength. She chooses a cookie with her magic, and it soon disappears in a bite or two.

“Delicious,” she says. “Consider your apology accepted.”

The two of you laugh, and Twilight wipes the crumbs from her muzzle.

“So, what brings you around here? I hope everything’s been going well.”

“Oh, it has,” you say, before adding, quietly, “for the most part.”

“For the most part?” Twilight echoes, with concern. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t even look at her. This is it: the moment of truth. Again. Funny, you’d think it’d be easier now that you’ve confided in both Rose and Princess Luna, and yet, your brain and your voice don’t seem to be cooperating with each other quite yet.

At last, after taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, you turn to Twilight. You can see the worry in her purple eyes, the sort of worry someone experiences when they want to help, but aren’t sure how.

“You’ve helped me through a lot, Twilight,” you say. “You helped me find a home for myself so that I wouldn’t be a burden to Rose. You found a way to turn an accidental gesture on my part into a full-blown therapeutic practice, sanctioned by Celestia and Luna themselves. You kickstarted my career by introducing me to Starlight. You furthered it by helping me get my position at the spa. You’ve done so much for me…and I feel like I’ve done a poor job of repaying it.”

“What would make you think that?” Twilight asks, kindly. “I’ve never expected any kind of compensation or reward from you. Knowing that you’re happy, content, and well-provided for has been all the repayment I need.”

“And the fact that I was a human living in Ponyville had no influence on that?” you can’t help asking.

You’re not trying to sound accusatory by such a question. It’s more of a light teasing. Twilight seems to catch the tone as such, and smiled, putting a hoof on your shoulder.

“I won’t deny that being a benefactor for a human is an exciting prospect, and one that I’m sure many a pony would be head over hooves about. Still, I’ve always seen you as a friend first, and a human second. As a matter of fact, I’d almost swear that you’re practically part-pony.”

You can’t help but grin at that.

“I’ll take that as a compliment any day,” you say.

Then you let your smile fade away again.

“Even so, what I mean is that you’ve taught me a lot, shared a lot of stories about your adventures and things about Equestria I never knew, but I never bothered to tell you anything about myself in return.”

Twilight opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking thoughtful.

“Now that you bring it up, you always were quiet about yourself,” she says. “I didn’t want to be nosey and pressure you with questions, if you didn’t want to talk about it.”

You nod.

“I didn’t talk about it because…it’s a long story, and not a happy one.”

Twilight’s look of concern returns, more pronounced than before.

“The reason I’m bringing it up,” you continue, “is because something happened that brought back…old memories, memories of those days. Happy ones…and sad ones.”

“Oh,” says Twilight, very quietly.

“I was given some good advice,” you say, “which was to confide in those I trust the most, and get their advice. I already did so once tonight, with Rose. Now, I want to confide in you, Twilight, if you’ll hear me out.”

Twilight looks at an utter loss for words, something unprecedented in a pony so verbose and possessing an extensive vocabulary. You know you’re asking for a lot from her, bringing this up out of the blue, giving her little warning that she’d be in for a tragic story tonight. You wonder if she’ll even want to hear you out, if you were too bold or presumptuous in presenting the reason for your visit to her like this.

After a long pause, Twilight closes her eyes and sighs, when she opens them again, you can see resolve in them, a firm steadfastness in preparing for a great task.

“Of course I’ll hear you out,” she says. “If it’s something that’s resting so heavily on your mind that you feel you need my advice, how could I possibly turn you away in good conscience? And even if it weren’t for that, I will always be ready to help a friend in any way I can, no matter what the circumstances may be. You should never have to be afraid to confide in someone you trust. Whatever it is that’s troubling you, I promise to do what I can to help you through it.”

You feel a warmth in your heart after this declaration of hers. You feel relief, pride, and admiration for this pony sitting beside you. She might be humble and modest about being a princess, but there’s unmistakable conviction and confidence in her words, and a subtle aura of authority and leadership surrounding her, one that inspires respect.

“You’re not the Princess of Friendship for nothing, Twilight Sparkle,” you say, reverently.

Twilight’s cheeks turn pink at this, but she merely smiles. Then, she settles herself properly on the couch, so that she’s fully turned towards you, all four hooves resting on the cushions, her eyes fixed on yours.

“No notes this time,” she says. “You have my full, undivided attention. Go ahead whenever you feel ready.”

Twilight Sparkle foregoing taking notes? She really is serious about this. Still, you feel much more at ease than you did before. So, at her bidding, you begin.


***


Twilight’s just as good a listener as Rose. You say what you said before, and Twilight’s reactions are much the same as Rose’s had been. She smiles fondly as you bring up your younger days with your mother, but has a conflicted look as you bring up your foster life, between the coldness of your foster father and the warmth of your foster mother. When you reach the part about the letter you received, the one that changed everything, she puts a hoof to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock and horror. 

You pause once again. Even if you’ve already told this story once tonight, remembering that particular moment still gives you a pang that stops you short. Twilight breaks the silence in a hushed voice, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“How terrible…I’m so sorry…”

She sniffs and wipes at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

“If you need a moment, I understand,” she says. “Take your time.”

That’s very kind of her. She knows exactly what someone needs at moments like this.

When you feel confident to go on again, you tell her about what happened after that day, including what happened at the spa (while leaving out names, of course), the nightmare you experienced, Princess Luna’s intervention, and your talk with Rose. After two recitations of this story in one night, your voice is growing tired, and your throat feels dry and scratchy, compounded with the tight feeling in it already from reliving those memories, as well as a stinging in your eyes.

By the end, Twilight is looking upon you with a face full of tearful sympathy. She’s silent at first. Then, after dabbing at her eyes and cheeks with her handkerchief, she says,

“Thank you for telling me all of this. Having to tell it once already can’t have been easy for you.”

You shake your head quietly. You thought it would be, and while you’re not in quite the same state you were in the first time, the old feeling still lingers. 

Twilight opens her forelegs to you. Taking the hint, and appreciating it very much, you put your arms around her and hug her, and she hugs you in return, putting her wings about you as well. It’s a very warm, pleasant, and comforting hug, and you feel her gently rub your back with her hooves.

“I’m glad you confided in Rose first,” she says. “I appreciate how much you trust me to tell me all of this, but I would have preferred it this way from the start. I know how much you mean to each other.”

Your heart feels warm again, and you strengthen the hug a little bit. After a while, you pull away from each other, though Twilight still keeps a wing draped over your shoulders.

“You’ve been through so much,” she says. “Losing your mother, having a guardian who wasn’t there for you, feeling unwelcome where you live…And yet, through all of it, you’ve still had ponies who’ve looked out for and cared for you: your foster mother and foster brother, Rose, your friends here in Ponyville, Princess Luna…”

“And you,” you say, smiling.

“And me,” says Twilight, modestly. “My point is, even in the toughest of times, when all seems hopeless and gloomy, we can count on others to help us through them. That’s what you do, after all, as an affection therapist.”

“I know,” you say, humbly. “It just hasn’t been easy, coming to terms with the fact that even therapists need therapy. Who heals the healers?”

“More often than not, those they heal,” says Twilight. “Teachers can learn just as much from students as students learn from teachers, and when you help those around you, you never know when they’ll help you when you’re in need.”

In other words, what goes around comes around. A simple lesson, so often taken for granted.

“So, you’ve been thinking about your foster father lately,” says Twilight, soberly.

“In a sense,” you say. “It’s his voice I’ve been hearing in my head, whenever I’ve been second-guessing myself or worrying about something.”

Twilight frowns sympathetically.

“You associate him with discouragement, pessimism, and doubt,” she says. “I’m not a psychologist, but I have read several books on the subject, and the presence or absence of a parental figure in one’s life can shape thought patterns and behaviors.”

“He certainly left an impression on me,” you mutter. “I don’t even know if he actually meant well in his own way, or if he genuinely didn’t like me. He just…wasn’t there for me.”

Twilight’s wing is still around your shoulders, and you feel it give you a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“And you’re not sure if you can move on until you know the truth?“ she asks.

You nod.

“Not that I’m saying I want to stop my therapy practice until then,” you say. “Far from it. I want more than ever to continue. I just want to be able to move past this, not risk having that voice in my head again, not have to worry that I’m only doing this to spite him for never believing in me!”

You cover your mouth with your hand. You didn’t mean for that to slip out. Twilight stares at you, silently, for several seconds. Then, she asks, quietly,

“Has that been troubling you?”

You hesitate, angry at yourself for saying too much. Then again, this is what today is for: getting everything off your chest and getting advice. Best not to leave anything out at this point…

“Partly,” you say, quietly. “I know it’s not true, at least, not wholly true. I do genuinely enjoy what I do, and I like making ponies happy, but it’s been on my mind ever since I left home. He never supported me, never encouraged me, so deep down, I guess I just wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to show him that I could get by in Equestria my way. I know that’s kind of petty, but that’s just how he made me feel…”

You look at Twilight, wondering how she’ll take this. She’s not smiling, but there’s understanding in her eyes.

“It’s very brave of you to admit that,” she says. “It takes a lot to be so forthcoming about something like that. I’m sorry he made you feel that way. No child should ever feel like they have to earn their parent’s love. Your foster father should have been happy to look after such a kind and compassionate human.”

She draws you in close, nuzzling your cheek. You feel warm all over at this, and start to feel tears in your eyes.

“Have you been in contact with him lately?” Twilight asks. “Or even your foster mother?”

“Not lately,” you say. “Not since I started with affection therapy. They’re likely in the dark about it all, since I know word about it can’t have traveled that far.”

“Well, I can think of no better time to write to them,” says Twilight. “You’ve got plenty to tell them about, and you can set up a meeting with them to talk things over.”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” you say, “but I’m not entirely confident about putting it into words. Part of the reason I came by was to ask if you could help me compose a letter to them. I figured a pony as well-read as you could give me some good writing advice.”

Twilight looks a little surprised at this request.

“Of course,” you add, hastily, “I know it’s already getting late, and I don’t want to take up much more of your time, so I could just-”

But she holds up a hoof to forestall you. She’s smiling at you.

“Of course I’ll help you,” she says. “Wait right here.”

Her horn lights up, and, in a flash of purple light, she vanishes from the couch. That’s twice tonight that you’ve been blinded by sudden teleportation, something you should only want to experience once, or not at all. Shortly after, there’s another flash, and Twilight reappears. She’s brought a stack of paper, some pencils, pens, and a pencil sharpener. You stare at her, but she just smiles.

“I didn’t want to bother Spike about it,” she says, placing the writing implements on the table in front of the couch, “when he’s been busy with the dishes, so I got what we needed myself. Just write what you want to tell your foster family, and I’ll help you put it together into a proper letter.”

You have no words. Twilight’s willing to take time out of her evening to help you with something she didn’t even have any knowledge about until now. She really is a princess worthy of her Friendship title. Without further prompting, you get off the couch and kneel in front of the coffee table, Twilight joining you, take a piece of paper and a pencil, and begin to write.


***


You’re not sure how long this writing workshop lasted. You’re too wary to look at the clock to see how much later it’s gotten, but Twilight hasn’t said a word about the time. She merely sits by and watches as you write down what you would want to put into a letter addressed to your foster family, putting it down as a list of bullet points. It runs pretty long, and you start to wonder if some of these topics might not be necessary. Still, Twilight said to write down what you wanted to say, so you write it. 

Once you think you’re done, Twilight looks it over, scrutinizing it carefully. She takes up a pen and starts making marks on the list,. Perhaps she too has found some topics that don’t need to be included.

“All right,” she says, once she’s finished. “I’ve given your list of content a perusal, and I’ve indicated what I feel should be included in this letter, though of course, it’s up to you what you want to put in. If you feel stuck about how to compose it, just ask, and I’ll see if I can help you word it.”

That sounds reasonable. You look down at the list, and can see that Twilight has circled several of the points you wrote, clearly meaning that you ought to include those. She’s put an X mark or a question mark next to others, meaning she didn’t think it necessary to include them, or that she wasn’t sure herself whether or not you ought to. Just as well, now that you think about it. Things like directly asking your foster father if he hated you or if he had cared at all about what happened to your mother might not be what’s needed in this letter, much as you’d like to know the answers to such questions.

Trusting Twilight’s judgment, you start composing a letter with these points, taking it slow and steady to word it properly based on these notes. More than once, you’re forced to stop and ponder, at which point Twilight chimes in to offer a helpful suggestion of phrasing for what you want to write. She does stress that she wants you to write it in your own way, and that you don’t have to copy what she says verbatim, but her advice is already a great help to you, and with her gentle coaching, you slowly begin feeling more confident in your composition, and start writing more naturally.

At last, you’re finished. Your wrist is pretty sore, and your back, too, from sitting hunched over your writing for so long. You sit back, stretch, then look over what you’ve written. Twilight leans over to read as well.

“Dear Olive, Clay, and Spruce,

How have you all been? I’m sorry it’s been a while since I last contacted you. A lot’s been happening since I moved, and I’ve got a lot to tell you.

Things have been great since I moved to Ponyville! I’ve met so many amazing ponies, and they’ve made me feel right at home. What’s more, it’s the hometown of the Princess of Friendship herself, Twilight Sparkle! It’s incredible, living in the same town as royalty. But there’s one pony in particular who’s made my stay in Ponyville meaningful and special: Roseluck. She sells flowers, and is one of the sweetest, kindest mares you could ever meet. She’s helped me settle into Ponyville since I arrived, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Something big has happened, which is the main reason why I’m writing. I’ve gotten a job! I’m officially Ponyville’s, even Equestria’s, first licensed affection therapist! It all started by complete accident funnily enough, but Rose is the one who helped inspired it. It gained a lot of momentum since, and Princess Twilight helped make it an actual practice, with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna’s approval.

You might be wondering what ‘affection therapy’ is. It’s helping ponies relax and destress through giving them displays of platonic affection: ear scratches, chin scratches, nose boops, belly rubs, hugs, anything that helps them feel happy, content, and comfortable. It sounds a little unusual, I’m sure, but it really does work, and I’ve used it to benefit quite a number of ponies. What’s more, thanks to a suggestion from another friend, Rarity, who runs a fashion boutique, and with Princess Twilight’s help, I was able to apply for a position at the local spa, so affection therapy is now officially a spa-approved therapeutic practice.

A lot’s been on my mind lately, and I’ve been thinking about all of you as well. It would really mean a lot to me if we could get together again, as I have a lot I want to talk to you about. I work 5 days a week, and am free on weekends, so if there’s a way we can arrange for a meet-up, either in Manehattan or in Ponyville, that would be fantastic. Please let me know.”

Twilight’s eyes move from the top to the bottom of the letter. At last, turning to you, she nods in satisfaction.

“That’ll do just fine,” she says. “It doesn’t cram everything into one letter, but it tells enough of what you’ve been up to, and it gives the promise of more to tell if you agree to meet up. Well done.”

“Thanks, Twilight,” you say, relieved. “This takes a great deal off my mind, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” says Twilight. “I just gave you a few pointers. This was you.”

She smiles at you, and you smile back. Going back to the letter, you sign it, then fold it up. Twilight hands you an envelope, onto which you write your foster family’s address, the one you knew growing up, and put the letter inside, sealing the envelope.

“I’ll mail this tomorrow, before work,” you say. “Thanks so much for your help, Twilight. I really really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” says Twilight. “Just remember, if you ever feel troubled like this again, don’t be afraid to come to me, but like I said, I’d prefer if you go to Rose first.”

“I will,” you say. “Thanks.”

Then, Twilight puts her forelegs and wings around you in another hug, holding you closer than she did before. The first embrace already felt warm and comforting, but this one feels even more so. It almost feels…magical in its warmth. She soon releases you and holds you at forelegs’ length, smiling tenderly at you.

“I hope you can meet with your foster family soon,” she says, “and say what you need to say to them. I know it’ll be hard, but I know you can do it. I believe in you.”

You can find no words in response to such warm and kind words. Instead, you return her hug, giving her a grateful squeeze, then, taking your letter and your plate of leftover cookies, you stand up. She stands up as well, and walks with you out of the library, right up to the castle doors. You smile down at her.

“Good night, Twilight.”

“Good night.”

You step out into the night and look back at her. She gives you one last smile, then closes the door. 

You look up at the night sky. It’s grown dark, as you expected. The street lamps are lit, the stars are out, and the moon is shining bright. You take a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. It’s been a very busy night, but you still have some preparations to make for tomorrow, for another day of affection therapy. So, with plate and letter in hand, you start off for home.
> The Cutie Mark Crusaders
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the best that you’ve felt in a long time. The talks you’ve had with Rose and Twilight, and the letter you’ve written, have done you a great deal of good. Once you return home and make the necessary preparations for tomorrow, you go to bed in better spirits than you had the previous night, nodding off fairly quickly after such a long and busy day. As an additional good sign, your dreams that night are untroubled, if still slightly bizarre. At least Princess Luna didn’t need to rescue you from a nightmare this time.

You dream you’re in the audience of one of Trixie’s magic shows. Trixie’s on stage in full magician’s garb, alongside Starlight, wearing a sparkling leotard and a rather forced smile. The ponies in the audience are all munching tiny cookies from popcorn bags. Marble and Limestone Pie are sitting on either side of you, while Pinkie’s cheering loudly from behind, making Marble wince and Limestone scowl at her. 

During the course of Trixie’s routine, Vinyl Scratch is invited on stage, and placed inside a cabinet-sized box with three doors. Trixie and Starlight close the doors, and the box is separated into three sections. There’s a puff of smoke that envelopes most of the stage, and when it clears, the doors are opened. Instead of Vinyl’s body divided into three, the disembodied heads of Vinyl, Octavia, and Rose peer out, the latter two looking utterly bewildered, as though they didn’t plan on being part of the act. 

Then, Spike appears in a puff of smoke beside Trixie, and, at her command, he breathes a heavy stream of green fire, enveloping the box. The crowd gasps. Marble looks like she’s about to faint, but Limestone looks thrilled. When the flames vanish, the box is gone, but there stand Vinyl, Octavia, and Rose, whole and unharmed. The crowd goes wild with applause, as do you, even as poor Marble swoons in her seat, Pinkie leaning over the back to console her. As Trixie, Starlight, and the three participants bow, you see the glimmer of a rippling blue mane out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head, and see Princess Luna, at least a head taller than other ponies in the audience, joining in the applause. She catches your eye, smiles, winks, and vanishes.


***


After such a strange but amusing dream, you awake feeling much better than you had the night before last, and get ready to start another day at the spa. As you head out the door, you remember to take the letter you wrote with you, along with a new plate of fresh-baked cookies. You almost feel like you could burst into song as you walk along, if only you knew the words to sing. Ponyville feels like the sort of place where one regularly breaks out into song, though perhaps that’s just Pinkie Pie, who always seems to be singing a new song when you pass her in the streets.

The moment you put your letter in the mailbox on the way to work, you feel as if a massive weight has been lifted off your conscience. While it’s true that you still have to wait for an actual reply to the letter, however long it takes, if one comes at all, you’ve done all that you can for now. Now you can put your mind back where it should be: on providing affection therapy for those seeking it.

There is one thing that puts a slight check in your thoughts, though, making you feel puzzled and curious. Parts of the main street of Ponyville have hay bales set up like barriers, and signs indicating curves and one-way directions. It looks very much like a racetrack. You can’t help but wonder when this was set up, and what it’s for. Many ponies are crowded behind the barriers, talking excitedly.

“What’s going on?” you ask a stallion as you approach.

“Haven’t you heard, buddy?” he says, excitedly. “It’s the Applewood Derby! You’d better grab a good spot if you don’t wanna miss it.”

The Applewood Derby?

Then, it hits you. 

You remember hearing about a racing derby being held by the school, and how it would run throughout Ponyville. The carts would be awarded ribbons based upon which one was the fastest, which one had the most creative design, and which one had the best traditional look. At the time, it sounded exciting and interesting. You can hardly believe that it’s today, but then again, your mind’s been occupied by a lot of things lately. 

Of course, you can’t help but question the logic in having the track run through the streets of Ponyville, and, from what you can see, having parts of the track intersecting with each other. Wouldn’t a course in a more open space make more sense, as well as be safer? This is just asking for trouble.

Distracted by these thoughts, you soon make your way to the spa, but as you put your hand on the doorknob, you see a notice on the door.

‘Closed for Applewood Derby
We apologize for the inconvenience, but will reopen tomorrow at regular hours.
-The Ponyville Spa Staff’

At first, you’re shocked. Only your third day here at the spa, and you already have a day off? Is this derby really worth closing the whole spa for the day? After the initial shock, however, you realize that a lot of ponies, maybe even all of Ponyville, might be turning out to watch or even participate in this derby, so it only stands to reason that the spa wouldn’t see many clients until the race is over.

At the same time, you feel slightly foolish at not realizing the spa would be closed today. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own thoughts and worries, you might have taken better notice, or else remembered what day the derby was going to be. What if Aloe or Lotus had said something about it, but you didn’t hear them? It’s not a good mark of being a good therapist if you lose focus so easily and miss what others are trying to tell you. You have to be better at that.

Well, with what you’ve accomplished last night, you already aim to do better. It should’ve gone without saying, but you make a mental resolution to be more observant, and work at being less easily distracted. Without the voice in your head, that should be easier. For now, though, you decide that there’s nothing else to do but watch the derby, so you go to join the crowd and wait for it to start.


***


…Well. You certainly weren’t expecting that kind of finish.

It’s a very interesting race, to say the least. You’re impressed to see all of the different derby carts created by the foals participating, and to see those same foals driving them alongside their adult racing partners. It looks like it must have been a lot of fun putting those carts together.

Then you see Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, or rather, you see them having a miserable time while Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash drive the carts. Applejack’s piloting a slow and steady buggy, Rarity an extravagant swan-like cart with extending wings (cutting off other carts from passing, which has to be against the rules), and Rainbow a sleek and speedy cart that doesn’t seem to have the best handling. The fact that they’re the ones driving, and the looks on their sisters’ faces, tells you one thing quite plainly: the Crusaders weren’t allowed any input in how these carts turned out.

But that doesn’t come close to the crash, and what comes after.

The carts all end up in a collision at a big four-way intersection. Horrified, you join the crowd of ponies hurrying over to see if the racers are all right. You arrive in time to see most of the racers in the midst of a big wreckage, looking dazed but thankfully unhurt as they extricate themselves. Then, you hear Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo shouting at their sisters, blaming them for ruining the event. Everypony is glaring at Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash, who are overlooking the damage with very sheepish expressions.

“Yes, well, I suppose we might have gotten a teensy bit carried away…” Rarity says, delicately.

“But Ah thought you all wanted our help,” says Applejack.

“We did!” says Apple Bloom. “We wanted your help to build our carts, but we all ended up with carts that are what each of you wanted!”

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo nod. Now you’re starting to get a better picture, and your initial suspicions seem to have been correct.

“But…why didn’t you say anything?” asks Rainbow.

“You’ve all done the race before,” says Scootaloo. “I just figured you knew best!”

“And we did try to speak up,” says Sweetie Belle, “but you all kept ignoring us. It’s not easy speaking up to older ponies.”

Hoo boy, does that sound familiar to you. The three older mares look very awkward at this.

“Oh, I certainly understand that,” says Rarity, sympathetically, “but you mustn’t think older ponies automatically know best.”

“And we probably could’ve done a better job of listening to you,” says Rainbow, sheepishly.

Applejack sighs.

“Ah guess we owe all three of you an apology,” she says.

“Maybe not just us,” says Apple Bloom.

She indicates the other ponies involved in the crash-up, as well as Cheerilee, whom you’ve just noticed is dressed up like a cheerleader, and looking mighty peeved. Rainbow chuckles nervously.

“Um, how do you feel about a do-over?” she asks.

Cheerilee ponders this for a moment, then smiles.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she says, before adding, wryly, “but maybe the older ponies should sit this one out.”

Neither Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash look in the least bit anxious to argue against this idea. From there, they’re directed to help clean up the wreckage. The other racers and their adult copilots head off, talking amongst themselves while still shooting dirty looks at the three, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders head off to the side to watch and wait, none of them looking very happy.

A sudden idea strikes you as you look at the scene before you, and the gears start turning in your head. The Crusaders certainly look and sound like they need a pick-me-up after the day they’ve had, and you’ve got a plateful of cookies and a day away from the spa. Apple Bloom’s already experienced a bit of affection therapy herself, and it’s not unlikely that she told her friends about it. After a tense exchange like that, it seems like they all could benefit from a session, but you’d best talk to their sisters first and see if they might need any help.

You approach the three mares, who’ve already gotten a start at clearing away the wreckage, all three of them looking glum and penitent. Cheerilee spies you and gives you a wave and a smile, which you return, before turning back to the three.

“Hey, girls,” you say. “I saw the crash. I hope everypony’s all right.”

They look up in surprise.

“Oh! It’s you, darling,” says Rarity.

“Howdy, pard,” says Applejack.

“Hey there,” says Rainbow, then adds, after a slight pause, “Um, how much did you see and hear?”

“Pretty much everything,” you say, apologetically. “I mean, it was in front of everypony, after all.”

“Yeah,” say the three mares together, guiltily.

“Do you want any help clearing this away?” you ask, gesturing at the pile of wrecked cart parts.

“Nah, don’t fret yerself about it, sugarcube,” says Applejack. “This is our fault, and like Granny Smith always says, ‘ya break somethin’, ya fix it’.”

“And I fear we broke more than some splendidly-built carts,” says Rarity, her ears drooping. “This Derby was supposed to be about the foals, but…we made it about ourselves.”

“We…kinda got lost in memories about our own days racing in the Applewood Derby,” says Rainbow. “We made the carts the way we would’ve wanted…not the way the Crusaders wanted.”

“And worst of all, we didn’t listen to them when they tried to object,” says Rarity. “I’m ashamed of how utterly selfish I was being towards Sweetie Belle, and all over a silly little fillyhood grudge…”

“And I wanted Scootaloo to be a winner like I was,” says Rainbow.

“And Ah told Apple Bloom she had ta stick ta tradition,” says Applejack. “All three of us were pretty rotten to our sisters, and everypony else in this race, and we can only hope we can make it up ta them.”

They certainly look and sound genuinely sorry for their actions. Even if this was their fault, you can’t find it in your heart to be too mad at them.

“Well, offering to re-run the race is certainly a good start,” you say. “I just hope you’ll listen to your sisters this time. I know how hard it is to speak up to your elders myself, but the words of children shouldn’t be counted less than the words of adults.”

“Oh, believe me, darling,” says Rarity, earnestly, “we’re not going to miss a word this time, and after this is all over…Well, I’m still working on it, but mark my words, whatever Sweetie Belle wants to do to make up for this, she simply has to say it, and it’s done, no matter what.”

“That goes double for me and Scootaloo,” says Rainbow.

“And me and Apple Bloom,” says Applejack.

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” you say, smiling. “Now, I shouldn’t take up any more of your time, but if you’re sure you don’t want help-”

“No, no, dear,” says Rarity, holding up her hoof. “I won’t hear of it. This is our responsibility. It’s already a crime that you had to miss a day of work at the spa just to see us like this.”

“That’s very kind of you, Rarity,” you say. “I actually didn’t realize the spa would be closed today. I kinda missed the memo about when the Derby was being held. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

Applejack’s face lights up.

“Wait a sec,” she says. “Ah’ve got an idea! We’re already plannin’ on buildin’ our sisters’ carts the way they want them this time, but they shouldn’t have ta just sit around doin’ nothin’ and watch us clean up. Why don’t you work some of yer affection therapy magic and cheer ‘em up, hun? Ah know Apple Bloom wouldn’t be against it.”

“Hey, yeah!” says Rainbow, before catching herself in her enthusiasm. “Er, I mean, not that I’d know what it’s like, but maybe Scootaloo would like it, if it’s as good as everypony says it is.”

“And goodness knows Sweetie Belle deserves it,” says Rarity. “She’s been pestering me about getting her a session ever since she heard about it from Apple Bloom.”

Well, the older sisters are on board with the idea, and Applejack suggested it without any prompting or suggestions from you. That’s a good sign already.

“I’ll certainly see what I can do,” you say. “Good luck, girls.”

The three mares thank you, and you leave them to their work, supervised by Cheerilee, and make your way over to where the Crusaders are sitting, in the shade of a large tree. They’ve ditched the protective helmets they were wearing, and are trying to smooth out their scuffed coats and ruffled manes and tails.

Sweetie Belle is a pale-white unicorn, just like her big sister, with light-green eyes. Her mane and tail are a combination of pink and purple, and curled at the ends rather than being one big curl like Rarity’s. Just as Apple Bloom’s a bit stout for her age, Sweetie Belle also has a bit of a belly, but she’s not what one would call ‘fat’. Rather, she looks like someone who enjoys sweets, but also enjoys being active. Her cutie mark matches Apple Bloom’s, only the symbol within her shield is a musical note.

Scootaloo is an orange pegasus with purple eyes. Her purple mane and tail are both messy, just like Rainbow Dash’s. In contrast to her two friends, Scootaloo’s rather skinny, with a fit and sporty look about her, which isn’t too surprising, since she’s rarely seen without her favorite scooter. Her wings are rather small, even for a foal, and despite seeing her propel herself at great speeds along that scooter, you’ve never once seen her fly. Her cutie mark is just like Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle’s, except for, once again, the emblem inside the shield, which is a feathered wing in her case.

You’ve only ever seen the Crusaders as they are now, with their cutie marks. However, you’ve heard stories from Rose, Daisy, and Lily, who gather up all kinds of gossip in the marketplace, about the antics these three got up to trying to earn their marks. It sounds like it took them a lot longer than it should have for them to know what was needed to earn one, and kept missing the point. Then again, you’re not one to judge. You yourself had wanted a cutie mark when you were young…

Apple Bloom’s the first to notice you, her expression brightening in a twinkling. She nudges her two friends, who look up and spy you.

“Howdy!” says Apple Bloom.

“Hey there, Apple Bloom,” you say. “Hey, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo.”

“Hi,” says Sweetie Belle.

“Hey there,” says Scootaloo.

Sweetie Belle has a rather cute voice, one that, and you’re not sure how to explain why it’s so, sounds like it would make for an excellent singing voice. Scootaloo has an adorably raspy, boyish voice, only adding to the similarities between her and Rainbow Dash. All three smile up at you, and you’d be lying if you said they didn’t have some of the most endearing smiles you’ve ever seen.

“That race was…certainly something,” you say, conversationally.

“That’s one word for it,” says Apple Bloom, her ears drooping, as well as her bow, which is quite a feat.

“I think ‘disaster’ works better,” says Sweetie Belle, glumly.

“Or ‘fiasco’,” says Scootaloo.

“Well, whatever you want to call it,” you say, “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Mind you, I only saw what I saw from the audience, and got an abridged version from your sisters, so I only know so much, but it doesn’t sound like a very fun time.”

“Trust us, it’s a long story,” says Scootaloo, wearily.

“And a frustrating one,” says Sweetie Belle, just as wearily.

“We don’t wanna make ya have to listen to it,” says Apple Bloom.

“Well, I’ve got plenty of time today,” you say, reasonably. “The spa’s closed for the day because of the race, and your sisters look like they’re gonna be busy with cleanup duty for a while. I’ve also got a whole plateful of cookies that I’d hate to go to waste. Would you three mind if I kept you company for a little while, maybe let you air out your frustrations?”

At the word ‘cookies’, all three fillies’ eyes light up instantly. No one can turn down the prospect of free sweets. Then, Apple Bloom gains a knowing look on her face, and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo both suddenly look like they’ve had a brainwave.

“You mean, like, your affection therapy stuff?” asks Sweetie Belle, putting her hooves to her cheeks with a look of adorable anticipation on her face.

“Only if you want to, that is,” you say. “It was your sisters’ idea.”

The three fillies look over at their busy sisters, then at each other, then back up at you.

“Course we wouldn’t mind you sittin’ and talkin’ with us,” says Apple Bloom. 

So encouraged, you take a seat on the ground beside them, and set your plate of cookies down before them.

“Help yourselves,” you say.

They each eagerly grab a cookie, chowing down on them hungrily. By the time they’ve finished one, their muzzles are a mess of crumbs, which they wipe away in turn.

“Mmmm, these are really good!” says Scootaloo.

“Yeah,” says Sweetie Belle. “They’re just like the cookies Pinkie Pie bakes. Did you make them yourself?”

“Well, Pinkie did give me a recipe or two,” you say. “I don’t think I could hold a candle to her or the Cakes when it comes to baking, though.”

“Ah think it’s great,” says Apple Bloom. “Ah’m sure Granny Smith’d say the same, and she’s one of the best bakers Ah know.”

You can feel yourself blush at such innocent praise, but you appreciate it all the same.

“Thanks,” you say. “So, like I said, if you girls want to talk about what happened, I’m all ears. If not, that’s fine, too.”

The three fillies look at each other, then back up at you.

“There’s not that much to tell, really,” says Scootaloo. “I mean, Miss Cheerilee told us what we had to do for the Applewood Derby, and we went to our sisters to help us out.”

“We figured they’d be all over helpin’ us build racin’ carts,” says Apple Bloom.

“Especially since they’ve run the race themselves,” says Sweetie Belle.

“Understandable,” you say. “So, when did things start falling apart?”

Three sets of ears droop.

“Well, we all had an idea of what kind of cart we wanted to make,” says Sweetie Belle. “I wanted to go with something traditional.”

“And Ah wanted ta build a speedy cart,” says Apple Bloom.

“And I wanted to make a stylish cart,” says Scootaloo. “We all wanted to try something outside of what we normally would do, you know?”

You nod in understanding. On the surface, you would likely have expected Apple Bloom to go with tradition, Sweetie Belle with style, and Scootaloo with speed. The fact that they wanted to experiment outside of their usual interests is very commendable.

“But when we told our sisters about what we wanted to do,” says Sweetie Belle, “they…had other ideas.”

“I see,” you say, starting to see where this is going.

“Applejack insisted that an Apple family cart had ta be traditional,” says Apple Bloom, “cuz that’s how it’s always been.”

“Rainbow Dash won the Derby in Cloudsdale when she was a filly,” says Scootaloo, “and she wanted me to be a guaranteed winner, too.”

“And Rarity got second place in a style competition when she was in the Derby,” says Sweetie Belle, “and she really wanted to win first place, even if it was through my cart.”

“Even though they kept insistin’ they were their carts,” says Apple Bloom, bitterly.

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo nod glumly.

“I see,” you say, quietly and thoughtfully. “So they got lost in their nostalgia for their own Derby days and wanted to experience it again vicariously.”

This last word is met with a trio of blank looks.

“That means they were trying to live the experience through you,” you explain, then ask, “but you did try to speak up and correct them, didn’t you?”

“Of course!” says Scootaloo. “I mean, we did try, but I guess we didn’t try hard enough. They just wouldn’t listen.”

“Besides, they’ve run the Derby before,” says Apple Bloom. “We started ta think that maybe they knew better than we did.”

“Even if it wasn’t what we wanted,” says Sweetie Belle.

“But they still cared more about those carts than they did for us,” Scootaloo mutters. “They didn’t even care if we were all right when we crashed.”

Now that stings to hear. You know Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash wouldn’t just dismiss the safety of their sisters just like that. Was this Derby really worth losing so much focus and sense? Did it really mean that much to them that they lost sight of what really mattered?

You reach down and pat the fillies’ heads comfortingly. Even though there’s three of them, you still manage to comfort Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle, sitting on your left, with one hand, and Scootaloo, sitting on your right, with the other. You can see by their faces that they appreciate it.

“I’m sorry, girls,” you say, sympathetically. “I know it’s not easy speaking up to your elders. But like Rarity said, just because someone’s older doesn’t necessarily mean they know best. I mean, I’m about as old as your sisters are, and I still make mistakes. Age and wisdom don’t always go hand in hand. Er, hoof in hoof,” you amend.

The girls don’t reply, but simply look up at you. Three sets of puppy dog eyes staring up at you is incredibly unfair.

“You know they love you, don’t you?” you ask, gently.

They all nod.

“I’m not excusing their behavior, mind you,” you say. “I’m as baffled as you are to hear how much this Derby consumed their thoughts. It wasn’t fair to make you have to suffer them wanting to relive their own foalhoods. I know it’s not much of an explanation or consolation, but sometimes, we let our obsessions get the better of us. When something affects you so powerfully, and leaves such an impact on you, you can lose track of what’s right in front of you, and get lost in your own thoughts, blind to everything else around you.”

You feel the three fillies shift guiltily beneath your hands.

“Like when I got obsessed with trying to fly,” Scootaloo mumbles.

“Or I thought Rarity was trying to upstage me on purpose,” Sweetie Belle mutters.

“Or I thought we wouldn’t be hangin’ out as friends anymore,” Apple Bloom says quietly.

Sounds like these three have had their own experiences with obsession and tunnel-vision. You can’t exactly profess to having a perfect sense of focus when your mind’s occupied, either.

“You see? It happens a lot more than we’d like to admit or believe,” you say. “It doesn’t make it right, but they’re very sorry, and they’re already prepared to make it up to you. Think you can forgive them?”

The three Crusaders look at each other, back up at you, and nod, little smiles coming over their faces.

“That’s the spirit,” you say, smiling, as you remove your hands from their heads. “Did talking about it make you feel better?”

“A lot better,” says Scootaloo.

Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle nod in agreement.

“I’m glad,” you say. “Even so, do you girls still want a little affection therapy?”

“Yes!” says Sweetie Belle, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

Apple Bloom nods eagerly. You can see Scootaloo’s tail wagging, just like a dog’s. She apparently notices, as she tucks her tail away rather hurriedly.

“Did, uh, Rainbow Dash have one of those therapy session things?” she asks, in the off-hand tone of someone trying to sound disinterested.

“Well,” you say, remembering the promise you made to Rainbow, “I’m personally not at liberty to say who’s gotten sessions from me, or what they’ve said during those sessions, but I can tell you that Rainbow Dash wasn’t interested when I brought it up to her.”

Technically, that isn’t a lie. Rainbow Dash did profess disinterest when you brought it up before. Her changing her mind later is irrelevant to the question.

Scootaloo frowns, looking unsure.

“I dunno,” she says. “I might need to think about it, if Rainbow Dash didn’t want to.”

“Aw, c’mon, Scootaloo,” says Apple Bloom. “Just cuz Rainbow Dash don’t like somethin’ doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“Yeah!” says Sweetie Belle. “Come on, Scoot!”

Scootaloo doesn’t answer.

“How about if Apple Bloom and I go first, and you can decide later if you want to?” Sweetie Belle suggests.

“That sounds fair,” you say. “I only have two hands to work with, anyway. I’ll be sure you have a turn, Scootaloo, if you want one.”

Scootaloo nods, still looking undecided. Sweetie Belle shows no such hesitation, hopping up into your lap with an eager giggle. Apple Bloom joins her on the other side.

“So, how does it work?” asks Sweetie Belle. “Your affection therapy, I mean.”

“Well, what do you know about it?” you ask.

“Apple Bloom said it’s just scratching ears and rubbing tummies,” says Sweetie Belle. “Scootaloo and I were kinda confused at first when she said that.”

“Well, it is,” says Apple Bloom. “Right?” she adds, looking up at you.

“Maybe that’s a simple way of describing it,” you say, “but it really isn’t complicated. It really can be as simple as a scritch, a belly rub, or a boop.”

So saying, you boop both of their noses with your index fingers. The two fillies giggle, then boop your nose right back. Scootaloo can’t help but giggle slightly at the sight.

“So, how would you two like to start?” you ask.

“Ear scratches!” says Apple Bloom.

“Tummy rubs!” says Sweetie Belle.

“One scritch and one belly rub, coming up,” you say. “Make yourselves comfy.”

The two fillies lie down on their backs in your lap, their hooves curled to their chests as they gaze up at you, looking even more like a pair of the cutest puppies you’ve ever seen. Feeling your heart melting at the sight, you cup Apple Bloom’s cheek in one hand and start scratching behind her ear with your fingers. Her eyes close blissfully, nuzzling her little cheek against your palm. You place your other hand on Sweetie Belle’s tummy, rubbing in slow circles. Sweetie Belle giggles and squirms at the sensation at first, but soon relaxes into it, sighing contentedly as she closes her eyes, her curly tail swishing. The stress and gloom that had been on the pair’s faces since that race have completely vanished. To add to the cuteness factor, they reach out with their little hooves and grip your hands, as if imploring you to keep them there and not stop. It’s already cute when an adult pony does it, but this is almost too much cute to handle.

While this goes on, Scootaloo watches, or, at least, she seems to be. When you look up at her, she’s turned herself away, as if she doesn’t want to watch. However, she does steal a glance now and then, but looks away hurriedly when she catches your eye. She must really look up to Rainbow Dash to want to deny doing something she didn’t think she would like. It makes you feel bad that she’s so undecided about it, and you wish you could tell her that Rainbow did enjoy affection therapy, but you promised you wouldn’t.

After a time, Apple Bloom opens her eyes to look up at you.

“Think Ah could have a belly rub now?” she asks, innocently.

“Of course,” you say.

Sweetie Belle opens her eyes.

“And maybe I could have an ear scritch now?” she asks, with the same innocence.

“Absolutely,” you say.

And so, you start doing what you were already doing, but for the opposite filly. Now Sweetie Belle is resting her cheek against your hand as you scratch behind her ear, and Apple Bloom is sighing in relaxation as you rub her tummy. Both of them are clearly in pure bliss. 

This goes on for a little while longer, until you hear a sigh. You look up, and see that Scootaloo’s not even trying to hide her interest anymore.

“Is there something you wanted to say, Scootaloo?” you ask, politely. “Don’t be shy.”

Scootaloo rubs her foreleg awkwardly.

“Um, well,” she says, “I mean…I guess it…wouldn’t hurt if I…gave it a try…Right? Your affection stuff, I mean.”

She looks so shy about it that you can’t help but find it endearing. Just like Rainbow Dash, she wants to be tough and cool, but can’t hide her softer side for long.

“Of course you can try it, Scootaloo,” you say. “All you had to do was ask.”

Apple Bloom tilts her head back across your knee, so that she’s looking at Scootaloo upside down.

“Did Ah hear that right?” she asks. “You wanna give it a try, Scoot?”

Scootaloo blushes.

“Well, maybe for a little bit,” she says, shyly. “Once one of you is done, I mean.”

Apple Bloom smiles.

“Why not now?” she asks. “Ah’ve already had a turn before, so Ah can let you have the rest of mine.”

“Really?” asks Scootaloo, surprised.

“‘Course!” says Apple Bloom. “What are friends for?”

She sits up, stretching her forelegs and yawning, and you remove your hand from her middle.

“Thanks fer that,” she says. “Ya don’t mind me lettin’ Scootaloo take mah place, do ya?”

“Of course not,” you say. “It’s your session time, after all.”

Apple Bloom smiles sweetly, then hops down onto the grass, gesturing for Scootaloo to come on over. The little pegasus walks slowly over, looks up at you, then climbs up onto your lap beside Sweetie Belle, who’s still engrossed in having her ear scratched, and doesn’t seem to have noticed what’s going on.

“So, what’ll it be, Scootaloo?” you ask.

“Maybe…an ear scratch, like Sweetie Belle?” she asks.

“You’ve got it,” you say, booping her on the nose.

She giggles and rubs at her nose with her hoof, then boops you back with her other hoof. She then lies down on her back, curling her hooves up to her chest. Even as the ‘tough and sporty’ one of the trio, she’s still just as cute. 

You cradle her cheek in your palm and start rubbing behind her ear. She looks surprised at the sensation at first, until her face breaks into the familiar dreamy smile. Her little wings flap very rapidly for a moment, more like the buzzing of a hummingbird than a typical pegasus beat, and her messy tail gives a swish. There’s no more hesitation or reluctance visible as she settles in, nuzzling your palm with a contented smile. You smile down at her, then look up at Apple Bloom, who’s also beaming at the sight.

Sweetie Belle stirs, shifting a little as she sleepily opens her eyes.

“How are you doing, Sweetie Belle?” you ask.

“Really great,” she says. “Do you think maybe-”

Her eyes fall on Scootaloo beside her, and she pauses in surprise.

“Oh, wow, Scootaloo actually went through with it? Good for her! She looks really happy.”

“Yeah, she does,” you say. “And so do you and Apple Bloom. What were you going to say, Sweetie Belle?”

“Oh! I was going to ask if I could have a little more tummy rubbing, and maybe another cookie.”

Well, that’s a first. You can’t remember when a pony’s asked you to return to a previous therapy technique after already being given it.

“Of course,” you say, giving her little belly a boop with your finger. “I did say you could help yourselves.”

Sweetie Belle giggles from the boop. Then, her horn lights up with a pale green glow, and a cookie is levitated off of the plate to hover before her muzzle. She nibbles away at it as you put your free hand on her belly and start rubbing again. Scootaloo stirs at this moment, looking up at you.

“Hey there, Scootaloo,” you say. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” says Scootaloo, in a sleepy voice. “Do you think I could have a belly rub now?”

“Certainly.”

You remove your hand from Scootaloo’s cheek and rest it on her belly, running along it in slow, gentle circles. The little filly lets out a low hum of contentment, and her eyes close again as she rests her head on your knee, her hoof settling atop your hand. Sweetie Belle has finished her second cookie, and has also settled in for a belly-rub-doze, crumbs still dotting her muzzle.

“Is that what Ah looked like when I was havin’ a belly rub?” asks Apple Bloom in amusement.

“Just about,” you say. “Everypony who’s had a belly rub has pretty much reacted the same way. Doesn’t take long for them to zone out.”

“Just like Winona,” says Apple Bloom. “She can’t get enough of it when Applejack and Ah fuss over her. Ah can see why now.”

“I just hope you don’t mind giving up your session early,” you say.

“Course Ah don’t,” says Apple Bloom. “Like Ah said, Ah already had mah turn, and Ah didn’t want Sweetie Belle and Scoot to miss out on it.”

You can’t help but smile fondly at this.

“You three really are the best of friends,” you say. “It’s easy to see why you ended up with cutie marks that match each other.”

Apple Bloom smiles back.

“Thanks,” she says. “Ah feel lucky ta have ‘em as friends. Ah couldn’t imagine what Ah’d do if we’d never met. Ah might still be gettin’ teased fer havin’ a blank flank.”

Your smile fades a little at this, though it doesn’t stop you from your belly rubbing, and Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo remain blissfully undisturbed.

“That can be rough,” you say. “Back in Manehattan, I’ve seen my fair share of bullies on the streets, teasing foals without cutie marks. It made me sick seeing it.”

“Like what mah cousin Babs Seed went through,” says Apple Bloom, regretfully, before adding, in a brighter tone, “but she got her own cutie mark before we did, and she’s a lot happier now.”

“That’s good to hear,” you say. “From what I understand, before I moved to Ponyville, you three were very active in trying to earn your cutie marks.”

“Heh, yeah,” says Apple Bloom, rubbing the back of her head with an awkward laugh. “We…didn’t really understand what it took. We were just tryin’ out any ol’ thing and seein’ if we’d get a cutie mark in it. We didn’t really think about what we really wanted ta do with our lives. Took us a long time ta realize that what we really wanted…was ta help other ponies with their cutie mark problems.”

She looks down at the shield decorating her flank.

“That’s a remarkable talent to have,” you say, “and a nice one to share with your best friends.”

“Ah think so too,” says Apple Bloom, smiling. “Ah just wish we hadn’t made such dern fools out of ourselves tryin’ ta earn our marks.”

“Well, you were still learning,” you say, reasonably. “There’s nothing wrong with trying new things. You might even have found something you liked doing, even if it had nothing to do with your talent.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” says Apple Bloom.

There’s a pause, then Apple Bloom asks,

“Can Ah ask ya somethin’, if it ain’t too personal?”

“What is it?”

“If humans could get cutie marks, do ya think yours would be about affection therapy?”

You almost do stop belly rubbing at this question, but you quickly catch yourself and continue as you mull over how to answer that. It’s not like you haven’t considered that before. It just feels a bit surprising hearing somepony else ask it of you.

“Maybe,” you say, finally. “I mean, it took me until I was already an adult to figure out I was good at it, and I don’t know if there’s some limit to how long a pony can go without earning a cutie mark. You never hear about adult ponies that don’t have them, after all.”

Apple Bloom nods.

“It’s funny you bring that up, though,” you say, with a slight smile. “When I was a kid, before I came to Equestria, I had no idea humans couldn’t earn cutie marks. The hours I spent dreaming about what kind of cutie mark I’d get…I was full of wild ideas back then, so I guess I can relate to the cutie mark mania you and your friends went through.”

Apple Bloom giggles. You glance back down at Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, still blissfully conked out under the soporific power of the almighty tummy rub, and look up again…and give a small start of surprise. Apple Bloom notices, turns, and also gives a start.

Applejack, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash are standing a little ways off behind Apple Bloom, watching the scene before them. You don’t know how long they’ve been there, or if they’ve just arrived, but they looked tired. And yet, all three of them have warm smiles on their faces at the sight of the two fillies snuggled contentedly on your lap.

“Well, ain’t that a sight?” asks Applejack, quietly.

“How absolutely precious,” murmurs Rarity, looking close to tears.

“Even Scoot likes it,” says Rainbow, impressed. “Good for her.”

“Hey, girls,” you say. “Everything good?”

“The wreck’s all cleaned up,” says Rainbow. “Everypony’s agreed to move the redo race to tomorrow.”

“So we need ta get crackin’ if we’re gonna do it right this time,” says Applejack.

“Much as we don’t want to interrupt this,” says Rarity, nodding her head at the two foals.

“I understand,” you say.

You slow down the belly rubbing, gradually stopping, rather than an abrupt cessation. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stir, yawning and stretching at almost the same time.

“How do you kids feel?” you ask.

“Really, really relaxed,” says Sweetie Belle.

“The best I’ve felt in a long time,” says Scootaloo.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you say. “Your sisters are here to collect you, so I’m glad you feel all rested now.”

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo sit up and see their older sisters, who wave shyly at them. There’s a slight wariness in the latter’s expressions, as if they’re worried their little sisters are going to be cold with them again. However, as Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo hop off your lap, all three fillies hurry over to their big sisters and hug them, wordlessly. The three older mares look stunned by the gesture, but eventually, they return the hugs. Applejack nuzzles Apple Bloom warmly, Rarity bursts into loud tears as she squeezes Sweetie Belle, and Rainbow drapes her wing around Scootaloo, nuzzling the top of her head. You simply sit and smile at the sight, feeling your heart melt all over again. Even though nopony said anything, there’s only one thing hugs like that can mean: forgiveness.

Applejack raises her head to look up at you.

“Thanks for bein’ there fer them, sugarcube,” she says.

“Yes,” says Rarity. “Thank you, dear.”

“Thanks, bud,” says Rainbow.

“You’re welcome, girls,” you say.

The triple hug soon breaks up, all six ponies looking cheerful.

“Don’t forget to thank him now,” says Applejack.

The Crusaders turn back to you, smiling brightly. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle hop back up onto your lap, hugging you as well as they can with their little hooves, and you gladly reciprocate as they give you little nuzzles.

“Thank you,” they say together.

As for Scootaloo, she approaches shyly as you release Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle. You’re not really expecting her to be the hug type, much like Rainbow Dash. Instead, with a smile no less grateful than those of her friends, she holds out her hoof.

“Thanks,” she says.

Smiling, you give it a bump with your fist.

“You’re welcome, Crusaders,” you say. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll be looking forward to seeing the race redone.”

“So will we,” says Rainbow, “now that it’s just gonna be the students driving.”

“I’m gonna have ta break out mah best work duds if we’re really gonna build carts ta be proud of,” says Applejack. “I’ll even lend y’all some.”

“Er, thank you, Applejack,” says Rarity, delicately, “but I believe I have my own, ahem, ‘work duds’.”

“Eh, suit yerself,” says Applejack, shrugging.

“Mind if we take another cookie fer the road?” asks Apple Bloom.

“Not at all,” you say.

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo both grab a cookie. Sweetie Belle levitates another.

“That’s yer third one, Sweetie Belle,” says Apple Bloom, giving Sweetie Belle an amused nudge in the side with her elbow. “Yer gonna give yerself a bellyache if ya keep that up.”

“I’m not gonna eat the whole thing myself, silly,” says Sweetie Belle, as if that was obvious.

Using her magic, she splits the cookie in half, and levitates one half to Rarity, who looks surprised. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo do the same with theirs, handing half to their sisters, who also look surprised. Their surprise soon melts away into gratitude, however, as they accept the proffered treats.

“Welp, see ya tomorrow, pard,” says Applejack.

“Ta-ta, darling,” says Rarity.

“See ya,” says Rainbow.

“Bye!” say the Crusaders in unison.

“Take care,” you say.

The three sets of sisters take their leave. You stand up and give your arms a stretch as you watch them go. They might have just gone through a turbulent time, one that tested their bonds as siblings, but the best of brothers and sisters can still make it through the toughest of times, because they know they mean the world to each other. It reminds you of growing up with Spruce, and how much he stuck beside you like a true brother, even in spite of Clay’s cold disinterest.

That reminder brings the letter you wrote to mind, and you wonder if it was already sent. Surely the post office wouldn’t also be closed for the Applewood Derby, would it? You hope not, because you’re not sure how long you can handle the anticipation of waiting for a reply.

But then another thought hits you.

“Shoot,” you say to yourself. “That’s gonna be two days in a row now that the spa will be closed for the derby.”

But you content yourself by adding,

“But it wasn’t like today was unproductive. Who knows? Maybe somepony else will want a session tomorrow after the race. It’ll be another busy day for everypony.”

Consoled by this thought, you gather up the plate of cookies and, despite feeling odd about returning so early, start making your way back home.